by K. T. Tomb
“Yes it would, but we’ll get there.”
“Any luck on the mystery governor?” Romeo asked.
“There are three that we’re keeping an eye on. Shit, they all look a bit shady.”
“Goes without saying; they’re politicians.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
Chapter Seven
Kenneth set the phone down and tried to think.
If the FBI was coming to pick him up, then he needed to have his family prepared for it. He considered making a run for it, but he wasn’t sure where to run to. What if the FBI hadn’t made the connection and Rufus had just asked that he be protected because he was his brother? In that case, making a run for it would make him look guilty. Would it be better to wait things out; find out what they knew?
Maybe he didn’t need to tell his wife anything. Maybe just tell her that his brother had been killed and that he was afraid for their family and had asked the FBI to put them in protective custody. She didn’t even know about his brother. Did he really want to open up that conversation? He’d thought that it all could be kept a secret and the life he led before could disappear. His grandmother had always said, ‘the higher the monkey climbs, the more he is exposed.’
He thought of Curtis again. Would he be able to contact him once they were in custody? Would it be better to tell the FBI about him and make certain that he was protected as well or was it better to keep him isolated? It suddenly hit him; if the Boss had a contact inside the FBI, then who else had contacts? What if the Boss thought that he might talk to the FBI as well? The fear rose up inside of him, gripping him tightly in the throat.
He could hear Dawn and their daughter talking in the kitchen. He could smell whatever wonderful dinner they were preparing together as well. He hated to leave their home, but he had to make sure that his family was safe. He stood and went through every room in the house, looking out the windows. He saw nothing, but that did naught to rid him of the lingering fear that something was about to happen.
Attempting to compose himself as best he could, he finally entered the kitchen.
“Smells delicious.” He smiled as he paused a moment to look out the window. “What are my two girls making?”
“It’s a surprise.” His daughter beamed.
“Did you make dinner for me, young lady?” He hugged her tight. Something told him that it might be the last time, but he shrugged it off.
“Mom helped me,” she replied.
“Then I’ll bet that it’s mouthwatering.” He kissed her forehead and checked the other windows and then moved to his wife.
Should he tell her now; tell them both or just tell her and let her decide what to do?
“I wish we had another fresh loaf of that bread from Chang’s,” she smiled. “It would be the perfect finishing touch.”
“That would be delicious,” he said, taking her into his arms. He could almost taste the fresh warm bread they had enjoyed a few nights before. They say that the senses are in a higher state of awareness when danger is imminent. “I’m sure it will be perfect.”
“It is too late to send you out now. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.” Her smile froze suddenly as she looked up into his eyes. She’d seen his worried look. “What is it?”
“Not here,” he whispered. He looked at their daughter and noticed that she seemed to be in her own little world. “Come.”
He took her hand discreetly and led her into the living room.
“What’s wrong?” Fear had spread to her eyes as well.
How was he going to start the conversation?
“Baby. There is something that I need to tell you…”
He was unable to get out another word before Cynthia let out a blood-curdling scream. The two of them dashed toward the kitchen expecting to see flames bursting from the stove or the oven.
The moment they stepped into the kitchen, an automatic rifle opened fire on Kenneth, riddling him with bullets. Both Dawn and his daughter ducked under the kitchen table, screaming as they watched the man they knew as Ricardo Jackson being murdered in front of them.
The gunfire ceased, but the screams did not. Dawn started toward her dead husband but was intercepted by a gunman who pressed a pistol to her head. She froze in place. Another had grabbed their daughter and had his pistol pressed under her chin. She was trying to choke back the sobs that continued to launch themselves out of her chest.
“Move to the door nice and easy,” the gunman ordered.
Dawn tried to get one more look at her dead husband. Questions were pouring into her mind in such rapid succession that she didn’t have a chance to sort any of them out. One question was able to penetrate all of the others: were she and her daughter about to die?
The two of them were led out into the front yard, placed on their knees with a pistol behind their heads. They watched in horror as two men opened fire on their beautiful home, destroying the facade completely.
In the midst of the barrage, the sound of two quick shots that penetrated the heads of Dawn and Cynthia went unheard.
***
The Boss pushed the button on the burner phone that he used to communicate with Kenneth. He thought that he’d made it pretty clear to Kenneth not to call him. In fact, he thought that Kenneth would understand that they really needed to break all contact. He planned to take the SIM card out of the phone, flush it down the toilet and toss the phone into the sea.
“Dammit Ken,” he snapped. “We can’t have any more contact.”
“Surprise!” the voice said. “This isn’t Ken.”
“What? Who is this?” His anger began to surge. “Look, bitch. Do you know who you’re fuckin’ with?”
“I know exactly who I’m fuckin’ with.” The voice remained calm.
“What did you do with Ken?”
“He’s dead, along with his beautiful wife and darlin’ daughter.”
“You’re fuckin’ dead, bitch!” Marcus screamed into the phone. The irritation of being hunted, being barricaded in his home and surrounded had finally hit its breaking point and his rage exploded.
