by Askari
“Hello Monica,” he greeted the Black and Korean beauty. “You’re looking radiant this morning.”
Agent Brown scowled at him playfully. “Don’t waste your time try’na flatter me, Sully. Just give up the goods.”
He reached inside of his beige trench coat and pulled out a miniature sized notepad. “So this is the scoop, at approximately 7 o’clock this morning, we received a 911 distress call from a woman by the name of Gladys Miller.” He pointed across the street toward an elderly black woman. She was standing on her stoop going over the details with another detective. “Apparently, as she was sitting in her car, preparing to leave for work when she witnessed the explosion.
“By the time we arrived on the scene, the car was engulfed in flames. The fire department put out the blaze and it was then, that we discovered Easy Moreno’s body in the trunk of the car. Aside from being severely burned, there was unequivocal evidence that he suffered from multiple gunshot wounds to his face and torso. We’re assuming he was dead before the blast, but we won’t know for sure until we get the final word from the medical examiner.”
“Well, if the corpse was severely burned,” Agent Brown interjected, “how was it determined that the victim was Ervin Moreno?”
“Easy,” Detective Sullivan laughed, while using his fingers to indicate quotation marks. “Pun intended!”
“Stop being such an asshole,” Agent Long checked him. “How did you know it was Easy Moreno?”
Detective Sullivan reached inside of his trench coat pocket and pulled out a zip lock bag that contained a soot covered gold Rolex. “Aside from the fact that the car was registered under his name, we found this.” He held up the zip lock bag and twisted the watch around until he was able to see the inscription on the back of the bezel. He held out the zip lock bag so the agents could have a better view. “It says, and I quote, To Pops. From Sontino.”
He handed the zip lock bag to Agent Brown. She examined the timepiece, and then handed it to Agent Long.
“Alright,” Agent Long looked at Detective Sullivan, “did anybody break the news to the family?”
“Nope, not yet,” Detective Sullivan smiled. “Detective Phoenix and I were just about to pay them a visit.”
Chapter Seventeen
In Upper Darby, Pennsylvania
Annie was chain smoking Newport l00’s, and pacing back and forth from the living room to the dining room. A silk scarf was wrapped around her fresh hairdo, and she was dressed in her pajamas from the night before. The hot cup of coffee that she poured herself over an hour ago was now a luke warm liquid. It was sitting on the dining room table and she was so stressed out that she forgot she’d even poured it. Is he gettin’ high again? she wondered. Is he cheatin’ on me? Is he in jail? Or God forbid, is he hurt, and layin’ up in a hospital somewhere? These were the questions that ran through her mind.
She felt a light tugging on the bottom of her pajamas pants, and looked down to see an agitated Keyonti. “Mimom, Fat-Fat wan’ eat, eat.”
Annie picked her up and gently kissed her on the cheek. “Aww, Mimom sorry baby! Her forgot she had the babies over here. Where’s D-Day? Did he wake up yet?”
“D-Day sleep,” the little girl answered. She looked at Annie’s scarf, and then pulled it off of her head. “Mimom pwetty like Fat-Fat,” she giggled, and then wrapped her tiny arms around Annie’s neck. Annie hugged her back, and then called out for Dayshon.
“D-Day, wake up and get ready for breakfast!”
A couple of minutes later he descended the stairs in his blue and gray Polo pajamas set.
“What’s up Mimom? Is breakfast ready?”
“No, D-Day,” Keyonti answered like she was the big sister and he was the younger brother. “Her no make eat, eat yet.”
He smiled at his baby sister, and then gave her and Annie a big hug. He didn’t want to say anything, but he was well aware that Easy hadn’t come home night before. He also knew that Annie was worried sick.
“Miiiiimom,” Keyonti said in a sarcastic voice. “No eat, eat yet!”
Annie and Dayshon fell out laughing. “Girl, you are something else,” Annie continued to laugh, happy that her grandchildren were taking her mind off of Easy. “Come on y’all, let’s go in the kitchen and see what Mimom can put together for her babies.”
