Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Rafael turned his view to the suit. “So much has happened. My cousin is spending time with the Mouse’s brother. Interesting.”
“You don’t like that?”
He gave me a mocking pout. “I feel left out.”
“Where have you been?”
“Oh you’ll see where I’ve been, Maxwell.” Rafael chuckled and headed away. “Get dressed. Both planes are fueled. Timur is properly encased in a strait jacket and the hummers are ready to take us away.”
“Take us where?”
He turned around and faced me. “To the South.”
“Oh hell no. I don’t do the South in America.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a Black man.”
“But you must do her.”
“Her?”
“You still don't know where we are going?"
"Because you didn't tell me."
"Aww. She is a beautiful woman of a city. She is the Paris of the South. So enchanting, her milky breasts are full and supple and her pussy stays open all night long, spilling with bourbon." He stuck his tongue out and lapped at the air. "You will never want to stop licking.”
“Say what now?”
“You don’t know what city I am talking about?”
“Naw, man.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “How about I give you her nicknames.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
“There is no fun with that.” Rafael went to the door and then stood in the doorway. “Here we go. Crescent City.”
“I’m from Harlem, man.” I shook my head. “I don’t know any place nicknamed Crescent City or would have cared about that.” I winked. “New York, baby. That’s where we should be going.”
“Hmmm.” Rafael put his hands in his pockets. “How about this hint. It is the Birthplace of Jazz.”
“Chicago?”
“I said the south.” Rafael stared back in horror. “And do not say that Chicago created jazz when you go here. Promise me.”
“Fine, but Chicago has a legendary jazz scene so—”
“Never mind that. How about this one? You’re American. You’ll understand.”
“Okay.”
“It is the Hollywood of the South.”
“Oh. I got it.” I nodded my head. “Atlanta.”
Rafael frowned. “You are really bad at this.”
“Or those nicknames don’t really apply anymore. Maybe those are old ass nicknames.”
“How about this one.” Rafael sighed. “The Big Easy.”
“New Orleans?”
Rafael clapped, tipped an imaginary hat, and then went through the door.
I called after him. “Why the hell are we going to New Orleans?”
“Before my cousin can take his father-in-law to the Lion, we must fix his head.” Rafael shut the door behind him.
“Fix Timur?” I shook my head. “There is no way we can fix his crazy ass.”
Chapter 12
A New Max
O
nce I dressed in the olive green suit, I went downstairs. No one was in the kitchen and living room. I heard footsteps and chatter outside and headed there, happy to leave Timur’s dingy house.
Outside the sun shined in the blue sky.
Rafael had brought several men with him. I counted around forty. They wore dark blue designer suits with white ties and polished leather shoes.
The men were methodical in their movements as they took care of the dead bodies sprawled around the property. They wrapped the corpses in body bags and carried them off with gentle ease, as if they were nothing more than sacks of potatoes.
Some hosed down areas. Others picked up burnt carcasses and dismembered parts, stuffing them in garbage bags. Not surprisingly, the smell of death and destruction was heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe.
Further away, I spotted Timur being rolled away on a utility dolly by two heavy set men.
Timur’s eyes were wide and wild. “What now?! What more can you do?!”
Two men held their guns out and walked on the side of his moving dolly.
“Get me out of this thing?!” Timur looked down at his straight jacket. “What is this? Are you all working with the Great Snake? I can smell the venom reeking from your souls.”
Why do the French think they can fix him? This motherfucker is gone.
Timur continued to scream.
Then, a familiar earthy scent caught my attention.
Mary?
I sniffed the air. The cannabis plant possessed a poetic fragrance that could not be copied by any other.
Is that you, baby?
I scanned the space, searching for where her perfume was coming from.
Where are you, Mary? I need you so bad.
I caught view of Rafael further away, smoking a joint and monitoring the French cleaning up the bodies.
Oh, Mary Jane. You sexy bitch.
Like I thirsty dude, I rushed over there and licked my lips.
Meanwhile, Timur screamed, “Great Eagle come save me! Spread your wings and soar down upon these heathens!”
I made it to Rafael.
He turned my way and smiled. “Aunt Océane told me that you partake in herbal pleasure.”
“If that means that I smoke weed, then hell yes.”
"Then, you are lucky. I happened to find a really good blend." Rafael stuck his hand in his jacket and pulled out a silver case. A marijuana plant was carved on the front with MAX engraved under it.
"Man, that's my case." I tried to snatched it from him.