My mouth fell open. Johnny was right; I couldn’t believe the shit that he was telling me. It was something straight out of a horror movie. Now I understood why Kia’s sister had been so sick when we got her. I wondered what they had taken from her. If we hadn’t gotten her out of there, who knows how badly they would have carved her up.
I also now realized why Johnny was so afraid. If what he was saying was true and he had proof, he was a walking dead man. Pop was going to have a fit when he heard this. It was worse than anything that he was probably thinking KD was into.
“Shit, Johnny, do you have any kind of proof?” I asked.
“I do, but if I give it to you . . .”
“I give you my word.”
He reached into his pocket and slid a jump drive across the table, motioning for me to take it. “Guard that with your life.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m taking you to one of our safe houses,” I told him.
When we stepped out of the back room, Johnny insisted on one more drink at the bar. I let him get a shot. The poor guy looked like he needed it after everything he’d just revealed to me. He threw back the shot, and then we headed out the front door.
“That was probably the last drink I’ll have. I just wanted—” Before Johnny could say another word, shots rang out, then the sound of screeching tires.
I ducked down to take cover while trying to see where the commotion was coming from. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t have time to retaliate.
“Shit! Johnny, you a’ight, man?”
When he didn’t answer, I looked over and saw that he’d been shot. I eased over to his body. Blood was seeping through his shirt and onto the pavement where he was lying on his back. I took off my own shirt and placed it on the open wound on his chest.
His eyes met mine, and the last thing he said before closing his eyes one final time was, “You . . . gotta . . . stop . . . KD.”
KD
51
“A’ight, tell me that you’ve got something for me,” I said, walking into Dr. Baker’s office in Building 5. He was sitting at his desk, looking through some folders, while Elizabeth sat at a small table with her laptop.
“Not yet. We’re still working on it.” Elizabeth swiveled around in the chair to face me.
“Well, then work faster. I gotta get this guy Greer what he needs. It’s the difference between steak and hamburger around here, goddammit!” I didn’t usually yell at her, but I’d promised Greer results, and he’d promised me my old life back. “What about the two new girls I got from Peter Lee? They’re Chinks. Can’t we use them?”
“Not all Asian people have the same blood type. And I’m pretty sure Greer’s daughter isn’t Asian,” she lectured. “It’s the same way that all white people or all black people don’t have the same type. It’s about genetic makeup, not race. You know that.”
“Right now, Lizbeth, I don’t know shit other than we need to find another match for this man’s daughter.” I exhaled as I heaved my body into one of the empty chairs. “It looks like I’m just gonna have to figure out a way to get the other one back from LC. And somebody please tell me how the fuck I’m gonna do that.”
I was surely regretting having turned her over to LC. His little million was nothing compared to the money Greer would be willing to pay—not to mention the endorsement he could get me from the President of the United States that would put me back on top. I’d sent Slick to try to get her back, but the Duncans had a shitload of security around them at all times in New York, so I was doubtful he would succeed.
“That’s not going to work either,” Dr. Baker said. “We took so much blood from her in such a short amount of time that her organs aren’t viable to use at this point. Maybe in a couple of months she will be okay, but not now.”
I remembered the pretty girl that was with LC’s grandson. “What about her half-nigger sister? Can we use her?”
“You said she was half black, which means they have different fathers. There’s no guarantee they would be a match,” Elizabeth pointed out.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Baker said. “The probability of finding another match within the next few days is unlikely. I’ve had people taking blood samples from migrants at the border checkpoints for two days.”
“Goddammit, Baker! I’m getting sick and fucking tired of you shooting me down!” I stepped toward him, totally willing to take all my frustration out on his skinny ass. “Stop fucking being so negative and find me a solution! Double the motherfuckers up. Do whatever it takes!”
“Calm down, KD. He’s not being negative. You just don’t want to hear the truth,” Elizabeth snapped, surprising me with her sass.
“Fuck the truth! I need a goddamn donor, Lizbeth. I got a lot riding on this, and so do you.”
She huffed loudly, clearly not happy with me. “The only chance we have is checking the national registry, and there are hardly any people on the living donor database list who match.”
“You said hardly, which means there’s someone up there.” I felt a small glimmer of hope.
She swiveled back around and clicked on her computer. “Well, here’s one in Brooklyn. Roman Johnson, age twenty-six . . . and look at that! He’s black, not Asian.”
I walked over to look at the screen. “You don’t say? I actually have someone taking care of something for me in that area.”
“Well, there’s your donor. He was just added to the database a couple of days ago,” she said.
I turned to Dr.
