False

by U. E. Wynn

Afterwards, he would feel weighted down about his guilt. It always felt like he was being pushed under a mountain and forced to carry it. Were those his sins that he’d committed crawling on his back? Was that his father’s disappointment he felt stinging his heart with such force? He knew it to be the truth, which is why he had stopped going to his grave site to visit him. I let him down big time.

  “I never agreed to this, you know,” she finally spoke, her voice soft and her eyes glistening with the tears she had been fighting to keep at bay. “Every day I just sit here and wonder if today will be the day that I’ll never see you again. I hope and pray that you won’t get into a fight and get hurt or that the police won’t get to you.” She paused for a second and sighed. “I like to think I’m a fair woman and I respect the law, but now I’m rooting for a…”

  He knew exactly what his mother was going to say. And he also knew how hard it was for her to live with the fact that she had raised a criminal. I even let her down.

  Malik dropped his head low, his chin damn near hitting his chest. No one knew that sometimes he felt ashamed of what he had become. He knew he sacrificed his future to take care of his family, but the true question he kept asking himself is ‘Who are you doing it for now?’

  He glanced over in his mother’s direction and saw the tear slide down her face.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I tried looking for an actual job after Brandon left for school. But my name drew too much attention. People are scared of me, Ma. They don’t want to be around a drug dealer and I understand that. I didn’t even get upset about it.”

  Gloria nodded in acceptance. She reached up and placed her hand on the side of his face. He looked so much like his father that it was sometimes hard to see him.

  “I understand baby, but try and think of something else you can do. Maybe you can open up your own business. You’re smart and people respect you.”

  “Some do, but most fear me. There’s a difference.” When he saw her shoulders drop he knew she was feeling worse. “But I will give it some thought. Maybe opening a few stores or something is a good idea.”

  Gloria smiled. “Yeah, and if you need any help with anything I’ll be there.”

  “I can’t pay you though,” he said smiling.

  Gloria elbowed him playfully. “Boy, stop. Eat your food before it gets cold.”

  Malik smiled, thankful that their conversation hadn’t spoiled the evening. But for Gloria, it still didn’t mean she was okay with the outcome of that discussion. She was still hoping that he would give up that dangerous lifestyle and settle down with a nice woman and find a legal way of making money.

  ~~~~

  Brandon smirked and felt a shiver of excitement flow through him. This was going to be one hell of a productive day, he thought as he looked at the whiteboard in his office. He had arrived early that morning, eager to start chasing down the suspects.

  “Morning,” O’Malley said as he stepped in the room. He was carrying a black backpack that made a loud clanking sound when he tossed it on the chair. “I don’t work like y’all,” he explained when he saw Brandon’s puzzled look. “I use these bad boys.”

  He unzipped the backpack and withdrew a rolled up tarp. When he untied it Brandon saw that it was filled with a few deadly looking knives. O’Malley pulled one free of its sheath and flipped it around, always catching the handle.

  Shiny and horrifyingly sharp, their sight gave Brandon goose bumps. It was a weird mix of excitement and fear, and he loved it. He could barely wait until they started.

  “What are you going to use when you run out of knives,” asked Brandon.

  O’Mally smiled wickedly and opened his jacket showing two shiny guns at his side. “Oh, I still have my two best friends.”

  Brandon laughed and shook his head.

  “When are the rest of the guys gonna show up?” O’Malley asked, placing the knife back into place and shoving them back in his backpack. “I’m ready to get this done and have a beer, shit.”

  “They’ll be here in a bit,” Brandon said, a slight tinge of malice on his lips as he pulled his own gun from its holster and checked the clip again. “But I’m glad you’re so excited.”

  One by one, the members of his team entered the room, each of them looking dangerous and intimidating. Brandon couldn’t help a small chuckle. It was the perfect team. These men were hungry for the kill and using their badge as an explanation for it. In the streets, most of them would be considered criminals, but when you have the badge behind you, its legal. You’re just doing your job.

  After assessing all the details, they followed Brandon outside where two black trucks with tinted windows were waiting for them. He hopped in the first one, followed by the Russian and his semi-automatic rifle, a dark SKS that had the man’s initials painted on it in red ink.

  Devon slid into the back seat, quiet as usual. O’Malley, Zane and Brock piled in the second truck. They were all fully armed with bullet proof vest and small ear plugs.

  “First stop, Macy’s Club,” Brandon announced as he drove off.

  The men knew exactly what that club was and not surprisingly, they were quite eager to get there. It was an old strip club that only functioned as a cover for what was actually going on there.

  Heroin addicts, and dealers alike, always gathered there to do business. The club had always been one of Brandon’s main targets, but because he didn’t have the right team backing him up, he could never actually take measures against it. Today was different.

  They all stepped inside and headed towards a table in the back. They were aware that they looked suspicious and that several men were watching them, but they couldn’t care less. They all knew, thanks to Brandon, what was actually going on there and wouldn’t hesitate to burn the place down if given the order.

  But Brandon had other ideas. He knew that it would’ve been a loss of precious space. Space that would be used for better purposes in the future. His future. So any thought of destroying it was out. He was there for one particular person and he’d just walked in.

  Paul Rudd slammed the main door open, demanding an entire bottle of vodka once he reached the counter. The bartender complied and when he finally saw the bottle of clear liquor in front of him, he started drinking desperately. He was putting away the vodka like a man who had been lost in the desert for years.

  “Your liver’s gonna fail you one day, Paul,” Brandon spoke as he approached the man and pushed the bottle away.

  “Look who’s here,” the man spoke, his tone obviously mocking. “Lil’ Brannie, the hustlas’ arch enemy. I’m guessing you’re here to arrest me?”

  “Not really,” Brandon smirked. He lifted the bottle of vodka and let his lips caress the bottle’s opening. “You’ll be lucky if you get out of here alive.”

  Paul burst into laughter. It was a hyena-like bark to the smoke impregnated ceiling.

  “Ya think a lil’ city cop like you has the power to take me down? How fucking naïve of ya.”

  At a sign from Paul, Brandon was surrounded by a few dangerous looking thugs. They had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for their boss’ signal. Hell, some of them weren’t even hired by him. They were small time wannabes hanging around the place hoping for a chance to be down.

  Paul laughed. “What you need to do is stop trying to be like ya brother. You ain’t got it in you kid,” he said, reaching for the vodka.

  Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Boom! One of Paul’s thugs was lying on the floor, a small puddle of blood already forming under his head. Paul looked down at him in shock. Brandon hadn't moved, so who the hell had shot one of his boys. He never got the chance to find out.

  Brandon took that first shot as a signal. With a swift movement, he pulled out his own gun and shot Paul straight between the eyes. He took a few more thug’s lives before a sharp pain shot through his head. His body dropped to the floor, and the last thing he saw was Paul’s lifeless body lying next to him.

