Dirty Work: Part 2

Dina and Papa John quickly pivoted in fear and in awe. There was Papa John’s father burning with rage. His eyes were red like the pits of hell. He charged toward Papa John like a bull, swung fiercely, and struck him with a hard punch to his face. Papa John staggered backwards, but he didn’t fall. Darryl attacked him again with another punch to his face, and then his fist thrust into Papa John’s stomach. Papa John folded like a chair and fell to the ground. Darryl continued with his onslaught.

“You think I didn’t fuckin know?!” Darryl screamed. “You think I’m a fuckin’ fool?! My own son and my fiancée having sex in my house!”

Father fought son, but the son shot up with a bolt of energy and desperately tried to defend himself. Papa John was able to release a few punches of his own. However, the wrath of his father was strong, and Darryl picked up his son like a Titan and tossed him across the room like a rag doll. Their bodies clashed and tussled inside the living room, knocking over furniture and making glass shatter and pictures fall from the walls they hung from. There was no way Papa John could get the best of his father. Darryl was a trained officer—a warrior licensed to carry firearms.

Dina screamed from the attack. She stood there shocked and helpless. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, but it was ending, whether she liked it or not. Right in front of her eyes, her worst nightmare came true. She rushed to break up the fight, but it was like trying to wrestle apart two snarling wolves with their sharp teeth exposed. Someone was going to get bit.

“Please, stop it!” she shouted. “Get off him!”

Darryl was on top of his son, punching away zealously. Dina tried to wrestle her fiancé off her lover. She frantically tried to stop Darryl from beating his own son to death. She grasped at him, shouting loudly. Papa John was on the floor bloodied and bruised. She saw that he couldn’t take any more punishment.

“Get off him, Darryl! You’re gonna kill him!”

“Fuck him!”

Darryl pushed Dina off him forcefully and sent her flying across the room and crashing against the china cabinet. Shards of glass fell down on her. She collapsed.

“She’s pregnant!” Papa John shouted.

Darryl tuned everything out. He was completely consumed by rage. Papa John struggled with him on the ground and saw only one option. He reached for that option in panic. He unlatched his father’s holster and hastily freed the gun, and it went off—bang!

In an instant, Darryl felt the bullet from his gun tear through his abdomen with his shirt turning crimson. He finally stopped attacking his son and pressed his hand against the fresh gunshot wound. He couldn’t believe it. He looked at his son wide-eyed and uttered the words, “You shot me.”

Dina screamed. “What have you done?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Papa John said. “I didn’t have a choice!”

Darryl suddenly became weak. He stumbled and buckled on his side. He was still alive. Papa John was able to lift himself to his feet. He still held onto the smoking gun. He too was in awe at what he’d don

e. Not only had he shot a cop—he had shot his own father.

“Shit!” Papa John uttered.

It had just . . . happened.

“Ohmygod!” Dina shouted. She ran to her fiancé’s aid. She fell to her knees and scooped Darryl into her arms. Her tears started to fall from her eyes. Instantly, she put the blame on herself.

“I’m sorry! Baby, I’m so sorry!” she hollered.

“Call 911,” he shouted.

Dina turned to Papa John with eyes filled with tears and screamed madly, “Get out! Get the fuck out!”

Papa John saw one way out—to run away. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t want his help. He eyed his father that was crippled to the floor from his injury and there was empathy in his expression. He looked at Dina holding onto her fiancé feverishly and crying hysterically, fearing she might lose him.

He took off running from the house with Darryl’s gun still in his hands. He arrowed into the SUV like bull’s-eye, started the vehicle, and sped away, not knowing if his father would live or die. But he knew one thing for sure—his affair with Dina had ended. There was no way he would be able to see her again. He hadn’t planned for any of this to happen—to fall in love with Dina or to hurt his pops. It just all came out of nowhere, like a shot to the head.

Papa John drove far away from Whitestone, Queens. He cried. He felt fear and worry. Would Dina rat him out to the police? He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know—if his pops did live, would he come gunning for his own son?

Right now, the only thing on his mind was his own well-being. He drove north, toward New Rochelle. He continued to wipe the tears away, feeling like they would never end.

29

Rodney, one of Panamanian Pete’s trusted soldiers, put the pipe to his lips and inhaled a good portion of the crack cocaine. The high hit him as soon as the smoke filled his lungs. He leaned back, feeling his whole body buzzing in pure sensual stimulation. He needed another hit. He kissed the pipe again, and this hit felt even better than the last.

He sat shirtless on his bed in his one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment. Beside him were a few loaded guns and ten thousand dollars in cash. He needed the money. But sudden guilt riddled Rodney. He had not only sold his soul a long time ago, but he’d betrayed the hand that was feeding him. He gave them up for his addiction. They somehow knew to come to him, and he wasn’t difficult to persuade.

The drugs had changed him. No one knew about his crack addiction except for his partner in crime, G-Dep. G-Dep knew about his demons, but Rodney trusted the man with his sickness.