Out of the blue, she said, “I heard Nadia had a visit this weekend.”
Miguel didn’t stammer with nervousness or falter with concern. He kept his cool and continued driving. He barely looked at Max when he replied, “And what’s your point?”
“What sparked the visit?”
“Is it a crime to go and see my girl?”
“No, it’s not. But that’s a long trip to take.”
“I miss her a lot.”
“I miss her too,” Max said dryly.
Max’s knowledge about the trip surprised Miguel. He figured she had eyes watching Nadia, and a phone call was placed to her after his visit was over. Though she was in New York, the bitch still had inmates loyal to her inside the prison, just as Nadia had told him. Still, Miguel wondered how she had gotten such pull. Again, he wondered who she was connected to. Was she related to some notorious gangster he didn’t know about?
She knew things about him and Nadia, now he felt it was time to learn more about her.
Downtown Brooklyn was bustling with pedestrians, shoppers, and traffic, and businesses were swamped beneath the blazing, late-summer sun. The area was the third-largest central business district in New York City. Residential and office buildings reached to the sky, gentrification being a factor since the early 2000s.
Max had half a dozen addresses to work with, and she concluded that at least one location would lead to Bugsy or someone close to him. Bugsy was her interest. She was hoping he lived in a house somewhere in the boondocks rather than some fancy high-rise apartment building with closed-circuit security and some nosy concierge.
Max knew the real Bugsy Siegel was a gangster in Las Vegas who was shot dead in his living room by an assassin’s bullet through the window. She wanted Layla’s son to have the same fate.
She checked out two high-end apartment buildings on Gold Street. The towering buildings had cameras everywhere. Not wanting to be caught on film, she made Miguel check things out. He was reluctant, but Max didn’t give him a choice. She gave him the apartment number and told him to be subtle. She waited in the car.
Max knew Bugsy frequented downtown Brooklyn and that he had properties. The information she had on him had come from his own mother. Layla ran her mouth in too many letters and collect calls. For a supposedly streetwise woman with a gangster husband, Layla gave away critical information about her family.
The two apartment buildings didn’t turn up anything on Bugsy, but she and Miguel continued their search. They rolled through downtown, fighting against the traffic and determined not to fail. As luck would have it, they finally spotted Bugsy. He was leaving an office building on Jay Street.
Max saw him as he was walking toward a black Escalade. He was flanked by several goons and looked like some significant political figure, dressed in a well-fitting three-piece suit and polished shoes. Max smiled as she finally laid her eyes on the man in the flesh. He was handsome and sharp.
Miguel followed the Escalade inconspicuously; they couldn’t chance being spotted by Bugsy’s security team. Scott and Layla weren’t holding anything back to protect their remaining children. The men around Bugsy would kill someone in a heartbeat.
They traveled north on Jay Street to Tilary Street, where the Escalade made a right. Miguel followed two cars behind. These men were trained to know they were being followed. The traffic was thick, so Miguel’s older model Accord wouldn’t stand out, even if Bugsy’s people were checking their mirrors for anything suspicious.
Max memorized the plate number, in case they lost the Escalade.
Miguel was cool with his driving. He was focused on not losing the vehicle, even if it meant running through a few yellow lights to keep up. He was taking a chance, but he did what he had to do.
They followed the Escalade into a rough area of Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Someone other than Bugsy entered the housing project while the Escalade sat idling on the block.
Miguel parked half a block down, and they watched the activity from a distance. Bugsy didn’t leave the automobile.
Fifteen minutes later, the man was seen leaving the housing project carrying nothing. He climbed into the vehicle, and it drove off.
Max wondered what that was all about. Was it a drug deal? Bugsy wasn’t so stupid to be riding around town with drugs in the truck. From her understanding, he was an intelligent businessman.
They continued to follow the Escalade. Now they were merging onto the highway, 278 BQE, going eastbound.
