Black Scarface 2

by Jimmy Dasaint

  "Face! Face!" Gloria said, as she bumped him with her shoulder.

  Face instantly snapped from out of his momentary daze just in time to hear the jury’s Foreman finish reading the verdict.

  "We the jury find the Defendant, Norman Smith, Junior, not guilty on all counts!" the Foreman stated decisively.

  The entire courtroom went into an uproar. People were standing up in their chairs shouting, clapping and screaming Face's name, while others were standing around booing and cursing the unfair decision.

  Face reached out and gave Gloria a triumphant hug. "We did it, Face! We did it!" she gasped unbelievingly as tears began rolling down her face.

  A swarm of family and friends quickly gathered around them to join in the celebration. While the news reporters and photographers were trying their best to burst through the boisterous crowd for interviews and photographs.

  Vincent Bradley disappointingly closed his briefcase and eased his way through the crowd. The pain that rested inside of him was worse than anything he had ever felt. He

  had just lost the biggest case of his career. Not because of his arguments, they had been flawless, but because he had been ordered to do so...or else!

  Judge Marino looked out at all the commotion inside his courtroom and quietly stood from his seat. As he walked back to his chambers let out a sigh of relief.

  "Baby, you did it!" Tasha said, wrapping her arms around Face as they passionately kissed. "Our children miss their father. Let's go home," she added.

  A group of reporters and photographers followed Face and his family out of the courtroom. Two tall white men, dressed in black suits watched quietly as they passed. Face noticed them staring, but kept walking. Serious expressions were on their faces as they stood back watching Face and his entourage of family and friends walk down the hall and straight out the courthouse doors. They made sure they stayed close behind.

  Looking through the scope mounted on a Remington 700 .308 caliber rifle, Ron Perry watched as the crowd of people walked out of the front of the Federal Courthouse. He had heard the verdict on the radio and couldn't believe it. How could they let a monster like Face go free? Still, it really don't matter, Face will never live to enjoy his freedom, he thought.

  Ron Perry spotted his target in the middle of the crowd. Face was surrounded by reporters, photographers and members of his family. He noticed the two well dressed white men standing just a few feet away. Ron Perry shifted his focus back onto his main target; Face. He had the cross hairs resting gently right between Face's eyes, and once he pulled the trigger it

  would be an instantaneous death.

  "I got chu' muthafucker! I got chu, right where I want you," Ron Perry whispered to himself.

  One of the TV reporters walked up to Face and blocked the flawless line to a picture perfect shot. "Damn! Hurry up and move out the way, you son-of-a-bitch!" Ron Perry whispered urgently. Suddenly, his cell phone began to ring. He thought about not answering it until he finished the job of killing Face, but the TV reporter was still blocking his target, and the cell phone continued to ring.

  "Move you son-of-a-bitch!" he begged, the phone continuing to ring and distract him from the job at hand. He started to shoot through the reporter, but thought he might deflect the bullet enough that it would miss Face and give him enough warning to get out of the way before he could get another shot off.

  After a sigh he reached over and grabbed the phone and angrily opened it, "What is it?" he said furiously.

  "Ron retreat. It’s been called off!" Powaski demanded.

  "What! I got him! Just let me finish the job!" Ron Perry barked back.

  "Abort the mission! That's an order, Perry!" Powaski told him in a demanding voice.

  "But, I got him! Please, I got him right now, just let me finish the job," Ron Perry begged.

  Agent McDonald grabbed the cell phone from out of Powaski's hand and said, "You heard him! Now, abort the damn mission!"

  Ron Perry dropped the cell phone and looked through the scope again. The TV reporter had just walked away and now the two men, dressed in black had approached Face.

  "What the hell is going on, here?" Ron Perry mumbled, staring through the scope. After a long disappointing sigh, he took his eye from the scope and laid the rifle aside. He was furious

  that his golden opportunity had been ruined. "This ain't over, Face! I can promise you that!" he stated aloud, as he slid the rifle into a long black leather bag.

  Ron Perry reached down and picked up the ringing cell phone, "Hello!" he stated through clenched teeth.

  "Don't worry, you'll get another chance," McDonald said before ending the call.

  Outside the courthouse...

  "Someone very important wants to see you, Mr. Smith" one of the black suited men said to Face.

  "I'll talk to them later," Face said.

  "That won't be a wise thing to do," the man replied. "Come on, he's waiting right over there." the man continued, pointing at the limousine.

  "Face, is everything okay?" Gloria asked.

  "Everything is fine," the man said, as he and his partner walked Face toward the limousine.

  Face looked back at Tasha and Pamela's worried faces and said, "Just wait for me. This won't take long."

  As he continued to follow the men over to the limousine, Face had a gut feeling about who was inside and he couldn't wait to meet him.

  CHAPTER 106

  Sitting at the curb outside the Federal Courthouse where Face had just been found 'not guilty' the long black limousine sat with its engine idling almost silently. In the plush leather back, C.W. Watson tensely sat in his climate controlled comfort. His political career teetered in the balance. His long hidden and deepest dark secret was now known by a number of people that he could in no way trust. As it now was, he had to compromise his beliefs and dedication to his position as head of the Domestic Anti-Drug Commission in order to save his reputation and that of his friend, Tom Klein and his godson Charles, the Mayor of Philadelphia. If he would have known forty years ago what he knew today, young Charles would not have left the deep wildering forest of West Virginia.

