by R. A. McGee
“I think we let this slick-talking, New York asshole divide us up. Keep us at each other’s throats,” Jamal said.
Hector shifted in his chair, glaring at Jamal.
“And that stops today.”
Forty
“Y’all remember Miss Leona’s little girl?” Heads nodded around the room. “You know who took her? Your boy Hector, that’s who.”
There were glances exchanged and several faces turned to Hector.
“Come on, Hughes, that’s bullshit. Why would I take some little girl? I think you all know me better than that. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a kiddie rapist.”
“I never said you raped her,” Jamal said, “I said you took her. Pay attention. We both know you did it, so why not just admit it to your people? Show them what kind of moves you really makin’.”
“Escucha me,” Hector said as he stood from his seat. “I came here today to talk about coming together. I hoped that Jamal would finally listen. Turns out, all he wants to do is lie on me. It won’t work, mentiroso, no one’s gonna believe this fairy tale.”
Jamal stared at Hector and moved to the middle of the conference table, grabbing his phone and battery. Without a word, he assembled the phone and pressed the power button.
Hector’s eyes darted across the room. “No! No! We said no phones.” He came around the table, headed straight for Jamal.
Terrell stepped in between them, grabbed Hector by the front of his shirt, and sent the man flying onto the folding table.
“Hey,” Hector screamed. “You can’t do that.”
Men from both sides stood to their feet, ready for action. Terrell grabbed Mike by his hair before he could make it to his feet and pinned his head to the table. The injured man flailed underneath him, but was unable to move.
“Wait,” Jamal said in a loud voice. “Just wait.”
The men on both sides paused for a moment.
“Get him,” Hector screamed as he clambered off the table.
Terrell still blocked the path to Jamal as he held Mike’s head on the table. The rest of the men on both sides were in the way. Hector couldn’t reach his rival.
“We said no phones. We said no phones.”
Jamal stood silently for a moment, the powder keg around him simmering. He looked at the faces in front of him. “I never lie.”
He pressed play on the recording Porter had given him. The entire conference room heard Abel Quintana ratting out his brother. The entire conference room heard that the big talker who was going to take their gang to the next level had kidnapped one of their kids.
A kid from the Acres.
As the recording played, Terrell let go of Mike with a shove and moved toward the door. He cut an imposing figure, barring the only way out of the room.
When the recording stopped, there was silence in the conference room. The men standing around the table looked around at each other. Just moments ago, they’d been ready to go to war, now they were stunned by the recording they’d just heard.
Hector Quintana had turned his back to the room while the recording played. Now, he turned around, a scowl on his face. He straightened his crumpled collar and addressed the group.
“Fine, I did it. The question is, why? I did it for the crew.”
“You didn’t do shit for us,” Jamal said, feeling the momentum shift.
“You all remember that fool Charles, right? He was locked down for a minute?” Hector said.
“Of course we know Charles,” Jamal said.
“He came to my boy while he was locked up. Charles said he stuck the Aryans for some product and needed protection,” Hector said. “What was I supposed to say, huh? I’d do the same thing for any of you.”
There was a murmured consensus around the table.
Danisha’s father, Charles, hadn’t really been a member of the Acres boys. But he was from the Acres and the gang had a sizeable contingent in the local prisons. It made sense that Charles would seek protection from guys he knew.
“What’s that got to do with Danny?” Jamal said.
“My help comes with a price, pendejo. I don’t do anything for free. When Charles got out, he was supposed to pay up. I went to see him in some ratty-ass motel, and he told me he didn’t have it. He couldn’t pay us back.” Hector looked around at the men. “You know what that means. I was about to handle him when he offers his girl as payment. Says if we let him live, we can have her.”
“We?” Calvin, one of Hector’s lieutenants, said.
Mike was fidgeting with his dreadlocks, trying to smooth the hair Terrell had grabbed. He didn’t look up.
“Charles says we can have her. I think he thought I would do some perverted shit or something. It got me thinking. The squad could always use the money. That’s what I always told you boys, that I got ways to make more money. We have to think big picture,” Hector said.
“Keep going,” Jamal said.
“There’s a guy who knows how to move kids. I knew people from my life up north and they put me in touch. I let him buy Danisha and I made us a bunch of money.”
Jamal knew this was the time to press. “What you're saying is, you stole one of our little girls and flipped her?”
“To make money for the crew. To make us strong,” Hector said. He took a step backward, away from the harsh glares of the room.
“Then where’s the money?” Jamal wasn’t the least bit interested in the money, but knew this would be the nail in Hector’s coffin. “How much did you give your guys? Because my guys ain’t seen shit.”
“I still have it. I’m waiting for the right time to dish it out. I wanted the heat around Danisha to die down a little. The cops were sniffing around.”
Calvin stood up. “I don’t give a damn about that money. That shit is dirty. I won’t be part of this anymore. Even Gs gotta have a code. I’m out.” He walked over to Jamal. “You still got space for me?”
“Of course, my nigga. You always welcome back. In fact, any of you who want back in, you’re free to make that move. No questions asked,” Jamal said.
