CHAPTER 8

 

Everybody was gathered in the conference room. Rookies, veterans and even some of the people who used to work there. No one told them what they were there for but one thing was certain – they were going to celebrate something. Or someone.

The general murmur stopped the second Sergeant Hardy entered the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t seem mad which was a good thing. Nobody wanted to have their ass chewed out first thing in the morning.

“I think we all know why we’re here today,” he spoke, fixing his blue silken tie, a gift from his wife that he was never seen without. It was an ongoing joke around the precinct that it was the only tie he owned.

“Not a clue,” a man’s voice came from the crowd, prompting amused chuckles from the others.

Sergeant Hardy smiled.

“We’re here to congratulate our fellow crime fighter,” he said as he pointed to Brandon, who was standing beside the window, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. He had known from the beginning why they were all there, of course. But he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. He had already been congratulated about his arrest sheet yesterday.

“Brandon Baker, who single-handedly reduced the drug dealers’ activity in our city by 5%.”

As the first sounds of applause could be heard, the sergeant continued.

“After having discussed it with my superiors, we all agreed to make him the head of a new Special Drug Enforcement Unit.”

The applause got louder and Brandon was basking in his colleagues’ admiration. If only his Mom could see him at that exact moment. She would’ve regretted the day she picked Malik as the favorite son. She would look at him and see that it was he who deserved her appreciation and affection. Not some dirty drug dealer.

But soon Brandon wouldn’t need to worry about Malik anymore. Once he was done tearing down his business, he would be the one his mother would be looking up to. Then he could see what it felt like to be second best.

What would remain of Malik? Just a memory. A sad, pathetic memory that he will sometimes think about when he’d be at the peak of success.

“Alright, alright,” Sergeant Hardy shouted, quieting the room. “It’s time we all got back to work. The criminals aren’t going to catch themselves. Brandon, come with me. Your team is waiting for you in conference room B.”

Brandon followed Sergeant Hardy from the room, his heart beating so fast he was afraid it might come out of his chest. He felt just like a kid on Christmas day.

In the conference room, the men were already waiting for him and they looked like nothing he had expected. They all had that fresh out of jail look. That spiteful gleam in their eyes and slight snarl on their lips that would frighten even the toughest thug. They looked like a bunch of hungry wolves. Just what I need.

“I know I said you could pick the guys that you wanted on your team, but are you sure about these guys? I mean most of them have been in trouble with the IA for using excessive force and none of them take orders well,” said the sergeant.

Brandon had chosen these men for his own purposes. They all were having financial difficulties, were accused of taking bribes or they just plain hated dealers. Either way they would be extremely useful to him.

“No, they are exactly the type of men I need, sir. To be honest, I need men that aren’t afraid of what’s waiting for us out there. These guys have experience working in dangerous areas and that’s exactly why I chose them. I need some hard hitting son of bitches that are willing to put it all on the line.”

Sergeant Hardy chuckled. “Well, you’ve definitely picked the right bunch then,” he said, shoving open the conference room door. “Say hello to your new team,” he said, then walked away.

Brandon stepped into the room giving each man his scrutiny. They stared at him hard, but he returned their stares with just as much bravado. These men may look like they’re the worst of the worst, but they were good men. They had families that they loved and put their lives on the line for every single day so they can feel a little safer.

Brandon gave the men a small nod as he moved to stand near the front of the room. “I’m Brandon Baker and I’ll be directing this unit. Before we hit the streets and start to knock heads, how about some introductions?”

The guy closest to Brandon spoke up first. “Zane Hitchens.” He was a white guy with an almost bald hair cut. His neck was super thick and he wore a pair of black framed glasses that belied his killer instinct. He rocked a tribal tattoo on the side of his neck that disappeared beneath his shirt. “I’m ready to rock and roll,” he said with a sinister grin.

“I’m Brock Michaels,” one of the two black men said. His eyes were dark and hard, yet bright with anticipation. Brock had curly hair that was growing into an afro and chiseled facial features. “I’m just here to put as many of these assholes away as possible.”

Brandon nodded. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

“Chris O’Malley,” a man with bright red hair said loudly, a slight grin on his face. “I’ve been shot twice, and dragged into the IA’s office more times than I can count. What can I say? If you break the law, I’m gonna break your ass.”

That prompted a few laughs from the guys.

The last two, another African-American man and a Russian thug were swift. They didn’t give any back story and only told them their names – Devon DeMamp and Vladimir Fedorov.

“Alright. It's like this. You follow me and do as I say and we’ll all reap the benefits. Understood?” asked Brandon, after all the introductions were over. When they all nodded, he continued.

He walked over to the white board and flipped it over revealing an outline of thugs and all their criminal activity. Each photo led up to a blank space at the top with no name.

“Our objective is to apprehend every person on this board until we find out who’s running the whole operation. When we find out who’s the head of the snake, we chop it off.”

