by Anna J.
“By the looks of this room, I guess this meeting is more serious than I figured.” The accent wasn’t lost on the person on the line. A voice and accent the person hadn’t heard in years. The feeling was mutual when Junior listened to his response.
“I don’t think it could get more serious, old pal. I’ll be there in five minutes. I know you don’t eat meat, except fish. They got this restaurant on Washington Ave. It’s a seafood place. How ’bout we grab a bite?”
“Pleasure, then, brethren.”
The line went dead, and Junior went to his carry-on bag and removed a sealed cigar box. Removing the seal, he took out a tightly rolled leaf of Jamaican weed and went to the deck, where he lit it and inhaled deeply. When the potent smoke filled his chest, he held it momentarily, then exhaled a thick white cloud of smoke. Junior felt relaxed.
Thirty minutes later Junior sat in Joe’s Stone Crab Restaurant, eating a healthy plate of baked fish, steamed vegetable brown rice, and freshly blended mango and banana juice. Before the dishes were served, he was able to get reacquainted with his host.
“You look like you haven’t aged a bit.”
“Whatever it is you want, flattery will work in your favor. Too bad I can’t say the same for you, old friend. You need to change your diet and habits.” Junior smiled.
Agent Doyle shrugged his stooped shoulders at Junior’s comment. The relationship between the two men went back years, to when Junior led a vicious attack of the Shower Posse on the streets of New York and Doyle investigated them. Unable to catch Junior himself in a RICO indictment because of Junior’s son, who ran the day-to-day dirty work, the FBI decided to indict Donovan and other members of the posse, including Daphne. It was an indictment that led to the raid that resulted in Donovan’s murder, Daphne’s conviction, and a bloody war on the streets.
Agent Doyle had set up a meeting with the then forty-year-old Junior at a Brooklyn hotel, knowing the murderous reputation he had. Junior commanded a posse that did not hesitate to murder a federal agent, and afterward, Junior respected Doyle even more.
Doyle personally sent a reef of roses to the funeral of Donovan and his condolences to Junior and his wife. He expressed the same condolences at the Brooklyn meeting, where Doyle made the only unethical decision of his long career. It was a decision in which, he felt, the ends justified the means.
At the time, too many bodies were popping up around New York and his caseload was growing because of the posse. So for Junior’s promise to stop the war going on in the streets, Doyle gave Junior the names of the informants among Junior’s crew. Among those informants were a few people who were responsible for the indictment and convictions.
“A diet? The only thing I need to cut back on is police work. It aged me beyond my years,” Doyle said before ordering a huge plate of fried jumbo shrimp, baked salmon with a butter dip, and buttered noodles, which he washed down with white wine.
Junior studied the aging cop and laughed to himself at his style. His white, short-sleeved polo shirt fit loosely around his upper body but was stretched by his protruding gut. The navy blue Dockers were wrinkled, and he wore no socks with a pair of not-so-shiny hard-bottom shoes. The seventies-style Vegas shades made him look even more comedic. After their meals, Doyle got right down to the point of calling Junior.
“Junior, it’s like the talk we had twenty years ago in Brooklyn ... ,” Doyle began as he stared directly into Junior’s gray eyes. Immediately, he remembered that time when he told his partner that he felt like he was going to pass out after staring into Junior’s eyes.
He relayed to Junior everything that had been going on in the investigation of Ruby and the murders. Junior listened intently. When Daphne’s name was brought up, Junior’s eyes squinted and he folded his arms across his chest.
“Over the wire we placed in Davidson’s home, we received information about the kidnapping of Tashy Williams’s daughter. Tashy Williams is the daughter of a guy named Scooter Williams.” Doyle paused, waiting to see if the name registered. When it didn’t, he continued. “This Scooter is a powerful guy with connections high up in city government and the underworld.”
The two men paused as a waiter walked over and asked if they needed anything else.
