Corrupt City

by Tra Verdejo

  Tuna hung up the phone then grabbed his money and went up to the fifth floor. He went in the closet and pulled out a loaded AK-47 and two hand grenades. He leaned back against the kitchen wall, from where he could watch both the front door and the windows connected to the fire escape. Those are the only two places where Lucky could enter through.

  Tuna was sweating, and his hands were shaking. He kept switching from different aiming position every ten seconds until help arrived. His cell phone started ringing again, and it was the commissioner.

  “I hope you have good news. I’m sweating up here like a little bitch.”

  “Calm down. They’re outside. There are three of them, and they’re sweeping the area. Hold your position for a few more minutes.”

  “Okay, hurry up.”

  “Wait five minutes and come downstairs. Once you see them, you will recognize who they are. Remember, five more minutes.”

  “I got it. Five minutes.”

  Tuna started to feel a lot better knowing he wasn’t alone. He put the AK and the grenades back in the closet and pulled out his 9mm Glock. He grabbed his bag full of money and drugs, and proceeded to go downstairs. He took his time, stopping and looking around at every step, aiming his gun everywhere. He didn’t trust Lucky. He was good at sneaking up on people.

  He finally made it downstairs and opened his front door. He walked outside and noticed who the commissioner sent. He’d called the mob and got him some Italian help.

  Tuna quickly ran to the car they were standing by, jumped in, and told them to hurry up and drive away. He kept looking back, making sure no one was following them. The Italians drove him to a secret apartment, where he could relax while all the heat on him died down. They drove to the Bronx, Little Italy off Fordham Road.

  When Tuna arrived, the commissioner was there waiting for him, looking like a hot mess. The recent allegations against the police force were breaking him down mentally and physically.

  “Brandon, are you okay?” Tuna quickly asked. “You don’t look good.”

  “Of course, I don’t look good. By tomorrow morning, the headline will be another blow to the police department and City Hall. I’m almost positive they will reopen the Cardinal case. I’m not really worried about myself. I will be okay and beat these charges. But this won’t help the case against you and Perry Coleman. And I’m hearing they’re about to release both Rell Davis and Juan ‘Pito’ Medina.”

  Tuna shot back, “Are you serious? They can’t.”

  “They will. That means they believe Lucky and the evidence backing up his claims. That also means, at the end of the day, I will lose my job. The media is already talking about who’s going to replace me.”

  “I’m sorry, boss, but we can’t quit. We need to find this pig and somehow flip this whole thing around on him. We need to look into his past and find something sentimental besides his daughter. There has to be something we could find. I remember, when we were after M&M, he got close with that gangbanger name Thirty-eight. We all thought Lucky had turned his back on us for him. I know for a fact Thirty-eight will definitely bring Lucky out of hiding.”

  “So where is Thirty-eight? How can we find him?” Commissioner Fratt asked.

  “I don’t know, but I know I can find him a lot quicker than Lucky.”

  “Okay, that’s our last resort. I have some people who might be able to help you find him.”

  “I got this one, trust me. I will find him. People like him don’t leave their neighborhoods.”

  “Just give me till the morning, Tuna. I’ll have someone for you. Meanwhile, get comfortable and relax. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  They decided to talk about different scenarios and strategies.

  Meanwhile, Lucky was sitting at Angela’s kitchen table, going over a few last-minute details. First, they needed to discuss where they were going to next, because Cape Cod was no longer safe.

  “Okay, Tasha, you tell me where you want to go, sweetheart.”

  “Atlanta. A friend of mine lives there. Actually we used to work together. I visited her last year, and I love it out there.”

  “Atlanta, that’s not a bad choice. Call your people and tell them to get you plugged in with a realtor, because we are on our way.”

  “Are you for real, baby? We are moving to Atlanta? Thank you so much. I thought you wouldn’t go for Atlanta.”

  “Baby, it’s all about you and Tamika. If that’s where you want to live, then let’s do it.”

  Tasha, jumping up and down like a little girl, went to tell her mother the great news.

  Everyone was excited about moving to Atlanta. Tasha made reservations with a villa company, and they put a four-bedroom villa on hold for sixty days while they get settled in Atlanta.

  While the girls were packing, Lucky was outside sitting on the porch thinking about Diamond and how much he was really missing her. He only hoped she was safe and didn’t grow to hate him. In his heart, he knew he did the right thing, but he knew he was wrong for the way he played it.

  For a quick second, he thought about disappearing and never showing his face ever. He thought he had done enough damage. But there was another side of him that couldn’t let him quit until he killed both Speedy and Tuna.

  Tasha came outside looking for him. “What’s up, baby? Why are you out here by yourself? What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m just thinking. I want to stop and just stay in Atlanta and never show my face again, but then I still have business I need to close. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, baby, I think you should close those open businesses, and do it now. That way they don’t haunt you forever. We will wait for you. We waited seven years. What’s another few weeks? It’s in God’s hand. If destiny wants us together, I will see you again.”

  They both sat there in silence for about thirty minutes, until Tamika came outside and asked her mother for something to eat. Tasha went in, and Lucky stayed out there until everyone finished eating.

