Heist

by Kiki Swinson; De’nesha Diamond

Alvaro jerks back at the rebuke. “Now wait a minute, Uncle.”

  “No. You wait,” he says with chilling effect. “You’re nothing but a child pretending to be a man. And I’m not going to let you run this organization into the ground. Let me ask you something. How far do you think that van is actually going to get?”

  Alvaro frowns.

  “Do you not see that there are helicopters in the sky? Both the government and the news media? And even if by some miracle they are able to shake the helicopters, how much do you want to bet that the van has a GPS or homing device on it?”

  Alvaro’s eyes widen.

  “Your stupidity will lead police straight to whatever safe house or warehouse you have your men going. They’re better off dumping it and making a run for it. And on top of that, whatever eyes you have working on the inside will probably be closed to you now that it’s been reported that three DEA agents were killed on the scene.”

  Alvaro finally swallows the large lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right. You didn’t. But don’t worry. I’m relieving you of your responsibilities.”

  “What? You can’t do that.”

  “I absolutely can and I just did.” Hector turns.

  “But this is my birthright. My father left me in charge.”

  “The Lord giveth and I taketh away. I will clean up your mess, and you can go back to your drug habit.” Hector heads toward the door.

  Alvaro glares at him and starts to shake uncontrollably. “I can’t let you do this.” He reaches into his waistband and pulls out his 9 mm. “I am the boss!” He lifts and aims the gun at Hector’s back. Hector’s men are late going for their own guns.

  Without thinking, Delmar whips out his gun and splatters his childhood friend’s brains all over the room.

  Slowly, Hector turns around. He glances at his nephew and then over to Delmar. “Looking for a job?”

  Delmar swallows and then nods. “Good. You’re hired. Come with me.”

  Relieved that he won’t be eating a bullet, Delmar smiles and steps over Alvaro’s dead body, then follows Hector toward his new future.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’m banged up pretty badly, but I’m going to live, which is more than I can say for Elliott, Eric, and Aaron. In a small room at Northside Hospital, I watch the constant coverage of the DEA heist loop over and over again on CNN. The thugs who had hit me and my men were captured just two hours outside of Atlanta.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I shake my head. Tears pour from my eyes while images of my partner and friends float through my head.

  My parents rush to the hospital and refuse to leave my side.

  “You could’ve been killed,” my mother sobs over and over again.

  “I’m going to be all right,” I try to comfort her, but the effort seems useless. Uncle Rawlo, Tremaine, and Mishawn soon all fill the room to express their love and concern.

  “Baby girl,” my dad chokes. “Don’t you ever scare your old man like that again.”

  I remember taking hold of his hand and squeezing it, but soon after, the painkillers take over and I drift off to sleep. When I wake up, I’m holding Keston’s hand.

  “Hey, you,” he says, smiling down at me. “You sure do have a funny way of passing a brother a rain check.”

  I laugh and try to speak, but my dry throat just has me coughing.

  “Shh. That’s okay. Just try to relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “My parents?”

  “We’re right over here, sweetheart.”

  I turn to my right to see both my mom and dad still next to my side. In that moment, I feel surrounded with love and drift back to sleep. The next day, I am released with a clean bill of health. No broken bones, just sore as hell. There is a small argument about who should come home with me. Keston wins but not without my mother promising to call often.

  “I really like your parents,” Keston says when we pull off in his black Escalade. “They’re really cool people.”

  “Thanks.”

  He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him. “Do you feel like talking about what happened?”

  Silence.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  I suck in a long breath and weigh whether I want to answer that question. To answer it means that I have to relive it, and I’m just not up to it at the moment. “Can we just talk about something else?”

  Keston glances over at me for a long moment and then finally flashes those dimples at me. “Sure. Not a problem. You just sit and relax, and I’m going to take care of you.” And that’s exactly what he does. From cleaning to cooking and even helping me in the shower, Keston reveals his tender side.

  “I think that I can get used to this,” I confess when he climbs into bed with me.

  “Hmmm. I just bet you could.” Gently he pulls me close.

  When the lights go down and I’m curled up next to him, hot tears surface and trickle down my face. Elliott, Eric, and Aaron. Why am I the only one to survive?

  “Shhh. It’s going to be all right,” Keston reassures me, kissing my wet face.

  He pulls me closer, and I feel his heartbeat as well as his stiffening hard-on. But he doesn’t make a move to satisfy his lust. He just holds me and listens to my tears as I drift off to sleep.

  Hours later, I hear a phone ring and then Keston pulls away from me.

  “Hello?”

  I try to hear who he’s talking to, but instead there’s just an “I’m on my way,” before he clicks off. He sighs and then slowly tries to extract himself from me. Instinct tells me to feign sleep while he gathers up his clothes and then creeps around the room. When he finally heads toward the bedroom door, I sit up and click on the light.

  Keston freezes in his tracks.

  “Where are you going?”

  Forcing on a smile, he turns back toward the bed. “I have to run out. But don’t worry—I’ll be back before you get up in the morning.”

  That shit isn’t about to fly with me. “What do you mean you have to run out?” I glance over at the clock. Sure enough, it’s three. “Why the fuck do you always have to leave at three in the fucking morning?”

