Chapter 59
The Navigator turned right and headed out of town. I couldn't believe how brazen this kidnapping had been, and yet somehow, they'd pulled it off.
'You can't be serious with this,' I said impotently. 'It's never gonna work.'
But something told me it would.
I saw Lionel out of the corner of my eye watching Croc Smith, who hadn't stopped glowering at him. His corpulent jowls were quivering with rage, finally ready to get even for the shooting at the Barn where his brother had died. He was seconds away from dropping us when Curtis started up.
'What's goin' on here?' he said, hysteria creeping into his voice. 'This ain't right, mama.' He was looking at Stacy, pleading with her.
'You best shut your punk-ass mouth, Curtis,' Croc said. 'Ain't about you. You just a pay down. It's about Orlee here.' He glowered at Lionel. 'Yours is finally comin', my brotha.'
Despite his girth, I was surprised that Smith's voice was high-pitched, almost feminine. Even so, he was hard to ignore, holding a MAC-10, still dripping red with Elijah Mustafa's blow-back.
Curtis cranked around further in his seat toward Stacy.
'Mama, whatchu doin'? I thought we was pumpin' fresh.'
'Croc, shut this fool up,' she snapped.
Without warning, Smith backhanded Curtis, knocking him sideways into me.
'This ain't right,' he whined.
I could see dismay and disbelief on his face. It had finally replaced his insolent glare. He couldn't believe Stacy was doing this to him.
'Come on,' pleading now. 'This shit ain't right. I didn't do nothing but what you told me. How come I get caught up in this?'
'You think I'd really cross Lou? I was setting you up, nigga. You and Lionel. Me and Lou played ya. Lotta shit gets settled tonight.'
I looked into her savage blue eyes and I knew she was lying. I had too many pieces of the puzzle, I'd overheard too much on her pager. She was telling a different story to everyone. But I still couldn't see what her game was, so I kept quiet.
Curtis was starting to panic. I looked over at Lionel who had a ghetto dead expression on his face, showing nothing.
'Mama, you can't be doing me this way,' Curtis whined.
'Shut the fuck up, Curtis,' Stacy hissed.
'Mama, your nigga had went to jail when we dropped the Savage Bitch album. When that went platinum, he kept taking his forty percent. The brotha was off doing his bit and still taking his ducats. You the one told me that wasn't right. You the one told me he was holding back my payments and such. Now you throw me under the bus? I don't get this. Whatchu be doin'?'
Stacy discharged one of her shotgun barrels into the back of the Navigator seat where Curtis was sitting. The seat ate up most of the bird shot, but some of the pellets got through and he screamed in pain as half a dozen riddled him. Blood started seeping out of the back of his shirt. I couldn't help but wonder why she had bird shot instead of double buckshot in the weapon. It had probably saved Curtis's life.
'Mama, come on. Mama, don't be doing me this way,' he sputtered.
'Shut up, Curtis,' she yelled. 'I can't listen to no more a your whinin'.'
I looked over at Lionel and saw that while he was as frightened as I was, he wasn't panicked. He caught my eye and raised an eyebrow in a 'can you believe this?' expression.
The car rolled steadily out of Vegas, breaking no laws, moving with the flow of traffic. The Croc stayed hunkered in the well by the door with his gun trained on Curtis who had been finally frightened into silence. Stacy stayed behind us in the back and reloaded the right barrel of her shotgun. This time I saw that she thumbed buckshot into the cut-down 12-gauge, known on the street as a ghetto stick. As we drove down the strip, the smoked windows on the black Navigator gave our kidnappers visual protection. People strolled the sidewalks in groups, going from one casino to another, completely unaware that a few feet away, three people were being held at gunpoint on their way to certain death.
I knew that sooner or later, I had to make a play. Then I looked at the seatback in front of me and spotted Curtis Clark's Floor Score baseball cap that he'd stuffed into that seat pocket before entering the Mandalay Bay. I suddenly realized this was the same car we'd ridden in on the drive from the airport.
I looked over at Lionel. His eyes were still on Crocodile Smith, but he felt my gaze and shot a look in my direction. I glanced down at the floor where I knew David Slade's Beretta AR-70 was wedged under the seat. I made a surreptitious gesture, miming a gun with my index finger, cocking my thumb back and forth. I glanced down again at the floor and then he nodded slightly.
Message received.
One of us had to get to that Beretta before Stacy, Wayne, KZ, or The Croc blew us to shreds.
Ten minutes later we were clear of downtown Vegas and heading up onto U. S. 95. There wasn't much I could do to get ready. Too much depended on geography and circumstances. I'd have to read the layout once we got there and make up my plan on the fly.
I knew it would be a long shot if I ever survived this, so I sat there and tried to prepare to die. I reasoned that if Alexa didn't make it, then at least I would be joining her. I told myself that Chooch could survive on his own now. He had his values in place. I tried to get comfortable with the idea that at least I could go to my death knowing that I had reclaimed myself that I was finally a better person than I had started out to be. I told myself all of this, but underneath the logic, my survival instincts were churning. I just didn't want to die.
As we headed into the desert, I tried to fill in the rest of the pieces that had led to this. I had been right when I guessed Little Poison had just been in the casino as a diversion to send us all running toward the garage. Stacy, KZ, and Wayne had jumped the two FOI security guards who were watching the cars. They had relieved them of their tan hats and radios, then stolen the Navigator and pulled up as we ran out. Mustafa was shot in the chest and looked dead as he fell, so it seemed safe to assume that with him out of action, our FOI backup was trashed. If we were going to survive, it was up to Lionel and me. Curtis might lend a hand, but he looked pretty shaky.
Now we were speeding out of the city into the desert. The moon was high over the highway, glinting off the hood of the Navigator. Wayne continued driving at exactly the correct speed limit, obeying all traffic laws. After we passed a small shopping center Stacy told him to make a right turn. We swung off the highway onto a narrow, two- lane desert road and Insane Wayne slowed the Navigator so he wouldn't overdrive the headlights.
We continued on for almost fifteen minutes, then lights flashed ahead of us in the dark, and Stacy motioned with her shotgun.
'Out there,' she said. 'See 'em? That's Lou. He's gonna follow us to the spot where I had the graves dug.'
'Got it,' Wayne said.
The SUV slowed and a black, four-wheel-drive Humvee pulled out and followed close behind us along the highway, its headlights illuminating the back of our heads.
After traveling for another ten minutes, Stacy pointed to a small desert road.
'Out there,' she said.
Wayne turned the Navigator, and the Hummer followed. After about a mile the road ended and Stacy directed us to a spot in the desert where our headlights picked up three freshly dug graves.
Two armed Crips wearing blue do rags were waiting, still holding shovels. Their Hertz rental was parked a few feet away with its high beams illuminating the scene. We pulled to a stop and Smith opened the side door. When Lionel and I climbed out I saw Lou Maluga exit the Humvee holding his big Desert Eagle.
Curtis didn't want to leave the Navigator.
'This ain't my doin'' he said to The Croc, who was trying to get him out of the car. 'That shit at the Barn didn't have nothin' t'do with me, brotha. I'm just a singer, man. I don't put no smack down.'
