by Brick
“You know me and Smiley had eyes on the man who supplied the bullets,” I said. “I talked my cousin into giving me info on who he is and where he is laying his head. The old man doesn’t normally do business if he doesn’t at least know where the supplier lays his head.”
“So, what did you find out?”
“Not much. He lives in Copper Hills, on Garden Walk Boulevard.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” Auto remarked. “A nigga who makes those kinds of bullets? Ain’t no way he’s really living in a ghetto like Copper Hills.”
“I’m telling you what I saw.”
“Naw. That shit’s got to be a front. Those bullets are too detailed and intricate. We need to look past what our eyes are seeing and scope beyond the lens. He can obey the principles of the hood without being bound by them. Same as us. We live in the hood, but that doesn’t mean we’re bound to it. We can all pack up and leave anytime we want to. That man is too smart to be in a Copper Hills frame of mind. Do your homework. Get Smiley and then meet me at my place.”
With that, he hung up the phone. I had to admit, I had thought about the same thing. But I knew plenty of niggas who were too smart to be in the hood, but too dumb to do right with their money and get out of the hood. Mr. Bullet Man could be one of those brothers, I thought as I drove in the direction of the shop.
The hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood up when I pulled up in front of the shop. Something wasn’t right. The doors to the shop had been left up. I cut my engine. Quickly exited the car so I wouldn’t be trapped in the event of another gunfight. I ducked low, then rushed around to the side of the building. Looked right, then left, to see if the coast was clear. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to get shot in the back, I quickly kneeled, then crawled into the shop. I pulled the door down behind me and locked it. Did a quick check of the shop.
“Smiley,” I yelled as I ran around.
I felt sick to my stomach as I thought about what could be happening to Smiley. Started to feel like we should have stopped trying to save everybody.
I yelled out her name again as I ran upstairs, then back down.
I got no answer. I listened for even a whimper to see if she was tied up somewhere. Not a sound. The place had been tossed. Papers, parts, oil, grease, everything had been thrown around the shop. I let out an aggravated scream at the mess. I screamed because we had been found. Screamed because our computers and all had been snatched from the walls. All of what made Eraserheads who they were had been taken. Yeah, we had a real home base with backup files and all, but I had no idea how long our shit had been gone and no idea who’d taken it.
Just then my cell rang. A number unknown to me flashed on the caller ID.
“Who is this?” I answered.
“We have something that belongs to you. Same as you have something that belongs to us,” a male voice said to me.
“Who is this?” I asked again.
My face was grim. Mind set to kill.
All I heard was her sniffles, then her shaky voice. “Code, help me,” Smiley pleaded.
“Are you hurt, Smiley?” I asked her.
“Little bit.”
“You get a good look at who took you?”
Took her a minute to stop sniffling. “Yeah.”
“Tell me who.”
“Bullets—” was all she said before the phone was snatched away.
“I can play this game all day, little lady,” I heard the male voice tell Smiley. “Tell your boss I know he has my merchandise, and unless he gives it back to me, I’m going to keep taking and taking, until I get what’s mine.” Then the voice spoke directly into the phone. “Next move is yours.”
The call ended before I could react. Next move was ours, he’d said. Then so be it.
Chapter 11
Boots
“Today on ATL in the Morning, vigilantes fight back against a brazen radical militia . . .”
A knowing smile spread across my face. Fighting gunmen with masks flickered across my flat screen. I sighed, with a smile, then swiped up my remote to hit MUTE, turned in my chair and dropped the remote on the desk.
“You see that, my sista?” I said, thumb pointing behind me. I grinned wide at my guest. “That right there is some powerful stuff. My people are tired of the bullshit and are not taking being stomped on the throat anymore. That’s that shit that I like!”
My guest rolled her pretty bourbon-brown eyes, then pursed her lips. “Yeah, it’s dope. I’d do the same shit if someone had stolen from me.”
