False

by U. E. Wynn

  “So, as I was saying,” Drake uttered, licking his lips in anticipation. “I found the weak link, man. I don’t know his name or anything like that because he refused to tell it, but he accepted to tell me about his boss’ plans and shit. It cost me 2 bottles of top shelf Vodka and $200 bucks that I hope to be refunded.”

  Malik nodded. “No problem.” He dug in his pocket and quickly pulled off five hundred dollars and tossed it on the glass table between them.

  “That’s what’s up,” Drake said nodding. “Aight, so this is what’s going down. Get your downtown house ready on Tuesday. They’re gonna raid it at around seven that night. I think it would be wise to just clear the whole place out a few days before. Ya don’t wanna risk anything.”

  “Maybe,” Malik said, thinking to himself. While he tossed a few thoughts around in his head, he reached in his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag full of coke. “I got a few more questions for ya, and while ya answer them, I got ya something sweet,” he said tossing the bag next to the money.

  As the white bag landed on the table, Drake’s eyes widened in something that could only be described as feral hunger. He snatched the bag up and opened it, digging his nose deeply into the powder. Taking a quick sniff, he sat back, sighing in pleasure.

  “I swear don’t nobody got shit like yours, man.” Needing another hit, Drake took his wallet from his back pocket and slid out his bank card. He poured a bit of white powder on the glass table and separated it neatly in four thin rows with the credit card. He then picked up one of the hundred dollar bills Malik had just given him and cleared away one of the lines. “Ask away,” he said already feeling the drug racing through him.

  “This guy ya told me about, the snitch, was he involved in the past raids?”

  He had to wait for Drake to snort another line of cocaine through the rolled up bill that was now a tube, before getting his answer.

  “Yeah, I think so. Why? You think there’s more than one team?”

  “Kinda, yeah. It’s seems impossible for only one to do all this shit. They hitting my houses all over the place. Not just in one area.”

  “Nah, man,” Drake said, carefully closing the bag and putting it in his wallet. “It’s only one team of motherfuckers.”

  “And why did this guy step out just now? I don't know, man, it just seems kinda shady to me, that’s all.”

  “He’s cool. All he cared about was the money and keeping his glass filled. The thing is, he started really hating on the man. He said his success got to his head and shit.”

  “And you sure you can’t get me there names? Not even through the computer?” Malik asked. He noticed how glassy Drakes eyes had gotten and knew he would soon be useless.

  “Nah, man, can’t do it. The whole place would get shut down and we’d all get interrogated. They would know that if their names came out, it was internal.”

  Malik nodded.

  “I still want you to try again. Work on that guy some more. Buy his ass as many bottles as he wants. I got you.”

  “I’ll try,” Drake said and shrugged. “But don’t count on that. He might have wised up. I’d be more focused on getting your places ready for the raids if I were you, to be honest.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Malik smiled cruelly. “When those fuckers get there they’ll have the surprise of their fucking lives.”

  “Man, I wish I could see the looks on their faces,” Drake laughed. He could only imagine the whole crew, armed and furious, ready to cause some serious havoc, only to find themselves standing in the middle of an empty house. Too bad he couldn’t be there to see it.

  ~~~~

  As Malik watched over the empty house from his hiding spot, a feeling of excitement washed over him. It had been a while since he felt what he could only compare to as the joy a kid gets on Christmas day. He was dying to finally catch the motherfuckers responsible. He was constantly taking a loss financially and he was tired of it.

  Finally, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled over. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Malik assumed they were only getting their strategy clear once more. They didn’t have to worry about that, though – they would have nothing to take over.

  With a loud thud, the door opened and the first pair of combat boots slammed on the pavement. A wave of discontent rushed over Malik as he saw that the man’s face was covered by a black ski mask. What the fuck were these assholes planning to do with his people? Gas them?

  He only counted three men by the time the string of his thoughts was broken by the sudden vibrations of his phone.

  He ignored it.

  It stopped and then started again, worrying him. People usually don’t call twice unless it’s something urgent. By the time he fished it out of his pocket, it stopped once again. As he unlocked it, another short vibration announced a text message. It was from Flea, one of his men.

  Man Down @24. u gotta hurry.

  Fuck this shit! 24th was a house he owned in the centre and he remembered making the mistake of not having enough people to guard it. And now, his mistake cost him the life of one of his men. The police gang could wait. He had more important shit to do at the moment.

  ~~~~

  Brandon got out of the car just as Malik left. He fixed his shirt’s cuffs and took another look at his perfectly polished boots as if he was preparing for an important meeting. You could say that, actually. It would be just another step in bringing his brother down.

  “A’ight,” he spat at his crew. “We know they’re here and we know exactly how many they are. Let’s do this!”

  As usual, he didn’t need encouragement speeches or motivational words. They had all the damn motivation they needed – putting bullets through those bastards’ filthy skulls.

  They crept through the dark street to the doorway in silence, knowing that the slightest noise could give them away. Brandon could feel his pulse racing. It was like a drug to him now. The terror those men felt when they were faced with the last seconds of their life gave him an unseen rush. He experienced a liberating feeling when he pulled the trigger and he felt a tingle of ecstasy that ran through his veins when he saw them lying in pools of their own blood. It was better than sex, he thought insanely.

