Dirty Work, Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  “Who is this monster?” she finally asked.

  “He has some ghetto name like a rapper. A fast car . . . what is it?” Kid snapped his fingers for recollection. “Lamborghini, u*** . . .”

  Jackie was on the edge of her seat. “Maserati?”

  “That’s it! Maserati Meek.” Kid fumbled with his glasses again. “He’s no rapper, Jackie. He’s the real deal. He’s Egyptian, quirky, and a sadist. And between you and me, he’s responsible for the two recent bombings.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The girl that was found murdered on the news in connection with the bombings—Jessica Hernandez? That was his girlfriend, and that was her party. She was trying to get away from him too. I guess he was trying to kill anyone who knew of his plan to blow up New York. Miraculously, we all survived and got out, but Jessica must have gone back to him and he killed her. He’s crazy, Jackie. That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to leave you, but if I stay I could put you in harm’s way. I’m hoping that the federal government will catch him soon, and then I will come back for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. I can’t have my future wife living without her man for long.”

  Her face glowed with a smile, which turned into a huge grin. “Who said I even like you?”

  “That kiss said.”

  She playfully tossed a straw paper at him. “How will you be safe, Kid? I’m worried now. Why didn’t you go to the feds for help?”

  “Like my brother, who tried to go to NYPD and ended up dead?”

  “We’re not NYPD.”

  Kid’s eyes widened.

  Jackie’s heart pounded. “What?”

  “You said ‘we’re’.”

  “I said, ‘they’re’ not, silly.”

  Kid and Jackie talked for hours until the restaurant closed. Her watchdogs had changed shifts and she remained. It was like they didn’t exist. The conversation had long ago shifted from Meek, bombings, and murder. They discussed their likes, dreams, favorite foods, politics, religion, how many children each one wanted, and then Jackie got personal. She wanted to know if Kid got aroused and could perform. She wasn’t wearing a wire so she could speak freely.

  “Come back home with me and find out.”

  “I might sneak out tonight. Just keep your window unlocked.”

  “There you go again with the might.”

  “Well, being definitive is boring. I like teetering the fine line of uncertainty.”

  35

  Several NYPD officers, including Emergency Service Units, converged onto the Bushwick property with their guns drawn, ready for anything that came their way. Their daunting toys were out to play—including the battling ram clutched by one officer—and they were there to execute a no-knock warrant on Papa John’s last known address. His baby mama Tina stayed there with her kids.

  The sudden police activity outside the front door alerted the neighbors, and they stood there in awe to watch the show. The front door came crashing open, and hordes of cops rushed into the building with their guns pointing everywhere.

  Tina and the kids were startled by the sudden disruption. It was early in the morning and she was getting them ready for school. The heavy police presence inside her home halted her plans, and she found herself under siege. They started to ask questions, but she had no idea where her baby father was at. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. They were aggressive with threats to her, but she was clueless as to his whereabouts.

  “He shot his own father,” they exclaimed.

  Tina didn’t want to believe it. But they were inside her home for a reason, scaring her children, including Papa John’s autistic son.

  They made no arrest and left her home a mess. The minute they were out of her sight, Tina hurried to a neighbor friend and used her phone to warn Papa John.

  ***

  Papa John had to go deeper into hiding, fearing arrest and incarceration. The Kid assured him that everything would be okay. He had a plan for them all. He had the perfect method to collect three million from Meek without endangering his crew.

  Time was winding down for Maserati Meek. The Kid was ready to make the call and give him the location to meet. His parents were still tied up and being held prisoner in New Jersey. Shahib Abu Mudada and his wife continued to be beaten and tortured by Devon. When Papa John and Kid walked into the basement, the couple almost looked unrecognizable. Asma’s face was completely swollen and bleeding. She was chained to a concrete pillar. She had been completely broken. Her husband was also in very bad shape. For fun, when he was alone with Shahib, Devon had severed his right hand, despite what The Kid had instructed him.

