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“Get down, bitch! Get the fuck down!” one of the officers barked at her.
Jessica relented. She had bitten off more than she could chew. She fell to her knees as the two cops wrestled with her and beat the shit out of her. Someone grabbed her long hair tightly and slammed her head against the floor. It was a hard and dizzying blow, and blood gushed from her forehead. Everything the lady cops had done was against protocol, but they wanted to hurt that disrespectful little bitch.
Jessica was forced to undress. The dress was taken from her, and she was given scrubs. Looking terrible and humiliated, Jessica threatened a lawsuit against the NYPD and the two female cops. She screamed out, “Police brutality!”
The captain and sergeant wanted Jessica out of their precinct now. They shipped her to Central Booking in her scrubs and sent both female officers home on a paid suspension. It was an unfortunate incident, but with a bombing on their hands, the last thing they needed was a police brutality lawsuit, even though the prisoner ha
d provoked the fight.
9
Police lights still lit up downtown Manhattan, as the FBI searched through tons of rubble from the explosion, removed dozens of bodies, and asked many, many questions. Surveillance footage from dozens of cameras in the area had been confiscated, and the feds were meticulously analyzing every second of it, trying to pinpoint any suspicious behavior before the bombing. They questioned everyone, from young to old. Time wasn’t on their side, and they were springing into action, already flagging passports at airports, train stations, and bus depots.
It was a balmy night with a bright, full moon above. Papa John walked out of the hotel lobby alone with a cigarette in his hand, a lighter in the other. He needed some fresh air, and he needed to think. Papa John lit his smoke and took a few needed pulls, then exhaled. Weed would have been better—preferably some Purple Kush. Unfortunately, he had to settle for the Newport to calm his nerves.
He missed his kids. He thought about his son, John Jr., who’d recently been diagnosed with autism. John Jr. was still staying with one of Papa John’s other baby mothers, Tina. His son was in good hands with Tina. Papa John was getting his son the best treatment possible.
His thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the club incident. Every time he thought about it, it made him edgy. If they had stayed any longer at Sane nightclub, then they would have been crushed underneath all that rubble.
Papa John took another drag and a sweeping view of the Hudson Lake. The waters were dark, but calm, and on the other side was a place where he didn’t want to be at the moment. There was too much going on in Manhattan, and although Jersey City wasn’t exactly a haven, it was safe enough until they figured out what to do next. And that “what next” was dealing with Jessica.
The edginess refused to subside, so Papa John went for a walk. He traveled closer to the long pier that protruded out over the Hudson. With it being such a lovely night, there were scatterings of people seated on the benches and others leaning against the iron railing, looking out at the sea. Otherwise, activity was sparse since it was creeping toward midnight.
Papa John flicked his dwindling cigarette into the waters and released the last of the nicotine smoke from his jaws. His .9mm pistol was fully loaded and tucked snugly in his waistband, concealed by a long T-shirt and green jacket. He gripped the railing and looked at nothing in particular.
His autistic son and the club bombing weren’t the only two things occupying his mind. He also thought about her—Dina, his father’s fiancée. It had been weeks since they had last seen each other, but he wanted to see her again. He liked her. Though it was wrong, Papa John had a strong appetite for the forbidden that he couldn’t shake off. Everything about Dina was almost perfect. She was smart and cool. She was sexy and well put together from head to toe. She was also a freak, and thinking about that pussy was creating an arousal in his pants at a not so appropriate place.
Papa John needed an escape from being locked away at a Jersey hotel, bored and paranoid. He wanted to see her, no matter the risk. They had started something that day in his father’s home that the two couldn’t deny. Though she was still engaged to his father, she had her fun with Papa John by sneaking around. It was a blissful fun that felt like it could continue forever.
Papa John removed his cell phone. He wanted to call her, but thought otherwise—most likely a text message would be safer.
You good, beautiful? I wanna see u, he texted.
Papa John started to walk away from the pier when he received a text back from her.
When, tonight? she texted him back.
Yes, tonight. Where my pops?
At work. The bombing in the city is keeping him busy, she replied.
If only she knew that the bombing was meant to kill him. Everyone thought the suicide bombing was a political statement against the city and the country. Little did they know, it was simply over some street shit.
I’m comin over, he texted.
What time?
Papa John thought how long it would take him to travel to Whitestone from New Jersey and replied, About an hour.
She sent him a smiley face.
It was the ultimate offense, having an affair with his father’s fiancée. But Papa John couldn’t help himself. Dina was different, and his father was lucky to have her—and so was he. Her skin, her smile, the way she wrapped her legs around him when they fucked, and the way she made her pussy contract, it made him come like a geyser. Papa John had to see her tonight.
He went back to the hotel. While he was on his way up, he was met with Devon at the elevators on his way down. Devon looked mentally insane with a cigarette behind his ear, his eyes bloodshot red and cloudy, his lips black, and hair nappy. He looked at Papa John and asked, “Where you been?”
“Outside takin’ a smoke. What’s up?”
“Kid wants us to make our move tomorrow,” Devon said.
