Chapter Six
Now that one problem was out of the way, Nolan had to focus on the next. Even though he claimed he was going to take it in for the night, he lied. What he was about to do next, he didn’t need his wife to worry about. She had enough on her plate. Besides, an airtight alibi for one murder was just as good as two or three, if need be. Nevertheless, Nolan would deal with it alone. Thinking back on one of the excuses Joe Brezzy-Bey gave for giving the team up to the law was his homeboy put him on to the idea. Well, whether he did was far beyond the case now. With all that had taken place over the previous day, he had to go as well, even if on the humble.
Nolan never ran with the likes of Trenton Franks. He was no more than an old, washed up ex-semipro basketball player. The longtime East Side resident never made it to the pros here in the United States but played one season overseas before a tragic, career-ending occurrence. Damage done to his kneecap and a severe ligament injury made him dependent on pain meds for relief. Trenton, like most, graduated to needing much more to get off the edge. His new drug of choice was heroin, aka raw, and sometimes crack. And the package Nolan and his crew, including Joe Brezzy-Bey, was handling was the strongest, most consistent thing running for almost four months straight, which was unheard of. At some point, the dope a dealer would cop would be weak and not be able to take a major cut. But what Nolan was working with could be stepped on many times with lactose, dormin, quinine, and it would still be very potent, strong, and desirable, and still stand strong in the streets. Even addicts trying to get the monkey off their backs and take methadone couldn’t shake that craving. Mr. White’s name was definitely ringing bells in certain circles and considered a target for jealous dealers and the police alike.
When Joe Brezzy-Bey muttered Trenton’s slimeball name, it wasn’t very hard to believe he had a hand in the turncoat bullshit. Those two had been best friends since eighth or ninth grade. They always looked out for each other, come hell or high water. So it would be a sure benefit for his manz to come up in the game, even though they were both getting high. Nolan had an idea where his soon-to-be victim laid his head. When you ran the streets, it was easy to find out just about anything, especially for a price. And even though heroin was the bag he was pushing to the middle age and younger set, the new popping drug crack was running wild. People were selling their souls and the souls of a newborn to get a rock. One suck on that glass dick, and a person was gone if their mind was weak.
Armed with a few rocks, Nolan had been pointed in the right direction the night he’d first tied up Brezzy-Bey after discovering he was a snitch. And now that he was burned and gone, Trenton’s fate awaited him. On a mission, Nolan drove by his destination to see if any cars were parked in front, if there were any lights on inside the house, and lastly, if there was any form of movement on the dimly lit block. Besides a stray cat, no signs of life occurred. He parked the next block over near the opposite corner. As he crept through the trash-filled alley, he saw the boys ride by with their lights off. They were either trying to sneak a nigga too or just too plain lazy to risk a resident in need flagging them down. Whatever the case, Detroit’s Finest was not a deterrent for what had to be done.
Like a ninja, Nolan moved accordingly. Once in the back area of the dilapidated shack Trenton called home, Nolan got ready. It was go time. Removing a full-face wool mask out of his rear pocket, he checked around his surroundings once more. Everything was clear. He pulled the mask down, covering all but his eyes and a small portion of his lips. The Black Bottom-trained killer placed a pair of rubber gloves on as he always did before doing unforgivable mischief.
Nolan eased his way up toward the rear of the dwelling as the dry, dead grass smashed beneath his feet. The backyard was littered with discarded debris and an old refrigerator missing the doors. Each wooden stair seemed to creak louder than the last, step by step. Hopefully, the disturbance in silence would not alert Trenton and any other of the house’s occupants. But if it did, the way Nolan was feeling, the play could go down out there in the moonlight.
Strap in hand, Nolan reached the top stair. He took in a deep breath of the night air. Cautiously, he opened the raggedy screen door on the enclosed porch. Only two yards away and a swift kick, he’d be inside ready to settle the score. Whether Trenton truly had something to do with it, at this point, it didn’t matter. Shit was in full motion. If he didn’t, he could thank his best friend Joe Brezzy-Bey when he got to hell. They could both snort dope down there for eternity for all Nolan cared. His conscience would be clear.