  They loaded up Tasha’s car and hit the road. Lucky even left his van parked by the diner. There was nothing in that car that would connect anything back to him, except the New York license plate.

  Tasha barely spent any of the money Lucky sent her, and so she had over a hundred thousand dollars saved up. It was about a twenty-five-hour drive to Atlanta, so Lucky had plenty of time to think about his next move. He was still undecided.

  While Tasha and Lucky drove through the night, Tuna was up himself thinking about his future. He wasn’t sure if he would be around any longer. At this point, there were only two choices—getting killed or going to prison. He didn’t like either one.

  Tuna didn’t sleep at all. He couldn’t wait for the morning news to come on. He wanted to know what the latest news was. He wasn’t the only one. Everyone was waiting for Destine Diaz’s report.

  When the morning came around, the commissioner was right about the media. They were hanging the police department and blaming them for everything that had occurred.

  “Good morning. It’s Destine Diaz, Channel 5 News. I have the latest update on the two New York officers killed in Cape Cod. We know for sure one of the officers was Steve Stanley, better known as Loose Cannon, who was currently on trial for the murder of Perry Coleman. We still haven’t received any information as to why he was in Cape Cod. While on bail and on trial, you need permission to leave the state. We are still investigating to see if that permission was filed or even granted.

  “The other officer was a federal agent, and his name has still not been released. The federal government doesn’t release the identity of their employees, but they are confirming one of their own was found dead. He was found across the street from the post office behind a diner, beaten to death with a blunt object. The feds are denying any involvement or connection to the standoff between Officer Steve Stanley and another unidentified African-American male, in which another woman was taken hostage. Despite their denial, the evidence doesn’t look good. There are wi
tnesses putting both Steve and this federal agent inside the same car parked across from the post office for hours. Post office cameras show Steve Stanley inside, watching the area where the P.O. boxes are located. One could only speculate about the woman Stanley was after, and about that unidentified male who confronted Stanley as he stepped outside. We will have more on this story as it unfolds.

  “At five o’clock today, we’ll also have more updates about those five folders that Officer Donald Gibson sent us. I have updates on the releases of two inmates, and more on the cardinal. I might also have an update on Perry Coleman’s case and trial. This is Destine Diaz, Channel 5 News.”

  Tuna sat there in disarray, on the verge of insanity. For a quick second, he thought about cocking back his gun and blowing off his head. He really gave it a serious thought. Losing Loose, his right-hand man, was a hard pill to swallow.

  Commissioner Fratt returned from the store with the newspaper. On the cover of one, there was a picture of a police station and the caption “Corrupt City.”

  “Tuna, look at this. This is just cruel. After all we’ve done for this city, this is how they treat me over one lousy mistake or allegation? Listen, I have someone coming down this afternoon to help you find Thirty-eight,” he said.

  “I don’t need help. I know the area. I’ll be back before noon. I’ll call you if I find him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. We don’t have time to wait until this afternoon. You sit tight and stay away from these papers. Don’t believe what you read.”

  Tuna snatched away all the newspapers he bought and threw them in a large black garbage bag. He got dressed, took the trash out, and headed for the projects. He jumped on the Bronx River Parkway, merged onto the Bruckner, until he reached Third Avenue, and then he parked.

  He decided to walk around and try to get a closer look. Tuna was unshaved, and his clothes were not ironed, so he figured he would blend in. He looked like just a poor White man living in the projects or a crack-head.

  He started walking and realized things had changed since they shutdown M&M. He noticed a lot of freelance dealers. A few years back, only one gang was allowed in the projects, not multiple associations. As Tuna was walking around, this young kid was signaling for him to come his way.

  When he got closer, the kid said to him, “What’s up, White boy? What you need?”

  “What you got? I just came home yesterday. I’m used to buying trays.”

  He laughed. “Trays? Damn! That’s old-school. Get in the building. I got you.”

  Tuna followed the kid in the lobby of the building, where there were two of his friends. It was ten o’clock in the morning on a school day, and three seventeen-year-old kids were pushing crack and smoking weed.

  “Hey, you. White boy here just came home. He’s looking for trays,” the young hustler said.

  His two friends started laughing, and Tuna played along, laughing with them.

  “How much time you did, White boy?”

  “About ten years. I was drunk and high behind the wheel, and I crashed into a family van. I killed the driver.”

  “Damn! That’s ill. At least you’re home now. I guess your skin saved your ass, ’cause if that was me, forget it about. Anyway, enough fuckin’ talking. Let’s get down to business. I got dimes, big fat rocks for you. Since I like you, three for twenty-five. We family.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll take the three. Man, I remember when M&M used to run this shit here. That’s when I used to fuck with that dope.”

  “Oh, you remember M&M? Well, they all dead now. The last living member, what was his name? It was after a gun. Oh yeah, Thirty-eight. He was killed last year. He was trying to run shit like the olds days, but too many muthafuckas in the hood own guns. You can’t boss people around anymore. Anyway, here you go, White boy. Now, get the fuck outta here. You fuckin’ up my swagger.”

