by Mark Anthony
Then they both looked at me.
“Uncuff her ass,” Supreme instructed. “I’m gonna test her gangstress.”
As the handcuffs were being unlocked I stated, “Supreme, if I do this, you still can kill me and be gone. But at least let this prove to you that I’m willing to go to the other side with you. I know the system and how to get around it. Just don’t kill me. Let me bounce with you and I promise you we’ll be okay,” I begged.
“Bitch, you talking too much for me! Get the fuck up! We going to the basement and I swear on my grandmother’s grave that if you don’t kill this nigga or if you try something slick, I’m gonna take you out!” Supreme threatened.
I could hear Nicole’s sobs coming from one of the locked bedrooms on the first floor as ’Preme, Haz, and I made our way to the well-lit basement.
“Supreme, what the fuck is up, man?” Horse asked as he laid sprawled out on the ceramic-tiled basement floor. He looked as if he was unsuccessfully trying to do push-ups and he grunted from the pain and anguish of not being able to move.
“You know what they do to horses that break their leg?” Supreme calmly asked Horse as he stood next to me.
Horse didn’t immediately answer him.
“Supreme, we been through too much together—” Horse eventually blurted out before being cut off by Supreme.
“First it was not wanting to squash the whole Mafia beef! Then a nigga didn’t wanna pay G-Baby’s ransom money! Now I find out a nigga wanna become a rat? Horse, you tell me what the fuck I am supposed to do!” Supreme barked.
Horse remained silent.
“And you see this bitch right here? Remember it was you who introduced us to this bitch! You, Horse! And now we see that Chris was right when he said she was a cop. But you ain’t believe him and you set the nigga up. You believed this bitch over Chris. And Chris was your man!” Supreme recited as he paced back and forth.
“Jessica, since Horse don’t seem to be able to recall anything, why don’t you tell me what it is that they do to horses that can’t walk or horses that have a broken leg?”
“They shoot ’em,” I calmly replied with a rapidly beating heart and sweaty palms.
Supreme handed a gun to me, while Haz pointed his gun at me to check me.
“That’s right. They shoot ’em in order to put them out of their misery,” Supreme stated. “Horse, look at you, man! You can’t live like that, nigga! All crippled and shit.”
“So this is what it all comes down to?” Horse asked as he lay humbled and helplessly sprawled on the floor. “All this money that we made together, all these hit records, the company we built, and this is what it comes down to?”
Supreme didn’t respond to his question.
“Jessica, come on. Please. I got my son to look after. I’ll take the rap for all of this shit. I’ll sign my name to a confession right now. Just don’t kill me. Please,” Horse begged. At that moment he was as far removed from the cocky, confident, always-walking-with-swagger person that I had come to know. But I guess you’ll get like that when you are staring death in the face.
“Man, fuck all that! You didn’t give a fuck when G-Baby was about to get his head blown off or when Chris got killed! Jessica, kill that nigga right now!” Supreme ordered.
I raised the gun and Horse stared at me with a look of fear that I will never forget. Everything seemed to go blank as things got unbelievably quiet around me. In fact it was so quiet that I don’t even recall the sound of the gun blast as I pulled the trigger.
But I do remember the way Horse’s blood-splattered head slammed to the ground after the bullet from my FBI-issued 9mm handgun ripped through his skull, killing him instantly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
If you had asked me when I began my career as an FBI agent if I thought I would have stooped this low and done the dirty things that I’ve done, I would have thought you were insane or delusional. And yet, I had done drugs while on the job, I had had unprotected sex with the criminals that I was investigating, and worst of all I had actually murdered one of the men that I was investigating.
What was sick was that I felt remorse, I felt huge remorse and sorrow, but I felt a bigger sense of power. The badge that I had literally gave me the power to do whatever the hell I wanted to do. And I knew that as long as I covered my ass and played my cards right, I could in fact get away with murder and all sorts of other crimes.
