by Ice-T
“Nah, I just heated up a can of corn chowder.”
“Okay, well, look, I’m sorry you’re feeling bad, but you know what’s about to go down. So fill yourself up with whatever you need to make it through the next couple days. Your shit’s critical at this point in the game. Remember, your uncle’s ass is on the line as well.”
“I won’t let you down, Case. I had the drugstore deliver a bunch of stuff already. I’ll be on point.”
Casey had a real bad feeling about this. He had a lot of planes in the air, but his air traffic controller looked like he was going downhill quick. He couldn’t spare Shin or Champa to go over there, and even if he could, he couldn’t afford for them to get sick as well.
“How long’ll it take to get everything we got on these detectives live?”
“Forty-five minutes from when I press the button.”
“So what does that mean exactly?”
“All the videos will be uploaded to YouTube and other video-sharing sites, and all the major social networks’ll be flooded with links and messages about the videos.”
“So how long will it take for it to really take off and saturate the Net?”
“About two hours, if I time it right. Ideally, I’d want to upload right after people come back from lunch; that way, local news has time to cover it for their six P.M. broadcasts. I also have it set up to e-mail multiple people at all the major news outlets. I got it set so the news folks will have links to high-res footage.”
“Okay, that’s perfect, let’s do that. The cops’ll be scrambling like crazy to cover their asses and figure out how to respond. By the time Thursday A.M. rolls around, that whole outfit will be wondering what hit ’em. And mark my words, they’ll all start turning on each other like rats.”
For the next three hours, Casey got a rundown of all the evidence that was gonna be released on the Web. Anything that wasn’t a slam dunk, he told Jacob to hold back on releasing. He wanted there to be no doubts whatsoever; it had to be an open-and-shut case of guilt. When they got to Fordham, the evidence they had on him framing Lomax and all his other dirty deeds was airtight. Casey wondered what impact it would have on Lomax’s career and psyche. It would be justice and clear his name, but there was no remedy for the passing of lost time, or the memory of what had been done to him.
Casey looked at his watch—it was already 6:30 P.M., the day had sped by, and he still needed to speak to Hans.
“Champa, I need you to buzz down to Hans’s spot and tell him the cars’ll be ready by five P.M. Thursday at the latest. Find out when his Chinaman wants to pick them up and give us the cash.”
“Okay, bet, then what? You want me to call you?”
“Nah, come by the crib. Tell Hans we’re gonna hold these cars for his man until six A.M. on Friday, then look at other buyers if he don’t come through with the rest of the payment.”
Casey left the office and headed for home. As he pulled out of the garage, heavy rain drummed down on his SUV. He thought about reaching out to Carla, but didn’t want the distraction—correction, he couldn’t afford the distraction.
18
Casey went to the fridge, got some of Carla’s leftovers, and sat in front of the TV to wait for Champa to come by. A little after 8 P.M., he got a text from Champa sayin’ he was a block from his crib. Casey finished his grub, then heard Champa’s familiar knock on the door. When he opened the door, the other man walked in, drenched.
“Jesus, it’s pissin’ down something fierce out there,” Champa said, closing the door. “The forecast said it’s gonna be that way the whole week. You think that’s gonna affect the boat docking or this job?”
“Nah, it ain’t like it’s a hurricane. What’d you hear from Hans?” asked Casey.
“He reached out to his Chinaman, who said he was gonna pick up the rides at five P.M. in the afternoon on Thursday, then take ’em to the airport, where he’s got a cargo plane waiting to transport them,” Champa said as he took off his rain gear.
“Da-yamn, that’s gonna be so major cake to fly them whips over to China. Did Hans confirm that the dude’s gonna have the money all ready?”
“Yeah, it’s all set. The actual guy won’t be there, but one of his people’ll be on deck. Hans said we’d get a picture of the guy later today.”
“Okay, tell him that the cars’ll be in the Bronx, but don’t give him the exact location until an hour before pickup.”
“You got it, man.”
Champa split, and Casey hit the sack. Tomorrow at this time, the shit would have hit the fan, one way or another.
* * *
The next morning, Casey woke up to the sound of rolling thunder and rain pelting his bedroom window. He lay in bed quietly, thinking about how his son’s mother had always loved the sound of rain. She believed it was purifying, and washed away the bad. She had been a good woman who bet on a bad man and paid the price. He contemplated whether Carla felt she had paid a price as well. He knew she’d see the news today, when everything went down, and wondered if she’d have any inkling that he was behind it. It would be nice to share that victory with her.
Glancing at his nightstand, Casey saw he’d forgot to plug in his phone last night, so he grabbed the cord and plugged it in. The phone came to life and started chiming like it was possessed. He picked it up and saw he had six text messages, all from Jacob. Casey quickly thumbed through the messages—the level of urgency in them made Casey realize something big was up. He got dressed, opened his laptop, and initiated a video chat. When Jacob appeared on the screen, he looked like the flu was getting the best of him, with pale skin and black circles under his eyes.
“Christ, you look like hell!”
“I’m fuckin’ dyin’ over here, Casey. I feel like it’s getting worse. I was up all night puking my guts out.”
