Bankroll Squad

by David Weaver

  “Ral, we will always be brothers. We are two men, blood and flesh of the same, and products of the same source.”

  Dexter extended his hand to Rally, who finally let his arrogance subside long enough to accept his brother’s hand.

  “Dexter, I didn’t give you a job because I didn’t want you to be a part of this world. A world of living above the law and above your means and doing any and everything possible to get to the top. And even at the top, you’re still at the bottom. And we’ll always be, because this is the underworld. I wanted so much more for my little brother.” Rally said with sadness in his voice and concern in his eyes.

  “I understand what you’re telling me Rally, but look at how successful I’ve become. The game is in my blood.”

  The door opened and Rally’s personal servant brought in two champagne glasses and a bottle of Ace Of Spades. He poured both men a glass and left the room without speaking a word. Rally took a sip from his glass, then stood up and walked to his window. His brother sat for a couple of minutes, and after finishing his glass he soon joined Rally at the window.

  “There is no way for me to deny the fact that the game is in your blood. You’ve made a serious name for yourself in the streets, but when are you going to graduate to being a boss?”

  The words sank in as Dexter imagined himself owning a sprawling estate like his big brother Rally.

  “Rally, that’s why I came to you today. I’ve been putting in major work for the Bankroll Squad by following directions from a guy named Marco. As long as I’ve been risking my life and freedom for the squad, I have yet to meet Malcolm or even get a promotion. I came to you to let you know that I’m ready. I’ve proven myself Rally. Make me a boss.”

  Rally met Dexter’s gaze briefly, then turned away.

  “Dexter,” Rally said while rubbing his chin, “your clientele and specialty is cocaine, am I correct?”

  “Yeah, cocaine and crack. Why?”

  “Because I don’t deal coke! I deal meth! You and your little group owns the coke game, so how could I possibly make you a boss?”

  “Well, I came to let you know that if we make a move now, the coke game will belong to the Dynasty Cartel, and things will be back to how they’re supposed to be.”

  Rally frowned at Dexter suspiciously.

  “Dexter, do you owe them some money or something? Keep it real with me please. What’s going on little bro?”

  Dexter smiled at Rally’s outlandish assumptions.

  “No Rally, I don’t have any type of personal vendetta or anything, it’s just that ... I tried to re-up last night and Marco didn’t answer the phone. Then I finally get a hold of him this morning and he gathers the nerve to tell me that he’s out. So at first I think he’s yanking my card right? But nah man, everybody in the streets is buzzing about this shit cause it’s the first time they ever went dry. Right now, I got 100 niggas that are willing to switch sides if you can get the work. Our clientele are lining up as we speak, waiting on your reply Rally.”

  Rally looked at Dexter in astonishment. “Dexter, don’t you realize that you’re standing here begging for a war? All 100 of your little friends could end up in the morgue, don’t you see?” Dexter shot Rally an icy glare.

  “You think that we don’t already know this Rally? We’re all grown men; just put me in charge and I promise that failure is not an option. I’m ready for war!”

  Rally admired the spark in Dexter’s voice, but wondered if his little brother could perform under pressure in the most critical situations of a full-fledged street war.

  “Diaz! Come here!” Rally shouted through the intercom microphone.

  It only took a few seconds for Diaz to arrive in the room.

  “Dexter, you know Diaz has been my best friend since forever right?”

  Dexter looked at Diaz, then at Rally and nodded his head.

  “Okay then Dexter, now kill him.”

  Diaz looked like a deer standing in the headlights of a speeding truck as Dexter pulled out a .44 at lighting speed and pointed it at Diaz’s chest. Before Rally was afforded the opportunity to yell “wait,” Dexter pulled the trigger. *WHAM!* The bullet penetrated Diaz’s shirt and knocked him off of his feet and across the couch. Before Diaz could move again, Dexter had jumped over the couch after him with a Glock 40 in his other hand and slammed the barrel against Diaz’s hairline.

  “Dexter!” Rally screamed ferociously. “That’s enough! Good job. And Diaz better be thankful I made him wear his bullet proof vest!”

  Rally walked around the couch and gave Diaz a hand so that he could get up.

