Destroying Carter

by W. S. Greer

  “What the fuck? Whose fucking phone is that?” my father snaps. Everyone looks around like they all have no clue where the sound is coming from, while also saying that their phone isn’t with them. “You all know how this works. No fucking phones when we’re doing this shit. Where the fuck is that coming from?”

  My dad starts walking from person to person, listening to see whose phone it is. I’m still not sure why the no-phone rule is so important, but it’s apparently something that they take pretty seriously.

  Dad makes his way over to the Russians, then quickly turns back to us and starts staring at Uncle Clarence, James, and Simon, who are all standing right next to each other.

  “Hey, it’s not me, Senior,” James says quickly. “My phone’s still in the car. I know how you are about that shit.”

  “And don’t look at me like that. You know I don’t have my phone, and even if I did, I would’ve answered it by now,” Uncle Clarence declares. That only leaves one other person.

  “Is that your phone, Simon?” Uncle Clarence says to his driver, who looks really nervous all of a sudden.

  Simon’s anxiety gets to him, and he takes a little too long to answer, forcing my father to lose his patience.

  “Is that your fucking phone?” Senior barks.

  “Yes. Geez, what the fuck is the big deal? It was an accident,” Simons snips, just as the phone finally stops ringing.

  “Why didn’t you answer it, Simon?” my father continues. I can see it in his eyes—shit is about to get ugly.

  “Why would I answer it when you were already flipping out about it ringing in the first place? It’s not a big deal if I miss the call.”

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning,” Uncle Clarence interjects. “Who would be calling you at this hour?”

  “I didn’t look at the caller ID, so I don’t know who it was.”

  “Don’t play fucking stupid, Simon,” my dad jumps back in. “You let it ring all that time while I walked around looking to see who it was. Why didn’t you just speak up? And, why didn’t you answer it?”

  “What the fuck do you want from me, Senior? You made me nervous, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

  “Let me see the phone, Simon,” Uncle Clarence demands, holding out his hand.

  “What? No. Why?” Simon says, defensively.

  “Who the fuck was calling you while this is going on?”

  “Fuck, I said I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, Uncle Clarence pulls out his nine millimeter, and aims it right between Simon’s eyes.

  “Jesus Christ!” Simon bellows. “What the fuck, Clarence? You’re gonna pull this shit on me, after all the shit I’ve been a part of with you?”

  “Are you a fucking snitch, Simon?” Uncle Clarence asks with his finger resting on the trigger. “Are you recording this on your phone? Taking pictures to show the cops? What the fuck, Simon?”

  “What? Of course not. Don’t you think that if I was gonna snitch on you, I would’ve done it already. Why wait until this moment to pull this shit?” Simon does a decent job hiding his fear with his anger.

  “Are you a fucking cop?” Uncle Clarence continues.

  “Oh my god! Are you fucking kidding? Come on, Clarence. You know I’m not a goddamn cop.”

  “Then let me see your motherfucking phone, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you right here on this airstrip. I can always hire a new driver.” Uncle Clarence chambers a round and re-aims the gun at Simon’s face. The tension is thicker than mud and I feel myself sweating from my own nerves.

  “You’re un-fucking-believable, you know that?” Simon barks. “My phone is in my right pocket. I bet you it’s just this bitch I’ve been talking to. Her name is Sharon, and she’s waiting for me to go over after I leave here. She’s just a booty-call for Christ’s sake. Fuck it. Go ahead and look at the fucking display. I bet you it’s from Sharon.”

  Uncle Clarence reaches down into Simon’s pocket and pulls out his phone. As soon as he turns it on and looks at the display, he lowers his gun and tucks it back in his waistband.

  “What does it say?” my father asks impatiently.

  “Missed call from Sharon,” Uncle Clarence replies.

  “Fuck that!” my father snaps. “Check his photos and his videos. Make sure nothing’s been recorded.”

  Uncle Clarence has Simon unlock the phone, and then he searches through the photo and video galleries with his thumb.

  “It’s clean, Senior,” Uncle Clarence announces. My father doesn’t even respond, and I’m not sure if he’s happy or disappointed that Simon won’t be murdered right here on the runway.

  “My bad, Simon,” Uncle Clarence says. “You know we can never be too cautious, though. We can’t fuck around with shit like this. It’s the only way we can make sure we don’t end up behind bars.”

  Simon exhales loudly, blowing the underlying tension away with his breath. “Fuck, man. That shit wasn’t cool. You know me, Clarence. I’d never do anything to jeopardize what you and your family have going on. You’ve gotta trust me, bro. I can’t have you pulling a gun on me every time you get a little suspicious. I think I’ll just leave my phone at home next time, though. Geez.”

  Everybody laughs except me. To me, there wasn’t anything funny about the shit that just happened. All it took was a phone to ring for every one of these assholes to become terrified and ready to kill each other. The more I’m around this shit, the less I want to be a part of this family, yet I still have to front like I’m cool with all of this. It’ll all be worth it in the end.

  “Alright, moi druz’ya (my friends), now that the dramatics are over, what do you say we get down to business?” Nestor interrupts as he begins to pull the rest of the suitcases off of the plane.