Miguel sighed. “We doin’ all this drivin’, and you ain’t givin’ me any gas money. You know all this surveillance don’t come cheap.”
Max wasn’t in the mood for his attitude. She reached into her sweatpants pockets and tossed him a ten-dollar bill.
Miguel still wasn’t satisfied. “Yo, this ain’t eighty-eight. Gas ain’t cheap.”
“It’s all I have for now.”
“You gonna have to do better than this. Dig in your stash or something, cuz ten bucks can’t get us far at all, ma.”
“What are you talking about stash? On my mother this is all I got . . . but don’t worry. I got you. I’m working on something.”
Miguel grudgingly took the money. They both were broke, but he felt that his needs were greater than hers. He had three kids to support, while Max was living at home with her mother. Each moment he spent with her, he wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and choke her out. Better yet, simply break her neck. The difficult situation she was putting his family into filled him with great contempt.
While doing 55mph on the BQE, now several cars behind the Escalade, Max looked at Miguel and boldly placed her hand on his knee and squeezed it gently. The unexpected touch caught Miguel off guard.
“Are you lonely, Miguel?” she asked.
Miguel, driving with composure, moved her hand off his knee. “I love Nadia!”
“I know you do.”
“So don’t you disrespect her at all!”
Max sighed. Two weeks of freedom and all she did was finger-fuck herself and take cold showers. She wondered whether Miguel had been loyal to Nadia since her incarceration. Nadia was doing some years in prison. Max knew everyone had their needs, especially men. Did he ever cheat on Nadia? She believed so.
“You know, you should have seen me in my teens and early twenties. I was definitely a knockout. Had men coming at me left and right.”
Miguel appeared to be uninterested about her glory days. He drove, staring at the traffic ahead.
Max said, “I’ve been with only one man in my entire life. Can you believe that? It’s been a long time for me. I didn’t even mess with women inside. I refused to. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long that I feel self conscious and somewhat insecure. I wouldn’t know what to say to a man or how to act on a date. Do I tell them that I’ve done a bid, or do I lie? Do we fuck quick cause I’m a grown woman, or do I wait to get to know them better? Thoughts like that keep going through my head. Got me fucked up. It’s all so overwhelming.”
The speech did nothing for Miguel. He wasn’t having it. He knew she was trying to get into his head, but he’d rather fuck a dog than a dyke bitch that looked like a dude to him. Not to mention, she was extorting and bullying his lady.
The day played out into the evening, with Max learning a few things about Bugsy, but the information wasn’t definitive. They’d followed him throughout Brooklyn and into Manhattan. Max didn’t discover much about his personal life, but she was determined to find out more about the young boy. He was only nineteen years old and already had money, power, and connections that most grown men would dream of. He was the family’s golden boy. He knew how to launder money, influence the right folks, talk with charm and urging, and he knew how to move in the streets and in the business world. He was book-smart and street-smart—a lethal combination in his line of work.
Max wanted Bugsy ki
lled. Meyer would lose his twin brother, Layla would lose her most gifted child, and Scott would lose the one son who could replace him on the throne and run the empire—maybe better than he ever had.
10
Miguel was tired and frustrated with Max. Spending the day with her was agonizing. He couldn’t wait to take her home. He turned the corner onto Blake Street, where a few neighbors were outside enjoying the warm night. While approaching Max’s house, he was ready to push her out of his car while it was still moving. He double-parked outside her home, keeping the gear shift in drive with his foot on the brakes.
Max removed herself from the car. While doing so, she noticed the Rolls-Royce Phantom whirling around the corner onto her street. It was Layla. Max wasn’t expecting her. Why was Layla coming to see her? Did she suspect something? Did she know they were following Bugsy today? Was she being watched too? Max was worried. Layla could do anything, even place men outside her mother’s house to keep an eye on her every movement. It was something Max hadn’t thought about.