The little female crackhead Nolan blessed with a few rocks swore Trenton lived alone in the bungalow-style house . . . That was, if she wasn’t there keeping him company. So this would be an easy kill for Nolan . . . in and out. Or so he was anticipating.
Nolan was seeking retribution, and his movements were extremely guarded. From this point on, the habitual criminal had to be in both defensive and offensive mode. Those traits were required if he wished to come out victorious in what was sure to be a one-sided battle.
As he lifted his foot, prepared to slam it against the door, he paused. Tugging slightly downward on his mask, he noticed something strange. The door was ajar. At this time of night, especially on the East Side of Detroit, that was abnormal. However, with the door being as it was, that meant Nolan did not need to kick it in and make noise, alerting Trenton that death was coming.
On the other hand, it could also be a sign of two looming options. One being that someone from the inside had peeped a masked intruder coming and was lying in wait, ready to pull an ambush move. Or the other being that God had blessed this soon-to-be exterminator of life and left the door open. The latter of the two would be favorable for most, but Nolan White was a Black Bottom-born warrior who showed no real fear since birth. If, indeed, it was a potential ambush in the making, that would make the bloodthirsty game of murder even more enjoyable to Kapri’s wild-minded husband.
Ready to die on point and principal, Nolan had zero insecurities or reservations of what was about to take place. Inhaling a small bit of the night air, he exhaled. With murderous intent and no more delays, he burst through the door. Aiming his weapon in every direction as if he were SWAT executing a raid, the revenge mission advanced. Although the room was dark, Nolan aimed the pistol over to the right, then strategically to the left. With his finger eager to pull the trigger, the hood-trained assassin then made sure no one was hiding behind the flimsy door. No visible movement took place.
It took no time to realize the first room he’d entered was empty. Nolan continued his gamble with death as he thankfully discovered the second and third rooms were clear as well. Not surprisingly, from the shabby looks of the exterior of the house, none of the rooms had furniture. Not even the kitchen had a refrigerator. It was likely the one out back. A white stove stood there that, even in the dark, Nolan could tell was not fit to cook on. Many dishes, pots, and pans were stacked in the sink. Trying not to breathe in the awful household stench through the mask, Nolan wondered who would want to eat here, let alone sleep in the filth.
Not allowing his mind to be distracted, Nolan maintained his gun at a defensive level. With each passing step, the vindictive felon was met with darkness and uncertainty. What the fuck! Does anybody even live in this raggedy, stankin’ son of a bitch? I mean . . . damn.
Firearm drawn, eager to shoot, cautiously, he turned the corner. Without hesitation, the same steps he’d made when he first entered the dwelling that Trenton supposedly resided at were reenacted. He aimed his gun in every conceivable direction in anticipation of trouble. Yet, once more, nothing was lurking. That didn’t sit well with Nolan. Something wasn’t right. Motionless, he stood in the hallway of what appeared to be a deserted dwelling. There was no movement or sign of life in the house, other than his own, which Nolan found strange.
He hoped for the young crackhead’s sake that she had not lied to him about the address just to get the rocks. He’d hate to have to find and deal with her for sending him on a dummy mission. He knew her name, Roberta Tanner.
Just as the lone gunman started to question her information as being false, he saw a small bit of light illuminating from under one of the closed doors. Oh shit, okay, damn, maybe that bitch was telling the truth after all. Trenton’s ho ass must be in there. So good, then there where he’s gonna die.
Time was ticking, and enough of it had been wasted on the creep. Now, action had to be put in play. On the stalk, Nolan now headed toward the light. The other bedrooms he passed were dark, so he didn’t even bother to check them. The street assassin just kept his eye focused on the prize. Nearing the shut door, he leaned inward. Faintly, he heard the sounds of snoring, mixed with a rerun of The Golden Girls. Yeah, this it. It’s go time in this motherfucker.