I liked this one a lot. She was a better guest than my past guests had been. Usually, they were all manipulating liars. I really couldn’t blame them, but I hated liars. The majority were snakes from jump, and I was not a fan of that type of snake. But my new guest here? Shit, she was cool to the breeze. Holding her here had started becoming an enjoyment after she stopped cussing at me and trying to fight a brotha. I had taken her to send a message, and so far the waiting game was still going on. Which was why I was sitting back, just watching.
“So tell me, Smiley. What’s it like to do what you do? I mean, what the hell do you get out of it, beauty, outside of monetary gain?”
Smiley sat in a La-Z-Boy with her arms clamped down by handcuffs. I had tried to make her as comfortable as possible. My man Shango had been the utmost gentleman after she stopped spitting on him. He had carefully changed her out of her bloody clothes and had swapped them out for one of Alize’s jean overalls and a tank.
He had then carefully cleaned her wounds, right after he had got down and snatched her by her locks. The brotha was not about putting his hands on females, but he wasn’t opposed to helping her understand that he would take only so much of her fighting him before shit got real.
His threat ice cold, I had just sat back and watched how quickly my guest got with the program, while at the same time, I had checked on my other shipment of items. After that, it had been mad smooth.
Right now, she was crunching on ice and watching me with an annoyed look on her face. Her nose was crinkled, she had a furrow in her brow, and her huge eyes kept rolling as she thought up some smart retort to release on me. It amused me. Made me laugh my ass off, because she reminded me of the shawties back in Houston.
“I get what I get for the moment,” she answered. She shrugged, then tugged at her handcuffs in order to pop ice in her mouth.
After grabbing my Starbucks cup, I raised it slowly to my lips, took a sip, then locked eyes with her. “Yeah? Like my bullets.”
“Nah, like my money! I don’t know what your bullets are and don’t know nothing about how they were taken, okay?” she sassed.
I ducked as a cup flew my way. Shango got ready to jump from his chill spot in the back of my office, but I held my hand up to calm him. “It’s cool. She’s still salty about being a guest here. But back to the discussion at hand. I believe you, Smiley.”
“So let me go. I don’t know a thing, and I can’t help you any way it goes,” she pleaded.
See, she was bullshitting. I already knew it from the tone of her voice, but I didn’t care. I was enjoying seeing the sparks of intelligence going on in her mind, which was why I was keeping her. From watching her at her crew’s compound, I knew she was a tech geek. I wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been doing, because I hadn’t been standing close enough to her at the time. But the coding she had done was quick and to the point, and it had me invested.
“Actually, you can help me out, little mama. Since you say you are new to the crew, I’m thinking that me and you can come to some type of arrangement.”
Smiley’s eyes widened; then she started twisting in her chair. “Hell no! I don’t know shit about you, and I’m not about to be a ho for you or steal for you or whatever.”
“Damn, doll face. Do I look like I want to fuck you? I mean, you’re sexy in your own kinda way, but no. I’m not here for any of that. No need to force myself on pussy. Who I am is enough to get pussy willingly.” I grinned, and I saw her
eyes soften, then harden from emotion.
What an interesting chick, for sure. The sound of my cell phone ringing cut off our chat, and I swiveled in my desk chair to grab the phone. As I picked it up, I looked at her. “Shango, remind me later to approach our guest about a possible compromise.”
“Speak,” I said into the receiver and waited.
“We have a situation, a big one, chefe,” I heard in my ear.
The voice on the opposite end of the line caused me to frown, sink farther into my chair, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What happened now, Oya?”
“There was a weight problem with our truck coming in from Miami. Our man Dinzo had made it through all the truck stations without issue and had switched the load with Shredder. But once Shredder got to the weigh station leading into Georgia and tried to get through, he noticed a problema grande. Long story short, Shredder checked out and paid the weigh station to ignore it, and now I’m looking at something that could get us shook up.”
The sound of Oya walking hit my ear. Every now and then she would pause, then mutter in the background, causing me to feel anxious at the moment.
