Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues by Chris LeGrow

Slowly and surely he squeezed. She couldn’t speak for lack of air. Her hands flailed through the air but he held her away. On her tiptoes, as darkness nibbled at the corners of her vision, Shanese stopped fighting. Suddenly Clubba’s grip was broken by the scream of Melia, which startled him and caused him to let go of Shanese’s throat. Shanese fell back and lay on the ground sucking in huge gulps of blessed air and coughing with each inhalation. Towering over her, Clubba pointed at Melia. “Mind your own business.”
    Melia just stared at him.
    Without so much as a glance at Shanese, Clubba stalked back to his car and slowly drove off. Shanese watched him adjust his rearview mirror and look back at her. She was sure a smile was on his lips. Terror was his sidekick. Clubba loved the control he could impose on anyone who dared cross him. Shanese shuddered.
    Her sister ran over to her and knelt by her side. “I got it.”
    “Y-you got what?”
    “Video of Clubba,” Melia said.
    “All of it?” Shanese asked.
    “Yes.”
    “You better erase it.”
    Her sister gave a disgusted sound. “No way.” She stood and held her hand down to help Shanese up. “Come on.”
    Shanese rubbed her throat and asked, “Where?”
    Melia’s eyes narrowed and her face tightened with conviction. With one determined gesture, she pointed her phone in the direction of the local police precinct. “To the cops. If you’re gonna take a beating, you’re gonna get a little vengeance on him too.” Melia’s eyebrows furrowed and she stopped on the sidewalk. “Oh, man.” She tilted her head and held up her camera.
    Confused, Shanese stopped and shook her head. “What?”
    “That pig left his handprint all over your neck, and I wanna get a good picture of it.”
    Shanese turned away. “Don’t…you’ll just make things worse.”
    “How much worse can it be than for Grandma to see you in the hospital after he gets done with you?”
    “I can’t.” Shanese covered her face with her hands. “There’s no way out with him.”
    “Well, we ain’t sittin’ around waiting for it,” Melia said. “We got nothin’ to lose. Now come on.”
    Within hours of handing the video over to the police, an arrest warrant was issued for Te’quan Yates Koak aka Clubba. It wouldn’t take long to figure out who the snitch was. Clubba’s informants dotted the neighborhood; one was bound to find out who dared to turn against him.
    After making the police report, Shanese needed to find a safe place to hide out—and fast. She could only imagine the torture awaiting them both after this. Looking at the road ahead, she saw two of Clubba’s soldiers in large white T-shirts standing on a corner about a block away. She grabbed her sister’s forearm. “Come on. We got to get out of here. Now!”

    Clubba’s intelligence on police matters had been possible because for years he’d built his small criminal empire by forming bonds with each of the major Omaha gangs and some of their officers. They always seemed to know when the police had information on them and often found ways to avoid capture.
    Zaifra Koak, Clubba’s refugee mother, taught him well. Traveling through war-torn Sudan, she’d survived by establishing alliances with the Dinka, Newir, Skeluk, and other Southern tribes. Not aligning herself with any particular group gave her the freedom to move among them all and eventually escape. During the nineties, over ten thousand Sudanese refugees migrated to the Omaha and Lincoln, Nebraska, areas.
    Zaifra adopted the Christian name of Grace when she landed in England from her home. After two years there, a family in Omaha sponsored her trip to the United States. Blessed with a linguistic ear, she picked up the language quickly and ended up with a delightful mix of Sudanese and the Queen’s English. Once in America, she mastered the slang of the street as well as formal business jargon.
    Clubba inherited his mother’s ear and following suit