by Tiana Laveen
“You gave me the key.”
Tiffany fumed. Years of pent up rage oozed out of every pore as she laid into Cora, telling her once and for all what she thought of her.
“I think you better turn around, walk out the front door and not come back, Cora. All we have between us is blood … bad blood. The family ties are officially cut.”
“What about you using us as some type of experiment, huh? Comin’ down and slummin’ it over the summers for fun? You want to talk about us as kids? Let’s talk about that, Tiffany McCall … wit’ your fancy little dresses, trying to talk like us and soundin’ so stupid. Had the nerve to ask my mother if you could move in and stay all year. I would have gladly traded lives with you. No amount of money in the world would make me throw away the safety and love you had—none!” The woman’s voice trembled as her eyes sheened over.
Tiffany crossed her legs; the robe fell open once again but this time, she didn’t care. She rocked her leg back and forth, grinned from ear to ear as she blew out copious rings of thick smoke.
“You really don’t know shit about me and you’ve always resented me, Cora. You hated that my parents loved me, and that I was smart, too. You hated the fact Gable saw I had the brains to be a good business partner, and couldn’t use you for shit. You’re unreliable, emotional, scatterbrained, and only would have slowed him down. Now look at you … add strung out to the list.”
“You ain’t shit, Tiffany.” The woman laughed mirthlessly and inched closer, fire burning in her eyes. Tiffany gave her the once over then smashed her cigarette in an ashtray.
“Cora, I only speak the truth. I’m not trying to hurt you, but…” She shrugged. “You’re just so easy to infuriate. You’re five years older than me. You want to talk about taking care of family—well, baby, I’m done taking care of grown people. You said it yourself. I don’t have any children so why would I continue to—”
The woman suddenly lunged at her, grabbed her waist, and attempted to snatch the sash of diamonds from the side of her panties, causing a ripping sound. They barely hung on and before Tiffany could make a break for it, she screamed out.
“Ahhh!” A knife sliced into her flesh, drawing fresh blood as the chain from the panties fell to the floor in pieces. Scrambling about like some wild, rabid animal, Cora tossed the knife to the ground, collected a couple of diamonds and a few silver links, and flew towards the front door as if she had wings. Tiffany snatched up the blade and thrust it into her pocket before racing after her cousin at full speed.
“Fuuuck!” The woman shrieked when Tiffany grabbed a fistful of her tangled hair and dragged her backwards, yanking and pulling at her scalp.
Tiffany gritted her teeth. A pulsing pain nagged at her side as blood flowed from the wound.
“You can’t even trust family nowadays, can you?” Tiffany grinned as her long, off black coarse hair swung wildly to and fro, partially covering the side of her face. “Blood thicker than water, right?” With her free hand, she snatched the diamonds out of Cora’s tight grip and slid them in her robe pocket. Keeping her fist wrapped tight on the woman’s hair, Tiffany gave a hard yank, the kind that would draw a fit of tears and a bald patch to boot. Cora’s screams echoed throughout the house. Shoving her cousin into the kitchen chair, she got in the woman’s face. Panic danced in Cora’s eyes.
“I’m sorry!” Cora screamed. “You don’t understand. I—”
“Now see, bitch, I’m going to have to make an example out of you … my own damn cousin.” Tiffany reared her hand far back and slapped Cora so hard, her knuckles stung. “Don’t you ever bite the hand that feeds you! I pay your rent, keep gas in that raggedy ass car of yours by keeping the fuel card I gave you charged up. I feed your babies while you run off and get high now that Gable only takes care of your phone bill. We make sure you don’t see one penny of it. We pay these bills directly or bring the food over ’cause Mama didn’t raise no fool. I’d slice a neck and put a bullet in a belly for much less than what you’ve just done, but because Gable would never forgive me, I’m going to have to come up with something a bit … kinder.” She swiped at her wound with her robe, sopping up some of the running blood, but kept her eye on Cora, barely even blinking.
