by U. E. Wynn
He caught the gun and started laughing.
“Is this what you guys use for defense? This pussy toy gun?”
“Fuck you think you are, nigga?” one of the thugs spat, casting Brandon a hatred-filled glance.
“If I were you, I’d watch my language,” he replied sweetly, circling the small gun around his index finger. “You wouldn’t want that dirty mouth getting you into trouble now, would you?”
“We got people everywhere, motherfucker,” the man continued, prompting satisfied grins from the other thugs. “We gonna be outta there in no time and we’ll come for yo bitch ass.”
Boom!
As the man fell to the floor, the hole in his head getting bloodier by the second, Brandon blew the smoke that drifted above the gun’s barrel. No one seemed to react.
“I hate them big-mouthed fools,” he sighed. “Why can’t y’all be nice and shut the fuck up once in a while? Let’s get these pieces of shit outta here,” he spoke as he took the money and drugs off the table and shoved them into a backpack he found nearby. “We gonna keep the greens, boys.”
“What’s going on in there?” asked the Sergeant from outside.
“We have three perps and one casualty. He went for his weapon and officer Baker fired in self defense. It was a clean shooting sir,” said the officer.
“Good. Clean it up and clear out. I'm sending in forensic.”
“Roger that.”
None of the thugs said a word. They didn’t even protest when the policemen cuffed them and forced them outside the house and inside the police car. Something told Brandon that it wasn’t their first time seeing the inside of one.
Brandon slid behind the wheel of his car and radioed in to headquarters. Afterwards, he turned to look through the bullet proof plastic separating him from the thugs.
“Boys,” he grinned as he gripped the wheel tightly. “You’re in for a nice holiday in prison.”
It had been Brandon’s 19th catch. The 19th step to ruining his brother. And so far, he had never failed in putting criminal scum behind bars. It had become a hobby. Some sort of weird addiction that he couldn’t, nor did he want to, give up. And that was just the beginning.
~~~~
Malik was seething. As he flipped aimlessly through the pages of a Motor magazine he could feel the blood boiling in his veins. He looked at the small man in front of him and felt his anger rising. He never liked Ibn. He only brought bad news whenever he’d pass by and even though he appreciated it, he’d reached a point where he saw him as a bad omen. This day was no exception.
“Where they holding them at?”
“Mac’s place,” Ibn replied, lighting himself a cigarette. He took a long drag from it and released it slowly. The smoke rose up like a silken thread twirling around in dance. It had a sour smell that Malik couldn’t stand and he frowned. He had always hated cheap tobacco. “They got three of them and my man at the precinct tells me they ain’t gonna let them go that easy.”
“Three?” Malik asked, knowing he always had four guys to every house.
“Yeah, three. D-Man got popped.”
“Fuck!” Malik said his anger rising. “And what the fuck you talking about they won’t let them go?” Malik hissed through gritted teeth. “I pay Sam to make sure all my people are released after a night there!”
“Apparently, there’s a new nigga in town meddling with our business,” Ibn told him. “You think those three pieces of shit would’ve got caught otherwise? You know ain’t nobody gonna bother with your operation.”
“But this Mutha Fucker did.”
“Yeah, dats facts. Never thought I’d live to see a clean cop,” Ibn snorted.
“You know who he is?” Malik asked, his patience wearing thin. Three of his rookie men had been arrested and were at risk of never seeing the streets again for some small time shit, and this ugly motherfucker was standing in front of him smoking and joking like shit funny.
“I ain’t got nothing yet,” Ibn shrugged. “Sam told me he works in a different precinct. So he don’t know him. There’s a few noobs there anyway, so it’s hard to tell who’s who. But don’t worry, man,” he hurried to add when he saw Malik’s savage look. “I’m working on that.”
“You’d better fuckin’ work faster,” said Malik, his tone oddly calm. “Or else I’ll fuckin’ blow your brains out.”
Ibn forced a laugh even though he was a little shook.
“I’ll take care of everything, Malik. Don’t worry about it.” He got up and pressed the cigarette against the ashtray’s cold glass until it went out. It wasn’t even halfway smoked. “It’s my business on the line too. This shit affects everybody.”
Malik gave him a sharp look, still frowning.
After saying that, Ibn left the room, leaving Malik alone with his thoughts. He thought about this new guy and how he had to be fast and quiet in eliminating him. He couldn’t let even the smallest disrespect go without retaliation. That’s when motherfuckers start believing you’re weak and try to take what you have.
He leaned back in his seat, knowing he had to hurry and deal with this new cop to set things straight again. He thought about his brother who was probably in some other state, working his ass off and catching criminals one by one. He smiled. If that was true, then it meant Brandon was the only one who made their father proud and in all honesty, he couldn’t be happier knowing that he was the one that helped Brandon get where he was.
He decided to pass by his mother’s house a bit later and maybe take her out for dinner. God knew when was the last time he’d taken her out.