“Keep an eye on the news. New sheriff and new posse, Mooossesss.” The voice mocked him and then the line went dead.
“Fuck this shit!” He hurled the phone against the wall. It shattered into pieces.
Lasco and JJ, with pistols drawn, were by his side in seconds; their heads swiveling from side to side as they searched for the threat.
“Put those away! It’s too damn late!”
With wrinkled brows, the two men slowly slipped their pistols back into the shoulder holsters under their suits. They stared at the Boss and waited for an explanation.
“They got Kenneth.”
“Boss, I thought you knew that the FBI was…”
“Not the fuckin’ FBI!”
He knew the rival gang only by the name of Wyatt Earp, and it sounded stupid whenever he said it out loud. He knew that the name was only a cover to piss him off. It was corny as hell, but the message behind it was clear. His rivals were making it quite clear that they were coming in with guns blazing and not asking any questions or making any deals.
“You mean…” Lasco ventured.
“Yes, fuckin’ Wyatt Earp!”
He was struggling to get himself back under control. He’d stayed alive this long because he’d been able to keep his temper in check and think clearly. His father had taught him that and his father had successfully kept the entire operation intact and passed it on to him. He poured himself a drink and paced as he tried to think about what to do.
Lasco and JJ watched him quietly for a moment, but when their boss flashed a cold look in their direction, they decided they would be better served to protect him from outside the room.
***
Curtis clicked on the television on the kitchen counter and then went to the refrigerator to look for something to make his breakfast.
The coffee pot had already started brewing his morning pick-me-up, something that
Melanie was great about remembering. He knew that there was a timer on the thing and that you could set it to start brewing automatically if you prepared it the night before. He never did.
He could hear the voices of the newscasters droning away on CNN and the sound of the shower down the hall running. The sounds barely registered in his sleepy conscience until he heard the words: Kingston, Jamaica. As always, he paused to take note of any news about Kingston, though he was really expecting nothing more than a report about the continued violence that was going on there as the stalemate continued between the combined forces of the Jamaica Constabulary Force and the Jamaican Defense Force. He knew that the FBI, possibly the CIA and a whole lot more US law enforcement was there as well, but there was none of that confirmed in the news.
What caught his attention, however, was a change in the tone. Where the reporter had been droning on about old news earlier, there was suddenly an emotional edge to her voice.
“During the night, violence erupted in this upscale neighborhood as neighbors reportedly heard gunfire coming from this gated home.”
As the camera zoomed in, a lump caught in Curtis’s throat. That looked an awful lot like his dad’s house. He reached to turn up the volume, fearing what was about to come out of the reporter's mouth.
“Reports are still sketchy, but authorities are claiming that there were ties between the family living here and notorious boss, Marcel ‘Moses’ Brown, who has been in a stalemate with the police and Jamaican Defense Force for the past several days. Authorities say that three bodies were found matching the description of the family members who lived here.
“According to sources, this might have been connected to ongoing efforts to capture Marcel Brown. Though there are still many more questions than answers about what happened at the home, one thing is certain; violence came suddenly and very tragically for the Jackson family…”
The sound of the reporter’s voice no longer registered in Curtis’s mind as sudden realization swept over him. The comprehension was quickly backed up as he saw the smiling, portrait photos of his father, his new wife and their daughter being displayed on the screen. Frozen with shock, he didn’t hear his girlfriend come into the kitchen wearing little more than a towel.
“Hey, baby. How’d you sleep?” Melanie asked, pulling out a mug and pouring coffee into it. She slid it over in front of him and poured another for herself.
Curtis’s eyes were glued to the screen, not seeing anything as his mind raced through the questions. What happened? Why? Who would do such a thing? Was his dad really connected with Brown? What the hell was going on? His dad was dead? Was he really dead? There had to be a mistake.
“Baby?” Melanie spoke louder.
“Huh? What?” He rotated his foggy head toward her.
“What’s wrong? Not feeling well?”
“No, not that,” he said as he turned back to the television.
“More violence in Jamaica?” She watched for a moment. “Oh my God, that’s so horrible. Is your family safe?”
How the hell did he answer that? No, they weren’t safe, they were fucking dead! But she had no idea and his shock made it impossible for him to put together any words to explain things to her. He’d bought plane tickets to go check on his family over the weekend, though he’d wondered if maybe he ought to cancel them until things cooled down a little bit. He was supposed to leave tomorrow morning, early, but he wouldn’t be able to wait.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Melanie continued to press the issue.
He had to try to act normal. He didn’t want to upset her; even worse, he didn’t want to have to answer a bunch of questions.
“I’m just a little under the weather this morning.”
“That sucks; you still going to Jamaica tomorrow? I mean, it’s kind of scary. Things seem to have gotten worse.”
“Uh, yeah. No, it’s okay. I just didn’t sleep well, kind of woke up with a headache.” How was he going to explain the sudden change in his flight? He’d worry about that later. Get her on her way to work and take care of things when she left. “I think I’m going to call in sick or just go in late today.”
“I can stay home with you and take care of you.”
