Camera flashes and an onslaught of questions bombarded Britain as he walked out of the courtroom alongside his lawyers. Britain wore a neat mocha suit with gold cuff links to accessorize. His goons followed him closely as they trailed behind him, all wearing black Armani suits and designer shades. They were all scattered throughout the courtroom in support of their organization’s leader. Britain had a superstar’s arrogance and shook hands with his team of lawyers as he made his way toward the court’s exit. He charismatically gave the reporters his boyish grin as he parted the massive crowd like Moses did the Red Sea.
The prosecutors were forced to postpone the trial because of the murder of their key witness. Without him they had no case. In Britain’s mind, he knew that he was off the hook, but the murder of the federal agents comprised an entirely new dilemma.
His lead lawyer was a middle-aged Jewish man who had the charm of Johnnie Cochran. He pushed the microphones out of his client’s face as he escorted him to his limo so that he could escape the pestering media. There were a line of limos in front of the courthouse that escorted his crew to and from the trial. His swagger was presidential.
Britain hid his drug money behind a string of Laundromats and seemed to be untouchable at that point. The DA hated it because of the irony behind it all. Britain owned the Laundromats to “wash” his dirty money. The district attorney shook his head in disgust as he watched the charade. It was as if Britain was thumbing his nose at the law and making a mockery of the Detroit Police Department. Britain gave one reporter a final wink before he approached his personal limo that was in front of the fleet.
“Okay, call me tomorrow. Congrats, Brick! We got this one in the bag,” the lawyer whispered in his ear as he opened the limo door and watched as Britain got in.
“No doubt,” Britain said as he sat in the vehicle and the lawyer closed his door shut. He took a deep breath as he rolled up his tinted window and leaned his head back in the headrest. “Turn that up,” Britain instructed the driver as he heard the distant sound of legendary jazz musician Miles Davis on his radio. Feeling his phone vibrate on his hip, he signaled his limo driver to pull off as he pulled his phone off his belt-buckle clip. He smiled, seeing that it was Six texting him. It read:
I JUST SAW YOU ON THE NEWS. IT’S CRAZY HOW THE MOST WANTED MAN IN THE CITY OF DETROIT IS SO FASCINATED WITH ME. I MUST BE A LUCKY GIRL. LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN…. SIX
Britain smiled as he put his phone back on his clip. He unbuckled his cuff links, loosened his tie, and popped a bottle of champagne that was waiting for him on ice in the back of the limo. “Feels good to be the boss,” he whispered just before he took a gulp of the expensive drink. His limo pulled off and the fleet of limos followed.
Six opened her trunk and grabbed her luggage from the rear. “Daddy!” she yelled, needing his help. Jones immediately emerged from the house with a joint hanging from his lip and a straw hat on. “Hold on, baby. I got you,” he said as he hurried, while still walking smoothly. Jones grabbed the big luggage from Six and pulled it out of the trunk for her.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she said as she grabbed her smaller Gucci bags from the backseat.
“No problem,” Jones said as he carried the luggage in the house.
“Thanks for letting me stay here with you for a while,” Six said as she followed her father into his house.
“No problem, baby. It will feel like old times when you used to love ya’ old man,” Jones said smiling, slightly out of breath, and set the luggage down on the floor. Then he sat down on the couch and lit his joint. Six put her bags down and sat next to him.
“Daddy, you know I love you,” she said, smiling back. Jones took a deep pull and handed her the joint. Six took the joint in between her index and pointing fingers and placed it to her lips. She inhaled deeply and knew that she was smoking nothing but the best. Jones always had the grade-A, top-shelf smoke.
“What’s going on with you and Free?” he asked, knowing something was up because Six had asked him if could she stay with him for a while.
“Nothing that I can’t handle, Daddy,” she said as she passed the weed back to him. “We have just been arguing so damn much and need some space.”
“Well, you guys are going to get it together. Free is a good nigga. Little rough around the edges, but I can tell he really loves you,” Jones said as he pointed his finger at Six knowingly. “If you’re anything like your mama, you got a mouth on you. You probably be nagging him to death.”
“Yeah, yeah…don’t nobody be bothering that boy and I don’t nag. We are going to be good, though. Just need some space,” Six responded, not wanting to let her father know about the plan to rob Britain, knowing he would disapprove. She felt bad for lying to her father, even if it was small. She had never had to lie to him, and their relationship was built on trust. However, Six knew it was best for Jones not to know about the plan. She knew how close Brick’s father and Jones were back in the day and she also knew there, was deep loyalty between the two families and she was breaking that. Fuck it! I got to hold my man down no matter what, she thought. Free had asked her to do it, and she was going to come through for him no matter what.
Jones nodded while remaining secretly suspicious. He knew how close Six and Free were, and it didn’t add up to him. A father’s intuition let him know that something was going on. He smiled and took a deep drag of his doobie, letting the smoke rest in his lungs before he blew it back out in circles. Nevertheless, he was glad to have Six around, so he wasn’t complaining. “Glad to have to you home, baby girl,” he said giving her his famous smile.