Nickel City Crossfire, Gary Ross [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

First, I love you all. Before, if you asked me if there was a hell, I’d have said it doesn’t matter. If what the church says is true and you live a good life, you don’t have to worry. If it’s all just myth and you live a good life, you still don’t have to worry. You did the right thing, doing more good than bad, helping more people than you hurt. A good life lived can be its own reward. I tried to live a good life. But then I went to hell. Dr. Markham likes to say we’re born in the crossfire between heaven and hell and we remain there until the end. Which way we’re pushed is not always up to us. That’s why our faith must be strong. But I saw the man I loved murdered. I nearly died myself. This left me on the run and afraid.

This hell was created by a woman I admired, maybe even loved. At first, I thought she couldn’t possibly be involved. She must be as much a victim as I was. Then I looked out the back window of a car and saw one of my former Sunday school students trying to kill me. That’s when I knew the suspicions I had denied were true. His crush on her was never a secret. He would do anything she asked.

But that all ends today. If you’re reading this, I am dead. At least I died knowing I put an end to the woman who destroyed me.

Thank you for loving me. Please remember me to Ileana and all my friends at work, and to Odell’s parents, who deserved better. Don’t forget Mr. Rimes and Ms. Trinidad for saving my life so I can complete what I think God may have put me on this earth to do.

Love always,

Keisha

“What time was this?” I asked, folding the note and handing it back to Jen.

“About eight-thirty,” Bianca said, sniffling. “She gave me that because she said she was going to take the fight to Mrs. Markham and finish it. Today. There was a good chance she might not make it out, so she wanted me to have this for her parents and friends. If she called me tonight, that meant she was okay and I should rip it up or burn it. If not—”

“May I see the text?”

Bianca took an iPhone from her hoodie pocket, tapped the screen, and passed it to me. I read the cell number and the message, which matched Jen’s summary. For a moment I thought about all of it. Then I handed back the phone.

“You saw the gun,” I said.

“Yes, it was in her purse.”

“A handgun then. Any idea where she got it?”

“No.”

“Describe it.”

“She didn’t take it out. I saw it when she opened her bag to give me the note.” Bianca looked at Jen. “It kinda looked like your guns, baby, smaller than the one you take to work, a little bigger than the one you let me shoot in the woods.” She turned back to me. “Black, with a split trigger thingy.”

“So maybe a Glock, probably 9mm,” Jen said.

“I saw the letters PPQ on it,” Bianca said.

“A Walther?” Jen said. “Who does she think she is, Jane Bond?”

I let out a breath. “What kind of purse?” I asked.

“Medium size, brown with a shoulder strap.”

“What is she wearing?”

“A black jacket with a fur collar. Black pants. Brown boots.”

I vaguely remembered the jacket from Keisha’s coat tree the first time I saw it. I was certain she hadn’t slept in her own bed last night because Loni and Dante knew where she lived, but clearly she had gone home to dress for her mission. Had drunk a glass of wine.

Jen looked at me and bit her lip. “People who don’t know what they’re doing can have accidents with safety triggers.”

I nodded. “This is something you could take to your department.”

“Bianca asked me not to.”

“I’m afraid angry black woman with gun will mean shoot on sight.” Bianca squeezed Jen’s hand. “I know it’s not always like that, baby, but this is my sister we’re talking about.”

“I know,” Jen said, closing her eyes

“I don’t want to take the chance.”

“I know.”

“So, back to my original question,” I said. “How can I help?” I needed them to say it.

Bianca released Jen’s hand and used the back of her own to wipe her eyes. Then she gazed straight into my eyes. “I want to hire you to find her before she does this and bring her in alive. I’ll pay.”

“No need,” I said. “Unfinished business I already promised Jen I’d fix. But you have to know where things stand. Keisha still thinks they tried to kill her over a real estate deal.”

I stood and went to my kitchen counter to get two sections of the Sunday paper I had already read. I took them to the living room and put them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then I summarized the articles for Jen and Bianca.

The front page reported the Sanctuary Nimbus fire, with a full-color above-the-fold picture of the church engulfed in flames and an erroneous detail, perhaps provided by shelter staff. The lone fatality was an as yet unidentified man who had shot a police officer, fled into the Sanctuary, and locked himself in the bell tower. Tear gas canisters from the responding SWAT team were theorized to have started the fire by igniting stored papers. The unnamed officer was recovering after surgery.

The local news section reported a two-car accident near the end of the Kensington Expressway that claimed the life of one driver and saw his passenger arrested for possession and discharge of a firearm, which numerous drivers had reported by cell phone. The driver and passenger of the second vehicle were treated at the scene and released. Police were investigating whether criminal recklessness or icy conditions had caused the mishap. The article carried all our names except