“I’m so sorry, chefe . . . Boots. I don’t know who is targeting us, but this is serious,” Oya stated.
Whatever it was that had her on edge had the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I slowly stood and clutched my cell.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“I . . . You have to come down here and see for yourself. This . . . merda . . . Just come to our drop spot,” she urged.
“I’ll be on my way.” I quickly hung up.
After walking up to Shango, I muttered in his ear, “Bring our guest. Oya said something has gone down, and we need to check it out now.”
“A’ight, boss. I’ll move her to the back and get the car ready,” Shango replied.
Heat crept up the back of my neck. Tension had me rolling my shoulders.
“Well, Ms. Smiley, looks like we’re going on another trip. You might be able to help with this one. I think your crew is fucking with me.”
“Yeah? Well, you did snatch me,” she spat, with a haughty look of pride in her eyes.
Her loyalty amused me, but right now I was too pissed off to care. I grabbed her by the back of her neck and hunkered down low to look in her eyes. “If you fuck around and fight, do understand that my man Shango has no issue with fucking you up for putting your hands on him, feel me?”
Smiley gave a slow, fearful nod.
I exhaled. “Get her up and out. I don’t have time to waste.”
After stepping out of the back room that was my office, I told Alize to hold down the fort and make sure that PT was nearby. I took several strides to the exit of my complex, shifted my hat to cover my eyes, and then slid into the waiting car, which contained both Shango and a bound Smiley. We headed out of the hood, and I leaned against the window, with my finger against my temple. The majority of my work was making sure these bullets got to where they were going. The fact that I kept having problems with just one shipment was surely screwing with my vibe.
“Tell me again what you know about your crew, Smiley . . . Eraserheads, as you say.”
Smiley’s eyes were wide, and her plump lips spilled over the simple gag in her mouth. My boy pulled it down, then offered her some water, which she greedily drank before speaking.
“Nothing . . . From what I was told, they just work the auto shop. That’s it. And they do what people do who want good rides. Steal ’em,” she rushed to say.
“So tell me why they are called Eraserheads, then?” I asked, keeping my temper in check.
“Shit if I know! I guess ’cause of how smoothly they swipe rides and wipe out the identity,” she said, rambling out of fear. “Please don’t kill me.”
“If your people had anything to do with what I’m dealing with now, trust me, killing you will be the very last thing I do after I get done shipping your parts to them, understood?” Anger made my voice deeper and gruff.
Shango watched me from the corner of his eye, and I shook my head, stopping him from speaking. “Just keep driving.”
An hour later, we were at our drop-off spot outside Atlanta. Trees surrounded the open concrete carport. The heat of the Georgia sun beat down on us, and although the AC was blasting in the ride, outside I could see waves of heat drifting in the air.
Oya was pacing back and forth in her black leggings and bulletproof corset vest, which was wrapped around her lilac button-down shirt. Agitation and frustration showed on her appealing face, which was apparent from the way it was scrunched up. The moment she saw our car, she waved a hand and turned, causing the brown fish-tail braid on her head to whip over her shoulder. She stood side by side with Shredder, who was near the back of the truck, with a pissed-off look on his face. He muttered something.
“Handle her, Shango,” I said, getting out of the car.
After slamming the door of my black Explorer, I walked toward Oya, but then Shredder stepped up to me and started his stuttering. “I . . . I . . . I . . . did shit right.”
“I trust you, man. Just calm down and explain it slowly. What’s going on?” I said.
Shredder glanced at Oya, who had moved over to where he was standing when we pulled up. I followed while Shedder walked in her direction and took care with his words. “Dinzo said that before taking the cargo, the big bosses were holding him back talking about issues with his truck, but when he checked it, nothing seemed off about the shipment.”
“Okay, so it’s not his fault. Continue,” I said.
“These motherfuckers were playing with us. . . . They . . . they . . . switched our shit on Dinzo!” Shedder spat out.
