by K'wan
“Where’d these pigs come from, Mama?” Big John asked.
“From the goddamned bacon fairies! How the hell should I know?” Ma barked, letting off another round from her shotgun. The gun battle, waged in broad daylight, quickly brought more cops to the scene. They were pinned down. “We need an exit, ASAP!”
“I’m on it, Ma!” Big John said, retrieving the two-way radio from his pocket. “Fire Bug, are you there?” he shouted into the radio.
“What you need, big bro?” said a voice over the radio. From the crunching sound, you could tell he was eating something.
“I need you to stop stuffing your face and get us out of here.” Big John ducked just as a bullet shattered the windshield of the car they were hiding behind. “Them people got us trapped, and they ain’t taking no prisoners. Make these muthafuckas jump for ’em one time!”
“Say no more,” Fire Bug said excitedly. That was the order he had been waiting for. A split second later there was a series of explosions that started at a trash can sitting outside the fish market. Next, two cars on opposite sides of the street went up in flames at the same time, sandwiching the police in a shower of glass and metal shards.
“Fire Bug make the trap go boom!” Fire Bug sang over the radio, like it was the hook to a rap song.
“I hate that damn song,” Big John said over the ringing in his ears.
Before the dust could fully settle, a black van with tinted windows pulled up. Behind the wheel sat a young light-skinned man with dusty brown hair and a freckled nose. “Beautiful,” Fire Bug said breathlessly, looking at the smoldering mess of bodies and rubble, as if he was in a trance.
“That’s Mama’s baby,” Ma said as she climbed into the back of the van. “Get that bag and let’s go,” she told Big John.
Big John tossed the bag into the back of the van, then prepared himself to go back for the wounded robber, but Ma stopped him.
“What are you doing? We can’t just leave him here for the police,” Big John said.
“Of course not,” Ma said. Then she cocked her shotgun and hit the wounded robber with both barrels, shocking Big John.
“What’d you do that for, Mama? He was my friend!” Big John protested.
“But he wasn’t one of us. He ain’t no Savage,” Ma said by way of an explanation. “Now, you wanna keep arguing about family loyalties or get your ass in the van so we can skedaddle and split this bread three ways instead of four?”
Big John didn’t reply. He got in the back of the van and disappeared with his mother and brother.
“You didn’t have to do that, Ma,” Big John said once they were away from the crime scene.
“Sure I did. That boy was about as sharp as a wet bag of hair and could’ve gotten us all murdered because of his big-ass mouth. I killed him to save us,” Ma said, settling into the passenger seat next to Fire Bug.
Big John shook his head. “He had a wife and kid.”
“And we’ll make sure they’re nicely compensated for their loss,” Ma shot back. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty about this, Big John, it ain’t gonna work. That boy was a liability and should’ve never been with us on a job this important, anyhow. You were the one who recruited him, so if you wanna blame somebody, then blame your damn self.”
“I wouldn’t have brought him in if Big Money had shown up,” Big John snapped, giving Fire Bug a dirty look. Big Money was Fire Bug’s partner in crime and their cousin.
“Don’t put this on me!” Fire Bug complained from behind the wheel. “I ain’t seen Mama’s favorite nephew since we handled that piece of business in Harlem. I’ve been trying to call him, but he ain’t picking up. Knowing Big Money, he’s probably laid up with some bitch!”
The older woman’s hand moved so fast that Fire Bug didn’t realize he’d been slapped until the van swerved.
“I ain’t one of your hood-rat friends, Bug! Watch your damn mouth when speaking in front of me!” Ma barked. She then turned to Big John. “And as far as your little boyfriend is concerned, ain’t no sense in crying over spilled milk. You say he got a family, right? Then we’ll break them off a nice severance and be done with it. Now, the both of you shut the hell up, and let’s push back to the house and count this money. Once we get this out of the way, I want you boys to hit the streets and find your cousin. He’d better have one hell of an excuse for leaving us hanging on this job.”