“Let me get another glass of wine,” Doyle said, “and the check.”
When the waiter left, Doyle looked around at the other tables. They were mostly filled with young, tanned couples having giggling conversations, oblivious to the New York federal agent and the old, dangerous Jamaican gangster who was responsible for at least 5 percent of the homicides in New York in those years.
“So what can I do for you?” Junior asked.
“Talk to Daphne. Tell her to let the girl go. There will be a war bloodier than any of your past ones combined.” Again, he paused as the waiter brought his drink and the check.
“And what about the murders already done? Will Daphne have to go to jail for them?”
Doyle sighed. Once again, the ends were justified by the means. “What does she want? I know you know what this war is about, Junior. She still confides in you. This is off the record.”
Junior knew he could trust Doyle’s word. It was not like Doyle would go incriminate himself and risk ending his career behind the walls he’d put so many people behind, and Junior had enough dirt to do just that!
“Davidson is responsible for the murder of Daphne’s older brother years back. She wants revenge,” Junior murmured.
Doyle looked into his eyes and, with a serious expression, said, “I give her Davidson, she leaves the country, and the murders go unsolved.”
“What about what’s on them wires?”
Junior did not know that Doyle had lied about receiving the information from the wiretaps. He’d actually got it from an informant on the street who was a member of Daphne’s crew. He had to keep some cards in his hand covered.
“There’s nothing on them to implicate Daphne in the murders. If she leaves the country, the kidnapping goes unsolved and there is a statute of limitations on that charge.”
“I’ll call her,” Junior replied.
Doyle sipped on his wine. “Can you guarantee the release of the girl?”
Junior chuckled. “Have the years and bad diet clouded your memory, too?”
Doyle smiled. The world could do without a Ruby Davidson, he thought, rationalizing everything.
Outside the restaurant, before both men went their separate ways, they shook hands.
“I have to go,” Doyle stated. “I have a flight scheduled to New York leaving in an hour. So what will you do while you’re in the States?”
Junior smiled mischievously. “I still got moves, mon. I’m going to a reggae club to dance with the young people.”
“Time for me to take off this Miami attire and get back to the icebox up north. It was nice seeing you again, Junior, and once again, thank you.” Doyle chuckled.
“It’s nothing, mon. Soon me call you for a favor. I just hope I don’t have to book a hotel in Jamaica to ask.” Junior nodded.
Too many things were going through Daphne’s mind for her to concentrate on a casual sex partner doing what most women would say was a good job at eating pussy. The dark-skinned Taye Diggs look-alike moaned between Daphne’s legs while she lay on her back with her legs resting on his shoulders. She had situated herself in the Bronx condo, on a king-size bed in a room that was plush and comfortable. From time to time, he would look up at her between his moans and hard breathing and notice her staring into space. Her mind was in some other place. It bothered him that she wasn’t into it while he was doing her a service, and he wondered how she would act when the roles were reversed.
“Stop. That’s enough,” Daphne suddenly snapped.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Daphne got off the bed and walked to the armchair, which held her clothes.
“No, it’s not—” Interrupted by the vibrating cell phone, she removed it from her jeans pocket and looked at the s
creen. “Hello,” she answered softly.
“Daphne?” the voice hummed.
Daphne instantly recognized the voice as Junior’s and looked back at her naked partner and placed her hand by her mouth for him to remain silent.
“You’re in Miami? Why?” she inquired.
Junior never came to the United States without informing her so that she could have something arranged for him. Most of the time he would stay at her guesthouse and she would arrange for a car to pick him up and take him wherever he wanted to go. This was unusual.
“I had some urgent business to take care of,” he replied.
“Are you coming to New York?”
“Are you on a private line?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Go public and call me at this number,” Junior ordered.
Daphne didn’t hesitate in leaving the condo and giving her lover a rain check. She had enjoyed the guy’s company and he had a mean tongue, so she would definitely be back, but when Junior called and said something, Daphne would stop everything to get it done. Even a bomb-bursting orgasm.