There was a murmur through the group and then the rest of Hector’s men, save for Mike, followed Calvin’s lead. Calvin looked at Jamal and said, “I know Darrell downstairs will want out. We ridin’ with you now.”
Calvin and the other man waited for Terrell to let them past and left.
“You fools are making a mistake,” Hector called after the departing men. “I did this for us. Don’t you want to get paid?”
Jamal spoke to his two soldiers standing in the room. “Y’all leave too. I want you to spread the word. Tell everybody what went down. Tell them what a fraud-ass bitch Hector is. We’ll catch up with you soon.” Jamal’s boys left the room.
Only Jamal and Terrell, Mike and Hector remained.
“You’re done. Finished. Your fake ass better get while you can, because once everybody hears what happened, you’re a target. I can’t keep you safe—hell, I don’t even want to. You thought you could come up in my hood and take over? Shoot up my baby mama’s house? You’re lucky I don’t smoke you right now. That’s my word.”
Jamal moved to leave the room, but Terrell didn’t budge.
“Now’s not the time. Neutral ground, remember? We keep our word,” Jamal said. “He’ll get his.”
Terrell shrugged and moved aside, letting Jamal leave, then followed him out of the conference room.
Hector was standing, trembling with rage, his face bright red. “How can they just leave? Disloyal, disrespectful bitches. Don’t they know who I am?” He pounded the conference table. “Don’t they know who I am?” Hector stood, palms flat on the table, seething.
Mike rose and walked around the table. His dreadlocks hung loose around his face. He put his good hand on Hector’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat this shit. Jamal don’t have vision. He’s weak. The other guys will see it. We just need to lay low for a minute. When my arm heals, I’ll do Jamal and Terrell myself.”
Hector nodded. �
��Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. Hughes never should have started. It’s a war he can’t finish. He pounded the table again, punctuating his words. “You hear me, Hughes? You're dead. You're dead.”
“That’s right,” Mike said. “Keep your head up, we’ll make moves.”
Hector pounded the table again and began to pace the room.
Mike started toward the back of the room. “Let me take a piss and we’ll ghost this bitch. I have a place for us to keep our heads down. Give us time to think.”
“There’s nothing he can do to stop me. No way anyone can stop me. I run the Acres. Me. Once I’m back, you’re gonna be my right hand, Mike.”
There was a loud pop and Mike’s face disappeared into a pink mist. He slumped to the floor, legs trapped underneath him. Blood leaked out from the hole that used to be his eyes.
“Dios mio!” Hector said, turning toward the sound of the gunshot. His eyes went wide with fear.
Forty-One
-Before-
“You trying to get us pulled over? We don’t want any attention,” Porter said. “Slow down.”
“I don’t know, I just want to get there and get it over with. I hope this works.”
“What’s not to work? You’ve got the easy job. Just drop me off, then go back to the grocery store and get the Yukon,” Porter said.
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t going to have thugs trying to kill you.”
“Just remember to call the cops before you leave.”
“You sure you have to do it like this? There has to be another way,” Ross said.
“Hector will never meet with me without trying to kill me. I’m a big loose end to tie up. Literally.”
“You are a big loose end,” Ross agreed.
“Just stick to the script,” Porter said. “I’ll handle the hard stuff.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of my end. I promise,” Ross said.
Ross slowed down and took a right onto one of the boundary streets of the Acres. He followed it to the far end of the neighborhood, where he was the only car on the road. Next to the road was a ten-foot-tall privacy wall made of cinderblock and stucco. Peeking over the top of the wall was a two-story building.
“Stop here,” Porter said. “This is it. Just remember what we went over. If you get spooked or something doesn’t feel right, drive away. Keep driving until you get somewhere safe. You getting out okay is more important than me talking to Hector Quintana.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. If you talking to Hector lets us find out what happened to Danny, then it is the most important thing. Get out.”
Porter liked that fire from Ross. He got out and quietly closed the door.
Ross sped away.
Porter took a minute to size up the wall in front of him. The way the cinder block was stacked and arranged, it gave him toeholds the entire way up the wall. He stood for a moment, straining his ears.
Silence.
Porter took a step and jumped, grabbing the top of the wall. A flash of pain seared through his injured arm, but he gritted his teeth and held strong. After adjusting his footing, his next movements took him up and over the wall. He landed in a crouch and didn’t move.
He again heard nothing and looked around to get his bearings.
The yard behind the old clubhouse was nothing but overgrown grass and a cheap playground, rusty from years of neglect. He couldn't see the road in front of the clubhouse, but he was concerned about being seen through the large sliding door which led from the bottom level of the clubhouse to the backyard.
His concerns were quickly allayed. Someone had boarded the slider up from the inside with sheets of plywood. Porter was alone in the rear of the clubhouse and no one could see him. He waited.
After ten minutes, his phone vibrated. Fishing it out of his pocket, he answered.
“Yeah,” Porter whispered.
“I dropped the Honda off. Just called the cops and told them there was a guy with a gun in the grocery store. That should bring them out,” Ross said.
