Ungoverned

by Shawn Raiford

Twenty years ago, before he left for Thailand, they were already friends. He needed to check his photo album to make sure how long they’d been friends. On some of the Polaroids, the year was written on the bottom.

  It was an oversized album of memories of the last thirty years. Bradley might be in a couple of the Polaroids.

  Replacing Samantha would be easy. He knew a couple of local brokers who would help him out. If they were out of merchandise he would have to tell the broker what he wanted. He’d have a replacement probably within the week.

  He walked down the hallway to his study. He didn’t like the dirty side of his business, but Norman never shied away from it. He didn’t want to kill cops, but he didn’t see any other choice, he had to save himself and Bradley. Norman wanted to kill Art for talking to the cops. The death of these cops would be on Art.

  Norman wasn’t sure if his partnership with Lukas would work long term. It was sad because there was a lot of demand right now, and they could make a lot of money.

  Lukas Zimmerman was a killer. Once he learned the business, Lukas would have him and Carter taken out back and shot like a pair of diseased dogs.

  After the cops were dead, Norman would order Carter to kill Lukas and his two captains.

  Norman pulled out a handgun from his waist, and placed it on the desk, next to his laptop. He sat down in front of his laptop and turned it on.

  Time to shop, but first he needed to check his emails. He went through them. Nothing important, so he opened a web browser and made his way to a special website.

  He must’ve clicked on a hundred different buttons to arrive at the webpage he wanted. Now, White could see them all.

  The children’s faces on the screen made him smile. There were so many choices. It made him giddy. He counted thirty-one beautiful faces on the screen at the moment. There would be more faces in a few more hours and some of the faces currently on the screen would be gone. In this business, you had to act fast.

  He narrowed his choices down to four of them in just a few minutes. They were the most attractive and were the right ages. Norman needed the girl for sure, and he wanted the boy for himself.

  He clicked some more boxes on the laptop screen, stared at the boy and three girls he’d narrowed his choices to. He picked up his cup, taking a sip. White glanced over the pictures, then sent a couple of inquiries. He finally decided on a boy and a girl, both Hispanic. And both were near Houston, Texas.

  When he saw the prices, he almost spit out his tea. Both belonged to a man, Javier, no last name, he had done business with him many times before.

  The website didn’t allow for instant messages, just listed email addresses. Norman sent him an email, giving him a phone number so he could text him about these two kids. He made sure to give him enough of a hint as to who was sending him the email.

  The burners chirped.

  It was a text message.

  “Sup Blanco? This is Javier,” the text message read.

  “Hello, Javier. Hope all is well! I want your boy and girl. 30k is too high for a couple of brownies,” he texted.

  “How much you willing to spend? You understand the prices on site are just a little inflated due to risk of unknowns?” read Javier’s text message.

  “Totally understand, how about ten for both? Payable within a few minutes after you give me an account number.”

  “No way Jose! Keep shopping Blanco,” read Javier’s text message.

  A smirk materialized on Norman’s face. “How about twelve?”

  “How about you go to the corner and buy some tacos with that?”

  This time he laughed aloud, as Norman typed another message. “My final offer, fifteen, plus delivery.” Delivery was always included, but Norman wanted to make sure.

  A few minutes passed. Javier was texting multiple potential buyers at the moment. It was the nature of the business, the faster you sold the merchandise the faster it was out of your hands, lessening chance of being caught by law enforcement.

  “Okay, but someone else wants the boy and offered me an even twenty.”

  Norman read it and sighed. He would have to do without for a little longer. “I’ll just take the girl.”

  “Fifteen thousand US dollars.”

  “Yes, good, send me a bank account number and I’ll send the funds. Deliver merchandise to client in Houston.”

  “What’s client’s handle?”

  “Call him BM.”

  “Got it, BM.”

  “I will be there with client, so be ready to tell me a joke or two!”

  “That’s no problem, I will deliver merchandise personally!”

