Page 45 of Wild Idol
He hesitated for another moment. “Darius is gonna know who ratted him out.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll be called to testify against him.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Okay. I’ll do it. Fuck that guy. He stole my song.”
“What song?”
“Bona Fide Hustler. I wrote that. Gave it to him as a demo.The son of a bitch stole it, word for motherfucking word. Didn’t change a beat.”
The thought crossed my mind that this guy might be making the entire story up just for payback. But it was the best lead we had at the moment.
“Tell me your name?”
“Dr. Chaos.”
“No, your real name.”
24
Dr. Chaos met us at the station and recounted his story again without changing a word. His consistency gave his story credibility.
Marcus Carter, a.k.a. Dr. Chaos, was a chill dude with sleepy eyes and a skinny frame. He looked anything but chaotic. Perhaps he had an entirely different stage presence.
We got a warrant to search Deezy’s condo and had a tactical team at his door in no time.
I rang the bell, beat on the door, and shouted, “Coconut County! We have a warrant.”
The concierge had given me a key, so we didn’t have to break down the door. After a brief glance to the team, I slipped the card into the slot, and the light flashed green. I flung the door open, and we stormed in. With weapons in the firing position, I led the team down the foyer. I shouted again for good measure, “Coconut County! We have a warrant!”
By the time I reached the living room, Darius had leapt from the couch and grabbed a stainless steel, semi-automatic pistol. With wide eyes, he aimed it in my direction.
“Drop the weapon, now!” I shouted.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Music blasted. A racing video game was on a large flatscreen display. The car he was driving had crashed during the interruption.
The glass coffee table was littered with beer bottles, a bong, and a tray of weed.
I think Darius was scared shitless. He didn’t know what else to do, so he squeezed the trigger. It was a bad idea.
The bullet snapped across the living room, echoing off the walls. It was deafening, the sound bouncing off the concrete floor. The bullet whizzed past my ear and embedded into the sheetrock.
My finger squeezed the trigger, and the bullet rocketed from my barrel with a flash. The grip hammered against my palm, and that zesty scent of gunpowder drifted.
I didn’t want to kill the guy, but my bullet clipped his right shoulder. The impact spun him around and sent a river of blood spewing through the air. The pistol clattered to the ground, and the tac team advanced.
Darius groaned in agony, clutching at the wound, trying to stem the tide of blood.
The team advanced around the couch.
I kicked the pistol away, pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, and attended to his wounds.
Jack called dispatch and had them send an ambulance.
Piercing shrieks filled the air.
“Just take slow, deep breaths,” I said, applying pressure. “You’re gonna be fine.”