But with the investigation right at the point of ending, I knew that I was playing a real risky game. Risky in the sense that I could have been killed at any moment by Supreme and his crew. I also knew that I could go to jail for life if any of the dirt that I had done came to light.
Exploiting this investigation to my financial benefit had always been in the back of my mind and I had planned for it. Those plans had escalated ever sense I had been set up by some of the discriminating male FBI agents and I almost ended up dying as a result of that discrimination. Just like I had carried the cocaine around with me and it helped me get out of a jam in the past, I had set some things up that I knew would be necessary to help me possibly get rich from this investigation if the opportunity presented itself.
So as Supreme left Horse dead on the basement floor and Nicole handcuffed to a radiator, I hoped like heck that he wouldn’t kill me. I knew that if I could just stay alive that I would be able to pimp the investigation and come out on top.
“We gotta hurry up and get outta here!” Supreme instructed as he grabbed me by the arm and led me toward the front door.
“Yo, put her in the truck, I gotta check the house real quick and then we out,” Supreme stated.
I was quickly brought outside and put inside of a black SUV. I sat in the backseat between two of Supreme’s Hulk Hogan–size henchmen that I didn’t know. The driver of the SUV looked familiar, I wasn’t sure if it was O-Water, but I doubted it. I couldn’t exactly recall his name or where I’d seen him before. He sat with the truck in park and the engine running and he appeared a bit nervous.
I turned my head just slightly and I could see a Mercedes-Benz also idling just to the left of the SUV.
Supreme finally came out of the house and he made his way to the driver’s side of the Mercedes-Benz. He spoke for about thirty seconds to the driver and then he hastily made his way back to the SUV and hopped in the passenger seat.
“We gotta get to Republic out in Farmingdale,” Supreme instructed the driver.
“Aight,” the nervous-looking driver responded as he put the truck in drive and took off.
There was a moment of silence in the SUV. Even Supreme appeared to be a bit anxious. He hadn’t even turned to the back of the truck to look at me.
“What happened to Teterboro? I thought we was going there?” the driver asked Supreme.
Supreme sat slumped in his seat and he seemed like he was deep in thought. He ran his left hand down his face and blew out a gust of air from his lungs.
“Nah, I just found out that we would have had to catch a dead leg at Teterboro and I ain’t trying to depend on that. But they got us at Republic,” Supreme stated.
I couldn’t fully decipher what he was saying but I knew that he was referring to Teterboro Airport. I just wasn’t familiar with “Republic” or with the term “dead leg.”
“’Preme, what’s up with shorty? She was a cutie. She ain’t rolling wit us?” the guy on my right asked.
“Nah, I left her in the crib. We don’t need her slowing us down,” Supreme replied.
My guess was that they were referring to Nicole. From the sound of things, I could only guess that she was okay. Supreme was the last one in the house with her so only he knew if he’d left her physically safe.
“So this plane is chartered, right?” the driver asked, again sounding nervous.
“What the fuck? I got this! What’s with all the questions?” Supreme responded.
We had made our way onto the Southern State Parkway and we were heading east going toward Long Island. The car was eeri
ly quiet. There was no loud rap music being played and no one was saying anything. I could only guess that everyone, including Supreme, was in shock that Horse was actually dead.
“Jessica, what’s the deal?” Supreme asked without turning around to face me.
“What’s the deal? You tell me,” I said, trying to come across as normal as possible, although I was nervous as shit.
“You murdering cats, you do drugs, you sexing niggas? Is that what they teach y’all at the academy?” Supreme asked sarcastically. Everyone in the truck began smirking and laughing a bit. “Shit, get me a job with the FBI!”
“I make my own rules,” I stated. I hoped that Supreme was still carrying my cell phone or Sherry’s cell phone.
“Yeah, I can see that you make your own rules. All y’all cops and feds is corrupt. Word is bond!” Supreme retorted.
I kept quiet.
