by W. S. Greer
Destroying Carter
Copyright © 2014 by W.S. Greer
First edition published by B.O.S.S. Publishing, September 2014
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Robin Harper/Wicked by Design
https://www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
I can hear the truck as it drives up the street. It’s getting closer with every passing second, and the sensitivity of my nerves seems to heighten as it approaches.
I reach up and straighten out my navy blue tie, trying to do anything I can to calm myself down, even though I know that fixing my tie isn’t going to do shit to ease my anxiety. I just need to move. I need to feel myself moving so that I know that I’m alive and in the moment.
I look over to my left and see Thomas Black—my father’s advisor—sitting in the corner opposite me, wearing black slacks and a black button up, with the same blank, careless stare he always has. Tommy never gets nervous. This is the sixth time he and I have done this over the past six months, and not once have I ever noticed an ounce of fear or angst in his demeanor. So, as I stare at him, I try to find strength in that narrow, emotionless face of his, and as I feel my heart finally starting to calm down, the red and white eighteen wheeler slowly pulls into the warehouse. I look at the white trailer and see Carter Casinos written on the side in red letters, and then I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. It’s game time.
As the truck comes to a stop, I look over at Tommy. His expression hasn’t changed at all. He nods to me, which lets me know that he’s ready, and I nod in response as I rise from my seat and begin walking towards the driver’s side of the truck. It stops directly in front of me and I eye the driver as he unbuckles his seat belt. I shift my eyes to the left and glance at the man in the passenger seat. He looks nervous. As he looks back at me, I can see the fear in his eyes. I can see his jaw is tight even through his scraggly beard, and he only looks at me for a second, intentionally breaking eye contact to glance at the driver, and then he begins to unbuckle his own seat belt.
As the two men begin having a conversation about something inside the cab of the truck, I watch them closely, making sure neither of them is reaching for anything, or trying to hide anything. I can tell from the looks on their faces that they don’t want to be here. They just want to make this delivery as quick as possible, and then go back to whatever lives they led before this moment. That’s the difference between them and me. They can’t help that their anxiety is woven into their body language for Tommy and me to see. They’re nervous, and that’s all there is to it for them.
For me, however, there’s so much more than that. For me, showing how tense I am isn’t even an option. I swallow hard and push those nerves deep down inside of me, so that no one will ever know they’re there. They’ll only be able to see one side of me—the side I want them to see.
“Hey!” I yell at the truck, startling the two young black men and interrupting their conversation. “I don’t have all fucking day here. Let’s go.”
I can feel Tommy staring at me with that little grin he gets when I do something that he likes. I choose not to look over and acknowledge him.
The men look at each other one last time before simultaneously opening their doors and hopping out of the truck. The driver’s obviously the tougher of the two. He’s wearing dark gray pants with a black, short-sleeved button up, and his long dreads sway from side to side as he approaches us. The passenger, on the other hand, is short and skinny, with a messy beard that’s entirely too long and badly needs some attention. He walks a step behind the driver, and as he approaches, I notice there’s something about him that grabs my attention. Not only is he obviously apprehensive, he’s also fidgety, and he keeps scratching his arm that’s covered up by the sleeve on his black sweater. It’s the first week of June in South Side Chicago, and the temperature is right at ninety degrees outside. So, why the hell would this guy be wearing a sweater?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carter. My name’s Devin,” the driver says, reaching out to shake my hand.
“I’m really not interested in your name,” I reply rudely. “I just need to know if you have what you’re supposed to have.”
Devin glares at me like he wants me to know that he’s offended as he lowers his hand, then he looks over at his fidgety partner, who quickly looks down at the floor.
“I do,” he answers, returning his attention to me. “Right this way.”
Devin and his unnamed friend turn around and begin leading Tommy and me to the back of the truck. As we walk, I find myself glancing at the passenger, who’s still trying to slyly scratch his arm without anyone noticing. He’s doing a terrible job of hiding it.
We reach the back of the eighteen wheeler and Tommy and I watch as Devin unlocks the padlock on the door, removing it and pushing the door all the way up and open. Inside, there’s countless rectangular boxes stacked on top of one another. I look at them all very carefully, and then I notice the mark written on the stack of boxes on the right side of the bed. On the bottom corner, there’s a small RC written just small enough that you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it. When I spot the mark, I look over at Tommy, and he nods his approval.
“Right there,” I say, pointing to the boxes on the right. “All the ones on this side. I’ll call in some people to help unload them.” As Devin and his nervous helper begin picking up boxes and handing them down to Tommy, I pull the small radio out of my pocket and press a button on the front, two times. The radio chirps loudly, and about ten seconds later, in walk Phillip and Trey Jones.
