Invincible: A Novel Read online

  ———

  Mary-beth was thinking up a master plan of her own; their daughter, Jocelyn, was almost two years old, and if Mary-beth had anything to do with it, her child’s father was going to live.

  Even though she’d put her old lifestyle behind her, Mary-beth still had love for Jake. Every time she looked at her daughter’s eyes and smile, she thought of him. Many nights she missed her child’s father, the coolest man in the world, the man who had once saved her in the nick of time—her hero.

  What she did for a living before she left the life was a little of everything. If you were a lawyer or a judge and you needed female attention and wanted to get high, Legs was the lady to call. She could find you just the kind of woman you were looking for. If you were a drug dealer and needed a connect on weight, no matter what drug it was, she could find you a plug. If you were a thief and needed a place cased out or wanted the blueprints to somewhere, she could get that done for you. If you were a shooter, Legs would let you know who needed guns for hire. She was like a one-person agency for the underworld: good guys and bad guys alike.

  When she found out she was pregnant, she just up and bounced from the life she was living. She wanted to start over with a clean slate. Money wasn’t a problem. She had more than enough paper to be straight for life. But now things were different; this wasn’t about money. This was about love.

  Mary-beth called her sister Joyce and asked her to hold down her daughter until she got back from what she called her “business trip.” “It’s one that’s going to keep me away for a few weeks,” she told her. She knew Joyce would say yes because every day when they spoke on the phone, Joyce would ask, “When are you gonna bring that li’l angel over?”

  Well, the li’l angel is coming because Mommy has to turn back into the she-devil, Legs thought as she got on her way. Mommy is going to find her man.

  ———

  Mitch was sitting on the phone with the airlines setting up a flight for Nine-One and another flight for Dr. Nebbie, one of his old-school friends who was a natural healer and dealt with alternative medicine. Mitch knew that good ole Neb would want the money and he could get Jake back to good health and movement. He also knew that Jake wasn’t with going back to the hospital so the deal would work out just fine for everybody. Mitch wanted Nine-One there because he needed to get back to town in order to try and get some answers to their many questions. And while he was gone Jake would need someone that he could rely on. Mitch had sensed that he wasn’t exactly trusting Kim; with Nine-One there Jake might feel a little more secure.

  Mitch told Jake the first thing he was going to do when he got back to the city was find out all the information he could about the dudes who were arrested for shooting at his nephew and the police. This would be easy for an old fox like Mitch, all he had to do was keep his ears open while motherfuckers spoke about everything they saw, heard, and thought about as they frequented his gambling spot. It would be especially easy to get the history on the jokers who shot at the police because that type of shit was held in high regard in the hood, sort of looked up to. What Mitch didn’t know was that he wouldn’t even need to keep his ears on alert because his man Monster already had the whole scoop.

  Once Nine-One and Nebbie arrived at the hotel where Jake and Kim were hiding, Mitch prepared to leave. “Kim, it’s probably going to be best if I take your car with me. Whoever is looking to kill Jake probably knows what he was riding in when he left the hospital.” Kim didn’t have a problem with the arrangements. Mitch left his car behind so Nine-One would have something to drive J.B. and Nebbie around in. Mitch hated to part with his Eldorado but it was mandatory for his nephew’s sake. Mitch decided he would park Kim’s car at the airport in long-term parking and get himself a first-class flight back home. Kim’s Beamer was nice but it wasn’t his style. Besides that, the back window was shattered and the rear bumper was scratched up, and Mitch wasn’t into driving around looking hot or fucked up so he was on the next flight smoking.

  FLYING BULLETS

  April 2010

  Mitch’s flight arrived right on time and Monster was waiting for him when he got off the aircraft. “You a’ight, OG?” Monster asked as they walked to where he parked the car he was driving. “Where’s the Eldorado?”

  “Yeah, shit is a’ight. I had to leave the Eldorado with my people: They needed it more than me.”

  Back in the car Monster lit up a freshly rolled blunt and passed Mitch an unopened pint of Henny. “Take a swig of this yak.”

  Mitch put the bottle to his mouth and took a good swallow. The potent cognac slid down his throat. “Whew, she biting.” Monster passed him the blunt.

  “OG, I got some info that you need to know.”

  Mitch took two long pulls of the blunt and stared at his protégé. “What is it?”

  Monster picked up the cognac and took a swig. “I got the word on who tried to kill your peeps—J.B.—and they some serious characters, real foul dudes. They don’t have regards for nothing—women, children—none of that don’t mean shit to them. Motherfuckas so grimy they even do the family pets greasy. They call themselves the 300 Crew. How ever you want to go at them though, I’m riding with you one hundred percent.”

  “That’s peace.” Mitch thanked Monster for his alliance and then said, “I heard of the 300. I thought they were a bunch of young boys who started a little gang; when did they become so notorious?”