“Jesus, dude, you gotta hold it together for another forty-eight hours or this whole operation’s fucked. Lemme see if I can get a doctor to come see you.”
“I appreciate that. I’m sorry about this, but that’s not why I called you. Late last night, I picked up a phone conversation between Fordham and Petrosian.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it was around midnight. They got some deal going—I don’t know what, but it’s obvious they’re tied in together. Some of the conversation didn’t make sense, but I can play it back now.”
“Do that—hold on a sec.” Casey ran to his dresser, snatched his headphones, and plugged them into the computer’s audio jack—he wanted to hear this shit crystal clear. “Okay, go.”
The first voice he heard was Fordham’s. “Hello, this is Chief Sergeant Fordham.”
“Can you talk?” The Armenian’s distinctive voice came through loud and clear.
“Hold on.”
In the background, Casey could hear noise like Fordham was walking through a bar and then onto the street. When he got back on, he was obviously hot.
“Why the fuck are you calling me? I sure as shit hope this isn’t a number connected to you or your people.”
“It’s clean, you should know by now that I wouldn’t make a mistake like that—”
“Save it, what do you want?”
“First, I appreciate that you got the heat off me on that shooting—”
“Get to the goddamn point.”
“That guy Crush Casey got wind of the job and is taking it over.”
“What the fuck! How the fuck did that happen?”
“He was already hip to it and had a big crew in place to take it down. If I’d challenged him, it would have meant war, which neither you nor I need right now. I agreed just to buy some time.”
The only sound Casey could hear was the sound of cars whizzing by on the wet street. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I fuckin’ heard it. I’m thinking, goddamnit,” Fordham said brusquely. “Just take him out as soon as possible.”
“That’s your solution? Really?”
“Look, I leave it to you to handle this shit
, so why are you making this my problem?”
“Can’t you pick him up and hold him or frame him for something?”
“Okay, I’m done with this conversation, you gotta figure this one out yourself.” Fordham hung up on Petrosian before the Armenian could reply.
Casey unplugged his headphones, his mind racing to figure out what the deal was between Fordham and Petrosian. Jacob was about to speak, but Casey held his hand up so that he could think. Were those two guys partners on everything, or just this one job? How’d they get connected to each other?
He guessed that ultimately it didn’t matter. What did matter was that Casey could expect an attack from Petrosian. Then again, if Fordham was put on blast, he’d have no reason to ally with the Armenian. Taking Petrosian out at the job was too risky for both of them. If there was a showdown, it’d be at the warehouse, after the cars were unloaded. Crush’s nature was to attack immediately, but with the heat on him and the job less than twenty hours away, it didn’t make sense. Well, at least Champa’ll be happy to split another two-point-five mil—if we survive this.
“Casey, there’s more you need to hear.”
“More conversation between those two?”
“No, between Fordham and one of the detectives following you. This conversation took place a little after one A.M. You’ll recognize the first voice, that’s Fordham.”
Casey put his headphones back on to listen and watched Jacob type at a lethargic pace as he readied the clip. He looked like he was gonna pass out; then Casey heard Fordham’s voice.
“We got a problem— Hello? Are you listening?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m here. What’s up? What time is it?”
“That Armenian’s let Crush Casey get the better of him. He’s taking over that car heist, and you know what that means.”
“Jesus. Okay, well, is he gonna handle it?”
“No, he’s being a pussy and says there’s no time.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“When he drives out of his building tomorrow, pull him over and plant a piece in his car. That’ll be his third strike, then I won’t ever have to deal with his black ass again.”
Casey clenched his fists tightly, thinking how this sonofabitch was gonna burn. Now it was a race to see who could get the other man first.
The other detective laughed when he heard Fordham and remarked, “You got it—we will wait outside his garage, he usually leaves around nine A.M.”
“Okay, call me as soon as he’s in custody.”
“What about his crew?”
“Once you cut a snake’s head off, the rest of the body dies. That’s what I’m betting on.”
Jacob looked at Casey and said, “That’s why I was burning up your phone. What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna have to lay low and out of sight until these videos hit, then hopefully these guys’ll be knocked out of commission.”
“And Petrosian?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but I will. I gotta get outta here—call me if anything goes down. Just keep lookin’ out, monitor things super-close. I’m gonna get a doctor to your place in the next coupla hours.”
“Okay, cool, I appreciate that. I’m still set to let things fly at two. It’s just a press of a button.”
Casey closed his computer screen. It was 8:30 A.M. He grabbed his money and checked his phone—it didn’t have much of a charge. Shit, this is a perfect muthafuckin’ storm.
He dialed Big Rich and it just rang and rang, then went to voice mail. Rich was a night owl, and probably wouldn’t be up for a few hours. Casey dialed Champa and let him know Jacob needed a doctor, and to go to Rich’s, wake his ass up, and have his doctor friend roll to Jacob’s place.
“Matter a fact, Champa, take the doctor to his house, but stay clear of that nigga. It’s like he’s got the bubonic plague or some shit.”
“Okay, movin’!”
