The Game Never Ends

by Zaire Crown

  “Keep an eye on yo’ sister until I get back,” was all Tuesday could think to say to her.

  With nothing else to do but wait for the pick-up, she, DelRay and Silence returned to 24 Karats which had yet to open. They smoked in DelRay’s office while Tuesday explained that private flights typically didn’t see the level of scrutiny as the people flying commercial airlines. So once the Abel jet pulled into the secure hangar, she said they would carry off two large travel bags, conveniently omitting what would be in them.

  Tuesday trusted DelRay, but didn’t know Silence well enough to tell him that he would be helping her walk ten million dollars in undeclared cash through Metro Airport. He might try to jack her for it; after all, before she fell for Marcus, she had done the same thing to him for only three.

  DelRay looked skeptical. He voiced that with all the recent terror attacks, it shouldn’t be that easy for them to get out of the airport with two large bags and no one searching them.

  Tuesday didn’t blame him, because she had been nervous the first time she did it with Marcus. She again stressed that the rules were different for rich people and promised him it would be easy.

  Silence didn’t use his phone to express any questions or concerns. Tuesday loved that he just seemed to be down for whatever.

  They smoked some more and waited for Brandon’s call. DelRay ran downstairs for a bottle of Patron even though she and Silence felt it was too early to drink.

  An hour later a buzzed DelRay was reclined across the loveseat resting his eyes. Silence sat in one of the chairs that fronted the desk, consumed by some e-book he read on his phone. Tuesday slouched in the big chair behind the desk staring at the monitors out of boredom.

  Then something made her sit erect. She called to DelRay: “Aye nigga, please tell me you got somethin’ big and fully automatic stashed somewhere in this bitch.”

  DelRay lifted his head and Silence focused up when they saw the Oh Shit! look on her face.

  The outside cameras gave a wide view of the parking lot. On screen, three SUVs stopped in front of the club.

  All three vehicles were burgundy.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  DelRay claimed not to keep any illegal guns at the club because he wasn’t trying to lose his business. All he had for security was a pistol-grip .12 gauge pump he bought at a trade show.

  On screen, Tuesday watched eleven heavily-armed men spring from three vehicles and start to surround the building. The doors were locked but they had come for murder and wouldn’t stop at breaking and entering.

  Tuesday didn’t know how they kept finding her; for all she knew she might have led them there. Calling the police wasn’t an option because of the heat she already had on her.

  Through a series of hand gestures, Silence signaled that he would go down and for them to stay in the office. Tuesday couldn’t believe he was indicating that he could handle this alone, but he made a ‘gimme’ motion for the shotgun. DelRay turned it over without an argument or offer to assist.

  Tuesday thought her Heckler also might be better served in his hands, but Silence motioned to say the gauge and his Sig Sauer would be enough. He checked the weapon, racked a shell into the barrel.

  Tuesday didn’t know if he was trying to play hero or just wanted to live up to his reputation; either way, she didn’t want to see him get killed for the sake of his pride. But to her, Silence didn’t project the arrogance of someone desperate to prove himself. He left the office with the calm demeanor of a man simply going to work.

  DelRay’s conscience seemed clear as he hurried behind him to lock the door. He pulled his Ruger and kept it trained on the wood.

  Tuesday used the cameras to keep track of Silence and the enemy. She saw him slip down the hall then leap down the stairs like a jungle cat. On another monitor, four men gathered at the entrance preparing to burst in with no idea he was waiting on the other side.

  The instant one used a swift kick to send the doors swinging in, the .12 gauge roared and kicked him twelve feet back into the parking lot. That moment of shock and indecision offered enough time for Silence to mow down another before the other two could respond.

  The first tried to turn his weapon on Silence, but his size hid incredible speed. Silence closed the distance between them, blocked down his AR-15 with the shotgun like a swordsman, flipped it like a baton, then blew off his leg at the knee. The gunman wailed in agony at the sight of his severed limb before a shot to the face ended his misery.

