Read SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense Online
Authors: LOU HOLLY
As nighttime approached, Trick found there weren’t enough thin foam rubber sleeping pads to go around so he had to sleep on the cold, hard floor. He could only get his hands on a thin, smelly pillow with no pillowcase that seemed to be seeped in decades of facial oil. The small, scratchy, wool blanket wasn’t much better. He hoped there were no bedbugs or other parasites living in the olive-drab blanket as he lay on half of it and did his best to pull the remaining part over his body.
The sound of the gate opening announced another late night arrival. The skinny, young inmate being brought in seemed to be looking everywhere at once with wild, dark Puerto Rican eyes darting in every direction.
G-20, who was hanging in front of the TV with fellow gang members, made his way back to Trick and Pete. He filled them in on the new arrival who would be sharing floor space with them. “Crazy ass mutha fucka strangled his mama in her sleep.”
Pete’s head shook with a slight palsy. “C’mon. Let’s pull up next to each other in case he tries to get one of us while
we’re
sleeping.”
After the main lights went out, Trick lay sandwiched between murderers Pete and G-20, realizing the absurdity of the situation.
He had a horrible nightmare of being in jail, only to awake to the real life nightmare of his new world.
The next day, Trick noticed that Mike Weidmann, who was friendly the day before, was avoiding him. Not an easy thing to do in such a confined area. Trick approached him and said, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Walk it off.” Mike flicked his cigarette ash on the floor. “I can’t be seen with you no more. Go on, go.”
“What’re you talking about?” Trick spread his hands out like a pastor giving a sermon.
“You owe the wrong people a lot of money.” Mike finally made eye contact. “Right now they’re waitin’ to see what happens to you. If it looks like you won’t be able to pay them, you’re dead. Either in here or the penitentiary. But it’ll happen.”
“You know who these guys are? Are they with the Latin Kings?” Trick reached out. “I need to know.”
“Don’t ever approach me again. If you do, I’ll shank your ass.” Mike turned and walked away.
***
While Shabaz talked with fellow gang members A.D. and Chili, Trick couldn’t help but notice the way their eyes intermittently darted toward him. Later that night, Trick was surprised he was assigned a cell so soon. The usual waiting time was about a week. When he found that he would be sharing a cell with Shabaz, his insides ached.
***
Trick stood at the locked cell door looking out through the bars at the darkened, relatively quiet dayroom. He heard Shabaz get off the lower bunk and walk up behind him. Not knowing what he wanted, Trick considered swinging his elbow hard into Shabaz’s throat. He hesitated, then regretted it when Shabaz grabbed him around the neck from behind with a heavily muscled arm. He knew not to struggle when he felt the cold steel of a homemade shank against his lower throat.
“What do you want?” Trick gasped through the tight grip.
“I want what ya got, mutha fucka,” Shabaz whispered in his ear with breath that smelled like rotting crabs.
“You’ll have to kill me. Go ahead.” Trick’s body stiffened. “The only way you’ll have me is dead and lifeless.”
“What ya think? I’m gonna rape ya? Don’t flatter yaself. Ya got money on da street and ya gonna hand it ova ta my people.”
“You heard wrong.” Trick struggled for breath. “I’m broke. What I made after I got out was ripped off, the rest the cops confiscated.”
“Don’t gimme dat shit. Ya got bread out dere.”
“Do what you got to do,” Trick bluffed with his life. “If I do have money, you can’t get secrets from a dead man.”
“Neva said I was gonna kill ya. I stick this in yo spine far nough, it’ll paralyze ya. How’d ya like ta spen da rest of yo white-ass life in a wheelchair, huh? Think I won’t do it? I’m already in for murder. I’m neva getting’ out again anyway.”
Shabaz took the blade from Trick’s throat and pushed it against the back of his neck. “Think I’m playin’ whicha?”
Feeling the sharpened metal puncture the back of his neck, Trick’s heart pounded and thought he’d pass out as he wheezed, getting just enough oxygen to keep him alive.
“Ya try goin’ ta da guards, I’ll know ‘bout it. Dese are my people. Ya dig? We one big family. Dey get a taste too.” Shabaz breathed heavily into Trick’s face. “Tomorra ya gonna git on da phone and make some calls. If it’s in yo house, we send someone ova ta pick it up. If it’s in a car, we go git the car. It’s in a safe, ya gonna tell us the combination or where da key is. Undastan?”