Miguel noticed the sleek luxury vehicle through his rearview mirror. It looked like a mountain of a car from his viewpoint. It was definitely there for Max, and he grew concerned. He slowly drove away from the area, spying the Phantom in his mirrors. He wanted to see who climbed out of the car, but he didn’t want to stick around too long. Max was enough of a headache for him.
Max watched Miguel leave, and then she focused her attention on the Rolls-Royce. She couldn’t help but feel a touch of trepidation. This game of betrayal and mistrust between her and Layla was nerve-wracking. There was no telling what would go down. Someone could emerge from out of nowhere and put a bullet into Max’s head, with Layla there to simply watch the murder. She thought of her mother seeing her only daughter lying in a pool of blood with a bullet in her head near her steps. That would unquestionably send Max’s mother to her grave.
Max’s chest tightened. Shit! What could she do if it was a snare for her death? Max could only stand there and watch the suicide door to the vehicle open and observe Layla’s pricey shoes step out from the back seat and touch the pavement.
Max reached into the pockets of her sweatpants and wrapped her fingers around the small blade she carried. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Once again, the neighbors stood around in awe at the luxurious vehicle parked on their block again.
Layla approached Max straight-faced. Was she coming as a friend or foe? Max would soon find out. Max stood hypnotized by her unexpected presence.
Layla didn’t miss a beat. She didn’t respond with a hello, but a question. “Who was that . . . the car you got out of?”
Max quickly replied, “My mother’s pastor. He’s counseling me.”
Max knew there was no way she could have seen Miguel’s face. It was a believable lie because Max’s mother had always been a godly woman.
Layla’s look was still poker-faced. There was no telling if she believed Max or not. She looked stunning, showing off her curves to Max and the neighbors in a red corset mini dress and clutching a gold satin bracelet bag. She was dressed for an elegant and classy event, like an extravagant ball somewhere in the city. Why the quick stop in Brooklyn? This time, she was minus Lucky and the heavy security. She had one man with her. He was tall and black and dressed in all black.
“Do you want to come inside?” Max asked.
Layla took one look at the small home and thought against it. She didn’t care to run into the old and unpleasant mother again. “I’m not here to stay,” she said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m here to give you something.” Layla nodded to the man in black, who then reached into his suit jacket and removed a small, bulky package and handed it to Maxine. “In there is sixty thousand dollars,” Layla informed her.
Max was somewhat taken aback. Why the cash? And why now?
“No thank-you?” Layla said with a self-righteous look.
Thank you? Max wanted to move her mother from the area and put her into a better home. Sixty thousand dollars was less than three grand for every year she had spent in prison. For her life being wasted behind bars, she was owed a lot more. Had she not gone to jail, she would have graduated from law school as planned, and she definitely would’ve made over three grand a year. She knew she would’ve been a prominent attorney in the city.
“Thank you,” Max said, a forced smile on her face. The cash would help finance the next part of her revenge.
Layla picked up on Maxine’s somewhat salty expression. “What? It’s not enough?” Layla knew she’d contradicted herself by giving Maxine the money when she’d told herself that she’d done enough for her. But this was it; there would be no more. “Like I told you before, things are tight right now. We’re having major issues. We’re at war, Maxine.”
Maxine smiled and said, “I understand. I’m happy to have had your help this long, Layla. This is a blessing. I just want to go on with my life and take care of my mother. She’s very ill, and I need to be here to help take care of her.”
“Do yourself a favor, Maxine. Get yourself a makeover wit’ some of that money and buy some new clothes, for God’s sake. You look like shit! Bring yourself into the twenty-first century already.” Layla walked toward the Rolls-Royce and stepped inside. She had stayed too long in the ghetto.
Maxine watched the Rolls-Royce leave. Holding sixty grand in her hand gave her some advantage. Layla had to be the dumbest bitch on earth to continue to finance her own family’s demise.
11
The old Ford stayed parked on the street in Wilmington a week before someone finally noticed it. The car itself did not stand out, but the stench emanating from it was overwhelming and putrid. The stifling August heat amplified the foul odor coming from the car, and people complained about it.
