Invincible: A Novel Page 6

  “You must not have seen those Adidas commercials,” a young, sassy NA said, adding her two cents. “Impossible is nothing. Kevin Garnett is my baby.” Most everyone laughed at the girl’s comment, but Brenda was at a loss for humor right now. Something about the whole ordeal was sending chills up and down her spine. She never lost anything … not her keys … not even that five pounds to fit back into her favorite jeans. This was way too eerie. Then, all she could think of was: What a God!

  ———

  Meanwhile, Jake was thinking the same thing—what a God—but he also knew that there was a devil, and he had it on his back to prove it. There would be a lot more evil to deal with before this whole situation was over and done with. He turned his head left to face the driver and said, “Thanks for coming to help me, Kim. Somebody might have found out I woke up and come to finish me off.”

  Kim was trying to keep her composure. She couldn’t believe that he was actually out of the coma. He had lost a lot of weight and grown a lot of hair, but here he was. “You don’t look so good, babe, let me take you to another hospital somewhere else.”

  “I can’t take that chance—the police might be looking for me.”

  “Looking for you for what?” Kim wanted to know.

  Jake answered as honestly as he could, “I don’t know. All of my memory of that jail shit hasn’t come back to me yet. I can’t remember what happened to me, not even what I was in jail for.”

  “Well you couldn’t have committed a crime while you were asleep, so you should be fine,” Kim said with a smile.

  Other people knowing what he should know was starting to get to Jake a little. “Tell me what you know,” he half asked and half demanded. “What was I locked up for?”

  “Attempted murder,” she calmly answered, and then went on to explain to Jake how some dudes tried to rob him in their store—my store, he swore she said—and he shot them. She ended the story by telling him that because he was harmed while in the care of the state, the DA showed mercy and exonerated him of all charges. “You’re a free man, J.B. You ain’t got nothing to worry about. You’re safe.”

  Jake’s intuition told him that although he may have been cut loose from the charges, he wasn’t safe. He needed to know who put him in that coma and why. Then he had to return the favor to the person or people responsible. Whoever did it should have killed him, and if they had any idea who they were fucking with they would have. “How were we?” he asked Kim. “I mean … were we on good terms before all of this?”

  Kim answered honestly, “No, but I think we should talk about that at another time. What’s important is that you’re alive”—and she meant that. “But I would like for you to tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “How did you get out of that hospital in such a weak state?”

  Jake looked her in the eyes and gave her an easy smile. “Easy,” he said, “I knew what time the nurse would come check on me so I was hiding behind the door, which is left open at all times. When she ran out the room after not seeing me in the bed I used the wheelchair that’s in the closet to wheel myself to the elevator. The elevators were right next to my room. Once I was in the lobby all I needed was a ride.”

  “And I was the first person you thought of,” she interrupted.

  “Actually I wanted to call Mitch … but yours was the only number I remembered. I’m thankful you came, though. I don’t know who tried to kill me and I don’t want you involved. So I need you to drop me off by Mitch’s crib and he’ll help me get out of dodge for a while. When I’m situated I want to come back and we can discuss a couple of things.”

  Kim wasn’t sure if it was because she felt guilty about what happened to Jake or if it was because she never really fell out of love with him, but what she did know was that she wanted to be with him now. “It doesn’t have to be like that, J.B. I could help you heal, we can leave here and start over somewhere else. You don’t need this shit, baby, ain’t nothing here for us. How could it ever be right for us here? You were given another chance; take advantage of it. We have enough money saved for me and you to keep driving and never come back!”

  Jake was curious, “How much money are you talking about?” He really had no recollection of having any money put away.

  Kim told him that it was at least $600,000. At that moment Jake felt proud of himself for having some stash tucked away, but he was surprised he didn’t remember something like that.

  “Where’s the paper?” he asked.

