IBO - Brian R. Lundin (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

and Tim decided to drive to Chicago in James red pickup truck and see if they could find a connection for Ibo, they met Vincent at his apartment.
“Hey cuz,” Vincent said hugging Timothy.
“What’s up Cuz?” Timothy said returning the hug.
“Meet my main man James,” said Timothy.
“After talking to you the other day, I made some inquiries about your request for a shipment. I can’t handle the quantity that you want, only them niggers; the State Street Boys can handle that amount. I’ve arranged a sit-down with the head nigger, a dude named Pops, for tomorrow at noon,” Vincent continued.
“Great,” James said.
“I’ve set up a little party for you guys,” Vincent said smiling.
The men and other members of the Irish Street Thugs spent the evening drinking beer, smoking marijuana and having sex orgies with the female members of the gang. The following day they met Pops and John one of the Simbas at the Dowop restaurant.
“What’s up Pops? meet my cousin James and his main man Tim,” Vincent said as they sat down at the table.
Tim looked at Pops and John with a look of disgust. He had been told by Vincent that the State Street Boys were a bunch of lowlife niggers that were probably afraid of white folks so don’t nothing but look mean and dangerous. Tim followed these instructions and sat –lips curled, eyebrows pinched and chin up. He had rolled his sleeves up to show his bulging biceps. He was trying very hard to emulate the cocky braggadocio of a mature thug.
Vincent said, “My cuz want to cop some goods.”
“How much we’re talking about?” Pops asked.
“About three keys,” James said.
“That will cost you a cool 100 g’s, can you handle that?” Pops asked.
“No problem, can you deliver it to us?” Tim said.
“Yep, we can handle that, but that will cost you two g’s,” Pops said.
“No problem,” James said.
“Where and when?”
“There is a dirt road next to the Warsaw Airport, that’s real dark and isolated. The airport closes at eight in the evening and most of the people in the area are old-timers and farmers, they usually in bed after the sun goes down, I suggest we meet around 10:00 pm., Friday, two days from now, I’ve drawn you a map,” James said sliding the map to Pops.
“We’ll need half up front, plus the delivery charge, you guys get the check” Pops said as he left.
”No problem,” Tim said.
Later that evening Pops, John and two other Simbas met James and Tim and was given the money.
“ John here will deliver the goods, see you Friday,” Pops said.
On the drive back to Warsaw, Tim said,
“Them niggers got a lot of balls, charging two grand for a hour and a haft drive plus sticking us with the check, black muthafuckas.”
“Fuck them niggers, when that black Muthafucka deliver the goods, I’m going to bust a cap in his black ass. We can bury that nigger in one of the corn fields, he’ll be good fertilizer,” they both laughed.

Chapter 44

Eli decided to take the back roads instead of taking Route 30 the major highway in Warsaw to the airport, it would save him about fifteen minutes. Warsaw Airport was three miles west of the city and it serviced mainly small private planes and helicopters. The back road had a section that was paved but treacherous with the invisible oil slick from the farm machinery. There was a section that was gravel and that had turned into slush because of the rain and snow and a section that was dirt. The dirt road had rutted lanes of slippery mud that was nearly impassable, but Eli’s knew his high clearance and four wheel drive Dodge would have no trouble.
Corn and soy bean farms lined the county’s back roads of the city and the roads were dark, but that didn’t bother Eli because he knew these roads so well, he knew every turn and pot hole caused by the heavy farm machinery, from his house to the airport. The cornfields had been harvested their crops and only the bare looking stalks remained and in the darkness they looked like an army of soldiers standing guard. As Eli turned on the road leading to the airport, he saw a red pickup truck parked on the side of the road with its lights out. Eli smiled to himself; young people often used these dark back roads as lover’s lane. In between country music the radio disk jockey announced the time it was 9:00 pm. Eli heard and saw the helicopter blades rotating as he approached the red pickup truck.
“Good old Diki,” Eli said to himself as he glanced at the car’s clock and it was 9:15 pm.
Eli calculated that the helicopter flight to O’Hara airport would be about forty-five minutes, another half hour at the airport and they should be airborne about 10:00 or 10:30 pm the flight to Africa was about eighteen hours, including the one hour layover in Paris. He estimated that he should be getting to Lagos about 6:00 or 7:00 pm the following day. Eli missed Yolanda and his daughters and could not wait to see them.
“They are probably still asleep, it’s only 5:15 am there,” he thought to himself. .
As he approached the truck Tim and James jumped out. Startled, Eli lost control of the car and it ran into a shallow ditch. As the two men approached Eli’s vehicle, he thought they were coming to help him get out the ditch but when they were about three feet away they stopped a few feet from his car. Eli noticed that they both were carrying small automatic pistols, without saying a word they open fire on the car. Eli was shot eight times and his dying body slumped over the steering wheel causing the horn to disrupt the silence of the corn fields, James pulled Eli off the steering wheel silencing the horn. The last thing Eli heard was Tim say,
“Shit, it’s the wrong guy, that’s not that black muthafucka John.”
Through dying eyes, Eli saw both men jumped back into the truck and speed away. About twenty minutes later, John pulled onto the back road, which was blocked off by the police. A police officer directing traffic told him that the road was closed, there had been an accident, but John saw them put a body in the ambulance, he made a u-turn and headed back to Chicago. The Warsaw Police Department notified Mrs. Gault of Eli’s murder and told her a farmer heard gunshots and called the police who found Eli’s body.

