The Mike Black Saga Volume 2

by Roy Glenn

  “Sorry detective. That’s not something that I could help you with.”

  Richards leaned forward. “You sure?”

  Vinnelli shot him a look but didn’t bother to comment.

  Kirk stood up. “Once again, we’ve wasted enough of your time. Bad guys to catch, right?”

  “Right.” Vinnelli got up and escorted the detectives to the elevator.

  “Well, thanks for taking the time to see us, Agent Vinnelli,” Kirk said extending his hand.

  Vinnelli shook it. “Anytime, Kirk. Drop by anytime you have questions.” The elevator door opened, and the detectives started to get on. “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?” Kirk asked.

  “You said you got some information this morning that put your case in its proper prospective. What was that?”

  “We got a call from the Italian police in Palermo. They found the body of a man that had been severely beaten and shot four times in the back and the prints matched our guy. Only problem is since he’s dead I’ll never know who hired him.”

  “So I guess that closes your case?”

  “For the time being. But you know what Agent Vinnelli, you know as well as I do that these guys always slip up. And when they do, I’ll be there,” Kirk said staring directly into Vinnelli’s eyes. “’Cause I never quit.” As the elevator door closed, Kirk said, “Catch you later, agent Vinnelli.”

  Chapter Forty

  Mike Black

  “Black.”

  “Huh.”

  “Black,” Nick said and shook my arm. “Wake up, Black.”

  “What?” I said and opened my eyes.

  “Were getting ready to land. You gotta fasten your seat belt.”

  “How long was I asleep?”

  Nick shrugged. “Not long, half hour, maybe.”

  We had just flown in from Todos Santos; it’s an island off the coast of Mexico. While we were on the island I closed the door on some unfinished business. You see a year ago, Diego Estabon masterminded the kidnapping of my wife, Cassandra. For that he had to die.

  When Nick dropped me off and I headed to the house, I was glad to be home. It was getting to the point that I didn’t wanna go anywhere that I couldn’t take Cassandra and Michelle. They were everything to me. And if that’s really the case, I need to start thinking about getting them away from all this. I know I tried that once, but this time I won’t go somewhere that will make Cassandra feel isolated. Some place close enough to the city; the island or maybe even Jersey. I knew Cassandra was having fun playing gangster, but we got a child to raise.

  I unlocked the front door, and went to turn off the alarm, but it was already off. I got out my gun right then. This was exactly what I was talking about. It ain’t safe for them here.

  “Cassandra!”

  But there was no answer.

  I peeked into the living room, and noticed the news was on. The remote was on the couch, so I picked it up and turned the TV off. “Where the hell is she? Cassandra!”

  I went upstairs as quietly as I could on those creaky steps and went straight for our bedroom. The door was cracked open, so I pushed it a little and went in.

  “Shhh,” Cassandra said rocking Michelle. “She’s almost a sleep,” she said and then she noticed the gun.

  I put my gun down on the dresser, walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “When you didn’t answer, I thought something was wrong,” I whispered and looked at my beautiful baby girl. “Hi, Michelle. Daddy’s back.”

  “Be quiet. You’ll wake her up,” Cassandra said and put Michelle in her crib. She turned and started coming toward me. I could see the terror come across her face. “Michael, look out! Behind you!”

  My eyes sprang open when I jerked myself out of the dream. I looked down at Michelle. She was sound asleep; I was glad I didn’t wake her. I had that dream all the time, sometimes I save them, sometimes, like that one—I usually jerk myself outta of.

  One time after she put Michelle down, Cassandra told me that she had to go now. When I asked her why she had to go, she said, “because my father’s here to take me home.” Then she pointed and when I turned there was her father, Chicago.

  Weird, right?

  But I don’t think I need a psychiatrist.

  Right?

  I have no idea what I’m gonna do now. I mean I never gave much thought to what I would do if Cassandra died suddenly. I look at Michelle and I know that I can’t just go back to doing what I was doing.

  Since I got back from Italy, I’d been hiding out at Bobby’s house in Rockland County. It’s nice out here, quiet. Too fuckin’ quiet sometimes and it’s so damn suburban. The only place I’ve been was to the grocery store, and that’s because there’s nowhere else to go. I go there with Michelle and buy pampers, milk and baby food, that type of stuff.

  Some woman always stops me and tells me how nice it is to see a black man spending time with his daughter. And when I tell them that I’m a single father they just about lose their minds, but I feel like Michelle is safe here. And that’s the only thing that’s important. I promised my mother I would come to Freeport for a while so she could get to know her granddaughter. Naturally I’ve thought about going down there and staying. Put all this behind me, for good this time. Look at what it’s cost me. I got up and put Michelle in her crib. Look at what it’s cost us.

  There’s a part of me that knows I can’t quit, not without knowing who it was that hired Bart and Swan. When Leon told me that Diamond shocked Rosstein into a heart attack I almost fell out laughing. Even though it meant that I’d never know who hired them, it was still funny as hell.