  The fourth spat machine gun fire in his direction but Silence moved so quickly that Tuesday lost sight of her goon. She did see the rest of the shooters on the other sides of the building flock to the front to press their way inside.

  Tuesday manipulated the camera angles and zoom until she found Silence crouched on the floor behind the bar. She called his phone, which she knew had to be on vibrate due to his disability, sent a quick text telling him the number and position of the men. He looked around until he found the camera she had on him then gave a salute that said “Good lookin’.”

  Tuesday wasn’t sure what he was doing when he pulled the vodka from the bar and twisted the cap. She thought he might need a swallow but figured it out when he tore the sleeve from his shirt and stuffed the cloth in the top of the bottle. Reina’s men moved cautiously through the tables and chairs with their assault rifles raised. Silence used the mirrors to target them, lit the wick, tossed the cocktail.

  Burning alcohol splashed the one closest to the stage. He flailed and danced, and while his partners watched him thrash, Silence popped into view with the .12 gauge. His aim was surgically accurate and made two more of their heads explode like balloons filled with Kool-Aid.

  Tuesday watched the monitor with her mouth hanging open. Ten thousand a week started to seem like a discount.

  The few that remained opened fire on the bar forcing Silence to dive for cover. Fear made them spray bullets in wide reckless arcs that chewed up the paper lanterns and fake gold dragons used for 24 Karat’s oriental theme.

  Tuesday could see that they had Silence pinned down in a tight spot. Shooters were moving in on both sides of the bar to flank him.

  She ran to DelRay. “We gotta help him.”

  “Naw, we gotta get the fuck on.” He snatched open a door at the rear of his office that Tuesday had assumed was a closet. Behind it was a narrow stairway that led down to a fire exit. “He done pulled them muthafuckas away from the back door. Let him handle that. We can get clear.”

  Tuesday had never been the type of chick to leave somebody hanging that was on her team. She gave DelRay a look that called him a ‘hoe ass nigga.’ She pulled up her Heckler then ran out his office through the other door with him trying to call her back.

  Tuesday crouched at the top of the stairs, and while the shooters were faced away from her, she took aim. She fired three times; the second struck one of them in the back of the thigh. The blow wasn’t lethal but he buckled to the floor clutching his wound.

  That was enough to get their attention. They split up, concealed themselves behind the plush chairs where customers enjoyed twenty-dollar lap dances. Tuesday punched a few holes in the imitation silk upholstery before two of them returned fire. She scrambled backward up the steps, stumbled and fell out of sight just ahead of the rat-a-tat of their AR-15’s.

  She landed on her ass in the upstairs hall. Tuesday heard two more shotgun blasts, but her angle didn’t allow her to see if Silence hit anyone. He must have run out of shells because a second later she heard the Sig Sauer.

  Next was the sound of breaking glass followed by a loud whoosh. Tuesday guessed he threw another cocktail and somebody’s panicked screams seemed to confirm it.

  Then she heard heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs but couldn’t tell who was coming her way. She raised the Heckler, still seated on the floor. Willpower couldn’t make her hands stop shaking.

  The man came charging into view, flailing and screaming like a maniac. Bluish flames consumed his clo
thes. He scrambled blindly, but Tuesday put him down with three shots before he could trample on her.

  Seconds later, the gun shots ceased below, coaxing Tuesday to ease down the stairs. La Guapa’s men littered the floor and Silence stood in the middle of them holding up one in the air with his hulking arms. Silence strangled him with the strap of his own machine gun; his body wriggled like a fish on a line.

  Silence dropped him, then indicated to Tuesday with a series of hand movements that the last two had ran like bitches. He tapped his chest to suggest it was because he was such a bad muthafucka and Tuesday smiled to agree.

  That was until a van pulled directly in front of the entrance. The side door slid open to reveal the same two men in the rear. Mounted on a tripod was a huge M-50 chain gun.

  Silence snatched her out of the way as the machine started its death melody. He pulled her to the floor and pinned her under his body. The military used .50 caliber rounds to shoot down planes and crack open tanks so the barrage tore through the walls like wet paper. Wood and glass rained on them.

