Chapter 1
Noah
A young man said to his libido-driven wife:
"What should we do, darling? Eat or have sex?"
And she replied: "You can choose, but there's no food in the house."
–Philogelos (The Laughter Lover)
Which one of my friends will die tonight?
I rested my hand on the table and glared at them. “No one kills anyone without my permission.”
My cufflinks sparkled in the empty nightclub’s lighting. The blue diamonds were the only thing shining on me. My ex-fuck toy Butterfly had bought them. Said the cufflinks were ice cold and blue like my eyes. A cold bitch in her own right, she’d spent her lifetime trying to warm me. But even a beautifully-formed block of ice could never heat a glacier.
Which one of my friends takes their last breath? Domingo? Rasheed? Do I kill them both?
The rest of me stayed dark—black suit, shirt, and tie. All shades of midnight like my hair and the gun that lay on the table in front of me.
What else can I do? They have to die. They’ve killed kids. Fuck you, God.
For the murder of one of my friends, I’d closed down my club Surrender for the night and invited Domingo and Rasheed over. Only a few silver lamps lit the empty tables around us, casting an eerie darkness over the place. This was the quietest the club had ever been. No singer performed on the big stage in front of us and no one manned the bar.
A haunting coldness chilled the air.
I love them both. This is the way of the streets, but. . .fuck you, God.
Rasheed shifted in his chair.
Beads of sweat formed on Domingo’s head. “Are you opening up Surrender tonight?”
Sitting between both of them, I said nothing.
Think, Noah. Which one can you lose?
Domingo wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “Noah, what do you want to talk about?”
Silence.
“Usually, it’s packed in here.” Domingo let out a nervous laugh. “Where’s everyone? You closed down so you wouldn’t have witnesses, right?”
I kept the serious expression on my face.
“It’s Friday night.” Domingo’s voice came out shaky. “The place should be popping.”
My nightclub had been an indie theater once—performing edgy, contemporary plays, but never gaining a strong following. I’d bought the place and gave it a million-dollar facelift. I added a three-bedroom loft on the second floor and turned the ground level into an adult funhouse. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings and sparkled with crystals. Fine leather covered the booth seats and chairs. The bar had been voted the best on the East Coast, employed with the top mixologist in the country. I’d renovated the basement into a private strip club for my most loyal soldiers and made the whole million back after a year in business. None of it mattered. I didn’t need the club to make money. My paper flowed from the streets.
But tonight, silence and death moved through the club.
Why did they make me do this?
My heart ached as I traced my finger against the trigger, but didn’t pick up the gun. “A rule has been broken.”
Who should I choose? Who can I lose? Which death would give me less nightmares?
Domingo on my right. Rasheed on my left.
Usually, I didn’t bother with small beefs between them, but too much blood had been shed on my streets. The bribes no longer satisfied the police. The neighborhoods seared hot and ready to boil over. There seemed to be no solution in sight. No peace.
Now, I had to step in. “Twenty of my soldiers have died in total, coming from the North and South. And there’s been no safe place for any of my people. They’re even dying in the beds of brothels.”
Both men stirred in their seats.
“You two run those territories. The North and South.” I loosened my tie and hoped I wouldn’t get blood on my shirt. The stains never came out, not even with black fabric.
As a kid, I always fainted at the sight of blood. It was so bad, I passed out during the final scene in Carrie—the heroine drenched in that red liquid and taking out her revenge on everyone.
Doctors said I had an overactive vasovagal response. To this day, I still didn’t know what that meant, just that it dealt with fear. When I spotted blood, fear came, swift and hard like a tsunami, slowing down my heart rate, lowering my blood pressure, and causing blood to drain to my legs and leave the brain. I would get light headed and pass out.
But the more a person like me exposed themselves to blood, the less the phobia bothered them. Now I only passed out in odd occurrences, when the blood meant something to me. It was why I decided to kill Domingo or Rasheed away from everyone’s eyes. This moment could bring the fear back.