Phillip and Trey are the only members of the Red Chip staff who know about our new “business.” They’re twenty-three year old twin brothers, and I know that they’d do anything to protect each other, and they’re the only people on the staff that I trust to keep their mouths shut. Not to mention, they were my brother’s absolute best friends before he died. They’d been waiting right outside for me to signal them to come in and start unloading the boxes. As they enter, they seem to walk in step with each other, with an obvious swagger about them as they stride in, wearing the red and white Red Chip Casino outfits.
Phillip is the oldest—by a full two minutes—and he keeps his beard nice and lined up, like mine. He’s also the more outspoken of the two, so as he walks in, grinning at me, I hope that he doesn’t plan on saying anything out of line to Tommy like he usually does.
The younger brother, Trey, is clean shaven and a little more compassionate than his brother. Even though Trey is two minutes younger than Phillip, he’s the one with the most maturity and street smarts, and he’s always thinking
ahead and making sure we’re making the smartest move possible—the one that will not only make us money, but will keep us safe and out of trouble. As he approaches, he nods to me, then focuses his eyes on Tommy and the two other men unloading the truck.
“Game time?” Phillip inquires, still holding the smirk on his face as we shake hands.
“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “Let’s get this shit done and over with, quick.” I turn around, and the three of us walk over to the back of the truck and start helping the others unload the boxes.
It only takes a few minutes to get everything out of the back of the truck. There are fifty boxes total, and we place them all on the ground separately so that we can open and inspect them. The first time we did this, we stacked all the boxes, and then realized that we had to unstack them all so that we could inspect them. Phillip gave me shit about it for two days straight, afterwards. We hadn’t made that mistake in the five deliveries we’d had after that, including this one.
“Alright. Let’s get started. Shall we?” I say, just as Trey places the last box on the table in front of him.
I pick up a box cutter that’s sitting on the table, and slice through the three layers of tape covering the opening of the box in front of me. I open the flaps and look inside at the silver case that looks like a miniature suitcase. I know there’s another case under this one, so I make sure to remove them both from the box at the same time. Then I reach into my pocket and use the smallest key on my keychain to unlock them both and flip open the lids, revealing the five-hundred casino chips that each case is carrying. The case to my right is full of black chips, worth one-hundred dollars each. The case on my left is full of red and gold chips, worth one-thousand dollars apiece. I look up at Tommy briefly, then focus my attention on the case with the red and gold chips.
I start fiddling with the edges of the case as the men around me watch. I lean forward and try to see if there’s something there that’ll help me accomplish my goal, because I can’t get a grip on the sides of the case. After a few embarrassing and frustrating minutes, I hear a clicking sound from behind me. I turn around to find Trey holding a switchblade in his hand, with his arm already extended towards me. I take the knife and begin trying to use the blade to separate the case on the inside. I manage to break the seal on the right side first, and pull it up just enough that I can grip it between my thumb and index finger. Then I use the knife as leverage to pull the left side up. I grab both sides of the inside of the case and lift it, removing all five-hundred of the chips, and revealing a brick of a yellowish substance wrapped in clear plastic at the bottom of the case—exactly one kilo of heroin.
I look down at the brick, exhale loudly, and then turn my attention to Phillip, Trey, and Tommy.
“Alright, you know how we do this. The chips with the highest dollar value are hiding what we’re looking for underneath the false bottom. Phillip and Trey, remove and count, and Tommy and I will make sure everything’s good and get ready to stash it. Let’s go to work.”
Everybody starts moving all at the same time. Phillip and Trey each take a box and begin cutting through the tape, while Tommy cuts a tiny sliver into the brick I’d already removed, and makes sure that it actually is heroin.
As the three of them go to work, I turn around just in time to see Devin and his accomplice walking towards the front of the truck. I squint and furrow my brow as I watch them. They aren’t just walking casually. They’re trying to walk as quickly and as quietly as possible.
“Hey!” I snap, sending them both reeling. “Where the fuck are you two going?”
Devin turns around and tries to mask his uneasiness with a tough expression.
“What?” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “We made the drop, and now we’re leaving. There’s no reason for us to stay now. We did our job.”
“No you didn’t do your job, because your job isn’t complete. See, what we’re doing right now is what they call inventory. We’re making sure that everything that you’ve delivered to us is exactly what it’s supposed to be, and exactly the amount that it’s supposed to be. And until inventory is complete and we have everything we’re supposed to have, you’re not going any-fucking-where. So, why don’t both of you just have a seat until we’re done.”
The look on the passenger’s face is instantly one of complete panic, and the minute he sees me looking at him, he turns his back to me. Devin’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s trying to think of something to say, but instead of saying anything, he just nods and starts walking towards the chairs that Tommy and I were sitting in before the two of them arrived.
