King Reece

by Shaun Sinclair

  “Stay down!” Hulk yelled. He fired suppressive shots into the air then ran to retrieve Qwess. Focused on his boss, Hulk never saw the second gunman. Reece did.

  Reece laid down a volley of shots from his .45, causing the second gunman to take cover behind a parked car.

  “Come on!” Reece yelled, directing them back inside. Hulk ran toward the club with Qwess sheltered under one arm, his Desert Eagle in the other hand.

  Reece took his eye off the car the gunman had ducked under for a second, and it cost him. As he was making a way for Hulk and Qwess, the gunman crept from behind another car and opened up, hitting Qwess high in the thigh.

  “Ahhh!” Qwess yelled in agony, clutching his leg as he tumbled to the ground.

  Reece ran to meet Qwess as he hit the ground and was bombarded with shots, causing him to fall short. Just as he was about to crawl over, he spotted the first gunman walking toward him, the embodiment of cool. The gunman wore a derby pulled low over his face, a scarf mummifying the lower portion. Reece knew it was over. He saw his life flash before his eyes: the moment his parents died in a car wreck, meeting his cocaine connect who made him rich, trips to the Bahamas with Destiny, making love to Destiny in his mansion, his son, Prince.

  Reece saw it all flash before him in an instant.

  He met the gunman with a warrior’s glare, welcoming death. Reece had never been a coward in life, and he wouldn’t be one in death, either. He smiled at the gunman as he advanced on him. Reece had waited all his life for his death. He was embracing the moment.

  The gunman raised his weapon. Reece saw the dot reflecting from his forehead. Seconds later, he heard an applause of uninterrupted gunfire and saw the gunman’s body flail to the side, breakdancing like a choreographer.

  Samson ran up on the gunman and delivered the coup de grâce to his head, then turned to help his brother with Qwess until Reece pointed, screaming, “It’s another one!”

  Samson went into war mode, crouching low with his Tec-9 in his hand, surveying the whole street from behind parked cars. Hulk dragged Qwess back inside the club, then returned to help with the search.

  Out of nowhere popped the gunman running down the street full speed. Samson tore off behind him, stopping every few feet to lick shots. He saw his shots whizzing by the gunman, just missing him by inches.

  Suddenly, the street was ablaze with lights flashing everywhere.

  “Freeze, drop the weapon! Now!” an officer screamed at Samson and Hulk. Samson paused but didn’t drop the Tec-9. The Crescent Crew’s motto was to hold court in the street. The courts didn’t give men like them justice.

  “Drop the weapon!”

  Samson’s eyes went from the police to his gun.

  Then he saw the pig’s barrel down on his brother, Hulk, who was following his lead. He could sense Hulk’s thoughts telepathically, You shoot. I shoot. After all, they were twins. No amount of plastic surgery could alter the blood that pumped through their veins.

  Samson took inventory of the situation. Hulk was legal. He was not. They were holding some change now, so he could make bond before they found out who he really was. As long as he didn’t bang out with the big dogs. Time was of the essence.

  So Samson made a decision.

  He threw down his Tec-9.

  Police clouded him from every angle, taking him into custody.

  Chapter 17

  Qwess awoke to a room full of balloons, get-well cards, and Lisa Ivory. Upon seeing him awake, Lisa began showering him with kisses.

  “Good afternoon, handsome. How are you feeling?”

  Qwess rubbed his head groggily. “Not too good. What’s up? What’s going on?”

  “Well, what do you want to know? Where do you want me to start?” Lisa inquired. “You know you were shot, right?”

  “No shit!” Qwess countered. “What are they saying, though? ’Cause I can’t feel my leg. My shit is numb. My whole fuckin’ left leg!” Qwess began to panic. “I’m scared to look down. Is it there?” He fanned his hands. Qwess was getting more excited by the second. “Is it there?”

  “Calm down, baby. Calm down.” Lisa rubbed him comfortingly. “Everything’s going to be all right. They had to operate on your leg so it’s still feeling the effects of the medicine. It’s still there. Hold on a second.”

