Goodfellas

by Carl Weber

  Bobby stood up. As he paced in the small area, he shook his head in disbelief. He had just gotten some of the best head in his life, but now he was directly involved in the murder of a man he’d never seen before. Demanding answers from Maria, he had to reconsider getting hooked up with the cartel or her in any type of way. Bobby was from the streets and knew drugs, money, and murder were all first cousins, but this kinda shit was too much.

  Maria finally had an excuse that Bobby could make out for her over-the-top reactions and brazen murder. “He’s Miguel, also known as the Lone Wolf. A dirty gang-hired assassin and thug that rivals our Sinaloa Cartel here in Laredo. The ruthless monster has a bounty on his head worth thousands. After all this time, he finally slipped up.” With quickness, Maria took out her cell phone. She tapped the camera app leaving smears of Miguel’s blood on the screen. She made sure the flash was on so it would take a good clear picture. She was fearless, showing no signs of remorse. Kneeling down close to the assassin’s face, she snapped his picture. After that, she revealed some truths about the dead man. “Several days ago, he killed two Sinaloa members. They were brothers. One of them was close, like family, to me. Rest in peace, brother.” She crossed her heart looking upward.

  “Oh, wow.” Bobby continued to wipe his face as he listened.

  “Yeah, his name was Pedro. This rotten scumbag right here cracked his head wide open. My friend’s brains were hanging out of his skull. Unfortunately, he wasn’t dead. He suffered. Miguel made Wan, his brother, eat some of Pedro’s brains while he was still alive.”

  “Are you serious?” He started to understand Maria’s rage.

  “Yes, Bobby, I am. Miguel was laughing at him like it was nothing. Then he tortured Wan until he gave up the location of a fully packed load just like this one. After that, he cut off Wan’s head. That son of a bitch was crazy enough to dump it in front of the police station. He is, or should I say was, a real piece of shit, do you not agree?” Maria stood up and spit on Miguel cursing his dead soul in Spanish.

  Bobby was flabbergasted. What she had just told him was like some old movie-of-the-week gangster-type bullshit. He had seen as well as heard a lot of wild things in his years of living, but this was over the top. And now, here he was, knee-deep, in the middle. For lack of words, he just nodded.

  Maria faced Bobby. She was unmoved emotionally about having just committed murder, let alone seeing the body slumped over in the corner just a few feet away. She was past that and on to something new now, something that was going to benefit them both. “Baby, just so you know, we’re splitting the bounty that was on this monster’s head. Just like we split the money from them people we helped get across the border. Me and you make a good team. We’re gonna make lots of money, and one day, get away from this dusty town and live like rock stars.”

  After what she’d told him about the crimes her victim had carried out, Bobby knew Maria had to do what she had to do. If it was his homeboy those things happened to, he’d be hell-bent on revenge as well—any way it came. Shrugging it off, Bobby’s mind was back on track once she’d told him they’d be splitting the reward money. “Oh, well. Fuck. This ho-ass nigga had that shit coming.”

  “Come on, let’s go get our money for the load we saved and this grimy pendejo.”

  Bobby hopped down out of the trailer first. Then, he took Maria’s hand, and she climbed down as quickly as she could. She wiped the blood off the padlock-turned-murder-weapon the best she could; then she clamped it closed and stood a few feet back. The two of them looked at each other and knew they had to get back to Bobby’s rig and her place as discreetly as possible. “Look, Bobby, we leave in like two hours. I’ll meet you back here after I shower and change clothes.”

  “Okay, cool, but what about him?” He nodded toward the trailer that was serving as Miguel’s temporary tomb.

  “Don’t worry, poppy. I’ma call the guy the organization uses to clean this type of thing up. No worries. I’ma show him the picture I took of him, proof that it’s him dead, and collect that money. We out here doing dirt, so we might as well get cashed out for what the dirt is worth. Do you not agree, poppy?” Standing up on her toes that still had blood on them that was now beginning to dry up, she kissed her accomplice on the lips.

  Bobby kissed her back. “Okay, bae, go ahead and do what you got to do. I’ma get cleaned up as well. Then I’ll drop my trailer and have my truck ready to hook up and go. You just hurry up and get back here. Oh yeah, and damn right, get that money. We need ours, every penny.”