“You both are to blame,” I said. “You two are the reason why I had to stop my afternoon routine to come down and speak. Why does that make me unhappy, Domingo?”
Domingo muttered, “Because you are a man of few words.”
“Yes. A man of few words, but,” I raised one finger in the air, “I am a man of many bullets.”
Sweat trickled down Domingo’s face. Like most of the Puerto Ricans in Din City, he’d been raised as a devout Catholic. He’d even served as an altar boy. So devoted to prayer, he might’ve been a pope. But then, a father in the church touched Domingo too much and changed his course forever—from the altar to the streets. Domingo kept his faith, even with so much blood on his hands. Black crosses decorated his favorite gun, Jesus. Tonight, as with most nights, the skinny man wore a white color and a black shirt—similar to a priest.
I hope you’re praying right now, Domingo. Things won’t end well this evening.
I turned to Rasheed. His skin was the color of coal. He kept his hair blonde and cut into a Mohawk. On the right side of his face, it was smooth and perfect. On the left, scars lined his jaw and extended to his eye. He never told me what had happened, but I’d met his father and both of his older brothers. I’d witnessed the violence their hands could bring, so I’d left Rasheed’s secrets to himself.
I knew he’d been through a lot. Perhaps, Rasheed’s brain never got the chance to develop correctly, because he always spoke in the third person, even when we were kids. And although the speech was absurd, no one ever called him on it. At least, no one that wasn’t ready to die.
“You’ve been in my loft, right?” I asked Rasheed.
His dark voice filled the room. “Yes, Rasheed has been there.”
“Do you like my Buddha statue?”
“The fat man in gold?”
“Yes, the fat man in gold,” I said.
“Rasheed likes him, a lot.”
“Do you know what I do there?” I asked.
“Rasheed is not sure.”
“I sit and keep a still mind.”
On the other side, Domingo shifted a little in his chair. “Noah, what does a Buddha statue have to do with us?”
I leaned back in my seat. “Because of this beef, I can’t sit in front of my statue. Because of this beef, innocent kids have died. I have to come downstairs and keep the club closed. I have to talk, when I would rather be still and silent. Because of this beef, I may have to kill a friend.”
Could I survive this? The whole situation had gone wrong. Brothers weren’t supposed to kill brothers. If I cried, I would’ve in that moment. But tears didn’t solve problems. Bullets did. I’d spent the whole morning hardening my heart, stacking bricks inside my chest.
Emotions made trigger fingers shake.
Both men stayed still. Frozen. Fear moved in both of their eyes. I bet they were wishing that their own soldiers had been able to come into my club. I bet they resented the fact that my own men had taken their guns in the guise of this being a peace talk.
I bet they were scared out of their minds.
Domingo decided to interrupt the silence. “Noah, we go way back. Way back, man. To the days, when you were just a skinny blue-eyed white boy that everybody tried to punk around the block.”
I cocked my head to the side. “But, no one punked me.”
Domingo had nothing else to say.
These were my friends in blood. We came from the same hood. Together, we rose from being in the right place at the wrong time and seizing the opportunities that came our way. As teens, we’d been runners for the big bosses—taking guns and drug money from here to there. One night, the three of us stumbled upon a gun fight in an alley. We hid behind a dumpster and watched one gang destroy the other. By then, we’d seen enough bullets slice the air and more bloodshed than most. By then, I’d become the nickname that most people whispered to themselves.
Beast.
One gang ruined the other, but they’d lost a lot of their own. Only two guys remained alive. Unfortunately for them, they’d been the wrong gang. The bosses had ordered us to collect, and I wouldn’t return to them empty handed. As the few survivors headed for their cars, I raised my own gun and shot them. Quick. Silent. And steady. Domingo pissed his pants. Rasheed rushed off to rob the dead bodies, and I grabbed the bags of guns we’d been told to deliver in the first place.