“Where do we start,” asked Devon. The man stood almost six four with broad shoulders. He had a jagged scar across his jaw that enhanced his no nonsense demeanor.

“I got a tip from one of my insiders that there might be a pretty important gathering tomorrow on the East side. They’re gonna be doing some business with the Mexicans. I hear it might be about forty grand in product being moved. That’s twenty grand six ways if you get my meaning.”

“I thought you said it would be forty grand down there,” said Vladimir.

Brandon remembered reading that he was in jeopardy of losing his house.

“Yeah, it will be, but we have to turn in something or the Sergeant will begin to wonder what kind of deal these guys are down there making with no money. So we take half and turn in the rest. Got it?”

The men nodded their heads as they began to understand his method. Seeing the hungry look in their eyes showed him know he had been right in choosing them.

Malik, your days are numbered.

~~~~

“I wonder why your brother never joins us for dinner,” Gloria sighed, circling the spoon in her soup bowl for the thousandth time. “He always seems to be too busy for us nowadays.”

“Don’t worry, Ma,” Malik smiled, trying to reassure her. “He’s making a name for himself. He’ll come home soon.”

Gloria took a sip of her soup and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

“Mmmm. This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked, boy. When did you learn to cook like this?” she said joking.

Malik shrugged, with a nonchalant expression. “Come on now. You know I get’s down in the kitchen, Ma.”

“Boy, everything you do in that kitchen you learned from me, so cut it out,” she said laughing.

“Yeah, whatever. Besides, since I live alone, I have to cook. I gotta eat, right?” said Malik smiling. He shoved a large buttered roll into his mouth and washed it down with his mother’s sweet tea.

“But what about that girl you were with last week?”

“Lucy?” he snorted. “She was only in it for the money. Plus, you know I can’t get myself into anything serious cause of what I do.”

There was a sudden moment of silence between them and it never felt more suffocating to Malik. He knew his mother didn’t approve of what he did and she never brought it up. That is until lately. She’s been questioning him about getting out of the game and even though he knows she is right, he always made an excuse about it not being the right time.

Afterwards, he would feel weighted down about his guilt. It always felt like he was being pushed under a mountain and forced to carry it. Were those his sins that he’d committed crawling on his back? Was that his father’s disappointment he felt stinging his heart with such force? He knew it to be the truth, which is why he had stopped going to his grave site to visit him. I let him down big time.

“I never agreed to this, you know,” she finally spoke, her voice soft and her eyes glistening with the tears she had been fighting to keep at bay. “Every day I just sit here and wonder if today will be the day that I’ll never see you again. I hope and pray that you won’t get into a fight and get hurt or that the police won’t get to you.” She paused for a second and sighed. “I like to think I’m a fair woman and I respect the law, but now I’m rooting for a…”

He knew exactly what his mother was going to say. And he also knew how hard it was for her to live with the fact that she had raised a criminal. I even let her down.

Malik dropped his head low, his chin damn near hitting his chest. No one knew that sometimes he felt ashamed of what he had become. He knew he sacrificed his future to take care of his family, but the true question he kept asking himself is ‘Who are you doing it for now?’

He glanced over in his mother’s direction and saw the tear slide down her face.

“If it makes you feel any better, I tried looking for an actual job after Brandon left for school. But my name drew too much attention. People are scared of me, Ma. They don’t want to be around a drug dealer and I understand that. I didn’t even get upset about it.”

Gloria nodded in acceptance. She reached up and placed her hand on the side of his face. He looked so much like his father that it was sometimes hard to see him.

“I understand baby, but try and think of something else you can do. Maybe you can open up your own business. You’re smart and people respect you.”

“Some do, but most fear me. There’s a difference.” When he saw her shoulders drop he knew she was feeling worse. “But I will give it some thought. Maybe opening a few stores or something is a good idea.”

Gloria smiled. “Yeah, and if you need any help with anything I’ll be there.”

“I can’t pay you though,” he said smiling.

Gloria elbowed him playfully. “Boy, stop. Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Malik smiled, thankful that their conversation hadn’t spoiled the evening. But for Gloria, it still didn’t mean she was okay with the outcome of that discussion. She was still hoping that he would give up that dangerous lifestyle and settle down with a nice woman and find a legal way of making money.

~~~~

Brandon smirked and felt a shiver of excitement flow through him. This was going to be one hell of a productive day, he thought as he looked at the whiteboard in his office. He had arrived early that morning, eager to start chasing down the suspects.

“Morning,” O’Malley said as he stepped in the room. He was carrying a black backpack that made a loud clanking sound when he tossed it on the chair. “I don’t work like y’all,” he explained when he saw Brandon’s puzzled look. “I use these bad boys.”

He unzipped the backpack and withdrew a rolled up tarp. When he untied it Brandon saw that it was filled with a few deadly looking knives. O’Malley pulled one free of its sheath and flipped it around, always catching the handle.

Shiny and horrifyingly sharp, their sight gave Brandon goose bumps. It was a weird mix of excitement and fear, and he loved it. He could barely wait until they started.

