“Have you talked to Rik?” Gena asked.
“Rik don’t got it like that either,” Rasun told her. “They seized everything.”
Gena nodded.
“Gena, I don’t want to get in your business like that or nothing, but I know that my man Qua was papered up. I know he left you papered up. You think that you could spot a brother until I worked this shit out and got back up on my feet?”
Gena recoiled. She hadn’t been expecting this, and instead of saying “I don’t got it, I can’t help you” she said the entirely wrong thing. “How much are you talking, Rasun?”
“The lawyers are all asking for about two hundred and fifty to three hundred grand to fight this thing,” he told her. “It’s a pretty big fucking conspiracy case.”
Gena shook her head. “Damn, that’s a lot of dough, man. I mean, what happens if you pay them, and they can’t beat the case? What happens if you go to prison?”
“I’ll have to pay you when I get out,” Rasun told her.
“When you get out?” Gena sat back in her seat. “Damn, baby! You lose this case, you getting a Star Wars date! You looking at getting out sometime in the next century. A fucking 2032 out date or some shit.”
Rasun laughed. His laughter made Gena laugh. The truth was so fucked up that they couldn’t do anything but laugh.
“Gena, I hated to have to come to you like this, but you the only one I know that can stand to shoot me that kinda paper,” Rasun told her. “That nigga Qua had millions put away. I mean millions.”
Gena’s face remained passive.
Rasun sat up and leaned in toward her. “Gena, you did get Quadir’s shit, didn’t you? Mrs. Richards didn’t fuck you out of it, did she?”
Damn, this nigga comin’ at me hard. What the fuck he worried about what Qua left me or even what his mother got, for that matter? Something here smells very fishy, Gena thought to herself. She suddenly wished she hadn’t come to meet Rasun. I don’t want to help him either.
“I don’t want to talk about Quadir right now,” Gena told him.
“No, I was just wondering if you were all right,” Rasun told her. “I just wanted to know if you were able to help a brother out. I really need it for these lawyers, Gena. I don’t want to go to jail, you know.”
Gena stood. “Let me think about this, Rasun. I don’t really have that kind of paper, but I might be able to help with something.”
“That would be great, Gena, really,” Rasun told her. He rose and followed her to the door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Gena told him.
Rasun nodded. Gena leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek before turning and walking away.
The door leading to the adjoining suite opened as Rasun was closing the motel room door.
“You almost had her,” Detective Ellington told him. “You did a good job.”
“Does that mean that I’m finished?” Rasun asked.
“Almost,” Detective Ellington told him. “We just need for you to meet with her tomorrow and see what she says about the money. We just need her to admit to having the money.”
“And if I get her to admit it, then I’m finished?” Rasun asked. “Am I free once I do this?”
“Rasun, you’ll be free,” Detective Ellington told him. “Free to keep your ass where we can find you when we need you. Until all of your little friends are sleeping in federal prisons, you are on a short leash. Is that understood?”
Rasun unbuttoned his shirt and unhooked the tape recorder that he had strapped to his waist. He handed the minirecorder to her.
Detective Ellington waved her hand. “You keep it. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
Rasun turned and stormed out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him. Detective Ellington turned and headed back into the adjoining suite to collect her gear.
Huffing and cursing under his breath, Rasun made his way across the motel parking lot. He didn’t notice the black BMW pulling up alongside him.
The black-tinted window of the BMW slid down slowly, and Rasun peered into the vehicle. He jumped, and his heart stopped.
“Give me the fucking tape,” the driver told him.
“What the fuck!” Rasun exclaimed. “How?”
“Shut the fuck up and give me the tape,” the driver told him.
Rasun immediately tossed the recorder to the driver.
“You fucking snitch. I can’t fucking believe you, nigga,” the driver sneered. He lifted his weapon and fired ten shots into Rasun before peeling off into the night.
Detectives Ellington and Davis heard the shots from their motel room. They ran out into the parking lot with their weapons drawn.
“Over here!” Dickie Davis shouted.
