Lemmon's Journey

Chapter Sixteen

They were on a lone highway far from the city. The evening sky signaled the onset of dusk as they drove over the Bronx-Whitestone Bridge, venturing into the north-east borough of Queens. Their vehicle drove in near tandem with each other, spacing twenty feet apart like they were in a convoy, keeping below the speed limit. Lemmon had never ventured out this part of New York and was assumed the unlikely status of a tourist admiring the scenery that came and slipped from view. As the sun sank from view beyond the sky, so too the roads became darker. Lemmon perceived they were venturing into a new world with no notion as to what the journey’s end might be. Sometimes he turned to glance out the back window at the streets they just went past and wondered if he would get to make the journey back to his hotel room again. Hip-Hop music blasted out of the car’s radio like a relief pill for the occupants.

He took comfort from Jones who continued making eye contact with him from time to time. His eyes gave no expression, but it was reassuring that no harm was going to befall him in his presence. Like that was a relief, Lemmon thought to himself. What’s stopping the man beside him from opening his door and launching Lemmon out into the traffic? Absolutely nothing . . . except Wilkes wouldn’t want that. Too many eye witnesses. Lemmon thought of Randall and wondered how he was doing with Wilkes‘s arm hugging him tight.

Darkness fell expectedly upon the city and still they hadn’t reached their destination. They drove off Northern Boulevard into the area known as Port Washington. Lemmon couldn’t tell where they were, and he’d given up trying to catch sight of the street names they passed. Besides that, the streets all appeared to look the same. There wasn’t any suitable landmark he could use to mark the terrain. The time on his watch said 09:21 P.M.

They got to a certain junction and the cars pulled to a stop almost behind each other. Lemmon sat forward, sensing danger, but not noticing anything outside his window. As if on cue, the SUVs each killed their headlights before continuing their route. Doo-rag killed off the radio; all conversation ceased in the car. Lemmon noticed the man seated next to him was cradling a weapon in both arms.

They drove down a dark street leading toward the docks, and soon drew to a stop. A minute passed and nothing happened; the air inside the vehicle tensed from the wait. There came a grumbling-type sound as large warehouse doors in front sliding open and each SUV drove into a cavernous darkness and stopped. Lemmon looked back to see the warehouse doors slid back closed, feeling like one buried in a tomb, taking little comfort from the fact that he wasn’t alone in the vehicle.

High-ceilinged lights inside the warehouse instantly flickered to life, lighting up the everywhere. The tension in the vehicle dissipated as all doors came open and everyone poured out of the vehicles, Lemmon included. He saw Randall standing beside Wilkes and wanted to walk up to them but the hoodlum he’s shared the backseat with forbade him from moving an inch. Lesson learned, he turned his head at the sound of ongoing machinery in the warehouse.

There were workmen going about their line of work, some in pairs, moving fast as if each was under a timed synchronicity. The place had the look of a hastily managed vehicle assembly. Several workmen were dismantling car body parts, stripping apart inner components. The warehouse was divided into separate sections. In one section, luxury cars were being taken apart, in another, they were being mechanically reassembled. Lemmon watched as two men spray-painted a grey BMW with a darker color. The machines they used produced a lot of noise that was deafening; each man wore protective goggles and ear muffs.

Lemmon had his fingers in his ears and turned around and saw Wilkes speaking with an older man wearing similar outfit as the other men; Randall a short distance from him with Sylvia holding his hand. Lemmon looked around for doo-rag Jones but couldn’t make him out amongst the moving crowd. He was still searching for him when one of the hoods tapped Lemmon’s arm and motioned him forward. Wilkes was waving at him to come over. Lemmon didn’t see Randall around anymore.

“You enjoy the tour, old man?” Wilkes said to him. “I thought I’d show you a bit of my business before we get down to talking about yours.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Lemmon replied. “What’s all this?”

“My chop-shop factory,” Wilkes answered while they walked around perusing the assembly of luxury cars. “Stolen rides, if you can believe it,” said Wilkes. “Gotten off the streets of New Jersey and New York, bound for elsewhere. You’ll be having Sheiks driving these babies in the Saudi desert come next week. Just got to make some paint changes and serial numbers. What you think, old man?”

