The task he was assigned was far from simple. He had to end the life of a man who was not only intelligent, but a killer himself. His nerves had been on edge ever since he began to follow Jihad ten days ago. So far Keith had been successful at keeping a tab on him from a safe distance.
To his surprise, Jihad moved to a remarkably routine schedule. Every morning, Monday through Friday, Jihad left his home by no later than eight-thirty, got into his Porsche Panamera, and drove to Starbucks. He always placed his order with the same cashier, a young, attractive Hispanic woman who never failed to provide a bright, flirtatious smile at the sight of him. Keith even noticed that his order never differed. About five minutes after entering, Jihad left the coffee shop with a large cappuccino and two blueberry scones. He never followed Jihad after that point. Doing that would highly increase the odds of him being spotted.
Every Saturday night, Jihad went to a different club or bar to unwind. Even then, he stuck to a specific schedule. He was out of his house by midnight. His only inconsistency was the time he returned home. He rarely brought a woman to his place, which meant some nights were spent at a hotel.
Keith contemplated breaking into his house and lying in wait, but even if he could get around Jihad’s massive man stopping Presso Canario, there was no way he could disable the elaborate alarm system, including motion activated cameras.
With the uneasy feeling that he was pressing his luck by tailing Jihad for so long without being detected, Keith decided not to wait any longer. Being that it was ten o’clock on a Saturday night, he knew that Jihad would be leaving within two hours. He reached under the seat of the stolen SUV and pulled out his Glock 31. With a push of a button, the magazine fell into his awaiting lap. The clip was filled to it’s fifteen shot capacity with massive .357 SIG bullets. After pulling the slide back and releasing it, which caused a round to be injected into the chamber, he placed the gun in his hand and waited.
Shawn gave Tisha directions from the reclined passenger seat of her Acura ILX. She made a right off Germantown Avenue, onto Mount Airy Street where Jihad lived. Cruising at a steady speed down the street, the CR-V caught Shawn’s attention. It looked as if someone had been inside, but the windows were tinted and the dark skies didn’t help pass any light. He brushed it off, instructed Tisha to pull over in front of a specific house, then removed his phone and called Jihad.
“Hello?” Jihad answered.
“I’m in front of your house. Come open the door. And put that big, dumb ass dog in the basement.”
“How about I let him answer the door for me?”
“Stop playin’.”
“Then don’t call my dog dumb. He’s put up. Come on in,” Jihad said before hanging up.
Shawn gave Tisha a peck on the lips, then eased out of her car nicely dressed in a Givenchy striped sweatshirt, Paul Smith slacks and Jimmy Choo sneakers. He opened the metal fence, walked up the short flight of steps and into the moderately sized home. Jihad’s house was well taken care of and furnished with great attention to detail.
He walked in and saw Jihad making a quick dash up the stairs. “Damn, cannon, you’re not even dressed. I thought we was going out tonight?” Shawn didn’t receive a response. A few minutes later, Jihad trudged down the stairs. After one look at Jihad’s disheveled face, he knew their plans were cancelled. “Are you alright?”
“Hell no. I’ve been sick all fuckin’ day. I think this bitch put something in my drink.”
“Nigga, ain’t nobody put nothing in your drink. That’s all that bootleg Chinese food you be eating. Or you probably just ate some bad pussy.”
“Yeah, whatever nigga. Do me a favor. Run to the store and get me some Tums.”
“Aaight, but I gotta take your car, I thought I was being slick, I had my girl to drop me off so I could be chauffeured, but now you want me gettin’ behind the wheel.” Shawn complained. “Where’s the keys?”
Jihad spun around and darted back up the stairs to the bathroom. “Kitchen counter!” He yelled, trying to hold back the vomit that was about to spew.
Shawn shook his head, walked to the kitchen, and snatched the keys off the counter. He wasn’t too upset because he didn’t mind taking the Porsche for a spin. He would have purchased one if Jihad hadn’t beaten him to the punch.