  James and Simon help him, being extra careful not to drop them. Each case is unzipped, and the clothes are pushed aside to show everyone that the amount is exactly what they all asked for. After inventory of the dope is taken, all of us carry the suitcases inside the warehouse and stash them in one of the rooms, underneath a few desks.

  “We’ll have our guys take care of this first thing in the morning,” Ilia says to the entire group. “We’ll be in touch with you all to set up deliveries to the casinos and other Carter establishments here in the next few days. Khorosho (Okay)?”

  “Sounds good, Ilia. Looking forward to it,” my father answers just as we all walk out, closing and locking the doors behind us.

  We all walk to our respective cars, and my adrenaline is still pumping from all the drama. This was a lot of shit to take on all in one night, and now I have to go home and deal with a litany of questions from Lilliana, that I know I can’t answer. This is going to be a struggle, and I’m not sure if I can handle it all on my own.

  “Junior,” my father says, interrupting my train of thought. “I need you to really think about what I said tonight. You do this for us, and the Red Chip is as good as yours. I give you my word.” With that, my father pats me on the shoulder and walks over to his Bentley, where James is waiting for him, holding his door open, and grinning at me.

  “I have news.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind of news?”

  “Really good news, actually.”

  “Alright, that’s what I like to hear, Captain. Hit me.”

  “Alright. You sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Of course. Stop playing with me and drop it on me.”

  “Okay. So, the investigation into the south side projects ended with some rather interesting results.”

  “Ended? So, it’s over?”

  “Yes. But, as it turns out, you were right.”

  “What? How do you know? What happened?

  “I sent units out to ask questions and do some snooping around for a couple of days. I have to admit that I didn’t expect much to turn up. However, just as I was about to pull our guys back, we got a tip from a distraught mother over in what they call the Blue Projects. There’s a lot of gang activity in the area. Mos
tly Crip gangs, hence the name. Anyway, the area doesn’t get a lot of response whenever they put in calls to the units who work that jurisdiction. So, I had the guys monitor the calls going to that station and caught wind of a mother saying that her son had been murdered. He was beaten to a bloody pulp and then shot in the back of the head. She said his name was Derrick. Derrick Malone.”

  “Holy fucking shit. Good news indeed.”

  “It gets better. Turns out Derrick Malone was a known heroin addict, who just so happened to tell his friends and his mother that he was starting a new job working for the Carters, making deliveries. His mother didn’t know what it was that he was delivering, but we interviewed a few of his friends and they told us it was heroin. He’d just made a delivery for them a few days ago.”

  “Oh damn.”

  “Oh, it still gets better. I’m just getting warmed up. Okay, so we went to the Blue Projects and picked up the body. It was fucking gruesome, Russell. They really beat the shit out of this kid. The splatter guys said it looked like they used the refrigerator door to smash the guy’s head in before they finally shot him in the back of his head. Fucking brutal bastards. It looked like they were definitely trying to send a message to somebody.”

  “A message to who?”

  “Not sure, but that part’s irrelevant, because forensics says the body had been there for at least three days. That just so happens to corroborate Derrick’s mother’s and friend’s stories about when he pulled the delivery for the Carters. Looks like they killed him the same day he delivered for them. Maybe something went wrong with the delivery. Either way, seems like a pretty solid lead. Really solid.”

  “Fuck. I knew it. I fucking knew it. I told you, didn’t it?”

  “Yes you did. So, I guess I owe you an apology for not believing in you. That’s my bad. Now, I have more good news.”

  “Damn. Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Alright. So, I went and talked to the brass about this little situation.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, exactly. I told them about the body on the south side and the connection it has with the Carters, and I told them that you’re undercover, and have been for six months.”

  “Fuck. How did that go? Do you still have a job? Do I still have a job?”

  “Well, they were pissed, but we both still have our jobs, plus a little added bonus.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’ve granted us permission to assemble a task force to bring down the Carter crime family. They’re all in. So, we’re a go for whatever you want to do to bring this thing home.”

  “Holy shit! Yes! I knew they would go for it. That’s fucking great, Captain.”

  “Yeah it is. So, I need you gather and type up every single bit of information that you have on the family and whatever you’ve discovered that they’re into. We need names for everybody involved. We need locations, any transactions you can clue into. We need everything, Russ. The brass signed off, so now it’s official. This is the real deal. We have to bring the world crashing down around these motherfuckers. The brass won’t have it any other way. They want them all.”

  “Fucking right! And, we’re gonna delivery them all.”

  “That’s what I want to hear. So, I need you to figure out how you can come in so you can fill out some paperwork, and so we can go over who we’re picking for this task force.”

  “How many people can I pick?”

  “They’re letting us pick five more. So, it’s gonna be seven when you include you and me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. I’m in this thing. We both put our asses on the line to make this happen. I’m not about to sit on the sidelines now.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll figure out something soon, and I’ll have to get back to you on when I can make it in there. That’s dangerous.”

  “Alright, well, make it quick. Derrick Malone’s body is a good start, but you know it’s not enough, and way too circumstantial to make an arrest. I’ve got forensics sweeping the place for fingerprints, but it still might not be enough.”

