by Ice-T
“Hi, Dad, what are you doing here?”
“I just came by to catch a bit of your practice, Ara. Looks like you’re doing great!”
“Yeah, and you know what? Coach says he wants me to start the next game!”
“Man, that’s fantastic! Go get dressed, and we’ll celebrate with some ice cream!”
His son gave a huge smile and screamed, “Ahhh, yeah!” and then ran back with his friends.
Petrosian turned back to Crush with a relieved look on his face. “How many kids do you have?”
“None,” replied Casey, wondering if the Armenian was fucking with him, or if he was really clueless that he’d had a kid.
Petrosian regarded him with confusion. “Really? Shit, man, that’s the key to your legacy. My son is my world—one day, he’ll have it all.”
“Is that right, your life, too?”
Petrosian looked at Crush and chuckled. “Of course.”
A black Mercedes S600 pulled up, and two more burly men stepped out and stood by the car.
“Your ride’s here. Look, just think about what I said, and let’s touch base when you got a minute.”
“You got it. And Crush—I appreciate you having my back today.”
“I hear ya … in a minute.”
Casey walked back to his Escalade and got in. As he headed out, he saw Petrosian’s kid in a school uniform run to his dad and give him another big hug. He could tell they had a great relationship. Casey couldn’t help but think about his own boy, and the similarities between him and this man.
He got out his phone and speed-dialed Champa. “Where you guys at?”
“Comin’ back from Strong Island. Should be local in about thirty.”
“Cool, meet me at the spot. I want to tell you about the surprise party.”
Champa knew that was code for some shit jumping off. “What? Who threw that?”
“That’s a good question. We can discuss the festivities when you get there.” Casey weaved through traffic and was at the Urban Victory offices twenty minutes later. When he walked out, he hollered to Joe Pica that he needed to speak with him. They walked into the conference room, and Casey instructed him to shut the door.
“You got any new guys working here?”
“Nah, just the same people for the last three months.”
“Keep it that way—no new people until I say it’s cool.”
“Okay, is everything good? Is there anything I should know about?”
“Everything’s good, don’t sweat it, I just want to be cautious. Speakin’ on that, call someone and have them put a camera and a buzzer on the front door.”
Joe looked like he wanted to ask a bunch of questions, but knew enough not to, and to just follow orders. “Okay, cool, whatever you say, Casey.”
“Good man.”
Casey reached into his pocket and pulled out a knot of cash. Counting off six hundred dollars, he handed it to Joe. “Make sure that happens today, and let me know when it’s done.”
A few minutes later, Champa and Shin got there and the guys went back to Casey’s private office. Casey flipped on the TVs and tuned in to two different news channels to see if the story had popped yet.
“Man, what the fuck happened? I didn’t even know you were meeting the dude today!” said Champa.
“Yeah, I didn’t get much notice and said fuck it and met the nigga straight up.”
“So who tried to dust this guy, what happened?”
Casey ran down the story in detail. “Because Davilla’s is right next to Romano’s Social Club, the police’ll probably think it’s mob-related or some shit. Personally, I bet it’s gotta be someone that has beef with this dude. How they found out where we were so quick makes me think that maybe he has a sucka in his crew.”
Champa looked at Shin and asked, “Does he have active beef with anyone right now?”
Shin digested that question for a moment and said, “Nah, for the most part, he keeps things mellow.”
“Well, somebody wants that nigga dead bad,” said Champa.
“And he would’ve been, but his dudes were sitting in front of us and caught most of the lead. Both those niggas was dead as fuck when we got gone.”
Casey got a text from Carla, asking him what his plans were for that night. He texted her back that he just wanted to kick it at his crib. She replied to say she could grab some steaks and meet him at his place at 7 P.M. While they were texting back and forth, Shin said, “It’s on the news, check it out.”
Casey set down his phone, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume. The square, white reporter was standing in front of yellow tape, facing the camera. Behind him was the restaurant, with overturned tables, the windows shot out, and glass all over the ground. Milling about in the background were cops doin’ what they do.
“… About an hour ago, a van filled with gunmen pulled up and opened fire on this normally quiet restaurant. When police arrived at the scene, they found four gunmen dead, along with five of the restaurant’s patrons killed, and three critically wounded. Witnesses at the scene say that at least two of the patrons fired back and killed the gunmen. Police said they found multiple guns on the scene, including several automatic weapons. We asked the police if the incident was related to organized crime figures, and they said it appears that way, but they could not say so for sure. That’s all we have for now, but we will continue to follow the story as it develops.…”
“Oh shit, that’s the nigga’s car we saw at Marat’s.” Shin pointed to Petrosian’s car on the TV screen.
“Yeah, he’s gonna have to tap-dance and deny like a muthafucka to keep the pigs off his back. Shin, I want you to have Jacob dig up as much stuff on this guy as possible. When I met him, he seemed to know a whole helluva lot about what I was doing, so I don’t know if he was just listening to street chatter and gettin’ lucky, or maybe we got a mole in our midst.”
“I’m on it, I’ll see what I can find out,” Shin said.
“Okay, enough of my drama. What happened in Long Island?”