  Maria went one way, and he went the other toward his rig. He was feeling alive with hunger to get back in the trenches of the dope game with a new look on life and more money than he dreamed of touching in this lifetime. He knew what he was about to do was a major risk, but so was anything worth having.

  Chapter Nine

  The Federal Correction Institution, Milan, is a U.S. federal prison in York Charter Township, Michigan. The prison is a low-security facility for male inmates. It was high noon and lunchtime inside the prison’s infirmary. Only the desk nurse was posted at her station. Her coworkers were gone to lunch. Federal Correctional Officer Santana Crews stood guard at Juan’s bedside. Officer Crews was watching the clock on the wall and looking down at the prisoner. Juan was lying in the bed with one arm strapped down. His body was broken up, battered, and bruised. The doctors had his head wrapped up with white bandages that made him appear to be a terrorist that tried to blow some shit up and failed. His left leg was in a cast, and he had a deep cut across his infamous family crest tattoo on his upper arm. Juan drifted in and out of consciousness. Now semialert, he sensed the officer didn’t care for him. It was apparent the way he was mean mugging him, but Juan could care less. He had more pressing things on his mind to think about. He wondered just how long they would hold him in this facility. He also knew he ran the risk of being deported back to Mexico because his paperwork wasn’t right. Most importantly, Juan wondered what the cartel had to say about his and Karen’s unfortunate arrest. He’d thought about her once or twice through this ordeal and hoped she was keeping her mouth shut, at least for her own sake. The cartel had yet to make contact, and he didn’t know how to take that—good or bad. Juan’s deep thoughts were interrupted when the otherwise secure room door opened. A man wearing a gray two-piece suit walked in as if he owned the place. His facial expression easily read “I mean business.”

  “Good day, Warden Valdez.” Officer Crews stepped back trying to look on point.

  Warden Valdez was stern. He didn’t make eye contact with Crews. The bigger-than-life figure literally grunted and tossed his head in the direction of the door, signaling Crews to kick rocks and leave the room. Officer Crews knew what that meant. He knew the power the warden had inside, as well as outside, of the building. Crews didn’t ask any questions. He just turned and walked out. When the door closed, the warden walked over to Juan’s bedside. Momentarily, he glared down at him with contempt.

  “Yeah, okay, so what’s good, old man? What the hell you want with me?” Unlike Officer Crews, Juan showed absolutely no respect. As far as he was concerned, matters couldn’t get any worse than what they already were.

  Warden Valdez straightened his tie as he stood tall. He was not moved by the inmate’s brazen mouth and attitude. He was beyond used to that behavior over the years and had grown accustomed to brushing it off. “Look, young man, I, myself, want nothing to do with you, but apparently, we have mutual associates. And those are the people that require something from you.”

  “What you say?” He now had Juan’s full attention.

  “Yes, they want to ensure that your people in Detroit are in place to receive goods from Laredo. Not to mention pay that advance ticket you yourself vouched for. Your life depends on it since you fucked up and allowed close to a half-million dollars of our associates to end up in the government possession. Not to mention the pipeline had to be refigured.” Warden Valdez never changed his expression. His tone stayed even as
he reached inside his jacket pocket. Seconds later, he pulled out a cell phone, handing it to him.

  Juan knew the cartel’s reach was far and wide. However, he was astonished and in disbelief that the cartel had a federal prison warden tied into their web of corruption. With his free hand, he took the phone. Juan knew the warden was correct. He’d been mixed in the business long enough to know the organization didn’t play around or tolerate fuckups. He’d firsthand witnessed people and their loved ones paying with their lives for mishaps less than his and Karen’s. He knew he had to make things as right as he could if he even hoped to live to get deported. He took a deep breath and tried to adjust his broken body. Juan dialed Greedy’s cell number he had memorized. He then said a silent prayer he’d pick up since it was a strange number.

