Snatched (3 page)

Nailah
turned
to glance
out the
plate
window.
The bikers were definitely a sight, something out of a movie.
A movie
featuring
stock, one-dimensional characters
that
assumed all motorcycle riders should look like
long-haired, bearded
thugs.
The bikers across the street all had leather jackets with some emblem she couldn't make out.
And of course, the stereotype wouldn't be complete without a couple of skanks
hanging off
the back
of a couple of the bikes, donned
in
leather
short
s too tight to breathe
in.

One of t
he bikers
was
talking with a couple of black men,
or rather arguing.
The animosity seemed to be on both sides.

"I
've
call
ed
the cops
again and again
, but
by the time they get here, the hoodlums are
long
gone
."

Nailah
turn
ed
back to
Bea
who was also staring, or rather
glaring, out the window.

"
They
do
their
business out there in the open
because they
know no one can touch them.
It's sickening the way the
se
criminals are taking over.
This used to be a nice place.
"

"Since when d
o
bikers
hang out in
Inglewood
,
anyway
?
E
specially
al
on
g
Crenshaw?"
Nailah asked.

"Honey, they don't let a little thing like demographics stop them.
Wherever there's dirty money to be had, here come the bikers, the Russians, the Colombians, the Jamaicans…it's a global affair.
Especially
when you're talking about drugs.
There's more diversity in the drug trade th
a
n you'll find in corporate
America
."

"Ain't that the truth,"
Nailah
said softly
as she put away her change
.

She smiled
her
goodbye and
turned to the door.
B
ut b
efore she opened
it
, Bea
warned, "Be careful
out there
.
You never know what these fools
are gonna
do.
Last week, some idiot capped off a few rounds.
Thankfully, no one got hurt.
"

Nailah
nodded
as she opened the door
, determining that she would definitely be careful.
Or rather, walk as fast as she could.
Considering she lived just
a few
blocks east,
t
he thought
of open
drug dealing was
a little
too close for comfort
.
Maybe
she ought
to consider moving.
That depended
on how well
things
went
tomorrow
.

Quitting her job had been a bold move,
but she needed
time to re-prioritize.
Still her savings would only take her so far.
Besides, she missed working, missed interacting with people, some of whom actually
acknowledged that
she
'd
got
ten
where she was by sheer grit and brain power.

She was
nearing Ruby's
, again regretting her self-imposed moratorium on all that was good, sweet and spicy. She paused at the door, wondering if maybe it would be all right to celebrate her possible new job with a box of rib
tips, then re-considered. She might jinx the deal she had with God that she would try to do better
so that
better things would come her way.

She paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light
to change
when the roaring bikes started down
the street.

As the bikes passed, Nailah caught a closer view of the bodies, most of which seemed unwashed, unkempt. One bulky rider
, in the seconds he passed,
took time to
sho
o
t her a lustful
sneer
. The
garish
bottle
blond
clinging to his waist
noticed the look and
shot
her own
daggers
over her shoulder
.

Closing up
rank
s
was a rider who
appeared different from
the rest. Maybe because he looked as though he had seen
a bar of
soap in recent months.
And he was
more
clean shaven while the others sported beards
of varying lengths
. Even in the blur the
cyclist
s became as their bikes raced away, she was left
with an impression
of humanity
among
the depraved
.
Strange how she'd sized up a man just in seconds.

The bikes were long gone
when
the light
finally
changed for her to cross. And she had no more time to think on it as she made her way home.

Dele had to get word
back
to
the
office
, let them
know the
assignment
was
going down wrong
. Somewhere, somehow he was going to have to pull several thousand dollars
worth of heroin
from his ass or
said
ass was
cooked.
There was no way for him to get out just now, not with
all the
eyes
watching
him. One
suspicious
move
on his part
and he was
already dead
.
And knowing Rez, there wouldn't be a body to find.

This assignment had him
in deep which meant
no backup
.
N
o wires, no
surveillance.
No cell phones with suspicious last dialed numbers.
That had been
a
necessary
concession in order
for
Dele to
gain
the trust of the gang
. And to keep that trust,
he had to live the life 24/7.
No
downtime.
Anything could give him away.

