Time Frame: After the death of Luther Mahoney

They all think that I’m history. That they know everything about me, about what I’ve done. They believe that what I’ve already done doesn’t matter, because I’m dead. They assume that the death of a person ensues the death of their doing. They all think that this is the end of Luther Marcellus Mahoney.

How wrong they are, how utterly wrong they are.

“What’re you gonna do detective? Read me my rights?”

The whole situation was different. Different than when people talk about having a gun pointed at them. They say that their whole world focuses on that one piece of metal. But, I’ve seen too much death, ordered too many deaths, and killed too many people to take my own death seriously. Oh, I saw the gun. But it looked more like a plastic toy that a six year old would play with, than anything that could hurt me.

I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. That look in the detective’s eyes was hilarious. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous. He looked so angry, with such disgust, such disdain... But he couldn’t hide his fear, no matter how hard he tried. That fear that I would lift up that gun, and shoot his partner. C’mon Mikey, don’t you trust me? Then again, I probably would have. Just to see his blood. I’ve always wanted to see his blood.

“You have the right, to remain, silent...”

Then he shoots me. *He* shoots *me*. He has got to be the most moronic white boy I have ever met. He doesn’t know that I don’t care if I die or not. He doesn’t know that, whether I live or die, what I’ve done will always be what matters. It won’t just matter to the people of Baltimore, but to this Dick Tracey wannabe here.

“Before you die on me...”

Before I die on him? Oh, yeah, he still think what he’s doing matters to me. He still thinks I’m not going to be avenged. He still thinks he’s a hero.

“...I want you to know, we switched your dope.”

You did what? You fucked up my market? What the fuck is wrong with you boy!? You screwed my workers? My customers? Damnit boy, what did you think would happen? You fuck with my customers, didn’t you know that you’d make more work for your own damn self? You should know this already! Don’t you know that when junkies don’t get their fix, they take their fucked up anger out on my people? The very same people that your scrawny ass will have to stand over? You are one fucked up idiot.

Ya know what? Forget it, it was just one shipment. One shipment in the thousands that have slipped right past you and all your little cop friends. One of the thousands still to come. My sister will fix this-- this-- incident. What? You didn’t know I had a sister? I do, and she’s just as bad as me. She’ll make your life a living hell.

I hate the detective who killed me, but I love my family. My nephew, my sister’s son... he knows him, Junior Bunk. I’ve taught him well. If they only knew. If you they knew.

I’m proud of Junior. He died, but he died avenging me. You show respect to your family when you either die for them, or avenge them. Junior’s done that for me more than anyone else has, even though he was a fool the rest of his life. My sister, she died too, but that was because she didn’t know how to run my organization. You’ve got to be smart, I guess she didn’t realize that. She was lower than a causality.

So, I guess that leaves my good detective friend and I. I’m dead, sure. Stone cold in the morgue dead. Done breathing dead. Italian marble stone over my head dead. But I know he still thinks about me. I know that, even with my whole crew dead, he still looks over his shoulder. On those dark, cold nights, when no one’s around. I know he can still see my face. I know he can still hear the gunshot. I know he can still see my blood.

All I’m doing, is laughing.