As Tone turned the corner, to his surprise the block was flooded with cop cars. A crowd of people, nosy neighbors and a significant number of bystanders, congregated near an alleyway, which was currently taped off by the police. This signaled that this was an active crime scene. Tone didn’t know what was going on, but he was about to find out. Something was messing up his money and he wasn’t happy about it. The police presence was bad for business.
What the fuck happened? he thought while advancing toward the commotion. His pulse quickened as he got close enough to get a glimpse of the body lying on the ground, blanketed by a white sheet.
Who the fuck is that? he wondered. Simultaneously, a young neighborhood girl turned around and spotted him. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes blood shot red from crying.
“Tone...Shorty dead!” she blurted out.
“What?” he responded.
“Sorry for your loss.” she said, walking away stunned. From the look on his face she realized she had said too much.
Tone was in complete denial. He couldn’t believe Shorty was dead. By maneuvering his way through the crowd, he got a better view of the outline of the body. Still he didn’t want to believe it was Shorty. Tone probably could take it better knowing Shorty got shot and survived. But seeing her lifeless body on the cold concrete was too much to bear.
He overheard two junkies talking. “Yo, they shot Shorty? Man, say it ain’t so.....” the man stated in disbelief.
“Yeah yo. Some rotten no-good muthafucka done killed Shorty!” Another cursed. “I hope they gotta special place in hell for that son of a bitch. She ain’t deserve that....”
Just like that, bits and pieces of gossip began to reach Tone. It seemed like one by one people approached him to tell him what went down and whom they thought was responsible for it. However, no one actually saw anything, there were no witnesses. This may have been all assumptions, but Tone already knew who was behind this. There was only one logical answer...Sykes. But the only question was why? Why kill Shorty when it was him who he had a problem with.
It’s all my fault, Tone thought. He felt a sense of guilt that he was alive and Shorty was dead. In his mind it was like Shorty had taken a bullet for him.
Shorty had warned him, but Tone thought it was an exaggeration. He thought Sykes wouldn’t do anything, that he had more bark than bite. Now he realized just how wrong he was.
Tone couldn’t think straight, there were too many people coming over to address him. The police began staring at him. His presence was beginning to draw too much unwanted attention. He had to get away from the area; already he was beginning to feel smothered by the hood expressing their condolences. The sentiments they displayed were coming from a place of love. Still, it was a somber scene. But through the outpouring of affection, Tone saw how beloved Shorty really was.
Tone felt like his world had just been turned upside down. Shorty was Tone’s right hand. She had started off as a complete stranger but had evolved into his most trusted companion. With her help, Tone had built his drug business from the ground up. So surely he owed Shorty a debt of gratitude, at the very least.
Getting the person who did this lay at the forefront of his mind. Seeking revenge was the only thing that could possibly make Tone feel better about this situation. It was the only thing that would satisfy him. On the surface his rage was invisible, yet inwardly a violent storm brewed. At this point, it was wherever and whenever he ran into Sykes, it was on.
It didn’t matter how long it would take, or what it may cost him in time or money, or what toll that the situation may extract from him, it had to be done. Nevertheless, if Tone had taken everything into account beforehand, the price of revenge may have been more than he was willing to pay.
“Yo, Cuzo,” Mann whispered into his ear as he eased up on him. “I was hittin’ you on the hip, you ain’t get my pages?”
Tone didn’t even turn his head, he sensed the familiar presence of his cousin Mann, now standing at his side.
“Nah,” he said flatly.
Mann continued, “Anyway yo, let’s be out! There’s nuttin’ we can do about this shit right now.”
Tone shook his head, “I’m stayin’. I’ma wait til the Coroner come.”
He felt that was the least he could do. He wasn’t too good at saying goodbye and right now he didn’t want to. But merely paying his respects was not enough. Tone was looking for some payback. Right now, Tone was in a dark place.
Mann sympathized with what his cousin was going through. He knew Tone always took death hard, especially when it came to the people he truly loved. Tone and Shorty had a bond that he never could really understand. But what was understood amongst them didn’t have to be explained to him.
He often asked his cousin why was he still dealing with Shorty long after his need for her expertise had gone, after all her fuck ups.
“Shorty taught me everything I know about hustlin’ in Baltimore,” he once told him. “I wouldn’t be where I’m at without her.”
Shorty’s murder really hurt Tone, to him she was one of them. She was a part of his inner circle, so he felt like he had been cheated of a good worker and robbed of a great friend.
After the Coroner van arrived and placed Shorty’s remains in a black body bag, whisking it away to the city morgue to perform an autopsy, Tone collected himself and walked away as the crowd began to disperse. All he kept thinking