  “Jordan, calm down.”

  “Nah. Nah. Don’t tell me to calm down. For once I want some goddamn answers, and I want them right now! Where the fuck do you go every night? Why are you always creeping around?”

  Keston sighs and tries to pacify me. “Look. Clearly you’re upset.”

  “You muthafucking right I’m upset. You’re keeping something from me, and the shit ain’t cool no more.”

  His strong jaws clamp tight while muscles start bulging on the side of his neck. “Look. We’ve already been through this shit before.” His phone starts ringing again. He doesn’t bother answering it. “I’ll be back. Just go back to bed, chill out, and we can discuss this at another time.”

  “No. No. Fuck that shit.” I storm toward him. “Too much weird shit has been going on since you popped up. You’re either sneaking into my house, hopping onto my computer, muthafuckas spring out of nowhere trying to kill my ass. My friends are dead and—”

  “Whoa. Whoa. What the fuck are you saying?”

  “Just what do you think I’m saying? You keep drug-dealing hours. Was it you who set me up the other motherfucking day?”

  “WHAT? How the fuck you going to think some foul shit like that?”

  “Well, shit. Since you don’t answer nobody’s muthafucking questions, it leaves me to think all kinds of things.”

  “I don’t fucking believe that I’m hearing this shit.” His eyes darken while he pulls in deep breaths.

  “What the fuck are you getting all swoll for? I’m just asking you a goddamn question.”

  “No, what you’re doing is accusing me of some bullshit—and you fucking know it.”

  “Then clear your name. Tell me what you do and where you’re going. I’ll shut the fuck up.”

  “Look, Jor
dan—”

  “Don’t ‘look, Jordan’ me, Keston. Answer my questions.”

  “Questions or accusations?”

  “Take your pick. Did you have anything to do with that heist? Huh? You were all up on my computer that morning. Did you find out about me transporting that shipment?”

  “HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO SAY THAT SHIT TO ME?” He storms toward me so fast that I have to back the hell up. “What we’ve shared these past few weeks don’t mean shit to you? Is that it?”

  “Yeah, it means something. It means that you’re a good fuck. Anything outside of that is a goddamn question mark. I don’t know you.” I rake my gaze up and down his fine ass, but I’m determined to hold my ground. “And don’t throw Uncle Mishawn up in my face either, ‘cause it ain’t like he raised your ass. You just popped up out of the blue one fucking day. Shit. You don’t even look like his ass. Maybe y’all should get a DNA test.”

  “I don’t believe I’m hearing this shit.”

  “Believe it. And as much as I love Mishawn, his credentials should give me pause anyway since his ass is a crook.”

  “So is your father!”

  “My father wasn’t out there trying to kill my ass.”

  “And I was?”

  I toss up my hands. “Clear your name. That’s all I’m saying.”

  His phone starts ringing again. He ignores it.

  “Answer the fucking phone.”

  “I’m out of here.” He turns and storms away.

  “Aw. Maybe I got this wrong. Maybe that’s your other bitch on the line.”

  Keston keeps moving. “You’re sounding real stupid right now.”

  “And you’re looking real foul,” I say, dogging his heels. “Even now you’re blowing all this smoke in my face about trust and you can’t even trust me with whatever the fuck you’re hiding.”

  “I’m out of here,” he announces, still shaking his head.

  “What the fuck? You’re really not going to tell me?”

  “I told you that I can’t!” He reaches for the front door.

  “Keston, I swear to God, if you walk out of this fucking house, don’t you dare even think about walking your ass back in here.”

  His hand freezes on the door. “I don’t like ultimatums.”

  “And I don’t like secrets,” I snap back. “Whatever the fuck it is, just tell me and we’ll fucking deal with it.” The tension between us grows so thick it feels like I’m choking on it. “Keston.” I try softening my tone. “I can’t deal with not knowing who you are. I don’t want to believe that you had something to do with that heist yesterday.” Tears start stinging the backs of my eyes. “Just tell me who you really are.”

  He turns toward me, his face still angry and hard as stone. “You know who I am. I’m a man who loves you.”

  I shake my head at his stubbornness. “How can I believe that?”

  “Haven’t you felt it?” His phone starts ringing again. “I gotta go.” He jerks open the door and strolls out.

  “Keston!” I march up to the door. “Keston!” He just straight up ignores me as he climbs into his SUV. “KESTON!” He starts up his ride and pulls out of my driveway. “I meant what I said! If you leave, don’t come back!”

  He gives me a look that says “message received,” and I instantly want to take my words back. Instead I just stand there, hugging myself while I watch him drive off.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stay walled up in my apartment for the next three days waiting and trying to will Keston to call. In between that, I try my best to deal with this survivor’s guilt I have over this week’s heist. News reports claim that the men arrested are still not talking and have lawyered up with the best money could buy. I try not to obsess over the case, but I stay glued to CNN on my couch.

  The director at the DEA headquarters finally calls this morning and requests a meeting. That means I have to get up, take a shower, and face the world. The minute I’m in the parking lot, I’m overwhelmed with anxiety. I’m almost at the point of just starting the car back up and going home when I suddenly find the strength to put my life back together.