  Lisa went out the door. When it opened, Qwess could hear a lot of commotion in the hallway. Then the door closed, leaving him all alone in the room.

  He took the time to check out his surroundings. There was a vast array of flowers displayed throughout his room. Immediately, he spotted a bouquet of black roses. Qwess had been in the streets long enough to know what that bouquet symbolized. In fact, he had sent a few in his time himself. It was sent to announce to the world that a hit had been made. Normally, it was done when the hit was a success. In this case, Qwess assumed someone wanted to send the message that the violence wasn’t random. This was a planned assault.

  Qwess noticed the television was still broadcasting the news of the incident, trumpeting his misfortune like a sport. Incensed, he changed the channel, only to be met with the same press game on different stations. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he flipped off the tube. Just as he was about to lie back down, Lisa busted back in the room along with his mother, father, Doe, Niya, and Hulk, who posted up by the door.

  “As-salaam alayka, son!” gushed Qwess’s mom, running to the bed to hug her son.

  “Wa alayka salaam,” Qwess returned weakly.

  “How are you? We returned as soon as we heard. We’ve been here all day waiting for you to wake up. What happened? I told you those streets don’t mean you no good,” Aminah scolded.

  “Aminah, give the boy a break,” Khalid swore, as only a husband to a wife could.

  Niya came over to extend her regards, as did Doe. There was a lot to be said, so Khalid dismissed all the women. When the door closed, only Hulk, Doe, Qwess, and Khalid remained. Khalid pulled up a chair next to the bed and began the meeting.

  “Who do you think did it?” asked Khalid with cold sincerity.

  Qwess was pressed as far as answers were concerned. “I don’t know. I have an idea.”

  “The white chick?”

  Qwess nodded.

  “Um-hmm. I thought so, too,” Khalid agreed. “Well, that’s not the biggest concern. Do you know about what else happened the other night?”

  Qwess shook his head slowly. Khalid called Doe over to relay what had transpired two nights ago after Qwess was dragged inside. Qwess listened with a heavy heart as Doe told him Reece, Samson, and Hulk were all locked up on weapons violations that night. Hulk had just made bond that morning and headed straight over to the hospital to stand guard at Qwess’s room against any more attempted attacks.

  “So, what’s up with Reece? Why isn’t he out yet?” Qwess asked.

  “Well, the feds trying to drag him through the mud a bit because of his felony conviction. You know he not supposed to be carrying any weapons. Plus, they trying to get his ass behind that Crescent Crew stuff anyway.” Khalid chuckled a bit before continuing. “Ole Prosecutor Long still want him. He the same fool that was after me all those years. Don’t matter, though. They’ll have to give him bond, eventually.”

  “Hulk, tell ’em what happened to you,” said Doe.

  “Aw, man. Those bastards just knew they hit the jackpot. They kept harassing me thinking I was my brother. They showed me pictures of dead police in Mexico, talking ’bout they finally got me. They moved him up to number two on the FBI’s most wanted list.”

  “Damn, we gotta get him out before they make the connection,” Qwess said. “Surgery can only hide so much.” Even injured, Qwess was loyal.

  “I don’t know how. It’s going to be a little harder than we thought. For some reason they won’t give him a bond,” Khalid stated flatly.

  * * *

  Samson was led into an interrogation room in chains at the Fulton County Detention Center. An officer was on either side of him hold
ing his massive arms, guiding him. He took a seat in a room that contained a long metal table with chairs bolted to the ground on opposite ends. One wall was dominated by a long mirror, which Samson assumed was a two-way mirror. Samson steepled his hands together as close as the tight cuffs would allow, then leaned back and waited. He knew it was always best to let others speak, then decide which angle to go, based on what was said.

  The officers chained Samson’s leg irons to the floor, then left him. Moments later, two plainclothes detectives entered the room, a black one who was tall, dark, and almost as muscular as Samson and a small white cop with gray hair. The white cop spoke while the black one played the cut, looking menacingly at Samson, while flexing his muscles in his tight shirt.

