Unraveled - A Short Story Collective

by KR Bankston

  *****

  “So what’s the plan for tonight?” Dirty asked Devastator as they drove away from the restaurant.

  They were flossing the Porsche 911 Turbo S today, black with the spoiler, 19-inch chrome wheels, black tint with the windows up, but they had the top down today. They enjoyed all the looks from women as they drove by or stopped at lights.

  “Well let’s see what they’re about first,” Devastator replied. “Then we’ll go from there. If they’re just chicken heads or gold diggers, hell we know what to do.”

  Dirty joined him laughing, Yeah. Fuck 'em and dump 'em.

  “I like the looks of the lil' chocolate one. What’s her name again?” Dirty asked.

  “Taea, I think is what old boy said,” Devastator replied.

  “That’s a nice enough name. I’ll just call her Tee though, that way I can’t mess up,” Dirty laughed again.

  Normally he didn’t care what their names were. They were just sex to him, but Devastator told him they had to be gentlemen tonight.

  Dirty didn’t really get it, but Devastator was his friend and he’d done a lot for him over the years. They were tight and he’d never wronged him, so if he wanted this one thing from him, no problem. He would play this little game. Hell it might even turn out to be fun, Dirty thought.

  2

  Dirty and Dezi had some business to attend to before meeting up with the ladies later in the evening, as they pulled into the parking lot of their private office plaza and entered the building headed up to the top floor. From the casual observer’s point of view, this meeting would look just like any board meeting in any boardroom in America. But make no mistake, the men seated around this table were as deadly as they were intriguing. Devastator was almost ready to call the men to order to tackle that day’s agenda. Dirty was seated to his immediate right, and Monster, his top enforcer and bodyguard, sat to his left. The others were masters of various specialties: prostitution, drugs, money laundering, guns and gambling.

  The cartel had no real holdings. But the dummy corporations Devastator created and legally established to launder money from the illegal activities had multimillion-dollar holdings and investments. Both Devastator and Dirty kept their own individual holdings in several off shore accounts making them both millionaires several times over. However, that was their money and they weren’t going to reveal that to any of the Clique members.

  The agenda included some house cleaning. There was a hole in the operation. Revenue had been coming up short and locations had been raided. Devastator suspected a leak and told Monster to check it out. The culprit, Bone, had done a fairly decent job of covering himself until he made a fatal mistake of confiding in a woman. This particular woman, Honey, was one in his stable of hookers. She loved and worshipped Devastator, being faithful for years. She had come to him and laid out his whole plan. Then Monster had been sent to check it out, and found it was Bone as Honey had said.

  Bone had aspirations of grandeur of taking over The Clique, thinking he was better suited for the job than Devastator because he had been in the game longer. He’d been tipping off the police to locations to raid in exchange for protection of his growing investment. Bone was double dealing with Devastator's suppliers, cutting side deals for himself, thus weakening the flow to the street. He’d even put his own stable of girls on the street to compete with the ones already established by The Clique. Now, having received the report, Devastator knew he had to do what was necessary.

  “Gentlemen, lets begin,” began Devastator as he called the men to order. “The first orders of business I want to address are the fluctuations in revenue we’ve been experiencing.”

  Dirty was just ready to do the deed, as patience was not his strong suite. He knew about Bone, and he knew what they were going to do. Why do we always have to go around the maypole with this shit? he thought. Dirty loved that Devastator made them money and got them respect, but he often wondered why everything had to be such a long drawn out process with him. Devastator loved the dramatic as much as he loved the bloodshed, unlike Dirty who simply gave it to his victim’s straight, no chaser. Devastator enjoyed the thrill of tormenting his victims and took every opportunity to do just that.

  Devastator was still talking. Sounding like the CEO of a Wall Street company, Dirty thought and chuckled lightly.

  When he saw Monster begin to move slowly and methodically from his position at the door, Dirty knew it was almost show time and could hardly contain his excitement.

  “We have found the source of the problem and have come up with a viable solution to vastly improve it,” Devastator concluded.

  As soon as the words left his lips, a single gunshot rang out from Monster’s gun. The .357 Magnum ripped through Bone’s skull, spraying blood and tissue on the members sitting closest to him. Before even realizing he’d been shot, he was dead.

  “And that, gentlemen, will end our revenue shortage,” Devastator continued calmly to the horrified men still remaining at the table.

  The two unfortunate men, who’d been sprayed, were busy trying to clean themselves off.

  Dirty clapped his hands and gleefully said, “Next order of business?”

  The men were speechless. They all knew Devastator was nothing to play with and that he had a serious reputation, but they truly had no comprehension of the depth of evil he was capable of. Devastator delegated this kill to Monster, leaving the body for the remainder of the meeting as a reminder to those who may have aspirations they hadn’t shared with him. He and Dirty were in charge and they weren’t looking for any more partners. The meeting lasted another 45 minutes, covering all the tasks they were undertaking for the month. After he was finished talking, Devastator asked for any questions.

  Receiving none, he said simply, “Meeting adjourned,” and told Monster to take out the trash lying on his boardroom table.