  Silence covered her like a human shield, but Tuesday knew that even his stout body wouldn’t stop a slug from that beast. Bullets whizzed over their heads coupled with shrapnel just as lethal. It wasn’t safe to move but wasn’t safe to simply lay there and hope they didn’t aim lower. From on top of her Silence communicated their situation with his eyes.

  Tuesday covered her ears, fearing the loud metallic clatter would have them both deaf in a minute. She could only pray they didn’t catch a hot one before the shooters stopped to reload, but they seemed to have a chain of bullets that stretched on forever.

  It was like they were trying to saw the building in half.

  Then a louder explosion came from outside, and the shooting stopped right after. She and Silence waited a few seconds to make sure it was safe before he climbed off her and helped Tuesday to her feet. He grabbed a chopper from one of the dead and she followed with the Heckler. They crept slowly to the front of the club and peeked out the gaping hole of brick and metal that had once been the entrance.

  The van had been knocked thirty feet. The whole back half was crushed like an aluminum can, frame lifted and pushed off the rear axle. The driver hung halfway through the windshield. The two in back had been thrown clear, their bodies twisted and bloodied on the asphalt.

  DelRay’s S550 was crumpled and wedged under the back of the van. He was still behind the wheel when Tuesday and Silence ran up on the car. She figured he had to be going about seventy miles per hour when he slammed into them.

  The airbag had deployed, but the big man was slumped in his seat, eyes closed. He wasn’t moving.

  Chapter Forty

  “Now you owe me a E-lade and a Benz.”

  This was the first thing DelRay said to Tuesday after she slapped him awake. His speech was slurred and he looked glassy eyed from the collision. He stumbled a bit when Silence pulled him out of the car.

  I owe you another club too. But Tuesday kept the thought to herself. 24 Karats was beyond any hope of renovation. In some places, the M-50 had left holes in the walls as big as soccer balls. The structure looked too weak for safe habitation. A group of kids could probably knock the whole building down with a few good kicks.

  Tuesday said, “I thought you—”

  “I know what the fuck you thought,” DelRay cut her off. “From the jump I told you I had you, no matter what, and I meant it. Even though it’s probably gone get me killed.”

  Tuesday felt like shit. She had been back in his life just over a day and already had cost him so much.

  Sirens swelled in the distance. They had to get away from the scene, but Tuesday hadn’t driven and DelRay had just totaled his second car. She hated to do it, but had to search the pockets of the dead until she found keys to one of the SUVs. Luckily they weren’t with one of the men Silence torched.

  Tuesday climbed behind the wheel of the Tahoe while Silence helped DelRay into the rear. Tires squeaked as they left the parking lot on one side of the complex a second before police cruisers pulled into the other side.

  Tuesday was only a block away from the club when she got the text. “The package is here. It’s time for the pickup.”

  Silence was in the passenger seat with DelRay seated behind him. He still looked like he had a concussion.

  “You talking ’bout going right now? In a stolen ride right after we just shot it out with a dozen niggas?”

  “Hell yeah,” she confirmed. “That’s why I wanna go right now. Before anything else can happen.

  “Plus, we in and out. Gone take less than ten minutes. Same way you be in the pussy.” She tried but that didn’t get a laugh out of him.

  When they reached Metro Airport, she let DelRay circle the Tahoe while she and Silence went inside. Because they weren’t waiting on a commercial flight, they walked right past all the long lines and security checkpoints. She led him to the private hangar where the Abel jet was being refueled. Tuesday had grown accustomed to the stench of the fumes.

  Tuesday met Brandon on board and introduced him to Silence. The two killers knew of each other’s reputations and seemed to her they seemed to be sizing each other to see if the old school could hang with the new.

  Brandon warned Tuesday that his lawyers had been unable to stall the investigation. Los Angeles police would issue warrants within forty-eight hours. She explained that after what just happened, she would be just as hot in Detroit.