Lemmon shrugged. “They look expensive.”

“Expensive spells big bucks, old man,” Wilkes grinned at him. “Big bucks keeps rain off our heads and the bitches happy.”

“That’s fine to know. Now what about my grandson?”

“Don’t you worry, old man,” Wilkes patted his shoulder, steering him away from the cars. “You’re already out of my hair, old man. Something else you’ve got to see.”

Two crane operators were taking turns lifting large bags out the back of an opened cargo and piling them at a cleared space. The bags each gave off a cloud of dust when they hit the ground. Wilkes opened a cigar case, took out a stogie and lit one. The cranes cleared away when they were done with their piling and Wilkes and several of his men approached. Lemmon lagged behind. He saw Sylvia standing beside the first SUV, but no sign of Randall.

Wilkes crushed his cigar under a heel and out came a switchblade from his pocket. He stepped forward and stabbed at the thick centre of one of the bags. Lemmon and others watched as bits of rice poured out of the punctured hole and splattered all around Wilkes’s feet. Wilkes ripped the hole further and retrieved one of several brown-clothed bundles inside. Other pair of bundles tumbled out of the bag which was now half empty of its rice contents. Wilkes tore a hole in the bundle in his hand to expose the white powder inside. He took a pinch with his blade and brought it to his lips. Satisfied, he gestured at his men, and they got to work carting off individual bags toward the back of the SUVs.

“You want a taste?” Wilkes held the torn bundle at Lemmon. “You might get to like it.”

“I don’t take poison,” said Lemmon.

“Ain’t no poison here, old man. What I sell is dreams. But I don’t expect someone from a hick town like yourself to know about this. Out in the street, a rock this big can fetch a brother half a mil, maybe even more. This is America’s Mecca, old man. This is what living is about.”

“You destroy lives, that’s what you do,” Lemmon said. “Just like my daughter. And now you’re trying to do the same to my grandson.”

“Randall? Oh yes, about Randall. Now I think is the right time to talk about him.”

He gave the bundle at one of his men and told Sylvia to fetch the boy. She opened the SUV’s back door and out came Randall. She led him to Wilkes who playfully ruffled his hair.

“How’re you doing, kid?”

“Fine,” he answered meekly.

“You know who this old man is?” he pointed at Lemmon.

Randall nodded. “He’s my granddad.”

“Your granddad,” he chuckled, and then drop himself to his knees beside Randall. “Ain’t that sweet. Well, there’s something your granddad wants to do with you. He wants to take you home, away from me. But you’ve got to choose who you want to remain with. What do you say, kid? You want to go away to Never-land with your granddad here?”

Randall looked at him, then at Lemmon, his face clouded in confused innocence.

“Come on, boy, what say you?” Wilkes prodded him, still smiling. “You know I’ve got ice cream back at the house. Vanilla—your favorite. Bought you some new video games, too. I know you love those. But first, I want to hear what your say is gonna be. You want to be with your uncle Wilkes, and when we get back home, we can get ourselves that bowl of ice cream, or you want your granddad here to take you back to God knows where? Make your choice, kid.”

Lemmon saw the anguish in his grandson’s eyes, peppered with fear. From where he stood, he thought he heard the heaviness in Randall’s breathing, his eyes turning to him then at Wilkes like a pendulum. Lemmon held his breath when he started to speak.

“I want my granddad,” Randall said to Wilkes. His voice sounded croaky. He repeated his words loud enough this time. “I want to go with granddad!”

Lemmon sensed the clouds above the warehouse part with joy when he heard Randall say those words. While he exhaled with relief, Wilkes’s features curled into a dark scowl. The scowl slipped from his face seconds later and Wilkes was back to his chuckling self. He ruffled Randall’s hair and kissed his forehead before pulling himself to his feet.

“You’re such a brave kid. You know that, don’t you? Kind of makes me wish you were really my own. But I know of a better way we can settle this. You and your granddad come with me.”

