Number 57

The patrol car turned right at the corner of 288th street in front of Dek cutting him off just as he stepped off the curb; he dug in his heel making a hard left behind the cruiser crossed the wide Street on the “Walk” signal away from the cops as they now crept down 288th; he didn’t speed up or slow down, keeping cool.

He’d been slowly shuffling his way along for six blocks heading due south straight away from his kill. He didn’t notice the slowly moving squad car coming up McDermott until they were right on his ass; “ah fuck” slipped from his lips as he saw them over his left shoulder. They’d been pacing him almost half the last block cruising along at two miles per hour looking at him and all the other brothers dragging their broken asses down the filthy run down Street; he did his best to blend in “I’m just another nigga walkin down the street” he murmured under his breath. The Street was busy on Friday night; worn out hookers leaned against store fronts in their dirty tight short skirts “Want ta fuck” just wasn’t a turn on when they were charging a hundred bucks a fuck looking like thin skinned bags of bad drugs and deadly disease.

He wasn’t worried much about the patrol car; he’d stuffed the dead guy under a stack of pallets and cardboard. They wouldn’t find the body until at least Monday when the garbage got picked up; what he was worried about is that he was covered in blood. The piece of shit put up quite the fight even though Dek had a gun and the dick didn’t have a damn thing to defend himself with. Dek jammed the gun under the guys nose and pulled the trigger; huge flash, bang that still had his ears ringing, blinded by the flash Dek couldn’t see a damn thing with his eyes full of sparkling lights; the damn dead man took off like a rabbit; what he did get was sprayed by arterial blood like a rain bird sprinkler from the man’s face. Five explosions later from the short barreled .357 revolver the piece of shit was down and bleeding out under the garbage that piled up as he skidded to a dead stop.

Derek Priestley Williams born August 27th 1973; one of the hottest days of the decade brought one more miserable mouth to feed into a family of eight kids and one run down drugged out mother living in a two room apartment that just got posted for razing in two short months. Thelma pushing 325 pounds was one pissed off junky; hotter than hell and another mouth to feed, she was thinking of killing the dick that pumped her up; the additional money the baby would bring her on welfare never covered what it took to feed them; this one would be raised by the street just like all the others.

Derek was run through school just like all inner city kids; no child left behind, nope they all got pushed from one grade up to the next regardless of achievements. Graduating early like all his friends; some called it dropping out but to his group it was graduating early. Derek’s only chance for a job was with the local drug trade. Starting out as a lookout then promoted to low level dealer, finally making it to small infraction enforcer Derek was getting into the money; he’d even paid a few bucks towards some of his mother’s overdue account at the grocers.

Derek made the leap to full enforcer after stepping in front of a bullet meant for the drug boss fired from a passing car; he’d never looked back since.

Waiting across the street until a group of four wandered away from the building entrance Dek stepped out from the shadows and hurried into the apartment building. Running up the three floors of stairs he banged on the door of 312 to be let in.

Door opening a crack then wide “Well looks like you got into the wet work Dek” JT said stepping out of Dek’s way.

“Yeah I’m gonna ask for a raise for this one; my clothes are ruined.” Dek said with a little bravado in his voice.

“Fat chance” JT slammed the door “That guy paid two hundred and that’s what you get. Getting a blood shower is part of the job.”

Dek showing his middle finger kicking the bathroom door closed. “What a fucking douse.” Dek yelled through the door looking in the mirror.

Two minutes in the shower JT was banging on the door yelling “Mac D is on the phone for you fucker get out here!”

“You fix that problem; you get my paperwork?” Mac D growled in Dek’s ear.

“Yeah yeah I fixed it; ummmm… there was no paperwork, ahhh… nothing.” Dek said, eyes closed, skinny body wrapped tight in a dirty towel.

“You sayin nothin, not a thing, no nothin huh?” Mac D’s voice began to rise. “No money, product nothin, that’s what you tellin me Dek?”

“Fucking guy was clean; maybe someone had already jacked him?” Dek said weakly.

“Where he at?” Mac D clearly livid breaking code talk; his voice ice cold and deadly. Mac D repeated every word Dek said to him; snapping his head to the right two of his Lieutenant’s busted out the door heading to the spot Dek had given.

“You fucking lied to him man, you’re dead fucking dead!” JT yelled into Dek’s face.

I gotta go; “He was covered in blood, he shit himself, it was everywhere. I forgot; he was covered in shit!” Dek screamed throwing on clothes as fast as he could. “I’ll beat them there and clean this mess up.”

Sliding around the corner breathing hard, real hard from running the mile and some to the alleyway Dek only hoped he’d gotten there first. Not seeing anyone he crept down slowing keeping far into the shadows; pulling cardboard and then pallets off the body he pushed his hand into the man’s front pocket.

“You lookin for this Dek; the paperwork Mac D told you to get?” Sammy Tower asked and spit in Dek’s face.

Taking a hard side kick to the face Dek rolled up against the grimy ally wall; jamming the 9mm barrel past Dek’s teeth Sammy pulled the trigger; muffled blast, both men looked for prying eyes.

Derek Priestley Williams became Chicago’s 57th homicide of 2016; his murder didn’t even make the evening news or mentioned in the news papers.

From the Ramblings



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