  Javier sent him the bank account number and a link. Norman sent the info to his email. He opened the email on his laptop. He then clicked the link, and went to an offshore banking website. He logged in, and within a few minutes sent Javier his money.

  He received another text asking for time and delivery address. Norman sent Javier Bradley’s address.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A Little Blood

  My head pulsated.

  Reaching around, I touched the spot where my head sang out in pain, and my fingers reported a little blood.

  I walked towards the section of the parking garage, where my car was, then I saw them.

  Both of their faces looked familiar, but their names escaped me. Each thug wore what appeared to be a couple days’ growth of stubble, along with black slacks, and long black trench coats.

  The taller one’s facial expression wasn’t good. He reached over to the other one and muttered something I couldn’t hear.

  They recognized me, Archie must’ve told them what I looked like today, my hair, pants, jacket, etc. I glanced behind me and had an idea.

  “Where’s Archie?” the shorter trench coat asked. He held up both hands at chest level, palms out, showing that he wasn’t an immediate threat.

  Pointing my thumb behind me. “He’s in there.”

  “He told us to take you back to talk to Lukas,” the taller trench coat said.

  “Sorry boys, I’m not in the mood for a party.” I turned, and ran towards Stairwell B. Opened the door, then ran up the stairs as fast as I could. Reaching the third-floor level of the garage before I heard them come through the door. Although they were as strong as horny bulls, these guys never ran or jogged, which meant they wouldn’t catch me.

  On my way to the top, I opened the seventh and eighth floor doors, hoping they would have stopped to check those floors, which would give me a little more time on the top.

  As I stood on the top level of the garage, I spotted a few four-door sedans parked near the elevator and stairwells. Two trucks were parked about midway down the length of the parking lot. Probably belonged to the construction crew.

  I ran along the wall of the elevators, peering over the edge, and it was a long way down. Nine stories tall meant around ninety to a hundred feet. I looked at the wall down the side of the parking garage, and decided against scaling down the side. I ran over to the other side of the parking lot, towards a truck.

  The truck, a blue Ford 250, had a ladder rack with two ladders tied down. One was the kind that folded in the middle, maybe sixteen or seventeen feet long, and aluminum.

  The other was a two-piece extension fiberglass ladder, probably over twenty feet when fully extended. There was a red toolbox in the bed of the truck, which was locked.

  Expecting the two trench coats arrival soon, I quickly gazed over at the adjacent building, and into another parking garage.

  There was no way to jump across, it was about twenty-five feet. The ladder might work as a bridge, but I wasn’t sure if it was strong enough.

  Something lay under the toolbox. I reached and grabbed it. It was a roll of red nylon rope. Awesome! It appeared to be enough to rappel down at least to the fifth floor.

  Jumping down to the pavement, I tied the rope to the truck’s back bumper. Roughly twenty yards away, and approaching.

  They seemed winded. The sho
rt one pointed at me. “Where you going?”

  I threw the rope over the half wall.

  “Rose!”

  Grabbing the rope, I waved at them. “Got to go!” Wrapping the rope around my right forearm, I lowered myself down a few feet. My foot found the half wall of the next floor.

  I stepped down onto the eighth-floor parking lot. The plan was for one of them to come down after me, because handling one of them at a time would be easy. Then I could take care of the other if he caught up to me.

  There was a car a few spaces to my right, and I hid behind it.

  “Damn it! She went down the rope!”

  “What do we do?”

  There was a pause.

  “I’ll go down after her!” said one Trench Coat.

  “Alright!” said the other.

  I ducked behind the fender, getting my knife ready to make some bacon. Raising up a few inches, the rope jiggled, as a pair of shoes appeared, and then legs.

  “I don’t see her!”

  “She probably went to the floor!”

  “Yeah, all right, I’m going down to the next floor.”

  “Okay! Go ahead!”

  No way! He’s making this easy for me. I stood up and sauntered over to the half wall, to the wall. I ran my blade across the taught rope.

