"SETTLING OF SCORES"
A young man, approximately 20 years old, stood by the telephone, anxiously awaiting for it to ring. It had been three years since he had seen his older brother, three years since his brother had been carted off to prison for possession of crack cocaine with intent to distribute. The young man's name was Ricky, and his brother's name was Creole. Ricky had been angry and bitter ever since those events, made worse when it was discovered that Creole's wife Poochie had been the one who had tipped off the police about Creole's 'activities' before packing up their children and leaving town after learning from her friend of what he had done to a young girl. Ricky knew the girl well—her name was Arilyn Moran and her brother's name was Jimmy, Creole's former best friend. The woman who had informed Poochie was Veronica, who was married to another Moran brother—a former Marine corporal named Jey. Finally, the phone ran.
"Bro," Ricky called out, trying to decipher the voice.
"It's me, Ricky."
Ricky looked around the hallway of his college dormitory, ensuring complete privacy. He then returned to his conversation. "Creole…where are you?"
"Don't worry about where I am right now," Creole said. "For right now, I'll contact you so keep your cell phone on." He paused, listening carefully for any sound that indicated that his telephone had been tapped. Satisfied, he continued. "I'm going…to need your help, Ricky."
"Sure, Bro…what's up?"
"Not on the phone," Creole cautioned his younger brother. "Someone's coming up there to pick you up. When they call you from the front desk, you come on down. I'll explain everything to you then."
A black four-door Suburban SUV moved smoothly down the blackened late-night highway. Inside the SUV, Creole and Ricky were in the back seat, discussing what Creole had said on the phone. "I need you to help me out, Little Brother," Creole said.
"What's so important that you couldn't tell me about it on the phone at school?" Ricky wondered.
"I have a bit of unfinished business that need closing out." Creole looked out the window, into the night. "I took her from nothing…from Park Manor. I gave her whatever the hell she wanted…and she let that bitch talk her into rolling me over to the cops." Ricky nodded, knowing that Creole was referring to his wife and Veronica. Creole stroked the neatly-trimmed goatee on his chin, in deep thought. His mind then switched to Jimmy. "I kept that nigga from getting killed in prison, kept him from being a bitch on the inside…like his stepdad tried to turn him into. I taught him damn near everything he knows, and he didn't even call me one time to thank me for getting that hoe Tangie up to the jail to spring him free." He turned to his brother. "People are so unappreciative…it's time for us to settle accounts. Are you in?"
Ricky's bitterness dominated his rationality. "Let's do it." Creole smiled, nodding slightly. He leaned back into the leather seat, pondering. Ricky eyed his brother. "What do we do first?"
Creole's answer was simple. "We close out our first account." Slowly and methodically, he rubbed the wedding ring on his left-ring finger. "No one leaves me…no one."