As they headed toward the kitchen, they were interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. Annie carried Keyonti over to the door and looked through the peephole. “Damn,” she said to herself as she examined the two black men standing on her front porch. The younger looking man was wearing a gray suit, and his companion was draped in a tan trench coat. They each had a silver badge hanging from their neck, and their overall body language exuded authority. She opened the door. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Yes,” Detective Sullivan answered in his preppy voice. “I’m Detective Sullivan, and this,” he gestured toward his partner, “is Detective Phoenix. Ma’am, would it be okay if we stepped inside to speak with your for a minute?”
Annie looked at him like he was crazy. Her husband and son were two of the biggest drug dealers in Philadelphia, and for the majority of her life, she’d been a part of the street culture. Therefore, inviting the police inside of her home was utterly out of the question.
“I’m sorry detective, but unless you have a search warrant, whatever you need to say, you can say it from there,” she replied with a hint of attitude.
The detectives looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. “Suit yourself,” Detective Sullivan shot back then reached inside of his pocket and pulled out his notepad. “Ma’am, is your name Annette Moreno, and are you the wife of Ervin Moreno?”
“Yes,” she nervously replied. “Why? Is he okay? Is somethin’ wrong?”
Detective Sullivan reached in his pants pocket and pulled out the zip lock bag containing Easy’s Rolex. “Ma’am, does this watch belong to your husband?”
She examined the Rolex, and despite the fact that it was covered in dark soot she knew that it was Easy’s.
“Y—Y—Yes, that’s my husband’s watch,” she stuttered, knowing what the goofy looking black man was about to say next. She handed Keyonti to Dayshon. “Baby take her in the kitchen, and make y’all some cereal. I’ll be there in a minute.”
With tears in his eyes, he lowered his head and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
After watching her grandchildren leave the room, she turned back around to face the detectives. “Just tell me how it happened.”
Detective Phoenix cleared his throat. “Earlier this morning, we found his body in the trunk of his car. Apparently, he suffered multiple gunshot wounds to his head and torso. After that, whoever killed him, they stuffed him inside the trunk of his car, and then used what believe to be a pipe bomb to blow up the vehicle.”
Annie was crushed. Everything inside of her wanted to breakdown, but she couldn’t. She had to be strong. Not just for her sake, but the sake of her family.
“Will that be all detective?”
“Just about,” Detective Phoenix answered. “The only thing we’re gonna need from you at this point is a positive identification.” He pulled out his cell phone and showed her a picture of Easy’s mutilated corpse. “Is this your husband?”
She glanced at the picture, and then quickly turned away. “Yes, that’s him.”
“We thought so,” Detective Sullivan interjected. “We’re still going to need you to come down to the M.E.’s office to make an official identification. But this is something that can wait until later.” He handed her his business card. “If there’s anything that we can do to help, just give me a call. Especially if it’s anything pertaining to our investigation.”
Slowly she shook her head from side to side, and then closed the door.
***
When Sonny emerged from the prison, he walked toward the parking lot with a heavy heart. The thought of being locked away from his young family had him in a trance. He realized that Alvin was right. Between
him and Daphney, they had three businesses that annually grossed over a million dollars, and aside from Nahfisah and Imani, his entire family was situated. He had $3,000,000 stashed away in a Swiss bank account, a $1,875,000 stashed in the basement of his Reese Street row house, and after his last shipment he was sitting on 375 kilograms of cocaine. He imagined himself in Alvin’s shoes, and the thought of being locked away with Keyonti having to grow up without him pierced his soul. He thought about Nahfisah and her current condition, and dreaded the possibility of Keyonti going through the same struggle if he wasn’t there to protect and guide her. Thoughts of Riri and their unborn child struck him to the core and tears began to fall from his eyes.
“Damn, this shit is bugged the fuck out,” he said to himself. He examined his wedding ring and took a deep breath. “Fuck the bullshit. I gotta do what’s right for my family.”
