* * *
The ride took almost forty minutes, but I barely remembered the trip. Memories of my brother came crashing down like waves pounding against the side of a cliff. One after another. Over and over again. Eroding away my sanity as I drove on through the night. I knew killing Li’L Frisco wouldn’t bring back my brother. I doubted spilling his blood would make me feel any better at all, but I knew it was something I had to do. Justice was the only thing I could give to my brother now.
The motel owner’s cousin didn’t know the actual number of the room where Li’L Frisco was holed up but was able to give me a general idea of where the room was located and after a few minutes of sneaking around the complex, I found him. The coward who killed my brother was in Room 136 of the Gold Creek Motel.
After making sure no one was guarding his room, I quietly passed the front door and peeked through the window. Through a gap in the curtains, I could clearly see Li’L Frisco reclining on his bed watching TV. He wore nothing but boxer shorts and socks and appeared to be alone. On the nightstand next to him was a pistol. Next to that was a large glass bong. The smell of weed permeated from under the door and Li’L Frisco seemed oblivious to his surroundings, laughing manically at whatever was on television.
“Laugh it up while you can, motherfucker. ’Cause the pain I’m about to put you through is gonna sober your ass right up. Then we’ll see who’s in the mood for jokes”
I watched and waited for Li’L Frisco to take another toke. I wanted both of his hands to be busy, and away from his gat when I kicked in his door.
It wasn’t long before I got my wish and Frisco rolled to his side, reaching for the bong, but just as he did, a loud boom resonated through the motel complex. I hit the ground and laid down underneath the window. I figured if the Kings were shooting at me, maybe they’d miss and take Li’L Frisco out for me.
After a few seconds I raised my head to see someone, probably the motel’s owner, my caller’s chickenshit cousin, taking out the trash. The loud bang had been caused by the dumpster’s heavy lid swinging open and crashing against its back side.
Li’L Frisco cracked his door open, and I seized the moment. Springing to my feet I forced myself through the door and grabbed Li’L Frisco by his skinny throat. He reached for his gun, now tucked into the waistband of his boxer shorts, but I was too fast. I swatted the gun to the floor before he could get a hold of it. I lifted him off the ground, his feet kicking wildly as I tightened my grip.
“Do you know who I am?” I rasped.
Li’L Frisco did his best to nod. The TV providing the only light in the otherwise darkened room.
“Good. Then you know why I’m here.” I squeezed harder still. “And that this is the last day of your life.”
I threw him to the ground, pulled out my gun, and put it against his head. “You snuck up on my brother and cut his throat.”
“I’m sorry, man. I—”
I rapped the side of his head with the butt of my pistol. “Don’t say a fucking word. Not one fucking sound. My brother didn’t have the chance to beg for his life. Neither will you. Now, sit down.” I said, directing him to the armchair in the opposite corner of the room.
In my jacket pocket were cable ties which I used to secure his ankles and wrists to the chair and duct tape for later.
I turned on the lamp directly over the armchair and it was only then that I could see how little Li’L Frisco was.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” he said, trying to not to sound scared.
“Bullshit,” I said. “How fuckin’ old are you for real?”
“Eighteen,” he said.
“If you think that’s gonna make a fuckin’ difference to me, it ain’t,” I said, but now I was lying.
He was old enough to kill Scrappy, but he was still a fucking kid. But I couldn’t let that cloud my judgement. So, what, he was young. He still had to die.
“Be straight with me and I’ll make this quick. Lie to me and I’ll beat you until you don’t know your name anymore. Then the real pain will start.”
Li’L Frisco’s knees knocked, uncontrollably.
“Is anyone guarding this place?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Any Kings supposed to check on you tonight?”
Tears streamed down his face, and he whimpered, shaking his head again.
“Killing my brother. Was that your initiation fee for becoming a member?” I asked.