Wrath White - Yaccub's Curse

Slowly my eyes started to adjust to the darkness. The rusted hulks of ancient pimp-rides loomed in front of me stripped of all their splendor. Somewhere among that graveyard of crumbling Detroit steel was the man I had to kill, undoubtedly just as intent on killing me. Off to my left I heard scuffling, the sounds of a struggle, and then the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the dirt. I’d heard it too many times not to recognize it. I looked through the windshield of an old Buick and saw Warlock’s afro silhouetted by the moonlight as if the clouds had parted just to illuminate that scene and give me a clear shot. As always, I fired reflexively, without taking time to aim, and as always I hit my target. I ran around to the front of the car where Warlock’s body had fallen. I practically tripped over him.

Warlock was doing St. Vitus’ dance, flopping on his back like a cockroach in a cloud of Raid, with a fist-sized hole in his chest. Beside him, lay Tank with his eyes fixed and dilated, staring skyward. His mouth hung open in an agonized scream that never made it past his lips. He had been nearly decapitated. Pink muscle fiber stretched like used bubblegum across the chasm between where Tank’s head had been joined to his neck. Pearlescent bone shined ghastly white through the slash in his flesh where the knife had sawed through to his cervical vertebrae. The foot-long switchblade, still clutched in Warlock’s hand, dripped with inky black blood that glistened in the moonlight. My stomach imploded, collapsing inward until it touched the back of my spine, sending out an avalanche of half-digested food. Tank was gone, dead, because of me. Warlock had been in the process of butchering him just before I shot the crazy bastard. Somehow Warlock had surprised Tank and took him out before he could fire a single shot.

I began kicking Warlock’s dying body, trying to crush every bone in him, to pulverize him the way I’d watched Huey do that peckerwood kid. He shuddered one last time and lay still, yet I continued to stomp and kick his corpse. The sound of his bones snapping was a soothing noise to drown out the whirlwind in my head. The tears came without relent as the reality of Tank’s death took hold. My foot sank into the hole in Warlock’s chest and came out sopping with blood with bits of his internal organs stuck to my sole. I slammed my foot back down into it and began jumping up and down imagining that I was stomping on the bastard’s heart.

It was the sirens that snapped me out of it. I ran across the yard and jumped the fence into a neighboring backyard and then from one yard to the next until I wound up in an alleyway that led out onto Washington Lane. I was only a few blocks from home, but didn’t want to face my mother dripping in blood. My first instinct was to go to Huey’s house, but I was afraid he’d take his brother’s death out on me. I knew Huey believed that Tank was only involved with Scratch because I was. And even though I knew that Tank would have still been down even if I wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t have been out running around a junkyard chasing a lunatic if I hadn’t asked him to come with me. I wasn’t in the mood to confront either Huey’s rage or my own guilt. I decided to go back to Yolanda’s house.

The police were probably celebrating Tank’s death at this very moment and since they knew he and I were a team, they would be coming after me next, hoping to take me down for Warlock’s murder and get all three of us out of the game in one evening. I knew they’d be kicking down my Grandmom’s door any minute now looking for me. Hopefully they wouldn’t think to look for me at Yolanda’s.

There were sirens everywhere. The police were combing the streets. I knew I had to get inside somewhere before they picked me up. Yolanda’s house was only two blocks away, but it seemed like miles. I couldn’t get to it by running through alleys and hopping fences. I would have to cross Washington Lane, one of the busiest streets in our neighborhood and one that was now filthy with law enforcement. I watched patrol cars speed back and forth as I hugged the shadow of a large Evergreen tree in a yard that bordered Washington Lane and McCallum Street. As soon as the police sirens began to trail off I made a dash across the street and kept running until I was at Yolanda’s front door.

She had a man in there with her. I could tell by the way she answered the door—wrapped in a sheet The disheveled look of her hair and make-up, even her smell, was that of someone who’d just been fucked.

“Hey, baby. I didn’t think you’d be back tonight. It’s not really a good time right now.” She glanced over her shoulder into the house and then turned back to me and smiled shamelessly. I ain’t never been the jealous type, but right then I wasn’t in the mood to wait outside while some other stud got his dick wet in my pussy. I tried to push the door open and walk past her. She held the door closed as I shoved against it.

“Bitch, who you fuckin’ in there? Open this mutherfuckin’ door ’fore I kick it off the hinges and smoke both ya’ll asses!”

“Nigga, don’t come around here tossin’ threats cause you know I ain’t impressed and you know damn well you don’t own this pussy!”

“Bitch, I don’t give a fuck about your old, used up, dug out pu…pus…pussy.“

My voice seized up and tears flooded my eyes.

“Tank’s dead.” I finally managed to squeak out.

Yolanda’s eyes widened with shock. Her hand flew to her mouth and she cast another quick look behind her into the house. There was sorrow and surprise in her face, but there was something else. Fear.

“What did you say, boy?” she whispered.

“I said, Tank was just killed.”

“Oh my God!”

When she opened the door it was Huey standing behind her with murder in his eyes. He had obviously just finished fucking Yolanda and hadn’t even bothered to put his clothes or underwear back on. He stood in the doorway butt-naked. The whole scene would have been hysterical if it wasn’t for the hatred twisting his features, directed at me. He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and flipped me over his shoulder. I tumbled into the hallway, landing hard on the tiled floor.

“It wasn’t my fault, Huey! It wasn’t my fault!”

Huey pulled his Sig Sauer out of his jacket pocket as he passed the coat rack. He jacked a round into the chamber, walking toward me in long determined strides like some unstoppable naked juggernaut. Yolanda had started screaming and was trying to hold him back.

“Huey, listen. It was Warlock who did him. We were tracking him through the junkyard and he must have snuck up on him. I got him though. I took that nigga out for Tank. He was like a brother to me. You know I’d have died for that nigga. I’d have died for him!”

“Here’s your chance,” Huey said, raising the gun until it was pointed directly at my skull.

Tears were streaming down my face in torrents. It hadn’t even occurred to me to go for my own weapon. If Huey was going to kill me then I was going to die and that was all there was to it. I stared into Huey’s eyes and I could see my own death in them. I saw his finger tighten on the trigger and I closed my eyes and waited, wondering if I would hear the gunshot before oblivion. Then Huey’s shoulders slumped and he uncocked the pistol. Tears were streaming down his face now, but his eyes didn’t soften or stray from my own. He didn’t look weak or vulnerable at all when he cried. He looked focused, determined, and pissed-da-fuck-off.

“Yeah, you right. It wasn’t your fault. You just as lost as he was, and it wasn’t Warlock’s fault either. It was that white devil you work for. It was his fault and he’s gonna pay for this shit. I owe him some pain now.”