~~~~
It was a cool summer evening and Brandon had one person on his mind, Bentley Mack. He heard from an insider that he was one of the few men who actually got to approach Malik without the risk of getting shot. And that was exactly the type of man he needed. The ones that were like vital arteries to his brother. The more he cut, the more he’d bleed. Only God knew how much he wanted to drain him dry.
This has been the second week he’d been watching Bentley. It took him a while to learn his habits, but he eventually managed to do it. Every Thursday at the exact same hour, he’d go to the same dirt cheap strip club, find exactly the same hooker, and pay her five hundred for a private dance and fuck. They both knew it was illegal and while one lived for that thrill knowing he wouldn’t get caught, the other only saw it as yet another pay day.
“When’s he comin’ out?” his partner, Curtis, asked. “I’m getting’ bored as hell sitting here.”
Brandon didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he checked his watch and with a smirk, he turned to the other man.
“He should be there right…now,” said Brandon smiling.
The club’s red door opened and out walked a tall, muscular man looking really relaxed. His belt was still unbuckled and his tie undone. It seemed that the usually punctual Bentley spent more time in there than he had planned.
They both waited patiently for Bentley to pass through the area where the lights didn’t work, and when he finally did, they started their attack. The poor guy didn’t even see where it came from. With a short blow to the temple, he was on the ground squirming in pain as the two men’s pointy shoes dug into his flesh again and again.
“Stop!” he yelled, covering his face from an incoming hit.
They didn’t say a word. If anything, their attack increased in intensity. Their hits got faster and harder until he couldn’t even muster the strength to cover his face anymore. Brandon kneeled down in front of him, making sure the man couldn’t distinguish his features and grabbed him by the collar.
“We know what you did, Bentley,” he growled, emphasizing every word with a fist to the man’s face. He didn’t stop until his knuckles were soaked in blood. “We know you sell bad shit to good people and we’re here to teach ya a lesson.” Looking up at Curtis, he ordered, “Search his car. Leave the keys, but take everything else you can find. I’ll search his clothes.”
Curtis didn’t wait to b
e told twice. He hurried to the car and Brandon knew when he got there thanks to the distinct sound of glass breaking. Without saying any other word, he started doing what he had assigned himself. The man was too senseless to even think about protesting, so his job was a lot easier than his partner’s. He only found a couple hundred dollars and a joint.
He took both.
“I know who you work for,” he whispered in the man’s ear. “Tell him that this is just the beginning.”
He threw Bentley back on the ground and turned to leave, but not before spitting on him. He had never felt more powerful. He thought about the joint in his pocket and realized he didn’t actually need that to get high. Power was all he needed to feel elevated.
“How much did ya get?” Curtis asked when he finally got in the car.
“Two hundred bucks and this bad boy,” he replied, handing the joint to his partner. “Take it. I ain’t got no need for that shit.”
“You sure, though?”
“Of course. How much did ya get?”
Curtis smirked.
“The nigga had four thousand under his seat. We got rich tonight.”
“We sure did,” Brandon laughed. “Fucker stood no chance anyway.”
“Which kinda surprised me, to be honest.”
“Not really,” he spoke, counting the money Curtis brought. “He was drunk as fuck. He was bound to have a date with that pavement sooner or later.”
CHAPTER 8
Everybody was gathered in the conference room. Rookies, veterans and even some of the people who used to work there. No one told them what they were there for but one thing was certain – they were going to celebrate something. Or someone.
The general murmur stopped the second Sergeant Hardy entered the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t seem mad which was a good thing. Nobody wanted to have their ass chewed out first thing in the morning.
“I think we all know why we’re here today,” he spoke, fixing his blue silken tie, a gift from his wife that he was never seen without. It was an ongoing joke around the precinct that it was the only tie he owned.
“Not a clue,” a man’s voice came from the crowd, prompting amused chuckles from the others.
Sergeant Hardy smiled.
“We’re here to congratulate our fellow crime fighter,” he said as he pointed to Brandon, who was standing beside the window, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. He had known from the beginning why they were all there, of course. But he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. He had already been congratulated about his arrest sheet yesterday.
“Brandon Baker, who single-handedly reduced the drug dealers’ activity in our city by 5%.”
As the first sounds of applause could be heard, the sergeant continued.
“After having discussed it with my superiors, we all agreed to make him the head of a new Special Drug Enforcement Unit.”
The applause got louder and Brandon was basking in his colleagues’ admiration. If only his Mom could see him at that exact moment. She would’ve regretted the day she picked Malik as the favorite son. She would look at him and see that it was he who deserved her appreciation and affection. Not some dirty drug dealer.
But soon Brandon wouldn’t need to worry about Malik anymore. Once he was done tearing down his business, he would be the one his mother would be looking up to. Then he could see what it felt like to be second best.
What would remain of Malik? Just a memory. A sad, pathetic memory that he will sometimes think about when he’d be at the peak of success.
“Alright, alright,” Sergeant Hardy shouted, quieting the room. “It’s time we all got back to work. The criminals aren’t going to catch themselves. Brandon, come with me. Your team is waiting for you in conference room B.”