  “Diaz, call up the Mexican and tell him we need 600 kilos within the next three hours. We’re back in business.”

  Rally embraced Dexter warmly.

  “Welcome home kid. And before I forget, hey Diaz ... never let people come into my house with a weapon on them again.”

  Diaz nodded and walked off, still clutching his sore chest in agony.

  $ $ $ $ $

  Catfish and Malcolm took Tracy to the Bankroll Squad’s main trap house; which was located a couple of miles south from the downtown greyhound station. The house was nicknamed “Trapquarters” by Marco since it made the most money of all twelve houses. The house was headed by a young lieutenant named Luther, who carried an AK and looked like he hadn’t showered in days. Marco had stopped by earlier and explained that there would be more cocaine later on in the evening, so for now, push the heroin, X, and weed. Luther called him back two hours later and told him that their clients wanted crack, and the traffic was the slowest he had ever seen since he started working there. Marco passed the message along to Malcolm, and also told him that every employee at Trapquarters were getting antsy about the situation. Malcolm decided that since they didn’t have anything to do, they could just watch Tracy for him. Catfish knew, as well as Malcolm, that those young niggas would end up fucking the shit out of her against her will. When Malcolm, Catfish, and Tracy went inside the house, there were a series of fiends knocking on the door. They thought that Trapquarters had re-upped its coke supply. When Luther told a few of them “no,” it seemed as if they disappeared into thin air. Before Malcolm could explain the situation to Luther, his cell phone rang. When he glanced at the caller ID and saw Sweetback Fatty’s name blinking, he knew that he had to take the call. He hit the speakerphone option and it seemed like volts of electricity ran through Catfish’s body when he heard his wife on the phone screaming his name for help. Then the screaming stopped and Sweetback’s voice came crisply through the speaker.

  “In this particular war, the theme is chess and the city is our chessboard. Catfish, it is only fair that if you take my queen off the board, then I find it imperative that I remove your queen from the board. I do this shit for a living, so it’s no possible way for you to checkmate me in three moves. On the contrary, you have no idea what kind of shit your whole squad is in. I will prevail from your mistakes and you will collapse under my pressure. Now I advise you to move. You are in check!”

  The window shattered and everyone hit the floor as bullets flew throughout the house. Malcolm looked out of the broken glass and saw an old model Monte Carlo speeding up the block.

  “Cat, let’s go!”

  Malcolm and Catfish ran towards the door when they heard Luther tell a guy named Mike to watch Tracy and keep the house intact. All three of them jumped in the Escalade and sped off.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuccckk!” Catfish screamed as he bent around the corner speeding after the vehicle.

  He slammed his clip in his .45 and screamed out again as the thought of his wife being kidnapped ran through his mind.

  “I’ma’ kill that bastard! That’s my word Malcolm, I promise! Sweetback is as good as dead!” Catfish said, but seeing that he wasn’t going to catch up with the Monte Carlo, he decided to bust a left and drive to the heart of the ghetto.

  He was headed to Sweetback’s soul food restaurant. Under normal circumstances, Malcolm would have objected to atta
cking a place that held so many innocent bystanders, but today was not a normal day. As soon as they got within eye sight of the eatery, Catfish rolled all the windows down, and Luther hung out the back window with a loaded AK and let loose. Malcolm stuck his machine gun out of his window and let loose, Luther and Malcolm shot up the restaurant, shattering all the glass and causing everyone to duck for cover. Malcolm aimed his .45 at the big, bright neon sign that said “SWEET’S” and put a hole in every letter, causing the sign to come crashing against the cement. As Catfish sped from the scene, Malcolm’s phone lit up again. It was Jennifer. He hit connect, but he couldn’t hear her over Catfish’s ranting.

  “Cat ... Catfish! Hold the volume down for one second, let me take this call. Whassup Jennifer Powers!? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Malcolm screamed into the phone.

  “Fuck is wrong with me? The fuck is wrong with you? Out all fucking evening yesterday with your little whore? Is that what happened? Is that why you had your phone turned off?” Jennifer shot back with an attitude.

