White Lines III

by Tracy Brown

  “But this keeps happening. There’s always some reminder from my past of who I used to be. It doesn’t stop. Charlie, Shante, now Elliot. Plus Sheldon and his nonsense.” Jada looked up at Born. “I know you’re having second thoughts about being with me.”

  Born frowned. “Who said that?”

  “You don’t have to say it. Anyone in your shoes would feel that way.”

  Born thought about it. “I knew all about your history when I fell in love with you. I might not like it, but I accept it. You made some mistakes, Jada. That don’t give nobody the right to do this to you and your family.” He looked at her seriously. “I’m gonna kill this dude,” he said. “I’m gonna play this little game with him, and I’m gonna get my son back. Then I’m gonna blow his fucking brains out.”

  Jada watched him closely. She knew that he meant every word.

  Born pulled her closer to him and kissed her lips. “I’m gonna handle this. And if somebody else pops up, I’ll handle them, too.”

  Jada felt her heart overflowing. She was a lucky woman. “I love you.”

  Born looked her in the eyes. “I love you, too, baby. Nothing from your past is gonna change that.”

  They sat together on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms, until they both drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Elliot watched Ethan closely. The kid was scared, that much was clear. He had cried himself to sleep, and if Elliot wasn’t so evil, it might have tugged at his heartstrings. But his rage toward Jada superseded his pity for the kid.

  Elliot was furious with Jada. Ever since he’d returned to the U.S. and reconnected with what remained of his old crew, he’d been obsessed with recouping his losses. Truth be told, Jada had made a fool out of him and Elliot had never gotten over it.

  Back when he was Jamari’s distributor, Elliot had truly liked Jada. She reminded him of his baby sister, a hustler at heart. When Jada had come to him with her plea for five bricks of cocaine, he had allowed himself to be swayed by his sympathy for her. He had always known that Jamari wasn’t cut out for the life he was living. Jada seemed like a woman who had gotten caught up with a lame and found herself in an unfortunate predicament. Elliot had given her those five bricks mostly out of compassion. So when he returned to New York and found out that it had been Jada herself who robbed him, he felt particularly naïve. It had been one of the few times he allowed his heart to overrule his mind. He was determined that it would never happen again.

  He left the room and went into the kitchen. Retrieving a beer from the fridge, he sat down at the table across from his nephew, Cheo.

  Cheo had mixed feelings about his uncle’s return. More than ten years had passed since the DEA raid that forced Elliot to go on the run. A lot had changed since then, namely the way they handled things. The eighties and nineties had been a wild time on the streets of NYC. Their crime family had boldly violated anyone who dared to challenge them. They had shot it out in broad daylight with the police and rival crews alike. What Elliot couldn’t seem to get through his head was that situations like this were no longer acceptable. The goal was to stay off the police’s radar. Kidnapping was not the way to achieve that.

  “When are you gonna bring him home?” Cheo asked, gesturing with his chin toward the room where Ethan lay sleeping.

  Elliot ignored the question. He didn’t like this new version of his nephew. The kid he’d left behind years ago when he’d gone on the run had developed into a young man who didn’t seem to respect Elliot’s position any longer. Back in the day, Cheo never would have dreamed of questioning Elliot. Clearly, he’d forgotten the established hierarchy.

  “I’m thinking about staying in New York after all,” Elliot said.

  Cheo frowned. That wasn’t part of the plan. Elliot’s visit was supposed to be just that—a visit. He was supposed to stay for a few weeks at most. Cheo had been counting on the fact that his uncle would be returning to Guyana soon.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cheo said.

  “I didn’t ask you what you thought.” Elliot guzzled his beer, then tossed the empty can in the trash.

  Cheo noted that his uncle didn’t use the recyclables trash can, but decided against commenting on it. “I’m just saying that it’s not safe for you here, Uncle Elliot. I don’t want the cops to find out that you’re back. You know they got it in for you.”

