by Linda Verji
If Vance could, he would’ve already funneled RayRay’s inheritance into his own accounts and offed him. But Big Ray had been prudent enough to make sure that RayRay only got a set amount each month and not a dollar more.
Tick, tock, RayRay. He was living on borrowed time. The moment Vance found a more lucrative source of money, he’d meet his maker. Tick. Tock.
“Vance, they’re here,” a man’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker just as a black town-car crawled into the video’s eye-line.
Vance dropped his blunt on the carpeted floor, stumped it out with the heel of his handmade Berlutis then ordered, “Go!”
Squealing and tire smoke filled the air as three full size SUVs emerged from the shadows to surround the town-car. Runners spilled out of the vehicles and started to shoot. The ear-splitting sound of bullets peppering glass and metal rent the air. The steel pellets dented the town-car, but soon it was obvious that none of them were going through its body.
Bullet proof.
“Keep shooting,” Vance ordered tersely. They’d have to get out of there eventually.
Only they didn’t!
Someone emitted a pained groaned. Vance thought it was someone from the car but when the camera panned toward the sound, it was to find a Runner stumbling to the ground clutching his shoulder. The town-car’s windows were still up rendering it impossible that the shot had been fired from there.
A crack rent the air and another Runner screamed. He collapsed to the ground clutching his wounded knee. Panicked, the other men turned their guns towards the roof of the warehouse, spitting bullet at their unseen shooter. Their efforts were in vain. Another Runner crumpled to his knees. Another screamed as a bullet pierced his stomach. One by one, Runners fell as the shooter picked them off in rapid-fire sequence. They were being annihilated so fast they had only one choice; to run.
“Find that motherfucker,” Vance screamed into the phone but no one was listening to him. His men were too busy scrambling away. “Where the fuck you going?”
The angle of the camera suddenly changed as the Runner shooting the video dropped the gadget, giving Vance a skewed view of his men, ducking towards their vehicles chased by crack of the unseen shooter’s gun.
“Shoot him,” Vance yelled.
Trucks roared to life and peeled off with those Runners quick enough to make it while the wounded ones writhed on the floor unable to follow Vance’s orders.
“Are you fucking with me?” Vance cussed. This is what happened when you sent boys to do a man’s work. Fine! If they couldn’t find the sniper then he would. He pushed open the door. “Bitch ass nigg-”
His words were cut off by a sudden whizz and shattering as a bullet went right through the open door’s window. Fuck. Vance yanked the door to a quick close. He launched forward to pound on the fully raised darkened partition separating the rear cabin from driver and yelled, “Drive.”
Even RayRay was jolted out of his stupor when the car abruptly bucked. Both men hang on to their dear lives as the limo charged away from that shooting field. It wasn’t until they were safely on the main road that Vance released a heavy breath.
What the fuck just happened? He liked to think that he was immune to fear, but how could he explain the still frantic pounding of his heart. If the video footage of his men and the bullet hitting his car was any sign, he’d been undeniably close to death.
Who was that man? How was he capable of taking out a whole gang? Instant anger filled Vance because that man had managed something very few men could. He’d scared Vance.
“What happened? What happened?” RayRay asked in a dazed tone.
“Shut the fuck up.” Vance kicked the other man’s leg violently. He cocked his arm and threw it forward. His fist met RayRay’s face with a satisfying crunch. “Shut the fuck up.”
He pounced on RayRay with the force of a man possessed, throwing punches at kicks at him in quick-fire intervals. RayRay cowered in the corner of the limo, whimpering with his arms over his head to block Vance’s blows. On and on, the violence continued until Vance’s anger and fear eased and his hits slowed down. By the time he sat back in his seat, he was calm again.
He wasn’t too worried about RayRay squealing. Feed him a little more coke and by morning he’d be ready to believe that he was attacked by unknown assailants.
Vance tapped on the darkened partition and ordered, “Stop at Iona’s crib.”