Champa ran it down. “We went and saw my man, who’s a security guard there. He gave us the specific time the boat’s docking with the cars and the transport company info as well. He said that a pickup time hadn’t been set up for the cars to be unloaded, ’cause they never know how long customs’ll take. He guessed the cars would leave the docks within a couple days after they land.”
“See if we have any natural inroads to the transport company so we can get more intel on them. If we don’t, get one of Big Rich’s girls and have her use her ways to get info from one of the truckers.”
Champa laughed. “That’s some Mata Hari shit right there, boy.”
“So, are we all set with Jacob and Al P.? I mean are we ready to spring into action?”
“Yeah, totally.”
“Good, now we need to figure out how to get at these guys so Al can load that program on their phones. Find out if there’s a local bar where most of them hang out at. If that doesn’t come through, then I’ll think of something else. But we need to get this shit up and rollin’. Champa, get Jacob on the phone.”
While Champa pulled out his celly and dialed, Casey turned to Shin. “You have our guys still posted up outside his crib to make sure everything’s cool?”
“Yeah, they know to text me every time he leaves and tell me where he goes, but so far he hasn’t moved once.”
“Any fallout from that shit that went down Friday night with those wannabe Rastas?”
“Nothing yet.”
Champa handed the phone to Casey and said, “It’s Jacob.”
“What’s up, man—you got photos and a report for me?”
“Yeah, I got gang of info on ’em all. Are you coming over here or do you want me to e-mail it?”
“Is that safe?”
“To e-mail, yeah, I’ll encrypt it with a password that will only be able to be used once.”
“Okay, I’ma hand you to Champa and he’s gonna tell you wh
ere to send it.”
Champa took the phone and gave him an e-mail address, and wrote down the password. Two minutes later, when Champa checked his account on Casey’s computer, the file appeared. It was about sixty pages long, so Casey had Champa print it. Casey and the guys reviewed the incredibly organized report; it had photos, copies of each man’s driver’s license, what kind of cars they had, newspaper clippings, who was partners with who, as well as other miscellaneous information.
“Man, this is fuckin’ thorough!” said Champa.
For the next two hours, they all went over the files, seeing who lived close to each other, what were the similarities among them all, and plotting how to put those muthafuckas on blast when the time came.
Casey stood over his desk and looked at the files and said, “Catching these guys on the street is gonna be tough, but if we just snare one, the others’ll fall into place.”
“How do you mean, Case?” Shin asked.
“Well, once we get one and listen to all his conversations, then we’ll have ears to pick up everything that’s said and we’ll piece that together to see how to trap the others. We’re gonna have to adjust the plan a little bit.”
“How so?” asked Champa.
“I was thinking about it last night. We gonna have to have different messages pop up on their cells; otherwise, it will seem like too much of a coincidence. It needs to be a message that’s some kind of battery alert that says, ‘You have 20 percent battery life’ or ‘Your phone is roaming.’ Something they wouldn’t talk about. The fake liquor ad is cool, but it’s too out of the ordinary and it’s dependent on them being in or walking by a bar. It’s just not stealth enough.”
“Okay, I’ll tell Al to get that ready,” said Champa.
“I know he can tell what type of phone it is before he sends the message, so make sure the messages match up with the same look each phones uses.”
Casey looked at his watch; it was 6:45 P.M. He sent the guys on their way, gathered up the notes on the report, and jetted.
On his way home, he reviewed the afternoon’s events in his head. He remembered he had seen what he thought was the same van when he left Hans’s spot. If they were after him, they could have caught him that morning, so he surmised that the hit was definitely for Petrosian. But how’d they know where and when to strike? He went over different scenarios in his head but nothing was clicking. Then it hit him like a sledgehammer.… Oh shit. Fucking Lomax.
He pulled his SUV into the parking garage, turned off the motor, and sat there for a minute, thinking about the prospect of Lomax having some other parolee trying to take out Petrosian at the same time. It was entirely possible that the PO had doubled down, as insurance to get the job done. Lomax came off as an impatient guy, so it made total sense. The more he thought about it, the more pissed he got, ’cause if it was true, that shit had almost got his ass killed. On the other hand, it was very smart, and Casey grudgingly gave the PO his props for trying to cover all his bases. Now that crew was dead. Damn, this shit is getting complicated!
Casey got out of his car and took the elevator up to his place. Before he hit the door, he smelled the food cooking, the scent making his mouth water. He walked inside and found Carla in pink booty shorts, barefoot, and with cooking mitts on her hands, whipping up a feast.
She turned around and gave him a big smile and a kiss. “I hope you hungry, baby.”
He looked Carla up and down and said, “Yeah, baby, Daddy’s really hungry fo sumthin’.”
She giggled at that; then her expression turned serious as she took him in. “You’re a mess, you know that? What happened?”
Casey thought he’d cleaned himself up satisfactorily at the office, but apparently not. He took off his jacket and tossed it in the bedroom, then sat down at the table. “Things got a bit messy at lunch. Whatcha cookin’?”
“Our chef at the hotel gave me this recipe, so I got my fingers crossed that it came out okay.”