  When she told him she had it all in her possession he took a long pause, thought about it, and told her to just drive, but he knew in the back of his head, once he remembered everything that happened and he was in good enough shape, he would be back to finish what somebody started.

  “I’m glad to have you back,” she said. He was looking out the window when she said it but turned around after hearing the crack in her voice. When he looked at her there were tears running down her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Before,” she started, “you asked were we on good terms and I told you no. But the truth is we were doing really bad. When I had came to visit you in jail we had actually broken up.” She paused before going on. “And when I was leaving the jail I had wished you dead. Later that day I got news of you getting stabbed and I felt like shit. I still feel that way. I felt like I put negative energy on you. I had to tell you this because I don’t want you to hate me when you start remembering things. I swear I love you, J.B., but you had hurt me. I need you to understand that I was a woman scorned when I left you but now that you’re back I will never let you go again. I prayed to God every day and night that He wake you up, and I swore to myself I would be the best woman to you a man could ever ask for.”

  Jake wanted to believe her. The things she said felt too real to be contrived. Besides, other than Kim, the only people he could remember having any real dealings with were his uncle Mitch and Mary-beth. Oh shit, he thought, I wonder if M.B. came between us, or was it something else? As he was thinking, gunshots rang out, shattering his thoughts and the rear window.

  Kim screamed and was visibly shaken but didn’t lose control of the car. About two car lengths back was a hooded up figure hanging out the passenger side of an old Acura letting a big-ass handgun go—it sounded like at least a .40 cal. Four more shots were sent flying through the air.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Luckily, none of them found their target. Kim cried out, “God, please!” And prayers were indeed answered, but they weren’t Kim’s … they were Jake’s.

  Somehow this life-threatening situation jarred Jake’s memory. Maybe it was because his life was flashing before his eyes, but he could see everything real clear now. As clear as if it was playing on a high-def television screen in slow motion. He remembered the robbery in the store. He remembered going to jail, getting the letter, having a fight, and getting stabbed. He even remembered every face. Then he snapped out of the past and back to the situation at hand. He asked Kim, “Are you hit?” “No,” she said in a low whimpering voice. He looked out the rearview mirror. The gunfire had stopped for now but the car was still behind them. Then Jake saw something he thought he would never be happy to see: two squad cars with blaring sirens.

  Mr. Hoody in the trailing car was unfazed. He came up with another burner—this one long and silver—and let it off at both of the cop cars. It sounded like New Year’s Eve in China. Something about the situation made Kim flip. She knew she wanted her man and herself to live. She yelled for Jake to put his seat belt on.

  Jake was spent; it took a lot out of him just to get out of the hospital, but he wanted to live. He clicked his seat belt just in the nick of time. Kim punched the gas pedal; the car sped up swerving side to side. The one behind them let off a set of shots that sounded like a young drumroll. The shots tore up a parked car. That’s when Kim made the smartest maneuver she could have made by slamming down on the brakes. The trailing car rammed into her rear. It didn�
�t flip like Kim had seen happen on TV, but it was enough to do the trick. The impact caused the shooter to drop his gun out of the window, then Jake heard more sirens. Just when he thought everything was going to be all right he heard: “Freeze. Get your hands up, NOW!” He looked out his passenger-door window and saw that the cops had the trailing car surrounded. He smiled, knowing that he had cheated death once more.

  Jake took his eyes off the police, giving his attention to Kim. “Good driving, babe, you saved our lives.” Then he knew what needed to be done. He had to find out who was trying to kill him. He had to get in contact with his uncle Mitch and Mary-beth. He knew he needed to heal fast and he needed guns, too. He also remembered his nigga Nine-One.

  “Put your hands up.” This time the police were talking to them.