  “Hayes!” a few colleagues shout the moment I enter the building. I also get my fair share of sympathetic looks. Somehow I put on a brave face and march to the office of the agent in charge, Rodney Benson.

  “Agent Hayes,” he says, standing up. “I’m glad that you could make it. Would you care to take a seat?”

  “Yes, sir.” I step into the room, and immediately FBI director Henry Dobson stands up. My hackles rise as I suspect that I’m about to be interrogated more than questioned about my health and well-being.

  “Agent Hayes.” Dobson thrusts out his hand, and we exchange a firm handshake. After the formality I take my seat.

  “I’m going to cut straight to the chase,” Benson says as he braids his fingers together on his desk. “There’s been a few details brought to our attention regarding Monday’s heist that we’re hoping you can help us put to rest.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say, shifting in my chair.

  “Before you and Agent Baker left the department to escort the federal evidence to Columbus that day, there was a call placed from your desk phone to a residence in Miami.” He pauses for effect, and I wait to see where the hell he’s going. “Do you know about this call?”

  “I can’t say that I do. I don’t recall making any call that morning,” I tell him. “I arrived with my partner waiting for me at my desk. We talked for a minute, and then we headed down to the evidence department.”

  The two men share a look.

  “What?” I ask suspiciously.

  Agent Benson pulls another deep breath. “It’s who the home belongs to that has raised some red flags.”

  “Okay.” I wait to see if he’ll continue, but when he doesn’t, I’m forced to ask, “Who does the home belong to?”

  “Alvaro Guzman,” he answers. “At least it used to.”

  “Guzman … as in the Guzman cartel?” I ask.

  “That will be the one,” Dobson says, folding his arms and staring me down. “You want to tell us why you’d be calling a drug kingpin just minutes before you’re to escort our record drug bust down to Columbus?”

  I shake my head. “I told you. I didn’t call anybody that morning.”

  “Are you disputing the phone records?” Benson asks.

  Suddenly I feel like I need a lawyer. “I’m saying that if there was a call made, it wasn’t by me. I told you I came in, talked to my partner, and then went to the evidence department.”

  “With your partner?”

  “Yes, well …” I think about it for a minute.

  Dobson leans in. “Well what?”

  I hesitate.

  “Agent Hayes,” Benson says patiently. “If you know something pertinent to this developing case, I suggest you speak up now. Shit is rolling down from the top on this thing—fast and furious—and it’s raining on my head like a monsoon. So talk.”

  I stare at him and try to find my tongue. “Elliott,” I finally manage to push out of my mouth. “He said that he needed to make a call. I went ahead with Agents Pitman and Thompson to the evidence department. He joined us maybe three minutes later.” The room falls silent while two sets of eyes blaze holes in my head.

  “So your story is that your dead partner made the call?”

  I swallow. “He must have.” I drop my head, thinking some more. “Just like he was the one to volunteer us for the escort in the first place.”

  The two men exchange looks, but I’m not sure either one of them believes me. I don’t want to believe it myself. Elliott—a dirty agent? I rub a hand against my forehead, feeling a major migraine coming on.

  “Of course, you know this is an ongoing investigation,” Benson says. “And I’m afraid that at the moment I have to suspend you until further notice.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Benson tosses up his hands again. “I told you. The shit
is heavy. If nothing else, we need to show the public that we’re taking this whole fiasco seriously.”

  I glare at him. “That makes me look like I’m guilty of something.”

  “Are you guilty of something?” Dobson asks.

  I cut my eyes toward him, mainly because I don’t appreciate being double-teamed. “No.”

  Dobson shrugs. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

  I clamp my jaw together while heat blazes up my neck. “Then does that mean I’m free to go?”

  Seeing my anger, Benson leans back in his chair. “Look, Hayes. Mind if I call you Jordan?”

  I don’t answer.

  He reaches for a manila folder on his desk. “You’re a great agent. Your record speaks for itself. Frankly, I’m inclined to believe you, but I have to check under every stone on this one. I hope that you understand that. I have three dead agents on my hands here. I have to answer why.”

  “Then you’re looking under the wrong stone.” I stand up and remove my badge from my back hip pocket and remove the gun from my holster. “Do me a favor,” I say, setting both items on his desk. “Keep those. I won’t be needing them back.”

  “Agent Hayes, that’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not for you.” I turn and walk toward the door, but before I head out, I add, “I’ve had enough of this shit.” Without another backward glance, I stroll out of there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A half-moon hangs in the middle of a black inky sky while the high humidity nearly makes it impossible to breathe. The night has an ominous feeling to it. The new Jackal checks the time and frowns. Twenty minutes. In and out. However, tonight there’s a lot weighing down on the Jackal’s mind.

  Maybe it’s time to get out of the game.

  Maybe.

  Tonight’s job is a multimillion-dollar estate in Alpharetta, Georgia. There is no why to it. It’s just an impulsive job to fill time. The Jackal ignores the voice, warning that this is a bad idea. It isn’t until the alarm goes off that his premonition is confirmed.

  Running like a bat out of hell, the Jackal covers the four blocks to the hidden SUV in record time.