Trick felt the sting of the blade push harder into the back of his neck and thought about the few thousand he had stashed in Reggie’s condo. He knew Shabaz was expecting a lot more than that. How could he give them something he didn’t have? How could he convince Shabaz his money was gone?
Trick lay awake tossing and turning most of his second night in jail. He considered attacking Shabaz in his sleep but knew it would end up in a life or death struggle. And if he did kill Shabaz, he’d never get out. When he did sleep a little, again it was filled with nightmares.
With Shabaz out of the cell for breakfast, Trick was finally able to doze a bit more, but was jarred awake. “Patrick Halloran!” From behind the eight-foot tall gate, a voice yelled out over the raucous jailhouse commotion, “You’re goin’ home!”
Trick was in shock. He had a hard time believing anyone would bail him out. Was it a fluke? Maybe there was another Patrick Halloran in the system he was mistaken for. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t clear out quick enough.
The process of getting out was almost as lengthy as getting in. After a couple hours of red tape, he walked into the immense lobby of Cook County Jail to find Starnes and Moogie standing there waiting. As they approached, Trick said to Starnes, “You’re the last person I expected to spring me.”
“Surprise, surprise.” Starnes laughed. “I’m retiring from the drug trade. Gettin’ too hot out there. Everyone’s snitchin’ someone else out. No integrity left in the business.”
“Yeah,” Trick responded, “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, let’s move this outside,” Starnes said. “You and me have had our differences but you always came through. You were into me deep but you paid me back. Which is exactly what I expect you to do now, with interest, including the forty Gs you owe me for the kilo I fronted you. I’m goin’ into the loan shark business. I got enough to retire on. Gonna put my money on the street to keep up with inflation.”
Trick walked down the concrete steps with Starnes and Moogie crowding him and caught the aroma of grilled onions coming from the sandwich truck parked out front. “What kind of juice we talking?”
“I’m givin’ you a special deal since you didn’t ask me to do this.” Starnes rubbed his stubble, pausing as if still deciding. “Straight ten-percent. Payments start thirty days from tomorrow. Due the first of every month.” Starnes poked Trick’s chest. “You gotta stay out. Promise your lawyer your first born. Turn rat. I don’t care but stay on the street and keep earnin’. You end up doin’ time and we got a problem. Easier to have you stabbed in the joint than it is out here. We got an understandin’?”
Trick tilted his head back, the late morning drizzle needling his face. “I hear what you’re saying.”
“You’re gonna start collectin’ for me too. You’re gonna be workin’ with Moogie till you get me paid off. That means you’re gonna be leanin’ on people, breakin’ bones if you have to. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it,” Trick answered in order to buy time.
“That little boy of yours could bring in a good buck on the black market. Grow up suckin’ dick in Bangkok. Imagine a bunch of dirty, sweaty degenerates strokin’ that blond hair while he gobbles their cocks. Once he disappears into the underground he’ll never resurface.”
Trick stepped closer to Starnes, leaned in and growled, “I told you once before, if you ever threatened me with my son again I’d kill you.”
Moogie grabbed Trick by the sleeve of his leather jacket but he shook him off. “Anything ever happens to my boy, I’ll finish you off,” Trick said, glaring at Starnes, walking backward toward the row of taxicabs.
***
Ginger’s phone rang ten times. Trick hung up and hopped in the shower at the Cloud 9 Motel to wash the smell of Cook County Jail out of his hair and pores. He quickly dressed and drove to Ginger’s apartment. Seeing children walking in the misty rain, dressed up as witches, cowboys, Elvira and Hulk Hogan, made him realize what day it was.
As Trick walked to Ginger’s door, the wet wind blew against his neck, stinging the puncture wound from Shabaz’s shank. Her car was in the lot so he rang the buzzer and looked up to her second story window. It appeared dark in the late afternoon, gray light. He rang again and heard tapping. He looked up to see Ginger’s next door neighbor, Karen, waving to him from her second story picture window. The entry buzzer let him in and he bound up the steps two at a time. Karen opened her door with little Pat bouncing up and down behind her.
