by Renta
“So—de focking government is on to us, hmm?” he asked as his radiant blue eyes found the agents. “I no understand how after all de discretion—de careful planning—how does something of tis sort happen?” he inquired in his thick tongue.
Agent Forrest shrugged before using a steak knife to cut a bite-sized piece of tenderloin—he popped it in his mouth and savored its flavor. The juicy seasons were like a burst of heaven in his mouth. “This tenderloin is the best I’ve tasted,” he complimented the waiter that stood nearby. He nodded modestly; the compliment was well received.
“What’s next—we can’t—can’t”—Forrest stammered with a confused look on his face. He perspired slightly as he reached for his glass of water. It had suddenly become hot in the room and his throat itched.
Russia smiled before taking his glass and sipping from it again. “Yes—that’s the beauty of poison, it has many stages.” He tilted his glass in Forrest direction. “Next will be asphyxiation—the constriction of your throat muscles that will close your throat preventing air in or out of your lungs—chu will be dead in seconds.” He clapped his hands as Forrest scrambled to his feet.
He clawed at his throat—his eyes were the size of silver dollars, pleading—why was the question hidden within their depths. “It’s an extract from the poisonous Bella Dona herb. I had it inbred with a secretion of poison from the Black Mamba snake—deadly concoction!” He pointed at Forrest as he crumbled to the ground. Foam spewed from Forrest’s lips in a frosty mist of bubbles. “I mas tie all loose ends, my dear lover,” Russia said as he stood and made eye contact with the waiter.
The waiter took the silent communication and walked over to the convulsing agent—pulling out his phone, he began snapping pictures from different angles. Russia cleaned his hands on the cloth before wiping his prints from the glass he’d drank from.
“Enough, Gergi, have the men clean up. It’s time to move from ‘tis place.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
****
~Kamika Winslet~
I’d never seen anything like it—I didn’t understand how folks felt comfortable placing their bandanas on that man’s casket. I was appalled at how those men disrespected God’s house by bringing their weapons in. It was a zoo in the church house—men without shirts stepped up to the casket and laid money and drugs inside as if the man could take them into the next life. I was sickened with my people as me and Goose made our way to view his fallen brother. I glanced over at Goose, wondering for the hundredth time if it was some kinda macho thing with him or if he merely wasn’t the type of man to show emotions. Since I’d known the man, he’d lost the closest people to him and have yet to show any form of remorse.
He released my hand as he stared down at his brother’s cold frame. Goose stared at him with an expressionless face as his hand traced the polished oak of the casket. His eyes closed and soft words escaped his lips that I couldn’t hear, but I hoped he was also praying for himself. That night the FBI wanted to take him in, though we couldn’t get him on the drug charges, it was a grand slam framing him with the murder of Detective Hunter. That funeral would be the last the murderer would see as a free man.
Chapter Seventeen
Indictments
~Ice Berg~
~Three Weeks Later~
“Ladies and gentlemen today is the day that we prove to the world justice is not just a word, but a declaration of the United States of America that we stand by. Today I will prove without a reasonable doubt that the accused is not only guilty of polluting our great state with drugs but also—he’s a heartless killer that’s taken the lives of over twenty-five men and women,” she began.
The Federal Attorney stood from her seat, Catrina Keen was a tall, lean woman. She had a reputation of being relentless and very convincing in front of a jury. This day she wore a navy-blue pants suit that hugged her model-like frame. The heels she wore were cheap, but a compliment to the outfit. White as ivory with cropped blonde hair, the attorney commanded attention as she took a stack of pictures out of her briefcase before nodding to her assistant. The assistant was a young ambitious Latin man that aspired to follow in her footsteps.
Together they set up a stand with a portable lecture board attached to it. After it was in place, together they began tacking pictures onto it until it was filled in a pyramid pattern. It depicted scenes of compressed blocks of heroin and cocaine. Others of murder scenes littered with spent bullet casings—still, the most prominent photo was the top one. It was a photo of me having what looked to be a dinner of some sort with the infamous drug lord, Russia. The attorney still held four pictures in her hand when she strode over to the jury box and allowed her powerful green eyes to capture every man and woman that sat in those seats. Five men and seven women—one Uncle Tom lookin’ nigga, I knew I was done for.
