Killing a Snitch: The first of the Christopher Aiden Mysteries

by Brian Bradford

  The restaurant was full, and every race, age, and background was present. Hip hop was playing through the speakers as diners enjoyed duck. She sat so that she could see the entrance. When the waiter offered menus, she didn’t grab it. She said, “I’ll start with the shrimp dumplings and then the deep--fried spicy squid.” The waiter smiled and bowed. He smiled at Terrance.

  “Um…shrimp fried rice?” he said.

  When the waiter left she leaned across the table. “This is a good time to go to CVS if you need to.”

  “For what?”

  “Condoms.”

  He smiled. “Oh yeah, right. I just ran out at the crib.”

  She raised an eyebrow. She ran her foot along the inside of his leg under the table and he shifted in his seat, blushing. “I’ll be right back.” She couldn’t believe he was this easy.

  When he left the restaurant, she texted again. She saw the truck go by outside. People in the restaurant were watching her. She imagined they were asking each other how she ended up sitting across the table from a guy who didn’t wear a belt.

  She waited. After a few minutes she called the number.

  “What’s up?”

  “Can I leave?” she said.

  “Hell no. Where is he goin’?”

  “To the CVS. Can’t y’all get him now and I roll out?”

  “No way, too many people. Take him somewhere where there ain't so many witnesses.”

  “I don’t know where…shit, he’s drivin’,” she said.

  “Where are y’all goin’ after dinner?”

  “He’s probably going to try to take me to his apartment. Y’all need to do whatever y’all gon’ do quick.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t want to fuck this ugly nigga!” The entire family at the table next to her looked over. She was very embarrassed. The father scolded his daughter but she couldn't look away.

  “You may have to.”

  “Look, if he goes into that Avalon apartment building y’all are not gonna be able to get in there,” she said. She had dated enough Washington Wizards to know how the security routine went in the lobby.

  “Then we’ll get him in the morning. You just gotta keep updating me.”

  “What are y’all trying to do? Get his jewelry or what?”

  “He’s coming back in the restaurant. Hang up.”

  She smiled, but was disappointed when Terrance came back in the front door.

  “This joint is open until two in the morning,” he said. “Ima start hitting this joint mo often. When I got the munchies, you know. Late night wit’ a bitch.”

  She smirked. “Sure.”

  “I didn’t mean--” he said. He looked up at her with wide eyes. She put her water down.

  “What I meant is...like, you said you got a lot of men, right? I mean, if you wanna come here with me again…well, I’d like that…I… I…look, I’m drunk. I like you. And I don’t care who you are or--”

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  “I don’t care who you been wit’ cause I’m um…”

  “Secure,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You dont care what niggas think”

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “You’re smart too. I’m trippin.”

  She used a napkin to cover her laugh.

  “Look, all I’m saying is if you want to come back here another night…”

  “I picked this spot because it’s late. There’s a nicer place around the corner,” she said. “A younger, hipper crowd. We can go there next week.”

  He smiled wide. He fingered his napkin and then said, “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You’re excused from the table.”

  They both laughed. He stood, wiped the front of his jeans, smiled, and headed off. She still didn’t know his name.

  * * * * *

  Aiden pulled into the parking lot of Big Boys Nightclub and double--parked behind Fats Harrington’s Lamborghini. He pulled out his cell phone to call Brooks, but it rang before he could dial. It was Jack.

  “Hey, I’m at the club,” Aiden said.

  “Yeah, I see you. I’m in the black Benz to your left.”

  A guy wearing all-black exited the passenger side of a Mercedes G-wagon, walked around the back, and opened the rear door. He was 6’8” and over 300lbs. The driver exited and looked like his tag-team partner, if not his twin brother. Their boss wasn’t a small man, but his white sweatsuit and jewelry set him apart.

  “Aiden?”

  “Jack?”

  The man grinned, but it gave Aiden a funny feeling in his gut. He didn’t feel like he was in danger. He didn’t feel like he should draw his gun and take small slow steps backward. He just felt uneasy, like Jack wasn’t a good person. Some people have bad auras. Aiden wondered if he should pass on doing business with this character. But he needed the money.

