by Ice-T
“‘Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.’ Your lust for blood is gonna make you the loser if you don’t have those two things working in harmony. If you want to pull a suicide mission, then just keep thinking the way you thinkin’, brotha,” Mack D had said.
Mack had that ability to crystallize complicated concepts in a way that made sense. He always fed quotes from wise men like Sun Tzu, Aristotle, and Seneca to Casey on a daily basis. There were days when the two men would just chop it up for hours on end about some esoteric shit. One of Mack’s favorite subjects was dualism, which he defined as the power of the mind over the body. By accepting that the body was limited in strength and that the mind’s power was limitless, he believed that the mind could always overpower any physical impediment. Casey was always a man who used a combination of his brainpower and his fist, but he knew to be truly powerful, he’d need to rely solely on his intellect. Champa was right that taking out Petrosian would solve that problem, but it would simultaneously create more problems.
It was times like these that it would have been good to bounce things off Mack, but with Attica being some four hours away, that wasn’t gonna happen. Casey looked at the digital clock next to him and pulled himself out of bed. He took a quick, cold shower to wake up, and then hit the weights for a good ninety minutes, then showered again and got dressed. Checking the tracking app on his phone, he saw the dots of the detectives, two of which were on his street.
Shit, it’s already started.
Casey called Champa and in a coded message let him know that he had “flies” on him. From here on out, his guys would need to keep their distance so no connections were made.
Casey pushed through the double doors of his building and turned left to head to the diner. Parked down the street was a brown Lincoln with two detectives that Casey recognized. He ignored them and kept walking to the diner. Across the street, Carla waved as she waited for cars to pass, then bounced over to him, giving him a deep kiss.
“What’s up, baby?” Casey said as he gave her a squeeze.
“Lots. I got a big meeting with the owners today. Word is they’re gonna open a sister hotel in Miami or L.A.”
“Damn, woman, you gonna cut out on me?”
Carla laughed and snuggled close to him. “You sayin’ you wouldn’t follow me?”
“Look at you dodging the question,” Casey said as they walked inside.
Casey steered Carla to a table by the window so he could keep an eye on the detectives. They both ordered and when the waitress left, Casey leaned forward and took her hand. “Maybe leaving town is a good idea.”
“What are you talkin’ about? Jesus, is something up?”
The waitress dropped off their two cups of coffee and said the rest of their order would be up in a few minutes. Casey waited for her to leave before replying. “Nah, I’m just evaluating shit and thinking a change in the near future could be fly—”
As Casey spoke he saw the detectives get out of their car and start walking toward the diner. Fuck! He knew they were probably gonna roll up on him and start shit-talking and freak Carla out. She could tell he was distracted and gave him a funny look.
“Listen, in about thirty seconds, two cops are gonna approach us. They don’t have anything on me, it’s just some cop bullshit. They’re looking for us to react, so if you could be cool about ’em hasslin’ us, that would be fly.”
Carla stared at him for a long moment, and Casey wondered if she was gonna lose it right there, or simply get up and storm off. She took a deep breath and just nodded.
Casey gave her hand a long squeeze before letting go. “Thanks, boo.”
The two cops pushed through the doors and came up to their table. Both men were white and looked to be in their fifties. One was short and balding and wore a stained tie; the other had red hair and a mustache. They each hooked a chair from the adjoining table, sat down in front of Casey and Carla, and smiled.
“So what’s for breakfast, guys?”
Casey looked at the detective dead-on and showed no emotion. “Why, you treatin’?”
“Yeah, we got three meals a day at Attica, but then again, you already know that.”
“Attica’s in my past, and I ain’t goin’ back, so whatever you suspect, you can rest assured that you’re mistaken.”
“Is that right? You seem pretty confident. What would you say if we told you we know otherwise?”
“If you really did know otherwise, I’d already be in cuffs,” Casey said as he dead-eyed the pair of detectives.
