King of Morgan Park

by Karen D Bradley

  “Teach,” Reese said, putting more of his focus on Pedro.

  “I’m not like them,” Cedric whispered, pulling out a laptop. “They’re charismatic handsome go-getters. I’m a loner who sits behind a computer.”

  Daron wondered where that comment came from or what had happened to cause him to make this statement. Maybe the thought of making the next big step had startled him into playing the comparison game. “You wouldn’t have been selected if we didn’t think you had potential to do great things. But you have to fight for a different life,” Daron replied. Constantly questioning his worth would get Cedric in trouble and keep him on the wrong side of the law. He was the only one who didn’t have anyone dishing out assignments or consequences for not completing them.

  “Okay.” Cedric went back to his area in the corner of the basement near the stairs, but his demeanor stated he wasn’t convinced yet.

  Daron and Pedro’s presence in the room was mainly for support. The initial week was when they did the evaluations using the individual plans Pedro developed for each of them. For the next hour, Pedro and Daron reviewed the preliminary data Steve had sent on the candidates for director to oversee expanding the enrichment program while occasionally answering questions from the young men.

  Several phones chimed as a reminder that the session had ended. The young men hurriedly gathered their belongings and prepared to leave.

  “Hey, before you go, I want to say I’m proud of you,” Daron announced, which stopped their movements. “It’s not easy to decide to change your life and then take the steps to make it happen.”

  “Yo, Mr. Dee don’t tell us you’re about to get mushy on us,” Reese teased, as he brushed his fade then checked his image in his cell.

  Daron chuckled at his antics. The boy was a little vain. “No. I’m reminding you not to be limited by someone else’s definition of success and don’t be afraid to adjust your path to find your own happiness.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Pedro chimed in, coming from behind the desk and standing near the group. “Know that you’ll make mistakes, as well as bad decisions.”

  “Own them and do better.” Daron stared at the young men, silently praying for their strength, wisdom, and ability to endure. “Just try not to do anything that’s hard to bounce back from.”

  Amarion lowered himself on to a chair while the other two leaned on the desks.

  “People with amazing talent have not excelled because they didn’t recover from the damage incurred from the first major set-back,” Pedro added.

  Daron knew he needed to wrap it up. Reese was checking his phone again and Cedric was fiddling with his bag. “Be prepared for life to challenge your decisions.” He glanced at Amarion, then collected his tablet, signaling to the group he was done.

  “We have something we want you to consider.” Pedro tapped his inner wrist where he’d been testing a tattoo for Daron.

  Daron retrieved a set of tattoo trackers from a manila envelope on the desk. “We have a way for you to contact us in an emergency if you’re unable to call.”

  Amarion’s shoulders dropped as though he was relieved.

  “You have the choice to take it or not, but we’re trusting you not to tell anyone this technology exists,” Pedro added.

  “One thing we’re good at is keeping our mouths shut.” Reese looked back at the other two and they nodded.

  “Three quick taps against a hard surface and holding for a few seconds will turn it on and alert us you’re in trouble.” Daron then explained how to attach the tattoo and answered questions.

  The tattoos could stay on a month without any maintenance through most conditions. His fingers were crossed that he’d be taking them back and sending the boys off to their new cities and their new lives. Over the next two weeks, Daron needed them not to get into the kind of trouble that could put a stop to their plans.

  The young men each picked a style of tattoo and Daron registered them into his system.

  “On that note, let’s get you moving so you won’t need to use these tonight.” Pedro glanced at his watch. “I’ll see you next time.”

  Reese and Cedric bounced up the stairs.

  “Mr. Dee. You may want to dump your ride for a while.” Amarion spoke softly, watching the stairs. To make sure the other two had cleared the space. “Levi has people searching for your car.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.”

  Amarion nodded. Reese tipped back down just as Amarion headed up the stairs causing Reese to change direction. Daron waited fifteen minutes before he locked up. Watching the drone feeds, he gathered that armed men had checked out the Jag several blocks over. Daron and Pedro exited when he was sure there were no obvious threats on the street. He would get the Porsche Panamera out of storage tomorrow and leave the Jag parked in front so no one could tell when he came and went.

  Pedro patted Daron on the shoulder. “Tell Steve thanks for the detail.”

  Daron nodded, realizing that comment was to let him know that his friend had accepted the offer for protection. A car pulled out shortly after Pedro. The cell vibrated in the pocket of Daron’s slacks, then a familiar ring tone filtered into the air. “What’s up?”

  “Aunt Bee is clowning. I texted the address,” Steve huffed.

  “I’m on the move.” Daron slipped into the Jag, firing up the engine and noticing someone standing across the street on the porch of a house with white siding, staring at the vehicle. The call switched to the Bluetooth. “What did she do?”

  The man on the porch pulled out a cell as Daron took off down the block.