  Tuna, disappointed to hear that Thirty-eight was killed last year, walked away upset. He smashed up the crack he’d just bought, jumped back in his car, and headed back to Little Italy. He was going to call the commissioner, but he figured he would rather tell him face to face.

  When he arrived back at the house and told Brandon that Thirty-eight was killed last year, Tuna was surprised he wasn’t upset.

  “Don’t worry about Thirty-eight, Tuna. I have better news. You wouldn’t believe the phone call I received an hour ago. I need to you to come with me downtown Manhattan. We have a tip about one of Lucky’s hideouts.”

  “About fuckin’ time. Give me a few minutes to wash up and change my clothes.”

  Tuna was excited to hear about the tip. Hopefully they could find and kill Lucky once and for all.

  A lot of New Yorkers were calling on the federal government to help restructure the system and clean the dirt. The voices of the people were being heard loud and clear, so the feds were looking into numerous options, which included dispensing the National Guard into the streets of New York to reduce crime.

  City Hall had major concerns about rioting. So the federal and the state governments were coming up with a strategy to build a working relationship in order to climb out of the hole Lucky threw them in.

  The governor of New York, Andrew Silver, was overseeing the crisis, and he wasn’t a happy camper. He hated dirty cops more than criminals. He visited Gracie Mansion for a quick lunch with the mayor.

  “Good afternoon, Governor. Welcome. Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry I have to visit to discuss bad news, but our jobs are always taking us to unwanted territory. Anyway, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just fine, Andrew. No need to worry. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Ralph. What the fuck is going on here? You think I don’t know about Donald Gibson? How come you can’t kill one little rat?”

  “It sounds easy, but this son of a gun is one hell of a rat.”

  “Was that a joke? Please, tell me that was a joke. Listen, I’ve been ordered to come down here and clean house. As we stand right now, so far your name is clean. But the commissioner, he’s done. I need you to name his replacement in twenty-four hours.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I’m not asking. You either take care of the situation, or your ass is gone, too. Brandon is done. Ask him to resign, and tell him we’ll still pay his salary for the remainder of his term. The decision has been made.”

  “Yes, I got it, but I need more time.”

  “You have one week. Where do we stand with this Lucky guy you can’t catch?”

  “We have one more lead to follow. Hopefully, that will help us get closer. But we know that was him in Cape Cod who killed our two men.”

  “Okay, keep me posted. I want him dead. We don’t need him alive.”

  “We were thinking of capturing him.”

  “We don’t need him at all in order to win this city back. For us to succeed, we have to be honest. We’ll admit these crimes, take the hit, and repair from there. The commissioner and those dirty cops will have to take the fall. You have a choice to make—fall with them, or stay afloat and return this city back to its glory.”

  The mayor had a lot to think about. The governor was telling him to turn his back on one of his good friends. It was a hard decision, but not a tough one. At the end of the day, the mayor understood looking out for self was always the better option.

  Governor Silver excused himself because he had a 1:00 p.m. press conference with the media.

  “I have to go now. You take care, and for the next few days—no, weeks—you and I are going to be the best of friends. I know we represent different parties, but we have to put our differences aside through this outcry.”

  After the governor left the mansion, the mayor was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do. He felt bad about having to fire his friend.

  While Brandon and Tuna were driving downtown, Brandon’s cell phone started ringing. He didn’t recognize the number.


  “Who is this? This is a private line.”

  “It’s me, Ralph.”

  “I’m sorry about that, sir. How are you doing? Right now, we’re following up on that lead. We’re getting closer. I think we finally got him.”

  “That’s great, but I called you because I need to speak to you about something else. Can you stop by?”

  “I don’t have the time right now. What is it, Ralph? I’ve known you a long time, brother. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “The governor just left my office at the mansion, and a decision has been made to replace you.”

  “What! Replace me? C’mon, Ralph, this is not my fault. I’m about to deliver Lucky. Give me one more chance,” Brandon begged.

  “I’m sorry. The decision has been made, and it was made before he came to my house. They’re going to say you resigned because you don’t want to cause any more distractions. You’ll still get your salary for the rest of your term, along with all your perks.”

  “This is bullshit, Ralph. I don’t get perks in jail. What about these charges against me?”

  “Listen, Brandon, I have to go. I will talk to you soon. Take care. They’re giving you a week. Make something happen.” The mayor hung up the phone.

  Brandon looked at his cell phone in disbelief.

  Tuna was eager to hear what happened. “What happened, Commish? What did he say?”

  “Don’t call me Commissioner anymore. My name is Brandon. The mayor said a decision was made, and I have to resign.”

  “Aw fuck! We’re doomed. You know what that means, right? They’re going to let us take the fall.”

  “Ralph is a good friend of mine. We started in the academy together. He wouldn’t double-cross me.”

  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, Brandon, but Ralph just fucked us.”

  It was getting closer to one in the afternoon, and the governor’s press conference was about to begin.

  “Good afternoon. I’m here today to promise one thing, a new beginning. I promise to rebuild this police department and gain the trust of this city again. I know, the past few weeks, we have dealt with great turmoil. Our police department has come under scrutiny because of allegations of corruption. I’m here to clean it up, but I can’t do it alone. I will need a favor from this great city, just one favor. I need a little patience.