Montega

by Keon Smith

  Deshawn Butler was a man of power in New York. He ran the city’s black market with an iron fist. Those that did not ride his wave of success drowned under it. He and his organization were the royalty of smuggling, which was the reason he changed his father’s sigil from the Wolfpack to the Underground Kings. There wasn’t a product that didn’t touch their hands before it hit the streets—whether it be jewels, exotic animals, drugs, weapons, women… you name it.

  Butler might have been intelligent and an extremely wealthy man; his looks, however, put fear in those he stood face to face with. The hideous scar running down the right side of his face was pure evidence of his diabolical appearance. He a Black man with a clean and shiny bald head. His eyes were dark and cold as a winter night. His lips were thick, and his nose slender at the bridge but wide at the nostrils. He kept his face shaved clean and smooth as a baby’s bottom. He looked dapper in a dark-blue, double-breasted suit designed by Yves Saint Laurent and black Louis Vuitton shoes. He sat at one end of the fifty-foot long, rectangular, black marble table. His partner and head of the Great White Organization, Clyde White, was seated on the other side.

  Like his father, Clyde was tall in stature but lacked definition due to neglect of exercise and dieting. He naturally had a slim build with light-brown skin and a high, squared-off head he kept sharply shaped-up with a fade in the back. His face was tightly drawn with high cheekbones like his sister. Sharp—brown eyes that could be mistaken for hazel in the light—gazed upon the members in the room. His small nose and extensive pale lips surrounded by a five o’clock shadow were the highlight of his features. He arrogantly prided himself in a tailormade gray Brioni suit with black-colored shoes.

  Standing behind him stood his enforcer and commander of his army, Justin, flashing his typical stone face.

  Seated amongst the well-dressed men in $5,000 suits was Thomas Gonzalez, better known as Tommy Gun. His drug operation, Guns and Roses, spread throughout the south and was heavy in Atlanta. He sat beside Semok Budinov, the head of the Russian Mafia in America. There was also Carlos Morin, the international designer drug’s mastermind; Miami George, the boss in Florida who had the whole state on lock from politicians to low-level drug dealers; Stoney Williams, a Haitian leader who ran a huge exotic weed operation from the Florida coast to New York; and Chavo Garcia, who had connections with the Mexican Mafia. He sat next to the head of the Asian gang, known as the Black Cloud, who was seated beside the Pennsylvania bully, Shareek ‘Shug’ Burmington.

  These men were all apart of Clyde’s circle of bosses. Many had been with him from the start. Some were picked up along the way. All were rich and extremely dangerous.

  The men listened as Chavo spoke firmly to the Underworld secret society. Chavo was a tan Mexican who acted as if he didn’t have African American in his blood. He stood just under 5,5”, stocky, with a haircut so close you would think he was bald. He wore a gray Salvatore Ferragamo suit with black shoes, a white shirt, and a hand-printed tie.

  “The gap that we had in Mexico is closing,” he said. “The war between the cartels has gotten so bad over the last few months that it will be hard to even consider getting our product through a pipeline from Bolivia.” Chavo adjusted his collar and unloosened his tie a bit before folding his hands on the table. He shook his head and ended with, “It’s a fucking disaster if you ask me.”

  “Facts, and let’s not forget the problems in South America,” Tommy Gun said, seated a few chairs down from him. “With all the terrorism going on, it’s gonna be even harder for our suppliers to get the product out of the country.”

  “Deshawn,” Clyde said, causing heads to turn. “Any way your people can help us out with this?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it; it’s election time. Government officials and law enforcement agencies are looking to make examples out of anyone who would dare challenge them. They’ve got dogs that can smell drugs out of a smuggler’s ass. I can’t risk having that, hand-and-hand with the supply I already have. Sorry, but there’s nothing my people can do to stop this.”

  “What about the South Africans?” a smooth baritone voice asked, commanding attention. Everyone turned to look at Shug. He was suited and booted as well and wore dark shades to hide his lazy eye. “They don’t seem to have a problem bringing that work into the country. Maybe we need to pull up on them and see if we can’t cut into their line.”