  “When they started getting money out the ass and laying mu’fuckaz down like rugs and floor mats. Nobody even knows the real identities of these niggaz. Some say it’s ten niggaz who can’t be touched that run the gang. Some say it’s three quiet dudes who each hustled up a few mil and came to the conclusion that if they got together they could run the city. Some mu’fuckaz say it’s a cop that’s running the shit. Some say it’s a bitch … Truth is no one really knows who call the shots for them niggaz, or how many there are. Niggaz just know their name and their trademark, which is killing shit and supplying weight and committing all types of white-collar crimes.”

  “What the fuck has the streets come to … a bunch of mystery killers and dealers? You know what?” Mitch said in a serious tone. “I think about quitting the business; maybe it’s time for me to move on. When all the smoke clears I might not even be around, know what I’m saying youngblood?”

  “I feel ya, OG.” Monster got in the right lane to exit the highway then asked, “Where are we headed: home or what?”

  “Nah, I got work to do. I have to get to the bottom of who these 300 motherfuckers are.”

  “Where do we get started?” Monster asked.

  “First,” Mitch said, “we need to round up a little team of our own.”

  “So you want me to get hold of some live-ass niggaz that be bussin’ them hammers?”

  “Not at all, youngblood, not at all. What we gonna do is send a few chicks around to survey the land.” Monster sat back and listened as his OG gave him game. “We gon’ send our team of girls out to find out which bitches are buying the most Gucci, Louie, and Prada; who goes to the most expensive beauticians, drives foreign cars, and lives in nice cribs—and tries to stay off the radar at the same time. When we get that info we move on to the next step, young gee.” Mitch had a smile on his face like he had it all figured out. “I betcha I figure out who these 300 motherfuckas are. I never heard of these motherfuckers running shit and no one knows them … some secret society gangsta shit. I ain’t buying it—not on these streets—something gotta give.”

  ———

  Dr. Nebbie was a miracle worker, Nine-One was a lifesaver, and Kim was an angel. After three months, Jake felt like things were looking a little better for him, but it still was eating him up that somebody wanted him dead and he didn’t know who or why.

  The last thing Jake heard from Mitch was that the word on the streets was dudes who tried to kill him when he left the hospital were from a gang called the 300 Crew, which made no sense to Jake. As far as he could remember he got
put in a coma because of the Northside Boys or, at worst, T.M.B. The reason that the whole situation spiraled out of control in the first place was because of the life-threatening letter he received. Why would so many people want him dead? He had been off the streets and running his little store for a minute. He didn’t even own a car; he used Nine-One’s car service. He lived a quiet life with his girl, Kim, in a modest condo. He could think of nothing in his day-to-day life that was a good reason for someone to want to kill him. Who in the hell had written that letter was all that was on his mind when ole Neb interrupted his thoughts.

  “It’s time to exercise,” Nebbie said, handing him a cup of tea made from the nastiest herbs and spices Jake had ever tasted. This was the beginning of Jake’s daily regimen, which consisted of drinking nasty drinks, having ole Neb stretch his body out for about an hour, then doing specific exercises that consisted of focusing on one muscle or joint at a time until Neb felt it was stimulated enough to move on. They were doing at least five different body parts a day.

  Jake told Nebbie what the doctor at the hospital had said about his arm—how it would never work again. Nebbie laughed at the diagnosis and said, “We’ll see.” Then he started mumbling to himself real low in a language Jake had never heard before.

  Jake was a lot more at ease with Kim than he was when they first left the hospital. For starters, she had explained the whole money thing to him. “Only about fifty thousand of the money is mine; the five hundred fifty thou belongs to you,” she said. “I always kept it stashed for you, and I brought it right away because I didn’t want you to think I was a thief. I would have dropped it off at your mom’s house but there would have been too many complications.” Jake kind of knew some of what she was talking about. His memory was far from great but some things were coming to him. He knew Kim no longer fucked with her mom real tough for personal reasons, but their moms always hung out with each other; it was nearly impossible to see one without the other. Kim continued to fill in some blank spots. “I been taking care of our parents’ bills and pocket money for the past couple of years, but I kept receipts”—which were in the bag with the money—“for everything I spent. The only major purchase I made on myself was for the Beamer.” She also said, “We have a joint account that I started with like forty grand in it, and if my memory serves me correctly you have about two hundred grand tied up in real estate somewhere.” She didn’t know the details on that, though, because when Jake made those transactions they weren’t on the best of terms. Jake respected Kim keeping it one hundred.

  And Kim was proud of herself for keeping her own income a secret, even when she was having a soft moment for Jake.

  Nine-One asked Jake if he wanted to go for a ride, but Jake declined. “Not right now,” he said.

  “Come on,” Nine-One coerced. “You need the air and I need the company. I can’t ride with Nebbie—I can never understand what the fuck he’s talking about.” Jake and Kim cracked up when he said that. Nebbie even let out a chuckle followed by a stubby middle finger.

  “Okay,” Jake agreed, “I’ll go, but I don’t want to hear no stories about your country and all that shit you always talking to me about, you fake-ass foreigner.”

  Nine-One smiled because he knew Jake was getting healthy and his mind was starting to remember the past. This was the first time since Nine-One had arrived that Jake had mentioned one of their debates. He thought Jake had forgotten about them, along with a couple of other things.

