by Beanie Sigel
The doctors had informed them that Reek lost approximately ninety percent of the use of his lower body. It would take months, possibly years, of rehabilitation before the likelihood of any noticeable signs of improvement would occur.
“Good morning, Mr. Simmons,” Latrice said.
“Morning.” Reek mumbled. He turned his head and cracked his eyes open just enough to get a peek at the two figures standing at the side of his bed.
Todd delivered his routine introduction, then asked if it was okay to question him.
“Law-yer,” Reek forced the word out.
“It’s too late to play the tough guy role, son. You can’t be a tough guy rolling through prison in a wheel chair doing life for murder.”
“Lawyer!” He raised his voice, then relaxed his head back on the pillow. He winced from the pain caused by the sudden, and subtle movement.
“Okay. That’s fine with us, Mr. Simmons,” Latrice said politely. “Have a good day, and I wish you the best.” She grabbed her brother by the arm and ushered him out of the room.
“What in the hell are we going to do now?” Todd growled through clenched teeth.
“The same thing we’ve been doing, continue digging.”
“It’ll be senseless to ask the DA to charge him with murder. There’s no way any warm blooded jury would convict him based on what we have. Especially when they see that he’s paralyzed.”
“I’ll call the DA and talk to him. At the least, we can charge him with illegally possessing the gun,” Latrice said.
Todd spun around toward his sister, wide eyed. “I have an idea...let’s go to the office.”
Back at the police precinct they continued to work on the case. Things weren’t going too well on Latrice’s end. She talked to the district attorney. As expected, he refused to charge Reek with murder, explaining that it would be too easy for him to prevail with a claim of self-defense. He agreed to charge him with unlawful possession of a weapon.
Todd’s prudence proved to be beneficial. According to his theory, if someone had been shot with a large caliber gun, there was no way he could avoid going to the hospital without dying from complications. He called every hospital in Pennsylvania, with no success. He then took a shot by calling hospitals in the tri-state area. Thirteen exhausting phone calls later, he reached out to Cooper Hospital in Camden, New Jersey. To his relief, he was informed that a patient was released from the hospital three days earlier who sustained a .44 caliber bullet to the shoulder. The patient claimed to be the victim of a random robbery in Camden. His name was listed as Kevin Singleton.
Todd ran the name in the NCIC database. Not only did Kevin have a lengthy criminal history, but he was also from Philadelphia. Releasing a triumphant smile, Todd called the Homicide Task Force, relayed all the information he had obtained on Kevin, and requested they bring him in on suspicion of murder.
Two days later, Todd and Latrice received a phone call from Homicide Task Force informing them that their suspect, Kevin Singleton, had been brought into custody. They raced back to the police precinct. Kevin had been in the interrogation room for an hour where he nervously waited for someone, anyone, to enter the room. He felt a slight sense of relief when the two homicide detectives walked in.
“So, how’s your shoulder doing, Kevin?” Todd jumped right in.
“Huh? Uhhh...it’s okay.”
“Where were you shot?” Todd continued.
“Right here.” He pointed to his left shoulder.
“Not where on your body!” Todd stood, placed his hands flat on the desk, and leaned forward. “Where were you shot at? What fucking location?”
“On...in, um...New Jersey, sir,” Kevin stammered.
Todd sat down and relaxed in his chair, calming down. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he smiled to Latrice, who nodded her head in agreement. “You see, I get to ask you a question, you get to lie to me, then I get to charge you with the two murders, and an attempted murder that happened on Upsal Street,” Todd explained matter-of-factly.
The mention of the murders hit Kevin like a bolt of lightning. He sat straight up in his chair. “Man, I ain’t kill nobody! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest defiantly.
“You didn’t?” Todd asked with one eyebrow raised. “Well, I’m going to tell you what I know. I know the bullet that was lodged in your shoulder has been sent off to forensics to see if it was discharged from the same .44 that was found on one of the victims.” Todd slowly slid a brown folder across the desk.
Kevin cautiously opened it. His eyes locked on the beaten and bloodied body of the large man who was tied to a chair. He gave his attention to each photograph. The final picture was of his friend, Tah, who lay contorted on the floor with a gaping, blood-soaked hole in his head. Beads of perspiration began to materialize on his forehead.
Todd noticed that Kevin was paying particular attention to that picture. He decided to continue. “I also know that we’re going to take a blood sample from you – whether voluntarily or by obtaining a warrant – and it will be compared to the blood samples that were taken from the scene of the crime. Lastly, I know that when both the ballistics and DNA results come back, you will never have the luxury of freedom again. You’re going to begin a new life with Fishbone. Do you know who that is?”
Kevin shook his head no.
“Fishbone is a three hundred pound, muscle built, balled headed black dude who likes to knock fake tough ass dudes like you out and take their virginity.” Todd couldn’t suppress the chuckle, but it was obvious that Kevin was more concerned with the evidence that was being compiled against him.
“Make no mistake about it, honey,” Latrice chimed in, “You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble, but you can certainly lighten the load on yourself. Give us something to work with and we may be able to negotiate a favorable deal with the district attorney on your behalf.”
