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  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “He’ll probably get a reduced sentence.”

  “Then what?”

  “He’s probably going to get killed before then.”

  “I don’t know why I feel scared for him. He tried to kill us.”

  “Because you loved him once—“

  “But I love you, Jim.”

  “I know you do, but you and Steve will always share a bond despite not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.”

  “So how do you think he’s going to be killed?”

  “I don’t know how, but I know why.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  Business in Chicago

  Chapter 11

  “Don, I have some important information for you.”

  “Bones, I can’t talk right now. Why don’t you meet me at my diner where I normally sit?”

  “What time?”

  “Meet me in an hour.”

  ###

  “I’m here to see, Don.”

  Bones absorbed a hard punch to his stomach as two men grabbed him by his arms and carried him to Don’s table. The workers closed the blinds, flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED, and pulled down the shade. Not a ray of sunshine was left in the restaurant.

  “Don, tell these guys I’m a friend of yours.”

  “No friend of mine murders my men in cold blood.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You pulled the heist,” Don shouted. “All my captains are dead. Their money? Gone. My warehouse men, dead. My shipment, gone. You were double crossing me the entire time, weren’t you? You son of a bitch.”

  “No, it was Jim,” Bones ratted. “Jim set everything up.”

  Frank’s voice boomed from the adjacent hallway leading to the bathroom, “Don, I told you this fucking prick was going to lie about it. This fuck blames it on Jim of all people. That’s classic, blaming a coward who’s been out of town for almost two years.”

  “Frank you were involved, too. You unloaded the trucks.”

  “This, my friends, is what a bitch sounds like when she’s on her deathbed.”

  “Why are you lying on me?” Bones asked, hyperventilating “Frank, you know that you Jim and Steve were the ones who pulled that heist.”

  Frank delivered a hard punch to Bones’ face. “Shut the up, you fucking child molester.” Steve revealed himself; he walked in from the kitchen with a fork and a knife.

  Bones turned silent.

  “Yes Bones, I know you were the one who raped my daughter, you fucking pervert,” Frank said. “The reason I haven’t killed you is because you’ve been hiding from me, you little fuck.”

  “So you like to fuck little girls in your spare time, eh?” Don asked.

  Tears rolled down Bones’ eyes, “No.”

  Don circled around Bones and gave him a cold stare. “Then why did you molest Frank’s daughter?”

  “I didn’t—“

  “Don’t fucking lie to me Bones,” Don shouted, spitting in his face. “I have a daughter. Do you know how angry it makes me that scum like you is still breathing?”

  “Sit him down and handcuff him,” Don instructed.

  Don approached Bones and got close enough to his face for their noses to almost touch. “Bones, one thing I can’t stand is a child molester. To be in the presence of one makes me sick to my stomach, and for you to double cross me and think I wouldn’t find out is gross and insulting. If it were up to me, I’d kill you myself, but I’m a father and I promised Frank that I’d let him deal with you himself.”

  “But since I’m a nice guy,” Frank said, “I’m going to let Don in on the action.”

  “Uncuff him, and hold his left hand on the table,” Don said.

  “So you lied to me all this time?” Steve asked. “Stole the shipment that I had as a gift to Don, raped Frank’s daughter, and now you’re pinning your heist on me. I should have known something was up when you told me that you were going to own the South Side. I remember when you told me that you thought that Don was way past his prime and that you were going to steal Bridgeport from him. That’s what you told me in that elevator at that hospital, the same day you tried to make a deal with Frank to get rid of me.”

  Bones let out a loud scream as Steve jammed the knife through Bones’ hand, nailing it to the table. Don revealed a hunting knife. “You know what they do to people who steal and double-cross in other countries? I’ll give you a clue.”

  Don sliced his left finger off. Bones screamed in agony and the blood gushed from the spot where his finger used to be. Don did the same with the middle finger, then the ring finger, the pinky, and finally his thumb. Despite the bloody mess, Don took great pleasure in amputating all the fingers on his left hand. He repeated the same process on his right hand. Frank unwrapped a 9-inch dildo from its box and jammed it in Bones’ mouth. He finished him off with a mallet, knocking the dildo further into his mouth until Bones choked on it. Frank broke his eye-socket for overkill and walked away. Steve prepared to take dinner home to Jessica.

  “Frank,” Don called out.

  He turned around.

  “Keep in touch.”

  Four Years Later

  Chapter 12

  James pointed a gun at Jim’s head. Carla lay next to Jim, afraid for her life. “I need you to tell me the truth, and I need you to do it now.”

  “Put the gun down,” Jim said, “and I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

  “No, I’m gonna keep it where it’s at.”

  “Please put the gun down,” Carla begged.

  “This a conversation between me and Jim.”

  “Carla, it’s okay. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  The morning sun shined through the bedroom window pane, shining directly on James’ face. Jim could visually see his life flashing before his eyes, only that it was the beaming sun that was more fitting for a Saturday morning of waffles, turkey sausage links and orange juice. Instead, the possibility of death stared him in the face; both James’s teary eyes and the barrel of Jim’s glock.