  Chavo shrugged. “Either them or perhaps Verningo Castor.”

  Tommy Gun shook his head, saying, “Whoa, Chavo. Let’s think about this here. We both know those two names will be like opening a can of worms when Diamond finds out about it.”

  A wave of murmuring began as the men began to look amongst each other. Chavo snorted with disgust. “Do you hear yourself, Tommy? This organization is not based on one person alone.”

  “Understandable, but it takes every last member in both the Great White Organization and in the Underground Kings to make a decision like this. Without Diamond’s vote, we’re back to square one.”

  “Well, where’s she right now, huh?” Chavo asked angrily. “She may be the new head of the Elcano Cartel in Cuba, but she’s still apart of this secret society. Meaning she has to—”

  Suddenly, the sound of clicking heels echoed off the marble floors outside the room, grabbing their attention. Everyone turned toward the door. Clyde’s younger sister, Diamond, appeared, dressed in a tan Roberto Cavalli two-piece, form fitting business suit that complemented her curvy frame.

  All eyes admired her as she walked in. Diamond White prided herself being the female version of her father—the late Charles White. She was strong, intelligent, self-made, and notoriously the most sought after. She was a work of art—heart-shaped face and sharp, beautiful eyes with full lashes so developed that they looked heavy when she would stare. She had a thin nose perfectly placed above her signature puckered lips. She walked in with perfect posture, shifting her hips evenly while planting one foot in front of the other.

  Like an exotic candy bar dipped in sweetness, she sparkled deliciously with light, cocoa-butter skin. She raked the long, loopy, dark hair from her face and let it travel down her back. The low-cut blouse she wore showed off her firm bust, and the mid-thigh cut of her skirt accented the power of her glistening legs.

  Not even Deshawn’s girlfriend, Tanya, could match the Snow White Queen. When one thought of Diamond White, they thought of two things—gorgeous and deadly. Her beauty was more than skin deep. If people could get past her distrust and bitchy attitude, they would see that she was a strong, devoted woman who knew what she wanted in life. She loved being in control and being the center of attention. To her, her body was like a sacred temple made of gold, which she showed off every chance she got. But inside was a burning inferno of do it yourself masculinity.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, strutting to an empty seat with her seven-foot-tall bodyguard, Bain, following.

  “Seems to me you’re always late,” Clyde challenged, irritated by her supermodel entrance.

  “Well, if you don’t like it, then start without me from now on. It makes no difference to me,” Diamond replied, taking a seat in the vacant chair. She sat her Chloe bag on the table and then crossed her smooth legs. “So what did I miss?”

  Deshawn watched her arrogance with disgust. A part of him wanted to crush her like a little bug; then there was the part that wanted to fuck her senseless, and he was sure that others felt the same way. Clyde quickly took the attention off his sister and began.

  “We were discussing the problem going on in Mexico with the cartel pipeline. We won’t be able to move the cocaine across the border if these cartels continue to wage war against each other. What we need is a new pipeline that will guarantee at least half of our product out of Bolivia and onto American soil.”

  Diamond played in her French-manicured nails, saying, “Has anyone thought of trying to reason with the cartels?”

  Chavo grunted. “You’re kidding me, right? Do you actually thin
k the cartels will listen? Have you seen the news lately? They’re chopping heads off left and right if they don’t know who you are. They do not want to talk. They want to kill.”

  Diamond shrugged before glancing at Deshawn. “Well, I’m sure there are a few government officials you guys have on the payroll, right? Why not ask them for help? You guys are the kings of black marketing and smuggling, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not that simple, Ms. White. There’s an election going on. No one wants to risk their job helping—”

  “But everyone wants to get paid,” Diamond said, cutting him off. “I don’t understand this shit.” She shook her head and re-crossed her legs the other way. Taking a deep breath to relax while clipping a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she asked, “So how do we plan on resolving this?”

