by Marcus Weber
“No! Junior!” Paige muffled behind the restraint. It was too late. One of the attackers slammed his gun into Junior’s head and knocked him out.
“Oh, this must be the druggie brother they told us about,” one of the attackers snarled. “They said he might be here. And we got just the thing for his ass.”
Paige’s eyes grew wide. She watched in terror as the attacker pulled the small orange stopper off of a slim syringe. Tears burst from the sides of her eyes and urine leaked over her tied legs and feet. Fear was choking off her air supply. That small needle was worse in her eyes than any other torture method the man could have used against her brother.
Paige groaned loudly, trying her best to scream out through the gag. She struggled against the restraints, muscles and veins tight against her skin. She moved so fiercely the chair scraped against the tiled floor. She shook her head frantically from side to side. Her eyes were stretched to their limits. Paige started gagging on the rag stuffed in her mouth.
“What you scared of? This that shit he loves right here? I heard he was clean . . . oh well, you know what they say—one hit gets them back to square one,” the man laughed evilly, moving toward Junior with the syringe like a death penalty executioner holding the lethal injection.
Paige begged through the cloth in one last-ditch effort for even an ounce of compassion. Paige knew that for Junior, what the man was holding might as well have been something that would stop his heart . . . he might as well have put a gun to Junior’s head and blown his brains out.
Paige knew each time around, her brother moved closer and closer to never kicking the habit again. Once he got that first taste, it might all be over for him. The man walked over, grabbed her head, and forced her to watch. Paige moaned and tried to move.
“You need to fucking watch or everybody dies. If you fuck around and move, he’s a goner,” he said as he held her head until she couldn’t look away. Paige stopped fighting. For her, it was already over. This man was obviously the devil and hell bent on destroying her entire family. But, why?
“This seems like a good one,” he said, placing the syringe against Junior’s skin. Paige wanted to close her eyes at the pinprick of the syringe in her brother’s body. The man pushed the plunger on the back of the syringe slowly. His eyes glistened with deviant pleasure. He held onto her head as she watched her brother’s body react.
The drugs shot straight to his nervous system. His entire body tensed at first. Junior’s eyes groggily blinked open and rolled up into his head until only the whites were visible. Then his body went slack. The attacker released Paige’s hair, letting her head drop until her chin was touching her chest. She sobbed as she watched her brother fall into a dope fiend slump, a sight Paige had fought every day to forget.
“Yeah, that’s the shit right there, ain’t it? I thought this nigga might OD on this pure-ass shit, since I heard he ain’t had it over a year. But seems like he still got that strong, resilient system. They say this girl is the devil and all it takes is one taste and a nigga will forget he was clean for any amount of time,” the man said slyly, proud of his work.
“Now, back to you. You owe me something,” he said smoothly. He took the dishrag out of Paige’s mouth. Her lips trembled. He took that as his opportunity to have his way. Paige could hear his zipper coming down. She could even smell his musty balls. But, she had no strength to fight. She had given up. Paige didn’t forget that she had a little boy and that he needed her, but she felt completely helpless. The man shoved his dick into her mouth with a forcefulness that had her gagging. Paige couldn’t even feel any way about it. She thought about biting his dick off, but before the thought could materialize, the man pulled out three more little syringes, full to the brim.
“These are for him. You try anything slick, he gets all three, and then you’ll never see your son again,” the man said cruelly.
“No, please,” she whispered. Her head rocked from side to side. Tears ran in steady streams out of her eyes. The man untied her, and she didn’t even try to fight again. She curled up in a ball in the floor like a fetus in her mother’s womb.
Chapter 11
All Falls Down
Hayden’s naked body shivered. His ass throbbed from sitting on whatever icy, cold surface his captors had him on. His wrists and ankles were bound together. He managed to pull his knees up to his chest to generate some kind of heat from his thighs. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear water dripping. A slow, steady drip. It was starting to make him go crazy. It seemed like forever since he’d been snatched as he walked into his expensive condo building.
