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My mind was still on Vickie and why I didn’t do more to help her. I knew that we should have, but I agreed with Wanda that she wasn’t that far gone that we needed to do something. Now, both of us are beating ourselves up over our decision to do nothing when we should have done something.
Once Nick came out of the room and escorted the ladies out, I took my gun and the silencer out of my pocket because I had already decided that Wilson was gonna die.
“Search the place, Nick. Find me some money.”
While Wilson ran his mouth about how he was gonna come up with the money, I stared at the blow on the table and put the silencer on my gun. I closed my eyes and I could see her face, hear her voice and it made me open my eyes. Thoughts of Vickie hurt: hurt worse than anything that I had ever experienced, and I wanted it to stop.
But I couldn’t. I just sat there in that chair, staring at the table and thinking. My friend is dead, and I feel guilty because sometimes I was so caught up in my own shit to be there for her when she needed me to be. How was it even possible that I’m actually dealing with this shit; because she isn't supposed to be dead.
It made me think that a big part of my life was gone. I had known Vickie since I was eight. And I started thinking about the little things. I remember one day, me and Vickie were waiting for the ice cream truck, so I could get an Italian Icy. That was a big thing for me back then because my mother didn’t always have money to give me for ice cream. But that day, I had money. As soon as he handed it to me, Vickie snatched it out of my hand and started running. And Vickie was fast, faster than all of us kids on the block.
She ran and hesitated, ducked and dodged, bobbed and weaved, talkin’ about, ‘slow poke Mike, never gonna catch me’, and I couldn’t. We used to laugh about that all the time, but that will never happen again. Knowing that she wouldn't be coming to The Late Night anymore to get herself into trouble that I had to get her out of, and thinking that maybe that's a good thing, but knowing that it isn't.
“I found this under the mattress,” Nick said and handed me twenty-grand.
“On the real, Black, I need that money to make this thing happen. Give me ‘til tomorrow, Black. I’ll make it worthwhile for both of you.”
I stood up, raised my gun and fired two shots to Wilson’s head.
Chapter Four
“Why the fuck you do that?” Andre shouted.
I had thought a lot about what I was going to say when he asked me that question. I couldn’t tell him that Wilson went for a gun and I had to kill him, because Wilson never carried a gun. I thought about a lot of other shit I could tell him, but nothing was coming to me until just that second.
“Because I wanted to.” It had the advantage of being the truth. I had no reason to kill Wilson, I just wanted to.
Andre sat there with that scowl on his face; then he shook his head and leaned back. “Did it make you feel any better?”
“No.”
“Go on and get out of here, Mike,” Andre said, and I stood up. “I expect you to carry the rest of Wilson’s load.”
“I know,” I said and walked out of the office knowing that since I killed Wilson, I owed Andre thirty grand and was thinking about a way to cover it. Bobby stood up.
“What he say?”
“I owe him thirty G’s.”
“You got it?”
“Not on me.” I laughed. “Pull thirty grand out your pocket so I can settle this,” I said as we got in the car.
“If I had it, I’d make you take it. He say how long you got?” Bobby asked as he started up the car.
“I didn’t ask and he didn’t say. But he wanted his money from Wilson now.”
“No reason for you to think that now don’t apply to you,” Bobby said and drove off.
“Know what I’m sayin’?”
“One thing’s working in your favor.”
“What’s that?”
“He can’t send you after you, so who’s he gonna send?”
“He could send you.”