He raced to where Rasun was lying on the ground shaking. Letoya raced to her confidential informant and dropped to her knees beside him.
“What happened?” she shouted.
“Who did this?” Dickie Davis asked. He lifted Rasun’s head off the ground.
Rasun began convulsing violently.
“We’re losing him!” Dickie shouted. He lifted his walkie-talkie. “I need an EMS unit at the motel on Chestnut!” He shouted the address. “I repeat, officer requesting a medical unit to the motel on Chestnut! Gunshot victim going into shock!”
Dickie Davis laid Rasun’s head down, ripped open his shirt, and began beating on Rasun’s chest. Detective Ellington began breathing into Rasun’s mouth.
“One, two, three, four!” Detective Davis counted as he pumped Rasun’s chest.
Detective Ellington desperately tried to breathe into Rasun’s mouth.
Rasun’s eyes rolled back, and his body went limp. They could hear the sirens of the EMS unit growing closer with each second. Time was of the essence, and they knew that they were losing him.
THE M IS DEAD
Mark crept through the front door of Skip’s dark apartment, peering around the eerie living room. Everything inside told him to leave immediately, and that nothing good would come from this trip, but still, he had to see why he had been summoned to this place. Mark pulled out his pistol, pulled back the slide, and chambered a round. He was going to shoot at the first shadow that he saw moving.
Mark’s eyes slowly began adapting to the darkness of the apartment, and he began to be able to make out shapes. One of the first shapes that he was able to make out was that of a lamp. He walked to the end table and leaned forward to turn the lamp on. He froze when he felt the pressure of cold steel placed behind his ear.
“Don’t move, and don’t try anything stupid,” Jerrell told him. “Put the gun down.”
Mark opened his hand, allowing the gun to fall to the ground.
“Good,” Jerrell said quietly. “Now turn on the lamp.”
Mark twisted the knob, turning on the lamp and brightening the room, bringing clarity to all of the objects inside.
“What’s going on, Jerrell?” Mark asked. “Where’s Skip?”
Jerrell shoved Mark down onto the couch. “I’m asking the questions, nigga, not you!”
Mark’s head struck the back of the couch, causing him to check his forehead for blood. He turned toward Jerrell and sat up on the couch.
“What the fuck’s going on, J?” Mark asked.
“Collection time,” Jerrell told him. “Where the fuck’s my money?”
“Your money?” Mark looked off and smacked his lips. “Man, is that all you can think about? Somebody is out here killing off our brothers, and you’re worried about your money!”
Jerrell looked at Mark like he was stupid. He couldn’t believe that his dumb ass still hadn’t figured shit out.
“This was supposed to be a Junior Mafia meeting,” Mark shouted. “Where’s everybody else?”
Jerrell smiled and lifted his arms into the air. “This is everybody! We’re it, just me and you, baby!”
Mark frowned. He didn’t find Jerrell’s humor funny.
“I hereby call this meeting to order,” Jerrell told him. “Well, I gues
s the first order of business is to read the minutes from the last meeting. Any volunteers? You, sir, over there on the couch, how about you?”
Mark sat on the couch sour-faced.
“Okay, well, I move that we skip the reading of the minutes and get down to business,” Jerrell continued. “Today’s meeting is about money. It’s time to pay your dues!”
“Where’s Skip?” Mark asked.
Jerrell peered down at the floor. Mark’s eyes followed Jerrell’s down to the floor, where he noticed for the first time that there was tape on the carpet. Mark’s eyes followed the circuit of the tape, and he quickly came to realize that the tape was actually a chalk outline for a body. He jumped.
“Whoa!” Jerrell told him. He pointed his weapon at Mark. “Have a seat, nigga, and hold your horses.”
Mark sat back down on the couch. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“You asked where Skip was,” Jerrell told him. “Just answering your question.”
Mark shook his head. “You killed him?”
“Where’s my money?” Jerrell asked.
Mark shook his head. “Man, I don’t have any money! I have to get the fuck outta town with the quickness, remember? I’ve been on the run, I didn’t have no time to hustle!”
