by Aija Monique
“Things will be fine, hon, I promise. I want you to go inside, lock up, take a bath, and get yourself something to eat. I need to talk to Jag about something. I’ll meet with the captain in the morning to see what type of funds we may be able to pull as well. Don’t worry, OK, baby?”
Cyrus looked deep into Casey’s eyes. It was his way of ensuring trust that she was all in and understood.
“Yes, baby,” Casey managed to say.
Cyrus planted a kiss on her forehead and headed back to his squad car. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he quickly dialed Jag’s number and told him to meet him at the spot to talk.
* * *
Cyrus walked into the tittie bar centered in the city of Inglewood’s gangland isle. Neither Jag nor Cyrus were worried. Not because of their badges, but because they were regulars themselves.
Cyrus was greeted by one of the dancers. His head rocked back and forth to the twists and winding moves of his temptress. Satisfied, he slid a crisp twenty-dollar bill down the crack of her ass “Twerk!” Cyrus said in a false Boston accent as he walked off after spotting Tre at the end of the bar taking shots.
Tre hurriedly finished his drink when he spotted Cyrus coming his way. He knew how Cyrus despised drinking. It was poison, he always said, and he would be shot dead by some smooth criminal, all because he was drunk off his ass.
Cyrus, of course, noticed Tre drinking, but there were far greater things to talk about at the present time than worry about Tre and his drinking issue. Cyrus took Tre by the collar to remind him that he was a police officer. An officer of the law and on active duty. He displayed his displeasure in his behavior. It was overkill, but Cyrus wasn’t in the greatest frame of mind.
“What’s up?” Tre said. He had a slight shiver in his voice. The men made their way to the booth in the back of the club.
“Where’s Jeffrey?” Jag questioned.
“He’s on his way. I wanted to meet with the two of you first.”
“Well, what’s up?”
“It’s about Luke. He needs surgery right away. Cas and I can’t afford to pay for it. I have to find a way to get this money. I can’t just sit back and let my baby die.”
“OK, so what we gon’ do?” Tre replied. Tre was the hit man of the group. He was a hothead and useful in many situations that were gang related. Tre rarely asked questions. He only needed to know when, where, and how much.
Cyrus’s eyes welled with tears. He knew he could count on Jag to be down, whatever the case may be, but they had never done anything remotely as dirty as what he was about to propose.
“All I need to hear is that you will rock with me. I can’t go this alone. I know Jag is in. He’s always in. It’s Jeffrey I’m a little worried about. He asks so many questions. People smell the law all over him before he can even get out of his car. Tre, what about you?”
“I’m in,” Tre confirmed.
CHAPTER 36
Los Angeles Police
Shake Down
It didn’t take long for the brothers to get into the gate and take over the truck full of drugs and money. The Mexican cartel set regular deliveries to businesses they owned in Los Angeles. Gathering intel for the heist didn’t take much. There were several disgruntled business owners willing to give up the blueprint stock and distribution. Jag took out the driver and passenger in close range before the driver could even get the car door open.
The rest was easy as pie. Cyrus, Jeffrey, and Tre jumped into the back of the truck and waited. Jag picked them off one by one. Then they went to work. Bags of money and drugs were stacked neatly in the truck. Cyrus wasn’t concerned about the drugs at all, but Tre was interested in the type of cash he could get from selling the drugs back to drug territories. Cyrus and Jeffrey brushed off Tre’s idea and kept loading their truck with the cash.
The plan was to steal only the amount they needed, but they had no way of tallying how much money was in each case, so they loaded as much money as they could in a matter of five minutes. Tre loaded a few bags of cash but took at least four duffle bags full of pure uncut cocaine. Cyrus may have needs, but so did he. He could easily flip the drugs on the streets. He wasn’t about to miss the come up. Plus, his plan was to get the dope and the money. Fuck the team goals.
Cyrus called out to Jeffrey and Jag to hurry along. It was time to move. The night was still dark, and the lights were out in the east block of Compton, so it made for a good night to rob someone blind. Cyrus and his partners rode off heading to East Los Angeles back to the warehouse where they would be safe. There, they would split the cash and make sure everyone was on point with the plan.