  ~~~~

 
; After the incident at Macy’s Bar, Brandon told himself that he’d have to be more cautious around seemingly unarmed thugs. He had a pretty big scar on his temple to make sure he would never forget his foolish mistake. Luckily, his doctor said it would heal up nicely.

  He had been in the hospital for a few days and needed several stitches to fix the ugly wound a man’s knife had left. But that had been only a small hurdle. He had unfinished business at Macy’s Club.

  At one point he’d wanted to leave the club untouched, but now the thought of that place left a bad taste in his mouth. The first thing he did after getting out of the hospital was to go back to the club and empty it of everyone inside. He then poured gasoline everywhere and with a blank expression of indifference, he tossed a match inside.

  The club went up in flames consuming the whole building almost instantly. The fire destroyed everything; the liquor, tables and more importantly, the heroin stashed in the basement. It wasn’t long before the local news stations picked up the story airing it on the evening news.

  However, just like any other story that involved the police, it was quickly covered up. No one came forward to give a statement about that night at the club and no one claimed responsibility for setting the fire. All the public knew was that a place known for selling drugs and prostitution was finally wiped from their neighborhood.

  Brandon felt good. For now, he was above the law.

  CHAPTER 9

  Little by little, Malik’s empire was falling apart. Group after group, dealer after dealer, they all fell prey to Brandon’s anger. He felt that things couldn’t get any better. He got to take down the most dangerous drug dealers around, in the most brutal ways he could imagine, and he couldn’t get punished for it. Instead, he was basking in the adoration of his co-workers and superiors.

  That was just a small bonus for him, though. His true reward will come the moment he had completely gotten rid of every hustla associated with Malik. Only after that, would he go to his mother and tell her everything he’d done. Well, not all the details, of course, but he would make sure she would see him as the hero he actually was. Way better than a dirty drug dealer.

  And where would that leave Malik? Rotting in a small jail cell, wondering where it all went wrong.

  He took a sip of his coffee, smacking his lips and frowning at the taste. It was some shitty corner store coffee O’Malley bought. But shit, to him, even the shitty coffee wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

  “You got the house monitored?” Brandon asked O’Malley when he sat down on the sofa in the office.

  “Of course, mate,” he nodded, swirling his cup of coffee around carefully. “Vladimir’s been there since last night. He said those assholes have been there all night, drinking and smoking.”

  Brandon snorted. “As if they would’ve been doing anything productive.”

  O’Malley opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly cut off by the sound of the slamming door. Zane came in stomping his heavy boots on the floor. He looked angry.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Brandon.

  He didn’t speak right away. With shaking hands, he took a glass off the table and filled it with water. After gulping it all down, he let himself fall on the sofa and finally uttered, “I think someone snitched on us.”

  “What the fuck you mean?” Brandon inquired, his eyes widening in disbelief. No one knew about their missions except the small task force group and their superior.

  “They moved. They took everything from that house and ran away as if they were being chased by fuckin’ demons. Someone snitched, I’m telling you. I bet it was that fucker, Brock. He looked hella shady from the beginning.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions now,” Brandon told him, his tone calm and calculated. “I’ll go ask around and see if someone else from the department is to blame for this shit.”

  Zane and O’Malley waited for his return in an uncomfortable silence. They didn’t really enjoy each other’s company, so no words were spoken. They moved around the room, both wondering who the snitch could be.