“Oh, so you still have all of the dope that I fronted you then?” Jerrell asked.
Mark shifted his gaze to the ground.
“That’s what I thought,” Jerrell told him. “You had time to hustle my dope, but no time to put my money away.”
“I needed some ends to get out of town, and to lay low,” Mark tried to explain. “That’s what I used the money for. Hell, it wasn’t like I fucked it off! I can hustle and make it back.”
Jerrell pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them to Mark. “Put these on.”
Mark caught the cuffs and peered up at Jerrell. “Why should I? If you gonna kill me, then do it here.”
“I ain’t gonna kill you, nigga,” Jerrell told him. “Not unless you make me. Now put the damn cuffs on!”
Mark placed the cuffs over his wrists and snapped them closed, handcuffing himself in the front. Jerrell walked to the couch and pulled him up off it. He shoved Mark across the living-room floor and out of the front door of the apartment. Mark headed for the cars parked out front, but Jerrell tugged him away from the cars and shoved him straight ahead. He soon found himself heading toward what appeared to be a train yard, not Amtrak and not Septa, but definitely train tracks that ran through town.
“Right here,” Jerrell told him.
Mark felt Jerrell place a cuff around his ankle and lock it. He peered down in time to see Jerrell lock the other side of the cuff to the railroad track. He watched as Jerrell repeated the procedure with his other leg. He was now shackled to the railroad tracks.
Jerrell lifted his pistol, turned it around, and struck Mark with the grip of his handgun. Mark fell to the ground as blood poured from his head. Jerrell knelt and handcuffed his right hand to one side of the track.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Mark asked. His head was spinning, and he was dazed. He could feel Jerrell cuffing his other hand to the other side of the railroad track. He didn’t realize the full implications of Jerrell’s actions until he felt a slight vibration in the tracks. The vibrations were growing stronger.
“Okay, Jerrell,” Mark told him. “I get your point. I’ll give you all of the money that I have left. It’s almost enough to pay you back. It’s like forty-five thousand dollars. You can have it, it’s yours.”
Jerrell stood over Mark and shook his head. “Now you want to pay me back. It took me handcuffing you to a railroad track to pay me back.”
Mark tugged at the handcuffs, trying to free himself. “Look, I’ll pay you back! You can have the money, and I’ll get the rest of it to you within a week. Now please uncuff me.”
The light from a freight train could be seen in the distance.
“Man, come on, this shit ain’t funny no more!” Mark told him. “Come on, I’ll take you to get your fucking money!”
Jerrell stepped off the track, peered down at Mark, and smiled.
Mark felt the vibrations of the train nearing; they were getting stronger and stronger as each second passed.
“I’ll give you all of your shit tonight! I’ll get the rest of that shit from my pops! I’ll give you everything that I owe you, tonight! Uncuff me!”
Mark pulled at the cuffs desperately.
“Jerrell! This is some bullshit! We’re brothers, nigga! We’re Junior Mafia for life!”
“If we’re Junior Mafia for life, then you got about thirty seconds before you’re not Junior Mafia anymore,” Jerrell told him. He turned and began to walk away.
“Jerrell! Jerrell! You can’t do this, homie!” Mark shouted. He could hear the train’s horn blaring nonstop and feel the tracks vibrating violently. “Jerrell! I’ll give you more than what I owe you! I’ll give you a hundred grand! A hundred thousand dollars tonight!”
The freight train was loaded to the hilt with grain. It felt like a strong gust of wind blowing by him when it ran over Mark. Jerrell heard the brief scream, a squashing sound, and then nothing else; there was nothing else. Mark had disappeared from the face of the earth. He was now bits and pieces of blood and tissue beneath a freight train.
“Have a safe trip,” joked Jerrell as he walked back to his car.
Gena opened the door to Gah Git’s house and crept inside. It was real early in the morning and the whole house was still sleeping. Gena crept up the steps and slowly down the hall to Gah Git’s door. She peeked inside to see her grandmother sleeping. Quietly she tiptoed over to the side of Gah Git’s bed and leaned down. She stroked her grandmother’s forehead and Gah Git’s eyes widened.