We were only fourteen, and everything had changed from there.
By twenty-one, my name put fear into men’s hearts and I’d earned a college degree. My family was good people, which was why I hid this life from them. Mom and Dad expected me to get an education, so I went to school during the day and ran the streets at night. My parents walked their own paths in life—didn’t look at television and barely read up on the news. Mom loved her garden. Dad enjoyed fishing, and they both remained enraptured by each other.
By twenty-five, I’d finished my master’s in business administration and had killed all of the same bosses that had ordered me around when I was young. I retired my parents and moved them out to the country. By twenty-five, I controlled Din City.
As a show of loyalty, I gave the North and South to the only two guys that I’d kept at my side—Domingo and Rasheed. As far as the sex game—brothels, prostitutes, and massage parlors-- I handed them over to Butterfly, making her the richest woman in Din City.
We are supposed to be family.
Now, two sat at my side with me between them, and loyalty didn’t flow like it used to. In fact, I didn’t think all three of us would walk out of my club, tonight. Too many had been killed, and they’d been dumb enough to let kids be caught in the middle of the gunfire.
“Come on, man.” Domingo’s bottom lip shivered. “Rasheed and I had your back and we’ve been here all these years. Blood was spilled, but no one has to die.”
I raised one eyebrow, already knowing the answer, but asking anyway, “Can you two just shake hands and move on from your beefs?”
“Sure. I can.” Domingo lied, “God says to forgive those that trespass against you.”
I turned to the other fool.
The dark man shook his head. “Rasheed cannot forgive.”
No hope for this. If I let them both live, then more innocent people will die over my love for them.
“What are my three rules?” I asked them both.
Domingo frowned. “One, no soldiers or runners can be female. Keep the women out of the game.”
That was why I didn’t touch Butterfly’s business. She had sole control of her women and we didn’t mix business together.
“What’s the second rule?” I asked.
Domingo looked away again. “Don’t kill kids.”
I held my hands. “Ten children have been buried over this dispute.”
That very fact made killing one of them bearable. I’d been having nightmares about dead kids. Blood coated their tiny faces. The children never spoke. They just pointed at me, screamed, and then exploded—their guts and shattered bones spraying and knocking me down. Little ones. Toddlers. Tiny mangled bodies. Innocent eyes. They haunted me.
I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat. “And my last rule?”
Rasheed decided to answer. “No one kills without your permission.”
Which one of you will haunt me after your death? Which one will leave me alone?
I stopped tracing the trigger, gripped the handle, but didn’t point it at anyone. It was the same gun I’d used that first time at fourteen. It would be the same one I would use tonight.
“That day on Baker Street, when all those children died,” I said. “Which one of you was the one who shot into the crowd of kids at the playground?”
Neither spoke.
Why won’t either one of them own up to killing the kids? Make this easier for me.
A knock came behind us.
Then, even more noise.
“Trust me.” A female voice sounded behind us. “My friend knows the owner. He’s expecting me. He told me to come at this time.”
Who the fuck is that?
My soldier Fuji’s voice came next. “Ma’am, you can’t go back there.”
“Just give me a minute,” the woman said again.
Fuji, get her ass out of here.
More odd noises ensued. The whole time, Domingo and Rasheed glared at each other, and I tightened my grip on the gun.
“Ma’am!” Fuji yelled. “Stop it! No!”
Footsteps sounded next.
Is someone running in here? Who would be so stupid?
My answer came next. Sure enough, some unlucky, black woman had raced into my club. The wrong club at exactly the wrong time. Fuji’s huge behind thudded after her. The fat man had been a defensive linebacker in college. Now, the pounds had packed on in his non-athletic years. He could shoot a gun and get the bullet to the center of heads. He could wrap his hot dog fingers around any man’s neck and squeeze until bones cracked.
Fuji could do a lot of things, but apparently he could not chase down a beautiful woman and catch her.
