FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 75

 Chapter 75

The hot shower spray stung Jason’s back like tiny nettles. Despite all the havoc and danger that day, he felt comfy in his aunt’s house. Even relaxed. Or as relaxed as one could be after killing a guy and carjacking his truck.  He missed the pink tile that was in the Cole Street house. He fondly remembered playing with his toys during bathtime. The little row of sailboats, ducklings and frogs sat on a tiled ledge, waiting or him. The rubber ducks were gone, but his favorite sailing boat, was here. She had remembered. 

He stepped out of the claw foot tub and toweled off. The tension he felt earlier had dissipated. Now he could think of other things. Like sex. The mere image of Cocoa being in his childhood bed was a turn-on. Then he remembered: His small twin bed was in the basement gathering dust. But the sofa bed would do. He combed out his long black hair. Slipped into his old bathrobe. He looked down at himself before he entered the bedroom. Almost ready. 

Cocoa lay in bed, thumbing through one of his old high school yearbooks. She wore the short nightie that he liked.

He cleared his throat.

“Look at you,” she said and then turned back to the yearbook. Next to Jason’s senior photo was Powers, J.  Nothing else.

She tapped the book.

“It’s like you weren’t there,” she said. “Didn’t you go out for anything? Sports?”

“I was a leader, not a joiner. Put that thing away.”

She made a sulky face, closed the book and dropped it beside bed.

“Let’s not waste precious time,” he said. He got into bed and slid his body next to hers.

She rolled away.
“I need some time,” she said.

“Something wrong?”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You ordered me to shoot that truck driver and, like a fool, I did it.”

“Consider that your initiation,” he said.

“Consider that as Murder One. I could get the chair!”

“Electric chairs are a thing of the past,” he scoffed.

“The tow truck guy might have a wife and kids. Why don’t you pick on gangsters or drug lords? Why must you pick on innocent people?”

He shrugged.

“More of a sacrifice, I guess. Like goats or lambs. Innocent.”

He reached for her, but she pulled away and slid out of bed.

“I’m done,” she said. “I’m not a stone killer like Sheena or Peewee.”

They heard a floorboard creak outside their room.

It startled them into silence.

He tiptoed to the door.

The floorboard creaked again.

He peered through the keyhole but saw nothing. Then he heard the soft click from Dorothy’s doorknob. She had sneaked back to her room and, ever so softly, shut the door behind her.

“She heard every word,” he said.

“Good,” said Cocoa. She had slipped into her bra and panties while his back was turned.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m dressing.”

“Unwise.”

She said nothing and continued dressing. Next came the black jeans.

Jason came closer.

“Look, I misread you. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”

She wriggled into a black T-shirt, then sat down on the bed so she could slip into her sandals. She was already planning her next move. She had a half-sister down in West Oakland, not far from the BART station. Worse case scenario, if she couldn’t stay with her, she could go to a women’s shelter that she knew of in the Mission.

“Okay, no more assignments. Ever. There, I’ve said it. You came through admirably.  Consider that your initiation. No need to prove it again. Deal?”

She put on her jacket.

“Don’t do this,” he was saying as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Unnoticed, he had picked up his Beretta and was deftly attaching its silencer.

“I asked you nicely,” he said in a wistful tone.

She heard the click and whirled around.

Too late.

He shot her twice in the chest.

She fell awkwardly to the floor, without a peep. The second shot had struck her heart.

He entered the hallway, his gun still smoking.