  Kirk knows something, he may not know who hired them, otherwise they be in jail, but he knows something. I believe it was that something that got me out of jail. But when I tried to talk to Kirk about it, he said it was police business. Like I give a fuck about what’s police business. Somebody knows who hired them mutha fucka’s, and I’ll find them, somehow.

  Once I was sure that Michelle wouldn’t wake up, I went downstairs to the basement, which Bobby had claimed as his own private space. He was sitting in his chair, half asleep and the Yankees and the Detroit Tigers were watching him. I turned on the baby monitor and sat down.

  “Why didn’t you make us a drink before you sat down,” Bobby said without opening his eyes.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? I’m awake now,” Bobby said and got up to make the drinks.

  I watched him as he poured. “Is this it, Bobby?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean look at us. We’re living out here in suburbia.” I picked up the baby monitor. “Me sitting here guarding this baby monitor like my life depended on it. You playing Mr. Mom and trying to nurse Pam back to health.”

  “One, I’m starting to think Pam is fine and she’s just milking that shit now. She was her old self the whole time we were on vacation. Pam didn’t start getting depressed until I started talking about going to Italy.” Bobby handed me my drink and sat down. “And two, if you’re any kind of man you’ll be protecting Michelle for the rest of your life, because her life depends on it.”

  “I understand your point but let me ask you a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you armed?”

  “No.”

  “Neither am I. What if somebody came to kill us?”

  “Ain’t nobody coming, Mike. And even if somebody came out here looking for us, you know as well as I do that they’d miss the turn at Wildginger Run,” Bobby laughed.

  I laughed because it’s true. I miss that fuckin’ turn every time. “They’ll be lost forever after that.”

  “Okay, so this ain’t how I thought it would be. I thought we’d be around forever. But you been looking for an excuse to get out for a long time. Well, she’s upstairs sleeping. All you gotta do is decide to do it.”

  “Having kids didn’t stop you.”

  “
It’s different, I had Pam. All Michelle has is you. You need to decide whether you’re gonna step up or not. It’s your choice. The game will go on with or without you and the money will keep on coming.” Bobby looked at his watch and jumped up. “Oh shit, I gotta pick up Bonita and Brenda from ballet,” he said and started for the door.

  “Pick up some Similac for me on the way back.”

  “You want me to get some baby food too? She really didn’t like that beet shit you was trying to shove in her mouth last night.”

  “I didn’t think she could move her little head that fast. I was getting tired just trying to feed it to her.” I laughed and it felt good. “But go ahead and pick some up.”

  “You got enough pampers? You know how she runs through them.”

  “Pick up some of them too. It ain’t like they’ll go to waste.”

  “You got it,” Bobby said and left.

  And so it ends, I heard somebody say once.

  Not with a bang, but a whimper.

  Mylo

  It’s funny how quick shit can turn around on you. It wasn’t too long ago the Black was in jail, Albert had a great plan and Birdie was having delusions of grandeur about him being the next king pin. That was then, now, Black’s a free man and Birdie and Albert are dead.

  Of course that means for the time being, I’m out of the drug business, and maybe that’s for the best. These niggas claim to want to co-exist peacefully with drug dealers, but the proof says that these mutha fucka’s delight in killing drug dealers.

  I heard about what Black did when he found out that somebody was dealing in one of his spots. So I just figured that the way to avoid getting found out, cause I hear Black is psychic about that shit, was to not deal in his spots. Common sense, right? But Black got these niggas so scared that nobody was willing to try it. Dead zone my ass, niggas in the so called dead zone was so hungry that they ate the product alive. I was making mad cash, so much cash that I couldn’t come in, at least not yet.

  Sooner or later I would have to, but before I do, I wanna have enough money to retire on. I wanna have enough money to live the way these assholes do, and for that I need a little more time and a whole lot more money.

  What I didn’t want was to get caught out here dirty the way I am. Another rogue DEA agent, but that’s what I am, and I’ve been that way so long I don’t even know if I can come in.

  My name is Clint Harris and I’ve been working deep cover assignments for the last five years. I’d work my way into the targets organization, get as much information as I can, then bring the whole thing down. That’s been my life, until my handler didn’t show up for our weekly conversation. During those meets, I’d turn over whatever evidence I had, drugs, money, documents, recordings, what have you. So I sold the drugs and kept the money, but I would show up every week. This went on for months, until one day about a year ago, I’m arrested. But nobody can tell me what I’m being arrested for.

  “Just come with us sir, and it will all be explained to you.”

  My first thought, somebody realized that I was out there, and they were bringing me in, so I didn’t ask any more questions. I began to worry when federal Marshalls took me to the airport and flew me to North Carolina. Then we drove for hours before they deposited me in some small town jail. After three weeks in that cell I wake up one morning to find agent DeFrancisco standing in front of my cell.

  He told me that he knows what I’ve been doing and shows me pictures to prove it. DeFrancisco gave me a choice, turn over all the evidence to him or I was going to jail for a very long time. Then he flips, starts telling me that men like me are a very valuable asset, and I immediately knew where that was going. “You work for me now,” DeFrancisco said.