As he approached the driver’s side of his Rolls Royce, he noticed the dark rain clouds that blocked out the sun. He could hear the soft rumblings of an oncoming storm, and a weird feeling invaded his spirit. When he climbed inside of the car, he noticed that Daphney was talking on her iPhone and jotting something down on a piece of paper.
Who’s that?” he asked. He leaned over the center console and kissed her on the cheek. “Is it my pops?”
She held up her index finger, signaling for him to wait a second and continued writing on the small piece of scrap paper. After disconnecting the call, she looked at him. “That was Savino. He was calling about Imani. He said he did the best he could do, and he got us a court date for next month.”
“That’s good money,” he said while starting the ignition. “But what about pops? Did he ever return my calls?”
She frowned at him and used her left hand to massage the back of his neck. “Nah bae, he didn’t.”
No sooner than she said that, his iPhone vibrated in her hand and she handed it to him. He glanced at the screen and saw that the caller was his mother. “What’s up, mom? Is he home yet?”
Daphney stared at him attentively, and when he dropped the phone in his lap and laid his head against the stirring wheel her intuition was confirmed. She knew that Easy was dead.
***
Back In North Philly
Rahmello had just finished showing Nipsy, Heemy, and Twany how to operate their new guns, and now he was telling them how to operate the block.
“It’s a gram of raw inside every one of these baggies,” he said, showing them the four bags in the palm of his hand. “I know this block is known for bein’ a crack spot, but trust me, them same smokas that was coppin’ off of Pooky and Mar-Mar are gonna love this shit. Why? 'Cause they can cook it they self and bring it back just the way they want it.”
“A’ight,” Nipsy nodded his head, and then took a pull on his Dutch Master. “So how much of this shit is you expectin’ us to move? Is there a quota or somethin’?”
“Yeah,” Rahmello answered, and then exhaled a cloud of Kush smoke. He passed his Backwood to Heemy then returned his gaze to Nipsy. “Y’all should move about two bricks a week. Every three days, my pops gon’ drop off a bird and collect the money from the last one. Every Sunday, he's gonna pay y’all two racks apiece.”
“Yo, what about the runners?” asked Heemy. “Sonny said he was gon’ send us two runners. Where they at?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now,” Rahmello assured him. “They’ll be here tomorrow.” He handed Heemy the four baggies of cocaine, and then looked each of them square in the eyes. “I need y’all to pay close attention because I’m only gonna tell y’all this shit one time. If you get snatched by the cops,” he paused for second, “don’t, say, shit. We got top notch lawyers and all the bail money y’all need. Y’all ain’t gotta come outta pocket for none of that shit. We got y’all. Just shut the fuck up and wait for the lawyer.”
“That’s a bet,” Twany smiled as he gave Nipsy and Heemy some dap.
Rahmello looked at him and squinted his eyes. “Now, that don’t give y’all niggas a free pass to be out here doin’ all types of nut shit. This is a business so y’all gotta keep shit professional.”
“Don’t worry Mello, we got you,” Nipsy said while shaking his hand. “But what about Pooky and Mar-Mar? What if they come back?”
“Park ‘em,” Rahmello answered without a hint of hesitation.
“Park ‘em?” Nipsy asked, not expecting Rahmello to answer so harshly. Like so many others, Rahmello’s boyish looks, light skin, and blue eyes, gave Nipsy the impression that he was pretty boy playing the role of a gangster. “Just like that, though?”
“Ain’t that what the fuck I just said,” Rahmello fired back with his voice full of aggression. “We ain’t playin no games ‘bout this mutha’fuckin’ money! So if anybody and I mean anybody, call they self gettin’ money out here,” he pointed from Cumberland Street to Boston Street, “y’all better park they ass!”
Nipsy was confused. “Kill ‘em, and then what?” he asked, while scratching his head. “Just leave they body out here and make the block hot?”
“Nah,” Rahmello shook his head from side to side, “just drag they ass to one of these vacant lots, and then call me. I swear to Blood, nobody will ever see or hear from them niggas again.”
“Speakin’ of Blood,” Heemy interjected, “we been thinking ‘bout it and we wanna know what we gotta do to be Block Boys.”