  “We the victims mu’fuckaz; they were shooting at us,” Kim shouted. “Get them guns out of our faces. And before you start with that bullshit about us coming to the station for a statement, I know my rights. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

  The cops actually listened. Less paperwork for them anyway. “Sorry, ma’am, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “Did y’all get them fools that were shooting at us?” Kim asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, they’re cuffed and in the car.” When Jake heard that, he was relieved. Not that they were arrested—he wouldn’t wish jail on his worst enemy—but that he would finally get some answers. This was the break he needed. Bits of his memory started to come back to him—near-death situations have a way of doing that—and he was going to get to the bottom of all this. He just hoped he would be able to heal up quick enough. The doctor said his hand would be fucked up permanently, but for some reason Jake felt a funny tingle in it. Maybe I’m about to get some paper, he thought. The thought made him chuckle a little bit.

  “What’s funny?” Kim asked. “How could you laugh at a time like this?”

  Jake answered, “Sometimes you got to laugh to keep from crying.”

  The police told Kim and Jake that they would have to come to the precinct and give a report. Kim assured them that that wouldn’t be a problem, then explained that she would have to do it alone and in the morning because her man had just got out of the hospital. The police said they understood—just some more black folks getting shot at.

  PURE EVIL

  Phil was standing in front of the bathroom mirror preparing for trial. He was defending the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. If he came out on the winning end it could be the biggest case of his career, and he felt pretty good about a favorable outcome. And why shouldn’t he have high expectations? He was fucking the judge who was presiding over the case and the DA was a very close friend of his. After he pulled this one off, he envisioned himself making about forty mil a year, not including all the perks: vacations, usage of the company jets, yachts, five-star suites, call girls … the possibilities were endless.

  Phil worked hard kissing ass and cutting throats to get to where he was. He had some of the most notorious crime bosses in the world eating out of the palm of his hand, but there was one little chink in his armor, one skeleton in his closet, and he needed to get rid of it. That skeleton was Jake Billings.

  Phil had just gotten the news this morning and he couldn’t believe what he had heard. There was no way Jake was still alive; he had heard of being lucky but this motherfucker had to have cat in his blood. Why was the man so hard to kill? “I should’ve finished him off while he was in that damn coma,” Phil screamed at his reflection in the mirror. It didn’t matter to him that deep down inside he knew he really owed Jake his life. And the funny thing was that Jake was the kind of guy Phil liked; the kind of guy he wouldn’t mind going to a ball game with or just shooting some hoops with. Sure, Phil was a Jew, and Jake was a nigga, Phil thought at times, but they had so much in common. But as quick as those thoughts would arise, they would be overshadowed by this: The nigga has to die. People supposed to walk around life knowing that they owe me a favor, not vice versa. Who the fuck is he? And then there was that thing about Jake fucking his lady. Some how Phil couldn’t get past that part. That and the daily nightmare he would have almost every morning—while he was awake.

  The nightmares started the day after Jake saved Phil’s life, back when Phil was defending Don “Phat” Murphy, who in Phil’s mind had to be one of the sickest bastards God ever decided to put on earth. The best therapy money could buy couldn’t make him feel sane after the whole ordeal. He could barely sleep and felt haunted every time he took a shower or endured any idle time. Not even Phil’s eight-figure salary could ease his pain. He just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened, and in order for that to happen, Jake had to die. Phil convinced himself that that would be the only way to purge himself of the horrible memory. Jake was the link to a very deep, dark, and painful secret. If it got out, Phil felt it would ruin his career and his life.

  A few years back, Phat Murphy and his ten-man organization were picked up on gun-running charges and distribution of heroin on school grounds. Everybody thought it was over for them, including Phat Murphy. Then a friend of his told him about a lawyer named Phil Rosenberg; one of the best Jewish attorneys in town. The friend said he cost a lot, but he gets charges dropped like weight from a fat man on crack. It didn’t take much more convincing than that for Phat Murphy to hire Phil, and sure as shit Phil got Murphy and eight of his boys completely off; the other two took the weight for the rest of the crew. The two that laid down had no priors, which made it easy for the judge to justify giving them only three to six with the possibility of being home in a year and a half with good behavior. The not-guilty verdict sent a sense of power to Phat Murphy’s head so great that only a bullet would stop it.