  * * *

  Greedy was sitting outside in front of Talk of the City Barbershop. He was doing his usual, plotting and scheming on various ways to make cash. The fact that he’d hit a major lick was nothing. His uncle Ed had schooled him long ago to never count on just one stream of income. He advised him to have as many irons in the fire as possible if they all made sense and were, of course, profitable. Greedy followed that concept. With his seat reclined, he was waiting on a money drop while smoking a blunt. Snatched out of his concentration on the game, his phone rang. Lifting up, he turned the knob to the right, lowering the sound of the music he had blasting. Picking his cell up off his lap, Greedy looked at the screen. Squinting his eyes, he took a long, hard pull on his blunt, held the smoke in, then exhaled. He didn’t know the number. He took another pull, then exhaled a cloud of smoke again. Knowing what had taken place just weeks prior, he took a chance on bullshit and answered the call. Greedy tried to speak, but the good weed had him coughing hard into his phone when he regained his breath. “Yeah, who dis?”

  “Listen, my friend. I don’t have much time to talk.” Juan’s voice was weak, but his tone was deliberate.

  Greedy was overjoyed he’d decided to pick up the random number call. And more than relieved to hear the voice of his manz on the other end. He felt like the bank had just cleared a six-figure check. “Damn, what the fuck! My dude, I saw the news. That shit had me all fucked up in the head!” He wasn’t going to go into detail of what he’d seen on TV or ask unnecessary questions. Greedy was a vet in the streets and knew better. He knew if Juan was reaching out in his fucked-up position, it’d be best to listen carefully to what he had to say.

  “Look, that’s a mere minor setback. Nothing to concern yourself with, my friend. Only the business we spoke of before this jumped off. Everything is as I said it would be, do you understand? Everything is everything. Someone will be in touch shortly. Just be ready. Keep your eyes and ears open. And listen, don’t disappoint me, or it will cost you dearly, my friend, if you do.” Juan spoke in a stern voice. Then the phone abruptly went dead while Greedy still had it pressed to his ear. The Detroit-born and -raised thug was unbothered by Juan’s threats. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat and once again hit the blunt hard. He turned up the custom stereo and hoped the next connect person the plug sent would be smart enough not to get knocked like Juan’s dumb ass.

  As the music blared through the speakers, he looked up in the review mirror. Right on time, he saw the drop-off man pulling up behind him in a black Yukon. He got out of the truck carrying a red gym bag. When he got to Greedy’s ride, he didn’t get in. He didn’t say a single word. He tossed the bag through the rear open window onto the backseat and walked away.

  Greedy drove away from the curb. Aware of his surroundings at all times, the street-seasoned warrior took notice of a gray minivan with dark-tinted windows. It had slowly pulled out of the parking lot across the way from the barbershop when he did. Now, the mysterious van had gotten behind him. When Greedy bent a couple of corners, the van did too. On his job, Greedy reached for his phone that was on the passenger seat. “Yo, Gigi, heads-up, baby girl. I got visitors. Get them thangs ready.”

  Laying his cell on his lap, Greedy sped up. He hit the next corner, went two blocks down, and made a quick left. The van driver had stopped even trying to be discreet by now. He was almost on Greedy’s bumper. Greedy was calm. He was deep off into the game and lived the life. He hit the blunt one last time and tossed it out the window. When he got to the middle of the block, he slammed down on the brakes. The tires screeched as the vehicle he was driving came to a dead stop. The van stopped behind him, barely avoiding a collision. Cars were parked on both sides of the street. Greedy, along with the occupants of the van, were boxed in. In no time flat, the sliding doors on both sides of the van slid open fast. Two masked dudes in the back emerged with AK-47s. The front-seat passenger, also masked up, jumped out pointing a .40 cal taking the lead. The armed trio was ready for war. They wasted no time attempting to run up on Greedy, undoubtedly to relieve him of the money drop bag.

  They were quick, but unfortunately for their families that had to bury them, not quick enough. Four of Greedy’s hired killers, along with his bottom bitch Gigi, opened fire on them from both sides of the street. The would-be jack boys’ bodies were riddled, taking in bullet after bullet from various guns. The van driver was stunned. He, like his cohorts, didn’t anticipate things going down like they had. He tried to throw the van in reverse and get out of Dodge but backed into a tree. Terrified, he got out trying to run. Like his boys, he was cut down. They were all four left in the street to bleed out, if not already dead. Gigi lowered her firearm. She made eye contact with Greedy and winked. Knowing her man was safe, she waved at him, signaling Greedy to get the hell out of the hood and secure the drop-off cash bag. Greedy drove away knowing his girl was the hardest nigga on his team and could—and would—handle the rest.