  “Our man dragged her off some lady but she keeps coming at her like a bulldog. She walked away but he suspects that Brandi will double back as soon as he leaves.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Daron arrived at a red brick building with a woman sitting on the porch talking to the security guard assigned to Brandi leaned on the rail. His stance bored. He texted the man letting him know he could return to the sedan.

  Not five minutes later, the older woman who had been speaking with the guard stepped through the gate heading toward the corner. She sported reddish-orange hair, a pink tank top and too-tight cut out jeans.

  Daron scanned the block.

  Brandi came up on the woman so fast Daron almost got whiplash.

  Man, I didn’t know she could still move that fast.

  He bolted from the Jag, sprinting in their direction.

  Brandi snatched the woman up by her shirt. “Did you work on Troy’s car?”

  The woman struggled to push Brandi away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You can lie to someone who don’t know what you do for Roger.”

  The woman swung on Brandi, whose arm reared back before clocking the lady’s jaw with a fist that sported a ring on every finger. Blood splattered from the woman’s mouth.

  “You two are too old to be brawling like high schoolers.” Daron approached, tussling with the women in an attempt to separate them.

  Brandi continued swinging. “Stop, Aunt Bee.”

  “I’m your elder.” Brandi turned to Daron getting in his face. “You don’t talk to me like that.”

  “Then act like you’ve got some sense.” He focused on the lady whose crow’s feet, dark under-eye bags, and neck wrinkles had her appearing much older than she had looked from a distance. An angry bruise was forming on her jaw. “Go.”

  In response, the stranger crinkled up her face and lifted one side of her mouth almost as if she was snarling at him. “Huh? This is my block. This heifer rolled up, questioning people like she’s 5-0 or sumthing.”

  Brandi’s hands balled into fists but Daron managed to hold her back. He glanced at the woman like she was crazy. “You responded as if I asked you a question.”

  “You act like I should address you as Mr. President,” the stranger roared, narrowing her dark-brown eyes as a man in an Adidas jogging suit approached.

  “Maybe you should, I’ve issued my executive
order and fully expect it to be followed.” Daron scanned the area to find people fumbling with their phones. He pressed a device in his pocket, blocking everyone’s ability to record. “I can let her go.”

  The woman snarled something that rhymed with witch then walked away, heading toward a man, whose skin was several shades darker than Daron’s pale complexion. He acknowledged her with a nod and kept advancing in Daron’s direction.

  “Brandi, do I have to get a restraining order on you?” the man asked.

  “Do that, Roger.” Brandi flicked up a middle finger, causing him to scowl. “Cause I’ll tell them about why I’m all up in your face.”

  Daron realized he’d just been unofficially introduced to the man who Brandi believed killed Troy.

  Now he had to find out why.

  CHAPTER 7

  Maybe Levi was into mind games.

  Levi issued a threat and had been relatively quiet, besides having people watch a Jag that hadn’t moved in days. Not a good sign. He’d rather have Levi out there making moves he could counter instead of working in silence. Especially when life was pulling Daron in so many different directions. The consequences of dropping the ball on any of his obligations had deadly repercussions. That’s why he’d returned to the lavish estate in Wilmette. He needed to assess the security system and figure out who brought down the entire thing, buying time to put multiple bullets in Kahlil and one in Vikkas.

  “Since none of the boys in your program sell drugs, I can’t figure why Levi feels you’re costing him money.” Steve jarred Daron back into the conversation they’d been having about Levi.

  “Maybe he had a deal with the traffickers to move drugs when they move the girls,” Daron suggested, driving through the wooded grounds toward the acres of sprawling greenery.

  “We’ll figure out what we’re missing,” Steve assured, but his tone signaled something far from it.

  “I don’t doubt that. I just don’t want that to happen moments before he lays waste to my life.”

  Daron disconnected the call, sitting in the car taking in the beauty for a second. The Castle property had an eighteen-hole golf course, horse stables, swimming pool, basketball and tennis court, lake, and more features than he cared to list. He launched the ghost drone after exiting the Porsche Panamera and entered the foyer. All anyone could see was the golden elegance and lavish beauty of the space.

  “Mr. Kincaid, Mr. Vikkas will be with you in a moment,” Terrell announced then returned to his post near the door. Professional. Crisp. Well-groomed and strapped.

  The foyer was designed to impress, without safety in mind. Many people saw the area as a magnificent showpiece, but it was a threat zone and security nightmare, a death tunnel. The beautiful floors were not flat. The way the ground shifted reminded Daron of a speed bump. He wondered if it was created to prevent vehicles from crashing through the doors and getting too far down the hall way. A great idea until an active shooter or an emergency evacuation, then it would be a disaster.