“What are you going to use when you run out of knives,” asked Brandon.

O’Mally smiled wickedly and opened his jacket showing two shiny guns at his side. “Oh, I still have my two best friends.”

Brandon laughed and shook his head.

“When are the rest of the guys gonna show up?” O’Malley asked, placing the knife back into place and shoving them back in his backpack. “I’m ready to get this done and have a beer, shit.”

“They’ll be here in a bit,” Brandon said, a slight tinge of malice on his lips as he pulled his own gun from its holster and checked the clip again. “But I’m glad you’re so excited.”

One by one, the members of his team entered the room, each of them looking dangerous and intimidating. Brandon couldn’t help a small chuckle. It was the perfect team. These men were hungry for the kill and using their badge as an explanation for it. In the streets, most of them would be considered criminals, but when you have the badge behind you, its legal. You’re just doing your job.

After assessing all the details, they followed Brandon outside where two black trucks with tinted windows were waiting for them. He hopped in the first one, followed by the Russian and his semi-automatic rifle, a dark SKS that had the man’s initials painted on it in red ink.

Devon slid into the back seat, quiet as usual. O’Malley, Zane and Brock piled in the second truck. They were all fully armed with bullet proof vest and small ear plugs.

“First stop, Macy’s Club,” Brandon announced as he drove off.

The men knew exactly what that club was and not surprisingly, they were quite eager to get there. It was an old strip club that only functioned as a cover for what was actually going on there.

Heroin addicts, and dealers alike, always gathered there to do business. The club had always been one of Brandon’s main targets, but because he didn’t have the right team backing him up, he could never actually take measures against it. Today was different.

They all stepped inside and headed towards a table in the back. They were aware that they looked suspicious and that several men were watching them, but they couldn’t care less. They all knew, thanks to Brandon, what was actually going on there and wouldn’t hesitate to burn the place down if given the order.

But Brandon had other ideas. He knew that it would’ve been a loss of precious space. Space that would be used for better purposes in the future. His future. So any thought of destroying it was out. He was there for one particular person and he’d just walked in.

Paul Rudd slammed the main door open, demanding an entire bottle of vodka once he reached the counter. The bartender complied and when he finally saw the bottle of clear liquor in front of him, he started drinking desperately. He was putting away the vodka like a man who had been lost in the desert for years.

“Your liver’s gonna fail you one day, Paul,” Brandon spoke as he approached the man and pushed the bottle away.

“Look who’s here,” the man spoke, his tone obviously mocking. “Lil’ Brannie, the hustlas’ arch enemy. I’m guessing you’re here to arrest me?”

“Not really,” Brandon smirked. He lifted the bottle of vodka and let his lips caress the bottle’s opening. “You’ll be lucky if you get out of here alive.”

Paul burst into laughter. It was a hyena-like bark to the smoke impregnated ceiling.

“Ya think a lil’ city cop like you has the power to take me down? How fucking naïve of ya.”

At a sign from Paul, Brandon was surrounded by a few dangerous looking thugs. They had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for their boss’ signal. Hell, some of them weren’t even hired by him. They were small time wannabes hanging around the place hoping for a chance to be down.

Paul laughed. “What you need to do is stop trying to be like ya brother. You ain’t got it in you kid,” he said, reaching for the vodka.

Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Boom! One of Paul’s thugs was lying on the floor, a small puddle of blood already forming under his head. Paul looked down at him in shock. Brandon hadn't moved, so who the hell had shot one of his boys. He never got the chance to find out.

Brandon took that first shot as a signal. With a swift movement, he pulled out his own gun and shot Paul straight between the eyes. He took a few more thug’s lives before a sharp pain shot through his head. His body dropped to the floor, and the last thing he saw was Paul’s lifeless body lying next to him.

~~~~

After the incident at Macy’s Bar, Brandon told himself that he’d have to be more cautious around seemingly unarmed thugs. He had a pretty big scar on his temple to make sure he would never forget his foolish mistake. Luckily, his doctor said it would heal up nicely.

He had been in the hospital for a few days and needed several stitches to fix the ugly wound a man’s knife had left. But that had been only a small hurdle. He had unfinished business at Macy’s Club.

At one point he’d wanted to leave the club untouched, but now the thought of that place left a bad taste in his mouth. The first thing he did after getting out of the hospital was to go back to the club and empty it of everyone inside. He then poured gasoline everywhere and with a blank expression of indifference, he tossed a match inside.

The club went up in flames consuming the whole building almost instantly. The fire destroyed everything; the liquor, tables and more importantly, the heroin stashed in the basement. It wasn’t long before the local news stations picked up the story airing it on the evening news.

However, just like any other story that involved the police, it was quickly covered up. No one came forward to give a statement about that night at the club and no one claimed responsibility for setting the fire. All the public knew was that a place known for selling drugs and prostitution was finally wiped from their neighborhood.

Brandon felt good. For now, he was above the law.