  “Now, Mr. Divine, let’s get one thing straight right now. We don’t believe your mother named you God Cipher Divine, or that Divine is even your last name for that matter. Furthermore, the only time a grown man trifles around without ID is when he is on the lam.” The white detective pulled his sleeves up. “Now, what are you hiding from?”

  Samson said nothing.

  “Oh, you will tell us, or we’ll find out eventually,” the black detective swore, balling up his fist in threat.

  Samson shot him a glance and scoffed. Wish he would try that strongarm shit, he thought.

  Someone buzzed the room. The white detective excused himself, then returned minutes later with a package in hand. He wore a smirk like he possessed the Holy Grail.

  “You still playing Helter Skelter, huh?” the detective taunted Samson, who remained mute. “I bet you wanna talk after this.”

  The detective poured the contents of the envelope on the table in front of Samson, while fixing his partner with a jackpot stare.

  Samson looked at the photos as they fell and knew exactly what they were. Surveillance pictures from AMG’s office cameras. On them, he, Gil, and Chabo shined bright as day. Like they posed for the pictures, their faces were unmistakable. Numerous still shots showed them tranquilizing the guards, duct-taping them, then putting them in storage closets. More shots showed them entering various offices looking for info. And the last frames taken in John Meyers’s offices depicted them beating him mercilessly. A separate photo accompanied every blow delivered.

  Someone had fucked up—big time.

  Gil and Chabo were supposed to cut the power a good thirty minutes before they entered. The generator power was supposed to leave enough energy for work to be done, but not enough power to run their sophisticated security system. So they thought. Unfortunately, they thought wrong.

  “Still nothing to say, tough guy? Oh, we’re sure you got something to say now. Hmm?”

  Samson smirked. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  * * *

  Qwess was still receiving the run-down from Hulk at the hospital while his dad, Khalid, listened in silence.

  “Then, to top things off, those two Mexicans keep calling, harassing, talking ’bout they had some business to take care of.” Hulk was adding to the story. “Like I didn’t almost get throwed. Ya feel me?”

  Qwess didn’t like the sound of things thus far. A night of celebration had turned into disaster. It seemed to Qwess that every time he was about to fly, something happened to attempt to bring him down.

  “Where’s Flame?” Qwess sat up higher in the bed to appear strong, but his ashen complexion betrayed any vigor.

  “He out in the hallway. He been in here a few times, but you were asleep,” answered Hulk. “You wanna see him?”

  “Nah, I’ll see him later. Is that all?”

  “Pretty much,” said Doe.

  Khalid had been nursing his words until everyone said their peace. When they were finished, he spoke, “Listen up, and listen well. Like I told Salim a long time ago, you can’t play both sides of the fence. I know you thinking revenge, revenge, but that’s not what’s up right now. Even if we did know who did this madness, retaliation wouldn’t be a good idea right now.” Khalid looked at all of them before continuing. “At some point you have to decide to leave the streets in the streets. Ya understand?”

  Qwess wasn’t buying it. “Nah, Pop. They violated me! I didn’t bring street shit—stuff—to them. They brought it to me.”

  Khalid shot him an accusatory glance.

  “Well, I didn’t do it directly,” Qwess corrected. “But still, I might not ever walk again, and you telling me to let it ride? You didn’t raise me like that, Pop! You didn’t raise no coward!”

  Khalid shot him an accusatory glance. “I’m sure once you calm down a bit, and think, you’ll see it’s best to hold tight—for now.”

  For the first time, Qwess caught the “for now” his father was using. They made eye contact, and Qwess got the message. His father wasn’t saying not to do anything at all. He was just saying not now. Qwess caught the point. That’s how old-school gangsters handled business. They may wait a couple years before they got their man, but in the end, they got their man. And they never, ever let their left hand know what their right hand was doing. The big guns were called in now, so he had to play by the big gun rules.

  “A’ight. We’ll let things play out,” Qwess agreed, playing along. “We’ll see what the cops can come up with. After all, I’m a legitimate businessman that’s been assaulted. That warrants investigation,” he added, feeling important.