  “Did you kill my brother that night?”

  “What night?”

  “Don’t lie to me. Did you kill my brother?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you have his watch in your jewelry chest.”

  Carla cut in, “Because we found him dead in Jessica’s house.”

  “Carla, what the fuck you—“

  “Jim, he’s got a gun to your head and he deserves to know what happened,” Carla shouted.

  James lowered the gun to his side and started crying.

  Jim carefully tossed the covers to the side and sat straight up in the bed with his feet now flat on the ground facing James. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “I deserved to know, Jim,” James said.

  “And you need to keep your ass out of the penitentiary. Don’t you see what happened to Steve? He went to jail for some dumb shit that he should have avoided.”

  “The only good that came from that is that I was able to divorce him while he was doing time. This enabled us to get married,” Carla interjected.

  “Who killed my brother?”

  Jim stood up to face him. “James, don’t—“

  “Jim, I love you like my father, but I’m only gonna ask you one more time. Who killed Chuck?”

  “Steve.”

  “What?”

  Tears streamed down Jim’s face as he recalled what happened. “He killed him and ate the flesh off his body.”

  James cried as he processed what Jim told him. “I’m gonna go to Chicago and I’m gonna kill that motherfucker tonight.”

  “That’s not the answer, James.”

  “It’s the only answer,” he shouted.

  Jim caught James off-guard and kicked the hand that held the weapon. James dropped the gun as Jim’s foot jammed his hand.
He hopped around as the pain throbbed in his foot. James pushed him into the wall and charged forward. Jim fell to his knees, grabbed James’ legs and wrestled him to the ground.

  “You unappreciative fuck, as much as I’ve done for you. I should kill you right now.” They fought for a few more moments before Carla stood over them with the glock.

  “Boys, it’s time to shake hands and make up.”

  “He just pulled a fucking gun on me,” Jim said. “I’ve been taking care of this motherfucker for the past four years and he pulls a fucking gun on me.”

  “You only did it out of guilt.”

  “That’s not true and you know it,” he shouted.

  “I know that was my reason, Jim, and deep down inside, it was your reason, too.”

  Tears rolled down Jim’s eyes.

  “Is it true? Is this why you assumed guardianship and moved me all the way down to Arizona?”

  “That was one reason. Another reason is that if you had kept running with that 59th Street Gang, you would either be dead or in jail.”

  “I would have rather stayed.”

  “You’re full of shit. You know you like high school and college down here a lot better.”

  “Yeah, but none of that replaces Chuck.”

  “Chuck was going to be killed sooner or later.”

  “I remember when you told me that. I didn’t know that it would actually happen.”

  The three of them shared an awkward silence.

  What do we do from here?” Jim asked.

  “I want to kill that motherfucker.”

  “We can’t.”

  “But I can.”

  “Haven’t you learned anything from me?”

  “Yeah Jim, your MO is to always avoid violence. That’s how Steve took your other bitch away from you.”

  Jim punched him, and then straddled him. “Don’t you refer to her or any other woman as a bitch in my presence.“

  “Jim,” Carla shouted.

  “Carla, he needs to hear this.”

  “You don’t need to beat him to say what you have to say.”

  He turned back to James. “As I was saying, Steve didn’t take her from me. There’s no such thing as taking a human being away from someone else. That’s something you’ll better understand as you get older.”

  “Jim, I’m going to kill him.”

  “I understand, but don’t do so in my name. I’m not involved in that kind of business anymore,” he shouted.

  “You’re a fucking coward.”

  “And you’re going to be a dead motherfucker if you don’t get your mind right.”

  Carla anxiously tried to break the tension with some sense of normalcy. “Guys, let’s have breakfast first.”

  “No, I don’t want this fucking thug in the presence of my children.”

  “Jim, stop it.”

  He looked at his wife. “I guess he isn’t the only thing that I should have left in Chicago.”

  Chapter 13

  The entire family made an attempt to enjoy breakfast in the dining area overlooking the community swimming pool. Every member of their household sat at the dining room table awaiting breakfast, with Carla being the exception. She cooked and prepared the meals in the adjacent kitchen, her favorite room in the house. Unlike the house that she shared with her ex-husband Steve, this kitchen was equipped with hardwood floors, granite countertops, a stainless steel refrigerator and matching stove. She beamed with prided every time she cooked in her state of the art kitchen.

  The family appeared as if they were having their routine breakfast. Their son Jim Jr. requested turkey bacon, turkey sausage, toast and grits as he patterned his favorite meal after his father’s. Their one-year-old daughter Jaime had half a waffle, two strawberries and whipped cream. James only wanted a sandwich, and Jim wanted his usual breakfast with a piece of mind. This meal would be anything but normal.

  Carla prepared the children’s meals first; a departure from her usual routine where she would always prepare Jim’s food first. He noticed, but chose not to object. Then James got his sandwich, and Jim finally got his meal: burnt toast, cold instant oatmeal, and a tube of yogurt.