  “What the fuck you do to them?” The Kid barked.

  “What? They still alive, ain’t they?”

  The Kid stared at Shahib and his wife and shook his head in disgust. They were barely alive. He needed to take a picture of the couple and send it to Meek for proof of life. He took a picture of Shahib’s face and made a quick video recording. It was immediately sent to the burner they’d sent to Maserati Meek.

  “We need to go. It’s almost payday,” The Kid announced.

  Devon and Papa John smiled. They exited the abandoned building, climbed into a van, and drove toward the Bronx.

  ***

  The next morning Agent Moore held a conference with her fellow agents and her superiors. She debriefed the whole room on the intel she had gotten from Kid Kane. Most of what he had to say they knew, but the candid talk had filled in the blanks.

  “Are you sure he’s not involved in any way?” Special Agent Hanks, her supervisor had asked.

  “He’s not. This guy isn’t involved, and he’s told me everything he knows. He’s terrified. Once we build a case against Akar Mudada we could call him to help corroborate a few loose ends. He’s connected Jessica Hernandez and Mudada, AKA Maserati Meek. Seems a local officer has been looking into Jessica Hernandez too with connection to the bombing, but he is clueless as to who sanctioned the explosions. He’s working with a few of our agents, but I want the credit. This is my case.”

  ***

  Kid was sitting in the window when two unmarked federal vehicles pulled up in front of his home. This was it. They finally had enough to arrest him. He was glad that Eshon was out shopping and hoped that she wasn’t on their radar. He assumed that they had already picked up Devon and Papa John. For a split second he wanted to call them and warn them but knew that his phone would be confiscated and didn’t want to lead them to his friends. Thinking quickly, he took out the phone’s SIM card and flushed it.

  The hard knock on the door was reminiscent of better days when Kip was alive. Kid wheeled himself to the door to see Jackie with her identifiable law enforcement gear and two male coworkers. Kid opened the door and wheeled himself backwards.

  He looked bewildered. “Jackie? What’s going on?”

  “Kid, my name is Agent Moore and these are my colleagues, Agent Lanier and Special Agent Hanks. You know me as Jackie, the eighteen year old ingénue.” She looked down at her gear. “Obviously that was my cover. You have information we need to put a very dangerous person behind bars for the rest of his life. A man who murdered your brother. His real name is Akar Mudada, but you know him as Maserati Meek. Would you feel comfortable testifying against him? We could also offer you Wit-Sec.”

  Kid continued to feign shock at this revelation. Jackie was cold and standoffish as she detailed how their investigation had grown and how he connected the dots for them. He repeatedly said he was terrified of the warlord, and the feds insisted that he would be safe. That soon enough Akar would be off the streets.

  “When is he being arrested?” Kid wanted to know. “Are you picking him up today?”

  “Not that soon, but it’s under control. Don’t worry. We have men doing surveillance if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

&nbs
p; Finally Kid complied. “Whatever I can do to help put my brother’s murderer away, then I will.”

  Before she left, Agent Moore lingered behind. When Lanier and Hanks were out of eyesight she smiled at Kid and whispered, “Keep that window unlocked.”

  ***

  Maserati Meek had been anticipating word from Ghost. When he got the video, a small wave of relief washed over him, but it wasn’t over yet.

  The call came early that evening. Meek had the money, three million dollars—1.5 million in each of the two duffel bags as he was instructed. But he wasn’t ready to give it up without a fight. Ghost and his cronies had to meet him face-to-face—he assumed, and when they did, Meek would be ready to go ham on them. However, he needed the safe return of his parents first.

  In six black Tahoes, Meek and his men drove to the location in the Bronx. They arrived at an abandoned baseball field not too far from City Island. The area was somewhat secluded, and a few trees covered the vicinity. A few yards away was an open field adjacent to a bay.