  Doe was relieved there would be no more bloodshed. In a way he felt responsible. If he hadn’t persisted about relieving his wife of her burdens, this would’ve never happened. Still, if given a second chance, he would’ve done the same thing. Doe was finally realizing that everything in life had a price. There could be no progress without struggle. His only regret was seeing his main man laid up in the hospital and his cousin in jail.

  However, these were regrets he could live with.

  “Hey, brother, I wouldn’t get too excited about them finding who did this. They still haven’t found the killers of Pac and Biggie,” joked Doe. Everyone laughed, and the mood was lightened.

  There was a knock at the door. Hulk allowed the doctor entrance. He was holding a chart in his hand, his mood somewhat jovial. He addressed Qwess.

  “Mr. Wahid, I have some good news and some bad news.”

  Qwess cringed.

  “The good news is your surgery was a success. We were able to remove the bullet before it did major damage. However, it did some damage to your hip. Luckily, your periosteum prevented major damage. So, you should be able to walk with no problem once the cast is removed. Now, you may have a slight limp for a while, but other than that you should be okay in a few weeks. We’ll transfer your therapy sessions to North Carolina for you, and like I said, you should be okay.”

  Qwess was relieved. No major damage, but there was something else.

  “What’s the bad news?” Khalid inquired.

  “The bad news is . . .” The doctor removed his wire-frame glasses. “You have to eat this food for two more days. You can’t leave until all your tests are completed.”

  A sigh of relief entered the room.

  “Not so fast,” the doctor advised. “There was an additional problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Qwess demanded.

  “Umm, can we get a little privacy please?” the doctor asked. “This is a private matter.”

  Qwess excused everyone until he was alone with the doctor.

  “Talk to me, doc. What’s going on?”

  The doctor spoke softly. “There was a problem with your blood work. We had to send it over for more testing.”

  “More testing? What kind of testing?!” Qwess exploded.

  The doctor measured his words carefully. “Well, we can’t get a positive reading on your HIV test.”

  “That’s good, ain’t it?”

  “No. Not positive in that way,” clarified the doctor. “We mean it’s inconclusive so we have to send it over for more accurate testing.”

  Qwess was on edge. He had hit a few broads raw-dog in his lifetime. More l
ike a few hundred if getting brain counted. Excluding blow jobs, he could count ten right off that he had smashed this year alone. However, most of them were high-profile actresses and models. Surely, they didn’t have anything. Did they?

  “In light of everything, I’m sure this is the last thing you needed to hear. Maybe it’s nothing,” Doc reasoned. “But again, we have to be sure. Of course, all of this is confidential, so your lady friend doesn’t know.”

  Qwess excused the doctor, leaving him alone with his thoughts. There was an eerie silence in the room as Qwess began to tally up the number of lovers he had been with unprotected. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t begin to think of an accurate count. He had sowed his seed from Fayettenam to the Philippines and everywhere in between.

  Guess when it rains it pours.

  Chapter 18

  Reece bopped out of Fulton County Detention Center a new man with his lawyer, Malik Shabazz, at his side.

  It was a bright Monday morning. Reece had spent five days in jail. During that time the investigators had tried every tactic possible to break him. Out-of-towners had turned their city into a war zone, and someone had to pay. Especially rich, black out-of-towners. One may not know it by the bright lights of Atlanta, but racism was still very prevalent in Georgia. Driving ten miles outside of Atlanta, a black man was still liable to get hung.

  Reece knew that Federal Prosecutor Long was still after him. Fortunately, this was not his jurisdiction, though he knew Long still wielded great weight.

  In the end, his influence wasn’t enough. They had to set Reece a bond. His charges: Possession of a Firearm by a Convicted Felon, Discharging of a Firearm in Public. Bond? Fifty Gs cash. No surety.

  The magistrate grudgingly issued him a bond. He didn’t want to, but with Malik Shabazz on the case, it was a done deal.

  Malik Shabazz had been Reece’s trial lawyer when he went to court years ago. It was Shabazz’s spectacular performance that allowed Reece to get so light a sentence offered for a plea. Reece wouldn’t have had to take it, had Long not rounded up Doe and Qwess on bogus charges. Nonetheless, Reece took it.