muthafucker!”
Rossi patted him on the rump.
“Hey, Dwayne. How’s it hangin’?”
“Fuck you, muthafucker! Get me offa this goddamn fence!”
Dwayne was upside down, dripping blood and writhing with pain. Rossi crouched so that he could look him in the eye.
“You ever see one of those Freddy Krueger slasher flicks where Freddy is supposed to be dead only he’s never really dead?”
“No, man! Why you axin’ me ’bout that shit?”
“Cause you kinda look like one of Freddy’s victims, you know, the one who tries to run away but can’t make it over the fence in time, ends up getting clawed to death.”
“C’mon, man! Get me offa this damn fence! I’m dyin’ here!”
“I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because if I do it wrong, you might bleed out. You’d be better off waiting for the paramedics.” He tugged on Dwayne’s ankle and Dwayne screamed. “See what I mean? The slightest wrong movement and who knows what that would do to you.”
Dwayne groaned. “Oh, man! My leg is killin’ me! How soon the paramedics gonna be here?”
“Well, I gotta call them first.”
Dwayne’s eyes popped. “Then, call ’em! What the fuck you waitin’ for?”
“I thought we might have a little chat first.”
“’Bout what?”
“About where you’ve been since, say, I don’t know, around six o’clock last night. And when was the last time you saw Kyrie Chapman or Jameer Henderson.”
Dwayne grimaced, crunching his eyes tight, his breath coming hard. “I ain’t tellin’ you nuthin’, muthafucker, till you get me offa this goddamn fence!”
Rossi shook his head. “And here I thought you and I were tight. You disappoint me, Dwayne.”
“Get the fuck away from my boy or I’m gonna blow your mutherfuckin’ head off!” Odyessy yelled.
She was standing on the back stoop aiming a gun at Rossi, shaking so badly she had to hold the gun with both hands. She was a good thirty feet away, far enough that there was little chance she could hit him. But the odds changed when she stepped off the stoop and walked toward him until the barrel of the gun was a foot from his chest.
“I tol’ you to get the fuck away from my boy.”
“Shoot him, Mama!” Dwayne yelled. “Shoot him ’fore I bleed to death!”
“You don’t want him to die,” Rossi said. “Let me use my belt as a tourniquet and stop his leg from bleeding. Then you can shoot me.”
Odyessy glanced back and forth from her son to Rossi, her mind struggling with the calculus, finally nodding.
“Go on, then.”
Rossi loosened his belt, slipped it out of his pants, not taking his eyes off Odyessy. He held the belt up for her to see.
“Okay?” he asked her.
“I said go on, didn’t I?”
Rossi turned his back to Odyessy, threaded the end of the belt through the buckle, and yanked on Dwayne’s pant leg. Dwayne screamed again and Odyessy cried out.
“Oh, my baby!”
Rossi spun around, swinging the belt buckle, catching Odyessy in the cheek as he grabbed the gun from her hand. She crumpled to the ground and he cuffed her.
“Hey!” Dwayne yelled. “Put that damn tourniquet on me ’fore I die!”
“You told your mother to shoot me and now you want me to save your life?”
“Hey, man. I wasn’t serious. You know that. No way my mama gonna shoot you. It’s the pain, man. Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy. Come on, man! You can’t let me die!”
Rossi looped his belt around Dwayne’s wounded thigh, cinching it tight, the blood flow slowing to a trickle.
“You’re not going to die. Not today, but I’m not making any promises about tomorrow.”
He opened his phone and called for an ambulance, a squad car, a CSI team, and a search warrant. Closing his phone, he gave Dwayne another pat on the rump.
“Hang tight,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
LENA KIRK LED THE CSI team. Willowy and dark haired, with café au lait skin, she had a beauty that crime scene gore couldn’t dull and Rossi
Rossi patted him on the rump.
“Hey, Dwayne. How’s it hangin’?”
“Fuck you, muthafucker! Get me offa this goddamn fence!”
Dwayne was upside down, dripping blood and writhing with pain. Rossi crouched so that he could look him in the eye.
“You ever see one of those Freddy Krueger slasher flicks where Freddy is supposed to be dead only he’s never really dead?”
“No, man! Why you axin’ me ’bout that shit?”
“Cause you kinda look like one of Freddy’s victims, you know, the one who tries to run away but can’t make it over the fence in time, ends up getting clawed to death.”
“C’mon, man! Get me offa this damn fence! I’m dyin’ here!”
“I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because if I do it wrong, you might bleed out. You’d be better off waiting for the paramedics.” He tugged on Dwayne’s ankle and Dwayne screamed. “See what I mean? The slightest wrong movement and who knows what that would do to you.”
Dwayne groaned. “Oh, man! My leg is killin’ me! How soon the paramedics gonna be here?”
“Well, I gotta call them first.”
Dwayne’s eyes popped. “Then, call ’em! What the fuck you waitin’ for?”
“I thought we might have a little chat first.”
“’Bout what?”
“About where you’ve been since, say, I don’t know, around six o’clock last night. And when was the last time you saw Kyrie Chapman or Jameer Henderson.”
Dwayne grimaced, crunching his eyes tight, his breath coming hard. “I ain’t tellin’ you nuthin’, muthafucker, till you get me offa this goddamn fence!”
Rossi shook his head. “And here I thought you and I were tight. You disappoint me, Dwayne.”
“Get the fuck away from my boy or I’m gonna blow your mutherfuckin’ head off!” Odyessy yelled.
She was standing on the back stoop aiming a gun at Rossi, shaking so badly she had to hold the gun with both hands. She was a good thirty feet away, far enough that there was little chance she could hit him. But the odds changed when she stepped off the stoop and walked toward him until the barrel of the gun was a foot from his chest.
“I tol’ you to get the fuck away from my boy.”
“Shoot him, Mama!” Dwayne yelled. “Shoot him ’fore I bleed to death!”
“You don’t want him to die,” Rossi said. “Let me use my belt as a tourniquet and stop his leg from bleeding. Then you can shoot me.”
Odyessy glanced back and forth from her son to Rossi, her mind struggling with the calculus, finally nodding.
“Go on, then.”
Rossi loosened his belt, slipped it out of his pants, not taking his eyes off Odyessy. He held the belt up for her to see.
“Okay?” he asked her.
“I said go on, didn’t I?”
Rossi turned his back to Odyessy, threaded the end of the belt through the buckle, and yanked on Dwayne’s pant leg. Dwayne screamed again and Odyessy cried out.
“Oh, my baby!”
Rossi spun around, swinging the belt buckle, catching Odyessy in the cheek as he grabbed the gun from her hand. She crumpled to the ground and he cuffed her.
“Hey!” Dwayne yelled. “Put that damn tourniquet on me ’fore I die!”
“You told your mother to shoot me and now you want me to save your life?”
“Hey, man. I wasn’t serious. You know that. No way my mama gonna shoot you. It’s the pain, man. Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy. Come on, man! You can’t let me die!”
Rossi looped his belt around Dwayne’s wounded thigh, cinching it tight, the blood flow slowing to a trickle.
“You’re not going to die. Not today, but I’m not making any promises about tomorrow.”
He opened his phone and called for an ambulance, a squad car, a CSI team, and a search warrant. Closing his phone, he gave Dwayne another pat on the rump.
“Hang tight,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
LENA KIRK LED THE CSI team. Willowy and dark haired, with café au lait skin, she had a beauty that crime scene gore couldn’t dull and Rossi
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