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“I swear to you, whoever you are, if you place another hand on my father or my mother, I will find you and I will kill you. Do you know who I am?” Maserati Meek yelled through a tightened jaw.
The phone went dead. Meek feared the worst, and panic set in. He had lost his temper. He had no way in calling the number back. He gripped the cell phone so tightly it was ready to break in half. Then, it rang again. It had to be Ghost calling back.
Meek answered the phone right away and instantly heard his father’s screaming in the background. It was an agonizing shriek that made Maserati Meek boil with rage. He felt helpless. There wasn’t anything he could do at the moment. He had no idea where his parents were, or who was holding them captive.
“Shall we start again?” Ghost said smugly.
The screaming in the background stopped.
Ghost continued with, “First, we know everything about you; it’s the reason I’m asking for three million dollars. I know you can afford it. You have two days. I’ll call you an hour before you make the drop to give you the location. And if you try anything, you already know the gravity of the situation. Your mother is a very beautiful woman, and she might end up pregnant with your little brother or sister.”
The call ended. Meek started to shed tears. He envisioned his mother being raped by these animals, and it was a heart-wrenching thought. So many wild images ran through his mind. He huffed. He dropped to his knees and started to pray to Allah for his parents’ safe return to him. He believed that all of his enemies were dead, so who would dare come after him? This caller, he was firm and unwavering, and he cared nothing about his threats. The voice was cloaked by a machine, so there was no telling who it was.
He would pay the three million dollars because his parents were needed alive, especially his father. Shahib Abu Mudada was a major player in their cause. He was needed. To lose his father would bring about a huge setback to Al-Queda.
Maserati Meek would be willing to spend another five million to hunt this man named Ghost down to the ends of the earth. The money meant nothing to him. Once he had his revenge on the people who had taken his parents, he would go back to making millions in the drug game.
Ghost. This man named Ghost would be his main priority. He and his men abandoned the Westchester residence, destroying everything inside and setting the place ablaze. It was habitual for them. If the feds did come to the address, they didn’t want anything traced back to them—no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing! And the place had been contaminated. This man named Ghost had been able to track him there, and it spooked Maserati Meek.
Meek climbed into the backseat of a black Escalade and it drove off, nearing the city. He would put together the three million dollars for Ghost. It had been three hours since the phone call. He had two days to plot his revenge on this man. The things Meek wanted to do to the people who had kidnapped his parents and violated his mother—it would be extreme pain and agony. He would have no mercy for any of them.
His suicide bombers were ready to counter with extreme violence in the name of Allah, and for Shahib Abu Mudada. They were ready to blow up half the city if necessary—no one and nowhere was safe.
Not only did Maserati Meek reach out to his Egyptian brothers, he also rou
nded up his old drug crew and acquired some new shooters on deck. They all came with a hefty price. He spared no expenses. Nearly thirty armed and dangerous men were at the ready to implement severe and deadly violence on the people who had kidnapped his parents.
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The Kid had no doubt that Maserati Meek would pay the ransom for his parents soon. He could hear the desperation in Meek’s voice, and it was a pleasure to hear him squirm and quiver, knowing that he was in no position to negotiate. It was the sweetest revenge.
Three million dollars was a lot of money, and once The Kid had it in his possession, he didn’t see himself staying in New York for too long. There were memories, good and bad, but he felt that it was time to go. He wanted to travel far away—no place in his mind yet, but he wanted to live somewhere where he didn’t have to pretend to be handicapped anymore. He wanted to walk freely and live his life peacefully with his money. He didn’t want to live a lie anymore.
He made his way back to his New Rochelle residence alone. He’d sent Eshon to stay with a friend for the night, and he welcomed the brief solitude. He pulled into the driveway to seclude himself from any nosy neighbors and made his way inside the house through the back door, pushing his own wheelchair.
Inside the house, he walked freely, packing everything he needed to take with him, including a small arsenal. He paused on a picture of himself and Kip in the park on a sunny summer day. It was taken when they were young, maybe adolescents. He and Kip had the biggest smiles on their faces. Kip had always had his back, and now Kid felt he needed to have his brother’s back, though he was dead. He was determined to make Maserati Meek pay for killing his brother. Kip was the only family he had, and in the blink of an eye, it was taken away from him.
Kid went into the bathroom and took a shower. He wiped the fog from the mirror and took a long look at himself. He saw a natural-born killer, and he saw a man who was alone. He saw a man who had been angry for many years, hiding his anger from being in a wheelchair for so long, and then he released it by doing gruesome murders.
They never saw him coming. He was that good at killing people. For a long time, he worked alone. He tightened his fingers into a fist and banged it against the sink countertop. An impulsive rage struck him. He thought about Jessica. He thought about love. He had never had what Kip and Eshon had. He wanted to feel that same love. But the girls always looked at him as a cripple when he hadn’t been one for quite a few years. Pretending to be one had had its effect on him. At that very moment, with Kip dead and gone, he realized that all his anger, rage, inadequate feelings were his own fault. He created his own prison to keep his brother close and now resented the time he spent in it.
Chess and video games were his outlet, but The Kid craved something more. His body needed the affection, and he thought about the time he caught a glimpse of Eshon’s naked frame in the bathroom. She didn’t shy away so suddenly, but she made it clear to him that he would only be a friend to her. They had grown very close, but only as friends. And would it be right, anyway, to have an interest in his brother’s girl?
Then The Kid thought about her—Jackie. She was beautiful and smart, and she felt special. The Kid was able to smile when he thought about her attitude and her beauty. Seared into his memory were her high cheekbones and her long lashes, and her long black hair and her ebony skin. She was dressed like a peasant, but she had the beauty of royalty.
He wanted to see her again. Once he got the payment from Meek, he didn’t know where the wind might take him.
Kid had the impulse to walk to the YMCA and astonish everyone there, but it would be foolish. He had to continue his ruse. He got dressed and pressed his behind down into the wheelchair once again, rolled himself out of the house via the wheelchair ramp, and headed toward the Y. He had no idea if Jackie would be there or not, but he would look for her.
Two hours went by, and The Kid found himself engrossed in several games of chess. He’d won eight games so far, and the competition was growing tiresome. Every so often he would glance around to see if Jackie was in the building, but there was no sight of her. He started to give up, feeling it was a one-time thing. He wouldn’t see her again.
Another hour went by; he’d won his umpteenth game. He made a little money on the side—nothing much, but it was fun. After his last match, he was ready to leave. He was about to push himself away from the table when he all of a sudden heard her say, “You came back for another ass-whooping?”
He turned to see Jackie looking at him, unsmiling.
“I came for my rematch and to see you again. I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.
“I don’t know why. I’m nobody special.”