  *****

  “Man that was excellent,” Dirty laughed as they traveled on the expressway heading to see a dealer. “Did you see the looks on their fucking faces? ”

  Dirty was almost beside himself now, laughing so hard that tears were beginning to run down his cheeks. Devastator had to admit he’d enjoyed the show. He always loved it when the plan was right and carried out correctly. That one had been done to perfection.

  Now, he was concentrating on the task he and Dirty were on their way to. One of the street-level distributors ripped off the Clique for five thousand dollars. Not a lot of money, actually pocket change for him and Dirty. Devastator supposed some would even wonder why they would personally handle the punishment, given the seeming insignificance of the amount.

  He sighed lightly thinking these were the same people who would think nothing of killing someone over a color worn, or a city block they never had or would own. Devastator was a business man, and for any form of mercy or weakness to be shown to someone who’d wronged him, would signal the beginning of the end of everything he’d ever built. It was the principle they were concerned with, and others trying to follow suite. For Devastator, principal was one thing worth killing over.

  “What time is this fool supposed to be home?” Devastator asked Dirty, whose laughter had subsided to an occasional chuckle.

  “Supposed to be there around 6:00,” Dirty replied. “That’s what Red told me.”

  Red was a crackhead, but he was generally accurate in the information he gave Dirty and Devastator about anyone they were inquiring about.

  “All right good, that gives us time to get in and set up,” Devastator replied, thinking ahead.

  Here we go again, Dirty thought. They were going to kill this guy. Devastator wanted to kill not just him but his whole family, except the kids of course, which didn’t bother Dirty at all. He just hated once again, the theatrics of it all. They arrived at the dealer’s house. No one was home, just as Red told them. They eased around to the back door of the small, modest ranch home, picked the lock and entered the house.

  It was a pleasant house for someone making
minimum wage at a job. It was furnished nicely with high-end pieces. Way more than this fucker could afford. Probably did it with the money he stole from us, Devastator thought as he looked around.

  The house was neat and clean. Family photos lined the mantle above the fireplace. Devastator stepped up to look at them and saw they had three kids, two little ones and a teenage daughter. The mother was a fairly attractive woman, he thought. He chuckled to himself, knowing that Dirty would do her.

  Devastator made his way through each room. The master room was theirs he knew. It was neat, bed made and furnished in simple earth tones. The next room was the kids’ room he surmised, finding lots of stuffed animals and Tonka trucks.

  The last room was the teenager’s. Devastator found posters, CDs, and of course clothes thrown everywhere. This was the messiest room in the house. He chuckled again, thinking he would never allow his teenager to keep their room this messy. There he went again, thinking about shit that didn’t exist. He couldn’t help it, often wondering if he would ever have kids or a semi normal life doing what he did. Now, wasn’t the time to think about that, Devastator thought as he cleared his head and refocused on the task at hand.

  After he made sure the house was empty, he began to set up for the evening’s pleasure. He’d brought some of his favorite toys: the straight edge razor, 9 mm chrome pistol, .380 magnum pistol and his brass knuckles. Devastator sat down in the kitchen at the table, propped his feet on it and popped open one of the beers he’d found in the refrigerator and waited. Dirty hated this part. He hated waiting on them to come home, but Devastator loved that element of surprise thing. He loved the look on their faces when they walked in and found them waiting for them. Sometimes, Dirty had to admit he really liked it, too. He just hated the waiting part. This time he’d brought some chronic. He rolled a fat one and smoked. That would keep him mellow and the target should be home in a few minutes anyway. Then they would have some real fun. Dirty knew the wife and the teenage daughter were good looking. He was horny and he would have him a little fun before Devastator killed them.

  Dirty already knew his role here was simply support and having his friend’s back. He knew Devastator loved killing them in groups. It was the one hang up he had. We all got our little quirks, so what the hell, he thought.

  Dirty heard the car pull up and looked at Devastator who had that little smile playing on his face. Dirty knew it was show time. They both kept quiet, listening intently. Devastator heard at least five voices that he could pick out, two of them kids. He would get rid of them first, Devastator thought to himself, pulling the mask down over his face. Dirty did the same. The lock clicked and the door opened, the kids running in first, as the adults followed.

  As soon as he heard the door close and the lock click, Dirty stepped out of the shadows, glock drawn and hammer pulled back. The woman saw him first and screamed, catching everyone else’s attention and Dirty pointed the gun right at her. She stopped screaming. Devastator grabbed the first kid, who looked about six or seven, and held the chloroform to his nose. He struggled for a minute or two and was out. He repeated the same with the other kid who was about five. Devastator took the kids, one under each arm, and put them in a bedroom, closing the door behind him and propping a chair against it. He walked back into the living room where Dirty had all the victims seated and took off his mask.

  The look on the dealers face was priceless. He gasped and immediately began to explain, plead, and beg. Devastator was genuinely amused and laughed. It never failed that they always did this when he showed up. He couldn’t understand it. Why didn’t they just do the right thing in the first place and avoid his visit. Didn’t they know that once he came there was no more space to negotiate?

  “What’s shaking man?” Devastator asked the dealer nonchalantly.