Carla sat back and watched the dialogue go back and forth like a tennis match and sipped her coffee, doing her best to remain calm. The detectives knew they were getting nowhere and started a new line of questioning.
“You know Big Rich, right?”
“Of course.”
“You know he’s in a lotta trouble?”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, it seems someone’s killing off his guys.”
Casey didn’t respond. He knew that when it came to cops, the shorter and more nondescript the answer, the better. These pigs didn’t have shit on him. If they only knew the surprise party they were about to have come down on them, they’d lose their fuckin’ minds.
“What about Ernesto Sanchez and Rodrigo Jimenez, Casey, you know them?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Alek Petrosian?”
“Nope.”
“I think you’re a liar, Casey. I think you know all these guys, and you know exactly what’s going on.”
The other detective eyed Carla up and down like she was a piece of meat, another pathetic attempt to get a rise out of Casey. “Damn, honey, you’re fine! What’re you doing with this scumbag? You could do much better.”
Carla looked at him but said nothing, just stared right through him. Both detectives sat back and looked at Casey for a few seconds, as if wondering what to do next.
“Okay, Casey, if your memory comes back, we’ll only be a step away.”
The two detectives got up from the table. The whole diner had taken notice of what had transpired, which meant Casey wouldn’t be eating there again anytime soon. He watched as they left the diner while Carla sipped her coffee.
She gave him a look that he could not quite interpret. “Nothing going on, huh, just evaluatin’? You’re too good for me to read, Casey, so why don’t you just give me the brutal truth.”
Casey could tell her emotional state was a combination of scared and pissed. He felt bad that she’d gotten caught up in his bullshit. “Yeah, well, I have told you more than most—”
“So I’m lucky, is that it? Are cops gonna be showing up at my work today? Wow, that’s great, my bosses will just love that. Instead of being offered a promotion, maybe they’ll just offer me the door? I guess I’ll just be collateral damage, then, huh?” She was pissed and growing angrier as she spoke.
“The cops aren’t gonna show up at your work, Carla. Look, I am a changed man, and you are gonna trust that either I am on the right path or that I’m not the guy for you. I called you because I wanted to talk about the future—our future.”
“Oh, so suddenly now you’re down with having a kid?” Carla asked sarcastically.
“Okay, I’m gonna bounce, since there’s no talking to you right now. I hope you have a good meeting, and let’s just talk when everyone ain’t listenin’ in and you’re calm—” Casey started to rise from the table as he said this, but was cut off by Carla.
“Fuck you, Casey! You got me hanging by a string, you know you’re my world and the one thing I want is you and a family, and you dump that talk in the middle of this drama!” She started to tear up as she spoke. “Now, because it’s difficult, you wanna put a hold on the conversation. What is that, some of that Sun Tzu shit you like to say—‘Retreat and return with superior firepower.’ Isn’t that what I heard you quote a couple days ago? Don’t you fuckin’ play me, nigga—I
ain’t the cops or one of those street hoods you roll with, either.”
Casey reached across the table to take her hand, but she jerked it away and glared at him as she leaned back in her chair. Christ—women! She could have been a prosecutor or a cop, ’cause she was lightning quick when it came to dissecting any situation. It was almost like the more upset she got, the smarter she became. He admired her intelligence and sympathized about the way she was feeling, but resented that she didn’t cut a nigga some slack. He calmly looked at her and in a hushed tone said, “If you want to go to my place and discuss it, then we can do that, but I’m not gonna discuss it here, Carla.”
Carla quickly got up from the table, grabbed her purse, and stormed out. There was no sense in running after her; ’sides, that wasn’t his style anyway. Casey put some cash on the table and walked out of the diner. He passed the two detectives, who’d witnessed the whole scene from their car, and were laughing at Casey. Enjoy yourself while you can, muthafuckas. He told himself that he had to put that drama out of his head. He went upstairs to his crib and reached out to Jacob via video chat.