  “Yeah, I know. But, I’m not worried, because there’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “What? Why you holding out on me?”

  “You were so enthusiastic giving me your good news, man. I got caught up, and I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  “Okay, well, is it good news or bad news?”

  “It’s great news.”

  “Well, spill it then. Let’s just start up a huge fucking stack of good news.”

  “Alright. So, I know how the Carters are bringing in their drugs.”

  “What? How?”

  “It’s the Russians. Remember all the shit our corrupt friend, Viktor Gavlik, told us about the Baskovs and the Carters linking up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, this is why that connection was made. The Russians are manufacturing the drugs in Saint Petersburg, and having them delivered here via private jet on a private airstrip, owned by Ilia Baskov. They just brought in over two-hundred kilos last night, to be distributed and sold between the two families. This is a joint operation just like Viktor said it would be. So bringing down one crime family just became bringing down two crime families all at once. This is the proverbial big fish, boss.”

  “Holy shit! When did you find out all this information?”

  “Just last night.”

  “And how did you come across this information?”

  “Because that’s where I was when you called me and I didn’t answer the phone last night. You really almost got me killed, you know.”

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with them.”

  “Well, of course not. That’s why you can’t be calling me, even if it’s late. I wasn’t expecting to have to drive Clarence to that airstrip. He just called me last minute, so I had to roll with it. So, from now on, you don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  “Yeah, last time you took two weeks to call and scared the shit out of me.”

  “Well, now we’re even, because I had a gun shoved in my face because of you. You’re lucky I put you in my contacts as Sharon. Otherwise, I’d be dead right now.”

  “Alright, alright. I won’t call. My bad.”

  “Alright. So, now that we have Derrick Malone, and how and where they bring in their drugs, we’ve got some pretty solid shit to get started on. I’ll get back to you about the task force. In the meantime, I need you keep pushing about the fingerprints in Derrick’s apartment, and on his body. If we can pin that on Kelvin Junior or Clarence, that’ll give us all the leverage we need.”

  “I got it. I’ll have an update for you the next time we talk.”

  “Great. We did it, Captain. We made this shit happen. Now, all we have to do is not fuck it up. If we do it right, this shit is gonna be over. It’s already over and they don’t even know it. They’re not gonna know what hit them.”

  “Don’t get too cocky on me, Russell. It’s not over yet. It’s not over until we seal the deal and we’ve got all these bastards behind bars. You stay focused and be careful, and I’ll take care of shit on my end. Now, get back in there and make this shit happen, Simon.”

  I feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stand there in the hallway, staring at him. I can’t see myself, because there isn’t a mirror anywhere near me, but I’m sure that my face is as red as the couch he’s lying on.

  It took me an hour and a half to finally go back to sleep last night after Kelvin left. The memory of his phone ringing in the middle of the night and the sound of my voice frantically calling after him is still fresh in my mind. I called after him over and over again, and he didn’t even answer me. He just left. He left me by myself. He left me and didn’t even have the dignity to tell me where he was going, as if he didn’t know that I’d be up all night crying my face off, worrying about him. He left me like he didn’t know that I love him— like he didn’t know that he loves me.

  I feel like my tears from last night have lef
t irremovable streaks running down my cheeks, and my heart is being held together by teeny tiny fabrics that are being stretched to their limits. I’m on the verge of losing it—of falling apart and having a nervous breakdown at any moment now, but I’m trying to hold it together. I’m doing all that can to keep my composure, because I know that Kelvin is going through something very difficult. I’m frustrated because I wish there was something I could do to help him, but he won’t let me in, which only adds to my frustration. I’m at my wits end—as corny as that sounds, it’s true—and I need some answers.

  I inch my way into the room, wondering if I should be quiet so that I don’t wake him. As I tiptoe into the kitchen, I decide that I’m not going to try to silence myself for him. He’s earned nothing but my bad attitude, because he’s shown me nothing but his. So, I reach up and open a cabinet containing a coffee mug, and when I close it, I make sure that I slam it much harder than I should. The door slams with a bang and I hear Kelvin shift on the couch. Then, I look over and see him lifting his head up to see what the noise was.

  “Oh, did I wake you?” I ask, like I didn’t do it on purpose.

  Kelvin’s eyes are all squinty as he surveys his surroundings. He looks around and spots me, then says “Huh? Oh, It’s fine. I needed to get up anyway.” He slowly swings his legs off the couch and places his feet on the hardwood floor, rubbing his face to try to wake himself up.

  I continue to make myself some coffee in the kitchen as Kelvin gets up and heads into the bathroom to get himself cleaned up. I hear him washing his face and brushing his teeth, and he makes his way back into the kitchen just as the coffee is ready. I pour myself a cup as he sits down on the barstool behind me.

  “Could you pour me a cup, please?” he asks, his voice still deep and sleepy.

  “I didn’t make enough for you,” I reply. “Didn’t know you wanted any. Sorry.” Of course I knew he would want some. I just didn’t feel like making him any.

  “It’s okay, babe. I’ll make some more.”