He eased the four door coupe out of the garage and backed out of the driveway, heading down the street.
Keith had just finished rolling his blunt. He grabbed his lighter and clicked it. The fire lit the weed, he took a deep pull, filling his lungs with the pungent smoke.
His eyes widened as he looked through the windshield. The Porsche Panamera had just drove past him. “Fuck!” he cursed himself as he started the SUV, threw the blunt into the ashtray, and adjusted the gun on his lap. It was now or never. He mashed down on the accelerator, pushing the CR-V to catch up to the Porsche.
Shawn noticed the lights of the CR-V come to life and pull off only moments after he passed it. Once he made it to the end of the street, he made a right, then slightly reduced the speed. The Honda made the same right turn. Certain that he was being followed, he removed his massive Dan Wesson fully automatic .38 Super handgun from his waist. Fully loaded with twenty one rounds in the magazine, he switched the safety off and rolled the passenger window down, and prepared to fire his weapon.
With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his gun, Keith steadily decreased the distance between the two vehicles. Odds were that he had already been spotted. If Jihad decided to flee there was no way the Honda would be able to keep up. With few other options, Keith honked his horn and flashed the high beams.
The Panamera pulled over to the left. Keith rolled down the driver’s window.
With nerves working on overtime, Shawn kept his finger wrapped around the trigger of his gun. Leaning forward in an attempt to see who was behind the wheel of the SUV, he relaxed a bit once he recognized the driver. “Damn, li’l nigga. I didn’t know who you was.”
Keith was shocked to see that Shawn was driving the car and not Jihad. Being that he was next in line to be killed, Keith figured he might as well get rid of him while the opportunity presented itself. Without responding, Keith raised his Glock and quickly fired three shots into the Porsche. The bullets narrowly missed their target. With lightning-fast speed, Shawn aimed his gun and pulled the trigger, sending an army of bullets into the SUV. Keith fired several more rounds, and then pulled off. Astonished that none of the slugs pierced his body, Shawn pursued Keith fueled by rage. The pursuit didn’t last long. The CR-V veered onto the sidewalk and crashed into a tree.
Shawn slammed on the brakes, and the Porsche came to a screeching halt. He jumped out, gun in hand, and ran up on the crashed truck. Blood trickled out of Keith’s mouth as he raised his head off the steering wheel. He had been shot. He was alive, but in bad condition.
While looking into Keith’s pleading eyes, Shawn raised his gun. “You should’ve stayed in your lane, li’l nigga!” The bombardment of slugs from the automatic gun ripped Keith’s face apart. All that used to be in his head was now nothing more than a bloody mess splattered throughout the interior. Shawn hustled back to the Porsche and pulled off...
CHAPTER 29
Life had taken a tremendous upswing for Marty. With a rare opportunity to receive a second chance at success, he refused to allow failure to defeat him. With a tremendous amount of hard work, frugal spending and wise decisions, Marty had once again accumulated savings nearing seven figures. His focus was no longer on living in a prestigious home, driving the finest automobiles, and dressing in the most desired clothing.
Although his line of business called for him to be well dressed, and display an air of wealth, all that he had amassed was purchased with a newly found respect for money. He came to the understanding that the enjoyment of living a lavish lifestyle could only come after the hard work to secure financial freedom was put in.
Marty also learned to contain his emotions, which proved to be invaluable. Because
he was back in the commodities trading business, he was forced to move among the same circles as some of his former friends and colleagues.
Marty and Vincent had been invited to a special black tie event. Although he wasn’t interested in attending, he knew there would be high-positioned people present. With a little coaxing from Vincent, Marty agreed that not only would it be sensible to connect with them, but it would also be a good decision to allow people who witnessed or heard about his fall to see the clean, sober and ambitious new, Marty Frankel. He could not permit any harbored feelings to interfere with his ultimate plan.
