by R. A. McGee
After he finished, Porter listened as Ross tried to find holes in the plan. After all, analytical thinking was his strong suit.
“What if Hector's guys don’t care about the tape?” Ross said.
“Everyone has a sister or mother or daughter or wife. No one wants women and children harmed,” Porter said.
“Then how did Hector snatch Danny in the first place? He had to have help.”
“There are some real savages that don’t care, but they’re few and far between. Only one thing you can do about those guys.”
“What can you do about…” Ross’s voice trailed off. “Oh yeah. There’s one thing you can do about those guys. But that isn’t my thing, right?”
“No, Ross, that isn’t your thing. If the situation calls for it, it’ll be my thing,” Porter said.
“So, what’s my thing?”
“Driving,” Porter said. “I need a ride over to the Acres.”
“That’s the dangerous part? You want me to be a taxi?”
“How do you think they’ll take it when my truck rolls up? I already slapped a couple of them around, and put two more in the morgue. They’ll be pissed. In fact, I’m counting on it. The more pissed they get, the better for us. Trust me.”
“I do, but that’s not always a good thing,” Ross said.
“What the hell do you mean? When have I ever steered you wrong?”
“What about that time you told me Betsy Vrabel wanted me to kiss her?” Ross said.
“Are you kidding me? I’m literally talking about life and death and you’re bringing up senior year?”
“It was junior year,” Ross said, “and I still have the lump on my nose from where she punched me. Just thought I should remind you, you aren’t always right.”
Porter shook his head. “You’re an idiot. Maybe next time don’t take dating advice from me.”
“Aren’t you trying to give me dating advice about Tessa?” Ross said.
“That’s different. That girl’s the one for you. She knows it and you know it, but you’re too chicken to talk to her about it. So she hangs around waiting, and you pretend she works for you for the benefits, knowing full well she could work anywhere else.”
“Maybe if I get out of this alive, I’ll ask her out.”
“Get out of this alive? You’ve been watching too many movies.”
They finished eating and then cleaned the kitchen, few words passing between them. Porter recognized the feeling. Before an operation, he and his team had often had a similar quiet tension. It was a good thing; it helped to focus the mind.
After they cleaned the kitchen Porter showered, then fell into the guest bed, out of commission for the rest of the day.
Thirty-Eight
There were no alarms set the next morning. Ross had texted Tessa the night before and told her he was sick and that she needed to cancel his appointments for the day. She was genuinely concerned about his health. Porter took another opportunity to prod Ross into asking her out. Ross balked at the suggestion, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was considering it.
They made a large breakfast, ate, and then rested until the middle of the afternoon, flipping through the television until they found Roadhouse on some obscure channel. Patrick Swayze was big in the Porter home when he and Trisha were married. She loved him for Dirty Dancing, and Roadhouse was one of Porter’s favorite movies. Hard to beat Swayze kicking ass.
Porter’s phone shattered the calm.
“How did it go? The meeting’s set? Good. What time? Okay, I got it. You remember what to do? Okay, we’re on our way. Later.”
“Who was that?” Ross said.
“Jamal. He got everything set up with Hector. We have a couple hours.”
“They meet in the middle of the day?” Ross said.
“If you’re meeting with someone who wants to kill you, wouldn’t you try to do it in the daylight?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t say anyone’s ever tried to kill me.”
“Maybe you’ll pop your cherry today,” Porter said. He pulled open Ross’s laptop and punched in an address. “See this grocery store? This is where we need to be. When you come back, try to park as close to the front as you can. Got it?”
“I got it.” Ross took a deep breath. “Anything else you need me to bring?”
“Grab a flathead.”
“Flathead? You know what, never mind, I’ll go get it.”
Porter moved around the house collecting his things, then went to the driveway and started his truck. He waited for Ross to lock things up and hop into his practical Honda sedan, and they headed across town together, one behind the other.
The traffic was thicker than normal and it took forty-five minutes to get to the grocery store. Calling it that was being generous. It was a jumped-up gas station in a rundown building in need of repair, with two non-working pumps outside and a bunch of terrible, overpriced, packaged food on the inside. They pulled into the parking lot within seconds of each other. Porter motioned for Ross to park next to him.
Ross did as he was told and sat for a minute while Porter fidgeted in his truck, then rolled his window down when Porter tapped on the glass.
“Got that screwdriver?”
Ross grabbed the screwdriver and handed it to Porter, who went to work. His first stop was the rear of Ross’s Honda. He knelt down for a minute, then came back to Ross’s window and handed him the Honda’s license plate.
Then Porter walked a row over and, after a quick look around, disappeared behind a Toyota Camry with big rims. He was quicker this time. He walked back to Ross’s car, stopped to put the new plate on the Honda, then hopped into the passenger seat beside Ross.
“What’s that about?” Ross said.
“Hector’s guys at the Acres must have run my license plate the first time I was there. I doubt they’ll see you, but I’m not going to take any chances. You can’t use your real plate.”
Ross thought for a minute. “What if they see this plate? Won’t they go after an innocent person instead?”
“Maybe. But there are two things to consider. First, hopefully Hector and his guys will be in no position to retaliate against anyone this time tomorrow. Second, I don’t give a shit about the person who drives that Camry.”
“That’s cold, Porter.”
“It is what it is. Ready to drive?”
Ross nodded.
“Good. Let’s go. We have a meeting to catch.”
Thirty-Nine
Jamal was on his side of Palmetto Avenue, standing alone. He’d done what Porter asked him, even though he wasn’t convinced it would get him anywhere. Still it was worth a shot, and having a meeting wasn’t out of the ordinary in the least. That’s what people did when they were beefing; they set up meets and made truces.
Jamal was done with truces.
Each side was bringing four soldiers for security. No one could bring weapons or cell phones. Being recorded while openly discussing business could be a problem for everyone.
The old clubhouse was a two-story structure with a big open room on the bottom, for hosting birthday parties or neighborhood meetings. It had long since fallen to ruin, as no one had parties there and the neighborhood never had any legitimate meetings, only the illicit ones that the gangs orchestrated.
The second floor of the building had several private rooms that could be used for various purposes. A couple of years ago someone had knocked down a wall between two of the rooms to create one large one.
The room was a rectangle, with several windows to let the light in, and a bathroom with a slatted door at the end. The entry doors were on the same wall near the hallway, but one of them had plywood nailed over it. There was no need for two entrances. In the open space in between the bathroom and the end of the room closest to the street, someone had set up one of the plastic, folding-leg tables that people brought out to seat guests on Thanksgiving. It served as an impromptu conference table.
Whenever the rival factions of th
e Acres had to meet, this was where it happened. It was neutral territory, a place where gang members were supposed to be safe from each other.
Jamal looked at his watch and saw that it was about time. He walked back into his apartment and gave Terrell a nod. The big man was already ready to go. Three other men joined up with Jamal and Terrell and jumped into a car. They drove two streets over to the community clubhouse and parked outside.
“Y’all niggas make sure you keep an eye on shit. We don’t want Hector trying anything crazy,” Jamal said.
Except for Terrell, the other members of Jamal’s security detail had no idea that there was a plan in motion. They thought it was business as usual, and would treat the meeting as seriously as they always did.
From the opposite direction, a small SUV appeared—Hector Quintana and his security. They pulled into a parking spot several spaces away from Jamal and got out of their ride.
Hector hopped out first. He was average height with dark hair. He wore his beard in a thin chinstrap that framed his jaw. Jamal spotted a new tattoo on Hector’s neck, something in Spanish. Jamal knew the rest of the guys with Hector. Three of them he was friendly with. They used to roll with him, and had only gone to Hector for the promise of easy money.
The other was Mike. Jamal never liked Mike very much; he had a strange personality and was always talking about horror movies. He smelled like the African oils he was constantly slathering on his long dreadlocks. He must have gotten hurt because his left arm was bandaged and in a sling.
“Hughes,” Hector said.
“Hector. Let’s get this meet going.”
“Despacio, my friend. You know we have to sweep the building,” Hector said.
It was Hector’s preference to have a member of each team walk through the building. Maybe he had seen Casino one too many times and thought someone was going to try to blow him up. Either way, he’d never relent, and Jamal nodded at one of his guys, who walked into the building with one of Hector’s. The rest of the group stayed outside.
“It was nice of you to reach out today, Jamal. I was just thinking we needed to get together. It’s been far too long.”
That was one of the things Jamal hated most about Hector. He was always acting, putting on a show for everyone. The way he walked and talked was so fake, it turned Jamal’s stomach.
In the back of his mind, Jamal was replaying the recording Porter played for him. He clenched his fist and stared at Hector. After a few moments, he took a breath and unballed his hand. If he lost his temper and went after Hector, it would ruin the plan. “I’m trying to see what you got going on, Hector. Maybe we can talk business.”
“See, that’s how a boss thinks, Jamal. There’s always room for a collab.”
The two men sweeping the building finished up, and the entire group moved into the lobby. There they took turns patting each other down and the rules were followed—with one exception.
“Jamal has his celly.” Mike held up a phone with his good hand.
“Jamal, no bueno, hermano.”
“Check this shit out. The phone’s off.” Jamal showed everyone. Then he took the battery out. “I’m not recording nothing. I gotta keep the phone, I need it to show you something later.”
Hector thought for a moment. “That works, but you need to keep it on the table so we all can see it, and tell us when you’re turning it on. Comprende?”
“Man, you know I don’t speak that Spanish shit. You gotta come at me in English. Stop with all that bueno and comprende,” Jamal said.
Hector smiled and started up the stairs to the conference room. Everyone else followed him, except for the two sweepers, who stayed downstairs to watch the front door.
No one else could come in or out.
Hector walked like he was a dignitary. When they got to the room, he waited for one of his guys to open the door for him. Hector eyed the table, then took a seat at the head.
All the other guys filtered into the room, with Jamal coming in last. When they were all seated, Jamal walked over to the table and set his disassembled phone on it. Instead of taking his rightful seat opposite Hector, he moved to the window directly behind his empty chair, and looked outside.
“You just gonna stand like that?” Hector said.
“Don’t feel much like sitting,” Jamal said.
Hector pushed his metal folding chair out and stood as well.
“I know you called this meet, Hughes, but if you don’t mind, I would like to say something first.”
“Of course you do,” Jamal muttered.
“As you all know, I haven’t been here for very long. I came from New York and moved here to be closer to mi familia. Family is what I want to talk about. I know we’ve had our differences in the past. Sometimes when there are too many alpha wolves in a pack, things get confusing.”
Jamal looked out the window again, barely listening to Hector’s speech.
“‘Misinterpreted’ might be a better word. The beef we’re having right now is all a big misunderstanding. We all need to be more like family. If we reunite the two sides of the Acres, we can be more powerful than ever. We can make more money than ever. We will have more respect than ever.”
That line piqued Jamal’s interest. This fool shot my crib up, and he thinks we gonna be tight.
“I was thinking the same shit,” Jamal said. “One Acres. That’s what I want to talk to—”
“I’m sorry, Hughes, I wasn’t finished talking,” Hector said.
It was a power move. Jamal knew Hector was trying to make him look weak by interrupting him. All the eyes at the table turned from Hector to Jamal. Jamal showed no outward appearances of anger, but was boiling inside.
“You talk so much, I thought you was done,” Jamal said. He knew it wasn’t time to act yet, but Porter needed to hurry up. Jamal only had so much patience.
“We need to be one Palmetto Acres. I believe I have the right connections to expand our businesses. I know that if we work together, I can put a bunch of money in everyone’s pockets.”
It finally hit Jamal what Hector wanted from the meeting. He hadn’t agreed to this meeting to see what Jamal had to say, or to discuss a more substantial truce. He was trying to get Jamal’s guys to turn on him.
Jamal began to say something, but he was drowned out by the loud blaring of a car horn from outside. The horn didn’t let up. Jamal raised his voice and pointed out the window. “Hey, Mike.”
The man with the dreadlocks looked up. “What?”
“Ain’t that the nigga that beat your ass the other day?” Jamal pointed out the window.
Mike stood up and walked to the window. The blue Yukon was in the middle of the street. He shot a look at Hector, who joined him at the window. Cursing under his breath, Hector barked at his guys to get downstairs. All four, including Hector, ran out of the room, down the staircase, and out the front door. As they approached the Yukon, it pulled away, leaving them chasing behind it in the middle of the street.
Hector yelled at someone to grab their car. While the driver ran to their SUV, Hector told his man on the door to keep an eye on everything. The man ran back to the entrance as Hector and his remaining guys took off after the Yukon.
Where is Porter going? Jamal thought. We’re supposed to get him up here to talk to this fool. Why’s he driving away?
Hector screamed at his driver to push the SUV faster. The Yukon was idling by the exit to the main street. As the SUV got closer, it stayed just out of reach, fast enough to stay ahead of its pursuers.
The chase was short-lived. The Yukon pulled off the road and into a small, run-down grocery store. In the parking lot were three police cruisers, lights flashing.
“Look at all those cops. This guy has a rabbit’s foot up his ass,” Hector said. “You sure that’s him?”
“That’s him,” Mike said, cradling his injured arm. “That’s Porter.”
Hector took a deep breath to calm himself. “No matter. He can’t hide forever. Let’s go
take care of this pendejo Hughes. Then, maybe we go looking for Porter. Vamanos.”
The driver turned the SUV around and sped back to the Acres.
“You guys remember what we talked about,” Hector. “By the end of the day, Hughes will be out of the way. Just watch my back, I don’t trust those sneaky putos.”
Jamal and his security were waiting for Hector to return. He’d watched Hector tear after Porter and, at this point, had no clue what the big corny clown was planning, but it didn’t look like it involved coming upstairs to talk.
“Let’s get back at this,” Hector said as he stepped from the SUV.
“I’m waiting on you. You find what you were looking for?”
“Just a matter of time,” Hector said. “We need to sweep the building again?”
Hector’s door guy spoke up. “Nah, we straight. No one went in while you were gone. One way in, one way out. I been here the whole time.”
“That’s why I keep you around, Darrell,” Hector said. “Always paying attention.”
There was another pat down, this time cursory, and they all headed upstairs. The group entered the conference room and everyone sat again—except for Jamal. This time he took the lead. “Hector, you already ran your mouth. Then you interrupted the meet to take a little road trip. It’s my turn now.”
“Of course, Hughes. Please continue,” Hector said, as if granting Jamal permission to speak.
So fake, Jamal thought.
Jamal took a minute and looked at the entire table. He knew his guys were with him. He thought some of Hector’s would be as well. There was no way Mike would switch sides, but Jamal would cross that bridge when he got to it.
“All right, y’all know I don’t talk slick. You know me for real, ’cause we all came up together. We balled at the park. We drank together. We’re family. Not a bullshit family like this fool’s talking about—a real family. Terrell’s with my little sister. The first time I ever smoked out was with you, Calvin.”
One of the guys on Hector's side nodded his head.