Casey didn’t have time to brief him; he would do that later. He unplugged his phone and checked the map app to see how close the detectives were to being at his house. Shit! The flashing dots were already in front of his building. His building didn’t have a back way out like his office, so that was not an option. He’d either have to hole up or make a run for it. The latter would be conspicuous, and would add even more insanity to this madness. Casey paced the floor, occasionally looking outside to check on the car below. Fat raindrops pelted against the window as Casey’s brain went into overdrive. He had too much at stake to get fucked this close to the finish line. He went into his closet and got his Glock; he’d made up his mind long ago that there was no way in hell he’d go back to the joint. As he picked up his keys, he saw Webster’s card next to him.
Oh shit, that’s it! Casey grabbed it and dialed him on a burner phone. Come on, come on … “Webster!”
“Yeah, who dis?”
“It’s Crush Casey. I need you and three of your other drivers at my place. You’re gonna help me out of a jam. It ain’t nothin’ illegal. Are you down?”
“Hell yeah, mon, what ya need done?”
“I need four cars to box in a gray Lincoln in front of my building, and don’t let them out for at least two minutes—no matter what. I’ll lace everyone with some good bread later today.”
“I’m down. Me and my guys can be der in less than twenty minutes.”
“Cool, call me when y’all get here.”
Casey’s next call was to Shin. “I need you to get to my building hella fast and park a block away on the northeast corner and wait for me. How long will it take you to get here?”
“About a half hour with the rain.”
“That’s not gonna work. You need to be here in twenty minutes or less. When you arrive, I need you to keep the engine running and we’ll switch cars.”
“Okay, I’m in motion, what’s goin’ on?”
“The pigs are gonna try and arrest me.”
“Oh shit!”
“Yeah, Jacob hipped me to it. When we switch cars, drive like you’re goin’ to the office. Let ’em pull you over. They’ll be pissed that I’m not in the car; just tell ’em you picked it up ’cause you needed to borrow my ride. If they ask where I’m at, tell ’em I’m still in my apartment.”
Casey went downstairs to the parking garage, pulled to the mouth of the garage, and waited for Webster’s call. He checked his cell—his battery was weak, as was his signal. The next twenty minutes seemed like forever; then his phone lit up.
“Okay, we all in place, lemme know when to move in.”
“Move in right now. Make sure a car’s in front and back and the car on the driver side is real close so the driver can’t get out. Have the drivers for the front and back park then bail out quick to the diner.”
“Okay, lemme tell da guys and I’ll call ya back.”
Casey hung up and dialed Shin to get his ETA. “Where you at, brotha?”
“A couple of minutes away.”
“Well, hurry the fuck up!”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
“Okay, when you see me, jump out.”
Casey’s knee bounced in anticipation as he waited for Webster’s call; if this worked, it’d be a miracle. Staying out of sight for the rest of the day would be tough. If those guys weren’t in deep shit by the time his curfew came around, things would get critical.
Casey’s phone chimed with a 10 percent battery life message; then Webster called.
“Hey, Casey, I see the car. I have a car in front of him and in back. I had my drivers do what ya said. When do you want me to pull in?”
The sound of the rain was so loud that Casey strained to hear him. It was really pouring now. He turned on his car and popped it into gear. “Pull up now and tell me when the car is completely blocked in. And stay on the phone until I say otherwise.”
“Okay, two seconds … okay, I’m good. I’m in place.”
Casey pulled out of the garage and then onto the street as if it were a normal day. The rain be
at down hard on his hood as he hit daylight. The sidewalks were a sea of black umbrellas as people walked fast to their destinations. Casey heard the honking of the detective’s car and in his rearview saw one of the detectives get out of the passenger side of the vehicle and run over to Webster’s car. Casey was at a red light about a quarter block away when he heard the exchange between the two men.
“Move your car now!”
“I’m just waiting for my sista to come out. It won’t be a second, mon.”
“NYPD, motherfucker! Move your car now or go to jail, goddamnit!”
“Okay, okay, okay, sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll move it now.”
Casey saw the detective getting soaked as he flashed his badge in Webster’s face. The light turned green and he slowly turned the corner, then hit the gas. At the end of the block, he saw Shin’s G-Wagen with the hazards flashing, with Shinzo standing outside. He was on him in seconds and slid to a stop, coming within an ass hair of rear-ending him.
Casey jumped out, ran past Shin without saying a word, and got into the driver’s seat. Putting the Benz in gear, he pulled out and took a right. He went a block and a half, knew he wasn’t being followed, and immediately called Shin.
“Where you at?”
“I’m a block away from you, goin’ the opposite direction.”
“Okay, they gonna be on you in seconds, and when they are, you know what to do, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll just dummy up on their ass.”
“Good man, I gotta stay footloose from these fools, so—”
“Hold up, dawg, I got a flashing light—they pulling me over.”
“Okay, keep your phone on, I wanna listen.”
Casey’s windows on his Escalade were heavily tinted. That, coupled with the rain, meant the detectives would be clueless to who was actually in the SUV.
He heard the electric window go down, and the detective’s angry voice next. “Who the fuck are you? Where’s Marcus Casey?”
“Back at his apartment, I guess? I’m just borrowing his car. Do you need to see my license?”
“No, I don’t need to see your fucking license! Get the fuck outta here!”