The white woman handed one of the photos to the foreperson of the jury. “This photo is a younger version of the man we’re here to trial. It’s him before the surgery he got to elude justice.” She allowed the picture to be passed to each juror before passing a second one. “And this is him after.”
I watched the mild facial expressions of the twelve people that were there to play God with my life. I wondered what the other two pictures were, but I didn’t have to wait long.
“Now—the third picture I need you—the great people of this country to brace yourselves for. This picture not only depicts what this man is capable of but also the heartless savagery committed by his very hands!” she spoke matter factly.
As soon as the foreperson set eyes on the picture, I knew I was a dead man in tall grass. He cringed before passing the picture off and looking at me as if he hoped to be the executioner when they strapped me to the table. I was lost as to what the picture was until it got back to the federal bitch, and she held it up for the courtroom to see.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a result of David ‘Ice-Berg’ Swanson’s heartless perspective on how to rid the world of law-abiding citizens.”
The punk bitch strode closer to the spectators in the courtroom—her assistant handed her anotha photo in the process. She glanced down at it before offering him a proud smile and raising it so that all could see—“This is a renowned arts agent—beautiful wife—daughter, and an active member in her community. This woman has never had so much as a speeding ticket! She’s—” the attorney was setting the stage before I blocked her lame ass out.
I didn’t know who the woman on the photo was, I never forgot a face, and I neva laid eyes on that woman before. I thought they were playing games that the feds play when they’re thirsty for you, but I was about to get a front row seat to a lesson on the conspiracy of the 848 CCE. Continuing a Criminal Enterprise was a bad mu’fucka, and everybody that the feds had proof of you fuckin’ with was open for indictment. The crazy part was, in the feds a mu’fucka could steal your life off testimony! Hearsay was just as powerful as physical evidence in the feds, and if you were the big willy in your squad—everything the next mu’fucka did fell on yo’ head as well. My attorney stiffened beside me when the crooked bitch dropped a bomb on me that was enough to bury me alive.
“Her name is Destiny Kendricks, and she was the then leading attorney for the Federal Bureau of Investigations wife!”
She allowed the powerful statement to absorb the attention of the crowd before she held up the crime scene photographers photo of Destiny’s brains splattered all over the passenger seat of my brother’s car.
“Oh my God—she was all I had! How could you—how—could—you!”
Someone exploded from the back of the room. I turned to find an elder man clutching a hysterical woman to his chest. I was confused as I turned back to the attorney that handed the photos to her assistant.
“Destiny’s parents, ladies, and gentlemen.” She nodded to the embracing couple.
“Shit!” My lawyer hissed before bolting from his seat. “Objection, your Honor—the State is using evidence that
wasn’t in the discovery of evidence. I ask that those pictures be struck from the record!”
Judge McKalister stared at the federal attorney from over his square spectacles. “Is this so, Mrs. Keen?”
The attorney smiled wryly before nodding in acknowledgment. “My apologies your, Honor—it was last minute and—”
“Please strike this from the record, Mrs. Woods,” he said to the stenographer who typed all that was said. “No more monkey business, counsel.” He nodded as if bored.
Federal Attorney Catrina Keen strode over to her seat with an air of accomplishment before turning sharp eyes to me and my lawyer. “Nothing further your Honor.”
****
~Winslet~
The night was silent as me and Goose found peace in the waters of our lovemaking. We’d just had some of the most mind-boggling sex I’d ever experienced, and my heart truly ached for what I had to do, but the government wanted heads to roll and I couldn’t be one of them.
“What you thinking ‘bout, Mika?” Goose broke the silence as his fingers traced the outline of my back.