Caramel skin and brown kinky curls bouncing, she jogged into the room, passing the bar on her left and then us on the right. Probably not noticing the gun or us, she climbed up on the stage and set a big knitted bag down at her feet. “Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry. I know you said three o’clock. And it is so not three o’clock.”
What?
Like some sort of hippy, she wore sandals and jeans tattered at the bottom. A white crocheted top finished the outfit. It did nothing to support her breasts that hung like melons in front of her.
Who the hell is this?
She hurried and grabbed the microphone, working fast with putting it in front of her and clearing her throat. “Hello? Hello?”
She tapped the top of the microphone again. “I don’t think this is on. That’s okay. I can yell out the jokes.”
Jokes? What the fuck?
Finally, Fuji got to the stage or more like his fat ass doubled over on the edge, huffing and puffing. “Boss, I tried to tell her not to come back here, but she slipped by me and then dashed away. She’s too fast.”
“I ran track and field in high school.” She beamed on the stage. “Won a lot of medals, too.”
No one said anything. Everyone, except her, turned to me.
“So.” Sighing, she rolled her shoulders a little. “Okay. Let’s get this audition started, right? Who’s ready to laugh!?”
How the hell has she managed to live this long? Does she not see the gun or the big scary guys in the room?
“My name is Mary Jane, which yes, means my mother smoked weed during the entire pregnancy.” She winked at Fuji. “Since there’s only a bunch of men in here. Let’s get sexist! What’s the difference between a g-spot and a baseball?”
No one said anything. All of the men’s eyes remained on me. All I had to do was nod and she’d be dead by any of their hands. But I had nothing to say. For some strange reason, my heart boomed in my ears, as if I feared something.
No. It can’t be fear. I haven’t been scared of anything in years.
“Come on. What’s the difference between a g-spot and a baseball? Anyone?” She glanced at Domingo’s priest collar and blushed. “Uh. . .oh. We’ve got a holy man in here. Well. . .the difference is, a man will actually take the time to find the baseball.”
“Get it?” She pressed a button on her belt and a drum sound exploded in the room. It was so startling, I almost pulled the fucking trigger.
“Who’s ready for another one?” she asked.
Fuji touched his holster. “Boss, can I kill her?”
I shook my head no.
“Wow! Kill me?” Mary Jane raised her hands in the air. A nervous laugh left her lips. “This is a tough room. I mean, most people throw tomatoes, but we’re getting raw here.”
“Excuse me.” Clearing my throat, I got her attention.
And she finally focused her gaze on me and slowly second-by-second, her eyes lowered to my gun. And in that moment, I would’ve bet a million dollars that she wished she hadn’t barged in here after all.
Several silent seconds passed.
“I think I have the wrong club,” she muttered.
“What gave you the first sign?” I asked.
“Umm.” She put her hands in front of her as if she could stop the bullets that might come her way. “Umm. Well. . .I don’t know what the first sign is. You see. . .I’m. . .a little blind. My eyesight is really bad. For example, I have no idea what any of you look like.” She backed up and edged toward her purse. “I don’t even know what you could or could not be holding in your hand or anything. I can’t even remember any of this.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So you’re blind and have amnesia?”
Her voice lost its confidence and came out shaky. “Yes. I’m a blind amnesiac. That’s how I’ve managed to stay so safe in Din City for so long. I mind my own business. I keep to myself. I don’t say anything to the police. Ummm. Not that I would need to talk to any police. In fact, let’s not even talk about the police.”
“No, let’s not talk about the police.” I signaled at the big guy. “Fuji, get her phone and wallet and then take her upstairs to my apartment. Oh, yeah and take that damn belt off of her and destroy it.”
“Wow,” Mary Jane said. “I’m good. I can just go home and mind my business.”
I pointed the gun at her. “Naw. You’re not good. I think you need to go upstairs and relax. You look sick.”