“Where you been?” Gah Git asked.
“Nowhere, just needed some time, that’s all,” Gena said, still stroking her grandmother’s forehead.
“You couldn’t call me and let me know you was all right? I got to get bits and pieces from everybody else,” said Gah Git, as she grabbed Gena’s hand and looked at her. “You all right?”
“Mmm hmm, I’m okay. It’s all okay. I’m not mad anymore, and I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” said Gena, hugging her grandmother. Gah Git returned the embrace, happy to see Gena safe and sound.
“You know, life always has a way of dishin’ out what’s least expected at the most least expecting time. I think the test is really in how gracious we can respond to it all, and I think you handled the situation like an adult woman, and I’m so proud of you.”
“I really don’t know how to handle it all though. I mean, what am I suppose to do?”
“Just take one day at a time. That’s all, just take one day at a time,” Gah Git said, patting her on the back. “Just take one day at a time.”
Captain Holiday chucked the thick manila folder at the gathered detectives, striking the wall just beside Letoya Ellington’s head. Loose papers flew everywhere.
“What in the fuck were you thinking!” Captain Holiday shouted. “Oh, change that! You weren’t thinking! You couldn’t have been thinking! You don’t have a fucking brain to think! Not pulling the kinda shit you just pulled!”
“Captain, I’m sorry,” Letoya told him.
“Sorry!” the captain shouted. “You’re sorry? A man is dead because of you! I just left a meeting with the chief and the goddamned city councilman, and both of them chewed my ass out! Do you know the kind of shitstorm you’ve got this department facing?”
“Sir—” Dickie Davis tried to intervene.
“Shut the fuck up!” the captain bellowed. He looked as though he were about to pop a blood vessel in his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to fucking speak. Detective Davis, when I want your goddamned opinion, I’ll let you know!”
Captain Holiday turned and lit up a fat Cuban cigar. He scowled at Detective Davis with disdain. “Fucking numb nuts!”
“Sir, we had the situation controlled,” Ratzinger told him. “The
CI was killed while he was leaving the scene. He was no longer under Detective Ellington’s control.”
“Bullshit!” Captain Holliday shouted. “That CI is under your control until you safely tuck his ass into bed at night! You know that, I know that, everybody knows that! If the media gets ahold of this shit, it’s our ass! Do you hear me, it’s our ass! And the mayor has already made it clear that if this thing blows up, heads will roll! Somebody is going to have to fall on their goddamned sword, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me! You got that, Lieutenant? Badges! I’m collecting fucking badges, gold ones, green ones, and silver ones included!”
“Sir—”
“Shit rolls downhill, Sergeant!” Captain Holiday shouted at Letoya Ellington. “Now does someone want to tell me what the fuck you had a CI doing out at that time of the night, on an operation that was not sanctioned by me? Seeing as how you all work for me, I’d like to know about the little operations that you have going on, don’t you think?”
Letoya nodded. “Yes, sir!”
“Well, let’s hear it, Detective,” the captain told her. “What the fuck was going on?”
“Sir, Detective Davis and I, during the course of questioning the confidential informant, learned that there may actually be another large drug ring operating in the city,” she explained. “Perhaps as large as the one we just took down.”
Captain Holiday leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair. “And just how did you come to this conclusion?”
“The girlfriend of one Quadir Richards, who was actually the previous leader of the group that we took down, has a new boyfriend who is providing her with quite a lavish lifestyle,” Ellington explained. “It’s this boyfriend who we believe is part of the other drug ring. We wanted to target him, and then branch out and track all of the members of his organization, and even roll up his supply chain.”
“And his name, Sergeant?” Captain Holiday asked.
“We were trying to ascertain that information on the night the CI was killed, sir,” she explained. “He was meeting with Gena Scott, Quadir Richards’s former love interest, to ascertain the name of her new boyfriend.”
“And then he was killed?” the captain asked. “Any idea who did this?”