Hayden could hear voices speaking in muffled whispers. He lifted his head from his knees, wincing because his neck was stiff. Footsteps approached, and his heart began to race.
“Hello?” Hayden rasped. Something about the conditions of the room was getting to his head. He could swear he heard his father’s voice too. That would be impossible.
“One of the infamous Cartwright boys, eh?” a lanky man said, standing in front of Hayden.
“Whatever you want, my father will give it up to get me free,” Hayden rambled through bluish-purple lips. He could barely speak through his chattering teeth.
“What I want is in your head. No one can pay for that.” Hayden knew right away what that meant—the man wanted him to give up the inside goods about his father and their business. Hayden and Jackson had spent their entire lives being warned about this type of scenario. Hayden never heeded the warnings since he was head of all of the legitimate businesses. He was stupid. It made sense that they’d snatch him . . . the most likely to have his guard down.
“So, tell me—the boss—you like him?” the man asked. Hayden didn’t answer; instead, he hung his head. They were looking for information about Antonio.
“You won’t speak? Do you know who sent me?” the man asked. Hayden kept his head bowed. “Get him up!”
Three men moved in on Hayden like zookeepers attempting to tame a wild animal. Hayden grunted as they forced his stiff, frozen body off the floor. His skin was sensitive to the touch, almost frostbitten. With a man flanking him on each side, Hayden was held upright. The freezing cold air in the room stung his entire body. His legs dropped from the bent position, leaving his chest and genitals exposed to the frigid conditions.
“Now, I know you feel very cold. Let’s change that,” the man said. He pulled out a double spouted blowtorch and turned the feeder knob. A blast of fire burst from the end. Hayden’s eyes flew open, frozen puffs of breath escaping his lips.
“Aggghhh!” he screeched at the top of his lungs as the flame drew closer. The man let out a maniacal laugh as he turned the torch off.
“So, back to my questions. Your new boss, I think he’s your brother, do you like him? I want to know some things about him,” the man asked again. Hayden did not respond. He closed his eyes and started praying silently.
The man cursed. Hayden could hear the torch being sparked up again. His body tensed. The men lifted him up a little higher so that his chest was almost eye level with the torch.
“You could save yourself—this is your last chance,” the man hissed. Hayden didn’t respond. He’d partially betrayed Antonio once, and he’d regretted every day since then. He wasn’t going to do it again. Especially because he felt like they’d kill him anyway.
The man squinted his eyes and moved closer. He sprayed the torch flame up and down the frozen skin on Hayden’s chest. The sound Hayden released from his mouth was not of this Earth. His body bucked wildly. The man moved the flame from Hayden’s chest, and large blisters immediately popped up on his seared skin.
“Max King. Have you heard of him?” the man continued with his questions.
Hayden’s head hung, and saliva dripped out of his mouth. His body vibrated with unleashed pain. Was it possible to feel both hot and cold at the same time?
“Answer me or I’ll be forced to turn this thing back on,” the man warned. “I know you know who my boss is
, correct?”
Hayden moved his head in the affirmative. The effort caused his entire body to burn with pain.
“Good, good. King wants to know about your boss,” the man continued.
Hayden shook his head from side to side, but didn’t utter a word.
“Turn him!” the man shouted in disgust.
The men holding Hayden shifted him so that the skin on his back was exposed to the interrogator.
“You will tell me what I need to know.” The torch spit fire onto Hayden’s back, buttocks and thighs. Hayden heard his skin sizzling like meat in a frying pan.
“When you have frostbite it is always wise to stay away from heat for a while. If not, the skin dies and has to be cut off. First we freeze you; then we burn you,” the man snarled.
“Okay! Okay! Please . . . stop.” Hayden pleaded with his captors, no longer able to withstand the torture.
The man removed the torch from Hayden’s skin, and the other two men turned Hayden around.
“You will tell me all I need to know, or you will die a very painful death. Do we understand each other, now?”
