October 30th was just another day. It was gloomy. Jackie used his time wisely, finally getting some cleaning done. It upgraded from shit to barely livable. It gets the job done. He can't complain too much. He also talked to Ashley, who took him on the offer to smoke. She was a fine woman, speaking her mind, also disliking what he disliked. They sat on the stoop that morning of the 30th, smoking.
"All we care about in this city is violence," Ashley said. "Rossi, The police, all of them. We just keep killing people."
"Only time people will listen," Jackie said while taking a drag. "I did the protest thing for a bit. Wasn't for me."
"You don't think change can happen peacefully? Look at the Civil Rights Movement."
"They sicked dogs on them, Ashley. And riots broke. Blood had to be drawn."
"So what, you're gonna snipe Coleson?"
Jackie snorts. "Shit. He sends thoughts and prayers to one more dead kid in a school I just fucking might. They do nothing up there."
Ashley nodded. "Fuck them."
After Ashley went inside, it was nearing the afternoon, and Jackie checked his phone. No texts from Tiffany. Odd. They had plans to head to the park today. She usually checks in. He rode over there anyway, to see what's up.
The walk over to her apartment usually calms him, but today, he knew. He didn't know how, but he knew something was up. He had his hands deep in his pockets, speed walking over to see the door wide open and more people than usual standing outside the door, complaining. Some rambled in Spanish, the others Jackie didn't want to hear. He had a hunch. He sprinted upstairs to see the apartment door kicked in.
Oh no…
Suddenly the hallway got a lot longer. His ears began to ring as his face felt hot. He ran over to the door, only barely getting his head blown off by Rose with her .38. "STAY AWAY!" She screamed, sobbing.
Jackie was on the floor, only his legs showing. He didn't get a chance to see what happened. "IT'S JACKIE!" He yelled back. "Fuck, man…" He got up, getting a proper look at the living room, or what's left of it.
The room that he shared his love with Tiffany was now covered with blood. The cross, the family pictures, splattered. Walls were riddled with bullet holes, implying bad aim or a gunfight. Maybe both. His eyes trailed down the blood, finally seeing what he wanted to avoid. Tiffany. Her head was destroyed. The upper half was blown away, the top left in particular was disintegrated into paste. A shotgun did this much damage. Her lips, something he kissed just the other night, was now forever agape, her last moments frozen in time. Fear was her last emotion she ever felt. He next looked at the large man who most likely did this. He had on a white tank top and jeans. He was just some fat man. He was riddled with bullets, most likely made after he died. Rose killed him. She was on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, wailing for her sister.
Jackie ran to her. Rose at first looked fearful, but she gave in and ran to hug Jackie, crying hard as she felt the pain of losing a sister. Jackie cried as well, his first time in awhile. She couldn't talk, but she scrambled to grab her weapon. She handed it to Jackie. He knew what she wanted. Jackie placed the gun in the back of his jeans, making sure the cops won't see a thing.
The police arrived twenty minutes later. Rose would barely talk, opting to hide behind Jackie. "She don't wanna talk." Jackie said.
"Sir, I understand, but if she killed–"
"She don't. Wanna. Talk."
The cop put his hands in the air and walked off, asking their neighbors.
The cops piece together a story:
The man (Stranger) kicks Tiffany's door in, yelling. The neighbors have no idea. A few seconds later, a loud thud then bang could be heard. Another few short moments later more shots were fired. Finally, another thud and more shots followed by screaming. This encounter was estimated to only be two minutes, forty-five seconds.
That night, Rose sat on Jackie's couch, hands on her knees, staring at nothing. Jackie sat next to her, smoking. They said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Jackie offered a cig to Rose. She shook her head. Jackie shrugged and threw the back back on the table.
Rage clouded his mind. He looked back at Rose. "Rose."
Rose sighed. Her voice was shaky. "He wanted money. Says he was Rossi's boy. He could do whatever he wanted."
"Fucking Rossi." He stood up and took another drag. "I had enough of his shit. I had enough of everyone just getting away with shit!"
"What are you gonna do…?" Rose asked.
Jackie smiled. "He wants violence. I'll give him more than that."
A lot more.