The Deadline Page 5

  “Mama!” I screeched. She had gone still and was lying flat on her back. Her mouth hung open, her eyes were wide, staring straight up at nothing, and her hair lay around her like a death shroud.

  “Get up, Mama! Get up!” I was screaming, but nothing happened. I was stuck on that floor, looking at my mother, but she lay on the floor stiff. I wouldn’t leave her side to go get Kyle. I was praying he would wake up from my screams. I couldn’t breathe, and that throbbing in my heart had already stopped. I couldn’t help my mother or myself. I was powerless and I couldn’t wake her. I looked around, and the bastard that got her like this was nowhere to be found. I wondered if he had a conscience and was regretting giving my mother the drugs.

  It was useless to keep screaming. We no longer had a phone in our house. I didn’t know if I was going to be stuck there forever, or if someone would eventually find us. I definitely wasn’t leaving her. The feeling of powerlessness was one that I had never experienced before and the one that I couldn’t understand then and probably would never be able to speak about again.

  “Mama, you can’t go. You can’t go,” I cried, placing my head on her chest. After that, I just remembered a flurry of activity and suddenly Kyle was there. The last thing I remember thinking was, if she lives, I will make her proud, and I will never, ever use drugs in my life.

  * * *

  Kyle suddenly blew out some more smoke and snapped me out of that nightmarish memory of watching my mother overdose. I shrugged off the thoughts about him and his drugs. I figured, to each his own. And if after what we went through, he still didn’t care about what drugs could do to his life, who was I to tell him? I’d done all of that when we were teenagers. The counselors we went to as kids and teens had said both of us would have our own coping mechanisms as we grew up. If nothing else they said was true, that statement definitely was. Kyle and I had chosen different ways to cope with all of the tragedy in our lives. My coping came through pouring myself into school and becoming utterly obsessed with being a successful journalist and on-air reporter. Kyle’s way of dealing was getting involved in any- and everything that was against what society said was right.

  Kyle woke up daily to find ways to buck any system he perceived was holding him back. He often got high and went on for hours about government conspiracies and “the man,” as he called it. I never really knew who this “man” that was holding us all down was supposed to be, so most times I just nodded and agreed. It was common in the hood to hear dudes that refused to work or make their lives better through school say stuff like “the white man” or “the man” or “the government” was holding them back. Although, if I had to put a face on the so-called oppressive “man,” he would definitely look like my boss, Christian Aniston!

  I still loved my brother more than anything, though. He was my everything. I would die for him, and I’m sure he would die for me too. Our bond was as strong as steel.

  * * *

  “A’ight, twin. I’m ready,” Kyle announced, stubbing out his blunt and breaking up my thoughts. “This shit is now or never. And just know the things I do for you, including this crazy-ass shit, it all out of love.”

  I inhaled deeply and exhaled a shaky, nervous breath. “I’m ready too,” I said tentatively. “And I love you just the same, brother.”

  “Make sure you have your phone on silent and no flash on your camera. I bet there will be a lot to take pictures of . . . Shit, you may get lucky and see the man himself,” Kyle told me.

  “You mean Barker?” I asked.

  Kyle chuckled a bit. “That’s a reach. That nigga is like a ghost in the game. Just fix your phone so you don’t get us killed. Not right now at least.” Kyle laughed again, but I didn’t find anything funny. My brain was on alert from that moment on.

  I fumbled with my cell phone to make sure everything was the way Kyle said it should be. I cued up the phone camera to make sure the screen was there when I was ready for it. Sweat started pouring down my back and across my forehead. I could feel the nerve in my left eye jumping. That’s what always happened when I was nervous, in distress, or just plain scared out of my fucking mind. I didn’t know what we were about to walk into, but I said a silent prayer that we would make it back out. Kyle started out of the door, but I grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  “Wait . . . what’s the guy’s name? The detective,” I asked.