CHAPTER 5
When Big Money Savage awoke that morning, he knew one thing without question: it was going to be a great day.
When he stretched to loosen the muscles in his broad shoulders and back, one of his meaty palms connected with something in the bed beside him . . . or rather someone. She was a brown-skinned girl of about twenty, and her name escaped him. Not that her name was important to him, though. For two hundred dollars she had spent the night sucking, fucking, and doing whatever else he had asked of her. The girl had allowed Big Money to do things to her that she had never done with another man, including her steady boyfriend, who was no doubt somewhere wondering where she was. The foolish young woman never suspected that it was the half gram of Molly that he’d slipped into her champagne that had pushed her to go the extra mile.
“Wake up.” Big Money slapped her across her bare ass. The girl jumped from her sleep and looked around as if she was trying to remember where she was. “Time for you to go, shawty.”
“Jesus, my head hurts.” She rubbed her temples. She felt like she had just been in a prizefight.
“Probably because yo’ drunk ass swigged down nearly two bottles of Mot all by your lonesome,” Big Money told her while hauling himself out of bed. He was a slob of a man who was allergic to exercise.
“You got any food?” she asked.
“Sho’ do, but we ain’t got time for all that. I got places to be, and so do you, like out of my pad.” He tossed her the slinky dress she’d been wearing the night before.
With an attitude, she slipped into her dress and put her shoes on. “Well, can you at least call me a cab or an Uber?”
“Trust that whatever I call you, you ain’t gonna like it.” Big Money plucked his bankroll from his nightstand and peeled off a twenty, which he balled up and tossed at her.
“You’re one low-ass nigga, Big Money,” she hissed.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He laughed. “Now you can leave through the door, or I can toss your funky ass out the window. Your call.”
The girl stood there trembling with rage. Her friend had tried to warn her about the piece of shit who called himself Big Money, but she wouldn’t listen. She’d been too blinded by the jewelry and the seemingly countless bottles he was popping to see anything but a good time. She had thought he would be her come up, but she had ended up with nothing but a sore pussy and a severe case of embarrassment. She wanted to cry but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. With her head held high, she made for the door. Before she left, she had some passing words. “Karma is a bitch!”
“And so are you. Now beat it, whore,” he yelled, dismissing her.
After getting rid of the girl, Big Money checked his phone. He saw that he had five missed calls from his cousin Fire Bug. “Shit,” he cursed. He’d completely forgotten than his aunt needed him on a job. She was going to be pissed that he never showed, but when he explained to her what he had going on, she would understand. Money was always a surefire way to smooth things over with Ma Savage, and he had plans to lay his hands on quite a bit of it.
He showered and took his time dressing. He slipped into a pair of crisp black slacks, an electric-blue blazer, and black wing tips. He stood in front of his full-length mirror and admired himself. He looked like a boss, which was what he was on the fast track to becoming.
It was hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, he had been but a soldier in a small crew of bandits. That was until he and his had unleashed hell up in Harlem. That was the job that had pushed them to the next level. The execution hadn’t gone quite as planned, thoug
h. Instead of their target, an innocent kid had died, but the fact that they had leveled an entire street corner in the process had put them on the radar of some major players. It seemed like people had been lining up to work with him after that, which was the reason he was up and dressed in his Sunday best today. He had a meeting with a man who needed some work done and who was willing to let Big Money write his own ticket on it. Big Money had considered calling in Bug to help out, but then he’d decided he didn’t want to split whatever he made on the contract. He’d let his cousin eat with him on the next one.
The sun shone down brightly on Big Money when he emerged from his building. Another good sign, he thought to himself. He stepped out to the curb and held his hand out for a taxi and managed to get one to stop on his first attempt. That was a hell of a feat for a black man in New York City. Big Money barely spared the driver a glance when he jumped into the back of the taxi and rattled off the address to where he was going. He was preoccupied with his phone. A text message had just come through. Someone wanted to commission him for another job. Yes, New York City was definitely proving to be fruitful for him. “Karma,” he said in a low voice and chuckled as he recalled the girl’s warning. Didn’t she know that he was a Savage? His last name put him above the law, even that of karma.