  Brandon updated her on a few things about the company then presented her with two large leather travel totes that weighed about one hundred pounds each. After parting words, he pecked Tuesday on the cheek and wished her good luck.

  On the way back through the airport, Silence dragged both wheeled cases behind him making her wonder if he had any idea of what was in his grasp. What would he do if she told him? He came off as a principled man, so did ten thousand dollars purchase his absolute loyalty for the week? Or would he put a bullet in DelRay’s head and snap her neck like a twig for the chance of coming up on ten million? Tuesday stared at his bulging biceps and decided not to find out.

  She threw a nervous glance at the airport rent-a-cops pawing through people’s luggage and tagging them for random strip searches. The FAA was concerned about commercial passengers having sharp objects and liquid containers holding more than four ounces; the privilege of money allowed private passengers to breeze right pass them with whatever they wanted.

  They were about fifty feet from the exit and Tuesday felt the tension ease with each step that brought her closer to it. Through the sliding glass doors, she could see the burgundy Chevy idling and DelRay in the driver’s seat looking anxious.

  They were about ten feet from freedom when the commotion erupted. Two dozen people appeared from nowhere, surrounded them all shouting at the same time. Tuesday knew what time it was. She cursed out loud and threw up her hands before they even ordered it. They moved in, Glock pistols raised. They had on body armor with the letters F, B, and I blazed across their chests in bright yellow.

  They barked for Silence to release the bags and raise his hands, but he was hesitant. Tuesday begged them not to shoot, screamed that he was deaf and might not understand them.

  But she knew that he did understand. They had left their pistols outside; however, she could tell by the movement of his eyes that Silence was trying to decide if he could kill his way out of the situation even with no gun.

  He must’ve concluded that the odds were even too great for him because he finally complied. Agents swarmed and forced them both to the ground with airport customers and employees gawking. Tuesday couldn’t get mad when from beneath the pile she watched DelRay speed off.

  They pinned her arms behind her back and Tuesday felt something she had sworn she would never know again. The cold touch of steel handcuffs being placed on her wrists.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Tuesday didn’t know what happened to Silence or the money because they were immediately sepa
rated. The feds didn’t bother taking her to one of the detention rooms at the airport. She was placed in the back of a car and driven straight to downtown’s First Precinct.

  During the ride she heard something come over their radios about Silence. It was distorted by static and hidden in cop-code, but it sounded like the big man was being a problem.

  She wasn’t booked or processed, and all the local police looked at her like she was a terrorist when eight federal agents walked her into the station. The inmates did too when an entire bullpen was cleared out so she could be isolated.

  Tuesday sat on a hard metal bench with her head down until a few dudes from across the hall called to her through the bars. “Aye, baby. Damn girl, what they got yo’ sexy ass in here for?”

  She looked up and didn’t see a real money-getter among them. They had the look of bum niggas caught up on petty possession cases and child-support warrants.

  She said, “I’m in here for some real shit. I’m allergic to broke and y’all niggas fuckin’ with my sinuses.”

  Tuesday tuned them out as they called her a couple of bitches. She tried to figure out what the hell happened at the airport. Back when she and Marcus had to pick up the three million for Danielle’s ransom, it had been as simple as walking in and out. She wondered if the situation in L.A. had been the difference. Had the feds followed Brandon and flagged Abel’s jet because she was hot?

  She expected to sit there for hours, but it was hardly forty minutes when they came for her. Two officers escorted her to a small dank room on the fourth floor. Tuesday was seated and left cuffed to a table, but wasn’t alone a minute before the woman walked in. Tuesday rolled her eyes, cursed under her breath.

  The black lady was in her mid-forties, wearing dark pants, a white top, and cheap heels. She looked over Tuesday and beamed a smile. “Hey Ms. Knight, remember me? It’s been a few years.”

  “Fraid not,” Tuesday lied. The same woman had been part of the team that arrested Tuesday the night she left Detroit for California. The female fed still had a poor fashion sense, and looked about the same, other than wearing her hair natural in a short afro instead of a weak lace front.