Untitled (5 page)
Authors: Unknown Author
LaShawn was a dark, thin man with a shaved head and goatee. His partner, O.T., was squat, with a shaggy beard and a buzz cut. O.T. wore a big gold stud in the side of his flat nose.
The buyer was a young, white man named Tommy. He had sandy blond hair, freckles, and stark, green eyes. Tommy looked over the microchips with a big magnifying glass. He closed the plastic case and looked at LaShawn.
"Nice, very nice," he said. His breath turned into pale smoke from the cold.
"Nothing but the best," said LaShawn. "Check it out. My shit even made the news." LaShawn held out a newspaper. On a back page was a story about the theft of a case of computer chips from a local warehouse. "Shoot, I'm damnednear famous—"
"I didn't know that," said Tommy nervously. "Doesn't that kind of thing bring a lot of trouble? I don't need trouble. I already got people on my ass."
"Take the knot out of your dick," said LaShawn. O.T. laughed softly. "It's just a little newspaper story. You are the scariest damned man I know."
"It's just that this is delicate, that's all. Each of these processors is catalogued with a serial number. It takes a lot for me to erase the trail. I have to create new numbers, then intermingle them with legitimate ones. If someone got nosy—"
"Nobody knows shit, all right?" said LaShawn.
LaShawn heard a noise from outside. O.T. heard it too, and pulled a Cobra .38 and went to the old metal garage door.
"Hey, what's with the gun?" asked Tommy worriedly. He clutched the chips to his body unconsciously.
"Gotta be careful, that's all," said LaShawn.
Tommy was using the chips to build computers on the cheap, and then sell them to public schools via a government contract. A nice hustle, thought LaShawn, but it was a white man's hustle. He wasn't interested in elaborate scams. All he wanted was the money. His deal was one hundred percent profit.
"Shit's okay," said O.T. "Nobody out there."
"I might need some more of these next week," said Tommy.
"Can't do it," said LaShawn. "I barely got away with these ones. My people don't like side deals. I gotta wait until the time is right."
"I can pay fifty percent more in a week," said Tommy.
"Ain't worth it. I'm fucked if I get caught by my crew. You can't put no price on that."
"Look, my contract has got to be closed. After that, we can get a better schedule. It's all crazy now, and they want the shit yesterday."
"Sorry, can't help you," said LaShawn. "We out, man. Beep me in a couple of weeks or so."
LaShawn and O.T. started toward the door. LaShawn passed some money to O.T., who stuffed it into his pocket without counting it.
"Okay, double," said Tommy from behind them. "I'll have to fudge my numbers a little, but at least I'll make the deadline."
LaShawn and O.T. stopped walking. "Well, that changes everything," said LaShawn. "Maybe we might have to take more of a chance at them prices."
"Good," said Tommy. "I'll need Pentium II chips like these or better, and if you can get some of those Zip drives or writable CD drives, I'll pay ten percent more."
LaShawn tried to quickly calculate what that meant. He wasn't good at math, but he understood
more
. "All right," said LaShawn. "A week." He slapped five with Tommy.
more
. "All right," said LaShawn. "A week." He slapped five with Tommy.
When LaShawn turned to leave, a man with a sawed-off shotgun burst through a door in the back of the garage.
O.T. went for his gun, and the man fired, hitting O.T. in the meaty part of his thigh. O.T. fell to the ground, screaming and dropping his weapon.
LaShawn dropped the newspaper he was holding, and turned to run, only to find a woman holding an S & W shorty .40 coming through the metal garage door.
"Don't think so, my nigga," said the man with the shotgun. He turned the weapon on LaShawn. "Don't move, or I'll have to cut you down like your boy there."
"LaShawn, LaShawn," said the woman. "Whazzup, boy?" She had an evil smile on her lips.
"Dake, Nita," said LaShawn. "This was for the crew, I swear . . ."
Dake lowered his shotgun and kicked O.T.'s gun away from him. Then he went to LaShawn and Tommy and searched them for guns. He removed LaShawn's gun, a 9mm.
"White boy's clean," said Dake. O.T. groaned. Dake kicked him in the face. "Shut the fuck up," he said.
Dake was a stocky man, about twenty or so. He had medium-length braids that came to his ears and a baby face that seemed out of place on his frame. Nita was an angular woman with long black dreadlocks. She had a pretty face, marred only by a nasty scar on her chin.