A few minutes later, the limo crawled to a stop. There was a slam of the door as the driver exited the car. A second later, the back door opened. Vance stepped out of the car and straight into a gun pointed at his forehead.
The man from the club was behind the gun. He smiled cockily and mocked, “Glad you could join me.” He tilted his wrist to glance his watch. “Just on time too.”
Vance’s heart jolted in immediate fear. But his expression showed none of it as he stared at the man. “Who are you?”
“Call me Cabrera.”
CHAPTER 8
Thugs were so predictable. Puncture their egos and you could forecast their reaction like a newscaster revealing the next day’s weather. Vance had fallen into Nic’s plan as if he’d led him by hand straight to it.
“What the fuck you want?” the gangster demanded but received no answer from the other two men in the room with him. Nic and Diego watched him with both amusement and irritation.
A single bulb hanging from the ceiling lit the space they were in. The room had once been someone’s bedroom, but it was now a ragged memory of itself. Bullet wounds crisscrossed the peeling paint on its walls to merge with the spray painted warnings. There was no furniture except for the chair Vance was seated on and the wooden table in front of him.
Nic circled the hooded man tied to the chair. His silent footsteps barely disturbed the quiet silence of the abandoned house. The only sound was the rhythmic flicking sound as he flipped the spear point blade of his folding knife in and out of its enclave.
The lack of action had to be grating on Vance’s nerves, but Nic dragged it out, prolonging the man’s agony. He settled on the table, flicking his knife back and forth for a couple of minutes, before he leaned forward and brought the end of the knife towards Vance’s neck. He flipped the black hood backwards, and it fell away from Vance’s face.
Gone was Vance’s smug smile and its place was a flinty expression. His vacant eyes centered on Nic for a pregnant moment, slid to Diego who was standing by the door, then back to Nic, as if he were memorizing their features. An unconcerned Nic flipped his knife back and forth and let Vance stare. The man would need a face to put to his nightmares when Nic put him down.
“I’ve heard about you,” Vance broke the tense silence. Of course he had. They were both in the same trade albeit on different levels of the hierarchy. He added, “Been trying to get with you for a while myself.”
Nic didn’t answer. He lowered his eyes to fit the tip of the blade in the space between his nail plate and nail bed and flicked away an imaginary speck of dirt.
“Word on the street is you’re looking for a Cali connection,” Vance continued undeterred. “I could help with that.”
Nic looked up. His voice was icy when he spoke. “You tried to kill me.”
“My bad.” Vance grinned and gave an unapologetic half-shrug. “You should’a let me know you were Cabrera instead of smoking my men.”
“You tried to kill me,” Nic repeated as he flicked his knife back and forth. Vance watched the knife with expressionless eyes but his shoulders stiffened. Nic smiled. “Your mistake is that you failed.”
Nic’s foot moved so fast, Vance didn’t even have time to react. The seat tipped backwards and Vance fell to the ground with a pained “Oomph,” and rolled to his side still tied to the seat. “Fuck.”
Nic stood from the table and crouched next to Vance. “If you’re going to try to kill someone like me, make sure you succeed otherwise you might end up in a situation like this.” He brought his knife closer to tease it over Vance�
�s neck. “But I have a feeling this advice might be too late for you.”
Vance pulled his head back to avoid the knife. “Shit, nigga, I ain’t know who you were.”
“Nevertheless, you tried to kill me. Vance. Vance. Vance.” Nic tutted and he shook his head as he pressed the tip of the knife into Vance neck. “It’s a pity I have to kill you now. I was looking forward to working with you.”
“Do what you gotta do.” Vance offered him a smile, no fear reflected in his amber eyes. “But you know and I know that you ain’t gon’ find another one good as me around here. I got the biggest operation in - fuck it, I got the only operation in Oakland and I’m pushing into the rest of Cali quick. You got the product; I can move it-fast.”