Hayden moved his head. His lips trembled as he uttered the one word that could end his current state of misery.
“Yes.”
* * *
Five broad-shouldered men stood guard inside the Burge, a repair shop that was owned by the Cartwrights. Tonight, a hundred boxes of SUV and luxury car parts would be loaded with eighty-percent pure cocaine for shipment to various distributors. Jackson and Antonio had agreed to oversee the operation together. Mo had instructed Antonio to go it alone, but he’d made his brother a promise that he’d involve him in all aspects of the new business.
The heroin was strategically placed between the metal spokes and wheel beds of the rims and the engine wells. Jackson paced through the shop like a prison warden. A few times, he climbed into the backs of the trucks to personally ensure the packaging was on point. Antonio was impressed with Jackson’s dedication. Antonio was learning.
Jackson looked at his Rolex for the third time. They were three minutes over the allotted sorting and packing time, and every second counted.
“Yo! Put a fuckin’ move on it. We do this shit on a time limit. Slipping up is how shit gets murky! Nothing can be off, right now. This is going to be the biggest move we’ve made in years,” Jackson announced to the paid help, who needed to step up their packing game.
One of the men walked over to Jackson, sweat dripping down the side of his face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“This is crazy, man. This is a lot more than we ever shipped at one time. The time window ain’t cuttin’ it. We need at least twenty more minutes. Only truck one is finished, and we’re only halfway through with truck two. This shit is mad over the top. You know, that’s easily over two million dollars that’s gonna be out there for the taking,” the dude huffed, scowling. “What’s the fuckin’ rush?”
Antonio stepped forward to address the worker, but Jackson threw his hand up and moved up himself.
“Yo! You sound like a whining ass bitch right now. A hundred boxes or ten boxes, the shit still gotta be delivered to the streets, right? I ain’t got all night to be in here watching grown ass men complain and shit,” Jackson grumbled, looking at his watch again. Secretly, he was sweating under his clothes too. The dude was right. This operation was much larger in scale than what they’d attempted before.
“Man, look. This y’all operation. I do my part and I don’t ask no questions, feel me? But this shit is risky right now. You better tell ya fuckin’ new boss to take some classes in this street game next time and have his ass here to see to his own fuckin’ business.”
Venting complete, the dude stalked off to finish the job. Antonio smirked. He wouldn’t even give the dude any lip service. Also, unfazed by the crybaby, Jackson looked at his watch one more time. He was on a time constraint of his own, but the way shit was going, he would have to scale back his own plans. Jackson walked into the shop’s office and locked the door behind him. He pulled the string on the white metal vertical blinds that hung over the large front window of the shop.
Jackson pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. No answer.
“Fuck!” he huffed and began pacing. His plans were being derailed, and the price would be very heavy. “One more try,” he spoke under his breath to himself. Jackson hit the call button again. When the line picked up, he let out a long breath and relaxed the tension in his shoulders.
“Pop, I know what you said you wanted to happen, but this shit is going way over, the timing ain’t gon’ be right for this one. Maybe we can do it on the next one,” Jackson hurriedly conveyed the message.
He patiently allowed for the tongue-lashing he received. Jackson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. If only he could just tell his father everything he wanted to tell him all of these years. First, he forced Antonio on them, and now, he wanted to make him prove himself worthy despite everything he had done for the business.
“This one just didn’t pan out. Let’s try one more time with something that’s gonna be a sure bet. Plus, it ain’t gonna shake him up. The nigga is here and clueless,” Jackson said calmly, trying his best to hold his composure.
Jackson exhaled a windstorm of breath. He wasn’t going to tolerate too many more “assholes” and “stupid fucks” from his father. The idea was dumb anyway, staging a raid to see how Antonio would handle it, seemed to Jackson to be somewhat childish. Setting up his own flesh and blood: that was the kind of man Emil Cartwright was.
“I’ll let you know about the next go ’round,” Jackson said before quickly hanging up.