The metal garage door creaked again. LaShawn turned to see another black man walk in. The sun reflected off the snow outside, framing the man, making him look like a long, dark shadow. He was dressed in a black leather trench coat and a black leather hat. He stepped into the garage, surveyed the scene, then motioned Nita and Dake to lower their weapons.
"Will somebody tell me what's going on here?" said Tommy. He took a step but was knocked down by Nita.
"Stay your ass down there," she said.
"No need for that, Nita," said the tall man. "Let him get up." His voice was a smooth baritone.
Tommy stood as the man in the leather coat walked toward them.
"Moses, man," said LaShawn, "this was legit for real. I was bringing Tommy here into the crew."
Moses Jackson glared at the smaller man and said nothing. He took a few steps, and picked up a rusted monkey wrench from the dirty floor in his gloved hand. The old tool was broken, and covered with some kind of green fungus. The open doors had let in the cold air from outside. It ran along the ground like a snake, moving around the people inside.
"Time," said Moses. "I'm losing time just being here having to deal with this shit." Suddenly, he moved to O.T., raised the wrench, then brought it down into his head, killing him.
Tommy screamed.
Dake clamped a hand over Tommy's mouth. "Too late for screaming, my nigga," he said. "You in the shit now."
Moses walked away from the dead man, back to LaShawn and Tommy, who both looked at him with terror. Moses pulled off his hat, revealing a head of short, wavy black hair.
"I don't wanna hear no more shit about how this deal is for me, LaShawn. You tried to fuck me. All hustles go through the crew, you know that."
"Moses," said LaShawn, "I was gonna—"
Nita smacked LaShawn hard in the side of the head with the shorty .40. LaShawn reeled to the side, almost falling over. "Don't talk while the man is talking, muthafucka," she said.
"What's your name?" Moses asked Tommy.
"I didn't know anything about your business," said Tommy. "I just needed these chips, man. Please, let me go. You can have all the chips back, I don't care." He was shaking now. The case with the chips vibrated in his hands.
Moses walked over to Tommy and put a hand on his shoulder. "If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be hurt by now," said Moses. "Now, who are you?"
"Tom Delaney. People call me Tommy."
"How much did you give my man here for those chips, Tommy?"
"Well, we kinda dealt on a per case basis—"
Moses dug his fingers into Tommy's shoulders. Tommy yelled out in pain. "Five thousand," he said. "Five thousand."
Moses took his hand from Tommy's shoulder. "This is why you don't run the crew, LaShawn. Those chips are worth twice that on the street."
LaShawn looked at Tommy with anger. He was about to say something when Nita grabbed his face.
"Dumbass," she said. "This white boy fucked you on the hustle." Nita pushed him away, then faked a punch. LaShawn almost tripped trying to duck it. She laughed at him.
"As you can see, Tommy," said Moses, "this man works for me. Normally, I get pissed off when white people cheat the brothers. But I'm gonna ignore all that history. LaShawn here brought all this down on himself. You can have those chips you cheated away from this fool. You earned that. But from now on, the price is ten."
"Okay, great," said Tommy. "I gotta be going—" Tommy quickly moved for the door. He was pulled back by Dake.
"I don't think the man is finished," he said.
"You will deal with my man Dake here from now on," said Moses. "If you go to a competitor, we'll come looking for you. If you go to the cops, we'll come for your family. You can leave now."
Tommy moved to the door on shaky legs and left. Moses turned to LaShawn, who was trying desperately to look brave. "So near as I can figure," said Moses, "you been side hustlin' for over two months now. How much have you made?"
"Moses, please—"
"How much, dammit!" Moses yelled.
"About fifteen thousand," said LaShawn. "Moses, I'll pay it all back, I swear—"
"You would have made five thousand off this hustle if you had brought them to me like you were supposed to. Ten thousand lousy muthafuckin' dollars. That's the price you've put on your life."
LaShawn took out the money. "Here, take all of it. O.T. had some, too. I'll get the rest. Then we're cool, right?"
Moses walked over to O.T.'s dead body and took the money from his pockets. Then he picked up the bloody wrench.
"Come on, Moses, don't do this." LaShawn backed away.