Once they drove into the warehouse, the boys jumped down from the truck and celebrated their riches. Cyrus placed his head in his hands and cried. He was sick to his stomach. He was both nervous and relieved.
“That was too easy,” Tre said as he grabbed hold of two of his personal bags of drugs.
“What you got there?” Jag questioned. Tre was gathering bags and placing them in a small pile. “It looks like you’re separating merchandise without discussing it with the rest of the group.”
“Oh, naw, this is my grip. You know, the drugs you guys didn’t want. I took ’em. I can get a ton of money for these drugs on the street.”
Cyrus was so angry he jumped in Tre’s face. “Why can’t you just follow instructions? We take just enough money to cover our debts.”
“We all agreed,” Jeffrey said.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jag said enraged. “You think you can sell pure cocaine on the streets and the drug cartel not recognize that’s they shit? You fucking stupid.”
Cyrus didn’t say a word. Jag had done a great job of explaining their thoughts and feelings on the matter. The problem now would be to get rid of the drugs.
“Tre, the drugs stay here. Right now, we don’t have time to deal with the drugs. We have to count this money and get home before light. Remember, we don’t know anything about the missing drug cartel money.” Cyrus and Jeffrey walked over to the back of the truck and continued to unload the bags of cash as Tre and Jag started the count. They split the money up four ways. By the time the group finished counting all of the dough, they had just over 2 million dollars apiece. Well over the amount needed for Cyrus’s problems, and any other problems they could imagine.
Jag smiled, and then grew sad when he realized he didn’t have a soul to enjoy his newfound riches with. He figured he would stash it somewhere and invest it little by little so that no one would get suspicious.
“I think we should be left to deal with our share of the loot. We split the money and drugs, if you wish. Each man here for himself,” Tre commented, looking as if he was possessed.
“Well, Tre, you do what you want. I have to get home and get this money to the hospital for my son. Please, you guys keep a low profile. All we need is to have the cops and the cartel hunting us down,” Cyrus said and lowered his eyes at Tre.
“Understood.”
* * *
For the next few days, it was business as usual, drug bust after drug bust, prostitutes, and domestic violence disputes. Cyrus, however, seemed on edge a bit because of Tre and his shaky behavior. It was like he was visibly shaking out of his skin at the mere sound of his name. His odd behavior was beginning to frazzle his own mind. Luke was due for surgery in just twenty-four hours, so the family was coming down from all over to make sure he awoke to support and familiar faces.
Jag was as quiet as a mouse. He was such a penny-pincher. He hadn’t purchase too much of anything, but he was eating well. Cyrus laughed at Jag as he picked up a piece of sushi and flung it across the table when he found out it was raw.
“You see that nigga Tre?” Jag said with a mouthful of rice and teriyaki chicken.
“Yeah, barely, though,” Cyrus responded.
“Yeah, well, he trippin’. I think he on that shit, Cyrus. We can’t afford any heat right now. The mob has a bounty out on the men that stole the loot, and the pr
ecinct ain’t taking it lightly, either. The mob has a bounty of a million dollars out to whoever brings us in. You know the cops are down to bring our asses in too. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tre didn’t turn us in himself.”
Cyrus didn’t say much. He never even looked up from his soup. The fact that Jag had all these ill thoughts about one of their own made him question his integrity as well. He understood that Tre was the least reliable of the bunch, but to accuse him of getting high off the cocaine was a bit farfetched—at least he hoped. It was quiet, too quiet, and it was only a matter of time when they would need to pin this ruse on someone. Cyrus had every intention of making sure the weakest link would suffer the consequences of breaking the rules of the brotherhood.
“Well, I hope he cool. I have to admit I am scared for him,” Cyrus spoke finally. “I would hate to have to kill one of our own behind such a slipup.” Cyrus took a hefty bit of his soup and flipped open his paper to check out the headlines. Sure enough, the greatest heist ever pulled was front and center. The blood brothers had stolen the spotlight. Famous they were, and they couldn’t even bask in it.