“Please, I swear I won’t—”
“I know you won’t. Additionally, you can’t see it, because you’re blind, but I have a gun in my hand,” I told her. “I don’t like hurting women, but I will, if necessary. Is it necessary?”
“No. Hell no to be exact. I’m all about no one hurting women either. I support that shit.” She picked up her bag and turned to Fuji. “So. . .I’m ready to check out this place.”
Not so smart, but definitely a fast learner.
She turned away from me and I couldn’t help but catch her round bottom in those jeans. If it had been another night, in another club, I would’ve spent a few minutes talking to her. Not for too long though. I never had to work hard with a chick. But it wasn’t another night, and this was my club.
Even worse, she’d already seen too much. Something had to be done with her, and I didn’t think I liked the options. I watched her bottom swing from side-to-side as Fuji led her away and they both disappeared up the staircase.
Nice ass.
It was that very ass that triggered the problem for the next couple of days. Because as soon as my focus left the men, Domingo seized the opportunity and shoved the table toward Rasheed, knocking him and me to the ground.
“Fuck!” I still had the gun, but those few seconds had given Domingo time to grab a knife from his ankle. He charged around the table and stabbed Rasheed in the center of his forehead.
Rasheed! No!
Blood dripped from my friend’s forehead as life left his eyes. My heart pounded. Dizziness ensued. I had to blink through my phobia. Change my thoughts to something else, and in that moment it was easy. I wanted revenge.
Fuck you, Domingo.
In a flash, I targeted Domingo and pulled the trigger. Fuck you. The shot rang in my ears. A bullet hit his leg. Lucky bastard. My vision improved, right as he slung a chair my way. It knocked into my shoulder.
“Come stab me!” Pain bit at my chest, but I continued, rushed for him. Too fast, Domingo slid out of the way, stumbling over another table, rushing up from the floor, and then speeding away. With each step, he flung anything he could grab quickly. Chairs and lamps hit my legs and arms. Some of the lights went out caused by the rearranging of furniture.
Motherfucker!
More shadows moved in the area. And somewhere within them, Domingo hid. “Let’s call this square, Noah.”
Rasheed is dead. Fuck you.
Rage coursed through my veins. I didn’t know who would die, but goddamn it, I hadn’t been sure if it would be Rasheed.
“You were going to kill one of us anyway,” Domingo yelled. “I just chose.”
“That’s the problem.” I bit back the pain and scanned the dark room for him. “No one kills without my permission. You weren’t in a position to choose.”
Another chair came my way. I ducked back. His footsteps banged.
He’s heading to the back. Shit.
I raced after him, but not fast enough. The door slammed far ahead. I passed the bathrooms and ran through the tiny kitchen in the back of the club. Pots and pans littered the floor, telling me that Domingo blasted through here. My people kept a tight crew. Always organized and together.
Shots sounded ahead.
Fuck. He made it outside.
More gunfire came. His people were out there, including mine and Rasheed’s. Who knew who was gunning after who? He had a thirty-three percent chance of making it out alive. Car tires screeched outside and then more bullets blazed.
Rasheed’s face flashed in my head. I pushed it away. Don’t think about. Legs burning. I ran to the back door and knocked on it first.
Toad answered from the other side. He had a weird voice that always sounded like a ribbit at the end of each sentence. Which is why he barely spoke and usually used his gun to relay the message. But tonight, he screamed in his ridiculous voice, “Say your fucking name or die-ibbit!”
“It’s Noah.”
The bass left his voice. “Oh sorry, boss-ibbit. It’s just that—”
“Yeah, Domingo came out.” I opened the door and checked the back.
The full moon hung in the sky. I’d closed the club for the night so the parking lot was empty besides Rasheed’s and my vehicles. Two black men were dead on the ground.
Rasheed’s men.
I handed the gun to Toad. “Domingo got away?”