Thinking of Joe Brezzy-Bey’s rat ass and what that paperwork said, Nolan went into full killing mode. Gripping up on the handle of the pistol, he used his free hand to reach down and turn the knob. Slowly, the Black Bottom-gangster twisted it until he knew it had clicked. Once he flung the door open, he bum-rushed in, ready to let off a few rounds, if need be. The smell trapped inside of that room hit him in the face like a brick. It was ten times worse than that of the entire house, causing Nolan’s throat to grow increasingly dry. But there was no time to deal with hygiene issues in that house. He had other, more pressing matters to handle.
With malicious intent, Nolan headed over to a mattress and box spring that lay on the floor. From the light from the small television sitting on top of a milk crate, it was easy to see that more than one person lay in the bed, knocked out. Damn, there’s two motherfuckers in this stankin’ son of a bitch they call a house. Oh well, fuck it. I got enough bullets for both they asses!
It was easy to make out his mark. Trenton’s extralong legs and feet extended far beyond the length of the mattress and box spring. Whoever was lying next to him was petite in the frame. Although Nolan could have just as well easily shot them both in their drugged out, zombie slumber, he wanted to look Trenton in his eyes. Nolan wanted it to be known that just like his homeboy had ratted him out to the law to save his own ass, Joe Brezzy-Bey had done the same to him as well. Nolan wanted the junkie to see his certain death coming straight on for aiding and abetting an informant. Assisting a rat was just as bad as being one yourself. So, for that, the infamous Mr. White needed a face-to-face before pulling the trigger. For some strange reason, Nolan got off on that type of shit, even making it his “thing” before sending someone on their way.
He nudged them both with his pistol. The female was the first to squirm a bit, then, somewhat, wake up. Finally, she turned over, and Nolan saw a portion of her face. The light from the television was not too good, but it was fairly easy to see, she was no stranger. He recognized her as his apparently reliable source of information from the other day. Sadly, the girl had no way of knowing that she had basically signed her own death certificate giving up Trenton’s whereabouts. But she did, so that was about to be that. Nolan felt no guilt or shame killing the opposite sex, if need be.
Seconds later, more movement occurred. Trenton was now semiawake as well. Both their reactions were the same... utter confusion thinking that the heroin they’d snorted and crack pipe they’d hit had them hallucinating. Their minds and eyes had to be playing tricks on them. Within seconds of making sure they weren’t having a nightmare of sorts, it became alarmingly clear to both drug addicts what was happening was indeed a horrible reality. A man towered over them in a black, full-face mask. And the gun he was holding was pointed directly at them, poised to fire. While the girl was not capable of forming words, Trenton was the first to find the ability to respond verbally.
“What the fuck! What in the hell is this? What’s happening? Who is you?” Instinctively, he attempted to get up, but he held up, realizing the masked gunman meant business.
“Shut up, nigga. You’ll find all that out soon enough.” Nolan felt negative energy rush through his body. He was more than ready to settle the score.
“Yo, why you here like this? I ain’t got no money or nothing.” Confused, the once basketball star rattled off question after question while cowardly attempting to use the female as a human shield.
“Look, my nigga, didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up? Now, if you say one more thing, I’ma put one in your head just because,” he growled, ready to make good on his word.
“Dawg, it ain’t no more of that shit.” He pointed toward the drug residue plate on the floor. “We used it last night. I swear to God. And you can check. And I ain’t got no money.”
“I see you think I’m bullshitting with you about that fucking mouth.” Nolan quickly put the gun over the girl’s shoulder, shoving the barrel into Trenton’s forehead. “And I don’t give a shit about no drugs or little cash you might have. This ain’t that.”
“Please, oh my God, please. I didn’t do anything.” Finding her voice, the distraught girl professed to be faultless in whatever was going down. While doing so, she sobbed as she tried to get away from her “get high partner’s” strong-arm hold.
With an advantage, Nolan looked down at Trenton with disgust. Here, this oversized man had the nerve to hold a female much too young for him from jump, closely, as if bullets don’t go through flesh. He was a real waste of skin, and the world would surely be a better place without him occupying space. Obviously, being scared was no reason for a real man to turn straight bitch as he was. Trenton apparently didn’t care that the filthy bedsheet was now on the floor, and his girl’s flat-chested breasts were exposed. He was out for self, and she would have to deal with her own pride later. That was . . . if the couple made it to see daybreak.
