Dirty Work: Part 1

Kip smirked at the man’s comment. Jason Miller wasn’t a good man. He was a jerk and a bully, and Kip was the bigger bully. Kip had no remorse for what he did, and like he’d told Jason before the shooting, he could kill him and still keep him alive. Without basketball, Jason Miller was nothing.

Hearing enough of the radio, Kip turned it off. The media and the sports world were going crazy over the athlete’s tragedy as the manhunt for the assailant continued. The police still had nothing. Their case was at a standstill. Kip felt he’d gotten away with it. What will the Brooklyn hoops star do now? he wondered.

Kid muttered, “I have therapy tomorrow.”

Kip had forgotten about his brother’s physical therapy. It had been years and still no positive results. “How’s that going for you?” Kip asked.

“I’m still in this chair, right—that’s how it’s going for me. Why do you keep paying for something that’s never going to happen? Huh? I’m never going to walk again, Kip. I accepted it, but you can’t.”

“We never give up.”

“I’m fine, Kip! I am, and I don’t need your charity all the time.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but tomorrow you’ll be whining about something you need.”

Kid sighed in heavy frustration. He just wanted to get home and slam the bedroom door in his brother’s face. Nana had gotten to him. She had made him so upset, he was taking his anger out on his brother.

Kip glanced at his brother through the rearview mirror and shook his head. Arrogant and stubborn, he was, but that was Kid. There was a lot going on with Kid, and Kip knew it. Whenever he decided he wanted to talk about it, Kip would be there. Until then, he allowed his brother to have his foul mood and express his anger since Kip had other critical issues to deal with.

Kip’s cell phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Papa John. He ignored the call, thinking it wasn’t anything important, but more calls started to blow up his phone. Other people were hitting him up, including Eshon.

He then received a 911 and a 411 text from Devon and Papa John. Something was definitely up. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be said on the phone. Kip needed to get home fast.

“What’s going on, Kip? Why is your phone ringing so much?”

“It’s nothing,” Kip answered, but his mind was racing. Did it have something to do with the detectives he’d encountered early this afternoon?

“Don’t lie to me, Kip. What’s going on?”

He barked, “It’s nothing, Kid. Not your concern.”

Kid frowned and folded his arms across his chest. He hated not knowing what was happening. It had to be something major. He didn’t want to be treated like a child or some handicap, although he was in a wheelchair. He wanted the same respect as everyone else.

But Kip shut down, ignoring his brother’s questions, and sped down I-87 toward the city.

Back in Harlem and back on the block, Kip helped Kid out of the van using t

he access ramp, and when he volunteered to escort him to the apartment, Kid fussed and bickered at him.

“I don’t fuckin’ need your help, Kip. I’m good! Go handle your business.” Kid wheeled himself toward the building lobby, leaving Kip standing there.

Kip simply said, “Fuck him!” He turned to see Devon’s black Expedition pulling up on the block.

Both men climbed out and approached him.

Kip was ready for whatever they had to tell him. “What’s up? Why y’all niggas blowing up my phone?”

Papa John told him, “Yo, them niggas from the park the other day, them Brooklyn niggas that was beefing wit’ ya brother, including Uncle Junior, them niggas got bodied last night.”

“What? Fo’ real?” Kip was stunned by the news.

“Yeah, all three gunned down,” Devon said to him, excited about the murder.

Kip wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it, but he asked, “Who did it?”

“We don’t know,” Papa John said.

Kip felt it was payback, karma biting them back for messing with a cripple. But he was also aware that the blowback might come back on them. Uncle Junior was fresh home from prison and a major somebody in Brooklyn.