Once they sit down, I turn my attention back to the task at hand. I look over at my little crew who’s working as fast as possible to unload all the dope and make sure that it actually is the right stuff, and I think long and hard about going ahead and getting the jump on trying to stash all the bricks in our hiding place. I know that it’s in our best interest to get everything hidden and covered up as fast as possible, just in case we run into a case of bad luck and somebody decides to show up to our little secret location. The look on Tommy’s face tells me that he’s thinking the same thing.
“Hey,” Tommy snips at me. “You know we need to be stashing this shit, like, now. So, what’s the hold up?”
“Something tells me that it’s a bad idea to start opening up secret locations in front of the two new unknown delivery boys,” I answer quietly.
“The unknown delivery boys were handpicked by Senior, so even though they’re new, they work for us. There’s no way in hell they’d be dumb enough to try to cross your father. Nobody’s that stupid. So, let’s go ahead and get the jump on this and start putting this shit where it’s supposed to go. I don’t want to be here all night.”
“With all due respect, Tommy, as much as you love and trust my father, I don’t know these two, so that means I don’t trust them. We need to get the count, make sure everything is good to go, and send them on their way before we open up our secret shit.”
“We don’t have time for this shit, Junior. This is the sixth delivery we’ve received at the Red Chip warehouse, and there’s never been any issues. I don’t expect that to change today. These are Senior’s picks, so trust him, and do what you’re supposed to do.”
“This isn’t about my father’s picks, it’s about the fact that they’re new, and I don’t know them. Count it, double check it, and let them leave first.”
“Goddamn it, Junior. Put the fucking dope away. I’m not in the mood for one of your hissy fits.”
“Hissy fits? Are you trying to piss me off right now? We both know you don’t want to do that, Tommy. Calm the fuck down, have some patience, and use your fucking head. We don’t stash it until they leave.”
“Stop being a pain in the fucking ass…”
“We’ve got a problem!” Trey interrupts loudly.
I glare at Tommy for an extra second before I finally look over at the table and see that Trey and Phillip have stacked up all of the bricks. There are five stacks in all, and the last one immediately grabs my attention because it’s different than the other four.
“How much are we supposed to have?” Trey asks rhetorically.
“Fifty keys,” Tommy replies.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Trey continues. “You see, that’s interesting because we only have forty-nine.”
“Are you sure?” Tommy asks.
Phillip shoots Tommy an annoyed looked like the question to his brother offends him. “Of course he’s sure. He’s sure because he went to kindergarten and learned how to fucking count. There’s supposed to be five stacks of ten, but instead, we’ve got four stacks of ten, and one stack of nine. Do you want to count it yourself with a calculator?”
Tommy doesn’t respond, he just looks over at me, and then glances over at the two men who are sitting nervously in the corner of the warehouse.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts, staring down at the floor. This is the last thing I’m in the mood for
. Five times before this, everything had run smoothly. The delivery was made, everything turned out to be exactly how it was supposed to be, and it only took an hour or so for us to get finished up. Nobody had to get hurt. Nobody had to die. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Today is going to be different.
I turn on my heel and quickly walk over to the two men. When they see me coming, both of them get up and stand next to each other like they’re some sort of a team. I smile as I approach them. I want to throw them off.
“So,” I begin lightly. “We have a bit of an issue. The count is wrong.”
The passenger still doesn’t say anything. He looks over at Devin, and Devin just stares back at me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Devin replies, shrugging his shoulders once again.
“What the hell else could I possibly mean? The count is wrong,” I say, still smiling.
“Look, all we did was drop off what they told us to drop off,” Devin says, shrugging again. I’m already sick of that shit.
“Interesting,” I say with a grin. Then, I reach back and swing as hard as I can. My fist connects perfectly with Devin’s jaw with a crack, and his body immediately goes limp as he falls backwards, hitting the chair before landing on the floor, unconscious.
The passenger turns to run, but before he can, I grab him by his sweater and slam my knee into his stomach. He drops down to his knees, gasping for air and clutching his waist. As he struggles to breathe, I reach down and put my hand under his chin, and lift his head so he can see me as I point my nine millimeter at his face.
“What’s your name?” I ask, staring him straight in the eye.
“Derrick,” he replies, still wheezing.
“Were you told how much you were supposed to deliver, Derrick?”
“No. They didn’t tell us how much there was.”
“Of course not. They didn’t tell you because only we know the exact number. That way, if you take one, I know. That’s why you couldn’t leave until we were done. Were you under the stupid ass assumption that you were delivering some random amount to us? You’d have to be an idiot to think we’d be that sloppy, Derrick. Or, in your case, you’d have to be a junkie.”
