Baltimore Chronicles

by Treasure Hernandez

  Scar’s gunfire triggered a reaction from the dozens of other officers. They opened fire on the house with abandon. Bullets smashed out windows, lodged into the side of the house, and sent splinters of wood flying in all directions. Scar hit the ground as soon as the officers opened fire.

  When the melee quieted down, Scar jumped up and returned fire, causing the officers to take cover. As he was firing out the front window, he heard the back door get smashed in. He ran to the top of the stairs, and as soon as he saw an officer, he opened fire again.

  He drained his AK of its bullets and threw it off to the side. He grabbed his shotgun and began blasting down the stairs. After emptying the shotgun, he ran back to the front window and opened up with his Uzi.

  “You mu’fuckas ain’t no match for me!” he screamed down to the officers as the bullets sprayed wildly.

  As he spewed bullets all over the front yard, a flash bomb came crashing through the window behind Scar. It detonated before Scar could throw it back. It stunned Scar and sent him crashing to the ground. Directly following the flash bomb, a smoke bomb hit the floor and filled the room with smoke.

  Scar gained his composure and, through the smoke, started randomly firing at the door to the room. He emptied the clip and started reloading.

  As soon as there was a lull in his gunfire, officers stormed into the room. They pounced on top of Scar like a football team diving for a fumble. There was a pile of bodies on top of Scar. Arms and legs were flailing as all the officers either reached for Scar’s guns or tried to get their shots in.

  “Get the fuck off me!” Scar roared.

  “Stay down. Don’t move!” Several of the officers were yelling.

  Scar ignored their warnings and continued to fight. They were gouging his eyes, punching his kidneys, and bending back his fingers, but Scar still tried to scurry away. He fought a valiant fight, but the number of officers was too overwhelming for him.

  The officers subdued Scar and cuffed his wrists and ankles.

  “Scar Johnson, you are under arrest.”

  “Y’all ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

  “We have enough evidence to put you away for life. I’m sure once we go through this place, we will find even more crimes we can charge you with.”

  Scar immediately thought about the blood in the basement that he hadn’t cleaned up. Fuck!

  As the officer read him his Miranda rights and went through the list of charges, Scar stopped listening. He just sat on the floor in the middle of the room, staring out the back window. He was caught, and he didn’t have Tiphani to bail him out this time. He thought about his brother, Derek, and his mother, and all the foster homes he had been through.

  As he reminisced, a black bird flew onto the windowsill. Scar and the bird stared at one another. Scar’s only thought was: Mu’fuckin’ birds! I hate the fuckin’ country.

  Chapter 17

  Fall from Grace

  The gavel came down with a thud. Mathias Steele sat there in shock. He had just been sentenced to life without parole for the attempted murder of the governor. How had he fallen so far so fast? It seemed like yesterday to him that he ruled Baltimore. He had every criminal paying him off, he had all the other politicians scared, and he could do whatever he pleased. Now he was headed to a maximum security prison.

  “What now?” Mathias asked his attorney.

  “They take you to prison. I’m sorry. We will fight this.”

  “I’m going to a white collar prison, right?”

  The attorney shook his head. “I tried, but unfortunately you made a lot of enemies, and no one was willing to cut you a break. You’re going to max. General population.” His tone was sympathetic.

  The court officers came to handcuff Mathias and lead him back to the bowels of the courthouse. They began the process of transporting him to his new home behind bars.

  Mathias was forcing down the shitty food in the chow hall. He had been in the prison for a day and was miserable. He was fiending to get high, his body ached and itched all over, and his cellie was a huge Mexican dude who snored all night. It was his worst nightmare come true.

  As he stared into the slop on his plate, three big, bald dudes surrounded him. The biggest of the bunch sat to his left.

  “You new in here.”

  Mathias didn’t look up from his plate and refused to say anything.

  “You the mayor who a crackhead now, right?”