On the way to a public phone, she made a call on her phone, asking if Ruby had made the drop yet. She had already made it clear to Tashy how much she wanted. A quarter of a million in clean, hard cash. When she found out the drop hadn’t been made, she was furious.
“They think it’s a game? Show them it isn’t,” she said into the phone, then hung up.
As she parked her car in front of a bar where a group of young guys stood, Daphne studied them before exiting. She realized they had to be hustling in the freezing cold. From the way they were bundled up, they had been out there for hours, and once they saw her, they tried to get her attention. A beautiful black woman jumping out of a luxury car didn’t intimidate these young cats.
Ignoring them, she went into the bar and used the pay phone on the wall in the back. Music and smoke filled the bar, which was good. It would mask her and her conversation with Junior from prying ears. Daphne made the call. It was answered on the first ring, and Daphne never had a chance to speak.
“Let the girl go.”
“I don’t understand what ...” Daphne’s heart skipped a beat.
Junior cut her off. “Daphne, you know what I’m talking about. Forget the money and let the girl go. You can still get what you seek. She is at her home now. Get it over with now. When it’s done, there is a flight booked to yard. LaGuardia, tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. Be on it.”
“Junior, why are—”
“No need to get into it. Get it done.” Junior ended the call.
Daphne hung up the phone, confused and infuriated. Who had told Junior of the kidnapping? Even more confusing was why he wanted the girl let go. Who had talked to him about that? Daphne thought about who she was related to and realized Tashy’s father was powerful, but that meant nothing to her or Junior. The Shower Posse feared no one. Except the FBI.
Was Junior in bed with ... Immediately she chased the thought from her mind. Junior would never. She would get to the bottom of it in Jamaica.
Simone knew it was now or never. She faked as if she was asleep on the cot while her two dreadlocked watchers were also asleep on their own cots. One of them was supposed to stay up while the other slept in five-hour shifts, but these two smoked weed all day and night, and after eating Jamaican takeout, they’d fallen asleep.
The first night they did it, Simone fell asleep at the same time they did, after catching a contact high from the weed. Plus, the full stomach of brown rice and beans, plantains and roti, didn’t help her cause, either.
This time, she stayed up. As one of them snored, she knew she could tiptoe without waking them. They had made a fatal mistake by leaving her untied, thinking that fear overcame her will to escape. They were wrong.
She steeled herself, repeating that she was the daughter of Tashy Williams and the granddaughter of Scooter. They had learned to take fear head-on. Slowly, Simone rose off the cot, and her face scrunched as she got a whiff of her own body odors after two days without a shower. Though it was light outside, she was unsure as to what time it was and couldn’t see the sky through the dusty windows, which needed to be cleaned. There was a door at the far end of the hangar that she knew was open. It was one of those doors with a lock on the outside, but once inside, you could just turn the knob
Still, she could hear her own heart as it drummed within her chest. Opening the door slowly, she stepped out into the cold. A welcoming cold. She took in her scenery and realized that the warehouse was on a long block of other warehouses. At the corner, she saw the Manhattan Bridge and knew she was in Brooklyn. Even though she didn’t know exactly where, she was happy to be in the city.
Did her captors assume that she knew nothing of the city since she lived in Long Island? Well, they were wrong, and she was glad that the city was her playground and she knew how to get around it. So she ran. Back in the warehouse, a cell phone rang and awakened one of the men.
“Blood clod!” he barked as he shook his companion. “Fresh, get up! The Yankee gal, where she?”
He looked at his phone’s screen to see if he recognized the number, and when he didn’t, he calmed down and answered.
“Paul?” Daphne asked.
“What go on, Daphne?” he greeted, as if everything was normal.
“Let the girl go.”
Paul thought he heard wrong. “Come again?”
Daphne sighed and growled, “Paul, let the damned girl go. Don’t ask questions. Just do it, now!”