Finally, the police were called to the block to investigate the abandoned vehicle. A marked police car arrived, and two officers went to inspect the Ford. The windows were rolled up, and there were no keys in the ignition. The smell hit the cops like a ton of bricks. With their years of experience, they recognized the smell of death and pinpointed that the odor was coming from the rear. It was coming from the trunk. They ran the plates, and the car came back as stolen.
The senior officer forced the trunk open with a crowbar, and immediately they were hit with a ghastly stench and a sight that made their eyes water and their stomachs churn. The junior cop quickly hunched over with his hand propped against the back of the car and threw up his breakfast. They had seen dead bodies before, but this headless corpse with missing fingertips was overkill.
The crime scene was soon protected by crime scene tape and crowded with several homicide detectives. Forensics was inspecting the car for fingerprints and DNA, and the residents were watching everything unfold from a short distance. Word of the cops finding a headless body had spread like wildfire. Murder wasn’t anything uncommon in their part of town, but the body being headless brought more attention to it.
Unbeknownst to the cops, the body belonged to Tyrone Knead, aka Knock. Once Jimmy was finished torturing Knock for hours for information, he decided killing him was too easy. He went extreme to send out a vile message to their enemies.
***
Amongst those watching the crime scene from the crowd nearby were Chin and Jo-Jo, two soldiers from Meyer’s crew. They suspected that it was Knock inside the trunk. He had been missing for three days now. Another one of theirs had fallen, and they knew Deuce was behind it.
The men left the area and got into a gold Lexus. They were angry and wanted revenge. Knock’s murder had hit the people close to home. He was their boss, and they were bloodthirsty for payback. They carried 9mm pistols loaded with hollow-point bullets, designed for absolute destruction to flesh upon impact.
The Lexus hurried toward the Sky lounge in Cool Spring, a business owned and operated by Meyer. Meyer had a
thing for clubs, and since he’d planned on being in Delaware for a while, he took over ownership of the trendy establishment when the previous owner had fallen into debt with him for over a hundred thousand dollars. It was either his life or the lounge.
The business didn’t open until seven p.m., but during the day the place was a hangout spot for Meyer and his goons. It was also a drop-off and pickup point for money and drugs. Since the paperwork for the location was still under the previous owner’s name, it wasn’t on Deuce’s radar. It was the perfect hiding place in a city turned upside down by the drug war.
Chin and Jo-Jo made it to the lounge and knocked on the steel door. The security monitor perched near the entrance picked them up, and the door opened. They walked inside and trekked toward the backrooms and then into the back office, where Meyer and Luna were talking business and going over required paperwork for the lounge.
“Knock is dead!” Chin exclaimed.
“What? What the fuck you talkin’ about, nigga?” Meyer said.
“They found a headless body in the trunk of a car over on Quaker Hill,” Jo-Jo said.
Luna asked, “And y’all sure it’s Knock?”
“We sure it’s him. I’ve seen that car before, and he ain’t been around in three days, and Knock is always around. It’s gotta be Deuce’s work,” Chin said.
The news was upsetting to Meyer. Right after Luna, Knock was his diehard goon. Knock was fuckin’ Rambo on steroids and meth. He’d once blown a man’s brains out in a crowded park and got away with it. Knock knew his shit and was a loyal nigga. It was a harsh blow to Meyer’s crew.
Meyer scowled. “That muthafucka Deuce, he gotta go and go fast. I got my pops up my ass because of this clown nigga.”
“What you want us to do?” Jo-Jo asked.
“Yo, I want a fuckin’ hit squad on these streets twenty-four/seven,” Meyer said.
“We on it,” Chin said.
Jo-Jo and Chin stood in front of their commander ready to prove their worth. With Knock dead, it meant someone had to be promoted, and they both wanted the position.
Mafioso [Part 2] Page 7