Nic looked down at Vance, his eyes narrowing at the other man’s blitheness even in the face of danger. He wasn’t surprised that Vance was putting on a show of bravado. He hadn’t expected any less from the man who’d climbed his career ladder by piling bodies behind him. Say what you would about Vance, but a pansy he was not. He was the type to go out guns blazing.
Nic straightened to his full height and smiled. “I like you, Vance. And it’s your lucky day because I just made another lucrative deal earlier so I’m feeling generous.”
He walked around to the other side of the fallen Vance. The other man’s body stiffened when he touched his arm, but Nic only put his knife to Vance’s ropes. A few cuts and the polyester twine fell away releasing Vance. Vance quickly scrambled away from the seat and rose to his feet. His gaze never leaving Nic’s, he shook his arms to get the blood to them.
“Tell you what?” Nic shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it, along with the knife, to the table. “I’ll give you an opportunity to fight me for the deal and your life.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed. “That right?”
“That’s right. You win, you and I discuss a deal.” Nic unclasped his watch and handed it to Diego. He strode forward and kicked Vance’s former seat. The loud rattle of it sliding across the floor and hitting the wall boomed in the room. “You lose, I kill you.”
Vance’s gaze took on a measuring look as his journeyed up and down Nic’s body. Noting what any blind person could see, that Nic was less muscular and a few inches shorter than him, a smile lifted one end of his mouth.
Rookie mistake one. Underestimate your opponent.
Vance’s eyes slid to Diego in question.
“He won’t interfere.” Nic planted his feet wide apart, the adrenalin starting to pump through his veins and course into his blood. He couldn’t wait to get to Vance. He’d been craving a piece of the man since he’d first heard that he’d threatened Melanie.
Nobody threatened Melanie.
Vance removed his jacket and threw it to the table. Twisting his neck back and forth, he cracked his knuckles ominously.
Rookie mistake two. Flaunt your strength. It will only make the fall more embarrassing.
“Easiest deal I ever made.” Vance’s laughter held an edge.
“We’ll see,” Nic baited.
He’d barely got the words out before Vance charged him. The larger man came rushing, head forward, in a fast run. It was good thing Nic was prepared for a sneak attack otherwise he would’ve been mowed down like a hit and run victim. He side-stepped Vance easily, then back kicked him in the spine. Vance fell to his knees heavily with a grunt.
Unconcerned, Nic folded the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Vance rose to his feet and turned to face Nic again. The arrogance was now tempered by a healthy dose of wariness as he glared at Nic. This time when he charged, he didn’t go for a football tackle. Instead he cocked his arm and threw his fist towards Nic’s face.
Nic moved his head smoothly backwards, arching his back with the movement. The punch whizzed harmlessly above his face, the air whistling with its force. He came up quickly and sent his own fist forward. His punch struck Vance’s belly with unerring accuracy. Beneath the suit, the man was hard as a rock and a shock of pain seared from Nic’s whole fist to his hand. It didn’t stop him. He followed the punch with an extended foot that sent Vance stumbling backwards.
He watched with a disconnected gaze as Vance struggled to straighten up. When Vance looked up his face was knotted, his nose flared and his teeth clenched in a combination of anger and pain. The look would’ve made a weaker man run for the hills. It made Nic smile in satisfaction. It felt good to give the man something to feel. His smile must have angered Vance because this time the man charged with nary a care for finesse.
Rookie mistake three. Lose your temper.
Vance’s lack of control was his undoing. Nic feinted to the right. When Vance followed the same direction with his fist, Nic moved smoothly to the left easily avoiding the punch. Nic raised his arm straight in the air and brought his palm down like an axe into Vance’s shoulder. Vance let out a groan of pain and grabbed his disabled shoulder.
After that any chance Vance had of winning – if he’d ever had any-evaporated.
Nic raise his knee and threw his leg in kick that had Vance clasping the side of his body. Nic pressed his attack by overwhelming Vance with more kicks that had the man shuffling backwards.
Now that a win was practically guaranteed, Nic released his pent up rage on the man. Each kick was designed to cause as much pain as possible. Multiple kicks on the knees, the thighs, several on his waist, some on his injured shoulder; for every kick Vance tried to block, five more hit their target until he stopped even trying to block.