  “The Agugbo Brothers,” Chavo said proudly with a smirk. “Either them or Verningo Castor.”

  Diamond’s face turned to stone.

  “You guys gotta be fucking kidding me, right?” she asked, but no one answered her question. “Right?” She still got no answer. “Are you crazy? You have to be if you think for one second we’re doing business with that snake. Have you forgotten what he did to our father, Clyde?”

  “Look… Diamond, I don’t like this anymore than you do, but this is busi—”

  “The hell it is!” she fumed. “There’s so many other cartels in the world that we can deal with, so don’t give me that crap.”

  “Well, name a cartel then,” Clyde fired back. “Who? Elcano? Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re in the same boat as we are. All that submarine bullshit is history with the technology they have these days. And if you continue taking chances like that, you’ll find out the hard way. So who else then?”

  Diamond was quiet.

  When Clyde got the response he was looking for from her, he sat back calmly and folded his hands. “We need help. And Castor’s the only candidate I can see that is large enough to feed our appetite. You don’t believe him? Check the Forbes list. You’ll find him ranked somewhere in the fifties.”

  “Well, if you ask me, I think it’s a good idea,” Chavo said, putting his two cents in.

  Diamond’s beautiful, ebony-brown eyes cut in his direction like a motorized tree saw. “That’s the problem, Mr. Garcia. Nobody asked you anything,” she retorted coldly.

  “I think you need to mind your tone, Ms. White. I’m still the underboss of the Great White—”

  “Fuck you,” Diamond spat, causing the group to gasp.

  “That’s enough, the both of you!” Clyde said, banging his fist on the table.

  Diamond pursed her lips at Chavo and slowly cut her eyes at her brother.

  Over the years, Chavo had developed a lot of hatred for the Snow White Queen and would do anything to see that she got ignored. In his mind, besides her heroin distribution, she was a woman trying to fill a man’s shoes. He hated to see a successful woman how didn’t need help from a man, and most of all, he couldn’t stand one with arrogance.

  “Wait a second!” Shug boomed. “Have we even spoken to this dude Castor yet?”

  “Not yet, but if we can have a yes vote from everyone at the table, we can send a message to Castor in Miami, telling him that we want to have a sit-down with him,” Clyde answered.

  “Are you guys even hearing yourselves?” Diamond asked in disbelief. “You want to make a deal with the devil? News flash. The reason I joined this organization is because you guys said that you would put Castor in a casket, not sit down and have fucking brunch with him.”

  Clyde looked at his hotheaded sister. “Diamond, we need this deal to go down. If not, we’re screwed. Castor has everything this organization needs to stay on top—import/export mainly, crooked officers within U.S. Customs, trained smugglers. You name it, and he has it. You think that your smugglers in Cuba will last with the type of heat that’s going on in this country? If we can’t deal with him, then we’ll just have to settle on the South African smugglers because from what I hear, they’re names are ringing bells big time. Now, are you going to continue to work off your emotions, or are you going to vote with the rest of the organization? Castor or the Agugbo brothers? Which one is it?”

  Upon hearing the names, Diamond’s nose flared with rage. If there was anyone besides Castor she hated, it was the three South African brothers she had been trying to eliminate for over three years. She was now in a lose-lose situation. Fed up with the bullshit that had just been dumped in her lap, Diamond rose from the seat and replied, “My opinion would be to kill them both, not deal with them. If you guys are as smart as you all portray to be, you would eliminate them and take their resources for yourselves, but I see you’re not.” Diamond continued to look around at all twenty-nine members before continuing. “You know, there was something that my father once said when I was a little girl that stuck with me. When I was young, my father warned me about two things. He said never play with fire, and never pick up snakes, because they’re both tools of the devil… Tools that cause death when you least expect it. I guess you guys have no problem selling your souls. Mine, however, is priceless, so this vote that you all have been waiting on is one vote you won’t be getting from me.”