“I just—”
“Shut up! Don’t you say not one motherfuckin’ word. Now, since you wanna make me bleed bitch, we’re going to make a blood pact, strengthen our bond since you’ve forgotten the true meaning of family.” Cora’s eyes grew large when Tiffany pinned her wrist down on the chair and placed the same knife used to cut the sash against her forearm.
“No! Don’t!”
“Awwww.” Tiffany grinned. “I know you aren’t afraid of a little ol’ knife, baby? All the drugs you pump in your body … the needles worming their way into half collapsed veins and your nose so raw, it bleeds as soon as the air hits it. This is little of nothin’, right?”
“Tiffany, please! Ahhhhh!” The woman’s screams made her ears ring as she dragged the knife just above her wrist in a swift, hard motion.
“We’re even now. Get the fuck outta my house.” She released the woman but kept a firm grip on the knife, which dripped blood from both their injuries. Cora shot up from the chair. Her body trembled with fright while she held her bloodied arm. Tiffany tossed a diamond at her, hitting her in the back of the head with it. Cora paused, her eyes glazing over as she looked down at the thing on the ground.
“Go ahead … get on all fours and lick it like the bitch you are, and I’ll let you have it.”
With a trembling hand, Cora dropped to her hands and knees, curled out her tongue and ran it across the edge of the thing. She then looked out the corner of her eye, scooped it up, and scurried out of the house, leaving the door wide open. Tiffany stood there, watching every moment until Cora had started up her car and sped away. After closing and locking the door, she gripped the knife handle, then walked towards the sink and tossed it inside. Wincing, she pulled her robe back from her hip and made her way to her master suite bathroom.
Grabbing alcohol, cotton pads, a bandage and needle and thread, she cleaned and nursed her wounds, almost biting her damn lip off as she swallowed and bore the pain. She stitched the wound closed until she was satisfied. With a fresh pair of panties and sheer white robe, she lay on her bed, placed her arms behind her head and glared up at the ceiling until she fell fast asleep. Dreams of being on a remote island and playing a guitar to the sound of the crashing ocean waves kept her in a state of peace until the early evening hours begged for her presence. She ran her hand across her face, yawned loudly, and glared at the time.
Punch the clock…
The evening was her busiest time of day, when the dope fiends were out and about, in need of their next fix. Tiffany stood on no corners and met no one anywhere; rather, she scheduled drop offs using her network of employees via her phone and computer. She kept records of everything; nothing was left to chance. Placing her cell phone to her ear, she jumped right in, ready to do business.
“How are you doing tonight, Roberto? Are you ready to have the time of your life, because let me tell you, baby, there’s a kilo with your name on it…”
CHAPTER FOUR
Phoenix had bought his mother a house in Summerlin, Nevada. She’d lived there for the past two and a half years. This place gave off a different vibe from his hometown of Henderson. Sometimes, Phoenix still called it such, forgetting that his old stomping grounds now went by the name of Green Valley. The big factories were long gone, replaced with a thriving art district and the Galleria Mall. Las Vegas was where he’d been born and raised, in an area somewhat removed from the notorious Vegas strip and lights. There were a fair share of nightclubs and gaming around his home, but nothing like the mega casinos that drew people from all over the world.
Mom sat on her expansive porch, perched on a swing seat in a simmering 89 degrees with high humidity—a far cry from D.C. He sat beside her, donning a pair of khaki shorts and a white tank top. The air was sweet. A few ch
ildren played in the street tossing a football around and she just sat there, her slender legs crossed beneath a teal and burgundy floral print lightweight housecoat. Her silver-streaked black hair was cut short, framing skin with a slight yellow hue. Her blue eyes looked sullen and her thin lips crimped on the right side as if she were thinking of something funny. She’d been that way since her stroke.
“I’m sorry about John,” she stated behind a yawn as she stretched her feet, exposing varicose veins. “That’s a real shame.” He nodded in agreement, adjusting the dark shades over his eyes, and leaned forward. “I imagine he had a real nice funeral.” Clearing his throat, he tossed her a glance then stared back at the kids in the middle of the tree-lined path.