  Phat began to think he could do anything and get away with it, and he did just that for about three years, with the help of Phil’s counsel. But one day he went too far by deciding to use public school buses to transport his drugs from one side of town to another. He had both students and bus drivers on his payroll. This lowlife stunt lasted about two years before the feds deemed his run was up. When Phil managed to have him raised on a million dollar bail, Phat once again thought he would beat the rap. Phil tried to explain to Murphy the next day during a private meeting that he held no power with the feds. “I’ve been trying to tell you for years that all my power lies with the state,” Phil said. “You’re going to have to serve some time on this one.”

  “I spent over four million with you over the past five years, you better figure something out, bitch!” Phat Murphy was steaming hot by this point. “I gave your Jew ass five hundred gees of mine to put up in case something happened, right?”

  “Yes, you have a retainer with me. And I’ve defended you and your friends relentlessly for years.”

  “Right,” Phat Murphy yelled, ignoring Phil’s argument. “Something just happened you dumb fuck—so get to defending. As a matter of fact,” Phat Murphy spoke in a low, even tone, “I’m not an unreasonable man. I understand that I might have to pay a debt to society, and I’m willing to do that. But if I have to pay so do you. Being that I’ve given you around five mil up to this point, I figure you need to give me about half of that back. You can have the money sent to the same place you got the wire from. You can make the call now.”

  Phil knew that Murphy wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He was in Phat Murphy’s office; they could have him murdered and buried with no one ever being hip to what went down. Knowing he was in a tight spot Phil tried to talk his way out of death’s field of vision. “Before you try anything stupid with me, right, you should know that my secretary and about five other people know I came to see you. And forcing me to wire money is extortion—punishable by a lengthy prison sentence—trust me I’m your lawyer.” Phil managed to muster a slight smile as he haggled for his life. “I said you would have to do some time, but that doesn’t mean forever. I’m sure I can get you thirty-six months—forty-eight tops. I mean damn, Don, the charge you got carries forty years and I’m tel
ling you that you may have to do three or four. No lawyer can promise you better than that. Do you know what it takes to get a federal judge in your pocket?”—No answer—“About ten to fifteen mil, and that type of money isn’t easy to come by.”

  “Speak for your fucking self,” Murphy said. “Stop fucking assuming shit you dumb Jew. I got the money to buy the judge so get to putting the bid in. And for the record,” Phat Murphy added, “I hadn’t planned on killing you or extorting you, I planned on blackmailing you, so make the call!”

  Confused, Phil asked Murphy, “How do you plan on doing that?”

  “I’m just kidding you now.” Murphy laughed. “Earlier I was serious but you have put me at ease so I’m good now. I’ll see you later. Here”—he pointed to a wooden box on his desk—“have a cigar and find your way out.”

  Phil took the cigar, thanked his client, and left the office feeling a little shook up but not scared. He knew big-time gangster types always went around trying to scare people shitless. A few of them were the real deal, but most of them were blowing smoke out their ass, and Don “Phat” Murphy didn’t fit the description of someone who was intimidating or vicious. He wasn’t believable in Phil’s book. Phil had seen too many real gangsters in his time to believe this guy. To reassure himself, Phil thought of some of the reasons he felt made Murphy not so tough. One was the nickname “Phat” when the man was skinny as a rail. And the other? Well, why did all his friends call him Don like he was some kind of boss when his real name was Donald? “What an asshole that kid is,” Phil said to himself as he rode down the highway. “I’m gonna make sure he gets every bit of time that he deserves. Then I’m going to blow that five hundred gees on a new Porsche and a couple of Franck Muller watches.” Phil then wondered what Murphy’s parents looked like; what their nationality was. Murphy was definitely mixed with something or other—a fucking mutt. How dare he fuck with me?