Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose (23 page)

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Damn yo ass done got skinny as hell nigga. You ain’t smoking that shit back here is you?” Meka asked jokingly, although drugs were prevalent in the facility.

Mike laughed. “Naw, this what taking all them bullets do to yo’ ass.”

“Well I know more than a few fat bitches that need to get they fat asses shot up right fucking now,” Meka said. She busted out laughing.

“Yeah, getting shot is the perfect weight loss plan. As long as yo’ ass don’t die…” He started thinking about Nikki. “How’s Glo doing?” Mike asked, quickly changing the subject.

Meka paused momentarily at the mention of her estranged mother. “She good,” was all Meka said. Mike sensed something was wrong, but he didn’t want to stress it. Meka would tell him if she wanted him to know.

“Anyway, you know I woulda
been
up here, but them faggot ass police kept saying you couldn’t get no visits except from your lawyer and shit.”

“I ain’t stressing that shit Meka. You here now so it’s all good. What’s going on out there in them streets though? What’s up wit’ my nigga Ant D? What’s happenin’ with them M.B.M. niggas?”

“Man, shit crazy out here right now Mike. Them fuckin’ Mexicans and M.B.M. is at war right now. Bodies is popping up left and right out this bitch. They had a shootout at Haywood Mall. Ant was there when the shit went down. They got him on camera with a gun running through the mall so they thinkin’ he had something to do with that shit. I don’t know if you seen it, but they got Ant picture all over the news. They got that nigga on Greenville’s Most Wanted.”

“Yeah, I had seen that. They be putting that nigga face on Crime Stoppers every night. ”

“Plus you know they was already lookin’ for that nigga on some other shit so...”

“He still fuckin’ with that white girl?” Mike asked, choosing his words carefully. Everybody in the streets knew who that ‘white girl’ was but there was always a chance this conversation was being recorded. If it was, a good defense lawyer could easily argue that they were discussing an actual white female.

Meka shook her head wearily and sighed. “That nigga fucking with that bitch real heavy right now, Mike.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” It was Meka’s turn to change the subject. “I put a couple of stacks on your books and shit too nigga. So next time I visit yo’ ass you better have yo’ weight up. I don’t wanna hear ‘bout one of these niggas in here handling you,” Meka joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I see you still got jokes,” Mike chuckled. “You know damn well ain’t no shit like that finna happen. Good looking out with that paper though Meka.”

“Mike, you know you just like my brother. Anything —”

Abruptly, the phone cut off in the middle of their conversation. Visitation was over. Fucking cocksuckers didn’t even give you a warning. He didn’t have a watch on but it damn sure didn’t seem like 30 minutes had gone by that fast. Mike was furious. Meka saw the rage on his face and yelled through the glass that she would be back in a couple of days. She balled up her fist and put her knuckles up to the glass. Mike did the same.

As the inmates filed out of the visiting room, Mike noticed balled up tissue paper all over the floor. More than a few niggas had probably used their visits to bust a good nut before returning to the stressful life inside their blocks. There was no telling. Shit like that went down in the visiting room.

CHAPTER 26

A couple of days after his visit, Mike was at the table eating his breakfast when he felt somebody looking at him. He looked up and locked eyes with the tall dark skinned nigga everybody called Smack. He had been placed in M-Block a few days ago and though he had given Mike dap, his handshake had never matched his smile.

Smack was a predator. If you were weak he’d easily make you his prey. He hadn’t been in the block for a week yet and he was already taking other inmate’s trays and canteen. He’d ask to make it seem like you had a choice but if you refused he’d straight take your shit. Not only was Smack a bully; he was also a member of M.B.M. Mike hated both. A confrontation had been inevitable from the moment he was placed in the block.

Mike ignored the stares and went back to eating his breakfast. He was far from scared of Smack, but he wanted him to think that he was. Mike kept eating but watched Smack out of his peripheral. He was still grilling. The rest of the inmates must’ve felt something was about to go down because M-Block was unusually quiet this morning.