  Mathias remained quiet. The big dude discreetly punched him in the ribs so the C.O. wouldn’t see. “I asked you a question.”

  Mathias grimaced “Yes. That’s me.”

  “Was that so hard? I’m Blade.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mathias begrudgingly answered but still wouldn’t look at the man.

  “You need anything in here, I’m your man.”

  This finally caught Mathias’s interest, and he turned to look at the hulking six foot six monster of a man. “You get me high?”

  “You gonna suck my dick?”

  “What?”

  “You wanna get high, you gonna have to suck my dick,” Blade said.

  “Fuck that.” Mathias went back to eating.

  “Nigga, you will be suckin’ my dick. Believe that. Watch yo’ back.” Blade took another shot at Mathias’s ribs as he got up from the table. The three men strode through the chow hall with confidence. They were obviously feared men in this prison.

  Mathias was walking through the common room back to his cell. Even though he was now one of them, he still had his air of superiority and felt he was better than the rest of the convicts. He had no desire to hang with any of the common criminals he was surrounded by. He preferred to spend his time alone in his cell.

  One of the men who had surrounded him earlier got up from a bench across the room and started toward him. The dude had his right hand cupped around a shank. Mathias saw this and turned in the opposite direction. The man picked up his pace and Mathias did the same. Mathias headed back toward the chow hall. As he turned a corner, he ran into a C.O.

  “Where are you going?” the C.O. asked.

  “To my cell.”

  The prisoner chasing Mathias saw him speaking with the guard and stopped his pursuit. He covered the shank and turned on his heels in the opposite direction.

  “Wrong way, prisoner. This is the chow hall.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. This is my first day here. I’m all turned around.”

  “I’ll take you there. That inmate looked like he wanted a piece of you.”

  Mathias was relieved to get an escort back to his cell. Little did he know that it was probably the worst decision he could have made. As he walked through the prison with the guard, all the other inmates saw him. He was immediately labeled as a friend of the guards and a snitch. He made enemies on the inside that he didn’t even know he had.

  That night, he got the beating of his life. Around two in the morning, his cell door opened. Blade had bribed the guards. He wanted to show Mathias who was boss. A dozen inmates were standing outside his cell, waiting for their chance to beat on the snitch.

  Mathias was barely able to open his eyes before the first blow connected to his face. Growing up privileged, Mathias had never been in a fistfight. He had no idea what to do to defend himself, so most of the inmates were getting clean shots. They were relentless, and with Blade’s encouragement, it made the inmates even more violent. Punch after punch connected with Mathias’s body. Whenever he covered one part of his body, the inmates would focus on another. After a while, Mathias just passed out, yet the inmates still continued their attack. They were like a pack of wolves attacking a carcass. When it was all said and done, Mathias was beaten to within an inch of his life. He spent the next month in the infirmary.

  After they found the blood in the basement at Scar’s hideout, the authorities scanned the surrounding area and found the makeshift grave where Arnold was buried. Betsy was relieved to have found her husband’s body to be able to give him a proper burial. It
was a beautiful ceremony for a kind, warmhearted, caring man that left this earth much too soon.

  Now Betsy sat in the front row of the courthouse as the verdict was read. She wanted to be there when they put the man responsible for her husband’s death behind bars.

  “On the charge of first degree murder, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty.”

  A buzz went through the courtroom. Betsy wept openly and hugged the prosecutor. There were other charges being read, but Betsy didn’t listen. The murder charge was the only one she was interested in.

  Even though she felt some satisfaction that Scar would be going away for life, she wasn’t comforted. She would always have a hole in her heart. She would never get her husband back.

  “I hope you rot in hell!” She jumped up from the court bench as Scar was being led out. He didn’t even turn. He kept shuffling along with the court officers.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Order!”

  The attorney grabbed Betsy’s shoulders to calm her down. He escorted her out the front and away from Scar.