“Yes, lots of people … very nice. They haven’t caught who’s responsible.”
“I thought you said that gang did it?” She ran a slightly shaky hand across her knee. Mom shook now, as if her bones were dancing beneath her flesh, and she complained often of her knees hurting. The new medicine seemed to be helping a bit though.
“I don’t know if they really had anything to do with it.” He squinted, the sun getting to him. Readjusting his sunglasses, he leaned back on the swing and swung back and forth in a slow rhythm. “I’ve been at this for weeks, and I’ve requested some cell phone records. I want to see which gang members were in the area just to see who I can rule out. It was a remote location, so they’d have no other reason to be there. The FBI is investigating them though. This is taking much longer than I thought.”
Mom nodded and rubbed knobby hands harder over that knee.
“The world’s not safe anymore, son. I guess it never really was.” He slid his hand over hers then, gently pushed her palm out of the way, and rubbed her knee for her. Looking straight ahead, he bobbed his head to her words, then stewed in silence. “I thought you’d hung your DEA cape up. I know you loved John, but you can’t get involved in this, Phoenix.” She turned to him slowly, a pleasant smile on her face.
“You know I can’t turn my back on this and as far as my ties to the DEA, I can never give it up completely. In theory, I did.” He shrugged. “But it’s a part of me.”
“You miss the excitement, don’t you?” She chuckled. He laughed lightly and nodded. With a light tap against his thigh, she grinned, understanding his plight. “It’s strange to see my son on television now. I’d like you to tell the President what we in the real world are going through.” She grimaced, her voice trailing at the end. “I have a famous son to help me, but others like me…” She frowned and shook her head as she looked out at the children playing. “They don’t have that.
“If you didn’t have the money to buy me this house, pay for my prescriptions, keep on me about seeing the psychiatrist, I don’t know what I’d do.” He ran his hand up and down her back. A gust of wind came through, allowing him a whiff of her sweet, old-fashioned perfume. As a little boy, this was her signature scent and whenever he smelled it, he felt comfort. “I put that photo of your dad in his uniform in a new frame.”
“The one taken of him as chief of police or the rookie one?”
“Chief… He was so proud of that photo.” Her eyes grew soft with gleamed with moisture. He imagined she was reminiscing on the day Dad was promoted.
Phoenix’s phone vibrated against his hip. Snatching it off the holster that lay next to his gun, he placed it to his ear.
“Rick…”
“Yes, those records should be to you soon. I kinda glanced over them and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I’ll send them on anyway.”
“Thank you.”
“Phoenix, thank you for the teleconference with the rest of the guys this morning. I know you are technically on leave and visiting your mother right now, but it helped a lot.”
“I still have a job to do, Rick. I’m never on leave—just needed to visit my mother, clear my head for a minute.”
“Understood. We’ll see you when you get back.”
“10-4.” And he disconnected the call, then put his phone away.
“How’s Lilian?” Mom quipped, a sly expression on her face.
“She’s good … engaged.”
“So quickly? Hmmm, well, that’s interesting. I wish her the best I guess.” The old lady shook her head.
“Mom, you weren’t a fan of Lilian. Stop pretending.” He laughed at the woman who now chuckled as he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“It wasn’t that I wasn’t a fan of hers, honey. I could see you two weren’t good for each other. I told you she was a nice lady, I just knew it wouldn’t work.”
Phoenix removed his sunglasses and placed them atop his head.
“You never told me that before.”
“Yeah?” She tilted her head to the side, as if surprised. “Well, that pretty much sums it up.” She tapped his knee and looked away at nothing in particular. “I know you’re busy, but you should start dating again. It’s time to get movin’.”
“I don’t have time for all that, Mom.”