  “In the streets we know him as Redds, but his real name is Marlon Keith . . . so I guess at the station they call him Detective Keith,” Kyle replied. He shook his head. “The dude really does live a double life. You’ll see. I can show you better than I can tell you. That clean-cut, dapper, happy cop you saw ain’t going to be what you see now . . . I’m sure about that.”

  I shook my head in amazement. This was crazy. There was already an unbelievable story forming in my head. I could even see myself reporting on it from the live desk. My insides tingled from the thought.

  “C’mon, we only have a small bit of time,” Kyle said with a bit of urgency.

  “Okay,” I said, grabbing for my door handle too. I stopped for a second again.

  “Kyle.”

  He turned and looked at me with an awkward frown.

  “Just know that I love you, no matter what. And thanks for always looking out,” I said sincerely.

  He straightened up his face and smiled. “We don’t have time to waste today, twin. We need to be on our square,” he replied like a schoolteacher. He was a stickler for time and staying on our A-game. We needed to be on high alert.

  Kyle and I exited the car in the bushes. I followed his lead as he ducked down and practically crawled toward the back of the little shack. We stayed low and my knees were burning. I was out of shape. That little bit of crab walking had done me in and I was huffing and puffing, trying to catch my breath by the time we both made it to our destination. I swallowed hard and fought to catch my breath. Kyle did a couple of hand motions that let me know we were at the place that Redds, or, better yet, Detective Keith, had gone into. Kyle signaled for me to crouch so I could look into the cracks in the wood. The slits seemed to have been made to perfectly fit my eyes. I looked through and watched and listened. I was amazed all over again. This was like some crime-movie shit playing out. I could hear so clearly, it scared me. If I could hear them, could they hear me creeping around outside? I thought. Still, I couldn’t stop watching and listening.

  There was a bunch of men standing around. Some were black and some Hispanic. It was like two sides about to go to war or something. Each side flanked their apparent leader, and each side held their guns in plain sight.

  “Let’s do this,” Detective Keith said, like he wanted to get to the business at hand. He had changed into a black leather jacket and black jeans. A far cry from his suit and tie. He didn’t look like he was there to make small talk. Also, a far cry from the smiling and chatting we saw him doing outside the police station. A guy dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans turned toward another guy dressed the same; the only thing distinguishing them apart was their different-colored footwear. In unison the clones walked a few paces and retrieved two black duffel bags from the spare tire well in the back of the vehicle they had come in. It wouldn’t have been believable except I was watching it go down.

  Even through the little slits in the wood, I could see the strain on their faces as they lugged the bags over. A Hispanic man with a head full of dark, curly hair, and dressed similarly to Detective Keith, walked over, flanked by two of his men. His men weren’t wearing all black; in fact, I thought they were dressed pretty bright for this kind of transaction to be going down. I could tell these guys were on different sides because they held guns at their waists like they were on the ready for anything that might pop off. They all watched as Detective Keith’s workers unzipped the bags to reveal crisp new stacks of cash bound with thick red rubber bands. I moved my eyes from the cracks in the wood and looked over at Kyle, who was peeking through another crack. I made a gesture to him that sai
d, Gotdamn, do you see that money? He widened his eyes and shook his head, as if to say, Hell yeah, I see that shit!

  Voices coming from inside made me put my eye back to the hole. I listened closely, fully enthralled and nervous.

  “The first bag is for what we received last night on the first shipment. The second is the first half of what is owed for the missing shipment,” Detective Keith said smoothly, like he was an old-school drug dealer and not actually a cop.

  My heart fluttered under my rib cage like a moth trapped in a jar. So far, I’d seen enough to build the most scandalous story ever. I could feel the cogs and wheels of my mind turning with ideas on how to report on this.

  “Check it,” the Hispanic man said, nodding and handing the bags off to his partners. The two men meticulously lifted each stack of cash, flicking through them as if they were decks of cards. As fast as they flipped, I could tell they were still being meticulous about the count.

