Chapter 48 Quest
QUEST
Since Prime had his plate full, I decided to handle this next one by myself.
I can’t lie, it’s been good to be distracted with his war from my own shit.
Camille tried to pass off another nigga’s baby as mine.
Lyric turned out to be nothing but a pretty face and a maxed-out credit card.
I helped take down my own mother and watched her do the perp walk on live television. It’s been a hell of a few months.
But my problems were small compared to what Prime was dealing with. So I put my shit on a shelf and showed up for my brother. That’s what Banks men do. We handle family first and fall apart on our own time.
Prime had Thad. He had Farah. He had Dubz. But the COs, the ones who let Zainab scream for seven hours while she gave birth on a concrete floor, those were mine.
Cooper’s apartment smelled like old pizza, stank-ass feet, and Febreze. Signs that he was single, lazy, and under the delusion that air freshener was a substitute for cleaning.
He was asleep when I let myself in. Deadbolt was a joke. Took me maybe forty seconds. I made myself comfortable at his kitchen table, poured a glass of water from his Brita pitcher, and waited.
When his alarm went off at 5:15 AM, I heard him groan, shuffle to the bathroom, flush, run the sink for about four seconds—nasty ass barely washed his hands—and then pad down the hallway toward the kitchen.
He flipped the light on and froze.
“Morning, Daniel.”
He stumbled backward, slamming into the wall. “What the—who the FUCK—”
“Sit down.”
“I’m calling the—”
I set his own gun on the table. The one he kept in his nightstand drawer. Slid it toward myself, away from him.
“You’re not calling anybody. Sit down.”
He sat. Slowly. Eyes locked on the gun, then on me, then back on the gun. His chest was heaving, that thick neck flushing red. Still in his boxers and a stained undershirt. Very dignified.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone. Swiped to the picture and turned it toward him. “You see these kids?”
Two newborns. Wrinkled. Scrunched-up faces. Eyes squeezed shut like the world was too bright and they weren’t impressed with any of it.
“They look like a pair of wrinkled tube socks, but I love them,” I said. “That’s my niece and nephew. Kheris and Idris. Beautiful names for some very funny-looking babies. They’ll grow into their looks. Hopefully.”
Cooper’s eyes darted between the phone and my face.
“Their mother’s name is Zainab Ali. Ring a bell?”
Nothing. Blank stare. This man traumatized a woman so thoroughly that her family tracked him to his apartment and he couldn’t even remember her name.
“Let me help you out. About three weeks ago, she went into labor on your block. Her water broke at the phone bank. She was screaming, begging for help. And you grabbed her by the arm, dragged her back to her cell, and said—what was it?” I pretended to think.
“’This ain’t the Ritz Carlton, sweetheart.
’ Then you called her a bitch and left her to die. There’s a whole lawsuit about it.”
Now he remembered. The blood drained from his face like somebody pulled a plug.
“She delivered twins in that cell, Daniel. No doctor. No nurse. No nothing. An inmate caught my niece and nephew with bedsheets and prison towels while you sat on your ass. My sister-in-law almost bled to death on a concrete floor. Seven hours. Seven hours she screamed and not one of you motherfuckers lifted a finger.”
“Medical was notified—”
“Medical was notified and YOU wrote in the incident report that it was ‘non-emergent.’” I leaned forward. “A woman in active labor with twins. Non-emergent. That’s what you signed your name to.”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
“Now. My brother, their father, he wanted to be here tonight. Badly. But he’s home taking care of his family. Being the man he’s supposed to be. So he asked me to handle it. And I told him I’d be happy to, because frankly? This is the most fun I’ve had in California.”
I reached into my jacket and set a small glass vial on the table between us. Clear liquid. Could’ve been water. Wasn’t.
Cooper stared at it like it was a rattlesnake.
“Cyanide,” I said. Matter of fact. Like I was telling him the time. “Fast-acting. You drink it, thirty seconds of discomfort, then it’s over. Way more peaceful than what Zainab went through, but I’m feeling generous.”
“You’re—you’re fucking crazy—”
“That’s not inaccurate.” I pushed the vial closer. “But here’s the thing, Daniel. You’re dying either way. That’s not a negotiation. That’s not a threat. It’s just what’s happening. The only choice you get is how.”
“Please—” His voice cracked. Tears already. Forty-something-year-old man in his drawers crying at his own kitchen table. “I got kids. I got two daughters—”
“So did Zainab.” I let that land. “Matter of fact, she has a son too. Yusef. Twelve years old. Already lost his birth mother—she was murdered. And he almost lost the only other mother he’s ever known because you couldn’t be bothered to do your fucking job.”
“I didn’t know she was—”
“You didn’t care. There’s a difference.” I tapped the vial. “Drink it yourself, or I make it happen another way. And trust me, the other way is worse. I’m trying to be a gentleman about this.”
He stared at the vial. Then at me. Then at the vial again. Tears rolling down his face, snot running over his lip. Searching my eyes for mercy, for hesitation, for some sign that this was a bluff.
It wasn’t.
“My daughters—”
“Will think it was cardiac arrest. Which is exactly how the coroner will rule it. Clean. No investigation. Their daddy died in his sleep. Sad, but it happens. They collect the life insurance and move on. That’s the kindest version of tonight.”
He was shaking so bad the table was vibrating.
I didn’t rush him. Just sat there. Patient. Sipping water from his own Brita like we had all morning.
Finally, with trembling hands, he picked up the vial.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, “my sister-in-law begged, too. For seven hours. And nobody listened.”
He unscrewed the cap. Looked at me one last time.
Then he drank.
It was fast. Faster than I expected. His eyes went wide, his body seized, and then he slumped forward onto the table. The vial rolled from his fingers and clinked against the wood.
I sat there for a minute. Made sure it was done. Then I wiped down everything I’d touched, pocketed the vial, and let myself out the same way I came in.
Officer Lebowski was next.
The one with the ponytail. The one who fell into step beside Cooper that night and called Zainab a “drama queen” while she was in active labor. Shook her head and sneered while a pregnant woman was being dragged down a hallway screaming.
I found her at home too. Same routine. Same vial. Same choice.
She made the same choice Cooper did. They always do when the alternative is worse.
By sunrise, I was back in the rental, showered, changed, sitting on the porch with a glass of bourbon, watching the sky turn orange over the Pacific.
My phone buzzed.
Prime: You good?
Me: Handled. Both of them.
Prime: Appreciate you bro.
Me: Go hold your tube sock babies and stop texting me.
Prime:
I pocketed the phone and took another sip.
Two down. Zainab avenged. Family protected.
Another beautiful day in California.