Panicked, Trenton would not shut up as ordered. Nolan was weary of his theatrics and laid his cards on the table before pulling the trigger. The strong smell would not allow him to stay confined in the room much longer without getting sick to his stomach. He’d had enough nose hair burning stenches filling his nostrils earlier from Joe Brezzy-Bey’s rotten rat ass. “Look here, faggot, fuck you, this bony bitch, and that shit y’all be talking. This right here ain’t even about all of that. I’m here on some other type level shit.”
“Okay, man. What, what is this about?” Trenton begged for his life, ready and willing to say just about anything to get out of that house and dire situation.
“Dawg, look, I know what the fuck you tried doing, with ya ho ass. But it ain’t work. It ain’t work out for him, and damn showl ain’t gonna work out for you. Both you lames gonna fall.”
Having a gun shoved in his face and the promise of great bodily harm being done to him, Trenton totally shook off his narcotic high. He was now wide awake and somewhat in his right mind. He was listening to his masked captor but was lost in what he meant. Terrified but having a desire to live, Trenton’s voice raised, almost demanding an explanation. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what you talking about. You got to have the wrong person. I ain’t did jack shit to nobody. Why you doing this? If this is about this bitch and some fucked-up bullshit she did—here—take her.” He roughly pushed his companion onto the floor. “She yours. I don’t want no trouble. You can take her ass and go.”
Taking a few steps back, Nolan now had the sobbing female at his feet begging for mercy. This entire scene was beginning to be too much to deal with. Ready to reveal his motives for murder, Nolan used his free hand to pull up the mask uncovering his face. Even though the light from the television was dim, it was still easy for Trenton and the girl to see Nolan’s face.
“Naw, my nigga, this ain’t about her. This about your lame ass trying to boss up and mix and mingle in my business affairs.”
“Wait, hold up. Is that . . . ” Trenton said, puzzled, wide-eyed, and almost in tears.
“Yeah, you slimeball motherfucker, it’s me.”
“But I don’t understand.” Trenton went on with trying to play with Nolan’s intelligence, and doing that didn’t sit well with him.
“Look, pussy, enough with the games. I know what you and that punk-ass snake Brezzy-Bey was up to.”
“Huh?” Trenton’s facial expression told the tale.
“Yeah, nigga, he gave you up right before he took one to the back of the head.”
“What in the hell? Damn, Nolan, hold up.” Trenton tried to stand to his feet again but was forced to remain on the far side of the filthy mattress, sensing a bullet coming his way.
“Yeah? For what? Fool, like I said, I know what you put ole boy up to.”
“Hey, big dawg, it’s me, Trenton. Come on, now. You know who I am. Remember me from around the way? Why you here like this, man? I mean, what’s going on?” He continued to stumble over each word that came out of his mouth, further proving his guilt.
“Oh my God! I know you,” the young, once drug-free girl blurted out still on her knees in search of clemency from whatever was about to go down. “You gave me—”
Frustrated with the mere sound of her voice, Nolan cut her off midsentence. There was no great need to expose that her ratchet crackhead ass was a rat too. “Whatever, girl. You might just need to shut the fuck up and let grown men talk. And maybe you might make it up out this bitch alive. Ya feel me? Now, be your ass quiet.”
“Okay, okay, I will. I promise.” Instantly, the petrified female did as she was told, wanting nothing more than to live. Trembling in fear, she wanted nothing more than to go back to the days before she smoked her first rock. But now, it was too late for all of that. Her life seemed doomed.
Nolan then briefly ran down to Trenton why he knew he was not innocent in even whispering in the ear of his manz to turn on him. “Real rap, my dude, I find it amazing I done just said ya boy from back in the day Brezzy-Bey took one to the back of the head, and you ain’t even blinked once behind the shit. Y’all two been like Batman and Robin, and you just like blank face he dead?”