  After Elliot’s escape, the heat had been turned up on their crew big-time. Cheo’s father had borne a striking resemblance to his brother, Elliot. After the gory bloodbath between the DEA and their crew, the cops had prematurely declared that they had taken down one of NYC’s most notorious and ruthless drug czars. By the time lab tests determined that the dead guy was not Elliot after all, the story had been too widely circulated to retract. The police commissioner was worried about being labeled an imbecile. Helped by the fact that the real Elliot had disappeared, the police kept mum about the dead man’s real identity and turned their attention to taking down what remained of the crew. It had been years before they were able to operate effectively again. And now, over a decade later, here was Uncle Elliot, back from the dead with a kidnapped minor and an extortion plot, and now it seemed he had plans to stick around.

  Elliot let out a loud belch and shrugged. “I’m dead, remember?”

  Cheo shook his head. “You know you can only stay underground for so long. These streets talk.” Cheo felt like Elliot had forgotten what it was like to run a criminal enterprise on the streets of New York City. Word traveled fast, and it wouldn’t be long before Elliot’s return was heralded widely. In fact, Cheo felt that his uncle had already overstayed his welcome.

  Elliot leaned forward and stared Cheo down. “All these years that I spent back home, I had nothing but time to think. I left a lot of money out here in these streets.”

  Cheo nodded. “Which is why there’s a lot of people who won’t be too happy to see that you’re back.”

  Elliot sneered. “Good.” He noticed Cheo roll his eyes in frustration. “Listen,” Elliot said. “I’m gonna get what’s mine. Starting with my little insurance policy in there. Once I get rid of him and Jada and that nigga Born, everyone will know that I’m not the one to fuck with. After that, I’m going to check them all off my list, one by one, until I have everything that’s owed to me. I’m taking back my spot at the head of this crew.” He smirked at Cheo. “You’d be smart not to get in my way.”

  Cheo eyed Elliot, but dared not respond. Elliot stood up from the table and pulled his gun from his waistband. “I’m gonna off this kid. Then, when I get the money from Jada tomorrow, I’m gonna put one in her head, too.”

  Cheo grimaced. He didn’t believe that Elliot meant what he said. Not until he watched him march toward the bedroom where the kid was sleeping. Elliot cocked the gun as he walked.

  Cheo sprang to his feet. Trotting after his uncle, he followed him into the bedroom. Elliot pointed the nozzle of the gun directly at Ethan’s temple, but Cheo slapped his hand away just in the nick of time. A shot went off, the bullet lodging in the wall next to Ethan’s head. The round woke him up with a start. Seeing the two men standing over him—one with a gun in his hand—Ethan began to cry instantly. He had never been more afraid in his life. The two men were arguing now. Ethan’s body quaked with terror. He shrunk into the corner of the bed, which was pushed up against the wall and cried softly, trembling.

  “Yo, Elliot, what the fuck! I respect you as my uncle. But you’re bugging right now.”

  Elliot still had the gun in his hand and he seemed none too pleased that Cheo was challenging him. Cheo perceived the glint in his eyes and changed his tone a bit.

  “If you splatter shorty’s brains in here, all of that DNA evidence gets spread throughout the whole room.” Cheo forced his voice to register lighter. Now more than ever, he could see that his ruthless uncle had gone off the deep end. “Just take him out tomorrow and do what you gotta do in the woods somewhere. Just don’t do it in here.”


  Elliot seemed to consider it for several long, tense moments. Finally, he nodded slowly, grinning. “You’re right,” he said. “I watch Forensic Files, too. That DNA shit never completely disappears. He chuckled a little and, with the gun still in his hand, Elliot patted his nephew affectionately on the head.

  Cheo cringed, but kept silent. Ethan continued crying softly in the corner. Elliot winked at Cheo. Finally, he tucked the gun back into his waistband. He looked at Ethan.

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  Elliot left the room.

  Cheo watched his uncle leave and knew without question that he intended to kill the little boy. He wondered if Elliot might kill him, too, for good measure. Family or not, he was crazy. Cheo glanced at Ethan and felt sorry for him. Cheo had been around Ethan’s age when his own father had died in Elliot’s place. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s alright, Shorty. Ain’t nothing gonna happen tonight. Go back to sleep.”

