Chapter 58: Happy America

That evening, at twilight, in an abandoned wooden house not far from Clayton.

Boyette sat on a small box, one hand digging into his crotch and then sniffing it near his nose, instantly feeling refreshed.

Across from him, four Black men even darker than him sat on a broken sofa and wooden chairs.

They wore black clothes, making it easy to overlook them.

One bald man said, "Boss Boyette, we just got this place. You want to take our market? You may have higher status in the gang, but we're not afraid of you."

Boyette said, "Tom, I'm here to discuss some business."

Bald Tom waggled a finger, "We don't need money."

Next to him, a dreadlocked guy named Jerry pulled out a box of tequila, showing off rolls of dollar bills inside.

Boyette stood up and kicked open the box, spilling many rolls of $20 bills.

"Help me take down a piece of crap in the Clayton community," he said. "All this money will be yours."

Tom asked, "Who's the piece of crap?"

Boyette remembered the information Adam Smith had collected. He also asked familiar APD officers about the situation that day and had some suspicions.

Together with the incident of someone poaching customers after ten, he had plenty of old and new grudges. "That guy is a small-time actor. Seems to have some money. If we go together, catch him, and squeeze out whatever we can, it's all yours."

Spike and Butch, two Black men, couldn't help but want to agree.

Tom, being a bit more cautious, stopped them and asked, "Does he live alone?"

Boyette nodded. "He rents a place alone."

Jerry leaned in and whispered to Tom, "Five against one, we've got the upper hand."

Tom glanced at the money on the ground and then at the box of tequila, seeing a big difference.

Doing what he was best at, almost instinctively, he stopped overthinking. "We'll take the job."

Boyette laughed and took out an M1911, checking the magazine.

The other four also prepared their pistols.

Noting Boyette's outfit, Tom handed him a set of black clothes. "Put these on. We are kings of the night!"

Boyette immediately changed into the new clothes.

Black skin and black clothes, a perfect match.

...

In the Clayton community, a few dim streetlights provided a slight comfort compared to the pitch-black outside.

In shorts, Martin checked the doors and windows one by one and returned to the sofa.

A shotgun rested under the coffee table, ready for use.

The bedroom door creaked as Elena sneakily emerged, jumping onto Martin.

As Martin reacted, the bedroom door creaked again, catching a glimpse of Lily's face.

"Fuck!" Elena also noticed, angrily turning her head.

Martin grabbed something from under the coffee table and threw it at Lily.

A pink water bottle hit the doorframe.

The sound of the bottle hitting the floor startled another person in a different bedroom.

Hall came out holding a baseball bat, while Harris came out with a pistol.

Any excitement Martin and Elena had quickly dissipated.

Elena got up and growled, "Get back to bed!"

Both bedroom doors closed, and Martin turned off the lamp.

Covered with a blanket, he didn't know how long had passed when he was awakened from his dream by the clattering of cans.

Being a veteran of multiple training sessions with Bruce, Martin immediately got up, grabbed the shotgun, and checked the window.

Again, the clattering cans--a noise too loud to be caused by the wind.

Hearing movement behind him, he glanced back to see Elena, barefoot, holding her shotgun.

"I heard something too and saw you," she said.

Martin told her to hide behind a brick support wall.

Looking outside, the streetlight was a bit far, offering nothing but darkness.

Feeling chilly, Elena asked, "Did James climb out?"

Martin heard talking, trying to discern it when a scream pierced the air.

"Ahh--" followed by a familiar angry shout, "Who the fuck set the trap with nails?"

The trap was clearly dug by Hall.

Martin decided to scare them off, "Who are you? Get lost! I've got a gun..."

Before he finished speaking, he heard a gunshot and instinctively ducked.

The people outside fired randomly into the dark night, leaving the bullets' paths anyone's guess.

"That's the bastard!" The familiar voice shouted again, "I've seen his late-night show. That's his voice."

Martin couldn't see anyone in the pitch black. He raised his shotgun and fired in the direction of the voice through an open window.

Bang--

The gunshot shattered the night's silence.

"Fuck! Take him down!"

A volley of pistol shots erupted, fortunately all from handguns.

Elena fired another shot from a different window, the bullet going skyward.

Martin shouted to her, "Don't show your head! Don't let the three idiots inside come out. Call Wood and the others for help, get the neighborhood alliance here."

Rather than relying on the slow-as-molasses APD, it was better to count on the newly formed neighborhood alliance.

Elena used Martin's phone to call Wood and others, who woke up and promised to help.

The gunfire paused outside. Martin stuck the shotgun barrel outside, firing four more times before ducking to reload.

There were no screams, just more pistol shots.

Bang! Bang--

In the distance, more gunfire-- the neighborhood alliance had joined in, with over a dozen guns firing.

"Let's go!" The outside guys weren't fools, "Boyette, there are too many of them, move!"

The familiar voice yelled angrily, "Tom, don't yell my name! Are you idiots? Jerry, my ankle's twisted, help me up!"

More clattering cans, as Martin fired five more shots.

"Ah! My ass!"

Martin was lucky, hitting someone with a shotgun blast.

More gunfire and someone shouted, "Move! Leave Boyette, his ass is shot to pieces; he can't run!"

Martin reloaded and waved at the three peeking out the door, "Get back! Don't come out to die!"

Harris hurried his siblings back into the room and stood guard at their doors with his pistol.

Car engines roared outside, and headlights lit up the front yard.

Nani's loud voice echoed, "Martin, Elena, are you two lovebirds still alive?"

Martin, playing it safe, shouted back, "We're fine. I think I hit one of those bastards!"

Valencia excitedly yelled, "Look, there's a black dude with his ass shot open! Martin, you blew his back door open!"

Martin boasted, "My shooting skills, one-vs-two, one-vs-three, no problem."

Wood came in, "It's clear, come out."

Martin peeked out, opened the door, gun aimed skyward, and stepped out.

Wood reminded, "Don't wander off; protect the scene." Then, in unison, they declared, "The Black guys attacked the community, we acted in self-defense."

Everyone loudly agreed.

Tonight's mess made them feel threatened, bringing them closer together in the short term.

Wood called the police, then looked at the Black man, "Natural camouflage, born criminal."

Martin went to the fence, seeing a groaning Black man.

Black skin, black bald head, black clothes...

No wonder he couldn't see him.

Natural advantage too great.

Upon closer look, Martin recognized him--the Black bar owner, Boyette.

"Punks, don't celebrate too soon!" Boyette, although in pain and with his ass shot, kept cursing, "The Southside gang won't let you off!"

Martin flipped his rifle, smashing Boyette's mouth with the butt, "Fuck you!"

Boyette lost most of his teeth, talking with a whistling lisp.

Martin shouted, "Everyone saw it, he tripped."

Others laughed, "Yeah, he tripped!"

*****

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