We laid naked in the middle of his bed—a damp sheet half covering our flesh as I rested my head on his chest and played with his chest hairs. “Um—I’m thinking—” I paused to look up at him. Pushing a few stray dreads out of his face, I looked down at Goose, he was a handsome man. “I’m thinking that you are the perfect man and have so much potential,” I told him as my breath caught in my chest. His pointer finger was tantalizing as he made slow—delicious circles around my left nipple. “You just—just have to see it, Bennie, you can be so much more than a—” my voice trailed off.
I could see his golden smile turn to darkness before he finished my sentence, “—a murderer—dopeboy—street?”
I placed my lips against his to quiet the truth of his words. At that moment, his phone saved me from having to elaborate. I reached over and retrieved it before handing it to him.
He glanced at the screen before answering. “Talk to me.” He listened for all of two seconds before telling whomever it was that it was okay to come over. He disconnected the call before gently removing me from his chest and sliding from the bed. “Assata’s on the way over—he’s stressed over Pain’s death. I’m ‘bout to take a quick shower, Queen, I’ll be out in a few. Why don’t you get dressed and whip up a little late-night snack for a nigga? I’m hungry as a mu’fucka,” he said as he headed for the bathroom.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand – it was one thirty in the am and Assata’s timing couldn’t be any better. His name was on the indictment along with forty-five others, so this new turn of events would save me the trouble of having to find Assata when he’d heard his brother had been picked up. I crawled out of the bed and got my phone. I tip-toed through the hallway and paused at the closed bathroom door. I could hear Goose rapping along with some Jay-Z song as I rushed to the living room and made my call.
The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Now—it’s done,” I spoke to the one on the other end. Without a response, the line went dead.
****
~Assata~
I could see my breath cloud in front of me as I strapped the Friday the thirteenth mask on to my face and kneeled beside a blue Crown Vic I knew belonged to Crazy Loc’s pussy ass. I rechecked the banana clip to ensure it was pregnant. There was another one upside down, and duck taped beside it to make it reversible.
“Sup, nigga, let’s get this shit brackin’—it’s cold as a—” Spyda began before I cut him short with a finger to my lips.
I looked up over the hood and peeled into the darkness. I knew my dawg Thug awaited the signal, but I wanted to lure those boys out to the spot before we put ‘em to bed. I aimed the AK toward the street and let the red beam signal my nigga Lil K so he’d play his part. On cue, Heaven, Goose’s all-white pit bull was like a white blur cutting through the darkness. She barked so loud I feared she’d wake the neighbors. I was surprised that the night crawlers weren’t out—usually, even at two am the natives of Ruth Street were out lurking, but I assumed that the thirty and below winds made even the vampires of the street seek shelter.
Heaven stood in the middle of the yard barking and growling at the house as if it were a stranger attempting to approach her owner. I waited patiently—I knew my plot would pay off, and a few seconds later the porch light clicked on.
“What the fuck, cuz, whose dog is this?” Krazy Loc’s first words split from his lips.
Heaven growled as she exposed her teeth to him. The white pit bull’s eyes looked red under the glow of the moonlight and as she squatted back on her haunches, I knew her next move would be exactly what I needed.
“Take yo’ ass back to where you belong, mutt, before I call the pound on you.” Krazy Loc laughed before placing a cigarette to his lips and inhaling the cancerous smoke.
“Who dat, Loc, tell ‘em to come in or close the door, homie, it’s as cold as a polar bear’s nuts out there!” someone yelled from inside the house.
Krazy turned his head to look back into the house, and that was the worst mistake he coulda made. “Nigga quit crying like a lil bitch—it just—” that’s as far as he made it before Heaven was on him—viciously snapping her teeth. The bitch nigga fell back onto the porch as Heaven bit down into his arm. “Arrgh—get it off me—helppp—get the mu’fucka off me!” He was screaming and attempting to fight her off.
I knew there was no time to waste as I sprung to my feet and gave the signal. At that moment, a loud whistle cut through the air. “Heaven—here, girl, come!” I heard Lil K shout.