Jag continued to eat quietly as he thought about Cyrus’s words. He chalked it up to Cyrus just joking around. He figured Cyrus wouldn’t dare stoop so low as to kill one of their own, although as of late, he couldn’t be sure. Cyrus was much quieter than usual, as if he, too, was cooking up some sort of scheme. Still, they lived by the gun and would die by it. That was a pact Jag never questioned.
“Unit 216, we need you out at Twelfth and El Segundo, Protocol 116 in progress,” Cyrus’s radio chimed as the dispatcher called for all available units.
Jag dropped his chopsticks, rubbed his hands together, and pulled his police coat. Cyrus took one gulp of his soup, grabbed his things, and headed out of the small café.
“I hope to God Tre don’t get there first, cuz we’ll be looking at some serious time if he slips up and whispers a word out of context,” Jag said. He was nervous as hell about Tre’s disposition.
“Time!” Cyrus said. “We looking at a grave, Jag, six feet under. Forget your pension and retirement watch. All that gone with the wind. We better hope that Jeffrey slits his throat before Tre even breathes a word that could incriminate us.”
Cyrus and Jag were first on the scene. Tre and Jeffrey soon followed, guns locked and loaded.
“What’s up? Are we waiting for backup or what?” Cyrus blurted.
“Have we been waiting on backup?” Jag said to Cyrus who was acting as if he was a rookie.
“Nope, but in light of our latest dealings, I was unsure if we needed to play it safe and wait on the boys in blue to assist. Show an act of teamwork,” Cyrus stated.
“Shut up, Cyrus. You thinking entirely too much now. You know good and well that ain’t our style, so let’s get this done.” Cyrus made a note that Tre was looking a bit dehydrated and out of sorts. His mouth was snow white, and his hair and beard were untamed, something that was highly unusual for Tre. He was the pretty boy of the bunch.
Cyrus took another look at Tre; then he nudged Jag and took a look at Jeffrey to see if he too recognized how unstable Tre appeared. He was certainly not himself. He was shifting his aim, sweating profusely, and a tad jittery.
“Man, this nigga on like Donkey Kong,” Jag said irritated and ready to pop Tre right where he stood. “This man gon’ get us killed. Cyrus, just say the word, mane. We can’t go in home with this mess going on.”
“We don’t have a choice. Let’s get this shit done. If he screws up, shoot him and ask questions later,” Cyrus instructed as he ran up the stairs to the project housing complex.
CHAPTER 37
Los Angeles Police
Act of Justice and Self-Preservation
“Jeffrey, grab the loot,” Tre said, panting and moving nervously around the room. “Hey! Don’t you move a fucking muscle,” Tre said, pushing the barrel of his gun on one of the cartel members.
“I got it. Just be cool. We are here for the money and drugs. Period.”
“Hurry! We have to clean this shit up before our colleagues get here.”
“Do you know who I am?” one of the men lying on the floor said.
“I could care less,” Jag said, stepping over the other bodies of the cartel.
Just as Jag made it to the entranceway, he heard a spray of uncontrolled bullets resounding. “Damn, Tre.” He was on his own murdering members of the cartel.
The police sirens resounded, and the light show began on East Twenty-fifth Street. Cyrus, Jag, and Jeffrey jogged down the steps of the project stairs high-fiving and applauding the search and siege of one of the biggest drug cartels of Los Angeles.
“Drugs and money secure, slowpokes,” Cyrus laughed as he punched one of the uniform cops in the shoulder.
“Yeah! Can’t beat you and your crew to any of the showdowns out here in the mean streets of LA. I want in.”
“You already are. The uniform is all you need. Just try pressing a little harder on the gas.” Jag laughed. “You drive like you driving Ms. Daisy or some shit.”
The uniformed cop was not amused at all. He was sure Cyrus knew exactly what he was referring to. He may be wet behind the ears, but he was a true white-bred hick that played dirty. It was kill or be killed out there, and he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, including dirty money. It all spent the same. Talk on the force was that the blood brothers were a force to be reckoned with. They took down more drug lords than the state of California, New York, and Florida combined.
“Where’s Tre?” Cyrus nudged Jag with a worried look on his face. He was trippin’ lately and screwing up some major deals. Tre was shaky at the least, dropping evidence and doing surveillance without gloves.