Avoiding eye contact with Smack, who was now openly glaring at him, Mike got up from the table with his tray. He walked over to the door where the rest of the trays were stacked and placed his on top. He peeped Smack get up from the table and began to approach him. Mike smiled.

As soon as he was within striking distance Mike grabbed the yellow mop wringer out of the mop bucket that was placed in the cell every morning for cleaning purposes. He swung it viciously, smashing it into Smack’s face. There was a loud crunching sound as something broke. Smack screamed out like a 12 year old girl as he fell to the ground and balled up into the fetal position. All that tough guy shit went out the window fast.

“This what you wanted nigga!?” Mike yelled out as he repeatedly struck Smack with the mop wringer. Mike had blacked out. “Huh? Is this what you wanted!?” With every swing of the mop wringer, an image of Nikki flashed through his mind.The rest of the inmates just looked on in silence.

Suddenly the door to M-Block flew open. CS gas was shot into the cell and the door was immediately slammed back shut. Within seconds, everybody in the cell was coughing and having trouble breathing. Eyes and noses were running. Skin felt as if it was on fire.

The door to M-Block opened again. Several heavy set C.O.’s wearing gas masks and protective armor rushed in. They took Mike down hard and dragged him out of the cell. They grabbed Smack and pulled him out next. The nurses had already been called down, but as soon as they saw Smack they gasped. “Oh my God! Somebody call an ambulance!” one of the nurses screamed out. Smack had been beaten beyond recognition and he didn’t appear to be breathing.

CHAPTER 27

It was early in the morning; Valentine’s Day. The mid February sun could just be seen making its way over the horizon as the black Cadillac Escalade Ext. with dark tinted windows slowly came to stop outside of a large abandoned building in the Poe Mill section of Greenville. The entire vehicle was bulletproof and could withstand everything from high caliber missiles to a blast from a grenade and keep rolling. There was a war going on outside. The owner of the vehicle was a primary target so he made sure to take the proper precautions to ensure his safety.

War was nothing new to Zulu. He had been embroiled in several over the years. He hadn’t made it to where he was, by being afraid of bloodshed. It came with the territory. But this shit with these fucking Mexicans had lasted far longer than he had anticipated. They were like fucking roaches. It seemed like as soon as you exterminated one, five more would pop up.

Zulu yawned as he sat in the heated, plush leather seats in the back of his luxury tank sipping on a bottle of Fiji water and thinking. He was tired, but he was still on point. He had intentionally been 30 minutes early for this meeting with Tom Fields just to make sure there were no surprises. He wasn’t anticipating any problems. Tom was inconsequential in the big scheme of things. He was nothing but a messenger boy for the mayor. It was the message he carried that was important.

Besides the driver, there were a total of four other heavily armed members of Zulu’s security team in the truck; including the one sitting beside him with a look of stone on his face as he gripped an M-16 assault rifle. These weren’t regular street dudes who got into shootouts and ended missing their targets, hitting innocent people. No, Zulu had surrounded himself with former paramilitary soldiers who were skilled guerilla warriors. They were trained to shoot first, and paid to never ask questions.

Zulu watched as a nondescript sedan pulled up at the far end of the building. He watched Tom Fields get out of the car, look around nervously, and then scurry into a side entrance of what used to be a textile mill.

The ringing of the cell phone in his lap interrupted Zulu’s thoughts. “Yeah,” he answered in his deep baritone.

“I’m here. Second floor,” Tom said.

Zulu chuckled. “I know Tom. I saw you when you pulled up and went inside. You should really try to be a little more…
inconspicuous
next time,” he joked as he pressed the end button on the cell. As soon as Zulu opened the back door, his security jumped out and assumed their positions; their weapons at the ready. He held up his hand and instructed his men to stay put as he limped noticeably towards the entrance of the building with his hands in his pants. It seemed every year the pain of the old war wound obtained in a shoot out on the streets of New York got a little worse.

