“Take the bass out of your fucking voice before I let you hear a tiny whisper that’ll leave you speechless.”
—Miamor
Daniel Broome rolled out of bed when the smell of fresh bacon frying hit him in the early morning hour. His bare chest was muscle-less and hairy, accompanied by a slim frame, and small waist. He wasn’t much of a man. But what he lacked in stature, he made up for in reputation. His tenacity and ambition had gained him an excellent conviction rate at work. He was the most fast tracked prosecuting attorney the region had seen in quite a while. He ran a hand through his messy hair and made his way out to the kitchen where his wife and young daughter were already seated around the table.
“Morning honey,” he said as he gave her a soft swat on the behind and a kiss on the cheek. She never turned from the stove as she prepared breakfast.
“Mornin’,” she responded. “Breakfast will be done in a sec. There’s coffee in the pot.”
“I just need to grab the morning paper first,” he replied. He stepped out onto his porch and retrieved the Miami Herald. Wandering back into the house, he grabbed the hot cup of brew that his lovely wife now had waiting at his seat.
“Morning daddy,” his daughter piped, finally looking up from her coloring project.
“Morning sunshine,” he answered. Making himself comfortable, he unrolled his paper and took a sip of the brew.
Before he could even dive into the reporting he frowned as a photo fell from within the pages. He gasped when he saw an image of himself handing money to Timmy “Two Time” Bono.
“Is everything okay?” his wife asked as she turned briefly from her cooking.
“Uh . . . yeah,” he stammered as he quickly stood and grabbed the picture. “Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine. Look I’m going to head in early for the office. I’ve got a heavy case load today,” he lied, eager to get out of the house. He rushed back to the bedroom with the newspaper and photo in hand. “Fuck!” he cursed. He tossed the paper on his bed and noticed a bet slip from the horse race. He picked it up. On it in big bold letters he read the words . . .
GOTCHA!
Thoughts ran through his mind a mile a minute as he fumbled with his clothing. He didn’t even bother washing off yesterday’s stink before dressing and rushing out of the door. Before he could even reach his car a black sedan pulled up at his curb. He paused, his car key grasped between his thumb and pointer finger, as he diverted his attention to the vehicle.
Honk!
The beep of the horn made him eerily aware that the surprise visitor was for him. He looked around and then unsurely made his way down his driveway and toward the tinted car. The back window rolled down and Miamor sat wrapped in an expensive silk scarf. The large Chanel sunglasses she wore hid the intention that shone in her eyes.
“Get in,” she said, the tone of her voice leaving no room for him to decline. She popped open the door and moved over to the other side of the car. Broome fisted his hair and sighed heavily before hunching down to enter.
“It seems you’re in quite the predicament Mr. Prosecuting Attorney,” Miamor began. “You lost money, evidence money, on a horse race. It was supposed to be a sure bet, but it wasn’t. Now you have to come up with the money to replace the borrowed evidence before anyone realizes its gone missing.”
Daniel Broome, the young cocky P.A., with his American boy wit was speechless. He turned beet red as he realized Miamor had his balls in a vice grip. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he roared. His heart felt like it would implode as an ache of devastation vibrated through his chest. He could see his entire future being flushed down the drain. His college boy gambling fun had turned into a nasty habit, one that had led him straight into the arms of the devil.
“Simmer down Mr. Broome,” Miamor said as she looked out of the window without a care in the world. “You feel that? Your tie feels like it’s cutting off your oxygen and your hands suddenly became moist. Your stomach is a bottomless pit and your throat as dry as the Sahara,” she described. “That’s how I felt when you brought a case against the man I love. It felt like the walls were falling in around me. You had all the power, but now . . . I have the power and I’m a ruthless dictator. . . I don’t rule fairly. The only thing that stopped me from running in your house and tying up your kids and slitting your wife’s throat while you watched . . . was the fact that you had so many fucking Feds watching me. So consider this route the easy one. You can keep your career and no one has to know about the missing evidence if you play this by my rules from this point forward.”
Broome’s entire body was tense and he was pressed so closely to the door that Miamor thought he would fall out of the car. She recognized his fear. He was afraid of her. Many had been before, but she had never felt satisfaction like this until now. Before her murder game had been a job. This time it felt personal. Part of her wanted to say the code word so that Aries could fill Broome with bullets from the place where she rested in the trunk, but she held her composure. She needed him alive, at least for the moment. She needed him to drop the case.
“You are threatening an officer of the court! I will . . .”
“You will take the bass out of your fucking voice before I let you hear a tiny whisper that’ll leave you speechless,” Miamor said as she placed a chrome pistol with a chrome silencer in her lap.
Broome’s eyes watered as he was instantly brought back to reality. “I’m here to make you an offer. I’ll give you the money you need to replace the evidence.”
“Your accounts are frozen,” he whispered.
“You’re a fool if you think we don’t have access to greater assets,” Miamor laughed. “If you drop the case against us, our men and the entire Cartel syndicate, I will give you the money in cash. You can replace the evidence and no one will ever have to know that you took it. If not, I’m going to ruin your career.”
“I can’t just drop the case, there are witness statements, evidence . . .”
Miamor interrupted him. “Give me the locations of the witnesses. I can make them disappear. The statements will be recanted or silenced. Carter, Zyir, and Monroe aren’t dead. Once you drop the charges they will come home. You can reduce the charges if dropping them seems too fishy. Reduce them all the way down. I’m talking slaps on the wrist, a few months in jail at the max. No real jail time.”
Broome was in a state of shock as his chin hit his chest. It was at that moment that he realized that he was in over his head. How three men had evaded federal arrest was beyond him. Not only that, they had been smart enough to make the government stop pursuing them. He wanted to stay on the right side of the law but there was no way he could get out of an evidence scandal without ruining everything he had worked for.
“Do we have a deal?” she asked. The car stopped moving and Broome peered out of the window to see that they had pulled right back to his house.
“How do I know you won’t cross me after the case is dropped,” Broome said.
Miamor reached into the front seat grabbed the bag off of the passenger seat. She passed it to Broome. “There’s your evidence money. The rest, you’ll just have to trust me on. The fact that I have something over your head will keep your cross hairs off of The Cartel. If we ever go down, you’ll fall with us,” she assured.
Daniel Broome nodded his head in understanding and then exited the car. As he watched the sedan pull away his wife came up behind him, taking him by surprise.
“Holy Hell! Donna!” he screamed on her, jumpy as ever.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Nobody,” he mumbled. “I’ve got to go to work.”
He hurried into his own car and pulled off, leaving his wife standing in their front yard watching him leave in concern. He drove all the way to the end of the block before the stop sign halted him. Gripping the steering wheel with two hands he lowered his head and sobbed like a baby. He had just gotten in bed with Satan and he knew that no matter how the situation played out, he would eventually be burned.