Chapter Sixty-Four

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Chapter Sixty-Four

Ten years earlier

1992

Lake City, LA

Lincoln’s mind was gone and he was glad. He gripped the cop’s gun tighter. There was no time to think. Killing was the only thing that made sense.

Running to the park, his mind’s eye saw everything with the cold calculation of an assassin. The Dirty Skulls stood in a semicircle around half court, shooting across the park at the men Lincoln had seen coming out of the woods. Lincoln veered toward the second group of adolescents he recognized as Scorpions by their black t-shirts.

Then, he saw the children clustered around the jungle gym. Everything started moving faster.

Lincoln hopped the fence and charged across the field as bullets whizzed by his head. He caught a Scorpion by surprise and shot him in the back.

Grabbing the kid’s piece, Lincoln raised both guns and started blasting, cutting down one Scorpion, then two, then three. His left gun jammed so he dove onto the grass to take cover. Then he saw Kris duck down behind a park bench.

One of the Scorpions pointed his gun at Kris. Lincoln took aim and shot the Scorpion in the chest. With kids out here, he couldn’t afford to miss. So he didn’t.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one shooting.

More cops arrived and opened fire on everyone. Helicopters flew overhead.

A bullet grazed Lincoln’s forehead and knocked him off his feet. He landed on top of another gun. Good. He shot at the black t-shirts from the ground. When he ran out of black t-shirts, he shot at cops. He pushed forward, crawling over bodies. He had to make it to Kris and Brandon.

He reached the basketball court, just a few feet away from his friend. Murda and the other Skulls had fallen back to the gymnasium and most of the Scorpions had congregated around the jungle gym. Kris stared at Lincoln and tried to get up, completely unaware of the Scorpion rounding the tree behind him.

As Lincoln aimed at the Scorpion and pulled the trigger, a bullet fired from somewhere behind Lincoln pierced his shoulder, throwing off his aim. Lincoln’s bullet passed through Kris’s midsection, pinning Kris against the tree. The bullet that hit Lincoln spun him around. He locked eyes with a rugged-looking white man with long gray hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a grinning Scorpion moving in to finish Kris off. Lincoln charged across the court, oblivious to the crossfire. He painted the tree trunk grayish-red with the Scorpion’s brain and skull fragments. Kris was gasping for air as Lincoln reached him. Lincoln stared at Kris’s stomach in disbelief. There was so much blood. Kris reached up and pulled Lincoln toward him.

“Shh…don’t talk.” 

Sirens filled the air around them.

Kris smiled and blood dribbled down his chin. His eyes shot up over Lincoln’s shoulder.

Lincoln turned and put a bullet through a Scorpion no older than thirteen. He grabbed the gun from the kid’s hand and looked around. The helicopters were still there, but most of the cops were down, or calling for more backup. Black boys dressed in red and black littered the park. All dead? 

Desperate hands tugged his shirt.

“Isaac?”

Lincoln turned back to his friend and said, “Kris! Stay wit’ me, bruh! Stay wit’ me!”

“Can’t. Hurts. Breathe.”

“I know, Kris. Helps on the way, man. Just hold on. Please.”

“I’m…ready.”

“No you’re not, Kris! You’re not going anywhere.”

“Will…Karen be safe now?”

“Stop talkin’, Kris. You wastin’ too much energy.”

“Melinda…Weeps!”

“Just relax, Kris…you ain’t makin no sense, just relax.”

“Cursed,” Kris gasped. He slumped over.

“Kris?” Lincoln shook him. “Kris!”

Kris stared past Lincoln, past pain, past life.

Something wet caressed Lincoln’s ear. He looked up to see Murda standing over him with blood dripping down his right arm. Another gun blasted and Lincoln was bathed in his gang brother’s blood. Murda fell on top of Lincoln and Kris, the three of them locked in an embrace of death.

Lincoln remembered Brandon. His strength waning, he threw Murda off him and got back to his feet. More cops had arrived. Lincoln grabbed a gun off another dead body and started blasting.

How many dead? He’d lost count. Only the living counted.

He couldn’t locate Brandon, and now there were too many police and not enough Skulls. Lincoln stood at half court, his clip-on tie swung over his shoulder, his powder blue, button down Oxford and khaki Dockers covered with blood. The police surrounded him and ordered him to drop his weapon. Why didn’t they just shoot? 

Kris was right, I am cursed.

Lincoln put the gun in his mouth and squeezed the trigger. Click. Click-click. Click-click-click. Empty—

Then they were on him, beating him with clubs, guns, fists, and feet. He didn’t resist. From the ground, he stared at Kris’s startling blue eyes glaring back at him. As he passed out, he envied Kris. Sometimes death was a gift...

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