The Fix 3

Urban Books, LLC

Contents

One week earlier

"Jesus, Li'l Monk, why can't you seem to sit still?" Sophie asked from the passenger seat of Li'l Monk's Bonneville.

"Because I'm uncomfortable." Li'l Monk rolled his broad shoulders beneath the blazer he was wearing, trying his best to tear the seams and give himself a bit more room. He hadn't worn a suit since sixth grade graduation, and even then he hated them.

"Because it's a suit jacket and not a dope boy leather, and should be worn according to your actual size and not be falling off you," Sophie told him. "Stop complaining, Li'l Monk. You're only going to have to wear it for a few hours."

"Yeah, but those few hours are gonna feel like a lifetime, considering the circumstances," Li'l Monk said. Suddenly they were both reminded of where they were going and why they were going there, and the mood darkened. A few minutes later, they were pulling up at their destination, Unity Funeral home.

The minute Li'l Monk crossed 126th Street and Eighth Avenue, he felt the ball of ice forming in his gut. It was the same feeling he got whenever he was within spitting distance of a funeral home. It was odd to him that he could murder people out in the streets without losing sleep over it, but being around them laid out properly gave him the creeps. His mother's was the first and last funeral he had ever attended. He could remember, as if it were yesterday, seeing her stretched out in that satin-lined box like she was only sleeping. They had done an excellent job with her makeup, except for the raised patch of skin on her forehead that appeared slightly darker than the rest of her face. Gunshot wounds to the head were slightly harder to cover than most causes of death.

At the urging of his father, Monk, he'd approached the casket to pay his final respects. When he touched her hand, it felt different. It wasn't the same hand that had held his while walking him to the bus stop for school, or the hand that stroked his face and told him he was handsome when he would come home crying over the mean kids in school calling him ugly. What he held was a room-temperature shell that had once housed his mother's spirit. From then on, Li'l Monk refused to attend another funeral, even for someone he loved; yet that day he found himself going back on his word for someone he barely even liked.

There were cars parked and double parked on both sides of the street, but Li'l Monk was able to squeeze into a spot near the bodega on the corner. His was the only car without a funeral sign in the window, so he was leery about leaving it there for fear of being ticketed or towed by some thirsty traffic cop. The last thing he wanted to do was have to go down to Pier 76 to retrieve his car over some parking fines. Had it been up to him they'd have circled the block once or twice more looking for a spot, but they were already pressed for time and he didn't want to hear Sophie's mouth.

After giving a brief look around to make sure there was no danger looming, Li'l Monk walked around the side of the car to open the door for his lady. Sophie stepped out of the car looking like a woman ready for the world in a stylish skirt that hugged her hips, and the matching jacket. On her feet was a pair of modest heels that gave her just enough lift to show off h