“So tell me the truth, what’s up with this whole hip-hop police shit. Y’all really trying to take down hip-hop or what?” Supreme asked.
I didn’t answer Supreme’s question. He wasn’t acting hostile at the moment and I had to take advantage of that.
“So what’s the story, ’Preme? Where are you taking me to?” I asked.
Supreme didn’t respond.
“If you wanna make it through this, Supreme, I can help you,” I stated as we passed exit 25 on the Southern State Parkway.
After having shot Horse I had built up enough credibility with Supreme for him to take me seriously.
“Help me how?”
“I can help you keep some money and make it outta this country with the money. And ’Preme, honestly, your only option is to bounce outta the United States,” I said rather frankly.
“We already got a plane to take us to St. Barts,” Supreme replied.
“St. Barts?” I asked with sarcastic curiosity.
“Yeah,” Supreme responded.
“Supreme, listen to me. Doctors save lives but I’m sure on the flip side that if they wanted to kill you painlessly they would know how to do it. And it’s the same thing with me being a fed. I lock people up and put them away for years, but on the flip side I also know how those same people that I lock up could get away with just about any crime conceivable,” I stated.
“So whatchu saying?” Supreme asked. From his tone and from his body language I could tell that he was game to hear what I had to say and game to trusting me.
“What I’m saying is if you go to St. Barts, you will get caught and extradited back here to the United States,” I replied. “They know that’s where all of y’all rap cats vacation at.”
“But we got a crib out there and we got a stash out there,” Supreme replied as we exited the parkway.
“Supreme, you could blow my brains out right here if you want to and get on a plane and take your chances. But you can also listen to me, and I’ll get you out of this jam, and my life will be my collateral,” I stated.
There was silence as we turned to enter into the airport.
“Okay, Supreme, here’s the deal. Whenever you see those major drug busts on TV, where they have the wads of cash alongside the bricks of cocaine and the illegal guns that were seized, what no one knows is that a lot of times the DEA and FBI agents take a lot of that cash for themselves. But they don’t spend it here in the United States. They arrange for it to be wired to offshore accounts that they have set up in countries like the Cayman Islands, or to Swiss bank accounts,” I said.
“Yeah, drive right over there. We can park the truck here and walk over,” Supreme instructed the driver. Then he turned his attention back to me. “So what exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying you need to transfer as much money as you possibly can into one of my offshore accounts that I have set up, and we—”
Supreme cut me off. “Get the fuck outta here! How the hell would I know if I was wiring my dough to a fucking government account?” Supreme asked. “I could wire the shit to my St. Barts account.”
Supreme was right, he could have done that, and he was also correct in being cautious about wiring funds to a bank account that he had no idea who controlled. But I knew I had to quickly convince him otherwise, because I really wanted the loot in my account. There was no other way to pull off my plan.
“Supreme, two things. Number one, you gotta fly to Mexico. And then from Mexico you could fly into Cuba. And in Cuba you could do whatever the hell you want to and not worry about getting extradited because the United States doesn’t mess with Cuba on any level. And not a lot of countries do business with Cuba, but with my Swiss bank account you could have the money wired even to Cuba. And that way everything would be untraceable and you would be good. The real players go to Cuba and hide out. Not to St. Barts or any island like that,” I stated. It was a lie but I knew that it sounded accurate and believable.
“’Preme, don’t fuck with this bitch!” one of the henchmen stated.
“Yo, let’s hurry up and get on this plane,” Supreme instructed as he exited the truck with his boys following his lead.
“Supreme, I’ll be with you and you can kill me on the spot if we get to Cuba or Mexico and the money isn’t available,” I stated.
Supreme walked close to his man and whispered in his ear. The guy nodded and then everyone was silent as we stood in the parking lot waiting for Supreme’s instructions. Supreme thought for a moment.
“Jessica, you gonna roll with us because you got that badge. And I’m gonna transfer seven figures into this account that you say you got set up. And when we get to Mexico, if that money ain’t there—”
“Supreme, it will be there,” I said, cutting him off.
