by T. Styles
Tops shrugged. “She was trying to get away and—”
“And what?” Mason yelled, stepping up to him. Although his gaze had to move upward since Tops was so tall, it didn’t stop the rage from pumping through his veins.
“I think you need to calm down,” Tops warned looking down at him. “ASAP.”
“Or what, nigga?” Mason continued.
Tops took a deep breath and he was preparing to yoke him.
And then he looked at Linden, whose hand hovered over his weapon, along with Garret who was doing the same. If shit kicked off he would die twice in that room. Taking a deep breath he said, “I didn’t have a choice, man. That’s all I can say.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“There’s a way out,” Garret interrupted. “I mean, we talked about it before but now…now we can use it to our advantage.”
“I know we not talking about lying to the nigga again,” Linden said.
“Why not?” Garret asked throwing his hands up. “We don’t have her and he got Derrick. We need some leverage.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, man,” Linden said to Mason. “I told you this before when it came up. And I’m telling you now.”
Mason thought about his options.
He didn’t have many.
On one hand Banks had his son, and although he was sure he wouldn’t hurt him, he didn’t know what lying about having Minnie would do to an already tight situation.
“I think you should lie too,” Tops said.
“Where is her body?” Mason questioned, trying to catch his breath.
“What body?”
Mason shifted in place. Fuck body he thought he was talking about? “You said you killed Minnie right?” He paused. “So where is she?”
“Oh, so, so she fell in a ditch.”
Mason glared. “So you don’t got her corpse?”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t wanna be lugging no dead weight around. I figured the vultures would eat her anyway. But we should be good.”
“Did this nigga say WE?” Mason snapped. “WE ain’t the one out here beefing. WE ain’t got a son in this nigga’s possession. I do!”
“We gonna work it out,” Linden said.
Mason wiped his hand down his face.
“What you wanna do, Mason?” Garret asked. “You gotta tell us something. Because if you ask me, he still think you got her. Might as well play it up.”
****
Harris walked down the hallway of the mansion looking for his father when he happened upon Banks’ office. Going through the door he saw his brother sitting behind a computer looking intently at the screen.
Moving further inside, he closed the door. “What you doing in Pop’s office?” He plopped on the sofa across from the desk. “I thought you couldn’t stand him.”
“Ain’t you supposed to be in the basement?”
“Man, Pops soldiers don’t care no more. They all know we leaving. Basically they riding the clock out.” He yawned. “Now what you doing?”
Spacey sighed. “He got me working on something.”
Harris nodded. “So you ain’t mad no more?”
Spacey shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Harris laughed. “But you do though.”
Spacey leaned back in Banks’ chair. It squeaked. “You saying you really, really ain’t mad that pops a—”
“Woman?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I ain’t saying I ain’t mad.” Harris shrugged. “I mean I am fucked up by it.”
“That’s it?” Spacey scratched his scalp. “Just fucked up?”
“I ain’t really had a chance to think about it beyond that,” Harris continued. “Are they lesbians or—”
“Fuck!” Spacey yelled, cutting him off.
Harris frowned. “What’s wrong with you now?”
“I’m grossed the fuck out.”
Harris laughed. “I get that, I do, but what’s a father?”
“Ain’t nobody trying to—”
“What’s a father?” Harris repeated.
“I know what you doing, Harris.”
“All I’m saying is that Pops been there.” He shrugged. “And as long as I’m not thinking about what they doing in the bedroom I’m good.”
Spacey focused back on the computer.
“What you watching?”
“Some recordings from earlier, at the Lou’s.” Spacey responded.
“You know that’s a violation of code 18.US.2511? To be eavesdropping on niggas right?”
“What, man?”
“It’s a federal law to participate in interception and disclosure of wire, oral and electronics. We can get jail time for this shit.”
“In a minimum security prison,” Spacey said.
“Prison time is still prison time,” Harris corrected him. “Ain’t nobody trying to—”
“Wow…” Spacey said to himself, while scratching his scalp.
“What now?”
“I just realized something. Pops been planning this shit forever.”
“What you mean?”
“The escape.” Spacey paused. “Think about it…I got a degree in computer science, which means I know how to get into niggas systems, video cameras and you know—”
“Law.” Harris said completing his sentence. “He got me in a magnet high school where I study law.”
“Meanwhile Joey knows the drug business.” Spacey continued. “Minnie the only one not worth shit, and she the one causing him the most struggle.”
“She gonna come around,” Harris said smiling. “But pops crazy.”
“Crazy?” Spacey snapped. “He using us!”
“That nigga brilliant!”
“For now,” Spacey said. “Cause if you ask me, we ain’t seen the worst of what he’s capable of doing. But get ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
11:01 PM
The road back seemed heavy.
Banks had failed to bring his daughter home and more than it all, he didn’t know where she was. He was starting to feel like a failure in all he tried to do.
A failure as a husband.
A failure as a father.
A failure as a business owner.
Defeated, he pulled up in his driveway, past the many soldiers covering his property and parked. Immediately his phone rang. When he recognized the number he sighed. It was Mason and he didn’t feel like talking. Banks was pretty sure he didn’t have Minnie yet.