  “Oh shit! Lonnie! She’s cutting the rope!” short Trench coat shouted. He was the unlucky one on the rope.

  I cut the rope.

  Not bothering to watched him fall, I ran towards the stairs. His partner would waste a few seconds watching his partner fall and splat.

  I ran the length of the parking lot and went down the stairs of Stairwell B. I was on the fourth floor when I heard a door, a few floors above me, open.

  Kept moving downward, two or three steps at a time.

  I exited slowly onto the first floor and didn’t see anyone. I didn’t want to waste time checking Stairwell A for Archie and Louie.

  Almost made it to my car before something sounded. I turned around as Archie slowly approached me like a bloodied Frankenstein.

  Fishing my keys out of my front pocket, I pushed the Open button on my electronic car key.

  Reaching my car, I got in, and buckled up. I wasn’t in such a rush now because my pistols were within reach. As I turned the car engine on, the entrance to the door in Stairwell B door flew open, and it was Tall Trench Coat.

  He saw me and mouthed something, seemed as if it rhymed with ‘witch’ or ‘stitch’. Archie turned to face the noise of the door opening and pointed my way. I grabbed a pistol from under my seat and laid it on my lap. If I had to, I would shoot to be free.

  Then Louie teetered out of the stairwell. He didn’t look so good.

  I put it in Drive, and stomped the gas pedal. They moved to the side as I moved rapidly drove towards the exit. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Tall Trench Coat got behind the wheel of a black Mercedes.

  Damn it! Since his car was close, he would be able to follow me. Upon exiting the parking garage, I had to wait because a Metro bus blocked my path. The bus and I drove on a little loop that entered from Cambridge St, where it dropped off, and picked people up. The Metro stopped at the bus stop, and I drove to the left of it, pulling up to Cambridge St. as an oncoming car approached fast, but I pulled out to the right and gunned it. A horn blared behind me, and someone flipped me off in my rear-view mirror.

  I returned the gesture, and smiled.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Pulled Out My Mossberg

  Driving fast down Cambridge St., I didn’t see Archie’s car anywhere.

  As I passed up the Hermann Park Dr. intersection, I wasn’t worried about checking my blind spot when changing lanes as I was going faster than everyone.

  Braking, my wheels squealed loudly, as I switched lanes just before ramming a red Corvette.

  Glancing in the review mirror, I still couldn’t see my pursuers.

  As I stopped at the red light in MacGregor Way, I looked and searched, and then saw him.

  Archie sat in the black Mercedes, miniaturized in the rearview mirror, parked several cars back.

  He opened his door, got out, and stood looking over the cars. Whenever he spotted my car, he pointed at me, and mouthed off something.

  It was hard to reach me at eight cars behind me.

  The left turn light turned green and I drove forward, turning left onto MacGregor Way. I eliminated two of their herd at the cabaret, and one at the hospital’s parking garage. The trench coat that fell might be dead or just seriously mangled. Either way, it wasn’t a problem for me.

  Driving a mile or so until I reached Highway 288, I then headed North, and towards Downtown.

  As I passed under Southmore Blvd my car jolted forward.

  It was Archie. He had a cell phone up to his ear, and was grinning.

  Stomping down on the accelerator, I detected something in my peripheral vision. I turned my head as Archie’s car moved to the right lane and even with my car.

  Spotting the barrel of a pistol sticking out of the back window, I wondered if Lukas had said “Fuck it!” and green lit me. I let off the accelerator, coming down on the brake a little. Louie sat in the backseat, grinning, and aiming the pistol.

  Reaching around the front-passenger seat, I raised the flap and unzipped the hidden compartment in the back of the seat. Reaching inside, I pulled out my Mossberg shotgun.

  As I turned to the right, I switched to the far-right lane, narrowly missing being rammed by a dark gray truck. The driver honked and tried staring a hole through me as he went by.

  Changing lanes a few times, I found Archie’s car again. I stayed in my current lane, slowing and speeding up, whatever the traffic dictated.