  Nine-One was Indian and Egyptian, and you couldn’t tell him that both of his races weren’t the smartest people in the world. He was also a firm believer that those countries produced the finest women in the world. One day Jake grew tired of Nine-One complaining about the weather, the food, and the women … in this country, and said, “So why don’t you go back to your own country?”

  Nine-One gave him a wry smile. “This is my country,” he said. “This is where I was born, but trust me I ain’t too proud about it! One of these days I’m going to get a passport and travel abroad and see where I’m from.”

  “You mean to tell me you never even been out the country?”

  “Not yet.” Nine-One grinned.

  “Then why the fuck you run around acting like you know about all these countries all the time?” Jake asked.

  “Because I do,” Nine-One stuck to his guns.

  “How is that?” Jake asked.

  Nine-One paused with a serious expression on his face, then broke into the biggest smile Jake had ever seen and said, “C-N-N, mu’fucka.” He and Jake both busted out laughing.

  “You ready to go?” Nine-One’s voice right in front of him put a halt to Jake’s reminiscing.

  “Yeah, I’m ready. Yo, where can we find a bag of weed around here? I feel like I wanna smoke.”

  “I thought you would never ask,” Nine-One said in a proper tone. “It will be my pleasure to put something in the air.” After they left the house and got in the Eldorado, Nine-One said, “There is something I want to tell you. I know you can’t remember everything and all you’re trying to do is get your memory back, but to tell the truth I don’t think you should go back. I think you should keep moving. I’ve been driving you around for a few years and the money is great but I think it’s time for you to move.” As Nine-One was speaking, Jake started to get butterflies in his stomach and a lump in his throat. He had a feeling he was about to hear something he didn’t want to hear. Nine-One continued, “Before your uncle Mitch called me to come up here, a friend of mine was telling me the story about you waking up from the coma and then the one about you escaping from the shooters after you left the hospital. The word on the street is that they’ve given you a new nickname: Mr. Invincible, which means when you get back home those who want you dead are going to work twice as hard. The word is that the 300 Crew wants your head and they got twenty-five thousand cash for anybody who can give solid info on you. And I’m going to be totally honest with you like I always have—I don’t think your uncle is going to be able to help you.”

  “Why would you come to that conclusion, Nine?”

  Jake was trying to get the back of the car seat upright because it was too far back, and he wanted to hear exactly what Nine-One was going to say, when two bullets came flying through the passenger window and missed him by a hair. Nine-One wasn’t so so lucky. One slug caught Nine-One in the temple and the other slammed into his jaw. Maybe Nine-One had seen it coming because his foot had smashed down on the gas pedal and the Eldorado took off like a jet. Jake’s heart was beating so fast he thought he might go into cardiac arrest. Nine-One was slumped over the wheel but he was a good driver even in death because his hands were locked tight on the wheel and the car pushed straight ahead. Luckily there wasn’t much traffic on the road. Jake lifted his leg and put it over the dead driver’s in an attempt to hit the brakes—it worked.

  All the exercise had done Jake well. After the car came to a screeching halt, Jake threw it in park, grabbed the gun out of Nine-One’s jacket, opened the passenger-side door, and hopped out, ready to shoot in what looked like one motion. His movements were so sudden that even he was shocked. There was no time to pat himself on the back, though; someone was trying to kill him—again. But there wasn’t another soul or moving car in sight; just a bunch of parked cars. Jake held the gun straight out in front of him and spun around looking for someone or something to shoot. There was nothing, just Nine-One dead in the driver’s seat and him standing there dumbfounded. Satisfied that the shooter was no longer around, Jake went to the other side of the car and struggled to move Nine-One from the driver’s seat—then heard it.

  BOOM—shotgun cocking—BOOM!

  The shooter was a half block behind Jake and the car, walking toward him. Where the fuck did this guy come from? Jake wondered.

  The shooter was walking toward him, letting the shottie go with the intensity of a man on a mission. Jake took cover by the front of the car. Nine-One’s gun was a .357 Magnum, which meant it only held six sho
ts and Jake didn’t want to waste any of them. By the way the shotgun slinger was coming toward him, he was either born bulletproof, or had on a vest, or just assumed Jake wasn’t strapped. Jake knew he had to do something quick. Not only was he in danger, but there was a chance that Kim and ole Neb might be, too—if they weren’t already dead.

  The shotgun slinger was tearing Mitch’s car to pieces and Jake could feel him getting closer. Jake ducked underneath the car hoping to get a clear shot at his attacker’s legs. He looked left, right, then straight, but the shooter was no longer there.

  BADUMP! BADUMP! BADUMP!

  Dude was hopping from car to car as if he anticipated what Jake would try to do. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, now he was cutting loose with something automatic. Jake was feeling the wind and the heat ricochet from every bullet that was flying by him. Whomever Jake was dealing with was heavily strapped and obviously experienced in warfare. Unfortunately for Jake the Eldorado was in the middle of the street and his legs weren’t strong enough for running yet. He had just started to walk fairly normal again, but after that the most he could do was a slow jog.