Paul couldn’t have been more relieved. The kidnapping didn’t matter, anyway. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if she hadn’t said that. They didn’t fear Daphne, but they did fear her connection with Junior McLeod. None of them wanted to be on his bad side; it was an express trip to the grave.
Paul looked at his partner, shrugging his shoulders.
“Who dat? Daphne?”
“Yeah, mon.”
“We got to find that Yankee before she return,” Fresh said.
Paul shook his head. “Nah, mon. Everything cool. Daphne say let the youth go.”
“Just listen, Ruby!”
“Listen to you tell me how you broke into my crib? Listen, Mona, you don’t know me that well. I got a lot of things on my plate right now, so don’t make me have to beat your ass in here for real,” Ruby said in a leveled tone. To accent her point, Ruby pointed her index finger and showed her the rage in her eyes. Tears welled up in Mona’s eyes.
“Ruby, someone kidnapped Simone. That’s why I’m here!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Ruby snapped. “You sneaking into my house don’t help bring her back.”
Mona wiped a tear that flowed down her face. “I know, I know, but I think Simone’s mother and grandfather are sending someone after you. They’re blaming you.”
“What? Where did you hear that?” Ruby asked.
“I called Simone’s mother, and she told me what happened. She must have been in the middle of a discussion with her father and another man. She forgot to press the end button on her phone, and I heard the conversation. I was worried about you,” Mona said in a worried tone.
Ruby was tired of Mona’s obsession, but with her revelation, Ruby put that aside for now. Mona might have saved her life with the info. Did Tashy actually think she was behind the kidnapping of Simone? Tashy must think Ruby was petty. Why would she ask for a quarter million when she knew Scooter was worth millions? And she knew Scooter would pay the ransom and would use the whole issue as an excuse for why Simone should stay in Long Island with him. Which would be ironic, since she was kidnapped from Long Island.
“How long have you been in my house?”
“Long enough to hide in the closet and watch some men break in here and put in wires. I think the feds are listening to us,” Mona whispered.
The agents in the van outside went still when they heard Mona’s statement. They looked at each other as one picked up a walkie-ta
lkie and announced, “We’ve been made.”
Agent Doyle’s voice came through the walkie-talkie, responding to the agent in the van. “Shut it down and get out of here.”
The agents left. They did not know Doyle was parked five cars behind them on the opposite side of the street, watching Ruby’s home. He was there to make sure Daphne got her revenge with nothing else getting in the way. It would kill two birds with one stone, he figured.
With the murders of Breeze and his family on Ruby, he could say that she was killed in revenge. The murders of the family would be solved while Ruby’s killers were on the run. That was Doyle’s plan. Unethical, but society wouldn’t lose a prominent, productive member, and he wouldn’t have to spend his last year on a wild-goose chase and dealing with mountains of paperwork.
“You sure it was the feds?” Ruby whispered, grabbing Mona by the hand and leading her toward the door.
“It definitely was. I heard things they were saying. They were happy that the wires were in place, and they tested them by speaking to whoever is somewhere listening,” Mona explained.
“We gotta go, then,” Ruby mumbled.
“Where are we going?” Mona asked as Ruby pulled her toward the exit.
“Somewhere other than here. I have to think.”
Drinking a cup of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts, Doyle waited. He knew Daphne would be pulling up any minute, and the agents hadn’t made him aware that Ruby’s life was in jeopardy, after hearing what Mona had told her about a conversation she had with Tashy.
They were angry that they had got made and forgot to mention it to Doyle. If he had known, he would have warned Daphne that Ruby knew.
He watched as Daphne, in a green Camry, parked the car across the street from Ruby’s house, on the empty block. It was perfect timing. Then his peripheral vision caught some movement, and as he turned, he recognized a familiar face walking up the block. The man was also looking at the brownstone, as if he were searching out an address. Sonny Brown was here to kill.