  “You not tryin’ to have me meet you in the dark because this car has scratches and dents and shit, are you?” Jack said.

  “I wanted to meet you earlier today,” Aiden corrected.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “The car doesn’t have any flaws. It’s in mint condition,” Aiden said.

  “So, why you selling it, then?”

  “It’s a commodity. I buy ‘em, I sell ‘em.”

  “I buy ‘em, race ‘em, wreck ‘em, buy another one,” the man said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “This’ll be my second Porsche. I mean, it’s my fifth Porsche in life but I only have one in my garage right now.”

  “This is a vintage car. The value appreciates the older it gets,” Aiden said.

  “Right, whatever. I’m trying to have some shit that nobody in NYC has. Some James Bond shit.”

  “Ok.”

  “So, look aiight, let me take the whip on a little test drive and see how she handles on the road and then we can talk real shit, aiight?”

  “Cool, let’s go.”

  “Whoa, whoa playboy. I'm not about to go riding around in a coup with another dude. I’ll leave my men here with you and I’ll be right back. You can trust me.”

  “After you buy it, it’s your toy. You can play with it by yourself all you want. Until then, I don't let anyone just go for a ride in my car.”

  Aiden’s phone vibrated. It was Brooks. He ignored it.

  “I want to see how it handles on the highway. You don’t expect me to buy a Porsche, from some dude I never seen before, without test driving the bitch, do you?”

  “You can test drive it…”

  “Ok, nobody buys a car without test driving it,” Jack laughed.

  “...but I’m riding with you.”

  “Ay yo, you insulting me right now. I ain’t no bum ass nigga. This is the fifth Porsche I bought. I buy these shits like you buy Viagra. Nigga, I ain’t trying to steal your car.”

  “So, you crashed the first three?

  “What? Look nigga, if I wanted to take your car, I wouldn’t sneak thief you. Motherfucker, I’d just take your fucking car from you.”

  “You said your name is Jack?’

  “Yeah, they call me Jackboy.” He smiled.

  “Jackboy?”

  “Yeah. I got a little reputation back in Brooklyn, you know.”

  “Ok, I got a reputation in DC,” Aiden said. He pulled his necklace out and showed the police shield.

  “Oh shit.”

  “Now, I’m gonna ask you once and I don’t care what they call you in Brooklyn, I don’t care about your little reputation in New York, and I don’t give a fuck if you feel insulted. Nigga, do you want to buy the fucking car or do you wanna take your ass back to New York?”

  Jackboy smiled. “There’s no way you’d be talkin to me like that if you didn’t have that badge, boy.”.

  Then he nodded to the driver. The goon grabbed a brown bag out of the backseat of the truck and gave it to Aiden. Inside were four stacks of hundreds wrapped by Chase Manhattan Bank. Aiden wondered how many peop
le had been killed for Jackboy to get that money in his hands.

  He carefully inspected the bills to make sure they were all hundreds. Then he pulled out a counterfeit pen and started marking random bills and holding others up to the light.

  “My nigga…”

  “You are from New York, right?”

  Jackboy sighed.

  “The title is in the glove compartment,” Aiden said. He kept holding bills up to the light as Jackboy looked over his new paperwork.

  “If this shit is a lemon, I’m gon’ be on your ass boy, cop or no cop,” Jackboy said.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Aiden held his phone up to his ear. “Ay, where are you?”

  “I saw the shooter,” Brooks said.

  “Where?”

  “He was in the club but he left. He just left. I tried to call you. Where were you?”

  “I had to handle some business.” Taylor pulled up. Aiden threw the duffel bag of money in her trunk and closed it. Brooks was watching him from across the lot.

  Chapter 13:

  The easiest part of hustling

  B linds blamed Fats for the mishap in Puerto Rico. He wished Fats had sent him alone instead of accompanying him to the island. He kept replaying different parts of the trip that ended with him in jail. He thought about the way Fats didn’t memorize the supplier’s phone number.

