Out a Order by Evie Rhodes Page A

suits, with matching black brims, black leather ankle-length coats and gloves, with black sunglasses sporting gold Dolce & Gabbana emblems on the side.
    Everyone had a Glock that was drawn, with the exception of Rico, who stood in the lead. The infrared lights on the Glocks crisscrossed the pews, landing on the preacher’s chest, creating a patchwork effect of infrared light.
    There was a stunned silence. Everything came to a halt as Rico locked eyes with the minister, who was standing behind the pulpit, presiding over the coffin.
    Not breaking eye contact Rico strolled down the aisle. Stopping in the middle of the aisle, his crew spread out around the church. It was a well-orchestrated move, conducted by a street master. Rico glared his hatred, venom spilling from his very pores at the seated mourners.
    The mourners were scared. Some of the minor rivals who were in the house to show their respect were not happy with being caught short. If anything broke out, Rico had the advantage. They were quickly tallying up their tabs, evaluating whether or not they would be in the line of fire.
    Once the crew was in place Rico continued his leisurely stroll until he reached the coffin. He looked inside at Spence’s body. Somebody had spent top dollar with the undertaker because the hole they had blown in Spence’s head was barely visible.
    That meant somebody had spread serious paper. Rico wondered at the source. Again Temaine’s double-crossing ways surfaced in his mind, pushing Ballistic out of the forefront. Red flames of rage passed before his eyes.
    Not a sound could be heard in the church. Even the music had stopped playing. The only thing you could hear was breathing, as though all the guests had taken one collective breath.
    Rico leaned over the coffin. He spat in Spence’s dead face. A woman let loose with a high-pitched scream that scraped against the stained-glass windows of the church, and echoed back to the audience in sheer pain.
    Others were yelling and crying. Rico snapped his fingers. Some of the crew convened on the coffin. The woman who screamed was Spence’s mother. She thought she was going to pass out.
    Not only had she lost one of her sons, but also his body was being violated right in front of her eyes. It was the work of the devil. She had been a God-fearing woman all of her life. She was a faithful follower of Jesus Christ.
    She had not, however, been able to instill these values in her sons. Try as she might she had lost the battle. They wanted everything now. They resented poverty. They wanted to be rich and powerful.
    She was unable to bear the humiliation and deep-rooted pain of yet another intrusion from children she didn’t know, who displayed antics that were usually only reported when countries were at war.
    She had had her children late in life. She was living in a time that was as foreign to her as a faraway land. When she was a child, adults spoke and children listened. She never thought she’d see the day when black people had to fear their own kids. Their own blood was turning against them, and they had lost every ounce of respect.
    For a brief moment she remembered the scene from The Greatest Story Ever Told when Christ was on his way to the cross, heading to his own crucifixion. People were weeping. He had stopped in front of a woman and said, “Do not weep for me; weep for that which is coming forth from your wombs.”
    Closing her eyes with a pain as sharp as that from a straight-edged razor, she now understood those words. The black women of America had their own crosses to bear.
    She and many other mothers were rearing, or had reared, children, who were bearing fruits of evil that they couldn’t live with. It was beyond her comprehension. This hoodlum standing in front of her was the final straw.
    Unable to bear any more she decided to beg, anything to appeal to this young man, to stop this madness. It was just too much.
    Lord knows she had tried to