If Big Money was not so busy basking in his own glow, he’d have noticed the milky-white eye of the taxi driver glaring at him through the rearview mirror.
* * *
King James stood at the mouth of his empire, the General Grant Housing Projects in Harlem, staring aimlessly out at the street. He was deep in thought as he waited for his delivery to arrive. At his sides were one of his lieutenants, a kid named Dee, and his second-in-command, Lakim. It was a tense moment, and no one was quite sure what to say. It was Lakim who broke the silence.
“You sure about this, King?” Lakim asked, hoping King would change his mind. He could see the moral struggle going on in his friend’s eyes.
Before King could reply, the car he had been waiting for pulled to a stop at the curb. Leaving Lakim’s question unanswered, King went out to meet it.
Climbing out of the car were the twins Cain and Abel. They were two young dudes from the neighborhood whom King sometimes called on to handle especially nasty jobs. They were fraternal twins, and their personalities were just as different as their appearances. Abel was the fair-skinned, outgoing lady’s man, and Cain was the dark-skinned introvert. Both brothers were gifted at violence, but it was Cain whom men feared. He had a soul as ugly as the scar that marred the left side of his face, the result of a childhood accident that also left him partially blind in one eye. His mother called the scar the Mark of the Beast. It made him hard to look at, but it also added to his menacing persona. Like his biblical namesake, Cain was born to commit murder.
“So what up?” King asked, cutting to the chase.
Cain smirked, causing the scar tissue just above his lip to wrinkle. “Little piggy went to the market and never came home.” He handed King the keys to the car.
King popped the trunk, revealing the cargo he had sent the twins to fetch. Inside it was a pudgy man. He had been stripped down to his boxers and hog-tied at his wrists and ankles. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth, muffling whatever it was he was trying to say. King James expected a man in his position to show signs of fear, but there were none. His cold eyes stared up accusingly at King James.
King ripped the tape from the hostage’s mouth. “So you’re Big Money Savage?”
“If you know my name, then you know my relations,” Big Money replied. “You know what will happen if I’m returned to my people in anything less than one piece.”
“Why should I show you the courtesy when you didn’t do the same for my little homie?” King James asked him. He was speaking of a fallen comrade whom everyone called simply Shorty. He had lost his life in a death trap that had been set for King James. A car bomb had splattered him all over 124th Street, and word had it that it was Big Money who had set it up and his cousin Fire Bug who had planted the bomb. “He was just a kid, barely old enough to have gotten his dick wet, and y’all sent him back to his mama in pieces. Why should your limbs show up still attached to your body?”
“On my life that wasn’t for the youngster, but I think we both know that. My hands are dirty, but yours ain’t clean, either, King. You brought a child into a war and made him a casualty,” Big Money said. It was more an observation than an accusation.
In response, King James slapped him viciously across the face, sending blood flying inside the trunk. “How dare you speak to me like you’re a stand-up nigga, you fucking baby killer!” He slapped him again.
“Are you going to beat him to death or stick to the script?” Cain asked sarcastically. A look from King James silenced him.
“Tell you what, Big Money. Tell us where we can find Fire Bug, and I’ll make sure the twins give you a quick death,” King offered.
Big Money let out a nervous laugh. “I think we both know that ain’t gonna happen. So, do what you gotta do.”
“Spoken like a man with the heart for this shit.” King gave Big Money an approving nod. “Cain.” He turned to the scarred twin. “Since Big Money’s got so much heart, make sure it’s the first thing you cut out of this fat tub of shit.” He turned and walked away.
“Wait. Wait. I can—” Big Money began, but his words were cut off when Cain slammed the trunk shut.
