Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

“No! There was a home invasion, and Mateo was shot and Chanel was raped.”

“Raped?” Charlie repeated the word with ample bewilderment. “What the fuck you mean she was raped? By who?”

“We don’t know.”

“And is Mateo dead?”

“No, he’s in critical condition,” said Bacardi.

“Ohmygod!”

“He made it through surgery, but it’s still touch-and-go wit’ him.”

Charlie was shocked for two reasons. Mateo was still alive and Chanel had been raped. That wasn’t part of the deal.

“They don’t know who did it?” Charlie asked.

Bacardi suddenly lost her cool. “If they fuckin’ knew who did it, they would be fuckin’ locked up by now or fuckin’ dead already, don’t you fuckin’ think!”

“Where’s Chanel?” Charlie asked.

“She’s still with the doctors,” Mecca answered.

Charlie all of a sudden looked visibly sick. The family thought she was finally showing some concern for her little sister.

“I need some fuckin’ air,” Charlie announced.

She immediately departed from the room and dashed out of the hospital. She needed to call God. She needed to confront him. Everything was fucked up. They done fucked up. She walked up the block and called God from her cell phone.

When he finally answered, she screamed from the top of her lungs, “You grimy fuckin’ nigga! You fuckin’ raped my sister! You nasty-ass bastard! Fuck you, God! I swear, nigga, you ain’t shit!”

God indifferently replied, “Yo, I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, Charlie. I ain’t rape nobody. And don’t be coming at me wit’ this shit over the fuckin’ phone. I’m on my way.”

He curtailed their call.

Charlie was left standing outside looking dumbfounded. She sobbed.

Unbeknownst to Charlie, Claire had followed her outside because she was concerned about her. She overheard Charlie cursing God out on the phone and was shocked by what she heard.

Could it be true? Did God have something to do with this tragedy?

Claire didn’t know for sure, but she knew what she’d heard Charlie scream out. Her sister was truly upset. Claire walked back inside the hospital without Charlie seeing her.

***

Butch excused himself from the waiting area and went and stood in an empty corridor. Ten minutes later Bacardi went to check on him. She bent the corner and found a pitiful sight. Her husband was coiled over, hands clenched in a tight fist, his face drenched with tears. His veins were bulging in his neck and his eyes were puffy, almost swollen shut from crying. He looked almost unrecognizable.

“They hurt my baby,” he sobbed. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em. I’ll kill ’em all!”

Bacardi embraced Butch. He squeezed her waist tightly and buried his face in her shoulder. He was torn up inside, grieving, and blaming himself for not being able to protect his youngest child from the wolves.

“Why, Bernice? Why her? Why Chanel?”

Briefly, Bacardi wondered if Butch had ever had a clue that Chanel wasn’t his blood. And then she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. What did that matter now?

***

A few hours later, God arrived at the hospital in the Bronx. He came alone and brought flowers for Chanel. By now the adrenaline had worn off and he suddenly felt the pain from the scratches Chanel had dug in his back. He didn’t want to panic, but he knew that his DNA would be under her fingernails and hoped that the hospital staff would somehow overlook this evidence.