“Hey, are the detectives tailin’ your uncle yet?”
“Yeah, they’re in front of his crib. I can tell him, right?”
“Yes, but don’t let him know anything about how we’re getting our intel. It’s not that I don’t trust him, I just don’t want him to be distracted. Ya feel me on that?”
“I got it—he spoke to me yesterday and did some lightweight digging, but I kept shit quiet.”
“Okay, good. Any more detective chatter I need to know about?”
“Nothing material. What I can say is that these guys love talking about their shakedowns and dirty dealings. They’re their own crime syndicate—sellin’ dope, taking payoffs, a whole bunch of shit.”
“That’s great, keep all that shit organized because we’re gonna make that public in the next twenty-four hours. If you can get video on these guys doing it, that’s even better.”
“I’m on it, I don’t have a ton of video, but I got enough.”
“A’ight, when it’s time to unleash this shit, I will let you know. Once we do, I’m sure they’ll put two and two together and figure out what’s goin’ on, so when we get ’em we gotta get ’em good.”
Casey closed the lid of his laptop. It was a little after 8:30 A.M. when he finished his conversation. Champa was gonna have all the guys at the office at one to discuss the plan and what each person’s individual role would be. He went downstairs and drove to the office, making sure that the detectives had no problem tailing him. Once there, he told Joe that some detectives might be sniffing around and to not get freaked out. If they asked what his hours were, tell them ten to six, any other questions he should just go quiet.
In his office, Casey checked the money; there was a temptation to take that chedda and bounce, but he’d never do that. Still, it was hard to not think about it. Looking at his phone, he could tell the detectives were still outside. Casey peeked out of his window, spotted their car, and grimaced. He had to shake them for at least a couple hours; he needed at least that much time to pick Lomax’s brain.
17
Casey called Webster and told him to pick him up at the Urban Victory office, but specifically in the alley, not in front. Webster agreed and said he’d be there in five minutes tops. Casey put on a jacket and a baseball cap and went out to tell Joe he was going out for the next two hours, and if the cops checked up on him to tell them that he went out to get supplies. Joe didn’t question what Casey said; he just agreed.
Before he left, Casey checked his computer and saw his daily report from Jacob, which he printed and put in his coat pocket. Casey then took the elevator to the second floor, then took the stairs the rest of the way down. The stairs came out toward the back of the building, where deliveries were made. He hung back there and checked for Webster every so often. The air felt damp, like it was gonna rain again.
Getting to see Lomax undetected was gonna be dicey. There’d be security cameras, and he might have to check in at the front desk. Add to that the possibility of Lomax having a visitor when Casey showed up, or maybe just freaking out that one of his cons came in unannounced, made Casey a bit uneasy. Still, it was peculiar, but not illegal.
Casey looked out the door and saw Webster pull up. Checking his phone, he saw the detectives were still at the front of the building. He pulled his cap down, hit the street, and slid in the back of the gypsy cab.
“We’re goin’ to Bronx-Lebanon Hospital, you know where it is?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good. Also, keep these maneuvers I’m doin’ quiet. I don’t want you speaking to anyone about my business. I’m gonna be in the hospital for an hour or so, so stay close by and I’ll call you when I’m comin’ out.”
“Okay, Casey, anything else I should know?”
“Nah, just keep quiet, I’ll be cool, and you’ll be well paid.”
“You got it, boss man.”
Casey pulled out the report and started reviewing it. Jacob had done an excellent job of distilling the information to its essence. Of the twenty-three detectives, Jacob had caught all but six red-handed doing dirty shit. There was extortion, drug dealing, evidence tampering, payoffs, ticket fixing, just a ton of shit. It seemed like they all acted independently on a lot of their dirty work, but also collaborated on bigger shit as well. Christ, they must be making a gang of loot. Casey asked Webster if he had an iPod, which he did, and told him to put it on because he needed to make a private call.