  “At my command,” he whispered when they were finally at the door.

  He waited for a few more seconds, allowing his men the moment they needed to get ready and when they all looked set, he shouted, “Now!”

  He kicked the door open, the fragile wood breaking under the force of his foot.

  “Drop your guns, motherfuckers!” he yelled, running into the main hall. “Did you hear me? Drop your gu— ”

  “Boss,” Chris said, approaching him from the back of the house. He looked oddly relaxed, given the conditions. Brandon looked around and much to his dismay, the rest of his men had their guns down. “There’s no one here. We’ve looked around and this shit hole is empty.”

  “What the hell do you mean empty?” he asked confused.

  “He means it’s fuckin’ empty,” Trev spat, walking out of the living room. “You got the wrong Intel, chief.”

  Brandon looked around at his team. The confused look on his face soon turned into irritation at his crew’s amused expressions. They were right. The house was empty and he could tell they were thinking he was the one to blame for the lost time and wasted effort.

  “Let’s get outta here,” he growled, walking out.

  He could feel their mocking looks burning through the back of his skull.

  CHAPTER 14

  “So how was your week?” Sergeant Hardy asked, leaning back away from his desk. He was smiling, but it was more of a sneer. He wasn’t proud of Brandon’s last couple of assignments coming up empty. The Mayor wanted answers and he could only get them from Brandon. “Heard your radar is kinda messed up lately.”

  Brandon took a deep breath. He had to muster a lot of patience to deal with his Sergeant, especially since he was right about his fuckups.

  “I rec
eived the wrong info from my source, that’s all. I think we might’ve been misguided on purpose.”

  Sergeant Hardy snorted, making Brandon’s blood boil. He reminded him of Malik looking down at him with a scornful expression. Whenever he did something that didn’t rise up to his standards he would give him that look. He then would see his mother, shaking her head and looking at him in disapproval. He felt a lump of resentment in his throat and struggled to swallow it.

  “We can’t keep doing this shit anymore, Baker,” Hardy said, choosing a cigarette from his pack. “Would you fetch me the lighter?”

  He did as he was told, handing the silver lighter to his boss. The man lit the cigarette and took a long drag, watching the smoke rise to the ceiling. It filled the room with a bitter smell. Brandon could barely hold in a cough.

  “These thugs and gangsta’s are starting to take you guys for fools. You’re supposed to be feared and obeyed around here, but lately it seems like they’re playing you. And I don’t like that at all, Baker. Most importantly, the Mayor doesn’t like it.”

  “Sir, that’s not my fault. I just— ”

  “It is your fault!” he yelled, slamming his hand down hard against his desk. Hardy drew in another puff of smoke and pushed it out through his nose. He narrowed his eyes and pinned him down with his stare. “It’s your informant, your source, so it’s your fucking fault! Furthermore, I don’t care whose fault it is. You’re in charge, so deal with it. You got that!?”

  God, how I want to punch his fuckin’ ugly nose in. How dare he treat me like that? Who the fuck did this asshole think he was?

  “Yeah, I got it,” Brandon hissed through gritted teeth. It took all the strength he could muster to utter those words.

  “Good. Now get outta my office!”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but decided to leave well enough alone. It was incredible how the man whom he had respected the most just became the one person he hated just as much as his brother. And it only took a couple of minutes of him screaming at him knowing damn well, everyone on the floor could hear him. Of course, his anger was justified, but that didn’t mean he had to treat him like a piece of shit.

  Closing the door behind him, Brandon shuttered with annoyance. This shit looked bad and he was fucking embarrassed by the side looks he was getting. He needed to fix this shit, no matter the cost. Then he would take care of that piece of shit that humiliated him just a few moments ago.

  The loud voices of his colleagues turned into murmurs as soon as he passed through the precinct. He knew he was the cause and did everything he could to ignore them. The two secretaries who had been busy gossiping until then pointed at him and started to giggle. It was no different from a high school in this place, he thought as he kept it moving. You could be the top dog to everyone one minute, but as soon as you took a wrong step, you became the main joke.

  People really didn’t grow up at all, no matter how much they denied it. They were teens trapped in adult bodies, ready to mock and belittle anyone who dared to make a mistake. It didn’t matter, though. He’ll show them. He’ll show them once and for all that Brandon Baker was not a man to be messed with.

  ~~~~

  Malik was sitting on the porch with a large bottle of Rémy Martin next to him. It had been a calm few days, and business was going steady. The money had started rolling in as it used to. On top of that, thanks to Moore, his men weren’t afraid of the police showing up at their doorsteps and killing them anymore. He had been delivering information on the norm and it was on point. No more run downs on his trap houses.

  He looked at his girlfriend, sunbathing in the yard, her little round belly shining from all the sunscreen she applied on it. A sudden wave of happiness washed over him that had his heart racing like crazy. What was that odd feeling? Was it love? Probably. He loved his woman, of course, and he loved his unborn child.

  He thought about all the things he would do for him. He would send him to a good school and make sure he wouldn’t have to miss his childhood years like he did. Maybe he would become a doctor or a teacher or even a cop, like his uncle Brandon.

  A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he thought of that. Brandon would make a great teacher for his nephew. A much better one than his own father, the drug dealer. Could he ever tell him? Maybe, he thought. When he’s old enough to understand.

  But what if you won’t be there to explain, the annoying voice of his conscience echoed in his head.

  He hated how right it was and he wished he had the power to ignore it. But the truth was, he couldn’t. Ever since he found out he was going to be a father, the same thought ate him up from the inside. What would happen if he got murdered or died suddenly in an accident like his father? His son would have to grow up without his dad, seeing his mom withering away as the days passed.

  Fuck that! He wouldn’t let that happen. He loved life and he planned to enjoy it until he died of old age. And in case something happened, he would make sure to leave Terry enough money to care for their son without having to struggle like his own mother did.

  And hopefully, his son wouldn’t grow up to be like him. Hopefully.

