Chapter Fifty-Six

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Angola, LA

A helicopter proudly bearing the seal of Louisiana on its side touched down on the helipad at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. Two of the warden’s staff greeted Randy. He made small talk with the men as they escorted him to the warden’s office for a meeting.

                                                    * * * * *

Panama X sat on his cot inside of Camp F reading over the last page of his memoir. His new cell was only a short walk from the lethal injection chamber and the end of the line. But not for him. That poison dart would never mark his flesh.

The memoir was a story of tragedy detailing the lynching of his father, his brother Duke’s murder, his killing of two policemen in Mississippi, and the assassination of Walter Simmons. It was a tale of transformation that described his conversion to Islam during college, his time in the Army during Vietnam, his discovery of Vodun after defecting, and his return to America as the general of the Black Mob. It detailed his failures and successes as a husband to Juanita, and father to Amir. In it, he confessed his inadequacies and frustrations—chief among them his inability to kill Randy Lafitte during the River Boat bombing. Finally, it was a saga of spiritual awakening during Panama X’s self-imposed exile in prison.

Thinking on his memoir, two words flashed in his mind’s eye—duty and destiny. Behind each word lay a path, and before each stood a woman. His dear Juanita represented the path of duty, while Desiree Deveaux embodied his destiny. The message was clear. He was going to have to choose.

Panama X remembered all Desiree had done for him. She had predicted Duke’s death, Malcolm’s entry into the military, and the journey he would have to take to become the leader of his people. Malcolm strayed from the path she laid out when he chose Juanita, which resulted in the thirty year detour from his destiny. With Lincoln’s release and Randy Lafitte’s inevitable demise, it was time to refocus.

His ears caught a snatch of the radio broadcast from KLSP; the Angola radio station was always playing at low volume from the radio in the corner of his cell. Upon hearing Amir’s name, he turned it up to learn his son had been killed in Lake City. A wave of disorientation crashed over him. Amir, dead? He closed his eye and felt Amir’s spirit painfully ascending onto the spiritual plane. Amir would be damned to wander eternally without a proper burial.

What have I done?

When they formulated their plan to free Lincoln, Panama X knew the risks were high. Still, a father could never prepare for the death of his child.

Is this what you felt, Lafitte? 

The Governor was very close. The baka’s presence was like a locating device. But what was he doing here?

Panama X managed a grim smile. It was destiny.

* * * * *

 Warden George Winey settled into a plush, leather chair opposite his brother-in-law, Randy Lafitte. “So, Randy, what brings you to my little corner of the world on such a bad day?” he asked.

“Did you catch my press conference this morning?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then you know about Malcolm Wright’s new situation.”

“Yes, and I’ve already made the appropriate provisions.”

“Good. That’s real good. What’s not so good is how your men managed to miss Lincoln Baker this morning.”

George winced. “They didn’t miss, Randy. Baker had help.” He reached into his desk and handed over a photo.

The picture showed Snake Roberts carrying Lincoln past the prison gates.

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