  I couldn’t see Archie’s car anymore—and wasn’t sure if I had lost them or not. Switching lanes again, Archie’s car appeared in the next lane behind me. He had his cell phone in his left hand in front of him, resting it on the dash. Archie and his boyfriends hadn’t seen me yet.

  Pointing a shotgun out the window of a car going over sixty miles an hour wasn’t a great idea, but it had potential to scare them.

  Rolling down the window, I rested the shotgun barrel on the door’s armrest, and waited.

  I figured Archie had called other guys to help corral me, because Lukas had a stable full of idiot soldiers that could help.

  I needed to end this soon.

  Changed lanes, and moving over to the middle, Archie’s car pulled out in front of me. There wasn’t a lot of time before the driver hit the brakes, causing me to ram their car.

  We drove about a half-mile before I made my move.

  Moving to the left lane, I punched the accelerator. My Honda Civic moved fast, coming up even with Archie’s.

  The driver’s side window inched down. Trench Coats smile evaporated when he saw the barrel of my shotgun resting on the door. There were no cars on the other side of Archie’s car.

  I pulled the trigger. BOOM!

  The driver’s side door filled with buckshot, and Trench Coat stomped on the brakes. The car behind Archie’s, rammed into their car, causing the driver to temporarily lose control, but he quickly regained it and kept moving forward.

  Spotting a sign that read 59 North and nodding, I smiled, and kept driving. As I reached Highway 59, I exited, and headed towards Lyons Street, just north of I-10, Archie watching on.

  Stopping at the light, a few seconds later the traffic light turned green, and I took a left towards Saint Arnold’s Brewing Company. Inner Houston was an old quilt made up of patches of Wards, six in all. I currently traveled through Fifth Ward, also known as the Warehouse District, thinking I would lose them here.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Bastard Cold Cocked Me

  I drove down Lyons Street, directly towards Saint Arnold’s Brewing Company. I had been in this area many times before. I turned down a nameless road looking for an open bay door to drive through, but realized it was too cold to have any of its doors open.r />
  I made two left turns and ended up back on Lyons, not far from Saint Arnold’s. As I gazed into the rearview mirror, I could see Archie’s ugly face coming.

  He still had the phone up to his ear.

  I turned right on Semmes St., but Archie didn’t follow. He thought I planned to make a left onto Opelousas Street, he would head me off down the road, but I kept going straight and made a right two blocks down.

  My plan of losing him wasn’t working. I wanted to head back onto Highway 59, so I sped up. I was coming up on Opelousas Street.

  It happened in a flash. Out of the corner of my eye, to the left, a red blur emerged, coming at me fast from Opelousas. I swerved to the right, running directly into one of a row of fat cement poles, immovable guardians of an entrance to a warehouse.

  My head hit the side of the driver’s side window, shards of glass falling like sparkly diamonds. The impact made my car’s hood fold up. My car stopped.

  Glancing up, I was woozy. A car hit me. A Fast-and-Furious kind of car.

  Eddy. Another one of Lukas’s captains, a real piece of shit.

  Eddy’s car turned to its left, avoiding my car, but it hit one of the cement poles.

  Both of our cars didn’t move. The street had the beginnings of a mini junkyard. I grabbed various parts of my body to make sure I wasn’t bleeding or hadn’t broken anything. My head hurt like a bitch. “Shit!” I must’ve cut my scalp, because there was blood.

  Eddy was bloodied too, not moving, and appeared to be dead. Good riddance.

  Archie must have told him over the phone.

  My car’s engine was off.

  Putting my car in park, I tried turning the key over, but it was dead. I looked at Eddy, but he still wasn’t moving.

  Looking around inside my car I found the Mossberg, but couldn’t pull it out, as it was lodged under the seat.

  It’d be nice to have, but my pistol was available. I exited the car slowly, and my head and back screamed out in pain.

  Then I heard it.

  Couldn’t see it yet, but it had to be Archie. Not far down the road, and heading my way.