Kevin remained quiet.
Latrice sensed that he was weakening. She had to take advantage. “Listen, baby, I know this is hard on you. You’re in a horrible position, and you’re scared. Believe me, I understand. Whatever you do, don’t dig your hole deeper than it already is. Your best option is to minimize the damage. Try to right your wrongs. That’s the only way we can help you, Kevin.”
“I’m...I’m scared.” Kevin broke down and sobbed.
“I know you are, honey. Talk to me and let me know what’s going on.”
“None of this was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like that.” Kevin cried into his hands. He wiped the tears from his face and stared down at the table before continuing. “The twins sent us to rob Twan, and the shit went bad. Now the twins are dead.”
“Are you talking about Khadeem and Quadir Wilson?” Todd asked.
“Yeah.”
The charred remains of the brothers were found inside a stolen Suburban that had been set on fire.
“If he found out that they were the ones who ordered the robbery, he probably already know I had something to do with it. He’s gon’ try to kill me, too.” Kevin rambled on, brimming with fear.
“Who are you talking about? Who do you think killed the twins?”
“It was Mack and his man T-Lova...”
CHAPTER 19
Winter had receded and the welcomed spring temperatures eased in. The vibrant afternoon sun energized the entire Manhattan.
That brightness, however, was barely able to penetrate the drab, rundown one bedroom apartment Marty Frankel inhibited. His tiny domicile was sparsely furnished and unkempt. The putrid smell of alcohol, spoiled takeout food, and stale air infested his living quarters. A far cry from the clean, lavish home and high-end lifestyle he once enjoyed.
A matty haired, scruffy bearded Marty had finally awakened. He trudged to the bathroom like a zombie to relieve himself. Hung over from the night before, his balance and aim was off.
Urine splattered all over the toilet and he didn’t care to
clean his mess, or even give the toilet a flush, for that matter.
He made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. There was a single can of beer inside. He grabbed it. There were a few drops left. His need to consume alcohol intensified. He searched around the sink’s countertop, which was cluttered with old liquor and beer bottles for one that contained alcohol. They were all empty. He inspected the bottles that were strewn around the living room floor along with piles of Investment Business Daily and Wall Street Journal newspapers. Nothing.
With less than one hundred and seventy dollars, and uncertain of when or how he would receive any money, he threw on a ragged pair of blue sweat pants, his old Harvard college sweater, and a worn pair of New Balance sneakers. He then took ten dollars and walked to the liquor store.
Moving through the congested New York City streets, Marty paid little attention to anyone. While on his mission, his mind remained blank. That had become his method of dealing with life’s issues.
He had been abandoned by his wife, betrayed by the company he worked for, and outcast by his friends.
It was him against the world, but unfortunately he was losing the battle by a wide margin.
Not focusing on where he was going, Marty collided into a man who hurried out of a bistro, nearly causing him to drop his lunch, and spill the drinks he balanced in both hands.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” The young man checked his tailored suit to make sure no contents were spilled on it, glaring at the disheveled man who bumped into him. The weathered person looked extremely familiar. He took a deeper look. “Marty?...Marty Frankel? Is that you?”
There were plenty of rumors circulating about the condition of Marty. It brought surprising pain to see that there was truth to the stories which were told at the Goldman Building.
“Sorry about that, Vincent,” Marty mumbled. He proceeded to walk away until Vincent grabbed him by the arm stopping him.
“Hold on a second, Mr. Frankel. I just want you to know that your hard work at Goldman’s was not in vain. You’ve taught me things that no one else would have been able to. Hell, even if they had the knowledge, they wouldn’t have been willing to share it.”
For the first time, Marty raised his head high enough to look Vincent in the eyes. He continued, “Since you’ve been gone, my position was elevated. Now I work for the Capital Markets Group. In all honesty, it’s you that I have to thank for that. I modeled myself after you,” Vincent explained.
“Thank you, Vince.” Marty placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have always been a hardworking and intelligent kid.” Marty glanced over to the street where a pristine navy-blue Mercedes S550 Maybach Edition was parked. Jack, Marty’s former supervisor, and the cause of his current situation, sat in the back seat of the large and luxurious automobile in repose. He seemed oblivious to them as they conversed, with pedestrians walking around them. Feelings of anger and hurt that was deeply buried abruptly resurfaced. “Have you ever heard of a king snake, Vince?” Marty asked.
“Uh, I think so. Why?”
“A king snake can easily co-exist with it’s own species, but it will not hesitate to devour another one if the need arises. Be careful, son.”
“Mr. Frankel, you have too much knowledge in that brain of yours. Please don’t let it go to waste. If you leave the alcohol alone and get back on track, I’m certain there’s something I can do for you. Here’s my number.” Vincent pulled out a business card from his inside coat’s pocket and handed it to Marty. “If you ever need any help, give me a call.”
Marty accepted the card, thanked Vincent, and walked off.
Vincent got into the back seat of the Maybach with Jack. The parable that Marty had given him lingered in the back of his mind.