  The men watched in amazement as Diamond and her bodyguard headed for the door. Chavo hissed, “You see, this is the shit I’m talking about, Clyde. This is why bitches shouldn’t get mixed up in a man’s—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Diamond spun around with a small dagger in her hand. With a quick toss, the blade stuck in the table in front of Chavo like a dart hitting a board. The whole room went silent.

  “That wasn’t a mistake. Neither will the next one that pierces your Adam’s apple if you don’t watch your mouth.”

  Both Justin and Deshawn clenched their teeth as they watched her leave the room. Wong Lee smirked. Clyde shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. He thought to himself, something has to be done about that bitch. Judging by the unhappy faces around him, the feeling was mutual.

  Deshawn was unamused by her performance as well. He really hated Diamond because he suspected her of killing his brother. Now she ran her own drug empire and was the head of her own family in the Underworld secret society. The only way she could be killed was if everyone agreed to it. With that in mind, he was ready to start an underground campaign to ice Diamond. However, he knew the first person he could convince would be Chavo.

  Investigating A Ghost

  ON THE CORNER OF BLAKEMORE AND WOODLAWN…

  “It’s no wonder the graveyards are so full of corpses.”

  DETECTIVE ANTONY LUCCA

  The crossroad of Blakemore Street and Woodlawn was cluttered with cop cars. An ambulance was parked on one side of the street. The news vans were on the other side. The crime scene was taped off, and well over fifty shell casings were drawn out on the ground and labeled by numbers.

  In the area where last night’s shooting took place, standing across the street from the Chinese store, Detective Whitehead and his partner, Detective Lucca, watched as paramedics placed the body bag on the stretcher. From there, it was shoved into the back of the awaiting ambulance.

  “What do you think happened out here last night, Whitehead?” Lucca asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? It’s a robbery gone bad. My guess is that this guy took the money but forgot to check the victims for guns.”

  Detective Lucca snorted out sarcastically. “Genius. It’s no wonder the graveyards are so full of corpses.”

  “Did you see the victim’s face? Whoever slain him must have been very angry. Perhaps he knew the guy—because that’s what you call overkill.”

  “Well, whoever it was, they better hope their prints don’t show up on that shotgun we found, because if they do, somebody is gonna talk when I get through with ’em,” Detective Lucca stated, letting his coattail flap while putting his hands on his waist.

  Detective Whitehead hissed when he heard his cell phone ring. He p
ulled it out and answered. “Detective Whitehead.”

  “Hi, Detective, this is Detective Hasselback. I was calling to inform you about the John Doe that we found over in an alley on Locust Avenue. We have reason to believe that he was coming from your location.”

  Whitehead frowned. “And why do you believe that?”

  “Well, when we searched him, we found four twelve-gauge shotgun rounds. Now, I just got off the phone with Detective Lucca a little earlier, and he gave me the impression that you guys recovered a shotgun,” she said.

  “That’s correct,” Whitehead confirmed, now knowing that all hope was lost on finding the others.

  After he got off the phone with the detective, he frowned at his partner. “What was all that about?” Lucca asked.

  “Looks like we gotta start from the bottom and work our way up. The owner of the shotgun was found dead on Locust Avenue. Must have gotten hit around here, dropped the weapon, and hightailed it up the block and around the corner.”

  “That explains the blood,” Lucca added.

  Whitehead shook his head. “Poor bastard must’ve lost too much blood while running.”

  Lucca pulled out a half empty pack of cigarettes. “Well, let’s at least go find Michael Harris and probe him a bit about this. You know, break a little balls,” he said before pulling one out and lighting it.

  Before Whitehead could answer, his phone rang again. This time, it was his oldest daughter. “Shabree, not now. I’m busy,” he snapped.

  “Dag, hi to you too, Daddy,” Breezy said. “Why are you treating me like a wet penny?”

  “Because I’m frustrated right now. You want to know why I’m frustrated? Because one of your knucklehead friends is leaving bodies all over East Germantown.”

  “Why it gotta be one of my friends?” she shot.