She worked a sympathy pout onto her face that normally melted him instantly, but it had no effect on him.
“No, that’s okay,” he replied, trying to act cheerful. “The coffee and a couple of Tylenol will probably clear it up in a little bit and I’ll head to work a little later.”
“Okay, suit yourself,” she said, turning and heading back down the hall to get dressed. She let the towel drop, faking a shocked look as she bent seductively to pick it up, watching him with her large, blue eyes.
Normally, Curtis wouldn’t have been able to resist even that, but she got nothing more than a smile from him and he turned back toward the television.
He learned nothing more from CNN and after a few moments of recap, a new reporter with something completely insignificant to talk about started into another story as if Curtis’ life and the lives of his dad, his dad’s wife and their daughter meant nothing at all.
He tried a sip of his coffee and then set it down again, the taste of it not registering with him in any way. He picked up the phone and dialed his travel agent.
“Hey, it’s Curtis Colton, something has come up,” he said when the agent answered. “I need to see if we can change my flight to an earlier one. Like, today, the first one available.”
The agent told him that the airlines might charge a fee for the change and that on short notice the fare might increase significantly.
“Money’s not a problem. I really need to make the change. As soon as possible, please. You’ve got my card number, right? Just tack on the difference. Send me the ticket when you get it, I’ll be in the shower.” He didn’t need the travel agent calling, leaving a message on the machine and his girlfriend hearing it; too many questions.
He hung up and started down the hall to the shower, hoping to avoid Melanie. He had enough on his mind and enough questions of his own. They came flooding back into his mind in rapid sequence as he let the hot water flow over his body. They were the same ones as before, but without answers. Until he got to Jamaica, he wouldn’t be able to answer a lot of them. He may never be able to answer some of them.
“I’m on my way,” Melanie called out as she stepped into the bathroom and pulled the shower door open to get a quick kiss.
“Alright, babe, have a good day. I’ll call you later.”
He wasn’t sure when and his mind already skipped to having to answer questions. He’d avoid it as long as he could.
“Hope you get to feeling better. I could bring you something at lunch.”
Shit! She was going to corner him, he had to think fast. “No, babe, don’t bother, I got a thing. But, hey, I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” she said, giving him another quick peck, closing the door and leaving the bathroom.
Relieved, Curtis finished his shower, got dressed and started packing.
Chapter Eight
Romeo clicked on the television just like he did every morning, ignored it and started to take the can of coffee down from the cabinet and fill the coffee maker. Before he could start scooping coffee into the basket on the coffee maker his phone started ringing. It was connected to the charger on the kitchen counter. Who the hell would be calling at this time of the morning?
“Romeo,” he said after pressing the button to connect the call.
“It’s Robert, we just received some bad news.”
At the same moment Robert started to fill him in, the smiling faces in three separate photos lined up on the television screen.
“The family is reported as being Ricardo Jackson, his wife Dawn and their daughter, Cynthia,” the reporter said and Romeo focused his attention on the screen as Robert spoke.
“The violence occurred in an upscale neighborhood in Kingston, Jamaica…”
“I’m on my way to pick you up.
How soon can you be ready?” Robert asked.
“In ten,” Romeo responded. “Where am I going?”
“Atlanta,” Robert responded. “We can’t afford to lose Curtis too.”
“I’m on it. See you in ten.”
Romeo disconnected the call and then rushed to his bedroom. He kept a “go bag” ready at all times for just such occasions. It had all of his necessities and several changes of underwear and casual wear. It also had some extra clips and a box of rounds for his pistol. His garment bag was always ready with two suits, matching shirts and ties that were FBI dress code compliant.
Forgetting breakfast and coffee, which he generally enjoyed each morning as he prepared his mind for the day, he pulled all of the stuff together, remembering at the last minute to toss his cell phone charger in as he rushed out the door and down the stairs.
He was on the sidewalk waiting for only a few minutes before the black SUV pulled up and the door popped open. He tossed the bag in the third-row seat and hung the suit bag on the hook inside the door as the driver sped off.
“Curtis had purchased tickets to go to Kingston using his credit card and his departure was supposed to be at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow,” Robert started the moment Romeo was seated. “About five minutes ago, they were changed for a 10:00 a.m. flight this morning.”
“Damn, that was fast.”
“He must have been watching the news.”
“I gotta get to Atlanta like yesterday, then,” Romeo responded.
“Already on it. I’ve got a chopper lined up for you. They should be able to get you to the airport in Atlanta before he clears TSA.”
“You have any idea what happened?” Romeo asked. “Weren’t they supposed to get him out of there?”
“Our people were planning to go in and pull the family out tonight. There is some weird shit going on with this one.”
“What kind of weird shit?”
“Some of the gunmen might be connected to the JDF?”
“The JDF? Why the hell would they kill Jackson?”
“We don’t have all of the facts yet, but they have three JDF soldiers that they are questioning. The line that is being taken right now is that they had given a tip that the Boss was at the Jackson residence. They are claiming that when they went to investigate, they were fired upon from the house.”