  “All here,” one of the Hispanic man’s henchmen said. When they were done counting the money and secured the bags in their vehicle, the Hispanic man stepped closer to the crooked detective.

  Even from my position outside and looking in, I could feel the palpable tension inside. I hurried up and got my phone out. I put the camera up to another tiny slit and tried to record and watch what was happening at the same time. It was risky, I know, but I had to at least get a little bit of footage so that Christian would believe it. I mean, if I were in her shoes and a junior reporter came in with this story, I might not believe the shit either.

  “There’s something else. I have one more point of business to discuss,” the Hispanic man said, looking around the room and then back at Detective Keith.

  I raised my eyebrows in nervous anticipation of what was to come. A hot feeling came over me, which told me something was about to go down. When your gut tells you something, it is usually correct. Anything was possible in this type of business. At least that is what Kyle always told me.

  “I know this will be hard to hear, but I have to do as I was instructed,” the Hispanic man said, sounding as if he was stalling.

  I could see Detective Keith shift his weight from one foot to the next, listening intently.

  “Get to it,” he grumbled, impatiently looking at his watch.

  “My boss wanted me to let you know that there is a traitor in your midst,” the Hispanic man finally relayed, his words dropping like a grenade in an open field. It even made my breath catch in my throat. I moved my eye for a split second to compose myself before I blew my cover.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Detective Keith exploded, placing his left hand on his waistband. “Don’t come in here making accusations you’re not ready to defend. Me and my boss don’t take kindly to that shit,” he snarled.

  The Hispanic man’s men moved in like ready soldiers. Detective Keith’s men followed his lead, with their hands on their weapons as well. It looked like a gang-turf war about to go down.

  “Listen, I’m not here to fight,” the Hispanic man said, putting his hands up to ward his guys off. He addressed Detective Keith directly, agitation lacing his words as he bit down into his jaw. “My boss asked me to deliver this as proof to our claims. We don’t ever make allegations that we can’t support. You should know better than that. We are in the same business, and sometimes shit like this can’t be avoided.”

  I sucked in my breath as I watched the Hispanic man reach inside his pocket and take out a package. It was a fairly large envelope. All of Detective Keith’s men shifted in the distance behind him, the metal of their weapons clicking and cocking. Detective Keith took a few steps back, not sure what the next move would be. The Hispanic man and his men did the same, holding their guns at the high ready. Detective Keith tore the envelope open; it was like what was inside was going to determine everyone’s fate. I could see that his hands were shaking. Everyone’s eyes were glued on him, including Kyle’s and mine. It was like time had stood still. The anticipation was buzzing in the air. I thought I could actually hear it. I didn’t even want to blink my eyes, for fear I’d miss something. Detective Keith finally got a look at what was inside. From where I stood and peeked, I could see what looked like pictures in his hand, but I wasn’t sure. Suddenly I could see the dirty detective’s shoulders slump and he inhaled deeply. The scene inside that remote shack was so intense; even I found myself swallowing the fear that had formed into a ball in my throat.

  What the fuck is it they have? My mind raced. I needed answers. And I needed them quick.

  “Proof,” the Hispanic man said calmly, folding his hands in front of him like a praying priest, as he watched Detective Keith hesitantly sift through the contents of the package.

  “This is bullshit! They playing games right now! You don’t have to look at shit they got to offer,” one of the detective’s workers suddenly shouted from somewhere to his left. The guy came rushing over and tried to use his body to knock the contents out of the detective’s hand. “We came here to pay for the shipment. Period. All this extra shit is not needed!” the same worker shouted; his tone was laced with panic.

  Kyle looked over at me and gestured as if to say, I told you so!

  “Why is your man here so nervous?” the Hispanic man asked Detective Keith, gesturing to the loud worker, who clearly didn’t want whatever was in the envelope to be revealed.

  Watching it, I had to agree with what the man had said; that worker seemed guilty and nervous about what might be found out. It was a clear indicator of guilt. Detective Keith stepped around the Hispanic man toward his group of workers. I felt an uneasy tightness in my chest as I watched it all play out. My mouth hung open slightly as I watched the detective review whatever he had been handed one more time.