Casey kept reviewing the report as he speed-dialed Jacob on one of his burners. “Hey, Jacob, I’m looking at all this shit—it’s really thorough.”
“Thanks. As far as all the cops we tagged, I have a separate report on each of them as well.”
“Question, what are these icons next to these entries?”
“That denotes if the evidence is audio, e-mail, SMS, or video.”
“Okay, that’s what I thought. You got a lot of video, more than I expected.”
“Yeah, I programmed the phones to link into a database of cameras so that when they’re near them, they’re automatically activated, so I capture video and audio.”
“Jesus, dude, you’re turnin’ this into a fuckin’ art form.”
“Thanks. I’ve already organized it all and have the files ready to upload to YouTube. I also came up with a plan to spread these videos virally through all the popular social networks.”
“I love it. So this is all untraceable, right?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. What I do is upload it to the cloud, then access it from random corporate networks all over the world that I hack into and use to start posting them.”
Casey smiled as he listened to Jacob breaking it down and imagined the shit hitting the fan. He imagined the chief of police, mayor, and governor doing daily press conferences, trying to cover their asses.
“Fuckin’ amazing, but instead of uploadin’ it from random corporate networks, I want you to upload it from the cops’, mayor’s and governor’s computers. Let ’em all wonder if they got a mole in their midst.”
Jacob loved that tweak, and Casey could practically hear his brain working on how to execute it. He hung up the phone as they pulled up to the hospital.
Bronx-Lebanon had gotten quite a face-lift since Casey had been there last, well over twenty years ago. Even though it was now a top-of-the-line hospital, Casey still hated it; like all hospitals, it reminded him of too many bad times. He remembered going there to see his mom, tubes sticking out of her as she desperately fought for her life. And his father kneeling by her bed, praying for her to get better. As that bitter scene flashed in his mind, he clenched and released his fist. After his father died, he remembered thinking how God never answered his prayers or his father’s. From then on, it wasn’t that Casey didn’t believe in God; he just thought it was pointless to put faith in anything but yourself.
Webster cruised up to the entrance, and Case
y got out and walked through the double doors into the lobby. In front, next to the welcome desk, sat a cop reading a magazine while the two receptionists dealt with visitors. Casey blew right past them as if he owned the place and headed for the bank of elevators. The hospital had that antiseptic smell that brought back memories. His boy was born on the third floor of this joint. He recalled the first cry Antonio made when he’d greeted the outside world. At the time, it was a mixed feeling of amazement and vulnerability.
The doors pinged open on the second floor, and a crowd of people shuffled in and out of the elevator. That same exercise happened on the third floor as well. Casey looked down the hallway and briefly saw new parents and the parents-to-be mingling about. Good luck, it’s a fucked-up world to raise a kid in.
When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Casey was the last to get out. He walked down the hall and hunted for room 415, finding it before he could really collect his thoughts. It was a single room. Casey stepped in unnoticed. On the bed, looking like a beached whale dressed in a hospital gown, lay Lomax, watching Judge Judy.
Lomax saw Casey and did a double take. Casey liked that. Lomax wasn’t his usual cocky self for a change.
He turned off the TV, sat up with an effort, and addressed Casey in a weak voice. “What the fuck is this?”
Casey made sure his body language was nonthreatening as he approached his bed. He didn’t want Lomax to have a real heart attack because of this surprise visit.
“We didn’t finish our conversation the other day.”
Lomax eyed Casey and said nothing. The tension was thick; the fact that Casey had rolled up on him was a ballsy move. Casey sat down on the chair adjacent to the bed, and Lomax snapped, “Don’t get comfortable.”
“Around you? I don’t think that’s possible. I didn’t come here to play some game. I need some information.”
“You got two seconds to get the fuck out of here before I call the nurses and have you thrown out.”
“Fine with me. I just thought you might be interested in finding out who put you in here in the first place.”
