Chapter 37: Out of the Frying Pan

After getting off work in the evening, Bruce continued to catch a ride with Martin.

He thought about what Martin had said and added, "Hart and the guys from the Squad believe you can bring in more revenue, so they're willing to protest the Methodist Association with you."

Martin obviously knew this already. "Relax, I'll make sure they keep calling me daddy."

Bruce asked, "The whistleblower reward? I bet we all made the blacklist."

"That's easy," Martin replied, turning the wheel as the car approached the community. "You can have Monica make the call, and Hart and the others can have their wives or friends call. The boss agreed to provide subsidies based on hourly pay."

He thought for a moment and then said, "On Monday, I'll swing by Freedom Hall to see if I can secure some sponsorship. Old Bruce, this isn't a done deal yet, so keep it under wraps for now."

Ford stopped at the intersection, and Bruce got out of the car. "Don't worry, I'm not as dumb as you."

The car door closed, and Martin sped off, leaving Bruce standing there eating smoke.

Bruce shouted angrily, "Hope you get robbed by thugs on your way home!"

Martin extended his arm out of the car window and flipped him the bird.

The car reached an intersection heading toward the Clayton community, where a few remaining working street lamps illuminated two white men standing there holding white plastic bags, signaling Martin's way.

Martin had encountered these guys before--they were peddlers selling seaweed and flour.

He didn't slow down and kept driving forward.

Just dozens of meters away, screeching brakes pierced his ears.

Martin instinctively checked his rearview mirror. A pickup truck charged into the intersection, and the two white men turned and ran. They hadn't gone far when gunfire flashed from the open passenger and back doors of the pickup.

Boom--

In the face of a shotgun, all men are equal.

The two white men collapsed to the ground.

Martin sped away, driving quickly into a backyard. His hand felt for the gun inside his clothes, giving him a slight sense of security.

"Damn it!" Witnessing such a scene firsthand, Martin couldn't help but curse, "Shotgun!"

Although peddlers were prevalent around the community, Clayton wasn't the most chaotic place and was considerably better than predominantly Black and Latino neighborhoods.

After coming to this area, it was Martin's first time witnessing a shooting in person.

He washed his face to calm his nerves, secured the doors and windows, and after some peace, he finally went to sleep.

Around dawn, Martin was jolted awake by the sound of gunfire nearby.

Martin grabbed his handgun and phone, taking cover behind the brick load-bearing wall by the door.

The roaring engines of cars and motorcycles filled the air, with gunshots intermittently ringing out.

He called Elena and instructed, "Lock the doors and windows, don't come out!"

Elena responded, "I know, idiot. You stay in too! That crappy handgun couldn't even hit a bird!"

Martin hung up and dialed 911.

Given the volume of calls from the community, many probably reported the incident.

However, the sirens were slow to come.

Poor communities have no rights.

After the gunfire ceased and the engines quieted down, the distant sound of police sirens finally reached them.

When daylight came, Martin and Elena went to the crime scene.

A house less than 150 meters from Carter's home had wooden walls riddled with bullet holes resembling a beehive, and the soil was stained with dried dark blood.

The police had set up a cordon.

Martin saw Mr. Wood and asked, "What happened?"

Mr. Wood, who arrived early and had some information, said, "I heard a Black gang from the south came to take the goods and turf, clashing with Jackson's men. Four people died. Our broken community is doomed."

A middle-aged man nearby asked, "I'm going to buy a gun. Are you coming?"

Elena jumped in, "I'm in! Whoever dares break into my house, I'll blast their head off!"

Martin returned to his car, calling Bruce to join him and Monica on a trip to the gun store.

Bruce said, "Last night, a dealer died in our community too."

Martin felt relieved. "If we had taken that route, we'd have ended up the same."

The mood inside the car was heavy. All four were from the lower class, with no proper education, and only Bruce had any military experience.

When Martin parked outside the gun store, he said, "Folks, let me be blunt; don't ever fall into the quagmire. No one will lend a hand to us poor folks."

Bruce seemed to grasp the meaning. "So that's why you always work part-time."

Martin opened the car door. "I'm nothing but a part-time hourly worker, I don't know anything else."

Elena and Monica were puzzled. "What are these two idiots talking about?"

The four of them went inside the store to choose guns.

Martin already had a handgun but felt security concerns due to last night's events.

He wanted a long gun.

Elena also wanted a long gun.

Georgia law allowed purchasing long guns without restrictions or permits.

Following Bruce's professional advice, the two selected suitable shotguns.

Bruce went for an AR.

As the community environment deteriorated, they had no choice but to arm themselves.

After practicing shooting all morning, Martin reminded Elena on their way back, "Keep the gun safe; don't let that idiot Hall get it. I suspect he might blow his brains out."

Elena scoffed, "He's not as dumb as you."

That night, there was another shooting at the north end of the Clayton community.

Gang skirmishes continued.

After work, Martin decided to sleep in Carter's living room with a shotgun.

The next morning, while eating, Hall complained, "We should take the initiative and blow those punks' heads off."

Lily mocked, "Your head will get blown off first."

Usually cheerful Elena looked at her siblings, unable to speak due to the heaviness.

Harris felt the pressure and suddenly declared, "I...I'll find a way to make money and move us to a better neighborhood."

"It's the only way," agreed Martin. This lousy place saw cops rarely, and reporting didn't bring them faster.

He asked Harris, "How do you plan to make money?"

Elena interjected, "I'll keep buying lottery tickets!"

All Martin could say was that it was typical of Elena.

But she continued, "I memorized the cocktail recipes you gave me and kept practicing."

Martin borrowed paper and a pen from Lily, jotting down more recipes for Elena.

After breakfast, as he dropped Elena off at the Methodist Association, Martin remembered something and asked, "The Methodist Association planning a big training session?"

Elena replied, "For the idiot believers and their dumb kids, right at the last place where you picked me up from the Methodist training center." She caught on quickly, "You're planning something again?"

Martin thought for a moment and said, "If you have time, attend it and keep an eye on Milton for me."

"I know him," Elena said. "He reeks of that stench making people like me feel innately guilty."

Intrigued, she offered, "Should I secretly follow him to help you more?"

Martin cut her off, "Just attend the training peacefully, watch for Milton's appearance, and don't do anything else. You can't handle anything complex."

Elena grew angry, "My IQ trumps yours, you idiot!"

Martin glanced at her heaving chest. "Alright, I admit, it trumps."

The Ford stopped at the lottery store, and Elena got out to buy tickets. She asked, "Available at noon?"

Martin shook his head. "Probably not, I need to consult a patent attorney, then I'll head to Freedom Hall."

Elena was surprised, "A patent attorney?" She recalled, "About that handiwork you mentioned to Lily?"

Martin replied, "More or less. I'll check it out."

*****

https://www.patreon.com/Sayonara816.