Chapter 45

Maggie and Grace got up early, before 5:00 am. Grace quietly slipped out of her and her sister’s bedroom and met Maggie in the kitchen. Grace was excited, she loved fishing and Maggie had told her the best time to fish was early in the morning. Maggie, her sister did like fishing she said the slimy night crawlers and slippery minnows gave her the creeps. Maggie had a cup of coffee, Grace had a piece of toast and a glass of milk, and they headed to the pontoon.
It was a cool morning, the early mist and the rising sun was burning off fog that hung over the lake. Maggie guided the pontoon to their favorite crappie hole while Grace got the rods and reels ready.

Yolanda turned fitfully in her bed and in the distance she heard Eli said, “I love you Yolanda!” He had a big smile on his face and waived at her as he started backing up.
“Wait for me, Eli,” Yolanda pleaded.
Still waving and smiling, Eli started moving further away.
“Wait, please,” she cried out as Eli moved further away.
Yolanda started to run towards Eli, but the faster she ran the further away he got. Yolanda awoke with a start from her nightmare and sat up in her bed. She had a terrible pain in her chest and head and she felt nauseous. Tears were running down her cheek she knew something was wrong. She looked at the bedside clock and it read 5:15 pm, which meant it was 9:15 pm in Warsaw. Yolanda laid back down and closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use; the terrible dream was inscribed in her mind. Reluctantly, she put on her robe and went to her daughter’s room. Maggie who was still asleep when the phone ranged, it was Mrs. Gault.

Chapter 46

Diki met Malik and Cinque at O’Hare airport and they took the helicopter to Warsaw to get Eli’s body. When they arrived at the Kosciusko County Coroner office they were led to the “Cooling Room” that contained his body. An attendant in a bloody apron pulled a stainless steel table out from one of the coolers and gently pulled back the canvas sheet covering Eli’s body. Both men uttered a cry of horror as they looked at Eli’s body, Malik felt sick. Malik had saw friends and enemies die, but usually there was a reason for their deaths; drug deals gone bad, skimming drug money from the gang or retaliation, but there was no reason for Eli’s death, none at all. There were no words to express the sadness Malik felt. The taste of bile came into his mouth. One bullet had entered Eli’s right eye, leaving nothing but a black stained hole, two bullets had hit Eli in his neck, nearly severing his head, which was lying at an odd angle, the other bullets had hit Eli in his upper chest. Diki wiping away the tears gently pulled the canvas sheet over Eli’s body and they were led into the Coroner’s office.
Diki signed the necessary papers for the release of the body and said to Doctor Sheen the medical examiner, “Sir, we cannot take our friend’s body home to his family and friends looking like that, could you do something for him and us, reconstruct his face so he will be presentable?”
“I am sorry sir, but really that the job of the undertaker,” he replied.
“But in my country we don’t have the skills you have here for such a job, please,” Diki said pleadingly.
Before Doctor Sheen could respond to Diki plead, Malik put ten one thousand-dollar bills on his desk. Doctor sheen looked at the money and said,”I’ll see what I can do, come back in two days and your friend will be ready.”
While waiting for Eli’s body to be prepared, Malik called Boise and they met at a little café in Pierceton, Indiana.
“You heard what happened to Eli,” Malik said.
“Yeah I read it in the paper, too bad, he was a good guy,” Boise replied.
“I want you to find out what happened and get back to me, I will be here for a couple more days, before we take Eli’s