  Vikkas hadn’t given Daron any reason to distrust him but he didn’t know enough about the dynamic between father and son. Had Vikkas been jealous of the men his father had mentored? And if Daron’s instinct held, he needed to do a little recon on Jai. Something was off and no one else could see it except him.

  Daron would have to assess which of the security personnel would stay on and which ones would be let go. “Were you here the morning Khalil was shot?”

  “No, sir.” Terrell’s shoulders stiffened before his hand went up to adjust his earpiece.

  Daron created a palm control for the drone. The drone would pick up on things he missed, like Vikkas’ facial expression when he thought no one was looking, people quickly stepping in and out of the room, cameras shifting, and guards’ reactions.

  Vikkas appeared in the foyer.

  “I don’t understand why my father hired you to handle security.” His face was taut with displeasure. “Let alone become a King when you inherited your membership from a criminal.”

  “Alleged criminal,” Daron corrected. The rumors about Bishop didn’t do the man justice. “Your displeasure with my presence needs to be taken up with Khalil. Now are you going to allow me to do my job or are you going to continue to bitch and moan about the fact that I’m here?”

  “What do you need?” Vikkas’ tone was curt. The set of his shoulders indicated Vikkas was far from letting his annoyance go. “Why is this visit necessary, when everything seemed settled the day you placed Nicco with us?”

  “I need access to the security system.” Daron followed him down the hall. “How did you and your father survive?”

  Vikkas’ head snapped in Daron’s direction. His olive skin was flushed and his eyes conveyed his displeasure. “What?”

  “This foyer, unless you’re on the second level or near the stairs, doesn’t provide anyone with adequate cover.” Daron was curious about who was present in the foyer besides the two men. “Was there anything out of place in the foyer that day?”

  Vikkas sighed, “When I met my father near the entrance, I realized I’d left my wallet and turned back. I was on my way to retrieve it when a shadow flickered and my father lunged at the shooter.” Vikkas touched his arm, the place where the bullet grazed him. “A second intruder rushed me while my father was wrestling with the shooter. He was holding his own. By the time I had my guy down, the trespasser had the upper hand. He fired several shots at my father. The gun jammed. A third person raced in and said they had to go. The two men backed out so quickly. I couldn’t stop them.”

  Daron filtered through the story, searching for inconsistencies. “It was divine intervention that you and Khalil were close to the door. Had you been further back, you would’ve been dead before either of you had a chance to react.” Daron scanned the lengthy golden entrance with three red strips of carpet, two of which went up a double set of stairs and the other down the hallway in the center.

  “I need a list of the men working here that day,” Daron stated as they neared an entrance.

  Vikkas entered a code, pulled the handle and walked into the security room.

  I should have known the security room would be a grand affair.

  Fourteen flat-screen monitors lined the front wall. Several surveillance desks with leather executive chairs, with four monitors to each desk, lined two of the walls with a large station in the center.

  “This is Scott, one of the supervisors.” Vikkas gestured to a heavy-set blonde.

  “Nice to meet you,” Scott said, his voice sounding less than friendly.

  Daron didn’t take offense. The security personnel were concerned that they might not have a job in the coming weeks.

  “Adesh is the head of security.” Vikkas motioned to the dark-olive man leaving the center station. “He’ll get you the list of the men’s work schedule.”

  “You can take my station but there’s no footage from the shooting.” Adesh led him to the middle console. “I’m close to the family and I’ve been here for years. I’ve never seen anything like this happen. The system was down twenty minutes before and twenty after those guys left the premises.”

  Adesh logged in as Vikkas swept out of the room. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he called over his shoulder.

  “I’ll get that list for you.” Adesh walked away, leaving Daron at the center station.

  When Daron went into the system, he found there had been an update and the footage from the day was in a backup file. A blessing because the video had not gone down until the actual reboot and was the first thing to come back online.

  Daron watched the screen, taking in the series of events— Vikkas patting his pocket and walking away. Khalil tripping over the carpet gave the intruder the advantage. The gunman firing several shots. Vikkas hitting the assailant then jumping in front of Khalil. The intruder taking the center mass shot and the gun jamming. The intruders sprinting off before the police arrived. Daron reviewed footage of a patrol car entering the driveway a
nd someone running out of another exit of the building, snagging their attention.

  Who heard the shots and called the police? He was trying to process everything else he’d seen when Adesh returned.

  “Oh! There is footage from the shooting,” Adesh shocked, leaned closer to the screen.

  “Rewind it.” Daron shifted to allow Adesh closer access to gauge his reaction. “Show me from a few minutes before this.”

  Adesh hesitated, then said, “The young Mr. Germaine instructed if the footage was to be recovered to show you from this point forward.” He tapped the screen that only showed Khalil laying in Vikkas’ arms.

  “I work for Khalil, not Vikkas, and if you know what’s good for you … And for you to keep your job ...”