  Even now, almost forty years later it was nearly impossible to believe that a simple deer hunting trip could turn into such a living nightmare. He had just laid out nearly three-thousand dollars for a custom made Winchester .300 caliber WSM bolt action rifle for the trip and he planned to use it. It seemed foolish to him to lay out that kind of money for a rifle, that wasn't yet available to the general public-and not kill a single deer with it during all of the hunting season.

  He remembered that it had been the last day of the deer season and he wanted a dead deer on his fender in the worse way. He saw it as proof of his masculinity; a testament to his very manhood. Plus, being a newly elected Senator with a trophy buck under his belt, he could walk proudly through the halls of the Senate Building in Washington, D.C.

  * * *

  In the Fall of 1969 the early West Virginia morning had been cool and to the point of being crisp, and misty. In the wilderness valley where he had taken up a shooting position he could see through the underbrush for a fair distance. Sure, there were blind spots, but still he would know a deer when he saw one. He had been an outdoorsman all his life and was comfortable around guns, shooting and hunting.

  He noticed that Tom and young Charles, were beginning to look at him with a slight smirk on their face and laughter in their eyes. That had only served to make him even more determined to show them up.

  The sun had just risen over the eastern horizon and long purple shadows stretched westerly. The misty air had taken on a yellowish-silver tint and the breeze was carrying the scent of Autumn pine and wood smoke from a distant campfire. Birds had begun to chirp and flit from bush to limb in the near silent wilderness morning.

  Then, a limb on a bush fifty yards out and at his two o'clock position moved more than anything except a deer could have moved it. And C.W. took aim through a hole in the bushes and waited patientl
y. He knew the animal would have to pass that spot on its journey east.

  The crosshairs in the scope wavered slightly. His breath slowed down and his finger tightened slightly on the trigger. Then, the animal stepped from behind the next bush and filled the hole C.W. was sighted on. He squeezed the trigger and the rifle thundered and echoed through the wildering valley of West Virginia.

  He heard an ear piercing scream filled with anguish. It was a gut wrenching sound he never heard before and one that he would or could never forget. He had never heard a deer scream like that! He worked the bolt, ejecting the spend cartridge and putting another fresh Silver Tip in the chamber. Knowing that the rifle was automatically cocked and ready to fire, he lowered the rifle and began to step slowly and cautiously to the site of the wounded animal. He knew that just because the animal was down, it didn't mean it was harmless. In fact, he knew it would be even more dangerous, because now it would be fighting for its very survival.

  Behind him he heard noise crashing through the brush and something quickly rushed toward him. He spun around, the rifle up, level and ready to fire.

  His best friend Tom and his godson, Charles came bursting around a bush and into view. C.W. cursed under his breath and lowered the rifle. His heart beat was hard and fast in his chest and his breath was trying to outrun his heart. Behind him he could hear the wailing of the wounded animal.

  "Did ya' get 'im?" Tom asked breathlessly, his red face was flushed from excitement and the short run from the camp.

  "Yeah, over there. He's down and wounded. So be careful. He's still real dangerous!" C.W. replied, then turned and started for his kill.

  He pushed through the final bush limbs and stepped into a small clearing beside the creek. He stood there shocked, and in opened mouthed silence, as Charles and Tom pushed through the brush behind him. Then they too stopped and stared in complete quiet.

  C.W.'s first thought was that he was looking at the strangest deer he had ever seen. Then he realized that what he was actually seeing was a man, lying on his back, and a woman weeping hysterically on his bloody chest. His second thought was that his political career was over if anyone ever found out what had happened here.

  "Oh, fuck!" Tom mumbled, just loud enough for the woman to hear him over her hysterical and pleading cry.

  The woman looked up at C.W. without raising from her hovering position and studied him through her watery, tear filled eyes. Then, her eyes dropped to the rifle he held, then back to his guilty face as realization dawned on her.

  "You killed him!" she screamed through in anguish.

  "Accident," C.W. mumbled. "I thought it was a deer," he explained.

  "You killed him! You bastard!" she screamed. Suddenly she recognized him. "I know who you are! You're that new, young Senator! You killed him! You killed my husband!" she continued to say as she began to tremble.

  "It was an accident!" C.W. pleaded, spreading his arms helplessly.

  "It was murder!" she screamed back, as she wept over her husband’s dead body..

  "C.W. what are we gonna do?" Tom asked frantically.

  "Fuck, I don't know!" he replied seriously. "This will ruin me!" he added selfishly. "My political career will be over!"

  "It was an accident," Tom said, looking down at Charles, who was staring blankly at the dead man and weeping woman lying on his chest. Her face and hands were covered with blood from the man's wounds. He hadn’t wanted to come anyway, Tom remembered. Now, this had happened. No wonder the kid was speechless!

