"You think he’s involved in this?"
I looked at Richards like he was stupid. Of course I think he’s involved. Monika met him last night. Whatever happened, happened and she wanted me and Jett to meet her. Now Jett gets popped a block from the fuckas house.
"What happened here?" Richards asked, taking the hint that I wasn’t goin’ to answer his question.
"I don’t know."
"Were you with him?"
"No. He called me and said to meet him here."
"Did he say why?"
"No. He hung up before I could ask him."
"Look, Simmons, I’m really sorry for you. I know you think Chilly is involved in this. It’s pretty fuckin’ obvious that your partner here did too. We’re a block from his house for Christ’s sake. But please, let us handle it."
"Yeah right." I turned and started back for my car.
"Where are you goin’?"
"I need a drink."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-two
There was no doubt about it, I was drunk. Trippin’ over the rug by the door was a real indicator of that. Staggering the way I was, the couch was as far as my drunk legs would carry me. I disarmed myself and sat down. Fell down actually. Fortunately for me, I had left a bottle of Johnnie Black on the coffee table. I picked up a glass and started to pour. I decided that was too much trouble. So I raised the bottle to my mouth. I could actually feel the liquor flowing through my body. The only problem was that it wasn’t helping. I had just returned from the hospital, Monika hadn’t regained consciousness and was still in intensive care. It didn’t matter. I still had to tell her that Jett was dead.
For the second time, I faced myself with the same question. "If I had only got there sooner, could I have saved him?"
I didn’t know.
The only difference was that this time I wasn’t fuckin’ Felicia or some dumb shit like that. I was on my way. His body was still warm when I got there. "If I had only —"
No point torturing myself about it now. Jett was dead and Monika was fighting for her life. I slammed the bottle down on the table. This game had gone on long enough. Somebody was going to have to answer for both of them. But who?
I wanted to hurt somebody, make somebody feel my pain. But who? I was sure that Chilly ordered up both hits, but he was in jail. I gave serious thought to getting myself arrested so I could kill him. But the thought faded quickly. I could get Freeze to arrange it, but I wouldn’t get any satisfaction from just knowing he was dead. I had to do it. I wanted him to feel all my pain. I wanted to look in his eyes before I pulled the trigger.
"Say Good-bye."
I wanted him to know why he had to die. Not just for me, but for everyone he terrorized over the years. Johnnie Black called out to me, as if he wanted to drink to it. I gladly obliged him. "A drunk never argues with his bottle." It was almost a rule. A good soldier always follows rules. No, a good soldier always follows orders. "What do drunks do?"
They drink!
Stupid!
Saturday July 25: 11:19AM
When I woke up, the bottle was empty and I was on the floor. I stood up slowly, and looked around the apartment. I took a moment to think about how I got that far away from the couch and who made this mess. I needed someone to blame. I looked at the empty bottle. "Had to be you."
I was hungry, but I didn’t feel like cooking, so I grabbed my keys and looked around for my guns. I didn’t see them and I didn’t care. I would find them when I got back. The liquor store was my first stop. My first drink of the day convinced me that it wouldn’t be my last. I walked to the bar on the next corner.
"Might as well kill two birds with one stone."
Since it wasn’t quite time for lunch, and a little too late for breakfast, I had steak and eggs. Johnnie Black replaced the orange juice. While I sat there gettin’ my eat and my drunk on, I gave some thought to, you know, stop feeling sorry for myself and doin’ something about it. All this drinking wasn’t gonna bring Jett back from the dead or make Monika open her eyes. And on top of that, it wasn’t making me feel any better, just drunker.
With that thought in mind, I was able to keep the drinking to two shots. On my way out of the restaurant, a man asked me for some spare change. I made his day with a picture of Alexander Hamilton.