  “Damn,” Detective Keith said breathlessly, shaking his head. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn I could see the heat rising from his toes up to his face, because his cheeks turned beet red. I bit down into the side of my cheek as I watched him flip from one incriminating photograph to the next. I looked over at Kyle. My nostrils flared as I tried to keep my breathing under control.

  “Where’d you get these?” Detective Keith asked the Hispanic man through his teeth. “Where the fuck did you get these!” the detective boomed, not giving the man a chance to answer.

  “A mole we have working on the street turned the information over to my boss. Our people followed up, and this is what we found out. We saved your life today with this information, Redds,” the Hispanic man said gravely. “If you cannot believe what I am telling you, we have more proof that this is true,” he continued, raising his hand to one of his men.

  One of the man’s henchmen, who looked like a heavyweight boxer, disappeared. Kyle and I both ducked down when we realized he had come outside in the front of the shack.

  “Shit,” I huffed, my back against the wall of the house and my chest heaving. Kyle put his fingers up to his lips to shush me and then he got back up and peeked. He signaled for me to do the same. While doing so, I watched as the boxer-looking dude dragged another man into the shack. The guy was quivering; he was blindfolded and gagged too.

  “What the fuck is going on, man?” Detective Keith’s guilty-acting flunky growled, his voice unsteady. It looked like everyone was on edge. I could hear their angry and confused murmurs. Their heads were swiveling around, trying to figure out what was happening. It was one heartbeat from sheer pandemonium.

  “Let’s go,” the guilty dude barked. “I’m not feeling this shit right here.” The others mumbled their agreement.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Detective Keith commanded; his voice sounding more authoritative than he’d been since I’d started watching them. He still clutched the pictures against his chest; they were in his grasp as if something would change.

  The tall, dark-haired black dude had been dragged from the Hispanic man’s vehicle. I sucked in my breath at the man’s poor condition. His hands were bound tightly in front of him and he was being
pushed toward Detective Keith and his men on weak, shaky, bruised legs. He only wore his boxers and a bloodied T-shirt. From the looks of it, it seemed someone had worked him over pretty damn good. He looked terrible.

  “Start talking!” the Hispanic man barked after he pulled the gag down from his mouth, shoving the beaten man forward. I couldn’t stop looking at the man’s battered face—half-shut eyes, his clearly broken nose, and his protruding split upper lip. The abused man refused to speak.

  The Hispanic man snapped his fingers at his goons. One of them rushed over, grabbed the tattered victim by his neck and hoisted him off his feet. He squeezed the man’s throat until he was gagging. I held my breath and hoped they didn’t kill him right in front of my eyes. I didn’t know if I could stand to watch that, story or not.

  “Put him down,” the Hispanic man demanded, right before they would’ve caused the battered man to go unconscious. “Now . . . tell him what you know!”

  “The guy . . . he told me . . . he told me . . .” The battered man coughed and garbled out his words, barely able to formulate each syllable on his lips. He could barely speak through his swollen mouth, and the blood made it even worse. He would gurgle blood every other word. I really had to strain my ears to hear him.

  “Louder!” the Hispanic man barked, kicking the man in his ribs so hard that I winced and moved so hard that Kyle whipped his head around and shot me a look as if to ask if I was damn crazy.

  “The guy . . . your guy . . . he . . . he . . . wanted to kill you. He . . . he . . . made a deal with us. He told me about this meeting today. He . . . he . . . tried to set you up to be killed and robbed here today. He would get paid, once we took the money and the shipment, and he told us how to go after your boss later,” the man said through his busted lips, blood dripping from his mouth onto the floor.

  My mind screamed as his words hit home. I knew right then that shit was about to go bad . . . very bad. I looked over at Kyle and he shook his head. We probably should’ve been getting out of there, just in case a crazy shoot-out went down, but we were both glued.