Another Man's Treasure (Joey Bada$$ Story)

Part Ventiquattro

It was three hours.

Three long, agonizing hours of sleeping and pondering. I spent every moment going through the motions of being alone with questions. There were millions of them in the room with me, questions about what they could be doing right now or why I didn’t stop them or why it might be a good thing that I let them go. Why was all of this happening, anyway? It was enough to give me a headache and then some, but somehow I managed to remain okay. On-edge every time I heard footsteps walk past the door, but still okay.

And then at last, there were those footsteps. The right ones.

They came back in one piece. The entire crew, all sixteen of them, returned with dark, lazy eyes and dragging feet. They looked exhausted, but still alive.

“Hey,” I said to them. They gave me small waves and plopped themselves down in every corner of the room; on the bed, the floor, on the couch in the corner, on the window ledge. Joey lay beside me on the bed, arms and legs sprawled about him. He closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath.

“So what happened?” I asked him.

“Well, that makes three.” He said, eyes closed. “Three people I’ve killed. Your ex, and his parents.”

“Both of them? You killed both of them?”

“We killed both of them.” He opened his eyes now. “It wasn’t just me. But yeah, both of them. We tried to use your method, to talk to them. We really did try. Papa Edwin was willing to ease up on us, but the mom wasn’t trying to hear it. Apparently, she had really strong ties with Cheddy and wasn’t about to let us out of her sight knowing we’re his enemies. She tried to take our heat. Jab got in a fight with her over his gun, and a bullet accidentally flew and hit the dad.”

I closed my eyes. The news hurt more than Edwin’s death; Mr. Castillo was always good to me.

“The mom was shook after that,” Dessy told me. “She didn’t expect us to kill her husband, and she was trying to process the fact that it was gun. Her guard was down. So I shot her a couple times, and I think Jab did too, and then we dipped.”

No apology. Dessy and Jab were the ones who did the killing - the others were just there to break in, for protection - and they were the only ones who should be feeling guilty. But they looked like the most innocent out of the group. They looked alive and energetic. Of course they weren’t necessarily happy about doing it, but their consciences weren’t kicking in yet.

“Well I’m just glad everyone’s okay,” I said. They did do what I asked: they were careful and came back breathing. That, I suppose, was the most important part.

Kirk suggested that we pray. Everyone stood from their sad, isolated positions and gathered around in a circle - the hotel room was big enough, and we barely covered the spacious bedroom. Kirk led the prayer, then Powers added his own few words of remorse for the Castillos and his plea for forgiveness from the lord, and then we finished it off. Miraculously, the guys looked ten times happier afterward, smiling with each other and making jokes and planning to get food to eat. Most of them left, some going to their own rooms to take a shower and the others going outside for lunch. The ones that stayed in our room were Kirk, CJ, Darius, Dirty, Nyck, and Joey.

“We killed some mobbers, man,” Nyck shook his head, taking a sip from a bottle of water.

“But they weren’t that important to the Mafia.” Dirty said.

“The mom’s brother was one of the heads,” CJ told him. “I think siblings of the leaders count as important.”

“We’ll be okay,” Dirty insisted.