Which made getting word to the
precinct
that much riskier.
But he had to somehow. Especially since
Roach
wasn't
going to cough up the stash…
that is,
if he
hadn't snorted
it all
.

Dele
pulled off his shirt,
tossed it on a nearby chair.
He
pulled carefully at the tape that
secured the
Glock
to his
naked
back
and discarded the used adhesive into the small
bedside
trash bin
. One of the
many
tricks of the trade. He
placed
the weapon
in the bureau drawer next to his
unmade
bed.
Nothing in the small apartment lent to any illusion of comfort
or
safety. It was one of those places
tha
t provided a roof and nothing more. Part of his role.

He strolled to the bathroom, looked at
the
haggard face in the cracked mirror.
That
face
barely resembled the usual
reflection of
Eric
McIntire who only five years had graduated top of his class at the academy
, had d
one some vice before opting to "go under."
Before becoming
Dele Larson
, the latest of several personas he had assumed in these last couple of years.

Dele Larson was a bad man. A stone cold killer.

That was the word on the street, the gateway to his position in the
Demons
. The reason Rez had ultimately trusted
him
. To cement his "resume"
the office had
provided
a body
to present
proof of one of Dele's
last
"assignments." In reality, the body was an undeclared from the local morgue, a homeless man who'd gone by the name of Shakes. The
knife slashes were
courtesy of another homeless renegade who had got into it with Shakes over the contents of a lifted wallet.

The story had somewhat changed by the time he relayed it to Roach, who
'd he used to get an introduction to
Rez. In Dele's rendition,
though,
Shakes
had been an unfortunate
fool
who'
d made the
deadly
mistake of mouthing off to Dele.

If at all possible, these last mo
nths had hardened his features even more. Not that there had ever been anything soft about him. Growing up with an abusive alcoholic of a father had nearly beaten the humanity out of him. Which made it easy to assume these roles; they were closer to his true self than the upstanding rookie who had stood impressive in his
dress
blues that
long ago
graduation day.

The
uncut
dark hair, five o'clock shadow and general
seediness added to the grit of his alias. Dark brown eyes stared back at him, devoid of much life. The deadness also lent an air of authenticity. Of danger.
Anyone who didn't know
Eric
, who only knew Dele,
would rest assured they were looking into the face of a killer.

He stiffened at t
he sudden knock on his a
partment door
. He thought about
retrieving
the
Glock
, but he didn't want to make an unnecessary move. Dele's weapon of choice was a
Blackhawk combat
knife, not a police-issued
Glock
.

"Yeah, who is it?" he bellowed through the closed door.

"Carolyn," answered a familiar voice.

"
Damn
," he muttered softly.

He didn't want to deal with Carolyn tonight. As part of the persona, he'd had to accept some of the "offerings" provided by Rez to his crew. Most times he'd been able to beg off. Carolyn ha
d been an unfortunate exception but he'd managed to keep their
"dates" to a minimum.

H
e
unlocked the door and found her leaning seductively against the
door
jamb.
The motel's parking lot
behind her was barely lit or occupied and was definitely not a place for a woman alone. Especially a woman dressed in a revealing
top and jeans
,
Carolyn's usual
uniform
.
Showing the wares was just part of her "duties." The dishwater blond detracted from her youth; being used on the regular had aged her. She was only 22; she looked a decade older.

"Carolyn, not tonight," he said tiredly.
"Keep someone else happy tonight. I'm not in the mood."

Carolyn had a persistence that belied her chronological age. "What about keeping
me
happy?" She smiled, cracking her dried lip gloss, then pushed past him
into the apartment
. He sighed as he closed the door.

She
bee lined
for the bed, sat down
, leaned back on the unmade sheets
, crossed her legs. Assuming what she'd thought
was
a
seductive
pos
e
. Right now,
her antics were
more
pitiful
than seductive
to Dele. If he could, he would put her on a bus back to whatever f
lyover town she'd run away from. All he could do tonight was stop being part of the sick cycle that had her tied to the gang. Even if she thought it was what she wanted.