  Before he could raise an objection, James got up to get some orange juice. James’ phone vibrated. Jim took the phone and read the text message. It was from Jessica. He slid the phone in his blue jeans pocket. James came back to the table as everyone started to eat breakfast. Carla prepared a wonderful breakfast for everyone –except Jim of course—but the meal was overshadowed by an awkward silence. The tension reached its boiling point ten minutes later.

  Jim held the cell phone in his hand. “Why is Jessica texting you?”

  “Gimmie, my motherfucking phone.”

  Jim delivered a hard slap to James face. “Motherfucker, you ain’t running shit in my house. Carla and I are the only motherfuckers who get to cuss in this motherfucker. Now why is Jessica contacting you? How did she get your cell phone number?”

  “Jim,” Carla shouted as the young children began crying.

  James looked down at the floor then launched a sucker punch. Jim dodged and landed a right cross to his face followed by a left hook. He then unleashed a flurry of punches on James for which his target had no answer for. James tried to overpower Jim by charging into him, but Jim sidestepped, then grabbed James and used his momentum against him and threw him against the refrigerator. Jim unleashed more punches before Carla pushed Jim off James. Seeing an opportunity, James pushed Carla out of his way before throwing a wild punch toward Jim’s face. His punch connected, with the hard tile floor. James yelled in pain.

  “Stop it,” she shouted. “Junior and Jaime are crying because of you.”

  “Whose side are you actually on?

  “How dare you ask that question?”

  “I think it’s a fair question,” Jim said. “All morning you’ve been riding my ass like a bull at the rodeo.”

  “I refuse to have this conversation in front of the kids.”

  Jim picked up the bowl of cold oatmeal and heaved it. “Then I refuse to eat this shit that you call breakfast.” Chunks of oatmeal smeared against the cherry wood cabinets.

  “I’m done with your unappreciative ass.”

  “Then do what you gotta do.”

  James was still on the floor favoring his hand. He said, “I think I gotta go to the hospital. I can’t move my hand.”

  “Quit crying like a little bitch and get the fuck up,” Jim shouted.

  “Jim, stop it,” Carla shouted.

  “Fuck you and him.”

  “Jim, we don’t have time for you to be such an asshole,” she shouted. “He’s really hurt. We gotta take him to the hospital.”

  “You take him to the hospital. I’m done with both of you.”

  “Jim, you’re the one who vouched for him to stay with us. If anyone should drive it should be you.”

  “Fine, I’ll drive.” Jim kicked James’s leg. “Get the fuck up.”

  “I’ll help James. Jim, you get the kids in the car.”

  “Why are you going?”

  Carla looked toward James and his swelling hand. “Do you really need to ask?”

  “Never mind.”

  Chapter 14

  Jim parked the SUV in front of the emergency room entrance to let everyone out before finding a place to park. Instead of getting the children out of the car, Carla suggested that he wait at the entrance until she got James checked in with the nurse. Two minutes later, she came out the hospital and walked to Jim’s driver side door. “Can I trust you not to kill the boy?”

  “Sure you can.”

  “I’m asking because I don’t think the kids should be in the waiting room with all those sick people.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jim, I’m going to leave you here with James and trust that you won’t hurt him more than you have already. Can I trust you?”

  “Isn’t marriage based on trust?”


  “What are we going to do with James?”

  “I don’t know.” Jim pondered. “I just thought that bringing him here in a new environment would change his perspective on life, but he is who he is.”

  “Jim, I admire you for wanting to take on that responsibility, but not everyone can be saved.”

  “Yeah, I see.”

  Jim stepped out of the vehicle, hugged and kissed his wife. “I love you, Carla.”

  “I love you, too.” Carla closed the door and drove away.

  Jim continued to look at the SUV as it drove down a narrow strip of road and out of the parking lot. He grabbed his temple with his thumb and middle finger and brought them together to rub his eyes in the process. Jim took a deep breath and went inside the emergency room where he saw a calmer James in contrast to the version he saw earlier that morning. He reached in his pocket; he still had James’ phone. His thumb navigated the menu as he reread Jessica’s text message. James looked toward him, but did not appear to be interested in another battle. Jim felt talkative.

  “Hey, what the nurse say?”

  “Someone will be out to look at my hand.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I hope this don’t cost me my season.” James said, referring to his safety spot on the University of Arizona Wildcats football team. “We already began our spring scrimmages.”

  “You’ll be fine, you’re out there hitting people, not throwing the ball.”

  “I play both quarterback and safety, remember?”

  “Yeah, I do, but you’re really a safety.”

  “No, I’m a dual threat.”

  “Let’s see what the NFL scouts say in two years.”

  “I’m gonna tell you what they gonna say.” James paused. “James Dixon is the best quarterback in the country. I’m going #1 overall in the NFL draft.”

  “Not if you’re doing stupid shit like this.”

  “Coach is going to kill me. He probably gonna sit me 2nd string behind that big lanky motherfucker from Nebraska.”

  “Joe Cornhusker?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Dude was a stud in high school, I saw him play a few times on the feature ESPN high school games.”

  “You saw him in person, too, remember?”