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Bacardi drank in the question. It stopped her in her tracks. She and Butch had been terrible parents to Chanel. “Well, Butch, she will know now and that’s all that matters.”
Bacardi decided to put all of her energy into helping her daughter.
Chapter Thirty-Four
God sat parked outside the somewhat dilapidated brownstone in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn and smoked his cigarette. He kept a keen eye on the residence. He hated that it had to come to this, but he didn’t have a choice. His head was on a constant swivel watching his surroundings. It was late at night on a summer day, and there were folks lingering on the block, but he felt that now was the time.
He dowsed his cigarette in the ashtray and once again looked around the block. When he was comfortable it was clear, he stuffed the .45 into his waistband and climbed out of the vehicle. He coolly strolled to the door and rang the bell. He had an envelope filled with cash for Tonya.
There was movement behind the door, the foyer light turned on, and he heard, “Who is it?”
“It’s God, Tonya. Open the door. I got ya money.”
Hearing “money,” she unlocked the door and swung it open. Tonya stood in front of God dressed in a blue housecoat and slippers, indicating that she was about to go to bed. She was an average looking woman in her early forties with her hair styled in a flat twist crown and she was slightly thick in the hips and the chest area.
“You got some money for me?”
He held up the bulky envelope and Tonya’s eyes smiled. It was what she wanted to see.
“Can I come in? Can we talk?” he asked.
After a brief hesitation, she stepped to the side and allowed God into her home and closed the door behind him. God handed her the cash and Tonya quickly went through the hundred-dollar bills.
“We good?” he asked.
Her eyes shot up at him, and they told him yes. She smiled and said, “I deserve this money, you know. I lost my son.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And where were you when Fingers was killed? He trusted you, God. You were like a brother to him,” she fussed.
“I know, Tonya. I’m still fucked-up about it. But best believe I’m out there lookin’ for who did it. They gonna pay for what they did to him.”
It was music to Tonya’s ears. She believed him.
“But look, can I use your bathroom? I gotta take a mean piss,” he said.
She nodded toward the bathroom.
God went down the hallway and shouldered the door open, making sure he didn’t touch anything. Once inside the bathroom, he removed a pair of black latex gloves from his pocket and stretched them on. He glanced at his image in the bathroom mirror, and a twinge of guilt hit him. He was about to do the unthinkable to Fingers’ mother, someone he had known for years. But she left him no choice. She threatened to tell his secret—to go to the cops. God couldn’t afford to have that happen. He couldn’t leave that bitch around as a loose end that could get him locked up or killed.
He breathed out, knowing what had to be done.
He made his way out the bathroom and joined Tonya in the disheveled living room. Tonya had always been an unorganized and cluttered woman. The disorderly ambiance of her home matched her life.
She still had the money in her hand. God moved closer to her. His smile was awkward toward her when they locked eyes. And then, out of the blue, he reached up and wrapped his gloved hands around her slim neck.
Tonya was caught off guard. The envelope fell from her hands as fighting for her life became more important. She desperately grasped at God’s wrists, trying to break free from the powerful grip he had around her neck. He squeezed and squeezed, and she could feel her neck almost breaking and her breathing becoming restricted.
God stared deeply into her eyes as he strangled the life out of her. She gasped and continued to fight him until he squeezed the final breath from her lungs and her body fell limp in his hands. God had watched the life gradually fade from her eyes. He huffed and puffed while doing so.
“You blackmail me, bitch!” he growled.
This murder was personal, so he took his time and savored the moment. He could have killed her quickly with a gun, but God wanted that bitch to have time to process what was going on—that he was going to squeeze the life out of her with his bare hands and he wasn’t going to be fucked with. He was a monster—a killer, a rapist. Pure evil.
He didn’t care that it was Fingers’ moms. What mattered to him the most was survival.
God left her body on the floor. He picked up his money and headed out. Tonya lived alone, so either her body would lay there and rot for days, or maybe someone would find her corpse before the maggots got to it.