  Cheo left the room, shutting the door behind him. Ethan stared at the closed door with his heart galloping full speed in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and prayed with all of his might.

  19

  HOMECOMING

  Zion stepped off the elevator and walked the long corridor toward his attorney’s office. He was relieved to be free. After weeks of hard work, Maury had gotten him another bail hearing. Once the media hype around the mass arrests began to die down in favor of more scandalous headlines, Maury brought Zion back before the judge, and he was granted bail under very strict conditions. The prosecution argued that Zion was a flight risk, so the judge forced him to surrender his passport. The DA was also concerned about Zion continuing to run the crew while out on bail. So the judge ordered that Zion wear an electronic ankle monitor and adhere to a curfew. The judge set bail high at one million dollars, and the DA still wasn’t satisfied. He requested a bail-source hearing to ensure that the money used to bail Zion out did not come from illegal means. Gillian and Lamin had stepped up and put up their financial records as proof that the bail money hadn’t come from a questionable source. Finally, after all of that, Zion was free to leave the madhouse that was Riker’s Island. Maury had sent a car and driver to pick him up from the Queens jail and deliver him to his office in Lower Manhattan.

  Zion strolled toward the office, wearing a simple white button-up and a pair of cargo pants from Old Navy—definitely not his usual attire. Maury’s secretary had sent the outfit to Riker’s so that Zion would have something decent to come home in. His clothes that he’d worn the night of his arrest were covered in blood and dirt as a result of his beating. Those clothes were now evidence in the case Maury was filing against the NYPD.

  Zion couldn’t wait to go home and take a hot shower—alone. The past few weeks in jail had been hellish. He intended to take full advantage of all of the luxuries he had once taken for granted.

  As Zion neared the office, Maury stepped out and smiled warmly at him.

  “Welcome back,” Maury said. He shook Zion’s hand firmly.

  “Thanks.” Zion’s smile was thanks enough.

  “Remember, stay home, stay out of trouble, stay out of the spotlight,” Maury said.

  Zion nodded. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  Maury patted him encouragingly on the arm. “Go on in,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

  Zion watched Maury walk away. Then he opened the office door, and stepped inside. He smiled at the sight of Gillian and Lamin seated before him. They returned the gesture, and Lamin stood up and greeted his friend with a firm handshake and a hug.

  “Welcome home, Zion.” Lamin was beaming. He and Zion had been friends since they were teenagers. Although Lamin was aware of what was going on between Olivia and Zion, their friendship remained intact. Relationships had their ups and downs, and Lamin knew better than anybody that Olivia could be a lot to handle. Despite all of that, he was happy to see that Zion was once again a free man.

  “Yo,” Zion said, shaking his head. “I feel like doing the moonwalk, I’m so happy! Thank you for everything you did to help me get out.”

  Lamin nodded. “No doubt. But all I did was sign some paperwork and say the right things in a hearing.” He aimed his chin at Gillian. “That’s who you should be thanking.”

  Perched regally on her seat, with her legs crossed daintily, Gillian’s eyes sparkled like the diamonds on her wrist when she smiled at Zion. He walked over toward her and she stood up to greet him. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Thank you for everything, Gillian. I mean that.”

  Gillian pulled back and looked him in the eye. “You okay?” she asked, her voice full of sincere concern.

  He nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “But I think we have a problem.”

  Gillian agreed. “We do. Have a seat.” She gestured toward the chair across from her. Zion sat. Gillian and Lamin followed suit.

  Lamin spoke first. “Okay, so let me state the obvious. We’re meeting here for a few reasons. First, it makes sense that you would go to your lawyer’s office straight after your release. They’ll be tracking your every move with that ankle monitor. So when this address comes up, it won’t raise any red flags.”

  Zion nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Second, any conversation between you and your lawyer is considered privileged and confidential. So you can speak freely here.”

  “It’s probably the only place where we can speak freely at this point,” Gillian agreed.