  “No Jen ... I was at the hospital with Kyla, she-”

  “For what? Is that bitch pregnant? Fuck this, it’s over with me and you Malcolm!”

  There was a silence on the phone as both of them registered the effects of that statement.

  “Jen, you got the nerve to divorce me over some petty shit like that?”

  “Malcolm, this is far from petty. Our relationship has been going downhill for the past three months,” Jennifer said while starting to cry,

  “I know you dream about that Kyla chick, because I hear you calling her name in the middle of the night. I know it’s her you want. Your mind says Jennifer, but your heart and soul screams her name!”

  Jennifer’s voice was trembling so bad that she could barely finish.

  “I’ve already packed up and moved out Malcolm. Good luck. Criminal.”

  They got back around to Trapquarters and dropped Luther off. They told him that they would take Tracy with them, Malcolm had a strategy that he was about to implement. Luther escorted her back to the Escalade and dapped up Catfish and Malcolm.

  “Aye Luther,” Malcolm said, “Program my cell number into your phone, I’m proud of you young nigga’. I want you to call my phone direct if you have any problems. Also, in a few hours the coke will be here, so hold tight and tell everyone else to do the same.”

  This meant a lot to the young guy, for the big man himself to reassure him that he was doing a good job. He took Malcolm’s number and went back into Trapquarters with his head held high. Before Catfish could pull off, Malcolm got into the backseat of the Escalade with Tracy. He took the duct tape from over her mouth and untied her wrists. Her eyes were bloodshot red and the rope was so tight that her wrists were bruised. Malcolm felt sorry that she had to be a prisoner of war, and felt even worse for Catfish. Catfish’s other half was in the same exact predicament. He simply hoped and prayed that she would remain okay until they got a chance to rescue her.

  “Will you p-p-p ... please ... just kill me?” Tracy asked Malcolm in a hoarse voice.

  Malcolm stared at the woman, who happened to be very attractive.

  “No, I will not kill you Tracy. You’ve done nothing to harm me. I just wanted to know if you were hungry.”

  When he showed concern and common courtesy, her eyes lit up like christmas lights.

  “Yes! Please sir, I am both hungry and thirsty. Please sir!” She pleaded, almost on the verge of begging.

  Malcolm placed his hand on the back of her hand gently, and looked into her eyes. Her window to the soul revealed both fear and surprise.

  “Everything’s going to be fine Tracy. Just relax.. I know this is a very difficult situation for you. I apologize for the inconvenience. And ... From now on, don’t call me sir, call me Malcolm.”

  Catfish shot a glance at Malcolm in the rear view mirror and shook his head. He knew that Malcolm could play mind games like no other.

  twelve

  F

  ranco Roberto would not accept a substitute for Kyla. He had lived in the United States for five years before the FBI indicted him. The charges

  were heavy and his penalty was more than likely going to be life in federal prison. His extremely high paid team of lawyers were able to get him a million dollar bond. Before trial, they tried to get him to settle for a 30 year plea deal. He told them to let him think about it and he would get back to them later. At midnight, right before the deadline for him to choose between the plea deal and the trial, he became a United States fugitive. He went back to Columbia and only trusted a select few people. Pam was certainly not one of them. As soon as he saw her and Brink on his security monitor, he immediately thought that she was a backboneless gold digger. He felt like if the FBI pressured her enough, she would definitely lead them directly to his whereabouts. He decided that the best thing for him to do was to never let her see him. He’d only do business with either Kyla or Malcolm, but he had long since stopped Malcolm from taking those trips. Franco figured that the feds would waste no time investigating a black man who took frequent flights to Columbia, but wouldn’t press so hard on a low-key Puerto Rican who could pass for Columbian. But this chick ... this woman ... she was absolutely too flashy.

  She drew way too much attention to herself for this line of work. Pam stood at the gate, impatiently twirling her hair around her finger. She buzzed the intercom alert for the tenth time. Finally, a voice came through the speakerphone.

  “May I help you?” The voice spoke, in broken English.

  Pam then cleared her throat, and tried to sound as professional as possible. The whiteness in her genes was more than obvious in her vocal accent.

  “Yes, Malcolm sent me to see Franco Roberto...”