“Yes. They-ibbit—”
“I got it, Toad. They must’ve had their guns out as soon as the door opened.”
Blowing out a long breath, he nodded.
I checked his chest and legs. “They got you?”
“No, but.” He pointed to Rasheed’s dead men. “They-ibbit—”
Stopping him before he said anything else, I counted all of the shells on the ground and walked over to the corpses. Thank God their deaths were clean without too much blood. I didn’t have the stomach for it this evening. The people dying were too close me. Meanwhile, the streets would be watching my every move in these next days. The last thing I needed was a story about my ass vomiting or passing out around a bloody body. I’d been able to keep the little secret all this time, coming up with excuses whenever I needed to.
Nevertheless, I studied the dead.
Rasheed’s men hadn’t even taken out their guns. Domingo’s boys were ready. He knew he was escaping out the back.
Tire marks streaked across the lot. I followed the lines with my eyes.
They got out of here too fast. How’d they have time to start the car so quickly?
I checked where Domingo had parked earlier. Car fluids, maybe oil, splattered the ground.
They had the car running the entire meeting.
“Domingo rushed-ibbit to the car and slid in the back window like a fucking stunt man-ibbit.”
“That motherfucker was always good at escaping.” I scanned the rest of the area. “And he knew that no one would shoot him. Unlike his ass, everyone else respects my rules.”
Domingo was too high for anyone to be bold enough to take him out. If we’d been Italian mafia, he would’ve been labeled a made-man. Untouchable.
Toad stared at my gun, but wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question that surely had been running around in his head. Everyone knew we would be meeting today and that I might have to make a deadly decision. It was a hard one too. Every soldier under me respected the trio. We’d been loyal longer than most, and tonight, I had to shatter that illusion. Most men didn’t like to work for a boss that killed his friends. The whole thing had to be solved with a smooth elegance.
Plus, thinking of Rasheed’s death made my heart shatter, but I had no time for bitch ass emotions.
Swallow that shit up, man. This is the life. Streets are cold like that.
Still, I fisted my hands and sighed. Everything had been ruined.
Silent, Toad kept a neutral expression, yet his gaze never left my gun.
What are you looking at? Are you wondering if I did him?
“I didn’t kill Rasheed,” I said. “Domingo ended up knifing him. Put the blade straight to the brain and fast. Motherfucker was always Picasso with a knife.”
I rubbed my face and headed back inside the club. “Let’s hope that motherfucker is holding a bigger knife next time I see him. I want him to have a fighting chance when I come for his ass.”
The door slammed behind me.
Toad opened it and called back after me. “You want me to—”
“Don’t do anything.”
“Nothing-ibbit?”
“No.” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “However, do me a favor and spread the word that anyone who can get a bullet in Domingo’s head gets a hundred thousand dollars. I want proof.”
“His head-ibbit?”
“His head? Come on, man. I’m a beast, not a monster. We have technology. Tell them to take a picture.” I frowned and headed away. “Now I have to go take care of something else.”
“What-ibbit?”
I cursed under my breath. “A woman.”
Stopping in the hallway, I took my small notebook out of my back pocket.
Since a young kid, I’d always been preoccupied with making lists—Christmas wishes, homework to-dos, birthday gifts, favorite comics, top cute girls, and more. As I grew, the lists became darker—top selling drugs in the North, top dealers in the South, who to kill to get power, and worst. It got to the point where every week I made lists. Once I gained control of Din City, my to-do lists became a daily habit. At the beginning of each month, I had a fresh pack of mini notebooks delivered that were filled by the end of the month.
By now, I’d hoped to be done with list-making today, but Domingo had caused a problem. Pain bit at my temples as a headache came on.
Motherfucker.
I pulled out my pen and wrote everything down.
Friday
Kill Domingo.
Figure out who’s going to take Rasheed’s place in the South.
Let the police commissioner know everything’s been handled.
Deal with the crazy comedienne chick.