"Put your boy in that metal Dumpster over there," said Moses.
LaShawn walked over to the body. He tried not to look at his friend's decimated face. Wispy smoke rose from the body's warm blood. LaShawn picked up the body and placed it in the Dumpster. When he finished, his clothes and hands were bloody. He looked at Moses, whose face showed no emotion.
"Those pieces too," said Moses.
LaShawn trembled as he lifted the small bloody pieces of his partner's head from the cold ground.
"Damn, I guess that nigga's head wasn't as hard as I thought." Nita chuckled softly behind him.
LaShawn put the fragments in the Dumpster. He had to shake some that clung to his hands. When he turned around, he saw Moses, swinging the broken monkey wrench at him. LaShawn threw his hands up over his face.
The wrench's jagged head hit LaShawn in the right knee. LaShawn yelled out, his breath turning into a stream of smoke. He fell to the ground, hitting it hard.
"No!" LaShawn cried, holding his broken knee. The wrench had cut his leg above the knee, and warm blood seeped between his fingers.
Next to Moses, LaShawn saw Dake walk up, holding two large plastic containers. He had not even seen Dake leave to get them. He knew what was in those containers. He panicked, begging for his life.
"No honor among thieves," said Moses. "But there is principle. Nita, hold him."
Nita held LaShawn as Moses broke his other knee with the wrench. LaShawn's eyes rolled into his head from the pain. Nita slapped LaShawn's cheek hard, trying to bring him back.
"Let him pass out," said Moses. "No need to be nasty about this. Lift him in there."
Dake and Nita picked up LaShawn and put him into the metal Dumpster. Moses took the plastic container and poured gasoline inside. Moses took a small metal cigarette lighter and flicked it to life. The blue flame wavered in the cold air.
Moses peered into the Dumpster. He saw LaShawn, lying next to his dead partner. "The only thing more important than time is principle," said Moses.
He dropped the lighter into the Dumpster. Yellow flame shot up from inside. The crackle of the fire was loud in the big garage. Dake began to throw debris in the fire to help it burn.
"Shit's gonna smell," said Dake.
"It's okay," said Moses. "Make sure to burn all the bloody spots on the floor. "Don't make it easy for the cops."
"Damn, I needed some heat," said Nita. She held out her hands to the flame.
"Heartless-ass woman," said Dake. He laughed.
Moses watched as Dake set fire to the blood on the cold ground. He poured gas in the area, then set it on fire with a butane lighter. They looked like little bonfires, flickering in the chilling draft on the dirty floor.
LaShawn's disloyalty had stopped the planning on his next job. In his occupation, he needed to deal with traitors quickly and ruthlessly. Leading a crew of thieves required timing and precision, and there was no place for men bent on independent stealing.
"Damn, Moses, check this out," said Dake.
Moses looked in his direction. Dake was holding out the front page of the newspaper.
"I was going to burn this, but look who it is," said Dake.
Moses took the newspaper. On the front page was the smiling face of his fraternal twin brother, Marshall. Next to the picture was the headline:
FEDERAL PROSECUTOR NAMED IN
DOUGLAS ASSASSINATION
"Nigga ain't bad looking," said Nita. She laughed. Moses cut it off with a hard glance.
"You gonna tell him what you know?" asked Dake.
"I don't deal with that muthafucka," said Moses.
Moses took the newspaper from Dake and looked at it with disgust. He'd been running his crew for a long time, and it was rare that he was reminded of his former life. His brother, the golden boy, was once again in the limelight.
"Dake, pour the other can of gas in there after a few minutes," said Moses. He crumpled up his brother's face and threw it into the fire. "I don't want nothing left but ashes."
5
The Screaming People
T
oby Newhall had blown into town late the night before and had not stopped talking since her plane set down at City Airport. She rarely, if ever, came to the city, and it seemed as if she wanted to get out as soon as possible.
oby Newhall had blown into town late the night before and had not stopped talking since her plane set down at City Airport. She rarely, if ever, came to the city, and it seemed as if she wanted to get out as soon as possible.
Marshall had stayed up all night waiting for her. Nate had sent him home, only to call him back in at 6 A.M. Since then, it had been the Toby Show. She talked endlessly about the case, stopping only twice to take calls from two senators in D.C.
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