  The doors to the Tahoes opened, and several armed men removed themselves from the vehicles. There was no one there except for them—a mass of killers ready to react when told. Meek looked around. He was certain it was the location that he was told.

  “Are we in the right place?” Amir asked him.

  “Yes. Baseball field, it’s correct.”

  “So where are they?”

  Maserati Meek didn’t want to be bothered with questions. His main concern was getting his parents back safely and destroying this character named Ghost. A few minutes went by and still nothing. It was at a standstill in both directions of the road.

  Then the burner phone sounded and Meek quickly answered it. “I’m here, waiting as instructed,” he growled at the caller.

  “I see you brought some company with you. You were supposed to come alone.”

  “Wherever I go, they go with me. No exception, eh.”

  The caller Ghost chuckled. “I can respect that.”

  “What do you want us to do now? I have the money.”

  “Just wait. You’ll see soon.”

  The call ended, leaving Meek baffled.

  Five minutes later, something caught Meek and his men’s attention. It was coming from the bay, something hovering; it was approaching them at a moderate speed. Each man looked up and was transfixed. Unbelievable. There were two huge phantom drones, their propellers buzzing noisily and fast like wings on a bee. The drones were specially equipped with a carrying mechanism—four iron claws underneath each of them. They landed in the field. Meek was in awe. He watched these machines, and the machines watched him with their cameras.

  The phone rang, and Meek answered. “Attach the bags to the drones, and I’ll do the rest. You do anything stupid, and your parents are dead.”

  The realization of how clever this heist was didn’t go over Meek’s head. He did what he was told. His men attached the duffel bags to the iron claws, and their grip around the bags tightened. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There would be no face-to-face with the man named Ghost. He seemed to have thought of everything.

  Once the bags were secured, the drones started to lift from the field, hovering with 1.5 million dollars under each of them. The weight of the bags was tested earlier, and the creator of the specially made drones assured Kid that it would work. The drones hesitated to lift higher for a split moment, due to the weight of the cash—but in due time, they elevated into the air and headed toward the bay—headed toward the direction they’d come from.

  For a moment, Meek and his men stood around watching, still in awe. The drones were flying over the water and fading from their sights. Then suddenly, Meek yelled out, “Follow them!”

  The men hurried into the trucks and tried to give chase, but the spot Ghost had chosen was for a purpose. A body of water and marshlands surrounded the area, and to attempt to follow the machines would be futile. No matter how hard they drove, the drones were quickly lost.

  Maserati Meek cursed, banged his fists against the dashboard, and shattered the window with the butt of his pistol. Somehow a stranger had outsmarted him, and the fate of his parents was unknown.

  ***

  The door to the dark and moldy basement opened, and The Kid, Papa John, and Devon descended the wood stairs and entered into the concrete room where Shahib Abu and Asma Mudada were barely alive. The couple lay in waste and blood, their movement sluggish.

  The men were extremely happy. They were rich men. The heist had been implemented without any problems. It was all thanks to a man named Spirit—whom The Kid used to chat with and had befriended while gaming online. Spirit was also a mechanical engineer, and they were able to obtain the money without incident or exposure because of his hi-tech creation. Who would have thought—drones? Not in a million years.

  The Kid looked down at the Mudadas. He had no more use for them. They were dead weight now—despicable to themselves and mankind. The Kid had never intended to set them free. He wanted them to die—to suffer first, and then die. He removed a .45 from his waistband and stepped to Asma first. He pointed the barrel of the gun at her face and fired—Boom! Her brains decorated the concrete floor. He stepped to the husband next and aimed his gun at his head, and did the same—Boom! The bullet tore through his forehead and sprayed his blood everywhere.

  Papa John and Devon simply watched the execution in silence. It was still a shock to see Kid kill. He was more heartless and colder than Kip.

  “Bury these muthafuckas somewhere. Meek will never see them alive again, nor will he see them dead.”

  “What about Meek?” Devon asked.

  “What about him?” The Kid replied.