“Dawg, I swear I was just going to ask you what—”
“Come on, guy, don’t try to run none of them dope fiend games on me. You and that fool been getting high for years and heavy hitting my bag up short for the last few months or so.” Nolan’s voice grew more agitated as the gun he was holding was begging for him to pull the trigger. “Dig this here. Before I let this bitch sing, I just wanted you to see my face and go to hell knowing a nigga like you could never!”
Hearing the promise of impending murder, the dope-sick female was once again crying loudly, this time pointing toward the door. She was panic-stricken. She was frantic. She thought about trying to jump out of the window or maybe make a run for the door. She was visibly on the verge of a nervous breakdown as the tears poured from her eyes and confusion set in. She wanted nothing more than to leave Trenton to die on his own just as he was willing for her to do. Off the chain, she would only be silent again after Nolan slapped her in the center of the face with the gun’s handle. The force of the blow caused a nice-size gash and sent her crawling off into the corner like an injured animal. Horrified, she pressed the palm of her hand tightly over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Blood trickled down from the fresh head wound. She was about to black out. Nude as the day she was born, the self-degraded addicted whore who’d given Nolan the location in the first place rocked back and forth, staring at the doorway.
Rushing closer to the bed, Nolan slightly tilted his head. He was all the way in his zone. With contempt, his upper lip snarled as he gave Trenton a message for Joe Brezzy-Bey. “Tell that little faggot I said never bite the hand that feeds you.”
“Dawg, wait, wait! Let me explain. Come on, Nolan. Damn, dawg, for old time’s sake, just hear me out, please.” Out of his mind dreading what was about to take place, Trenton made a final attempt at getting a stay of execution.
“Yo, my nigga, real rap…. Ain’t no good come from those that snitch. I already told him once before he took his last breath, but you go to hellfire and reinforce my words.”
Trenton scrambled in an attempt to get down in between the wall and the soiled mattress, but to no avail. He put his needle-tracked, scarred arms up in hopes of shielding what was coming next and started to snivel. At that moment, he reflected on why he had even put that thought into his homeboy’s mind. When Brezzy-Bey came to him explaining what the police wanted him to do, he should have warned him just to man up and take the time. From the beginning of time, snitches always met a cruel fate. But the drugs had clouded his judgment. All Trenton wanted was maybe a little extra play when he went to cop if Brezzy-Bey had actually taken over. But now that greediness for a temporary come-up in the hood had Trenton cooked. He, just like his childhood friend, had overplayed his position. At one point, the ex-basketball player had traveled all over Europe, staying in some of the finest hotels. Now, Trenton Franks would die a broke drug addict on a filthy mattress, wishing he could turn back the hands of time.
Aggressive in nature, Nolan then acted. He got what he came for… complete utter satisfaction. He pulled the trigger. A single gunshot rang out. If nothing else, Nolan could find his target in pitch-black circumstances without a flashlight. He was a ghetto-trained marksman, to say the least. The bullet found its way dead in the middle of his victim’s forehead. In slow motion, Trenton’s body lost all signs of life. He slumped over, going limp. Nolan lowered his gun.
Watching the female out of the corner of his eye, he bent over to double-check, making sure Trenton was indeed deceased. Skilled in his deadly craft, “the Shooter” learned early on not to leave any witnesses alive to tell the tale. At least not if you could help it. That part of the game was universal.
The loud, ear-piercing sound of the gunshot echoed off the walls of the bedroom. It seemed to shake the frame of the dwelling. Already hysterical, the young female had urinated on herself and could keep quiet no longer. She screamed out, witnessing Trenton take his final breath. Not knowing how nosy the nearby residents were in the neighborhood, Nolan knew he had to make tracks before anyone decided to call the police to investigate. As he turned, he saw the girl still over in the corner now hyperventilating. Although Nolan was thankful she had given him the address to Trenton’s whereabouts, she had been paid for her services in crack cocaine. So, to him, she’d enjoyed her payment in full for unknowingly being a rat. But it was that ratlike quality that meant she had to go as well as Trenton and Joe Brezzy-Bey. No matter how much she claimed she would not snitch, she’d seen his face and could not be trusted. He pointed his pistol in her direction. She was up next. This would be a record for Nolan . . . three bodies in less than twelve hours.