  "Yeah, but try explaining that to the public, Tom! They'd never buy it! Not in a million years! There's only one thing to do," he said, then took two long steps toward the woman, placed the barrel near the side of her turned head and pulled the trigger. POW! They all watched as the woman's lifeless body slumped over her dead husband.

  As the echo died away the only piercing sound heard was that of the hysterical young Charles, who had fallen to his knees screaming in utter shock.

  "Let's get 'em buried, Tom, and then get the fuck outta here!" C.W. said. "Take Charles back to camp and bring the shovel."

  The blaring high pitched car horn beside the limousine brought C.W. back to the present. Realizing that what he had thought were Charles’ screams, forty years ago, was just a car horn and nothing more. He quickly wiped the sweat from his brow using his snow white silk handkerchief and took a swallow of his iced cold tea.

  Now, there was a digital, full colored video recording of a drunken Charles spilling his guts about the whole affair, and a note threatening to release a copy to the media if Norman 'Black Scarface' Smith was convicted. C.W. instantly realized that if that were to happen, then Norman Smith may be sitting in prison for the rest of his life, but he would be sitting on death row in the state of West Virginia!

  His decision had been instant. He had called the necessary people, pulled the necessary strings and Norman 'Black Scarface' Smith, Jr. was a free man and was being escorted to the back door of his limousine.

  As the door opened and Face slid inside, C.W. said, "I want that fucking master tape and all the copies!"

  Face smiled, then said, "Senator, I just got acquitted of all charges. I know nothing about a tape."

  "You bastard!" C.W. said. "You should never give a man in a high position a reason to hate you," he threatened.

  "Senator, all my life I've been prepared for what I want, believe, and stand for. Are you?" Face asked.

  "Is that a threat?" C.W. asked, angrily.

  Face’s eyes narrowed with his stoic expression. "I'll see you around, Senator. Maybe I'll call you sometime," he added, opening the back door of the limousine.

  "This ain't over, Smith!"

  "The name is Black Scarface, Senator. Face for short!" Face winked, then climbed out of the limousine and closed the door.

  He nodded at the body guards around the limo, then walked back towards the front of the courthouse to meet up with Tasha, Pamela, and the rest of his family and friends.

  CHAPTER 107

  One week later...

  After being acquitted at his federal trial, Face had been a busy man, running around and taking care of a lot of personal business. One of the things he had done was to go visit Reese at the state prison. They had enjoyed a long; much needed, conversation; discussing their strategies and plans for the near future. Before Face left him, he promised Reese that he would write to him and visit again in the near future.

  When he wasn't taking care of personal matters, Face spent quality time with his family. His brief stay at the Federal Detention Center was one of the worst experiences he ever had. He promised himself that it would never happen again. In the meantime, there was still a lot to be done. Some former friends had crossed him and Face was determined to one day settle the score. Still, his biggest problem wasn't the former friends that had tried to get him a life sentence in prison. His major problem now was an entirely new enemy; C.W. Watson, one of the most powerful men in America.

  Belmopan Belize...

  Face stepped out of the, tinted black Mercedes Benz, limousine and walked through the front door of the Atlantic International Bank. This bank, where he had hidden all his money was not like any other bank in the world. Instead of tellers, floor managers, and lines of people, there was only one desk situated in the middle of the round shaped room.

  Standing at the back of the room were two well armed security guards. Their demeanor made it clear that they would not hesitate to shoot on sight. Face approached the attractive, dark haired woman sitting behind the desk. He sat down in the empty seat in front of her and smiled.

  "Welcome to the Atlantic International Bank of Belize. How may I help you, Sir?" she asked politely.

  "I would like to check my account, please," Face replied.

  "Name please?"

  "Norman Smith, Junior," Face replied.

  The woman paused from typing into the computer and looked up. She knew he looked familiar. Now it all made sense. It was Him! The man who had beat the
U.S. government!

  She smiled, then turned the computer around and shoved it toward him.

  "Mr. Smith, please enter your personal access code?" she smiled.

  Face typed in his personal password and code, then slid the keyboard back to the woman. He watched as she pressed a few keys and then picked up the telephone and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece. Face couldn't understand a single word she said, as she spoke in Spanish. When she hung up, she looked over at Face and said, "Mr. Smith you can go back now. The guards will

  escort you."

  With a smile and roaming eyes, the woman watched as Face stood from his seat and walked toward the two guards waiting at the back of the room..

  The three of them boarded the elevator and as the doors began to close, one of the guards asked, "How many games do you think the Philadelphia Eagles will win this year?"

  "Seven," Face answered without hesitation.

  The two guards grinned and nodded their heads. Had Face answered any number other than 'seven', they would have killed him on the spot, no questions asked.

  When the elevator stopped, one of the guards reached forward and entered a code into the built in keypad. The elevator doors slowly slid open and they all walked into a lavishly decorated room. The room had thick cream colored carpet and glass tables with bowls of peppermint candies and bottles of champagne chilling on ice. There were also several couches with end tables. Two more guards were inside with a tall attractive, dark haired woman who introduced herself as Sandy. When she spoke, her accent was distinctly British.

  "Mr. Smith, what can we do for you today?" she asked. "I'd like to check my personal account."

  "Follow me, please," she smiled, then led him over to one of several computer terminals.