Gently, Sykes placed the hypodermic needle between his teeth as he slapped his arm, looking for the perfect vein to invade. When he found one suitable enough for his purpose, he took hold of the needle, stabbed his flesh, and slowly released the poison into his bloodstream.
Tone studied Sykes’ every movement until he was sure he was completely under the spell of the dope. He saw Sykes’ eyelids begin to droop until they closed as his chin slumped into his chest. Periodically, his head jerked as he began going into a deep nod.
Silently, Tone walked toward the back door. With a sudden burst of fury, he raised his leg and with all the strength he could muster, he exploded in the direction of the flimsy door. Fragments of wood spewed into the air as Tone burst into the kitchen. He stood before Sykes, gun drawn, prepared to settle the score once and for all.
“What’s up now, muthafucka?” Tone said through clenched teeth.
Sykes’ eyes displayed a look of surprise. He didn’t plan on running into Tone, definitely not now. Sykes did the only thing he could do at the moment. He begged for his life.
“New York, it ain’t gotta go down like this,” Sykes stated, with droopy eyes and a slurred voice.
Suddenly, Sykes knew who bailed him out and why. He had been caught slipping.
Tone gave Sykes an evil grimace as he approached. He noticed Sykes’ eyes open wide. There was a flash of fear in them, although his pleas were less than convincing. The fact of the matter was, Sykes was too dangerous to be left alive.
Tone announced, “It’s too late to cop a plea!... This is for Shorty.” Tone winced as he let off a barrage of shots from a nine-millimeter. The first shot caught Sykes directly in the middle of his chest. The impact of the bullet sent him sprawling onto the kitchen floor. Sykes staggered to his knees while one bloody hand clutched his chest. Tone pumped slug after slug into Sykes’ body until the impact of the shots forced him to lay on his back. Then he walked over to his body and dumped at least three more shots into his head and face. When the shooting was done and there were no signs of life left in Sykes’ body, Tone fled, leaving just the scent of gunpowder and blood in his wake. He disappeared into the chilly Baltimore night, assured that his nemesis was dead.
10
Netta violently pushed the thin hospital blanket away from her body. Her subconscious was being rocked by another bad dream. Once again she was in a fight for her life. The blanket represented her attacker’s grasp, which she, by any means necessary, had to free herself from. She struggled long and hard until his grip was broken. But this altercation was far from over. Netta continued flailing her arms in self-defense, but little good did that do. As he rushed her, Netta used her nails to claw at his face until she drew blood.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” Black spat. “I’ma kill you this time, yo!”
Netta knew she had to get away. But unfortunately, nothing that she did could break this death grip.
Her attacker had broken into her home while she was asleep, not to commit rape or burglarize her home. His sole intent was to kill her. Whatever physical resistance she was putting up just wasn’t enough to stop him. It was Black, he had come back to kill her. He had come back to finish the job.
In a last ditch effort, Netta tried to scream as loud as she possibly could. She opened her mouth wide, but nothing came out, not a sound or a syllable. This scared the hell out of her. She began to panic as Black’s large hands clamped down around her throat, slowly crushing her windpipe. A sinister smile spread across his lips as he proceeded to strangle Netta. Her eyes began to bulge out of her head as she desperately clawed at his hands in an effort to break his grip.
Black could have killed her in a multitude of ways, but he wanted to look Netta in the eye. With all the strength that he could muster, he continued applying all the pressure he could, until he succeeded in cutting off all the oxygen to her brain. Everything went black. At that point Netta’s body went limp. Her lifeless form crumpled to the floor with Black’s hands still applying the deadly chokehold.
This wasn’t the first time she had dreamt that her former boyfriend Black tried to kill her. However, this was the first time he had succeeded. Netta usually managed to escape or wake up out of her dream before he completed his task. This time she didn’t, and that was the scary part.
Netta could put up a brave front as if she didn’t fear Black, but her subconscious suggested otherwise.
Slowly, Netta began to awaken from her medically induced coma. The constant beeps from the life support machines in a strange way were soothing. Those noises let her know that she was still alive. In her hospital bed, she lay motionless, unwilling to move, maybe even believing that she couldn’t. For the moment she hadn’t yet opened her eyes, instead she relied on her keen sense of hearing, and it told her that she was in the hospital. She didn’t know how long she had been there or even her medical condition, still she was there.
Ever so gently, she pried her eyes open; they took a few more moments to adjust to the sunlight after being plunged so long in darkness. The bright lighting of the room caused