Vincent observed his friend make a one hundred eighty degree turn for the better. The trust and faith that was shared between them allowed them to help one another in ways beyond their imagination. Marty’s teachings helped him grow intellectually, becoming superior to all who were at one point on the same level.
They arrived at the event via limousine, decked in tailored black tuxedos. All of the other men in attendance donned the same colored suits with subtle variations. It was nearly impossible for one man to be distinguished from the other. The women’s attire, however, was more enticing. They were casually dressed in expensive gowns and evening dresses of different colors and styles, along with exquisite jewelry.
The majority of the men and women at the gathering were egotistical, opportunistic snobs whose only concerns were personal gains. Because Marty was now aware of their motives, the advantage had shifted to his side.
There were a few people who shared whispers while cutting disdainful eyes at him. On the other hand, there were also men and women who offered pleasing smiles of approval and genuine handshakes. The varied reactions kept Marty edgy and tense. He did his best to conceal his nervousness as he greeted his peers. Vincent took notice of his brittle demeanor and pulled him aside.
“Marty, you have to relax.”
“What do you mean, Vince? I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not! The confidence I’m used to seeing in your eyes isn’t there. The way you’re walking and talking is not assertive. Your handshakes aren’t firm. Damn it, you have to show these people that you’re not the drunk that everyone heard about. Hell, you’re better than the Marty they knew before the scandal.”
Vincent kept his voice low enough for only Marty to hear, but the intensity made his message very clear.
“You’re absolutely right,” Marty admitted, regaining his composure.
“You have a one up on everybody here. You’ve experienced life at both the top and the bottom. Now you’re on your way back up. You have intelligence, passion and an understanding. Allow it to exude. Let them see the flame in your eyes!”
“You got it, Vince.” Reinvigorated by their conversation, Marty pulled himself together. Within an instant he seemingly morphed into a confident, ambitious and energetic man of promise. The new aura he began to emit caused many who graced his presence to become intrigued by this man whom they’d heard about through gossip.
Vincent led Marty to a small congregation of powerful men. The man controlling the conversation was Andy Merola, the vice president of Global Financials, one of the top five trading firms and also one of Goldman’s fiercest competitors.
After being introduced, Andy didn’t hesitate to ask Marty for his insight regarding a debate the group was having concerning the fluctuation of crude oil prices. Resisting the urge to become repressed, Marty offered his opinion, which he backed by data he happened to accumulate while researching the same topic days before. All of the men, including Andy, were completely blown away by Marty’s knowledge.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Jack Goldberg approached the gathering. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He received handshakes from a few of the men. Marty and Andy, however, returned Jack’s greeting with a nonchalant head nod. The tension was immediately evident.
Jack looked over to Vincent. “So, this is who you’ve been spending your time with? This can have a negative impact on your future with Goldman’s.”
Vincent refused to respond. People saw Jack as a business-oriented man of success. Marty, Vincent, and now Andy saw a back-stabbing, conniving, and manipulative man who knew no boundaries when it came to obtaining more power. “I must say, Marty, you look well. I’m glad to see that you’ve made a turn around,” Jack said.
“Thank you,” Marty responded evenly without displaying a hint of the anger that was boiling over inside of him. “I’m glad I made a turnaround as well.” Marty’s bright and confident smile displeased Jack.
During Marty’s tenure at Goldman’s he always went above and beyond protocol. Although he followed orders, he often did more than he was instructed to do. Any other supervisor would have seen Marty’s loyalty and ambition for what it was, but not Jack. However, Jack viewed Marty as a potential threat to his position. This brought Jack to the conclusion that Marty had to be obliterated. All of his power needed to be removed. Jack devised a plan that stripped Marty of his job, money, home, and his reputation. Jack thought he had destroyed Marty, but he had returned like cancer.
Jack’s companion strutted up to him carrying two flutes of champagne. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He accepted one of the glasses with a slight grin.
“Gentlemen, this is my girlfriend, Kate. Marty, I’m sure the two of you have met.”