Two of his men appeared from behind and motioned Lemmon forward, both men holding dangerous looking weapons. Wilkes led the way through a side door out the other side of the warehouse with Lemmon and Randall following a couple steps behind. Fright beat at the atrium of Lemmon’s heart.

They came out the back of the warehouse into a concrete platform. The dockyard was awash with lights around and the sound of machinery activity going on everywhere, though Lemmon couldn’t see any such thing from where he stood. Wilkes went down a short flight of stairs and then between a row of giant cargo containers. Lemmon took Randall’s hand, felt the clammy sweat on his palm as they kept up with their captor. He glanced back for a second to calculate the distance between his men who followed behind. They made left and right turns between the sandwiched rows of cargo blocks that nearly blocked out light from the dock. Lemmon felt as if they were walking into the underbelly of a cavern. Randall moaned with fear but Lemmon comforted him, told him everything was going to be all right.

A couple more turns and Lemmon thought he heard what sounded like the swelling of a river. They came to the end of the cargo staging to a twenty feet rugged landscape that ended in a rocky incline. Far beneath them was the river, and five miles across was the other side of the docks. There wasn’t any protective fence between the incline and the river, and the strength of the wind was frantic. Lemmon led his grandson carefully over the rugged surface, taking the same steps Wilkes trudged. His fear grew to fever pitch as he took in the dark ebullience of the river, calculating the distance before hitting its surface, wondering how long it would take to survive its cold temperature. There wasn’t any chance of calling for help.

Wilkes came to the terrain’s edge, casting his view at the river below. The wind kicked up a strong notch, ruffling their clothes, threatening to lift everyone in its embrace. The sound of waves crashing against the rocky walls sounded like death to Lemmon’s ears. He’d almost forgotten Randall was there and it came to him when he felt the tight squeeze of his hand.

Wilkes pulled something out of his jacket as he turned to face them. Lemmon gasped at the sight of the gun in his hand; Randall gave a fearful cry. Wilkes approached Lemmon with hated in his eyes.

“You want to know what happened to that b***h daughter of yours?” Wilkes snarled as he grabbed Lemmon’s collar. Lemmon groaned, nearly missing his step as he felt cold steel press against his chin.

Randall came to his side pounding his fists at Wilkes‘s thighs, screaming at him to let his granddad until one of Wilkes‘s men came and carried him away. The sound of the crashing water turned extreme in Lemmon’s ears as Wilkes dragged him roughly toward the rocky edge.

“Your dumb, b***h-ass daughter stole my money,” Wilkes screamed into his ear. “The stupid b***h thought she could steal from me, and then threaten me about talking to the pigs. So you know what I did? I brought her ass here. On your knees, old man!”

Wilkes slammed the butt of his gun on his shoulder. Lemmon cried in pain. His knees buckled and he fell hard on his shoulder and howled as he scraped his head against the hard earth. His glasses flew from his face. Wilkes dropped to one knee beside him and pressed his gun to Lemmon’s head. The wind grew gustier, howling like a banshee.

“No one steals from me, old man!” Wilkes shouted above the busty wind. “Nobody takes from me and gets away with it. Any last words, old man.”

Lemmon gasped. He shut his eyes and tried to summon a final snapshot of his Abby, to let her know he was seconds from joining her. Everything became still. He felt a tear escape his eyelids.

“I love you, Abby,” he whispered.

A gun shot rang out, shattering the template of the wind.

Lemmon instinctively fell on his back and let forth another scream when his head contacted a rock.

His scream seemed to merge with the groaning sound of someone falling before him. Another gunshot report rang out again, followed by what sounded like automatic shots that seemed to spring out of nowhere. Lemmon thought he heard the thundering whirr of a helicopter. A bright revolving light, brighter than the moon, appeared in the sky, roaming the rugged landscape before settling upon him. A loud voice boomed out of a megaphone but Lemmon couldn’t make out its words; he couldn’t even move. The ground hugged him to its cold embrace. He felt the earth swallowing him just like in his nightmarish dream. He saw himself slipping into a void away from all of this, about to join whoever he thought had tumbled over the cliff. His last thought before everything went black was that the waves would carry him to wherever.