She slowly turned back in his direction. “Phoenix, if you don’t do as I’m tellin’ you, you’re going to live to regret that. There’s always time for love…”
…One week later
When you’re looking for that needle in a haystack, you have to focus not on the needle, but the bend and curves of hay that make way for the object hidden amongst the debris…
Phoenix crossed his arms along his chest. At 9:10 P.M., he was taking a flight to Chicago, Illinois. The private jet only had a few passengers, all of whom were crew. They sat what seemed like miles away from one another, each focused on their individual tasks. He’d spent the past two years riding on private jets, but every now and again opted for a commercial airline, wishing to feel like a normal, flesh and blood human being. The world now saw him as some superhero or a dangerous threat that needed to be annihilated. There was no middle ground.
To drug dealers and those in the illegal narcotics field, he was public enemy number one. They knew his background, and he’d made it perfectly clear that his fancy new title wouldn’t protect them from him sending out his team to crush them if he felt so inclined. To those earnestly waging a war against these factions, he was a hero. Phoenix surmised he was neither—just a man driven to do his job, and do it right. Many of his methods were deemed uncouth, even borderline illegal, but a blind eye was turned for the greater cause. During his days as a DEA agent, he’d earned the nickname, “The Dragon’, due to his knowledge of explosives used by many Mexican drug cartels, as well as his sharp tongue and wit, illegal yet effective waterboarding methods, and his enviable stack of ammunition. He had received countless awards and acknowledgements and was a quick draw, saving many of his comrades’ lives during violent takedowns. Priding himself on his resilience, he was able to go the distance where others had thrown in the towel.
He pulled out his briefcase and retrieved his computer. He scanned the documents over and over on the screen, resting on one name, time and time again…
Gable Johnson
Gable had a police record starting from the age of fifteen: petty theft, arson, and burglary, to name a few. His record was nothing exciting, the typical crimes one would expect to see for such a person born and bred in poverty and a crime-infested neighborhood. His mother had been known for selling narcotics out of her home until she’d been shot and paralyzed in an attempted robbery over twenty years ago. Gable seemed to have learned little from his mother’s near-death experience, watching her fend for herself in a wheelchair, barely able to care for herself, for his police record soon graduated to drug-related offenses. Still, the bastard had never spent much time behind bars.
He’d been raised in a rough part of Chicago, known to swallow souls in a single, gang-related and drug-induced bound. Gable had proved to be a slippery pain in the ass for the Chicago police. He’d managed to secure a complex drug network that was difficult to track and ran stealthily. He wasn’t a Gangster Disciple; in fact, he wasn�
�t affiliated with any gang-related activity whatsoever, but he ran in the circles, nurtured ties with them all the same. As Phoenix studied the man’s past, he found it rather remarkable. Gable wasn’t necessarily unintelligent, but he had a fast temper, unable to maintain self-control if pushed to his limit.
If he did this, there’s no way he did it by himself. He had help. Someone is the brains behind this operation. This is incredible.
The man’s runners changed as often and fast as one changed a pair of underpants and in the last five years, Gable had managed to avoid getting caught holding product, no matter how many surprise shakedowns the police sprang on him. It got so bad, he’d laugh in their faces and tell them to search wherever they wished, even offered refreshments as he lazed about on his bed watching a boxing match with a scantily clad woman beside him. As soon as the police would get close to discovering his supplier and the people involved, new aliases, and changes of addresses and cell phone numbers would happen within the blink of an eye. The use of P.O. boxes for drug deliveries so well packaged that police dogs at times didn’t detect a single note of cocaine inside became common. Regardless, the man’s luck might have just run out.
Phoenix compared Gable’s cell phone records, noting how his phone had been mysteriously turned off during the time of the crime.
I need to find out that location … there has to be a way. When the phone is off, the operating systems are still working, just not responding to external input. So, he was still getting signals, and since signals bounce off one another, his location is still being tracked. Even if he turned that feature off, which he probably did, any apps he has where he allowed location to run would still be tracking … just to figure out which one he may have missed.
He kept on searching on Google, looking through the records and surfing through sites. After a while, Phoenix leaned back in his seat for a spell and shut his eyes, but his relaxation was short-lived. Noticing he had a new message on his phone, he opened it up:
