Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

  “I ain’t got nothin’ against you, dude.”

  “So, you just gonna let me off your boy and not do nothin’ about it. That’s fucked up.”

  The man fired off a shot toward Tirrell and missed. Tirrell took aim and squeezed off a round. The man grabbed his chest and tumbled to the ground.

  Tirrell heaved and ran over to see about Bobby. “I can’t believe this shit.”

  “I can’t either.” Bobby laughed and opened his eyes.

  “What the fuck,” Tirrell spat.

  “Congratulations, killer. I think you passed.”

  “What?”

  “‘Don’t make me kill you, dude. I just wanna get outta here,’” the other man mocked as he got up off the ground. “Boy, if you could’ve seen the look on your face.” He lifted his shirt to show that he was wearing a bulletproof vest. “Good thing we took precautions. If you had better aim you might’a did some serious damage.”

  Tirrell was shaky—bewildered.

  “Boy, I think you shit yo’self.”

  Bobby took the gun and showed him the clip. “Dude, the gun is loaded with blanks.”

  Tirrell’s anxiety shifted to anger. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

  “Calm down, man. I had to know if you were really willing to do whatever it takes.”

  Tirrell fell against the wall of the building. “Asshole.”

  Bobby removed a wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it to the man. They bumped fists and he brushed himself off and left in the direction he came from. Bobby headed back to the Escalade.

  “Yo, T. You comin’?”

  Tirrell shook his head and waved him away.

  “T, c’mon, man. I’m sorry I had to do that to you, but I needed to be sure.”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  “C’mon, T. We way out here by the airport. You just gonna walk home?”

  Tirrell collected himself and got back in the Escalade.

  “That was foul, Bobby.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you in, right?”

  Tirrell glanced up at Bobby and nodded.

  “My man. I gotta make a couple of other stops.”

  “Some more of your bullshit?”

  “Naw, man. There’re some people I need to introduce you to, on the real.” Bobby looked over at Tirrell, who still seemed put off by the whole ordeal. “T, you a’ight, man?”

  Tirrell stared at his trembling hands. “Yeah, I’m a’ight.”

  They drove to an inconspicuous residence on the southwest side of Atlanta. To the unsuspecting eye, the house fit perfectly into the domesticity it conveyed from the outside. There were trees in the front yard, and children running and playing up and down the block, but inside revealed a different story. There were enough furnishings to give the place an air of legitimacy, but there was no mistaking that a lot more went on here, given the men he met brandishing semiautomatic weapons. As a stranger in this environment, Tirrell was thoroughly checked and his cell phone was confiscated and examined.

  “They just want to make sure you’re cool,” Bobby assured him.

  Cameras were mounted in every corner of the house and followed every movement like the eyes of a painting in an art museum, which gives one the illusion they’re being watched. Tirrell was certain this elaborate setup was no illusion.

  They all snorted cocaine while conducting business and laying out plans for the next transport. Tirrell joined in, putting into perspective the disdain of what had transpired earlier—almost as if it hadn’t happened at all. Given the seriousness of the security in and around the house and the all but veiled threat of death, Tirrell felt he had no choice now but to swear his allegiance.

  When they left the house he and Bobby found a soul food restaurant and grabbed something to eat before continuing downtown. They ended up outside a renovated high-rise overlooking Centennial Park.

  “Damn.” Tirrell gasped. “Who lives here?”

  “C’mon. You’ll see.”

  Bobby rang the intercom outside the building and announced himself before he was buzzed in.

  Nervous energy coursed through Tirrell’s body as they approached the apartment. He didn’t know it, but he was about to be introduced to a key player in Bobby’s operation—somebody who would change the rest of his life. When the door opened there was a surprise waiting on both sides.

  “What the . . .”

  “T, this is my cousin, Alex.”

  Tirrell suppressed his delight. “Nice to meet you.”

  The woman stood speechless.

  “Yo, Alex, you gonna let us in or what?”

  “Bobby, what the hell’s going on?” she spat.

  “This is my guy I was tellin’ you about. C’mon, let us in.”

  Alex’s brow arched and her jaw clenched as she moved back from the door. Tirrell couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

  “T, have a seat, man,” Bobby directed, as if it were his house. “You want somethin’ to drink?”

  “Bobby.” Alex was visibly annoyed.

  “Relax, girl. It’s cool.”

  “No, it is not cool,” she retorted. “You know what, we need to talk; right now.”

  Irritated, she left the room. Bobby shot Tirrell a look before following her.

  Tirrell perched on the end of the plush cream-colored sofa, afraid to move—afraid to touch anything. Surrounded by abstract art and mahogany fixtures, overstuffed furnishings and marble floors, he shook his head and laughed quietly at his good fortune. “Oh yeah, that ass was definitely worth it.”

  “Bobby, what the hell,” Alex seethed. “Why did you bring him here?”

  “Whoa, chill out, girl. We talked about this, remember? I told you I was gettin’ somebody to replace Jay.”

  Keeping an eye on Tirrell, Alex peered through a crack in the kitchen door. “Why him?”

  “He’s cool. We can trust him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Let’s just say if we get him in, we got insurance.”

  Alex turned away from the door. “What are you talking about?”

  “His brother works in the DA’s office.”

  “What is he, a clerk?”

  “No. Kevin Ellis. He’s an assistant DA.”

  “Oh, shit. Are you serious? Have you lost your damn mind? You may as well have brought a cop up in here.”

  “Slow down and think about it for a second, a’ight? We can use him, and if he gets out of line”—Bobby fixed his fingers as if he were holding a gun—“we put a bullet in his head.”

  Alex paced nervously. “I don’t like it. It’s too damn messy. I got too much on the line.”

  “Alex, have I ever let you down? I’ve been watchin’ this cat for a long time. He’s cool.”

  “I don’t like it, Bobby.”

  “Let’s give him a chance, and if he fucks up I’ll take care of him.”

  “One chance—that’s it. We can’t afford any missteps.”

  Alex sent Bobby on an errand so that she could be alone with Tirrell. When he left the apartment, Tirrell smugly leaned back on the sofa. Alex, too, appeared more at ease. She moved to the bar set up in the corner of the room, stocked with everything a proper bar should have, and poured Grey Goose in a glass with a couple of cubes of ice.

  “You look pretty pleased with yourself, Mr. Ellis.”

  “It’s a nice coincidence.” He smiled.

  “Maybe it’s more like providence,” she countered.

  “So, why all that business in the hotel? Why not just bring me here?”

  “I don’t bring every man I meet to my place.”

  “Do you screw every man you meet?”

  She sashayed over and straddled him. “Only the ones I like.”

  “So, you like me?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Tirrell took the glass from her hand and took a drink. “How am I doin’ so far?”

  “I haven’t thrown you out, have I?” Alex took her drink back, finished it, and set the empty glass o
n the table next to the sofa. “Bobby tells me that you’d be a valuable asset.”

  She sat up and pulled her silk blouse over her head, exposing her bare breasts to him. She could feel his manhood pressing against her. He gently squeezed and sucked her jutting mounds of flesh.

  “You better not become a problem for me, Tirrell Ellis.”

  “Well, I’m willing to give you a chance if you’re willing to give me one,” Tirrell replied. “That is, unless you’re afraid you’re gonna become . . . What was the word you used? Oh yeah, obsequious.”

  Clothes fell away as they worked their way back to her bedroom. Tirrell needed no prodding. Ardent, angry sex ensued. Her thirst called to the animal inside him.

  “You want it. Take it,” she demanded.

  Their eyes locked as he threw her legs over his neck and plunged deeper between her thighs. He clasped his hand to her throat and grunted like a wild boar. He teasingly withdrew several times; she begged him not to stop. He reveled in her yearning. Unable to sustain his prolonged torture he gasped and released.

  “Damn,” he cried, pulsing and jittery.

  Once he’d been satisfied, his tongue found delight in the sweet nectar of her juices. Her body shuddered with an equally electrifying orgasm.

  Tirrell wanted to linger, but Alex had no intention of allowing Bobby to return and find him in her bed. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here,” she said as she slipped into a silk robe.

  “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” he responded. “But in case I missed somethin’, why don’t you fill me in?”

  “I guess you’ll find out soon enough. For now you need to get up and get dressed. Bobby should be back soon.”

  Tirrell got up and she directed him to the restroom. She smiled, watching his swagger from behind, and bit down on her lip. When he emerged he found Alex dressed and putting the bed back together. He pulled on his boxers and blue jean shorts and sat on the side of the bed to pull on his socks and Timberlands.

  Alex noted the scratches on his back. “I meant what I said earlier. You better not become a liability, otherwise, what happens to you will be a lot worse than a few fingernail scratches.”

  “That sounds like some kind of threat.”

  “Just a warning, but you can take it however you like.”

  16

  It was a tepid September day. Tirrell left work early so he could get home to shower, change, and pack in order to meet up with Bobby. He was surprised when Bobby pulled up in a blue Chevy Malibu instead of the comfort he’d expected to cruise to Florida in.

  “What happened to the Escalade?”

  “This is less conspicuous,” Bobby replied. “We’re doin’ the speed limit all the way. I’ll drive part of the way and you can take over.”

  “Uh, no license, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, right. I guess it’s all on me then. So, what did you tell your grandmother about you leavin’?”

  “She ain’t home. I left her a note tellin’ her that I was goin’ out with this new girl.” It wasn’t that far from the truth.

  Bobby shot him an odd look. “You screwin’ Alex, ain’t you?”

  Tirrell didn’t answer.

  “I ain’t stupid. I knew somethin’ was up when I came back to her place the other night. Watch your back, playboy. I look out for mine. I don’t want her gettin’ hurt. Not like before.”

  “Before? What do you mean?”

  “Nothin’. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. So, tell me.”

  “Never mind. Forget it.”

  “C’mon, man. Tell me.”

  Bobby was silent for a few miles before finally opening up. “Alex was married to my cousin, Ray, back in New York.”

  “Was?”

  “He died.”

  “How?”

  Bobby glanced at Tirrell. “Overdosed. Had a heart attack.”

  “Damn. So, you and Alex aren’t blood relatives?”

  “We’re related in every way that counts. We watch out for each other.”

  “Okay. I feel you.”

  “Alex was really into Ray. It hurt her a lot when he died. That’s why I’m gonna keep my eye on you. You mess over her and it’s yo’ ass, nigga.”

  Miami, Florida: land of perennial sunshine, beaches, and beautiful people. Despite the twelve-hour ride Tirrell was invigorated by cocaine and the lights of Biscayne Boulevard as they entered the city. Bobby was energized as well. “T, as soon as we get to where we’re goin’ we’ll rest up, take care of some business, and there may be some time to get in a little fun before we head back.”

  “That’s what’s up.”

  They continued up the coast for several miles until they came upon an isolated beach house (more of a compound) bordered by a sentinel of palm trees and secured behind an iron gate and monitored by cameras. An armed man accompanied by two black pit bulls greeted them. Even though he recognized Bobby, he still checked him for concealed weapons and sequestered his Glock.

  Despite Bobby’s declaration, the man was more suspicious of Tirrell. Once they both checked out, the man jumped into his Jeep and drove up to the house. Bobby and Tirrell followed.

  Tirrell took in the balmy morning breeze and the impressive surroundings of the opulent center of operations. As they entered the foyer a tall, strapping Latino with dark wavy hair, dressed in a white linen shirt and pants descended the spiral staircase. He and Bobby embraced.

  “¿Qué tal, mi amigo? ¿Cómo era su viaje?”

  “¿Bueno, Xavier. ¿Cómo está?”

  “Bien gracias.” He stepped over to Tirrell. “You must be Señor Ellis,” he said with a heavy Colombian accent. He extended his hand. “Welcome, my friend. Welcome.”

  Tirrell returned the gesture.

  “¿Este chulo es muy hermoso, la verdad?” The man smiled, holding on to Tirrell’s hand a little longer than necessary.

  He didn’t have to speak Spanish to understand the man’s intent. He flinched and pulled away.

  “Xavier, deje al hombre en paz.” Bobby laughed. “Él no es maricon.”

  The man laughed and nodded. “Siento, señor. Just having a little fun.”

  Tirrell smiled uncomfortably and cut Bobby a look, gritting his teeth to arrest a caustic comment.

  “You must be hungry and exhausted after your long trip. Carmen will show you to your rooms. Once you settle in, please join me for brunch on the terrace.” The man snapped his fingers and a portly subservient woman appeared and escorted them up the stairs.

  It was all very gangster, Tirrell mused.

  While they dined on plantains, chorizo, and fresh fruit, Tirrell’s cell phone rang. It was Marquis. Tirrell had called and left a voice mail message for Mr. Crawl already; this was not the time to talk. He clicked the End button on the phone and then turned it off.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “It’s quite all right,” their host responded. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  Tirrell swallowed nervously at the man’s intimidating overtone. He could actually picture him saying the words, “Say hello to my little friend.”

  The man laughed. “You must learn to relax, amigo.” He turned to Bobby. “Señor Ellis takes himself too seriously, but I like him.”

  On the surface Xavier Rivera seemed friendly enough, but Tirrell was certain there was a more sinister side to him, one that he knew he didn’t want to encounter. Men like Rivera didn’t get to be who they were by playing nice.

  Tirrell remained cagey in the two days he and Bobby spent in Miami. He enjoyed the beach and sunning by the pool. At the invitation of his host, he indulged his cravings for some of the finest cocaine money could buy. But he denied himself the pleasures of the various scantily clad women lounging about the house, for fear that his exploits would reach Alex before he had time to sneeze.

  This was routine for Bobby: a monthly or bi-monthly excursion to Florida for the supply that would support the habitual addict
ion of the masses in and around Georgia. Tirrell was being groomed for more than he realized.

  With a street value of just over $1 million, twenty kilos of cocaine were stored for transport in the hollow of a spare tire in the trunk of the Malibu. Bobby and Tirrell made the trek back to Atlanta and drove straight to the house on the southwest side of town. Bobby pulled his Glock from under the car seat and holstered it. He then removed one of the packages and carried it into the kitchen. One of the men Tirrell saw earlier, and a woman he hadn’t met, were seated at a glass table.

  Tirrell was fascinated watching the process. Pots of water boiled on the stove as the pair mixed small amounts of water with equal parts of cocaine and baking soda into glass mason jars. Each jar was submerged into the water and cooked. Once calcified, the rock-like substance was removed from the jars and placed on paper towels to dry completely before being cut and packed for distribution.

  While they waited, the woman brought glasses and a bottle of Patrón from the freezer. They all drank to their mutual and prosperous venture.

  “Here’s to runnin’ this bitch,” Bobby toasted. “It’s on and poppin’ now.”

  “So, what’s gonna happen to the rest of the stash?” Tirrell asked as they left the house.

  “We save it until we run low and then we process the rest,” Bobby responded.

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “We sit back and wait for the money train. Supply and demand, T. We got the supply and there’s definitely a demand.”

  They bumped fists in agreement.

  “Can I ask you a question about this Rivera dude?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “What’s his deal? Is he gay, or what?”

  Bobby laughed. “He’s tri-sexual. That crazy-ass Columbian will try just about anything. A couple of those fine-ass women you saw back at his place in Miami weren’t born that way.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I’m serious. I found that out the hard way—no pun intended. You ain’t got to worry about Rivera messin’ with you, unless you get down like that.”

  “Hell, naw.” Tirrell laughed.