Besides, he saw her run on the cameras.
But what if he was wrong?
So he answered.
“What?” Banks ran his hand down his beard.
“Aye, you remember Mrs. Porter?” Mason asked. “From high school?”
Banks sunk into the soft leather driver’s seat. “Yeah. The broad with the red curly wig right?”
Mason laughed hard. “Nigga…she was rocking that shit like it was official.”
“That’s cause we siced her up,” Banks responded. “Telling her how phat she was and shit.” He shook his head. “You know I saw her on the corner a few years ago and she still wearing it right? We probably should’ve told her back then.”
“Yo, fuck that bitch,” Mason continued. “She ain’t like me until…”
“Until what?” Banks wiped his hand down his face.
“Until I let her suck my dick.” He paused. “You know she was my second right?”
“You always did lie.”
“Never.” Mason said seriously. “I never lie.”
“Just shield the truth,” Banks said.
Silence.
“What you want, Mason?” Banks asked getting back to the heart of the matter. “In case you forgot, we at war.”
“I got Minnie.”
Banks heart rocked inside his chest upon hearing the words. All of his hopes for his daughter being free deflated in that moment. “You really don’t wanna lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Lik
e you lied before?” Banks paused. “When you told me you had her? When my people already snatched her off the street?”
“I have her this time, man,” Mason continued.
Banks felt it was best to call his bluff. “You lying because my daughter in my house.”
“Trust me, man, she not,” Mason said. “And if you don’t give me Derrick, personally, I will—”
“Aye, Mason, don’t threaten me.”
“And what if—”
Banks angrily pushed open the car door and moved quickly inside his house. He was walking so fast that had somebody got in his path they would’ve been knocked over. Luckily Bet moved to his right or she would’ve been first.
“What’s wrong?” Bet asked as he shoved her to the side. “You got Minnie?”
He wasn’t about to answer dumb questions. If he had her where would she be hiding? In his ass?
Ignoring her, Banks grabbed large scissors from the kitchen and then moved to where Derrick lay in the bedroom. He knocked the food off the trey he was eating and placed the phone in a position so Mason could hear everything.
Then he hit the speakerphone.
Curious, Bet and four of Banks’ men entered the room also, each trying to figure out what was happening.
“Unc, what’s wrong?” Derrick asked Banks seeing his angry energy.
Banks grabbed his foot as two of Banks men held Derrick down. Although he was still nursing a bullet wound, they didn’t want to take a chance of Derrick being strong enough to fight back.
“You on the phone, nigga!” Banks yelled at Mason. “I want you to hear this shit! ‘Cause this for you!”
“Aye, Banks, don’t hurt my son!”
“OR WHAT?” Banks screamed. “OR…WHAT?” With that he cut off Derrick’s big toe and watched it plop to the floor.
Derrick’s screaming caused Mason to yell to the Gods for revenge but nothing helped.
The damage was done.
On full rage mode, Banks jerked his gun from his waist and pressed it firmly against Derrick’s head. He cocked it and said, “I got my heat on this nigga! Now do you—”
“Banks, don’t kill—”
“Do you got my daughter?” Banks said, cutting Mason off.
“Please don’t shoot me,” Derrick begged, his hands in the air. “Please!”
“DO YOU HAVE MINNIE?” Banks yelled, huffing and puffing. “DO YOU GOT MY DAUGHTER?”
“I don’t have her!” Mason shouted. “Please, Banks…don’t do it.” He paused. “Don’t kill my son.”
Silence.
Sweat poured down Banks’ face as he repositioned his gun in his waist. Take a deep breath he said, “Don’t ever threaten me again.”
With blood on his hand, literally, Banks grabbed his phone and ended the call.
Bet passed out.
****
The moment the call was over, Mason tossed the cell phone down on the sofa. Slowly he rose and walked toward Garret. Without hesitation, he shot him in the center of the forehead, due to the bad advice. Next he moved his gun to Linden whose eyes widened and hands rose in the air.
“Please don’t, man,” Linden said, fearing he was next. “I’m…I’m your brother.”
Breathing heavily, and with the look of rage in his eyes, Mason lowered the gun slowly before flopping on the sofa. It was too late in the night to be killing brothers.
Linden took several deep breaths while Tops shook his head, running a hand down his face. It was a close call.
But neither could say they didn’t understand why Mason was angry. But still, looking at a body on the floor was stressful, seeing as though they never predicted his erratic move.
“That nigga was dumb anyway,” Mason said referring to Garret. The truth was he felt stupid for having let Garret convince him to lie. Also, he wanted to know how Banks was so sure he didn’t have her.
He was missing something.
The cameras.
But he didn’t know.
“I have a plan,” Linden said.
“I don’t wanna hear no more plans,” Mason said.
“This one you’ll wanna hear,” he said. “I know somebody who can give us an advantage. A huge advantage.”
Mason sat back and looked over at him. “Who?”
“I figure we been going about shit the wrong way,” Linden paused. “Banks smarter than we giving him credit for.”
