Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 4 (3 page)

“I hope so.” She stood up. “For your sake,” she added.

Dr. Jackson grimaced. “You can take him home now. I have him in a wheelchair already. You can use it to get him to the car.” He didn't mind parting with the wheelchair. It was a reminder of his injury, something he felt he should have gotten rid of years ago.

“Thanks.” Baby reached into her pocket and pulled out a hundred dollars.

“Keep your money.” Dr. Jackson frowned. He rejected the extended hundred dollar bill. “I have a pretty strong feeling you're going to need it.” He added abruptly, “Now please go.” He shot Baby a look of disgust.

“Watch your fuckin' tone, muthafucka!” Baby boomed. Her gun was now pointed in Dr. Jackson's direction. Her nostrils flared.

The doctor chuckled. “I just saved your man's life and this is how you want to repay me?” he asked.

She stared at the doctor long and hard with beady eyes. She was tired of his sly remarks. She snorted and gritted her teeth. It was nothing to kill the doctor, she thought. But he was right. He had saved her man's life and didn't deserve what she may have done to him. She lowered her weapon.

“Thanks again.” She shot him a smug look before she spun around and made her way into the room where Treacherous was. Minutes later, she had Treacherous secured in the car and had started putting distance between them and the veterinarian.

Now, she drove around looking for somewhere for them to lay low. The city seemed to be asleep, thought Baby as she cruised through it. It didn't look the way she had remembered it. Stores that were once thriving were now boarded up or had F
OR
R
ENT
signs in the windows. This was her hometown but it didn't feel or look like it. Home was a distant memory to her. If someone were to have told her to bet money that this was how her life would turn out she would have bet every dime she owned and lost.

Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. She felt as if she were all screwed up in the head. The resentment toward her mother resurfaced at the thought. She became flustered as her thoughts traveled back to the mini episode she had back at the veterinarian's office. Her feelings were on an emotional roller coaster ride. She had never experienced anything like what she was feeling at that moment. She didn't know whether to classify what had happened as a dream or nightmare.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the neon lights that illuminated from her far left. Baby noticed the blinking sign that read C
HEAP
R
OOMS
. She hoped cheap rooms meant they'd rent to people without IDs. She knew there were places around the city that rented by the hour with no questions asked. She figured that would be perfect for them for now, just until Treacherous recuperated. She pulled the new stolen vehicle into the motel parking lot and parked a distance away from the lobby entrance. She didn't want to risk anyone seeing Treacherous laid out in the car.

As she reached the lobby door, Baby took a deep breath. She didn't want to seem suspicious or come across as overzealous. Once she felt she had it together, she entered the establishment. She was greeted with a smile.

“May I help you?” the young, freckle-faced, red-haired Caucasian male asked.

The first thing Baby noticed was the N
O
ID R
EQUIRED
sign propped up on the counter. She was relieved when she saw it.

“Yes, I'd like a room.”

Detective Arthur Love's head rose up at the sound of rapid knocks on the other side of his office door. Although it was good to be back to work, he had given specific instructions not to be disturbed. He knew he had much to do in little time.

“Who is it?” he bellowed. The irritation was apparent in his tone.

“The police,” the familiar voice replied.

Arthur Love chuckled. “Come in.”

The office door swung open and in walked Andre Randle. The first thing Arthur Love noticed was the bandage he bore on the left side of his face. This was actually the first time the two of them had seen each other since the hospital.

“Good to see you, Randle,” Love greeted him.

“Yeah, you too,” Randle replied. The two men exchanged friendly hugs. “How are you?”

“I've seen better days, you know. Aside from being a little sore and having to use this cane from time to time, I'm good,” Love concluded.

“Same here,” Randle agreed. “Shoulder's a little stiff and the face is little sore. Gonna leave a nasty scar, but I'll live.”

They shared agreeing smiles.

“So what's on your mind and what's the latest?” Arthur Love wasted no time asking. He was certain Andre Randle had hopped right back on the trail that landed them both in the hospital.

“This case!” Randle replied. “That's why I called,” he added.