“I don’t know,” Jag replied. “Shit, go check around back. Last thing we need is that nigga fucking shit up.”
“My son’s life is on the line,” Cyrus chimed in, whispering into his best friend, Jag’s, ear. “If we must, I will take him out, blood or no blood, brother or no brother. Find him.” Cyrus grunted as he holstered his weapon. He knew that they had already covered Luke’s treatment. He was getting greedy. Stealing from low-life criminals proved to be worth the risk, thus far. “I’ll get this paperwork complete. You and Jag get the loot and the drugs to the evidence locker and take our cut to the safe at the warehouse. I’ll meet you there in an hour. We need to talk,” Cyrus directed and sped down the road.
* * *
Jeffrey, Jag, and Tre headed out to the warehouse to start cleaning up their mess while Cyrus went back to the station to finish things up there.
Tre was in the backseat of Jag’s car tripping, whispering to himself and loading his weapon repetitively.
“Yo, Tre, stop doin’ that shit, bro. You makin’ me nervous as shit with that.” Jag was getting furious with Tre for his continued stupidity.
As Jag pulled into the warehouse parking lot, Tre was acting as weird as ever. He was shaky and breaking out in a cold sweat. Jag jumped from the car quickly and began unloading the truck as Tre still remained posted in the backseat.
Jeffrey pulled in to the warehouse moments later and was shocked to see Tre sulking in the car, toying with his pistol. “Bro, why are you still sitting in the backseat? We have work to do! Are you high or something? Cuz if you are, I’m telling you now you had better get your shit together before Cyrus pulls up. I’m serious.” Jeffrey looked deep into Tre’s face so that he could understand the sincerity and the seriousness of his words. He was worried about Tre’s fate. Cyrus had made more than one comment in regards to ridding himself of Tre.
“You gotta help me, Jeffrey. Cyrus is going to kill me, I know it. He thinks I would rat us out to the boys or even the mob. I see it in his eyes. He’s never liked me, Jeffrey. You know it too. Just don’t let him kill me, bro. We brothers, remember?” Tre was hanging on to Jeffrey’s collar for dear life, trying to convince him to save him from Cyrus’s wrath. “I can’t go in there. If I stay out here, I’m
out in the open. He won’t shoot me out here.”
“Get your ass out of this car, now!” Jeffrey said low and deep. “Calm yourself and let’s count this money. After this, you and I are going to have a little chat about your drug addiction and rehab.”
Tre lowered his head and slowly got out the car.
“Grab a bag and let’s go,” Jeffrey urged as he spotted Cyrus’s car pulling up. “Look, Tre,” Jeffrey said, “just be cool.”
Cyrus parked his car and hopped out. He walked briskly toward the warehouse entrance.
As soon as Jeffrey whispered “be cool” into Tre’s good and sane ear, his entire body tensed. He started fidgeting and dropped the bag full of cocaine onto the dusty road. Suddenly, $80,000 covered the ground like snow. Cyrus was livid. Tre dropped down to his knees, scampering around, trying to save the cocaine for future use.
“Get the fuck up, Tre, we got work to do. Jeffrey, get something to clean this shit up. We may have to turn the soil a few times to get the crystals out of the dust, but if we are found, the K-9s will sniff this dope from a mile away.” Cyrus was still mumbling about Tre’s latest fuckup.
Cyrus raised his head and dropped the bags onto the ground just in front of him when he was met by Tre holding his rifle to his head. Jag and Jeffrey quickly responded by drawing their weapons.
* * *
Back to the present . . .
Cyrus sat still, staring off into space. The thoughts of the stolen money and his colleagues still weighed heavily on his heart. He didn’t want to relive the happenings of Los Angeles Police, but the same persona he left behind, he needed for his present situation. Recalling the events during the heist helped put his mind back into perspective. Cyrus could still see Tre drooling and foaming at the mouth. He was unrecognizable. Cyrus shook his head and started the car. He had to find a better way to communicate with Dana. He couldn’t be sure of Sophia’s plan of action, and he wasn’t going to take the gamble on his wife and son’s life. He’d lost so much already.