“It smells great, baby.”
Casey helped her bring everything to the dining room. A few minutes later, they both cut into their steaks and took a bite and looked at each other while chewing.
“Da-yamn … that’s amazing,” said Casey after he’d swallowed.
“Good, huh?”
“Real good.”
“So, how was your day? Anything interesting happen?”
Casey chewed his food and didn’t make eye contact when he answered. “It was cool—man, this is good.”
Later on that evening, Casey and Carla were in bed watching the news when the story of the shoot-out at the restaurant came on. Casey listened intently, hearing basically the same story that was reported earlier. He turned the TV off and saw Carla giving him a strange look. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’, baby.”
She eyeballed him, but kept her cool. “Crush, are you ever gonna tell me what’s really going on?”
Casey’d already had a bitch of a day, and sure as hell didn’t want to get into it at that moment. “Now, why would you want that burden?”
She stared at him like he was a damn fool. “’Cause news stories like that pop up and I see how you react, I think to myself, Holy shit, did my man almost get his ass shot off today?”
Casey sat upright. “And, hypothetically speaking, how’s knowing that something like that went down and I tellin’ you about it gonna make you feel?”
“It’s gonna make me feel like you trust me, Casey.”
She looked at him and he saw that she wasn’t pissed; she was concerned. Casey hadn’t expected that answer, so he lowered his eyes and took in those words. After a few seconds, he looked up at her and relaxed his body and said, “I had a meeting with this dude today. He’s smart, he has his shit together, and he’s ballin’ hard-core. He’s also got a boy, and from what I can tell, he seems like a good father.”
Carla sat still, careful not to break the silence.
“Carla, that was me twenty years ago. It’s like this guy’s a muthafuckin’ mirror image of me from back in the day. Even his kid seems like Antonio. Now, the problem is I got a parole officer that wants me to take him out, but I think about this kid, and I think about Antonio, and I got a problem with that. All the options I have are either fucked up or long shots at best. The best option—and the least likely to happen—is getting this dude to agree to join this alliance I set up and let go of the parts of his business that are problematic. Then maybe—just maybe—my PO won’t have such a hard-on for this guy.”
He could tell by Carla’s face that he’d just blown her mind, but he could also tell that his relationship with her was about to hit a new level. Either that, or it was gonna be over in the next few minutes. He felt a bit fucked up about being so transparent, but if this relationship was gonna last, he’d have to let her into his world.
“I mean, how long is Antonio’s death gonna haunt me like this? I walk by playgrounds or parks and see kids laughin’ and playin’ and see what I fucked up. On top of that, I see parents with their kids, and I don’t know if I could do that yet—or ever—and I know you want that. I want to give you everything, baby, but my head’s just not there yet.”
Carla scooted closer and kissed him on the cheek. “You know, Crush, we just gotta do the best we can and accept the results. It’s when we get attached to a desired outcome before it happens that we get all fucked up. As far as your son, if you don’t forgive yourself, you’re never gonna have peace.” Carla sat up and studied his face. “Can you do that? Can you forgive yourself?”
Casey contemplated her sage advice and it made sense. He didn’t have an answer for her right away, and she was cool with that. Casey’s quest to control everything, even his emotions, was sometimes a virtue and sometimes a curse.
He turned off the night table light and pulled her close. And in the dark he said, “Thanks, baby.”
11
Casey was at the Urban Victory offices bright and early the next morning. Every detective’s dossier was
spread out in front of him, each with red marks all over it where he’d made notes. He went over the files again for a few hours, making sure he had a firm grasp on all the information, as well as figuring out which ones to target first. Most of these guys were in their mid-thirties to late fifties and had families. Out of the twenty-two detectives, not including Fordham, Casey narrowed down his targets to seven guys living in Manhattan. His reasoning was that it would be easier and less conspicuous to tail these guys in the city as opposed to other ones that lived in the burbs. Casey called Champa and Shin and told them to pick up Al P. and meet him at Jacob’s ASAP.
The guys arrived within ten minutes, and when everyone was settled, Casey opened the meeting. “Okay, I figured how we gonna handle this shit. We gonna have to break up into two teams. Team One’ll be Al P. and me, and Team Two is Champa and Shin. Al, I’m gonna need you to show Champa and Shin how to load messages on these detectives’ phones.”
Casey went over to a map on the wall with all the detectives’ addresses marked with pushpins. “Seven of the detectives live in Manhattan, the rest live in Queens and Brooklyn. We gonna target the Manhattan guys first, ’cause we’ll have the city as cover. Al, how close do the guys need to be to connect to the other phones, and what’ll they need to do?”
Al raised his eyebrows and replied, “They’ll need to be within twenty-five feet of the target—the closer, the better. Once they’re within range, they’re gonna have to make sure they select the right phone, determine the make and model, then upload the correct message.”
Champa looked at Casey. “Sounds a bit complicated. How long’ll all that take?”
Al replied, “It’s gonna seem like forever, but the reality is that it won’t be more than a minute. You’re gonna scan the area for their phone, and once you find it, you upload the app based on what type it is.”