  He had watched him pat his pockets before finding a small, wrinkled piece of paper. Fats sat on the bed and dialed a number from it. “Yeah, yeah, what’s up, que paso,” he said.

  Blinds frowned.

  “Es Fats from DC…,” Fats continued. “Yo aqui.”

  Blinds approached him, but Fats held a hand up to him.

  “Si, si…um, yo…el grande glasses…eh negro…”

  Blinds took the phone. “Im el chico le dara’ a la mierda al,” Blinds said. “Frente la hotel?...que tiempo…no te puedes perderme. Llevo gafas gruesas….si…adios.”

  Fats sat with his mouth open.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Blinds was tired and tried to rest, but Fats kept asking questions. After ten minutes he insisted that Blinds go downstairs and wait for the package. Blinds reminded him that they would be another twenty minutes, but Fats didn’t want to risk missing the drop.

  Blinds went downstairs.

  He nodded to the man behind the front desk and said “hola” to the two housekeepers sitting on the couch. He thought it odd that he hadn’t seen any other guests. The hotel wasn’t where tourists gather but rather downtown close to government buildings. No luxury to notice.

  He waited out on the sidewalk for about thirty minutes. Whenever he turned to look back into the lobby, he noticed the employees watching him. Finally, a 30-year old Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera sped around the corner blasting some Puerto Rican rap music. It stopped in front of Blinds and marijuana smoke overtook the sidewalk. Blinds turned and looked back into the hotel again. The employees were all moving briskly into a back room.

  The driver asked, “Maurice?”

  “Si…Angel?” Blinds answered.

  The driver handed a shopping bag out of the window. He was wearing red sunglasses and a blue mesh wife--beater T-shirt. He had tattoos all over his arms. “Maldita sea, estas son algunas gruesas gafas,” he said.

  Blinds took the bag and the car took off.

  He was sweaty when he returned to the room. He could tell Fats was scared. Fats exhaled and grabbed his chest when he saw Blinds enter the room. He smiled and stood straight when he saw the bricks of cocaine.

  Fats’s nervousness was becoming increasingly annoying. Blinds was already upset that Fats had not purchased round--trip tickets. Fats thought that gave the police a chance to get in place for a sting. Blinds liked to have a plan. They argued over how and when to go to the airport. They argued over how to dress and how to act. The arguments over strategy led to arguments over who was making the largest gamble - the guy paying for the coke or the guy risking his freedom. It was obvious to Blinds that Fats didn’t care about him or his family. Fats was only concerned with getting the coke back to DC.

  Blinds was hard-up for cash, so he let Fats boss him around. He hated it. He was an independent contractor and he was used to doing the job his way. Most dealers never wanted to be near the coke. He felt like an employee doing a job while being observed by a supervisor.

  The main thing that made Blinds good at his hustle was being cool despite the glasses. He was always nervous, but he never let it show. He knew that acting nervous was a sure way to draw attention. Having Fats nearby made him more nervous than usual.

  Blinds always got to the gate early and chilled out. He always bought a meal and relaxed away from the gate. He never acted like he was on a mission. Instead, he talked to other people as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But Fats was uptight and scared.

  Fats insisted they take separate taxis to the airport. He didn’t want Blinds to look at him or talk to him in the airport. They were to act as strangers until arriving in DC. The plan was to fly to Orlando, buy another ticket, and fly to Ohio, buy more tickets, and fly to Washington.

  Fats left the hotel at 9am. Blinds left an hour later. When Blinds saw Fats sitting at the gate reading a Sports Illustrated magazine he laughed to himself because he knew Fats didn’t know anything about sports. He was trying to look like a normal guy.

  Luck would have it that by the time Blinds got to the counter the plane to Orlando was sold out. The only thing smoking that day was a 4pm direct flight to DC. Blinds sucked his teeth and bought the ticket. He spent a half hour trying to make eye contact with Fats. It took him a half hour to get Fats’ attention. Blinds discreetly nodded his head toward the men’s room.