  After being processed and admitted, Scar walked through the common room with his prison-issued items. Inmates stopped what they were doing and watched as the famous Scar Johnson walked by. Each one was sizing him up, scheming to be the first one to take him down and make a name for himself.

  When Scar got to his cell, there was a skinny little dude lying on the bottom bunk. Scar stood in the doorway and stared at the dude.

  “Oh, hey. You my new cellie?” the effeminate man said.

  “Get the fuck up. You on my cot, punk,” Scar said menacingly.

  “Uh-uh. This my bunk. You’re on top.”

  Scar dropped his things and grabbed the dude out of the bunk. “Mu’fuckin’ faggot. I said this my bunk.” He pushed the dude out the cell door.

  “You done fucked up.” The effeminate man ran away.

  Scar stripped the bed of the guy’s sheets and put on his own sheets. Satisfied that he had asserted his dominance over his cellie, he lay down on the bed.

  About fifteen minutes later, Blade entered Scar’s cell with two men behind him. They picked Scar up off the bunk and went to town. They threw him to the ground and began the beating. Kicks were slamming into every part of Scar’s body.

  Scar was taken by surprise, but he put up a good fight. He grabbed one dude’s foot and pulled him to the ground. He struggled to get on top of the inmate and started slamming his fist into the guy’s face.

  It didn’t last long, as the other two pulled Scar off their friend. They pinned Scar down and focused all their anger on his head. Fists and feet rained down. Scar got in a couple more good shots, but in the end the three hulking men overpowered him. Scar was in a fetal position on the floor, covering up as best he could as they kicked him like a soccer ball.

  “Don’t ever call my bitch a faggot. You respect my bitch. Yo’ ass sleeps on the top bunk,” Blade commanded as he gave Scar one last kick to the ribs and walked out.

  Scar’s cellie came prancing in. “I told you, you fucked up.” He stripped the bottom bunk of Scar’s sheets and threw them on top of Scar. “And you can make my bunk up for me.” Then he pranced back out of the cell.

  Five minutes later, Scar had picked himself off of the floor and was sitting on the toilet. He was wiping blood from his mouth when Mathias appeared at his cell.

  “Looks like you got a nice welcome. You deserve it,” Mathias said.

  “Fuck you.” Scar snapped his head up to see who was mocking him. He was shocked to see the former mayor of Baltimore standing in his cell. It was even more shocking that he was wearing prison-issued clothing.

  “The fuck you in for?” Scar asked.

  “I tried to kill the governor.”

  “Oh shit. You a killer now,” Scar mocked. He looked at Mathias and saw all the bruises and scars on his face. “Looks like you got worked over pretty good yo’self.”

  “I did. That’s why I’m standing here right now.”

  “If you don’t get out my face, I’ll work yo’ ass over too.”

  “Hold up. We need each other in here.”

  “The fuck you mean?” Scar spit blood through his legs and into the toilet.

  These two men had been adversaries, battling for control of Baltimore. Scar had wanted this man dead and vice versa. Now Mathias was proposing they work together. Scar didn’t trust Mathias’s intentions.

  “After I got worked over, I was in the infirmary for a while. I made some friends up there. I can get my hands on any painkiller I want.” Mathias raised his eyebrows.

  “I don’t fuck with that shit.”

  “You aren’t hearing me. You are a marked man in here. Everyone is going to take their shot at the big, bad Scar Johnson. If we work together, I could hold some of my clients off for a while.”

  “I don’t need yo’ protection,” Scar said.

  “No, you don’t, but I need yours. I will cut you in on my business if you take out that bastard Blade. He’s the one that just kicked your ass and the one responsible for landing me in the sick bay. I want that motherfucker dead. You take him out, you become head nigga, and we could run this place—you, the muscle, and me, the supplier. We split it fifty-fifty.”

  Scar thought about the proposal for a second. He couldn’t believe how far they had fallen. They were once kings of Baltimore, and now they were fighting for their existence in a federal pen. He was surprised at the turn of events in his life.