  ~~~~

  Drake’s blood froze in his veins when he heard the door opening. There was no way he could hide in time and if he did, the scattered papers on Brandon’s desk would still arise suspicion.

  Shit, that was bad. That was very, very bad. Only a miracle could save him and miracles never happened to people like him.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Brandon growled, locking the door behind him after he stepped in, much to Drake’s horror.

  He cleared his throat, not wanting to sound insecure. That was the last thing he needed.

  “Chief sent me in here to fetch him some papers. I just got back from his office and I thought— ”

  “You thought you’d come in my office without asking for permission and go through my shit.”

  “He told me to hurry and I didn’t know where you were.”

  Brandon grinned, a wolfish smirk that stood Drake’s hair on its ends.

  “I’ll have you know,” he said, slowly approaching the man. “That I was just in the chief’s office until now and I didn’t see you in there.”

  “I—I just— ”

  “What were you doing with my papers?”

  “Nothing, I just— ”

  “I’ll ask you again,” he growled. “What. Were you doing. WITH MY FUCKIN’ PAPERS?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he hurried over to the desk, grabbing the file from Drake’s shaking hands. When he opened it, he felt his pulse slowing. As he went through the pages, he saw the marked locations on the maps. The fucker was trying to steal the maps. But why?

  Suddenly, something clicked in his head. He was a rookie transfer, hired not long ago. In fact, he happened to show up just when the houses he tried to raid had been found empty. That shit was no coincidence.

  “So it was you,” he laughed. A maniacal peal that rose to the gray ceiling, making Drake cower in fear. “It was you all along. You’re the snitch.” A chuckle slid through his lips as he grabbed the man’s shirt, forcing him to look up at him. “Do you know what you did?”

  Drake shook his head.

  “You don’t know?” Brandon thundered, droplets of spit hitting Moore’s face.

  “No! No, I don’t know!” he cried out, desperate to escape. Brandon’s grip on him was too tight, though.

  “You made a fool outta me. You made a fuckin’ fool outta me and now you gotta pay up.”

  “No, please,” he begged. “I’ll leave. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me go.”

  “Let you go?” Brandon smirked. “Oh, no, no. I got better plans for you, bitch.”

  ~~~~

  The house was empty, as Brandon had expected it to be. It seemed that the motherfuckers didn’t even bother coming back and cleaning the mess. The door was still broken from the last time he’d been there.

  He went back outside and pause
d for a second in the doorway, thinking about a faster way he could get Moore inside. He was passed out in the back of his car, an ugly dark bruise already forming on his temple from where he was hit with his gun’s handle. He didn’t really give Brandon a choice. He kept whining and bitching for almost half an hour before he had tried to throw himself out of the car.

  He dragged him out of the car and into the house, his jeans ripping as they slid against the pavement. He took him downstairs, in the basement that had been previously used as a meeting place for the thugs.

  He thought dragging Drake into the basement was hard, but changed his mind the second he had to lift him up to place him on the chair. Finally, after a few minutes of struggling, he managed to get the man on the chair.

  Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he took the rope from around his waist and started the second part of the job. His hands were first, safely bound to one another behind his back, while his legs were tied to the chair. When he made sure the knots wouldn’t snap, he used the rest of the rope to secure his waist to the wooden chair.

  He took a few moments to admire his work, cracking a slight smile at the sight of the passed out man.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he uttered as he slapped the man hard as hell.

  Drake’s eyes cracked open, still narrowed as they adjusted to the dim light. It seemed that he didn’t know where he was, so Brandon decided to remind him. When the back of his hand met the man’s face, he yelped in pain, his eyes widening at the sight of the almost empty room.

  “Where the fuck am I?” he cried. “Let me go!”

  “You’re not in the position to give orders right now, you know? So if I were you, I’d be keeping my mouth shut, motherfucker!”

  Drake groaned, his hand moving frantically behind his back as he tried to escape the rope’s painful hold. But it was so tightly bound that he ended up hurting himself even more.

  “It’ll be over before you realize it started,” Brandon laughed, reaching for the knife he had on his belt. He carefully placed it on the table behind Drake, along with his gun, his badge and his tazer. He checked his pockets and belt for anything he might’ve forgotten. He decided he was only going to use one thing – the knife.