  Silence decorated the atmosphere. Pam hit the buzzer three more times before the broken English speared its way through the speakers again.

  “Are you Kyla?” The voice said.

  “No, I’m Pam. I’m a part of the Bankroll-”

  The voice then cut her off.

  “I’m sorry. I know nothing about a Bankroll, and furthermore, there is no Franco anybody residing at this residence.”

  Brink then rolled his eyes because he’d been taking this same trip for years and hearing that same voice forever.

  “Come on man, she’s good people,” Brink added in.

  “Is this the fuckin’ pilot speaking to me? Listen close knucklehead ... take your saddity looking broad and go back where you came from. I don’t even like sugar substitute, much less a Kyla substitute. Be gone!”

  The intercom beeped off and Pam was about to buzz it again but Brink stopped her arm in mid-air. A look of frustration and defeat eclipsed her face and her skin was red. She scowled at Brink with eyes that could kill.

  “Brink, you know I gotta’ make this work! Malcolm told me not to let him down!”

  She started wrestling with Brink’s grip, trying her best to free her arms, but to no avail. Brink went ahead and put her in a bear hug so that she couldn’t move.

  “Pam, listen! It’s not going to work, so we need to leave before we get ourselves killed out here. Look around, don’t you see what’s on the roof?”

  When Pam looked at the roof, all of her determination leaked out of her and was replaced by a mixture of anger and terror. Anger because she felt like everyone favored Kyla over her. As if Kyla was a fuckin’ Queen or something. Terror because gunmen were aiming at them from all angles, just waiting on them to try something funny. Finally defeated, they returned to their friend’s house where they had landed the jet.

  “Brink, why can’t Malcolm just give that loser a call and tell him that I’m substituting for Kyla?”

  “Malcolm and Franco never talk on the phone, it’s way to risky for the both of them. I’m sure that Malcolm will understand the situation so try not to stress over it too much.”

  “But I wanted to prove myself to him! I wanted him to know that I could be the Bonnie to his Clyde!”

&n
bsp; Brink realized that he was no longer hearing determination in her voice. He was listening to emotions. Emotions left room for mistakes. He shook his head and went to go refuel the jet.

  $ $ $ $ $

  Sweetback was far from pleased when he found out that Malcolm and Catfish had shot up his restaurant. His eatery was not only his hangout spot; it was also his pride and joy. He had saved quite a bit of money up from his hit man work in order to build a legal establishment that his son could be proud of one day. His heart fell to the ground when he saw his soul food restaurant shot up and reduced damn near to debris. He was unable to secure any type of insurance on the place simply because it was located in a drug infested area. It was located in the heart of the ghetto, but the food was so good that it attracted business from all over the city. Now it was gone. The only good thing about it was that none of the customers got hurt. That, he was very thankful for. The police arrived at the scene while he was calculating the damages. Bone, Sweetback’s right hand man, peeped the cops and pulled off in the Ford 1500 while Sweetback handled his business. He wanted to stick around, but he couldn’t because he still had Tricia held hostage in the vehicle. Plus the truck was loaded with guns. He certainly wasn’t trying to go out like that. When the police finished up with their questioning of Sweetback, Sweetback called Bone and told him to come back around and pick him up.

  “What they talkin’ bout’ Sweet?” Sweetback sighed and looked into the extended cab at his potential kidnapping charge.

  “Man, them crackers talkin’ about they’re going to position two police officers outside of my house for the next ten days! I told them that it wasn’t needed but they insisted because they think that this shooting was an attempt on my life. Mann ... Bone, we’re going to have to end this bullshit with Malcolm and them. I can’t afford to have the police watching me while I’m keeping this bitch hostage. Besides ... when me you, and Waller rode by Trapquarters, Waller didn’t fire one single shot. You were driving so that’s explainable, but Waller ... it was his fuckin’ idea and he just sat in the back watching me shoot. Sometimes I don’t believe that he’s really my little brother when he does shit like that. The man had his mouth sewed shut because he couldn’t keep it closed, and here we are fighting a war and risking our lives and possessions for him. He’s a grown man now. It’s time for him to man-up. I’m going to have to let him fend for his self.”