A knock sounded at the door, causing him to startle.
“Yo!” Jackson hollered, bopping over to the door.
“You a part of this or what?” Antonio asked, stealthily scanning the office with his eyes.
“Are you questioning me, now?” Jackson snapped right back. The entire crew had been suspicious of one another since the last incident. Antonio was especially suspicious of everyone, even his brothers.
“This shit was a rush job, but everything is set to roll out. Two to the Hanover and one to Southeast, just like always,” informed Jackson.
“Yeah, that’s the flow as usual. You ride with the two. Sill will roll with the other. Once all the collections have been made, y’all can meet up and make the split at the Blu,” Antonio instructed.
“And you?” Jackson asked, tapping his foot like a mother waiting for an answer from a disobedient child.
“Me what? I’m goin’ the fuck home,” Antonio snarled. “You said you wanted the biggest part in this shit, right? Well, you got it.”
Jackson walked out of the office, Antonio following on his heels. They did a quick walk-through of the shop and made sure all three trucks were ready for departure.
Jackson approached the driver’s side window of the first truck. He nodded at the driver and tossed a rubber-banded stack of cash at the man.
“Get this shit there, or else,” he warned. It was the same shit his father had said each time he sent a man out for delivery. Emil had joked with his sons that it was a good luck send off. “Scare a motherfucker before you send him, and he’ll bring you back what you need.”
Jackson walked over and climbed into his car. The shop’s metal gates began to roll up. Both trucks were idling as they waited for him.
Jackson reversed his car out of the driveway and waited for Antonio to do the same. As the first truck made its way out of the garage, tires squealed nearby. Jackson jerked as he heard the rapid-fire chattering of bullets ripping through the air. Jackson felt trapped as the “tat-tat-tat” of gunfire hit the exterior shell and glass windows of the shop.
Jackson threw his car in reverse and slammed on the accelerator. His car sped backward, away from the gunfire. He looked up just in time to see an army of men in black rushing toward the shop. Antonio’s car was still inside.
&
nbsp; Jackson hurriedly swiveled his car around and drove away from the danger. His chest felt like it was going to cave in. Jackson couldn’t think straight. His hands shook so badly he could hardly drive. After several failed attempts, he managed to hit the Bluetooth function in his car.
“Call Pop!” Jackson screamed at the machine.
“Yeah?” Emil answered, his voice laced with aggravation.
“Yo!” Jackson hollered, unable to even find the words.
“Jax?” Emil replied, his tone an octave higher than before.
“Yo, somebody just hit up the shop. I think they got Antonio, man,” Jackson stumbled for the right words.
“What? What the fuck?” Emil cussed, on his feet within seconds. “Who? Who was it? Is he dead? Did they grab him? What about the shipments?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know! All I saw was a black truck pull up and a flood of dudes in black with AKs and MPs sparkin’ off, straight for the trucks. Tony pulled his whip up and was right there. We are under fuckin’ attack, Pop! Meet me at the Blu. This shit is bad. I really think it was King!” Jackson spat angrily. The Cartwrights were under attack. Shit was going downhill fast. The war had been calm thus far, but this game was about to be over.
* * *
“I want somebody from Max King’s crew dead tonight!” Emil barked as he paced across the meeting room at the Blu.
Jackson sat with his eyes closed and his hands steepled in front of him. Their crew members had burners on the table, barely able to control their impulse to kill.
“You sure you wanna make such a big decision? A war between us and King would leave us all open to the young fucks we just got down with. This Mo motherfucker supposed to be a big dog,” one of the guys called out from the back of the room.
Emil sucked in his breath and shot him a cold stare. He was always sensitive when people questioned his executive decisions.
“It was King! We don’t have beef with nobody else for no other reason. They left the fuckin’ shipment for the Feds to find. If it was just a robbery, you think that would be the case?” Jackson boomed, his face hot with anger. A wave of groans rose and fell around the room.