“Nigga, get to the part I should give a fuck about.”
Linden sighed. “The only thing Banks cares about is getting on a plane. So to cripple him, we need to destroy the dream.”
“That’s what the fuck I been trying to do.”
“I know, but we have to go a different way,” Linden said. “Listen, I know this Jamaican cat named Whoyawanmetabe.”
Mason frowned. “What the fuck?”
“He’s expensive,” Linden continued. “But he’s good.”
Whoyawanmetabe was a unique individual. He never gave a price until much later, after the job was over and done. People loved using him when under pressure, but most of his clients regretted ever meeting him afterwards, and Mason would soon find out why.
Breathing heavily Mason said, “Call him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Call him.” Mason’s nostrils flared.
Within twenty minutes, Whoyawanmetabe entered and stepped over Garret’s body as if all was well. His dreads were neat and long and ran down his back. Every time he moved it smelled of coconut. But his presence was that of a powerful island king.
Mason walked up to him, curious as to how he could help. Besides, Linden gave so little information on the mysterious being. “What kind of name is Whoyawanmetabe?”
Whoyawanmetabe laughed. “That’s not me birth name.” His accent was as rich as a batch of ganja from Jamaica.
Mason frowned and looked at his brother and then Tops. “Then why they call you that?”
“Because I’m a masta of gettin’ the job done, ya no?” He said in a heavy accent. “So when me walk into a room, the first ting me ask is, who yah want me to be?”
Mason smiled. “Okay.”
“So now me ask…who ya want me to be to you?”
****
11:33 PM
When Mason walked through the door of one of his other homes, Jersey was cooking fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. His sons Patterson and Howard were sitting on the sofa watching TV. But since news was on, which they hated, he figured the set was watching them instead.
Arlyndo sat in a recliner in the corner of the room with his hoodie pulled up over his head. He was sulking about how he lured Minnie to be taken. And more than it all that his father refused to tell him where she was.
“Any word on Derrick?” Howard asked.
Of course there was word. He had been injured, because of his stupidity. So since none of the information was good he elected to remain silent to his family.
Mason shook his head no.
“You think he gonna be okay?” Patterson asked.
“My son’s a fighter,” Jersey said, her face still bloated and bruised. “Like me.” She looked at Mason before focusing back on cooking. “So trust me, he’s gonna be fine.”
Mason could still barely look at her face. The guilt weighed on him harder in his sober hours.
But she seemed to not care.
After making all of their plates, including Mason’s, Jersey sat and watched them eat. She didn’t have a thing.
Besides, it was a special meal. One of a kind. And so, within twenty minutes, every one of them were knocked out, courtesy of mama.
Hearing them snore, she grabbed her cell phone and made a call.
“They sleep.”
“I’m on my way.”
Ten minutes later Dragon White, her foster brother, entered the house with three of his friends. He was 6’3 and his white skin was bronzed. Extremely attractive, his looks were like poison and had pulled many women into their detriment. “Which ones are my nep
hews?” He asked her.
“Over there,” she said pointing her sons out.
“And that’s the one who hurt you?” Dragon paused, glaring at Mason with extreme hate. “Your…the nigga you married?” His nostrils flared.
Silence.
Dragon took a deep breath and looked at his friends. “Take my nephews to the van.”
One by one they lifted the young men up and carried them to the waiting vehicle. When they were done, the men waited outside for their next orders.
“Why would you leave me like that, Jersey?” Dragon said passionately. “And why you don’t see fit to call, ‘cept you need help?”
“It’s been over twenty years. You still talking about that?” She paused. “Besides, you know why. You hurt me.”
“Have I ever hurt you like this?” He placed his cool hand on her bruised and battered face. “I mean look at you. It looks like you been boxing. We may have had our problems but I never hit you, Jersey. I would—”
“Stop,” she said softly, a single tear tracing alongside her face.
“Don’t tell me to stop,” he glared. “I’m your brother.”
“You really wanna go there? You really wanna pretend like you ain’t make me suck your—”
“I thought you wanted to. You should have wanted to make me feel good.” He took a deep breath and looked around from where he stood. The past they could get into later. It was time for business. “Go get in the van.”
“What you ‘bout to do?”
“Nothing.” Dragon said, looking at Mason with envy.
“Don’t hurt him.” She paused. “I love him. And he’s still my husband.”
Why she say that? It only made matters worse.
Dragon gritted his teeth.
She touched his arm. “Please.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “Go wait outside.”
Reluctantly she walked out.
Now alone, slowly he moved toward Mason who was sleeping on the sofa with his mouth wide open. Dragon knew the drugs he gave his foster sister would put the man out for at least a couple of hours. But even he was surprised at how hard Mason was sleeping.
In Mason’s condition, Dragon could do anything he desired.
Sure he heard his foster sister when she said don’t touch him, but he could care less about her wants and needs. What about the pain he was in? Here lied the man who had taken Jersey from him, causing him extreme distress over the years. When she first went missing, Dragon went mad, believing her boyfriend killed her.