“How?”
“We don’t know,” he said.
Frustration had me almost shouting, “What did they switch out to cause the weight change?”
Oya opened the back of the truck. “Take a look, chefe,” she said as she motioned for me to peer inside the truck.
Glancing inside, my mouth dropped, and anger had me ready to kill. Before me were stacks of white blocks lining the walls of the truck’s trailer. I could see where either Dinzo or Shredder had yanked back a false wall, which was now slouching. Though that had me pissed off, the shock came when my eyes focused on the teenage girls and boys who were lying on their sides, the plastic ties that had bound their arms lying beside them. From the looks of things, many were only a few years younger than me and my crew, while the rest were preteens. Fear was in their eyes, and I knew . . . knew that my crew and I were being set up for some fucking drug and human-trafficking shit.
“You got to be fucking kidding me!” I spat out and flung the doors of the truck wide open. “So, where the fuck are the bullets?”
Oya and Shredder both shook their heads, then dropped them in disbelief.
“Call up, Dinzo! The fuck is this?” I shouted, then punched a fist into one of the doors.
Every kid in the truck whimpered, then shrank back in fear. They all seemed emaciated and exhausted. Bruises were on their bodies, and some of the girls had blood staining their thighs. I already knew what this shit was about with them, and it sickened me to my spirit.
“Dinzo is taking another truck to Texas, since this one is hot, boss. We manipulated the records as usual to say it was signed off,” Shredder said quickly, clarifying matters.
Oya spoke up just then, because she knew Shredder was equally pissed and was about to spaz. “Shred and I spoke to Dinzo. He broke down everything that he could recall and that felt shifty to him. It was a group of biker-looking white guys who rolled out from the trucking station and went to different trucks. He didn’t think anything of it, because he was doing what we pay him to do,” Oya explained.
“They have something on them that made Dinzo think it was them?” I hastily asked, the wheels turning in my head.
Shredder stepped forward, tucking his hands in his overalls. “Yeah, he said he saw some similar ones at the weigh station, watching his load—”
“Sounds like those same-looking niggas that came after me and my crew,” Smiley interrupted.
I turned and narrowed my eyes at Shango, who was holding her arms. His hold got tighter, and he started to drag her back to the ride, but she began bucking and tugging yet again.
Panic was in her eyes as she stared at me and yelled, “You wanted me to tell y’all if we had something to do with this. Well, I’m telling you, Boots. We didn’t have shit to do with this. I don’t know nothing else going on, but I know those niggas you just described is who was gunning for us over in Riverdale. I promise you on my life.”
“Who is this, chefe?” Oya asked, her voice chilly, after she walked up into Smiley’s face, then stared her down with a lethal gaze.
“Looks like she’s an ally for now, Oya, and an asset to us when we all go after the niggas that are playing foul with my bullets and stealing from me,” I replied.
Rubbing my jaw, I pulled myself into the truck and looked around. “Did you talk to these kids?” I asked, sticking my head out of the truck.
“Shredder tried. He couldn’t understand them, which is why he called me to the drop spot,” Oya explained. “They are Haitian.”
I jumped out of the truck and slowly moved around it, eyeing it. The flat of my gloved hand ran over the outer surface of the truck, then connected with the hitch. I pulled open the door near the hitch, and I looked inside. Molly, meth and other bullshit were nestled in the compartment. My bullets were nowhere in sight. No crates, no nothing! Blazing anger had me going all the way off. I returned to the back of the truck and addressed the children. My language changed to French, and I asked them all the relevant questions.
“Tell me what the people looked like who took you,” I spat out.
Many didn’t know a thing. Some were just immigrant children who were walking home from school in either Miami or the surrounding area and were snatched up. The ones who could provide some details gave me descriptions of cars, which I spat back to the crew to take note of. As the kids spoke, some in broken English, I smiled. After many minutes, I was finally able to get to the meat that I needed. Physical traits.