  “He’s still breathing.”

  “And?”

  “I thought we wanted him dead too.”

  “I wanted him to feel the pain I felt when he took my brother from me, and now he’s gonna feel it. We took three million dollars from him, kidnapped and killed his parents—and he’ll be left in the dark wondering who it was. I think that’s pain enough,” The Kid proclaimed wisely.

  But Devon was still longing to kill Maserati Meek.

  “Trust me. Meek will pay for his crimes. Listen, we’re about to retire from this shit and live a good life someplace far from here. Let’s get the girls and go,” The Kid said.

  Shahib Abu Mudada and Asma’s bodies were left buried in a deep grave in upstate New York. It brought pleasure to The Kid knowing that Maserati Meek would never know where his parents were and that he would never be able to give them a proper burial.

  ***

  There was still no word from Ghost, or any clue what had happened to his parents. Maserati Meek had waited impatiently for a call that never came. He knew that he would never see his parents alive ever again. The rage and fury that bubbled inside of him nearly turned his blood into melting lava. With Panamanian Pete dead, Kip and his little brother and crew dead, he had no idea who had taken his three million dollars and most likely killed his parents. The individual who named himself Ghost had done just that—he became a ghost.

  Meek vowed to find this person and skin him alive—and make him pay drastically for all he’d taken from him. It wasn’t over. He was willing to spend his last dollar on finding this Ghost and implementing his revenge.

  36

  The Kid had help with getting his wheelchair out the yellow cab, and he had help into the cemetery where his brother was buried.

  “I got it from here,” he told the driver. “Give me ten minutes.”

  The driver nodded and walked back to his cab parked on 155th Street. It was dawn, with the sun bright in the sky and the temperature soon to reach ninety degrees. It felt like the perfect time for a visit.

  Clutching some flowers, Kid wheeled himself toward his brother’s grave. He hadn’t been to it since the funeral, and he felt self-c
entered for taking this long to visit Kip. He reached the grave and placed the flowers against the stone. He released a deep sigh and stared at the writing on the granite. He managed to smile, and then he frowned.

  “I know I haven’t been around to visit you lately, but I felt that I couldn’t come around until I corrected things—until I avenged your death, Kip. I miss you so much.”

  He sat silent for a moment, overwhelmed with grief and nostalgia. Being there was taking a lot out of him, but Kid felt he needed to be strong. He had come a long way. He looked around the area, making sure that he was completely alone. He was. So he slowly removed himself from the wheelchair and stood over his brother’s gave. He lowered himself down on his knees and dropped his head as if he was about to pray.

  He released a heavy sigh. “I destroyed that muthafucka for you, Kip. I got him good. I made him pay for what he did to you. He took you from me, so I took his parents from him, and I took his money. I outmaneuvered Maserati Meek, Kip. You should have seen me. I know you would have been proud of me.”

  Kid’s knees pressed into the grass. He placed his hands against the tombstone and traced his brother’s name carved into the granite with his fingertips. He was silent for a moment.

  “I have a confession, Kip. I’ve been able to walk for more than five years. I know you wanted to see me walk when you were alive and I kept that from you. I don’t know why, but it tears me up to know that you died thinking I was still a cripple when you tried your best to get me the best physical therapy money could buy. And me being foolish, I kept it a secret from you to keep you close to me. It haunts me that I did that to you. I’m sorry about that, Kip. I truly am. And I’m going to have to live with it for the rest of my life.”

  Kid released a few tears and let them trickle down his face.

  “I just came by to say goodbye, big bro. I’m leaving the city. I don’t know for how long, but I know it’s time to go. But no matter where I’m at, I’m gonna always keep you close and you will never be forgotten. Oh, and I met someone too. You should see her, Kip. She’s beautiful and smart. And guess what? She beat me at chess, Kip. Can you believe that? I actually lost, and I lost to a girl. But you know what? She was definitely worth losing to.”