Brandon followed Sergeant Hardy from the room, his heart beating so fast he was afraid it might come out of his chest. He felt just like a kid on Christmas day.
In the conference room, the men were already waiting for him and they looked like nothing he had expected. They all had that fresh out of jail look. That spiteful gleam in their eyes and slight snarl on their lips that would frighten even the toughest thug. They looked like a bunch of hungry wolves. Just what I need.
“I know I said you could pick the guys that you wanted on your team, but are you sure about these guys? I mean most of them have been in trouble with the IA for using excessive force and none of them take orders well,” said the sergeant.
Brandon had chosen these men for his own purposes. They all were having financial difficulties, were accused of taking bribes or they just plain hated dealers. Either way they would be extremely useful to him.
“No, they are exactly the type of men I need, sir. To be honest, I need men that aren’t afraid of what’s waiting for us out there. These guys have experience working in dangerous areas and that’s exactly why I chose them. I need some hard hitting son of bitches that are willing to put it all on the line.”
Sergeant Hardy chuckled. “Well, you’ve definitely picked the right bunch then,” he said, shoving open the conference room door. “Say hello to your new team,” he said, then walked away.
Brandon stepped into the room giving each man his scrutiny. They stared at him hard, but he returned their stares with just as much bravado. These men may look like they’re the worst of the worst, but they were good men. They had families that they loved and put their lives on the line for every single day so they can feel a little safer.
Brandon gave the men a small nod as he moved to stand near the front of the room. “I’m Brandon Baker and I’ll be directing this unit. Before we hit the streets and start to knock heads, how about some introductions?”
The guy closest to Brandon spoke up first. “Zane Hitchens.” He was a white guy with an almost bald hair cut. His neck was super thick and he wore a pair of black framed glasses that belied his killer instinct. He rocked a tribal tattoo on the side of his neck that disappeared beneath his shirt. “I’m ready to rock and roll,” he said with a sinister grin.
“I’m Brock Michaels,” one of the two black men said. His eyes were dark and hard, yet bright with anticipation. Brock had curly hair that was growing into an afro and chiseled facial features. “I’m just here to put as many of these assholes away as possible.”
Brandon nodded. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
“Chris O’Malley,” a man with bright red hair said loudly, a slight grin on his face. “I’ve been shot twice, and dragged into the IA’s office more times than I can count. What can I say? If you break the law, I’m gonna break your ass.”
That prompted a few laughs from the guys.
The last two, another African-American man and a Russian thug were swift. They didn’t give any back story and only told them their names – Devon DeMamp and Vladimir Fedorov.
“Alright. It's like this. You follow me and do as I say and we’ll all reap the benefits. Understood?” asked Brandon, after all the introductions were over. When they all nodded, he continued.
He walked over to the white board and flipped it over revealing an outline of thugs and all their criminal activity. Each photo led up to a blank space at the top with no name.
“Our objective is to apprehend every person on this board until we find out who’s running the whole operation. When we find out who’s the head of the snake, we chop it off.”
“Where do we start,” asked Devon. The man stood almost six four with broad shoulders. He had a jagged scar across his jaw that enhanced his no nonsense demeanor.
“I got a tip from one of my insiders that there might be a pretty important gathering tomorrow on the East side. They’re gonna be doing some business with the Mexicans. I hear it might be about forty grand in product being moved. That’s twenty grand six ways if you get my meaning.”
“I thought you said it would be forty grand down there,” said Vladimir.
Brandon remembered reading that he was in jeopardy of losing his house.
“Yeah, i
t will be, but we have to turn in something or the Sergeant will begin to wonder what kind of deal these guys are down there making with no money. So we take half and turn in the rest. Got it?”
The men nodded their heads as they began to understand his method. Seeing the hungry look in their eyes showed him know he had been right in choosing them.
Malik, your days are numbered.
~~~~
“I wonder why your brother never joins us for dinner,” Gloria sighed, circling the spoon in her soup bowl for the thousandth time. “He always seems to be too busy for us nowadays.”
“Don’t worry, Ma,” Malik smiled, trying to reassure her. “He’s making a name for himself. He’ll come home soon.”
Gloria took a sip of her soup and smacked her lips in satisfaction.
“Mmmm. This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked, boy. When did you learn to cook like this?” she said joking.
Malik shrugged, with a nonchalant expression. “Come on now. You know I get’s down in the kitchen, Ma.”
“Boy, everything you do in that kitchen you learned from me, so cut it out,” she said laughing.
“Yeah, whatever. Besides, since I live alone, I have to cook. I gotta eat, right?” said Malik smiling. He shoved a large buttered roll into his mouth and washed it down with his mother’s sweet tea.
“But what about that girl you were with last week?”
“Lucy?” he snorted. “She was only in it for the money. Plus, you know I can’t get myself into anything serious cause of what I do.”
There was a sudden moment of silence between them and it never felt more suffocating to Malik. He knew his mother didn’t approve of what he did and she never brought it up. That is until lately. She’s been questioning him about getting out of the game and even though he knows she is right, he always made an excuse about it not being the right time.