  “What do I have to do?” I asked.

  “Exactly what you do. I put you in position, you make contact and work your way in, and report to me.”

  “No problem,” I answered knowing that it couldn’t be that simple.

  “There’s only one minor difference. You’re not there looking for evidence of a drug conspiracy, you’re there to create one.”

  That’s when he put me in touch with Albert and it’s been on ever since. But then DeFrancisco went to jail and I’m left out here again making crazy money and no handler.

  One thing that I don’t understand was how easy it was for me to get inside, but now after I told him where to find Birdie and Albert, I’ll be able to get close to Freeze.

  But selling drugs around these niggas ain’t the way to get rich. They’re gamblers, that’s how they make their money; numbers, book making, gambling houses. What I gotta do is figure out how to make that pay for me.

  The End of Outlaw

  The Mike Black Saga Continues in Volume 3 with

  IN A COLD SWEAT

  PLEASE ENJOY THE BONUS:

  THE WRONG MAN

  The Wrong Man

  The Wrong Man

  Roy Glenn

  Copyright © 2002 Roy Glenn

  Escapism Entertainment

  Atlantic Beach, Florida

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Part I

  It was almost eleven o’clock at night and I was getting tired of surfing the web. Tired of reading information to sound interesting at parties, but not really useful in everyday life. So I turned off the computer and began to wander aimlessly through the house, picking up this and straightening up that. When I started to dust, I knew it was time for me to get a life.

  It had been almost three years since Dennis, my husband of ten years, decided that he needed more out of life.

  “More out of life?” I asked him.

  “Things I just can’t do here, Carla,” he said.

  Things he couldn’t do being married to me, is what he meant. The next day he left for California, leaving me with our two children. Sure, he sends money and he calls every blue moon, but that doesn’t replace the children growing up without their father, or me having a husband. So I’ve become both mother and father, and that’s become my whole life. But this summer much to my surprise, shock would be a better word for it, Dennis called and said he wanted the children for the summer. So I let them go, and for the first time in ten years, I am alone.

  I poured myself a glass of wine and went out on the deck. It had been a very humid summer in Atlanta and this night was no exception. As I sat there, I listened to the neighbor’s music, which they always play too loud for my taste. Not that I have anything against Rap music, I just don’t understand it anymore. I’ll just say it’s come a long way from Kurtis Blow and Run DMC and leave it at that.

  I can’t even say what the name of the song was, but this particular song, for reasons I can’t explain, got to me. I started tapping my foot and before I knew it, my head was rocking.

  It started me thinking about the old days, when I had a life. Me and my girls, Meka and Shika were the happy hour queens. I loved to dance. We’d hang out all night and go to work the next morning looking like hags, but we didn’t care, we always had the best times, but that was before I met Dennis, got married and had children. Back when I had a life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children and I love being their mother, but sometimes I wish there were some semblance of my former life associated with it.

  I finished my wine and got up to pour myself another. When I got to the refrigerator I said, “Hold it. Why not go out? It’s Friday night and the kids are gone.”

  Why not?

  But where?

  All of my old hangout spots have long since closed their doors. I opened the refrigerator and poured another glass, marveling at how easily I talked myself out of
it. I returned to my chair on the deck. I remembered hearing some of the gossip girls at work talking about a place they went to in Buckhead that played old school music. But I couldn’t remember the name of the place.

  “Bell Bottoms!”

  I took a big swallow of liquid courage and went inside to change into something more appropriate for the big event.

  “Big event?”

  Damn right, my return to the club after a twelve-year absence is a big event.

  I stood in front of my closet for what seemed like an eternity, in a state of brain lock, trying to decide what to wear. I wanted to look sexy, but not hoochie. I had gained a few well-placed pounds since my club days, (read: a big butt and the gift pouch I got from the children) so the outfits that I wanted to wear just didn’t look right. I finally settled on a pieced together black outfit. The top from one outfit that I could not wiggle all this big butt into the pants, and the skirt I had bought years ago that Dennis would never let me wear. It was a little tight and I was showing plenty of thighs, but it was on. I tried a few steps to see if I could dance in it. I checked my hair and makeup and I was on my way.

  Part II

  After standing in line for what seemed like a long time, but was more like ten minutes, I was in. The club was crowded but not packed, and the music was pumping. I scanned the crowd, which was predominately black with a smattering of whites, mostly female. It always has amazed me how some black men will jump over a black woman to get to those three or four white girls with jungle fever. Anyway, most everyone was dressed comfortably, but stylish, so I didn’t feel overdressed or out of place, as most of them seemed to be in my age group.

  I took the long way to the bar and walked around the dance floor to get a feel of the place. The DJ mixed in The Men All Paused, which I felt was appropriate since I had turned a head or two as I walked around the room. It made me feel good that me, a woman in her mid-thirties and mother of two, still rated a double take.