City Culprits (Book 1)

by Brittany Nicole Allen

  “I’ll be right out sis!” He yelled to her sticking something in his back pocket. It was a folded envelope with a letter inside it. He never went anywhere without it but never let anyone know that he had it. It meant something to him and he made sure to always have it on him. Day or night. JT put on his favorite sneakers.

  Braydon was coloring at his table. It was his favorite thing to do. Zamora was trying to unpack a few more boxes.

  “Braydon. I found your black bear.” She said holding it out to him.

  “Yeah!” He ran over to get it.

  “What do you say?”

  “Thank you.” He hugged it and ran back to his table.

  The doorbell rang.

  She got up to answer it. It was Nikkya and JT.

  “Hey guys come on inside.” She told them.

  “How you doin’ girl?” JT asked hugging Zamora. They were very close friends.

  “I’m good. How’s your new job going?” She asked him closing the door.

  “It’s a job.” He answered.

  “True.”

  Braydon ran to JT. He loved having a male around. JT played with him often.

  “Hey lil man.” He said picking him up.

  “Hi.”

  “Are you being a good boy?”

  Braydon nodded his head.

  “You better be.” JT joked. He set him back down. Braydon ran back to his table again.

  “Nice place ya got here Zamora. I figured you’d have a bigger place with all that money.” He said looking around.

  “No. It’s just perfect for the two of us and I’m saving most of that for Braydon when he’s older.”

  “Good idea.” He joined them in the living room, sitting on the other couch.

  Zamora turned on the news and a breaking news story came on. It was about Utica’s local street gang MS-13 on the East Side. They were talking about another killing. MS-13 was always under suspicion for murders and other criminal activity but no evidence could ever be traced back to them. The police had been trying to take down their leader Paco for years. Many bodies were either found severed, burned, or beaten. His victims he didn’t kill were marked with his own personal signature as if saying they belonged to him. Paco was also known for having access to illegal drugs and weapons. No one could ever prove that they were responsible for the crimes. That’s what the news was talking about.

  “Damn. Don’t they have anything better to do?” JT said listening to the news story.

  “Probably not.” Nikkya said.

  “Not around here they don’t.” Zamora said like she’d heard the same news story a dozen times. She quickly switched the channel to cartoons so her nephew wouldn’t hear the news.

  “So you like it here?” JT asked her.

  “Yeah. It’ll do for now.” She replied.

  “Well if you ever get lonely you know I’ll come stay with you whenever you’d like.” Nikkya said with a smile.

  “I know you always got my back.” Zamora smiled back.

  JT smiled but then looked as if he was holding something back.

  That night, Zamora was unpacking another box full of photo albums. Braydon was already asleep in bed. She pulled out the pink photo book. It was titled “Zamora” as it was made for her adoption. The first photo in the album was of her adoption ceremony. The next was a Christmas photo of her and her brother by the Christmas tree. She continued to flip through the pictures until she found one of her sister Angel’s adoption ceremony. Zamora was in the picture kissing her new sister’s head. She looked at all the photos of her and her siblings and all of her birthdays and holidays. Her favorite picture of all was of her and her father posing in a fighting stance when she was a young child. Her father Phillip, use to teach her how to defend herself. It was their favorite thing to do together. Although Dice and Angel often joined in.

  She remembered the many times he would teach her.

  “Keep your fists up, Mi Amor. You must always be ready to defend yourself. Never give up. Do not let your enemy get the best of you.” Her father told her when she was just 7.

  “Like this papi?” She asked demonstrating.

  “Si mi amor. Now hit the punching bag.” He held it on his hand.

  “Ouch.” He laughed. “Hit the bag, not me.”

  They laughed together.

  Zamora loved that time with her father. She flipped a few more pages of pictures and almost cried. She found another photo of her on Christmas morning when she was around 12. She had received her first real knife as a present. Her father had begun teaching her how to use it as soon as the snow had melted. Her brother had already known. Her sister Angel was still too young. Angel was more of a girly girl and liked to do things her mother did instead, but she enjoyed learning karate with her father and siblings.

  “Throw it at the target on the tree mi amor.”

  “I can’t get it papi.” She started to sob, growing frustrated.

  “Si se puede.” He told her looking in to her eyes.

  (Yes you can)

  “You can do it sis. Like this.” Her brother encouraged her, throwing his own knife.

  “Hit the target.” Her father said it like he was more serious. Like it was important that she did it right.

  He had made her try it over and over again.

  Her mother Maria had interrupted, noticing that she was growing tired.

  “Phillip. She’s had enough.” Her mother was a very beautiful woman.

  “When she gets it right. That’s when she’s had enough.”

  Zamora finally hit her target.

  “What was it all for?” Zamora asked herself.

  Zamora remembered things with her brother and sister like when they played in their tree house together. They would hide there for hours. Sometimes Zamora would go there when she didn’t want to train with her father. As she grew older, her lessons grew more intense and more serious. But he always knew where to find her.