  “Fuck it. I’m in here for life. Might as well.” Scar stood and shook Mathias’s hand. “Now, let’s get to planning. I wanna be runnin’ this joint by the end of the week.”

  Chapter 18

  Different Faces, Same Old Story

  Cecil sat in the driver’s seat of his sedan, staring intently at the front door of the bank in downtown Baltimore. He watched customers and employees walking in and out during a typical workday afternoon. The guard stood at the front door, oblivious to Cecil’s peering eyes. He was too busy daydreaming about relaxing and fishing on his new boat when his retirement began in two months.

  Cecil was getting anxious. He had been sitting there too long. His plan was to get in and out; it had already been forty-five minutes. Something needed to happen. The inactivity was making him uneasy.

  Just as he was preparing to get out of the car and go into the bank, Cecil saw the manager go up to the guard, say something, and point to Cecil’s car. Cecil stayed put, but he discreetly reached for his gun and placed it on the seat between his legs. He didn’t like that they were aware of him. He was supposed to remain anonymous during this scam, and to protect his identity, he was willing to do whatever it took.

  The guard and the manager looked at the car and then walked away from the door. Cecil thought about driving away, but he decided to stay put and wait out the situation.

  The manager came back into view and opened the front door so the guard could walk through. A young woman dressed in business attire and carrying a large duffel bag followed the guard. The guard stopped just outside the door, surveyed the situation, and then escorted the woman toward Cecil’s car. Cecil watched all of this transpiring and cocked his gun as the guard got closer to his vehicle.

  The guard stopped at Cecil’s car and, same as before, he surveyed the surrounding area. The woman he was escorting walked up to the rear passenger’s door and opened it. Like a longshoreman throwing a sack of potatoes, she heaved the duffel bag into the back seat and slammed the door shut.

  Cecil had a fleeting thought to throw the car into gear and speed off. Before he was able to turn on the car and do that, the woman opened the passenger’s side door and got in the car.

  “Got it, baby.” She smiled.

  “What’s with the guard?”

  “They wanted to escort me. Said it made them more comfortable.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  The guard tapped on the window. The woman opened the window.

  “You take care—and be careful with all of that.” The g
uard motioned with his head toward the backseat.

  “We will,” responded Cecil. He pressed the button to make the window close then started the car and drove away from the curb, leaving the guard to watch them drive down the street.

  “What took so long?” Cecil asked.

  “They insisted on counting it all out. It took a while. That’s a lot of money,” she answered.

  “I started to think you dipped out the back door.”

  “Babe, you know I would never do that to you,” the woman said.

  Cecil had met the woman one day when he went into a coffee shop to grab some lunch. She had commented on how attractive Cecil’s mismatched eyes were. Her comment sparked a conversation, and Cecil persuaded her to take a break and sit with him. He learned her name was Brooke and she was working her way through college at the coffee shop.

  “How old are you, Brooke?” Cecil had asked as he sipped his coffee.

  “I’m twenty-one,” she said with the pride of someone who’d recently turned that pivotal age.

  “What are you studying?”

  “I want to be a teacher, but I don’t know if I’ll make it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This job doesn’t exactly make me rich. I’m behind on my tuition and may have to drop out.”

  Cecil and Brooke had continued to talk until her break was over. They exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet later that evening.

  Cecil had left the coffee shop with a little bounce in his step. He felt that fate had intervened and he had met the perfect woman for his plan. He needed a woman to help him retrieve Tiphani’s money from her offshore accounts. Brooke seemed to fit everything he was looking for—smart, respectable-looking, in need of money, and just gullible enough to not question him.

  They had met that night and slept together, and then continued to sleep together every night for the next week. One night, while they lay in bed, Cecil proposed his idea to Brooke. She would call the bank overseas, he would provide her with all the information she needed, and then she would go to the bank and retrieve the cash. “Easy,” he’d said. He would, of course, pay for her tuition and spending money.