  It took Brandon half an hour and a few threats to the right people until he eventually found out that a small team of newbies had found out about his plan to raid the drug house and craving some recognition, decided it would be a great idea to take the task upon themselves. It didn’t go well, as expected. Two of the young cops were dead, another one was injured and the gang had moved to another location.

  Thankfully, Brandon still had Vladimir surveying them. He had noticed something fishy about the whole operation and decided to act on his own and keep following them. They were currently settled in a smaller house, right next to the cinema.

  It had been a great plan, Brandon thought. They thought it would be safe to move to a more populated area where the police couldn’t land any brutal assaults. But I couldn’t care less about the casualties, Brandon thought, a malicious grin slid across his face.

  “Alright,” he said when he returned back to his office. “It was some rookie bullshit, but it’s fixed now. Just talked to Vladimir and he gave me the address of their new location. So grab your shit and let’s go cut up some niggas.”

  ~~~~

  The place was quiet. Almost too quiet, if you asked Brandon. Were the thugs waiting for them?

  He signaled to his team to wait a bit longer until he figured out what was going on. Oddly enough, the house itself didn’t look like a place where some of the most dangerous criminals would gather for business. It was small and white, with a red door and a big porch swing. His mother would’ve loved it.

  Suddenly, a light came on and he could clearly see one of the inhabitants, an elderly man, putting on his oven mitts and disappearing under the window frame for a brief moment. Probably taking out something from the oven, Brandon thought.

  “What the fuck’s happening in there?” O’Malley asked, narrowing his eyes at the odd sight in front of him.

  “You sure this is the right place?”

  Brandon didn’t reply. Instead, he whispered an order in his microphone and left the guys alone while he started circling the house. Nothing seemed odd or out of place, but he trusted Vladimir’s word, so he kept searching for the smallest thing that could’ve given away the thugs hideout. The Russian swore he saw them entering the house and yet, they were nowhere to be found. He made a mental note to ask for a few K9 dogs.

  “… and this is where she hit me, the fucking whore. Right in the gut.”

  Brandon’s ears perked up at the sound of the unknown voices. From what he could make out, it belonged to a man not older than thirty. It was so raspy and deep that he probably smoked a few blunts a day.

  He heard laughter and as he got closer to the back of the house, the voices became louder and clearer. It was odd. All the rooms were dark and empty, yet…

  Just then, a strong gust of wind hit him in the face, forcing him to close his eyes so he wouldn’t get blinded by the dust. When he lowered his head to shield his eyes, he couldn’t help but grin. The weather was apparently rooting for him that night because the wind had blown off some leaves of what seemed to be a trap door leading under the house.

  A basement! He could barely contain his excitement as he went back to his team and dictated the instructions. He had a very detailed plan made up. If they worked as a team, everyone would get to go home tonight.

  “Zane and O’malley, you two go inside and make sure whoever is in there won’t warn the others. Vlad, you stay here and keep the house under surveillance. Brock and Deven, you two come with me. We’re gonna catch the rats in their nest,” he said grinning wickedly.

  He was glad to see that they had similar grins on their faces. They seemed to be just as eager that night as he was. He didn’t ask or care why. As long as they wanted the same thing, he was satisfied. “Cover up,” he said through his microphone, and they all pulled black ski masks over their faces.

  The success of the mission would mean his brother’s empire would take a heavy blow. Six of hi
s most trusted men were in that basement at the moment, all awaiting their deaths. Brandon’s muscles flexed with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to bring these fools down.

  They didn’t hurry. They walked slowly, their steps light and calculated. They knew that the smallest sound would alert the people inside and their whole mission would be ruined. Brandon was also pleased to notice that the house was quiet as well. That meant that the men he sent inside did their jobs perfectly.

  When they reached the trapdoor, he signaled to his men to get their guns ready. When the last reloading click was heard, he moved into position.

  “Here’s Johnny!” he growled as he shot the lock, and kicked the door open with his foot.

  He was welcomed by a small round of bullets, but he had been prepared for that. With the thick riot shield protecting his face, he quickly moved to the side near a large brick wall. He wore his bullet proof vest under his uniform and felt comfortable about leaving his cover spot. He lifted his gun and began to return fire.

  After the initial shock had vanished, the thugs realized there was no way they could escape. The main exit up the steps was blocked by O’Malley, while the trap door had been seized by Brandon and the rest of his men.

  O’Malley saw a Chinese guy with a blonde mohawk pointing his gun at Devon and fired a bullet straight through his forehead. Brandon recognized him as Mr. White, the main crack dealer on the east side. It was said he was the first to bring drugs in that area and for that, he had the others’ respect. Apparently, he had been working for Malik as well.

  After the second round of shots was fired from the enemy squad and barely missing Brock right shoulder, Brandon decided it was time to move forward with his plan.

  “Whoa, man. Hold your fire. We came to talk,” he yelled.

  “The fuck do you want, nigga?” one of the thugs snapped at him, his gun pointed in Brandon’s direction. He recognized the man as Mort, the heroin addict and dealer. He was blind in one eye, yet it didn’t make him a weak link. He was one of the worst in Malik’s group.