One Blood

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Something is wrong.

“I need you to get dressed, Mrs. Lafitte. Something has happened and I need to get you out of here.”

Coral knew the routine and went into the bathroom to grab her things. The morning newspaper sat on top of the toilet. She read the headline on the front page in disbelief.

“Lincoln Baker Granted Full Pardon.”

What the hell is going on?

Five minutes later, she was dressed and heading out the front door with Larry behind her.

* * * * *

Angola, LA

 

The clamor outside Angola grew. Panama X listened intently. The volume of the screams indicated they were getting a first glimpse of their villain. But Panama X knew who the real villain was, and soon the public would, too. He waited patiently for the phone to ring down the hall, the signal that Lincoln was clear.

The phone finally rang. Panama X stood and walked to the bars. A guard picked up the phone and nodded in Panama X’s direction. Panama X smiled from ear to ear.

* * * * *

Angola, LA

 

Moses got out of the SUV and began the walk toward the penitentiary gates. Even though it had been years since his incarceration, the sight of the gates still brought on an intense loathing. The one benefit of his twelve-year stay, however, was that he still had allies on the inside who owed him favors. He was counting on them to get him access to Malcolm. The thought of acting the part of a prisoner, even for a cause as righteous as this, made him queasy. Nonetheless, he had no other choice. Lincoln’s life depended on it.

Moses took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd gathered around the prison opening.

What’s this protest all about?

Then he saw his adopted son emerge from the security gate.

What is going on here?

 

 

* * * * *

Angola, LA

 

Lincoln took his first steps toward freedom. He felt very exposed standing alone outside the security entrance. Armed guards had cleared a path for him to walk through the crowd of people behind the gate, but once he was outside, he would have no such protection from the angry mob. He’d received more hate mail and death threats than any other prisoner in Angola.

Sweat bloomed on his skin. Lincoln noticed the line of reporters waiting for their chance to speak to him. Cameras would once again project his face all over newspapers and television sets across the fifty states. He felt like he had hungry piranhas swimming around in the pit of his stomach.

“Did you think you were just gonna walk out of here?”

Lincoln couldn’t find one friendly face amidst the hoards of people spitting and cursing at him. They had to be the families of the police officers and children killed during the Simmons Park Massacre. Lincoln’s sweat flowed freely. Head held high, he stared into the sea of hate-filled faces. Hopefully Amir was having better luck.

* * * * *

Lake City, LA

 

Amir noticed movement on one of the security monitors before him. Was that a man crouching in the bushes before the gate?

“Yo, Moose,” he ordered. “Go check out the perimeter.”

Amir squinted at the monitor. He did not need any more surprises—it was bad enough that they’d lost the girl. He glanced at his watch—8:05 a.m. Good. Lincoln should be free by now.

Amir’s cell phone vibrated on his hip. His calm evaporated when he read the truncated text: “Somebody followed us…”

Amir spun around to look at the monitors. Moose was at the front gate, on his back, with his hands covering his throat in a choking gesture. Spouts of what looked like oil spurted between his locked fingers. Four men stepped over Moose’s body and scaled the gate.

Amir’s eyes opened wide as he yelled, “Ambush!”