In desperation, the drug-dazed female spoke out. In the middle of all her tears and pleas of mercy, she managed to remind Nolan that he said if she would just shut the fuck up, she would be able to make it out alive. “Buuuut, you said—”
Nolan laughed some at her nerve and stupidity. How could he not? She was straight fooling. This was one for the books. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife about this bullshit later on down the line. “Come on, now, girl, you can’t be serious with this. Sorry for ya luck, but you what’s called collateral damage.”
More tears flowed as she gasped repeatedly. “Wait, please, but you said—”
There was no need to degrade her further. Nolan could only shake his head in disbelief. Out of respect, he held back his laughter as he simply explained, “Damn, little lady, it’s safe to assume if I’m a murderer, I’m a liar too!” No more words had a chance to come out of her mouth as Nolan let off another round. It found its mark in her lower throat area. Her head jerked back twice. Like most people terrified during their final moments alive, she died with her eyes wide open. It was as if she’d just smoked a rock and was on the search for another blast. Nolan looked at her, not with regret or remorse, but with a smile. Girl, you was funny as hell. You should’ve been a comedian instead of a crackhead. Wait until I tell Kapri what you said.
It was time to be out. Nolan looked at both deceased bodies, then headed down the hallway to make his escape. Overall, he’d had a productive, although busy, day. Content with himself, suddenly, he heard a sound from one of the dark bedrooms he’d initially assumed were empty. Weapon raised again, Nolan was ready to put in more work, if need be. One more on his body count would be nothing to do. He had enough bullets, so it was what it was.
He stepped back some into the shadow, his finger slowly caressed the trigger. The sound was getting closer. Nolan aimed at the open doorway, ready to react to whatever the looming potential threat was. Oh hell, fucking naw! Ain’t this about some shit, he thought, looking downward. To Nolan’s surprise, a sniffling baby no more than nine, maybe ten months, crawled off of a pile of dirty clothes that were serving as a crib of sorts. The loud, alarming sound of the gunshot must have awakened the sleeping child.
Once in the hallway, the diaper-clad infant and Nolan locked eyes. The baby whined, wanting comfort. He wanted to be picked up, but that was definitely not going to happen. Taking a few steps out of the way, Nolan allowed the fussy baby to crawl into the other bedroom. He realized once inside of that room, the innocent baby would discover its deceased mother slumped over on the floor, and Trenton in the same condition not too far away. Nolan was an inhuman, ruthless brute when need be. And the vicious shooter stood by his rule of never leaving a witness who could testify, but the type of heartless shit of being labeled a “baby killer” wasn’t in him. That was going too far, even for him. Savage, yes—animal, never.
In the midst of all the bodies Kapri’s husband had accumulated over the past twelve or so hours, this was his one good deed for the day. The tiny child would be blessed with remaining in the land of the living, knowing it couldn’t identify Nolan White as the shooter. With a clear conscience, he pulled his mask back down, covering his face. Content in his actions, he left the same way he’d entered, heading toward his car, knowing he had settled the score on betrayal.
The following day, Nolan knew he would have to gather the crew. His new mission would be trying to low-key peep out if there were any more weak links like Joe Brezzy-Bey that needed to be dealt with. And if there were any, a bullet to their head would be their fate as well.
* * *
Everything was everything, picture-perfect. No compromise and no negotiations. The caper had gone just as Nolan and Kapri mapped out for the untimely demise of Joe Brezzy-Bey. And now, Nolan had two more bodies for the night he’d have to explain to Kapri and God one day. He reasoned that leaving the baby alive would bring him a blessing somewhere down the road, so he was good, Karma-wise. For now, as it stood, the couple had just gotten away with triple murders. However, things like cold-blooded, premeditated murder could never be as simple as the assailant would want.
Unfortunately, there was always a hiccup in every supposed perfect plan, along with a price to pay. And someone getting caught up on the humble was always a big risk and strong possibility. As time passed, Nolan and Kapri White found themselves not exempt from that destiny. Their roosters would certainly come home to roost.