Rahmello looked at him skeptically but before had the chance to respond, his cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He glanced at the screen and saw that the caller was Sonny. “What’s poppin, brozay? You hear from pops yet?”
“Nah,” Sonny replied in a shaky voice. “They found his body on 5th and Glenwood. Somebody rocked him.”
“What?” Rahmello snapped. “Fuck you mean somebody rocked him?”
“The cops,” Sonny continued in a shaky voice, “they found him in the...Yo, they found him in the trunk of his Jag,” he managed to say. “Whoever did it, they hit him in the head, stuffed him in the trunk, and then blew the mutha’fucka up.”
“Yo, who the fuck did it?” Rahmello shouted through the phone. “Where these niggas at?”
“I’m not sure, bro. I’ve got an idea, but I’ma bring you up to speed when you get here. I’m at my mom’s spot. Drop whatever you’re doin’ and get ya ass over here.”
“Word to Blood!” Rahmello continued snapping. “Whoever killed pops, I’ma murder they whole fuckin’ family!”
Heemy, Nipsy, and Twany looked at one another with a shocked expression. They tried offering their assistance, but Rahmello didn’t even look there way. Instead, he hopped in his Aston Martin and sped away.
***
In Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania
Grip was finishing his daily workout in his indoor pool. His powerful chest and arms were propelling his third lap of breaststrokes and just as he was about to begin his forth, Muhammad entered the large room and cleared his throat, “Ah, em!”
Grip swam to the edge of the pool and grabbed the white towel that was hanging from the diving board. He wiped the water away from his face, and then looked at his personal assistant.
“Yes Muhammad, what is it?”
“You have a telephone call, sir. It’s Alvin.” He handed Grip the phone, and then stood there with his hands folded in front of him. Grip held the phone to his ear. “Brother Alvin,” he greeted his former protégé. “How was the visit?”
“Based on my perception, I’d say he got the point,” Alvin replied. “I just hope and pray that he’s smart enough to listen.”
“Well, did you let him know that the feds are watching him?”
“Nah, not exactly. I did, however, give him a few things to think about in that regard. He reminds me so much of myself when I was younger, and by him being family I gave him the game the way I wished someone would’ve given it to me. It’s like, you and me we had conversations about this shit, but your main concern was for me to secure and maintain political alliances. Now don’t get me w
rong, that was definitely some good advice, but what I really needed was for somebody to tell me that I was movin’ too fast. Maybe then I would’ve pumped my breaks.”
Grip sighed. He loved Alvin like a son, and he still regretted the day that his young protégé was slaughtered in the courtroom like a sacrificial pawn. It was 1992, and under his tutelage, Alvin and his crew were on trial for making the city, Get Down Or Lay Down. The district attorney at the time was Andrew Clavenski, and after years of trying to dismantle The Moreno Crime Family, he turned his aggression toward Alvin. He charged him with a double murder, and assumed he could use the flamboyant hustler from West Philly to testify against his mentor in order to save himself. He was wrong. Alvin was as real as they came, and he gladly accepted a life sentence rather than be labeled a rat.
“Alvin listen, I love you to death, and I apologize for the way things turned out. I owe you my life, young brother.”
“Nah, Mr. Moreno, you don’t owe me nothin’. I’ma man with morals and a firm believer in death before dishonor. If you owe anybody, it’s Sontino. Don’t let them people do to him what they did to me.”
Grip wiped the last of the water away from his face, and then reached out to hand Muhammad the towel. “Muhammad, can you throw this away for me?”
As the tall, slender man bent forward to take the towel, Malice burst through the door. “Mr. Moreno, ju watchin’ de news?”
Grip looked at the beautiful young woman and shook his head. “No, why?”
She grabbed the remote control from the edge of the pool and aimed it at the 60” screen that was fixed to the back wall. She turned to the Channel 10 news where a mug shot of Easy was plastered on the screen. “Ju see?”
“Hey Alvin, I can’t talk right now. Call me later on tonight.” He climbed out the swimming pool and approached the television. “Malice, turn up the volume.”