This was the first time Marty had seen Kate since she abandoned him. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The love of his life had given her love to the man responsible for plotting his demise. Marty did his absolute best to contain his emotions.
“Good evening, Kate.”
Kate was noticeably stunned. The last person on earth she expected to see at the event was Marty. She was told that he was nothing more than a homeless drunk, but he stood before her in opulence. Kate lowered her head as the realization set in that she was a simple pawn in a complex game.
“What’s the matter, Marty? You look a little flushed. Would you like a drink?” Jack offered Marty the champagne glass with a devil’s smirk.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m staying away from anything that’s bad for me.” Marty’s words were a direct shot at Jack and his former wife. At that moment, Marty swore that he would not let either of them get away with their ultimate act of betrayal.
After accomplishing his goal of belittling Marty in front of the others, Jack grabbed Kate’s hand and led her away.
The encounter threw Marty completely off balance. There was no way he could remain at the gathering knowing that Jack and Kate were there. He began to excuse himself from the others when Andy stopped him.
“Marty, I don’t know everything about your past, but I do know that Jack orchestrated your downfall. I admire your courage to come back. If you ever need my assistance, just give me a call.” Andy reached into his pocket and produced a business card. Marty accepted it.
“Thanks, Andy, I really appreciate it. You will be hearing from me...”
CHAPTER 30
“This shit is getting too far out of control. We don’t know what Jihad or Shawn is thinking. What the fuck are we gonna do now?” Terry said, hoping that Mack would provide a decent answer. He drove through light Philadelphia traffic. Every occupant of every vehicle that he gazed at appeared to be starting their morning off wonderfully, without a care in the world. Some were involved in conversations, some were singing along to music, and others were simply living in the moment. This was not the case for Terry and Mack. The news of Keith being killed had both of them on edge. Their stress levels had dramatically risen to a peak.
“We don’t have no other choice but to kill ‘em ourselves.” Mack revealed his thoughts, glancing at Terry who looked perplexed. “What else can we do, sit back, and play dumb while they rock us to sleep? We sent a fuckin’ hit out on them niggas and they ain’t dead. You think we can just go back to business like everything’s normal? I know Shawn and you know Jihad. They ain’t stupid or scared.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” The vivid image of Terry putting a bullet into J
ihad’s head sent a chill rushing down his spine. The wicked lifestyle of the streets had placed him in such a position that ending the life of his long time friend was now a likely option.
They made their way to Dynasty Rental. Both in deep thought and heavily burdened by their predicament.
Terry finally broke the silence, “There may be another option.”
“What’s that?”
“What if we give Jihad and Shawn the streets?”
“I don’t get it.”
“We’ve been kicking around the idea of leaving the drug game alone for a while now. We’re making a ton of money with Marty, and the company is doing better than we’ve ever imagined. If we give them the plug on the coke they’ll have what they always wanted and it’ll give us a way out of the game.”
“Give them the plug?” Mack asked in disbelief. “The only thing I’m trying to give them niggas is a big bullet to the head. We’re in a quiet war against them and you’re trying to give them the opportunity to make more money, which will give them more power. That goes against the rules of the game!” He stared blankly out of the parked car’s window. “I’m not giving them the money and power to crush us.”
“You’re looking at it all wrong, bruh,” Terry said. “First of all, we’re going to limit what they can buy. Second, we’re washing our hands with the streets. We’re distancing ourselves from them. They won’t see us as a threat.”
“I don’t know about this, T.”
“We gotta get out of this game and this is the smartest way to do it. Look at all the legends of Philly that you told me about: Ace, Giovanni, the Junior Black Mafia. They made it to the top, but they didn’t make it out. We have to learn from their mistakes.” Terry looked over to Mack, who appeared to be in contemplation. “Every time you made a call that I didn’t agree with, I went with you. That’s because I trust you. I need you to ride with me on this one, bruh.”