  Dirty who’d removed his mask by this time, was smoking a cigarette, eyeing the wife and daughter of the dealer.

  “N-N-N-Nothing,” the dealer stammered “Man, I was gonna bring yo’ money tonight, I swear it.”

  Devastator shot the dealer a no nonsense look. He fell silent for a minute, then began talking again.

  “Man I know you gonna kill me, but please let my family go man,” he was crying now. “They ain’t do nothing. I did this man, me.”

  That’s when Dirty saw it, and no matter how long he’d been with Devastator it still made him cringe. Devastator’s eyes went flat and cold, his nostrils flared, his voice became low and hard. He spoke directly to the dealer.

  “I’m going to kill everybody in this fucking room, but I’ma save your thieving ass for last. I want you to live long enough to see me kill everything you love,” Devastator told him matter-of-fact.

  “I’ma let Dirty here do your wife in front of you. I’m going to make your daughter suck my dick. Then I’ma let Dirty, do her too while you see her cry and scream,” he continued, feeling colder and meaner by the moment.

  “Then I’ma beat on your woman for a while, fuck her up real good. Then I’ma kill them, one by one, slowly, and for me, enjoyably, while you watch. The last memory you have, will be of them looking into your cheating, stealing, lying eyes, asking you why you killed them.” Devastator finished up, still looking him in the eye. The dealer was truly inconsolable at this point.

  “Man, please, please man!” he cried almost screaming. “Let them go, they ain’t steal yo shit! I did it man! Punish me!”

  Devastator looked at the dealer again, but Dirty knew he wasn’t seeing him. Wherever his friend’s mind was right now, it wasn’t in this room.

  Copyright © 2008 KR Bankston All Rights Reserved

  There are winners and losers, amateurs and professionals, but to survive this hustle, you must be the cream of the crop, the master of manipulation and happenstance, the ultimate ……

  King of the Game

  By KR Bankston

  Copyright © 2007 KR Bankston. All rights reserved.

  Is it ever okay to lie to someone you love?

  ARMANI PROCTOR, co-founder of TMK records, is a successful businessman with a dark past he’s trying desperately to leave behind. His deepest desire is realized when he meets a beautiful reporter and falls in love, only to have that love threatened when his old life begins to clash with his new.

  SYDNEY HOLLINGSWORTH, senior writer with Mover & Shakers magazine, is the woman who captures Armani’s heart. Everyone loves her and her refreshing realness, but Sydney has a dark and clouded past of her own that she keeps and tries to outrun daily.

  Join our cast and their supporting players and see for yourself if Armani truly is, King of the Game.

  Introduction

  The Music Kingdom, or TMK as it was known was the latest in a string of African American labels to flourish, as the once dying metropolis of Detroit revitalized itself in the last five years. It was by the far the most successful of the pack with at least five of the fifteen artists signed to the label, charting in the top 100. Here they would kick off the thirty-city tour for TMK’s newest success, Kenton. Everyone was busy setting up, and making sure everything was in place for tonight. He was the headline act, with two other label mates, Tajdra and Muxix Box, opening for him.

  They were up and coming artists, also on TMK’s label. The public relations machine had been at work for months now, hyping Kenton and his CD. He was the newest twenty-two year old R&B sensation, and his CD was skyrocketing. The women loved him. The guys tolerated him, sometimes emulating him, using his music as a tool of seduction for the women in their lives. They’d done public appearances, radio shows, morning shows and the like. Now it was time for it to pay off. The kid was almost becoming more of a liability, than an asset these days.

  Armani Proctor was a man who took his business and his money seriously. He was one of the owners of TMK, as well as executive producer for most of the artist’s work that came through the label. He’d spent a lot of money on Kenton, and Armani wanted to make sure he got a sound return on his investment. They were playing the MetroP
lex Theatre. It was a fairly intimate setting, but he’d known they could sell it out, which they did, for both Friday and Saturday night. Armani planned to have Kenton return again once he became more widely known, and play a larger venue. For now, he would work with the Plex.

  *****

  His cell rang and he answered. “This is Armani,” he said smoothly. The party on the other end gave him some unsettling news.

  “Thanks for calling,” he returned. “I’ll take care of it,” he finished, the scowl deepening on his face as he hung up. This damned kid better start making us a whole lot of money real fast, Armani thought angrily, as he dialed his partner.

  “Hello Armani,” Bert greeted him.

  Armani returned the man’s greeting, and proceeded to tell him what he’d just been told.

  “Hmm,” he replied again. “Take care of what’s necessary,” he told him. “However, please make Kenton aware this is the absolute last time,” he continued. “Once more, and we will nullify his contract,” he finished in a no nonsense tone. Armani sighed deeply, and told him he understood.

  “By the way Armani,” Bert began again, “There is a meeting with the stockholders tomorrow. I want something excellent to tell them,” he said, his tone leaving no room for error.

  Armani almost laughed aloud, at his reference to the silent partners as stockholders. They were a lot of things, but ordinary stockholders they were not.

  “I understand,” he replied. “Trust that I will do all in my power to assure that happens.”

  Bert sighed softly, and told him that was good because their continued existence depended on his report.