  When she turned 14, he had taught her how to use a gun. Her father based his children’s lessons on their ages. They all had learned to defend themselves since they were 6 years old. At the age of 12 was when they learned how to use a knife and other weapons. At 14 was when their father taught them how to use a pistol, bringing them to a quiet place in the far woods. The older Zamora had gotten the more she had learned, but she began to notice that her father had been stricter with her. It was like she could never fail.

  “This is how you shoot a gun.”

  “Why do I need to do this papi? It’s not like I’m ever going to need it.” She said irritated.

  “I wish that were true mi amor…but someday you might.”

  Zamora didn’t respond.

  “Now what is rule number one when shooting a gun?” He tested his daughter.

  “Always count your bullets.”

  “That’s right. Always count your bullets. You need to know how many bullets you have left in the clip. Don’t forget it.”

  “Okay. So now what?”

  “Shoot the bottles off the log.” He told her. “Aim. Shoot. And count your bullets while you shoot.”

  Zamora quickly perfected the art of the gun. She got better at it every time. Her father had started taking her hunting with him, making her put her skills to use. He trained her with rifles and different weapons.

  Zamora started to turn another page, when her nephew started to cry out. She quickly got up to comfort him.

  “What’s wrong bubba?” She asked turning on the light.

  “I had a bad dream.” He sobbed rubbing his eye.

  Zamora comforted her nephew. “It’s okay bud. It was just a dream. Aunt Zamora will protect you.” She laid with her nephew. Zamora waited until Braydon fell asleep again. She lay awake not wanting to fall asleep, fearing she may dream of her sister’s death again. She checked to see if Braydon was back to sleep. She got up from the bed, doing her best not to wake him. She kissed his forehead.

  The next morning, Zamora received a phone call. She
answered.

  “This is a collect call from an inmate at Mid-State Correctional Facility. Will you accept the charges?” The operator asked.

  “Yes.” Zamora replied.

  “Zamora?” She heard her brother’s voice.

  “Dice? What’s the matter?” Zamora asked her brother concerned.

  “You’re in danger Zamora. There is something you need to know. You need to come here as soon as possible. I can’t tell you over the phone. Leave Braydon home.”

  Paco Ruiz was a 28 year old Hispanic man and leader of MS-13 and one of the biggest arms traffickers in the state. He was feared for his ruthless ways. Paco was of average build but he was strong. His body was covered in mostly gang tattoos. They covered most of his body except for his face. The letters MS lay in the middle of his chest in big letters, which stood out. He had a small word tattoo under his left eye and a small tattoo in his left ear. Paco was bald with a thin anchor goatee. Paco liked to show off his tattoos. His cousin Lupe was his second in command and he was just as ruthless as Paco. They were raised as brothers being only 11 months apart. Lupe had short black hair and a thick mustache. He didn’t have nearly as many tattoos as his cousin but he showed off the ones he did. They all have MS somewhere on their bodies and their main weapon of choice was a machete, each having their own. They hardly ever used guns themselves, except when they found it necessary. Their territory was on Utica’s East side on and around Bleecker St. Paco owned several warehouses and he had many people on his payroll.

  Paco had a black wide sawback machete. It was big and the one that stood out the most, like it was personalized for him. He sharpened it quite often, which he was doing when members of his crew Lucky and Quickz, dragged in a middle aged man. Paco sent them to capture anyone he wanted.

  He was already badly beaten and his hands were bound together. Paco had been expecting him. A large area of the room had plastic on the floor like it was where they made their killings. They placed the man on the plastic. Paco was shirtless, not wanting to blood stain his clothes.

  The man instantly pleaded with Paco seeing that he had been sharpening his machete. Quickz hit him to shut him up.

  Paco stopped sharpening his weapon to admire it. Lupe always stood by his cousin and was very loyal to him.

  “Do you know why I use a machete John?” He said still admiring it.

  John was afraid to speak.

  “I find guns a little merciful. Bullets usually kill faster. I like to spread out my torture and send a higher message.”

  “What do you want?” John asked in a shaky voice.

  “What do I want?” He paused. Paco went over to John who was sitting on his knees.

  “John, you know that I can’t leave any witnesses behind. I know that you saw what we did the other day.”

  “Please I, I won’t say anything.” He pleaded.

  “I just can’t take that chance John.”

  “How do you know my name?” He wondered.

  “You think we don’t do research? We followed your license plate number and tracked your vehicle to the hotel room you ran off too.” Lupe told him. Lupe had a deep voice.

  “My family. What have you done with my wife and daughter? Where is my family?!” He shouted.

  “Oh right, your family. Why’d you leave them alone John? In that dark cold hotel room. Did you think we wouldn’t find you? No amount of miles will be far enough from us.”

  “Where’s my family?” He sobbed knowing something had already happened to them.”

  Paco kneeled down to John’s level.

  “Don’t worry John. I still have your family.” Paco stood back up.

  Paco motioned to his men. Quickz came back in dragging a big black body bag. He pulled it over to John whose face was in horror afraid to see the inside. Quickz unzipped the bag, revealing a dismembered body.

  “I’m afraid your wife is already dead John. I found her very irritating. She was quite the fighter though.”