The dog shook Krazy Loc a few more times before releasing him and bolting off into the night—blood stained her white fur. At that moment, I could hear the block coming alive—whoeva was in that house were rushing to their potnas aid, but death had beat them to the sucka. Thug must have pulled the switch because all the lights went out in the spot and as soon as Krazy Loc lifted, he met eyes of the darker version of Michael Myers. I stood above him—head slightly tilted to the left with the Draco clutched in my hands.
I knew Thug had crept to the back of the house and by then, Spyda stood beside me with two tools in his hands. His eyes were bloodthirsty inside the ski mask he wore. Voices could be heard rushing toward the front door but it was too late.
“Please, Cuz, let me make it home. I don’t know who you, niggas is, but y’all can have it all!” he cried.
“Say, loc, what the fuck going on?” A dark-skinned nigga I didn’t recognize was the first to appear out the door.
His words got caught in his throat when he spotted me and Spyda with hunger in our stares that went beyond the station of food. We had a taste for blood, and I could feel the fear in the air as I let that pipe talk. Fire jumped from the short barrel of the Draco. I held it at an angle as I squeezed the trigga and bared witness to the maliciousness of what those bullets could do as chunks of Krazy Loc’s body flew into the air with each shot. His chest was a bloody canvas when the sparks stopped, but Spyda wasn’t satisfied. Though he’d hit his mark, and the dark-skinned cat was on his way to meet whoever awaited him on the other side, Spyda ran up on him with the burna aimed at his thinkin’ cap.
“Ple—please—” the fallen soldier tried to speak through the blood bubbling out of his mouth and chest.
Spyda was in another zone when he squeezed the trigga on one of the burnas. The sparks from each shot lit up the darkness and caused momentary flashes of light to play over Spyda’s ski-masked face. My nigga was on his killa shit as he screamed Boosie’s lyrics until the gun clicked. “Welcome to the mind of a maniac—street nigga—street nigga!” he yelled before shots exploded from the darkness—straight in our direction.
****
~Harrison~
I stood over Winslet, she knew she’d blew it. I wasn’t quite convinced that she didn’t tip the perp off and allow him enough time to escape before making the call. One couldn’t be too sure with rogue cops. If they’d break their oath, they’d m
ade to protect their country, there was no telling what they were capable of. I stood there with my arms crossed over my chest when my next in command strode into the room with an evidence bag filled with a black substance.
“Heya, Harrison, looks like our boy shaved his locks off,” he said before tossing me the bag.
I held it up and examined it—it was long strings of hair. Bennie Trice had cut his hair before disappearing out of the bathroom window. I was just about to respond when a short shapely woman was led into the room by a red-faced field officer. I stared at her peculiarly before she flashed me her credentials.
“Tonya Johnson—Division One Homicide,” she acknowledged.
I offered her my hand before dismissing her. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Johnson, but as you know this is a Federal Investigation. The city of Fort Worth nor the state has jurisdiction here.” I glanced at the red face FBI agent that escorted her in. “Murry, please escort, Mrs.—”
Johnson cleared her throat before attempting to interrupt me, but Detective Winslet beat her to the punch. “It’s okay, Harrison—she’s one of mine,” she whispered.
I looked from the shaken cop back to her pretty friend. I didn’t give a damn who she was, she wasn’t one of mine, and that was enough for her to be an acquaintance to the ruse. I was on the verge of saying just that when Detective Johnson smiled and handed me a warrant.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrison, but I’m afraid you’ve been outranked. Now, unless the Bureau has placed this woman under arrest, the City of Fort Worth and the State of Texas is placing her under arrest for the murder of Fort Worth’s lead detective, Brian Hunter,” the words tumbled out of her mouth before she turned to Winslet—she shook her head sadly. “You had us all fooled, Kamicka—you’re nothin’ but a manipulative—murdering rogue, and it’s my pleasure to be the one to do the honors of placing cuffs on you. At one-thirty, a search warrant was issued for your home and the murder weapon you used to kill your partner was found between your mattress.”