For Melanie.
Nic raised his knee, spun mid-air and threw a round-house kick that hit Vance in his face. Vance nose spit out blood, speckling the concrete floor, and he fell to his back in heavy crash and groan that echoed in the hollow room.
He was down.
Nic strutted to the table and picked his knife. He moved forward and stopped at Vance’s side. The man face was covered with blood and his mouth was open in a gasp. Breathing like a fallen bull, Vance tried to raise his head. Nic pressed his shoed foot to his neck. “Stay.”
Vance stared up at him, rage and fear visible in his stony gaze, but he stayed down.
Nic flicked the knife too and fro as he stared at the prone man beneath his feet. The cocktail of emotions swimming in the man’s eyes were satisfying. It would’ve been so easy to plunge his knife into the man’s heart right then. And he wanted so badly to do it. The man had terrorized Melanie and her family, among many other families, for way too long. It was time for someone to take him out.
Diego cleared his throat.
It was that sound that brought Nic back, reminded him that killing Vance would be like cutting the head off a hydra. It would only grow two more. The Runners were the hydra and the only way to stop the scourge was to burn it down completely.
“Like I said, I like you and it’s your lucky day.” With a smile, Nic removed his foot from the other man’s throat and held out his hand. “I might even give you my business.”
It took a while but eventually Vance took the hand and allowed Nic to help him to his feet. Nic ordered, “Diego, hand the man your handkerchief.”
As Vance wiped his nose with the offered handkerchief and put on his jacket, he never took his eyes off Nic. His gaze now had that glimmer of new respect as well as caution that Nic was used to in his associates.
While Vance cleaned up, Nic sat on the edge of the table, straightening out his sleeves and slipping on his watch in silence. Vance stumbled to the chair, creakily picking it off the floor before plopping on it on a pained breath. He finally asked, “So what you got for me?”
“Not so fast.” Nic shook his head. “I’m not sure you and the bunch of putas you run around with can handle my business. Given your sloppy performance tonight, you can understand why.”
Vance eyes flickered in muted anger. “We can handle it.”
“I’m not an unreasonable man. I’ll give you all a chance to prove yourselves.” Nic shrugged. “I have a little task I need taken care of. If you and your m
en handle it without fucking it up then we can discuss further project.”
“What’s the job?” The man’s hard tone was indication enough that he was eager to prove himself.
Nic drew out the moment, shrugging on his jacket and straightening the fabric before turning back to Vance. “You’ve heard of The Photographer?”
Vance shrugged. “Here and there.”
“Here and there, indeed.” Nic chuckled. The extent of Vance’s association with The Photographer was way more than ‘here and there’.
The Photographer was a moniker for one of the most elusive human traffickers this side of the Pacific Ocean. He’d made a name for himself by moving blue-eyed blondes with dreams of being models to the Middle East. There, eager buyers waited to marry them, enslave them or force them into brothels.
He was hard to catch because for each shipment, he used a different set of amateurs to scout, kidnap and transport the girls. The amateurs at each point of the line didn’t know who was next in the line. They didn’t even know who their employer was. Except for the anonymous email with instructions and the large advance dropped off at their doorstep, they rarely-if ever -had any evidence of his existence. All this secrecy ensured that when caught, they never had anything to trade the authorities.
Rafaél’s asset, Jiggy, had informed them that The Photographer had a job coming up and was using the Runners to kidnap the girls.
It was information Nic had full intention of using.
“I want those girls,” Nic said.
Vance considered him then smiled. “When?”
Thirty minutes later, Vance exited the abandoned house to find his limo parked outside it with RayRay snoring in the back. Minutes later Nic and Diego stepped out. Like ghosts they melted between the buildings closest to the house and into the shadows, easily losing Vance who was trailing them. Rafaél picked them up a distance away from the house, in a new town-car to replace the one the Runners had destroyed.