“Definitely. When you drive out with the Yukon, make sure you head back to the grocery. You’ll be safe no matter who follows you there.”
“I will. You okay back there?”
“It’s nice. Thinking of buying a timeshare here,” Porter said.
“I’ll bet. Give me a few minutes, then you’re on.”
“I’m ready,” Porter said as he hung up the phone.
Staying low, he moved through the tall grass and came to stop behind the playground’s slide. He looked to the left and right and still saw no one, although he heard voices from the front of the building.
Stay up there.
Porter was counting the time in his head. He got to six and a half minutes before he heard his Yukon’s horn blaring from the street. Ross was a little slow, but he’d made it. The sound was coming from the front right of the building, so Porter went to the left side of the clubhouse. He moved quickly along the clubhouse’s stucco wall, glad he’d picked a good spot. The way the building was tucked into the corner of the street made it impossible for him to be seen until he passed by the wall he was leaning against.
Porter made it to the front corner of the clubhouse and then poked half his face around it. Ross was driving the Yukon away from the building. There was a group of guys chasing him and everyone was looking that way. There was nobody by the front door.
This was his chance.
Sprinting, he covered the thirty feet from the edge of the clubhouse to its front door, then stepped in just as he heard a voice barking to get the cars. The lower level of the clubhouse was dark, and Porter’s eyes didn’t have a chance to adjust from the Florida sun. Temporarily blinded, he moved as far into the room as he could before running into the stairwell on the far wall. Feeling steps, he followed them to the right and found the landing. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted as he took the steps, two at a time, to the second floor.
Stopping to catch his breath, Porter stayed close to the wall. He heard no voices on the second floor, so he took a minute. When he was able to see, he moved around upstairs. He checked two doors, finding them nailed shut, and then he saw an open door. He stepped into it and found a room containing a table, some chairs, and little else.
At the end of the room was a door with wooden slats hung awkwardly in the frame. Just what Porter was looking for. He stepped into it and pulled the door closed behind him. It caught roughly on the jamb, obviously a replacement door. It didn’t take long for Porter to see why.
He’d stepped into a bathroom, with a toilet and sink. There were dozens of holes punched into the drywall, exposing the insulation. Porter could just make out how large the space was from the little bit of light streaming through the slats.
Not much privacy with this door, he thought.
He stood silent as a statue, trying to get his breathing under control.
Every breath sounded like thunder in his ears and he waited for a crew of Acres boys to follow the noise right to him.
There was silence for many minutes. Porter breathed deep and slow. His phone vibrated once, with a text:
They left the grocery. Headed back to you.
Porter slipped his phone back into his pocket and waited. After several more minutes, he heard people stomping up the stairs. A sizeable group of guys came into the big room and took seats around the table. Porter strained to try make out the figures. From his angle, he could see Jamal and Terrell, but didn’t recognize anyone else. He could barely hear what was being said.
“It’s my turn now.”
Porter listened as Jamal told the group about Hector taking Danny. Then a guy with a small beard and a neck tattoo stood up and denied the accusations.
That must be Hector, Porter thought. He looks different than I thought. Then he realized he wasn’t sure what he’d thought Hector would look like, but after hearing so much about the guy, he had expected a fire-breathing dragon. This was just a guy.
A brief fight broke out,
as Terrell grabbed Hector and threw him across the table.
Moments later, Jamal played the recording for the entire group.
Hector stood back the entire time. His back was to Porter, but he was close enough to see him shaking. He started talking.
What did he say about Danny’s father?
Jamal interrupted Hector with a couple of questions. By now, Porter could tell that Hector had lost the room. Some of the guys stood up and walked out. Jamal spoke again to the group and two more guys stood up and walked out. That only left Jamal, Terrell by the door, and Hector standing a few feet away from the table.
And Dreadlocks, Porter thought. His arm looks pretty messed up. Good.
Jamal said something to Hector and then turned to leave the room.
Porter watched as Hector slammed the table. For the first time, he could hear clearly what he was saying: ranting about wanting to kill Jamal. Dreadlocks stood up and put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.
Hector was pacing now, cursing and yelling about the meeting. Dreadlocks was the voice of reason, trying to pacify his boss. He turned and walked toward the door Porter was behind.
Don’t come this way. Not yet.
Dreadlocks kept walking, talking over his shoulder to Hector.
Dammit. Porter reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small revolver Tattoo had tried to pull on him several days ago. It was the only weapon Porter had, what with his Glock being confiscated and him not being able to get into his house to retrieve anything else. It didn’t matter. Tattoo’s revolver would do the trick. In fact, it was better that it wasn’t his own gun.
“Let me take a piss and we’ll ghost this bitch. I have a place for us to keep our heads down. Give us time to think,” Dreadlocks said.
Although his view was obscured by the door, Porter aimed the revolver at the bridge of Mike’s nose, holding it steady as the man drew closer.
“There’s nothing he can do to stop me. No way anyone can stop me. I run the Acres. Me,” Hector said, pounding his chest.
Porter held the front sight of the revolver steady.
“Once I’m back, you’re gonna be my right hand, Mike.”
