Chapter 3 #2
"Oh, please, Contessa. Don't. I know if you had to choose spending time with me or sitting with this lying piece of shit, it would be him every time."
"Excuse me?"
"You're excused." Endea tossed her purse down on the table and took a seat, looking around. "Where is he? And before you lie, I already saw his truck outside and his empty shot glasses right here unless you're both working on being drunks."
"Well, hello to you, En," Whistle greeted.
"Don't, Whistle. I'm sick of it." She sat with pinched lips, on the edge of her seat, waiting for Lucky to appear.
"You know I get you're upset, but Whist was nice. I may not be if you speak to him again, and any dick I sit on is my choosing," Contessa spewed when Whistle gripped her arm. "No, baby. If she wants respect, she'd better damn well give that shit."
Contessa understood everyone was under a lot of pressure, even upset with their state of life, but what she wasn't about to do was sit around and allow Endea to speak to Whistle as if the bone she had to pick started with him, friend or no friend.
Endea roughly swiped away a tear, then extended her hand to her friend. "You're right, Tessa. I'm so sorry. Can y'all forgive me?"
Contessa sighed, taking her hand. "I will this time, but you gotta figure it out. I like Lucky, but don't let him run all over you."
Endea nodded, then looked at Whistle, her peepers misty.
She'd done all she could to win Lucky over, from running errands, cleaning his home, cooking, even fucking him when he called her over while completely inebriated.
One night while muttering in his sleep, he rolled over, cradled her legs in the crook of his arms, and rammed himself inside of her.
He'd never been so passionate, so eager, so hungry for her until he released his seed inside her walls and called her a name she felt she'd been competing with their entire relationship — Dolly.
"I forgive you, but Lucky's a complicated man," Whistle advised. "He means no harm, though."
"I just don't know what else to do. I'm trying to be there for Lucky, but he's so… distant. I even—"
"Restroom," Whistle quickly offered, cutting her rant.
He couldn't stand to see a woman cry, but he also didn't want to speak ill of his best friend outside of his presence. That was women shit in his eyes.
"Just sit tight, En. He'll be back."
"Well, here you go." It was Ruthie, the one who'd been pining over Whistle but knew her lane, especially when Contessa was around.
He shifted in his seat when she bent over, her chest close to his face, and cleared his throat.
"Eight shots of whiskey."
"Appreciate you, Ruth. Think we're all done here," he muttered, looking down.
Still, Contessa was no fool. She'd seen how Ruthie pushed her tits up before she made her way to their table every time they came to the tavern.
To escape the hot seat, Whistle quickly slid Endea a shot.
"Drink up. Been a long day for all of us."
"Thanks… I guess." She tossed her head back, feeling the warm, brown liquor ease down her throat. It had been a long day, but she hoped it would be a better night.
"You might as well drink another one, and my word of advice is to let him tell you what's been gnawing at him when he's ready. You know how Lucky is," Whistle spoke. "All I'll say is that it's not a damn woman, En."
"I wish I could say the damn same," Contessa chimed in. "I'll come second to Lucky for now, but if Ruthie brings her sleuth-footed, lop-sided breasts ass over here, you'll be in the doghouse or barn at Lucky's."
"The hell did I do?" He threw up both hands, while Contessa sat with crossed arms.
While they sat and mulled in silence, short of people watching the patrons on the dancefloor who slow-dragged, Creed rushed inside, eyes stretched wide, in search of Lucky. Whistle sat up, hollering his name.
"Creed? Over here, son?"
He prayed nothing would happen when they decided to leave well enough alone. He and Lucky actually swung by Jack's for a game of bingo at the tavern, while Creed went to hang out with his friends. If Creed had disobeyed them, he feared they'd be in more trouble than financial debt.
"Everything's good with you?" he whispered, steadying him as he gripped each shoulder. "You don't look so good, son."
Sweat peppered Creed's skin as he paced back and forth. He was pale, as if he'd seen a ghost, which wasn't hard, considering he had lightly tanned skin like Lucky.