  John lost his breath, almost vomiting from the sight of his wife. She was cut into pieces.

  “Mary.” He sobbed.

  “I’m sorry John.” Paco said insincere.

  “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Stephanie?” He asked afraid to know the answer.

  “Stephanie is still alive. That’s a beautiful name by the way. Personally I don’t really like killing young girls…unless I’m forced too.”

  “What did you do with her?” John asked.

  Lucky and another brought out Stephanie. She was a young pretty 17 year old with brown hair. Lucky forced her onto the floor. She was in shock. Her body was bruised and beaten. She had dried blood down her legs, as if she’d been raped. Her hands were bound in front of her. John knew what had happened to his daughter.

  “Oh baby.” John cried to his daughter. She was left unspoken only looking down at the ground in front of her.

  John looked up at Paco.

  “Why would you hurt her like that?”

  “Personally John, I really can’t control every move my guys make. It wasn’t my intention to make her suffer.”

  “Why haven’t you killed her yet?” John wondered.

  “Because I know that you went to the cops about what you saw before you all ran. I have half the cops in this city on my payroll. That’s why you were so easy to find. I wanted you to suffer. Not your wife and daughter. You brought them into this.”

  Stephanie looked up at Paco.

  “Why?” That was all she said.

  Paco walked over to her after she spoke.

  “Why what sweetheart?” Paco smirked.

  “Why are you going to kill me?”

  “You’re just collateral damage. Don’t worry sweetheart. It’ll be quick. I guess I owe you that much.”

  “Don’t touch my daughter!” John yelled.

  “This is your fault John. Their deaths are on your hands!” Paco yelled.

  Paco swung his machete, taking off Stephanie’s head with it.

  John screamed in agony.

  “STEPHANIE!” John cried out.

  Paco slowly made his way over back to John.

  “Just kill me. I have nothing left.” John told him.

  “I intend too.” Paco slit his throat with his machete, watching him as he quickly bled out.

  “Why’s it always the pretty ones we end up having to kill?” Lupe joked looking at Stephanie’s body.

  Paco handed off his machete to one of his men to clean up. “Make sure it’s spotless this time.” He demanded.

  Lucky and Quickz began wrapping up the dead bodies in the plastic.

  “I don’t want these ones found.” Paco told them.

  Paco heard his phone ring over on the wooden table. It was an unknown number.

  “Who the hell is this?” He asked demandingly.

  “Yes. I’ve heard about Carlos Rivera’s daughter. What’s that have to do with me?”

  He listened.

  “Her name is what?” Paco had a look of disbelief on his face.

  Lupe wondered what was going on.

  “That interests me very much. I appreciate you mentioning it to me. Tell no one else.” Paco hung up.

  “What’s going on?” Lupe wondered.

  “Looks like this city has a deep dark secret…and her name is Zamora Rivera.”

  “Zamora?”

  “That’s the same reaction I had.”

  “That can’t be possible.” Lupe said knowing what his cousin was thinking.

  “I don’t know for sure if there’s a connection but…how many Zamora’s can there possibly be in this city?” Paco joked.

  MID-STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

  ~MARCY, NEW YORK~

  Zamora did as her brother had told her to do. She visited her brother as soon as she could, knowing it was important. She went through the security measures as always before she could see him. This time she was nervous going through, wondering what her brother needed to tell her.

  “You’re back here e
arly.” One of the female security officers said to her.

  “Yeah, I just really need to see my brother. It’s about his son.” She lied.

  “Everything okay with little man?”

  She hesitated for a short moment. “Yeah. It’s nothing bad.”

  “Well okay. Go on through.” She told her.

  Dice was a 31 year old Hispanic man with long brown curly hair and brown eyes. He had many tattoos and kept himself fit from inside the prison. He had his sons name tattooed across his chest in big black letters with his birthday underneath. Dice was doing pull ups in his prison cell when a guard walked over.

  “Dice. Your sister Zamora is here. We were able to arrange a box visit for you. Next time though, you will actually have to be in the box for that. So make it count.”

  “Thank you. The money will be transferred to your accounts, as long as we don’t get interrupted.” He had paid off the guards to get him what he wanted.

  “You have a 20 minute window.” He warned.

  Zamora was confused as to why she wasn’t in the regular visitation area. She sat at a square table. A guard was behind the door on the outside. She waited anxiously for her brother to arrive. The door opened.

  The guard let him inside. “Twenty minutes Dice.” The guard repeated to him un-cuffing his hands. He then handed Dice an orange folder.

  Zamora waited until the door closed to speak.

  “You want to tell me what the hell we’re doing in a solitary visitation room? You’ve only been here once and I know you’re not in here now because the visiting hours are off. So what the hell is so important that you had to arrange a private meeting place?” She said defensively.

  Dice took a deep breath, taking his time to sit down across from her.

  “There’s something that you need to know Zamora…and you’re not going to like it.”

  “You said I was in danger.” She paused. “Why?” She asked.

  “Because of whom you really are.”

  “What does that mean?” She asked confused.

  Dice hesitated before sliding the folder over to his sister.