Before long we all boarded an exquisite, custom-made, eight-passenger private Lear jet. Supreme spoke to the pilots and worked out the details of the changes to the flight itinerary. In no time we were taxing onto the runway, getting ready to take off to Mexico. The pilots explained to Supreme something that I already knew before I offered up the suggestion that we fly to Mexico. If we wanted to make it safely to Mexico, we would have to stop over in Texas in order to refuel the plane. Most small planes couldn’t make it directly to Mexico without refueling. Supreme thought nothing of it and he agreed to making the stop wherever we had to make it. His only insistence was that it only be one stop. And the pilots assured him that it would be.
As five of us sat in the passenger seats of the plane, Supreme and I talked. We prepared to transfer money into my account before any of his assets were frozen. From one of the phones on the plane, we would be able to access all of the necessary bank accounts and transfer the funds to and from the appropriate accounts.
I knew there was one thing that I forgot to let Supreme in on. My cell phone, which he had, was a government-issued cell phone, as were all FBI-agent equipment. And the cell phone had a global positioning system tracking device in it, which meant that no matter where we went, the FBI would be able to track us down with pinpoint precision.
The fact that my cell phone had not rang in some time was my confirmation that the FBI knew that something was up. Part of their procedures was to stop calling the cell phone to avoid any unnecessary suspicions and to immediately monitor the whereabouts of the phone via the GPS tracking system.
I knew that once we landed in Texas or wherever, that an army of law enforcement authorities would more than likely be waiting to make a surprise appearance. I just hoped like hell that I would not get killed before we landed and that I would actually be able to get Supreme to successfully transfer the money into my accounts.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After we had been in the air for about forty-five minutes or so, the mood on the airplane seemed as if it had become much less tense than when we first boarded the plane. That was in part because of the liquor that was offered up to everyone and passed around. And it was also due to Supreme probably feeling as if he was free and in the clear.
I wasn’t in the mood to drink, especially considering how my mood got drasti
cally altered whenever I drank. But I didn’t want to seem out of character or raise Supreme’s suspicions in any way so I accepted an eight-ounce bottle of Beck’s beer when it was offered to me.
“We’ll be in Texas in a few hours, but now this nigga is telling me that he can only fly us to Mexico!” Supreme shouted to his cronies, referring to what the pilot had told him.
“Yo, ’Preme, I’m telling you, fuck this whole Cuba thing. We need to go to St. Barts and do what you wanted to do from the jump,” one of the bald-headed henchmen said.
Supreme thought for a minute.
“’Preme, it’s not a big deal. We fly to Mexico and then we board a commercial plane and take that to Cuba,” I said, breaking Supreme’s train of thought.
Supreme looked at me without saying anything.
“Supreme, don’t sweat this. Matter of fact, what we can do is transfer the money now before my people realize what’s up and try to freeze your accounts, and when we get to Mexico we can double-check and you can see for yourself that I transferred the money to where I’m telling you I will,” I stated.
Supreme just ignored me. He went to the back of the plane by himself with his drink in hand and thought in silence for about fifteen minutes.
“Yo, ’Preme! The pilot wants to talk to you again,” Supreme’s boy shouted to the back of the plane, finally breaking Supreme’s train of thought.
Supreme took his time as he made his way to the front cabin.
I knew that I had to hurry up and get Supreme to transfer the money because I was starting to get a bad vibe all around. It just seemed as if Supreme was gonna change his mind about my plan, and if he did then I was surely gonna get killed.
Two minutes later I heard, “Fuck this! Yo, hand me my heat!” Supreme stated, sounding pissed off like he had just been disrespected or something.
“What’s up? What happened?” his boys asked.
“Now this nigga is telling me that we gotta make an emergency landing in St. Louis!” Supreme barked.
“For what?” I asked, trying to appear like one of the boys.