"Where's Luck?"
"The restroom. The fuck is wrong?" Whistle frowned when Creed shoved him off, eager to find his father. "Fuck that. Let me go see what's going on. Who's outside?"
"It's Choppa," he quickly relayed. "We saw his enforcers parked out back, and they didn't look too happy. Abe, Trek, and Striker are in the truck, but when I saw you both were here, I ran inside. Uncle Whistle, I thought we were all caught up."
"Shit, we've been making our payments, so fuck him." Whistle hiked up his jeans, then pulled him over to the bar. He didn't want to worry Contessa and Endea any more than they already were.
"You have your gun?"
Creed nodded.
"Good. Let's check it out. We parked out front, but I need for Tessa and Endea to head on up out of here, son. Matter of fact, walk them out."
"Fuck no. I need to tell Luck!"
Creed quickly rushed past Whistle with his gun in his hand. Whistle couldn't stop him, but when he rounded the corner, he stopped in his tracks when he was met with three men, guns trained on him.
"There's that little fucker," one of them spewed. "We saw you earlier. You and those same niggas you were riding around with took the boss's money and cut a deal with someone else."
Whistle came right behind him, and his eyes bucked as he lifted both hands.
"Listen! Hold up!" His eyes skated between Creed and the men who stood by the bathroom. He already knew it didn't look good when Lucky didn't come running out at the sound of an argument.
"W-we can work this out," Whistle stammered. "Let me get Lucky. I'm sure he'll tell you what our plan is."
"Too late." One of them grinned. "Ain't' shit to tell."
Within half a second, all of them lifted their shotguns when Creed rushed toward them. Bullets pierced the air, riddling his body. Whistle dashed in the other direction, covering Endea's body.
"Nooooo!" Endea screamed. "What the fuck just happened?"
Creed's body jolted violently as blood spewed from his neck, mouth, and chest. He coughed, choking on his own blood.
At the sight of it, Whistle lost it when he whipped out his gun, but it was too late.
Before he could get one off, he was met with the same fate as Contessa screamed at the top of her lungs as he fell against the wall, clutching his chest. Blood was splattered all over the walls while people screamed and ran for cover.
"Let's go!" Logan grabbed both Contessa and Endea, shoving them behind the bar as people were trampling over each other. "Please stay here. I just need you to sit tight." He passed his cell to Contessa. "Call 911."
He eased out from behind the bar, his own gun in his hand as he slid against the wall. When he made it to the end that led to the hallway, he took a peek, and the three men had fled.
"Damn, Creed." Logan caught himself, holding onto the wall as he stared at Lucky's son, one he'd watched grow up over the years. He then looked at Whistle, who died trying to save his best friend's son. This was beyond tragic. This was a life sentence of devastation.
Logan did his best not to contaminate the crime scene when he took the bottom of his shirt and pushed the restroom door open.
"What the fuck!" Logan belted at the sight of Lucky's body. It was slumped against the wall, a hole in the middle of his forehead, along with three, maybe four bullet holes to the chest.
He knew Lucky was gone, but he couldn't help himself from checking for a pulse, feeling guilt wash over him.
He knew there'd been some trouble with the farm, but not to the point that someone would come after Lucky.
He'd heard the name Choppa but didn't know who or why Lucky would be tied up with him.
"Is that Lucky?" Endea stood with her eyes wide, her hands shaking as she covered her mouth. "It can't be," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to end this way."
"Endea, I told you to stay with Tessa. You shouldn't be in here."
He heard the sirens, knowing the cops and paramedics were on the way.
"I can't leave him. We were just—"
Endea's body then collapsed, but Logan caught her before she fell completely onto the floor.
He always stood on the right side of the law, but watching a close friend die did something to him.
Starlah had not only lost her mother at the tender age of eight, but now her brother and father, too.
If Logan could kill those motherfuckers and not risk being behind bars the rest of his life, he would.
That was the least he could do, but as logic would have it, he needed to handle Lucky's affairs, starting with Starlah, his last and only heir.