Normally, there would have been two men in the front and two bringing up the rear as he moved, but he’d met with Tom on so many occasions that he felt the security unnecessary. Plus, he didn’t like anybody else knowing what was discussed at these meetings. Zulu entered the building alone.

Once inside the drab brick building, Zulu ascended the flight of stairs until he was on the second floor. He saw Tom pacing back and forth near an old desk. As usual, Tom was nervous. That was nothing new. Tom was always nervous. He was deathly afraid of Zulu and every time they met he sweated profusely. He was already wiping his dripping brow with his handkerchief.

Fear is always better than love
, Zulu thought to himself, smiling inwardly. “Tom… Tom!?” Fields almost jumped out of his skin. He stopped pacing and turned to look into Zulu’s dead eyes. “I’m assuming you didn’t have me meet you here this early just so I could watch you exercise,” he said coldly. Time was money and right now he was losing both. “What does your boss want to tell me?” Tom remained silent. Something was wrong.

“Allow me to answer that question for you,” an accented voice from behind him said. Zulu spun around. He was greeted by 15 heavily armed Mexicans. They all had their guns pointed at him. The only way they could’ve gotten past his security is if they never passed his security. They had been in the building the whole time hiding; waiting. Zulu smiled. As an avid chess player he could appreciate when an opponent put him in check. But it wasn’t quite checkmate.

“So… you must be Dinero,” Zulu said, addressing the one who’d been doing the talking. Zulu still had his hands his pockets. As inconspicuously as he could, he felt for the number 1 on the keypad of his phone and pressed it.

“And you are Zulu. There’s really no need to drag this out my friend. Tom came to tell you that the mayor no longer has use for your services. They’ve become quite expensive. Your little war has been bad for business. Today it ends.”

“Ironically, I was thinking the same thing,” said Zulu with a sardonic smile on his face. Just then, automatic gunfire erupted from the stairwell behind Deniro and his men. They were caught completely off guard. Four of them fell dead to the ground. The others ran for whatever cover they could find and returned fire. A shootout ensued. Zulu hit the ground. Bullets were flying in every direction. Bodies were dropping. The smell of cordite was thick in the air.

The shootout had been intense, but extremely brief. This wasn’t a movie. When you had that many men, with that much firepower shit tended to end quickly... and brutally. After the Mexicans recovered from their initial surprise, they easily mowed down Zulu’s men on the stairwell. The only one who had managed to escape was the driver. After hearing the heavy exchange of gunfire he quickly started the luxury SUV up. He was being paid well. But not well enough to die. The tires left a cloud of dust as he drove away.

The Mexicans had taken severe losses themselves. Out of the 15 or so members of the M2 that had been involved in the shootout only about 6 remained. Ears ringing from the gunfire, they were yelling to each other in order to be heard.

As soon as the shooting began Dinero had been immediately thrown into a corner and completely covered by two of his men. Zulu watched from the ground as he pushed his men off of him. In Mexican he barked out orders as he got to his feet.

Zulu laid flat on the floor and breathed only when necessary. In the chaos and confusion following the gun battle, the Mexicans had yet to notice him amidst the corpses that littered the ground. A fighter to the death, he decided to make one last move. As inconspicuously as he could, he reached behind him. Slowly he pulled his shirt up, exposing the rubber grip of the Glocc 9mm that was in the small of his back. As he was beginning to pull it out, a booted foot slammed down onto his wrist. He felt the cool metal of a gun barrel on the base of his neck. “Aqui!” the Mexican yelled out to Dinero.

Dinero walked over to where Zulu was, stepping over the human carnage that lay on the ground. He motioned for his men to stand him up. Two of the Mexicans lifted his heavy frame, holding him by the arms. A third kept his rifle at the base of his skull. His finger was on the trigger, waiting for the order. Dinero looked directly into his rival’s eyes. Zulu smirked. Even in the face of death Zulu remained defiant; fearless and regal.