  In the restroom, Fats kept pacing and cursing. Blinds told him several times to relax. “Nah, a young Black man flying directly from Puerto Rico to DC? Dead giveaway,” Fats

  said. “Nah, take my ticket and go home now.”

  “We should wait until tomorrow,” Blinds said.

  “Nah. Here. I’ll call you when I get there.” Blinds reluctantly took the ticket.

  He had no problems getting through checkpoints in Puerto Rico, boarding the plane, and

  flying to Orlando. Everything went smooth in Orlando, and he landed in Cincinnati a little after 5pm. The airport in Cincinnati was so big that it stretched into Kentucky. Unknown to Fats and Blinds, it was a major drug trafficking route. Blinds checked the departures, found a flight to DC, and proceeded to the gate. He bought a ticket, got a magazine from Hudson News, sat, and waited to board.

  Once on the plane, Blinds went into the bathroom and dumped the coke into his gym bag. He was home free. He returned to his seat and casually started reading the magazine. Meanwhile, DEA agents were asking the ticket agent questions about the lone traveler with the thick glasses.

  The plane was full when the agents boarded. Blinds was preparing for sleep when they tapped his shoulder and flashed their badges. His heart sped up tenfold and he knew it was over right then. He stood and faced a crew-cut muscular Wte guy who didn’t try to be polite. He motioned for Blinds to lead the way.

  “Bring your bag with you,” said a second agent.

  Blinds grabbed his bag and headed up the aisle. They followed. At the back of the plane, a stewardess moved out of the area and the second agent, a nerdy--looking man, closed the curtain behind them.

  The crew cut wasted no time. “My name is Agent Sterling, and this is my partner Agent Sheffield. Of the DEA. We have reason to suspect you may be carrying illegal drugs,” he said.

  “Do you mind if I see your ticket?”

  Blinds pulled the ticket from his back pocket and wished he could be anywhere else in the world at that moment. “Your ID please?” the agent asked.

  Blinds handed the agent his driver’s license. There was nothing he could do.

  “Do you mind if I frisk your person?” Reluctantly, Blinds relented and raised his hands. The first agent patted him down from the armpits to the knees. The c
ompartment was so small that there was not enough room for the agent to bend over and pat all the way down to the shoes. Blinds wished he had taped the coke to his ankles.

  “Can I look in your bag?”

  “Wait a minute,” Blinds smiled. “You think that just because I’m Black…”

  “No,” Agent Sterling interrupted. “Because you’re traveling alone, you just bought your ticket, and you paid cash.”

  “Where are you coming from?” said Agent Sheffield.

  “Orlando.”

  “We already know you’re coming from Puerto Rico,” said Agent Sterling.

  “On top of that you’re flying under an alias,” said Agent Sheffield.

  “What?”

  “Your ID doesn’t match the name on your ticket,” Agent Sheffield said.

  It was then Blinds remembered switching tickets with Fats in Puerto Rico. “Why are you using the name Filmore Harrington?”

  “Look, that was just a mistake…” Blinds started.

  “Can I have a look in that bag?”

  “Na, man, y’all got a warrant?”

  “We can get one,” Agent Sheffield said.

  “Well, y’all get a warrant. Until then--”

  “Tell ya what, why don’t we take your bag to a judge, get a warrant, and then charge you with whatever is in there?” Agent Sterling said politely.

  “I got somewhere to be…” Blinds said.

  “One of two things is gonna happen next,” Agent Sheffield said. “You’re going to come with your bag to the judge, or you’re going to leave the bag with us, and we’ll handle this.”

  Blinds was cornered. His only options were jail in Kentucky or jail in Virginia. He opted for the lockup where friends and family would visit him. He slowly handed over the bag and said, “Go get your warrant.”

  “Of course, if there’s nothing illegal in here, we’ll mail it back to you with our apologies,” Agent Sterling said.

  They walked him back to his seat. Everyone on the plane watched them with their peripheral vision. Some passengers started, some whispered. The aircraft was nearly silent the entire flight. When they arrived in DC, ten uniform police were waiting for Blinds at the gate.

  Chapter 14: The Afterparty