  “The final reason,” Lamin said. “Is that it’s not safe for you two to be seen together. For some reason, nobody has linked Gillian to the crew. The feds know all kinds of other shit about the family. But there’s no spotlight on Gillian right now, and it’s best to keep it that way.”

  Zion nodded again. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that,” he said.

  Gillian frowned slightly. “What?”

  Lamin noticed Zion hesitate. Immediately, he understood where Zion was coming from.

  Zion cleared his throat. He sat forward in his chair and looked Gillian in the eye. “I spent a lot of time thinking while I was locked down,” he said. “Basically, with the exception of like … maybe four or five people, the whole crew got swept up in raids that night. All of us got hit with big charges. Everybody but you, G.”

  She stared back at him, but didn’t respond.

  “They got me down on paper as the kingpin of this family. And that’s not how it is.”

  Lamin smirked a little.

  Zion continued. “At first I thought they were just trying to shake me up. All of us, really. Trying to see who would get scared and start telling. But then they started telling me what they already know. And they know a lot.”

  “Like what?” Gillian asked.

  Zion was old school. Law office or not, he was being careful. Much of what had gone down was common knowledge within the family. He didn’t feel it necessary to get into specifics. He cleared his throat. “Like a lot of old shit. That guy on the jury that time. The situation with Danno. They know about the Russians. And Grant. About your Pops passing over Baron to pick somebody else to take over the crew when he died. I don’t know why, but they think he chose me. They know too much for it to just be the result of an investigation. There’s a snitch.”

  Gillian stared back at him. Secretly, her heart was racing. Though composed outwardly, inside she was shaken. She remembered what her father taught her. As a little girl, she watched him closely, awestruck by the way that he made grown men tremble, men twice his size. He was powerful. He commanded respect. She had asked him once how he did it.

  Doug Nobles, a strong and handsome man, had looked down at his daughter and smiled: “Focus. No matter what is going on around you, no matter who’s in the room. You have to watch them. You have to learn how to read people, how to sense their intent. You have to listen. And only speak when necessary. Then, when you do speak, everybody listens.”

  Gillian stared at Zion. She saw the smir
k on Lamin’s face, subtle as it was. She tilted her head to the side and frowned a little. “Do you think it’s me, Zion? You think I’m the snitch?”

  Zion shook his head. “No. I don’t believe you’re built like that. You’re your father’s child.”

  Gillian nodded. So did Lamin.

  “You think it’s Baron?” she asked.

  Zion didn’t answer. Lamin stared at the drink in his hand. Silence descended like a plane coming in for a landing. Tension filled the room until finally Lamin cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Let’s tell the truth,” he said. “Baron didn’t inherit his father’s character, his work ethic, and sense of honor. But you did.” He looked Gillian in the eye. “You’re the female version of your father.”

  Gillian took that as the highest compliment.

  “Baron is a different story,” Zion said.

  Lamin sat back in his seat. “Somebody’s been talking.”

  Gillian’s mind reeled. “And now all of the major players are locked up. Except me.”

  “Okay, so let’s start there. Why not you?” Lamin asked. “Who would snitch on everyone else but leave you out?”

  “Baron,” Zion suggested softly.

  Lamin winced a little. Although Gillian and Baron weren’t close, they were still siblings. Lamin understood family loyalty all too well. In fact, it had been Doug Nobles’ downfall. It was common knowledge that Baron was toxic, troublesome.

  Gillian didn’t even blink at the suggestion. She sat there for a moment, then slowly nodded.

  “That’s possible,” she said honestly. “Only problem is, why wouldn’t he throw me to the wolves, too? It’s not like I’m his favorite person. He could get rid of me for good if he gave them the information that he has.”

  Zion nodded. “True.”

  “How about Olivia?” she countered. Glancing at Lamin, apologetically, she shrugged. “Sorry, Lamin. I know she’s your sister and you love her, but she is mean as hell.”

  Lamin didn’t respond, but he knew Gillian was right. Olivia was mean. Still, he didn’t suspect her of turning on the family like that.