As Marty walked down the busy street, he mentally sank lower and lower. Disgusted by the ragged clothes he wore and his appearance, he knew that the time to change was upon him. He had come to the conclusion that the hardest part of life was living through failure. The very first time life had knocked him down he couldn’t muster the strength to get back up. He had quit. The old, ambitious Marty was still somewhere inside of him, he simply needed to be pulled to the forefront of his existence.
With an unprecedented surge of inner strength, Marty decided to walk past the liquor store. Instead, he walked a few blocks further to Starbucks...
CHAPTER 20
While surfing the Internet, Terry came across a nicely-sized, defunct car dealership available for lease in New York City. The opportunity to expand Dynasty Luxury Car Rental immediately came to mind. He wanted to see the property in person.
Keith was making great strides in the relationship he was building with Terry and Mack. He had proven to be a good hustler by quickly and efficiently moving the packages that were being fronted to him.
He also proved his commitment to SP when he pistol whipped a local hustler into unconsciousness on the corner for talking disrespectfully about Terry and Mack behind their backs. However, all of this was done while they were in relatively close range. Terry wanted to test Keith to see how he would act knowing the bosses were not in the city.
Terry informed Keith that they were going out of town for a few days. He gave Keith the keys to his new Tesla along with a few instructions.
Terry scheduled an appointment with the real estate agent, then he and Mack made the trip to New York City. They were financially capable of expanding their luxury rental car service. Mack agreed with Terry that Manhattan was an ideal location for their business. Before meeting with the agent, they stopped at Starbucks.
“I was thinking...we have to work on creating a more diverse portfolio,” Mack mentioned to Terry.
“Yeah, we have to start investing our money into some different things. We gotta start making our paper grow from more angles. We’re getting beyond the point of working for our money. We have to start making our money work for us.”
“I agree with you, bruh. Did you have something in mind?” Terry asked as they stood in line, waiting to place their orders.
“I was thinking about purchasing stock in Facebook,” Mack answered.
“I don’t know about that. I read somewhere that they just started turning a profit, and who knows how long that’s going to last. What about Twitter?”
They turned around at the same time due to the snickering of a disheveled, middle-aged man who stood behind them in line. With a roll of their eyes, they continued their conversation.
“Twitter might be worth investing in. Shit, I’m always tweeting,” Mack stated.
The chuckles turned into outright laughter from the man who stood behind them in line.
“What’s funny, my man?” Terry had become agitated.
“You two ding bats,” the man replied, smirking.
“Us?”
“Yeah. Typical guys making typical mistakes. You work your butts off to accumulate some money, then you want to invest in the first company you heard about on TV. And as soon as your investment sinks, you’re back to square one,” Marty began laughing at the thought of it all.
“Can you believe this?” Mack asked. “We’re getting advice on investing from this dude who can’t even afford a decent outfit.” They looked at Marty and burst into a laughing fit of their own.
Marty took offense. “I’ve given away more money than either of you could spend in ten years. I’m still shitting out food that you idiots can’t pronounce! You got one of those smart phones, Google my name, it’s Marty Frankel.” He spelled it for clarification. “I’ve made people more money than they could have ever imagined.” His rant captured Mack and Terry’s attention. Marty was usually a reserved person, but the absence of alcohol in his system had him on edge.
“Maybe you was somebody back in the day, but right now all I see is a washed up old man,” Terry spat, wanting to put an end to the back and forth.
“That’s your problem. While you’re focusing on one area, you’re missing the bigger picture.” Failing t
o realize they were next, Marty side stepped them, and placed his order.
Mack pulled out a few bills and paid for the man’s drink. Marty gave him a simple nod of acknowledgement. “So, what do you think is a good stock to invest in?”
“None,” Marty said flatly, sipping his espresso. He winced from the heat of the coffee which was much different than the liquid his body had grown accustomed to.
“Why do you say that?”
After forcing down another swig, Marty said, “Stocks have been a major investment opportunity for years, but there’s going to be a major shift in dominance of the electronic market.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means a huge opportunity for Market Access Holdings, which is an electronic trading system for bonds. Your invested funds could receive a five year average return of twenty-nine point two percent versus twenty-one point five percent for the Standard and Poor’s.”
The man’s knowledge of financial investing intrigued Mack. “Thanks for the advice, Marty.” The two shook hands.
Because of Mack’s sudden change of attitude, Marty decided to give him a piece of advice. “Listen, young man, if you’re looking for some quick money, purchase shares of Western Union. It’ll jump eight point eight percent in the next three weeks. Once it reaches its peak, sell your shares.” With that said, Marty turned and left.
“Do you think pops knows what he’s talking about?” Terry asked skeptically.
“Hell no. What I look like listening to him? If he knew so much about investing, he wouldn’t look like he’s a day away from being homeless. He’s burnt out.” Mack responded. His words may have come out with confidence, but deep down he wasn’t so sure. An old adage came to him: The wisdom of the teacher is much more important than his appearance. They brushed their encounter to the side, ordered their drinks, and then left Starbucks.