Page 161 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

The wind whips me as I grip the gun and stand on the middle console. It’s easy enough to set the bipod of the m250 onto the roof of the car, and once I get a good footing, I lean forward, close one eye, and aim for the car in front of us.

Fire blooms in my shoulders from the recoil of this monster gun, but I don’t let up on the trigger as bullet after bullet rains into the SUV. The wind swallows my wail as my shoulder knocks out of its socket, but I still don’t stop. Gaining on them, I can see the windows are shot out, and then I tilt down slightly, aiming at the tires before coming back up to shoot into the car.

The car swerves and veers to the right before rolling into a ditch. Snow’s coming up fast, and my side digs into the car as I hold onto the gun with all my fucking might. My shoulder is screaming, and I actually feel tears forming when I’m thrown to the other side of the roof as Snow corrects herself. Thankfully, I don’t have to tell her to slow down. I look behind us and see smoke rising from the other car.

As soon as our shit stops, I drop the m250 into the seat. “Be careful not to touch the barrel, but move that out the way.”

I glance down, and when it’s clear, I drop myself, crying out like a bitch and pulling my right arm to my body as I try to catch my breath in the backseat.

“What’s wrong?! What happened?!” Snow turns on the overhead light, but she still can’t see shit.

“My shoulder… can you, like, shit! Can you pop it back in?”

She’s out of the car without responding. Next thing I know, the back passenger door is thrown open and she’s easing me out.

“This is gonna hurt–”

“SHIT! SNOW!” To her credit, she doesn’t count, nor does she let me brace myself, but it’s back in and I can function until we’re back in the city.

Still, I keep it cradled to me as I whip us back to the other car. Just as we pull up, a Bronco pulls next to us, and Ingrid hops down from the driver side.

Her smile is unhinged as she brandishes her glock. She skips down into the ditch, and Snow and I hear two shots before she comes back up.

She twirls all the way to Snow and holds out her hand. “Ingrid. It’s so very nice to meet you. I really admire your work.”

I snort, rolling my eyes as I pull out my phone to text Asa that we’re good.

“Thank you–”

“She ain’t talking about your music, Snow. She talking about my eye.” I pocket my phone and try to move my shoulder, but it’s already tightening up.

Snow’s eyes expand before she grins down at Ingrid. “It’s some of my best.”

Ingrid giggles, before turning to me.

“Clean up is coming. You two can go. I’ll also reroute traffic back so it’s not a ghost town. Be good, Rico!”

I salute Ingrid, then get Snow safely back in the whip. Since I know niggas ain’t on our shit no more, I take my time disassembling the m250, pack it up, and place it in the trunk. Ingrid honks once, letting me know she’ll have clean up look for any casings I dropped. I salute her again, and by the time I get back into the driver’s seat, Snow’s sound asleep, hugging herself to the door.

I take a second to calm my breathing. When I move my shoulder again, it’s still tight, and I know I’ll probably be in a sling for a little while. I guess I’ll take a break before I’m back on my bully.

With my right hand curled around her thigh, I turn on the car and ease us back onto the road. Even Fredo’s quiet as my mind begins to work, because ghost or hallucination, both apparitions know his nigga is flaw.

I’m done playing with this nigga. And once I’m back one hunnid, he gon’ know it.

It’s not too many people still at Saint Cecilia Catholic Church after the five o’clock morning Mass lets out. I count seven exactly, still in the pews, saying their Hail Mary’s and repenting before they go out into the world to sin again.

Fiorella Jackson sits on the right side, toward the back. One row ahead of me. Her head is bent down and I can faintly hear her praying to God, asking Him to keep her wayward kids safe.

Ma stopped believing in God after we were born. Probably for the same reason she stopped wanting to live. Still, I wouldn’t feel right killing Mrs. Jackson in the House of God. I’ll just have to lure her outside first.

“It’s very hard to sneak up on a mother, dear Richard. Once we have kids, our hearing becomes super sonic.” Her voice is still soft, even in its projection. Soft, patient, and kind, like I remembered it. We haven’t crossed paths often. Not nearly as often for me to feel something about killing her. But I would be lying if I said she deserved it.

Unless you believe in being guilty by association.

I stand, and take the long way, walking down my pew to walk down hers, before taking a seat. She smiles at me, taking my hand and squeezing it. Gianna is a tanned version of her, and the way Fiorella’s nursing scrubs cling to her thick frame, I see why her late husband decided to steal her away and bring her over to our neck of the woods.

“I haven’t seen you in years, Richard. How are you?”