  Without question, Gigi called him thirty minutes later. She assured him the situation was taken care of. “Yeah, bae, that was them ho-ass motherfuckers from the other side of the tracks. You know they always looking for a come up. But they barked up the wrong tree this damn time. We ain’t gotta worry about them no more.”

  “Good, because we gonna be all the way back up in a day or two. The new bag on its way to us as we speak. Juan came through even doe he sitting fucked up,” Greedy happily announced.

  “Now, see, that’s what I call a real plug. This motherfucker can get popped and still make the bag shake. Good. We almost done with this one we on now, and our money is right. That’s good shit, daddy, for real, for real. Well, I got a few more traps to re-up; then I’ll meet you at home. All this gun play got my pussy wet, so I’m gonna need you to pop this pussy for me tonight,” Gigi said seductively, sitting in her truck, rubbing her snatch box.

  “I’ll get that pussy out of the pound soon as I get to you. You know how I want it: face down and ass up. Keep it wet for me. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.” Greedy hung up the phone and blazed up another blunt.

  Chapter Ten

  Somewhere in an unknown location run by the DEA, Karen sat in a gloomy cell. With no windows, the eight-by-twelve confinement area had a table and two chairs. She sat in the chair facing the door with a small window. She could see people walking by every so often. Beet red in the face from crying for the last three days, she’d had little to no sleep. Since she and Juan had been apprehended at the hotel with the money, they’d been on her nonstop.

  DEA Special Agent Blane looked through the small window at Karen. He entered the interrogation room. He had a folder in hand that he kept notes in. Sitting down, he opened the folder and removed a pen from his button-up white shirt. “Now, let’s go over what you’ve told me so far.”

  Karen was sobbing hard as she tried to speak. “When can I go home? I have done nothing wrong. I’ve told you all I know.” Wiping her face with both palms of her hands her head was spinning.

  The agent stared at her blank-faced for at least a good five minutes. He then tugged at his necktie, unloosening it. It was obvious he was growing impatient with Karen and her declarations of innocence. He knew she was l
ying, and he wanted her to give up information that would put Juan and possibly his affiliates away for the rest of their lives. However, Karen was sticking to her story that she knew nothing about the money in the duffle bag. And she didn’t have any idea whatsoever where it came from. She claimed she’d been dating the man in question, Juan, off and on for three months. He called her and asked if she would like to take a ride to Michigan with him to visit family and friends. Her story was when he went to see his people, she stayed in the room alone until he returned. Karen said she never ever noticed a duffle bag until they were leaving the hotel room.

  The agent leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. “You know you’re facing thirty years hard federal time, don’t you? So let’s cut the act like you so innocent. We know all there is to know about you,” he barked out, tired of the game she was trying to run. Annoyed, he shuffled through the folder. He located her federal information packet the government had gathered since she’d been detained. He began reading out truths after truths. “Well, let’s see just how innocent you have been. You grew up in Iowa, Nebraska.” He then told her what high school she went to and when her mother died, she was thirteen. At age fifteen, she landed in a group home for sexually abused girls. “Yeah, that was when your father, the pedophile, had his way with you after your mother died and you got pregnant with his child. It says here when you delivered the baby he fathered, you reported him to authorities at the hospital. He’s still serving time on a sixty-year sentence that he got.” The agent was callous in intentions as he momentarily looked up, knowing he was breaking Karen down. Seeing tears form in her eyes, he continued.

  “You’ve been arrested for prostitution in eight states across the USA. In Florida, the police have been looking for you since 2010 in connection with a homicide of an off-duty police officer that liked to pay for your pussy on his downtime. Your prints were run through the system two days ago, and guess what? Bingo! We got a match that came back to you, Karen. So if you want to keep this dumb little white girl act up, I’ll get the paperwork started to transfer you to Florida. Or you can give Juan and his people up, and you could be placed in the witness program under our protection.” The agent had a smirk drawn on his face. He sat back in his chair feeling as if he’d slayed a dragon. “Well, what’s it gonna be, Karen? I’m tired of messing around with you.”