Lakim caught up with King James. “King, I know you tight, but let’s think about this. Big Money definitely needs to feel that pain, but you sure about killing him? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not denying the fact that Big Money is a fucking greaseball and gotta get his justice, but he’s still a Savage.”
“And?” King questioned.
“I’m just saying . . . after all the bullshit we just went through with the Clarks, I don’t think it benefits us to make new enemies, especially them. Big Money’s family name carries a lot of weight.”
King studied his friend. He and Lakim had been running together since they were kids, but they’d always had differing opinions when it came to principles. “Yes, Big Money has a name, but Shorty had a name too. I’m going to make sure Big Money’s people remember it.”
CHAPTER 6
By the time Keith arrived on Atlanta’s southwest side, his mood had gone from bad to foul. After getting into it with Bernie, he had planned to work out, then go home and drink himself stupid. However, he had gotten a phone call from a young man named Dante. Dante Archer, formerly known as D-Stone, was one of Keith’s legal clerks. After Susan, Dante had been with Keith the longest. Keith had first made the young man’s acquaintance while defending him on an attempted murder charge. Back then Dante had still been a notorious hothead and a shot caller for one of the local Blood sets. He’d been on a date at the skating rink with his girlfriend when he’d gotten into an altercation with several members of a rival gang. They’d tried to earn some clout by jumping Dante, but all they had ended up getting was their asses kicked. One of them had even ended up in the hospital from Dante bashing his skull in with a roller skate. Keith had been able to work his magic and get the charges reduced to simple assault, and Dante had ended up with probation instead of jail time.
While working on Dante’s case, Keith had gotten to know the young man behind the laundry list of charges he’d racked up over the course of his young life, and he’d taken a liking to him. Despite Dante’s reputation as a thug, he was really just a kid trying to make the best out of the bad hand life had dealt him. Dante was rough around the edges, but Keith felt like he genuinely wanted to make a positive change, so Keith provided him with an opportunity by giving him a job.
Dante was yet another wayward soul that Keith was attempting to save by keeping him out of harm’s way, but considering the fact that the call he just got had come from a police station, it seemed Keith was doing a piss-poor job. Once again Keith was called on to put on his Superman cape and pull Dante’s ass out of the f
ire. It was the last thing that he wanted to deal with, considering everything else that was going on, but he felt obligated. Dante was a pain in the ass, but he was still one of Keith’s wards and therefore was under his protection.
When Keith entered the police station, he was greeted by a red-faced desk sergeant wearing a uniform that looked a size too small. Given the fact that he was looking at Keith like he was shit on a stick and the fact that he had the Confederate flag tattooed on the interior of his forearm, Keith knew the officer wasn’t going to make things easy.
“Help you, boy?” the officer asked with a thick drawl.
Keith ignored the urge to snatch the officer from behind the desk and kept things professional. “Keith Davis. I got word that you’re holding a client of mine, Dante Archer.”
“Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell,” the officer replied coolly.
“I imagine not, since I doubt your brain is big enough to have memorized the names of all the detainees you’ve got back there. Why don’t you be a good public servant and check the system for me? Thanks, pal,” Keith remarked.
The officer gave Keith a dirty look before letting his fat fingers dance across the keyboard of his computer. He half looked at the names. “Sorry. Don’t see no Danny.”
“I said Dante . . . Dante Archer,” Keith said, correcting him.
“Sorry, son. Maybe you’ve got the wrong precinct.”
“Or maybe you’re just too lazy to do your damn job!” Keith said heatedly.
The officer leaned forward, and his cold blue eyes bore into Keith. “You think that fancy suit will keep me from coming around this desk and kicking your ass?”
“No, but the fact that I have a law degree and a brown belt in jujitsu may give you some food for thought before you try it. Now, we gonna keep playing dumb, or am I going to have to get a judge to explain to your country ass what obstruction of justice means?”