“Hi, Daddy!” Pat waved, hopping around on a pogo stick.
“Come on in,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Ginger already knows. It was in the
Southtown Economist
and the
Sun-Times
.”
“Where is she? Working?”
“Working? She’s in Christ Hospital. You didn’t know?”
“Christ?” Trick’s expression quickly turned to one of concern. “What’s going on?”
“She passed out at the top of the stairs last night. I called an ambulance. She didn’t look good at all.”
Trick grabbed his short cropped hair with both hands. “I got to get over there.”
“What about Junior? I’ve been watching him since last night. He’s a little cutie but I got things to do. Why don’t you take him with you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I better see how she’s doing first … you know, just in case. I don’t want to scare him,” Trick said low, as Pat dropped the pogo stick and watched intently.
“What the hell were you thinking? Getting involved with that shit again. Are you that greedy that you’d risk your freedom for a buck?” Karen motioned toward Pat. “With a precious little guy like this? I don’t get you at all.”
“Pat, go wash your face and hands.” When his son left the room, Trick continued, “It’s not what you think. There’s always more to a situation than meets the eye and I don’t have the time or the inclination to explain it all.” Trick reached into the back pocket of his creased designer jeans. “Look, here’s a little dough. Please, get some kind of costume together and take Pat trick-or-treating. Keep an eye on him while I see what’s going on.”
Karen took the cash and counted it in front of Trick, flipping through the bills with her lips moving.
“Come here, Pat,” Trick called, then got down on one knee. Pat ran back into the living room clutching a hand towel, his face dripping with water. Trick pulled him close. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you big bunches.”
Pat didn’t say a word. He just looked at Trick with sad eyes and nodded.
***
Driving by the main entrance to Christ Hospital and Medical Center, Trick saw Ginger standing out front. He did a U-turn on Kostner Avenue and pulled up near the revolving doors. He put his window down and called, “Hey. What’s going on? You need a ride?”
Ginger looked around, then got in his car. “Petros was supposed to pick me up but he never showed.”
“Told you he was an asshole.” Trick looked at Ginger who just stared ahead as the wiper blades kept time with
Broken Wings
by Mr. Mister playing low on the radio. “How are you?”
“My stomach and back hurt. I got a prescription for some pain meds.”
“Did they say what’s wrong with you?” Trick put his signal on then turned right onto 95th Street.
“No. They’re running more tests. I’m surprised to see you back out so quick. Did you go see Pat?”
“Yeah. I gave Karen some dough to get him a costume and take him trick-or-treating.”
“I wanted to take him,” Ginger’s voice quivered.
Trick saw a tear roll down her cheek and touched her shoulder. “You can take him next year.”
“If there is a next year.”
“Come on. Don’t talk like that. I’m sure you’ll get better once the doctors figure out what’s wrong with you.”
***
After getting Ginger’s prescription filled, they continued south on Cicero. She remained quiet most of the way home. Trick broke the silence as they passed the Condesa Del Mar restaurant and banquet hall. “I was wrong.”
Ginger opened the paper bag and looked at the label on the brown plastic bottle. “What are you talking about?”
“Everything. I was wrong about everything.” Trick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s a switch.” She put the bottle back in the bag. “I never heard you talk like this.”
“You were right. I should have never taken the chances I did back then, selling drugs … when I had a wife and a little boy at home waiting for me.”
“You don’t have to do this, not now.”
“I do have to. I made excuses. Told myself I was doing it to provide for you and Pat, to set us up, buy a nice house, financial security … all that. I was really doing it to fill a void, an empty spot I had inside. Turned out to be a bottomless pit, caused by the abandonment I felt growing up, not understanding why a mother and father would just ditch me. Spent many years wondering. What was wrong with me? Wasn’t I a cute enough baby?”
Ginger reached over and squeezed Trick’s arm. “Oh, Pat.”
“Guess I always felt like I wasn’t good enough. But all the money, fancy clothes, jewelry, didn’t solve my problems. They were just band aids. I know what’s important now. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Of course I can. I guess I’ve been pretty hard on you. I’m sorry too.”
When they pulled up in front of Ginger’s apartment, Trick asked, “You think I could come up for a while?”
“I’m really tired. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.” The interior light went on when she opened the door, illuminating her gaunt cheeks.