Arthur Love nodded. “Yeah, I figured. That's all I've been able to think about. Nothing else,” Arthur Love confessed.

It was Andre Randle's turn to nod. “So, what you got for us?” he questioned.

“Not sure yet,” Love retorted. “But the plot thickens.” He shook his head.

“Talk to me.” Andre Randle leaned in.

“A lot has come out while we were in the hospital.” Love took a deep breath. “The old man who was killed at the pawnshop was at the top of the chain.”

“I know. I saw it on the news.” Randle grimaced.

“The goddamn head . . .” He paused. “Of the Irish mob,” he continued with a frown plastered across his face. “Jeezus!” He shook his head. His mind was all over the place. “I mean, I knew they existed in these parts and yeah, the pawnshop had come up many times in connection to organized crime in the city.” He took another deep breath. “But nobody knew that Sammy Black and the old man killed in the pawnshop were one and the same.” He was now out of his chair and on his feet.

“The funny thing is I'd been hearing shit, since I was a fuckin' kid, about murders and legendary heists. There'd always been rumors and speculation about that place. A few of us never believed it was just rumors though.” He placed his hands behind his back and came from behind his desk. He walked over and peered out of his office's blinds. Everything seemed to be functioning on its normal operation to him. He turned to face Randle then continued. “We had a couple of snitches here and there who claimed to know something, but before they could produce, they'd come up missing and then we'd be back to nothing.” Love shook his head. “None of the locals can get any strong tips or leads to run up in there either,” he added.

“That's because a place like that would have the locals paid off,” Randle jumped in. “That's how that works,” he stated as if he spoke the words straight out of the gospel.

“I've personally never heard of your boy Sammy Black because the mess you guys make, don't generally spill into our backyard, but we have our share of Sammy Blacks.” He went on, “Any type of way somebody is getting away with committing crimes right under our nose for a lengthy period of time, some people, not only in law enforcement, are usually getting their palms greased.”

“Yeah, you're right. I guess I just didn't want to believe that.”

“That's because you're true blue to the shield,” Andre Randle commended him.

Arthur Love nodded appreciatively. He sat back down behind his desk then drew his eyes to the paper in front of him. “Sammy Black, born Samuel Duff in Ireland, migrated to Virginia in 1962 at the young age of six. Rap sheet as a juvenile is as long as my arm, but nothing on him after that. The name, Duff, means ‘black' in Irish. Ironic huh? Think that's where the name Sammy Black comes from?” He wondered.

Andre Randle was stone-faced. “Art, these fucking guys don't play,” he stated.

“No shit,” Love agreed. “He may not have been found guilty on anything, but this Sammy Black has been linked to some serious shit,” he informed Randle. “Aside from what I've heard and already know, I've been gathering up more information about him. Been reading up on him and his family. They've been tied to everything from murder and extortion to arson and gambling. It seems like they're mostly known for gambling though,” he said, drawing a conclusion. “The son, Sammy Black Jr., has been arrested, and fined on some and acquitted on other allegations of illegal gambling.”

“Was anything reported stolen?”

“Of course not,” Arthur Love immediately shot back. “But one of my guys was told that there was a spot set up in the back that was being used for gambling.”

“So there had to be something taken.” Randle grimaced. “I'll call my guys and see what I can find out.”

“Yeah, because I'm sure something of value was taken. What sense would it make to hit the place and just kill this guy? Unless the kid had a vendetta against the ol' man.”

“I doubt that,” Randle shot down the theory. “This kid's never been outside of the seven cities prior to being admitted into the mental institution. He grew up in group homes; he didn't even know his parents until his mother kidnapped him from one of the group homes. No, that was about money and survival. I know you don't want to hear it, but your daughter could have very well heard you or somebody else talking about that spot. You said it yourself: she's a survivor and she's definitely familiar with area. Could have been her call,” Randle pointed out. Any decent detective could have drawn that conclusion, so he was sure Arthur Love could see the picture. He was right.

“Yeah, that's the most logical scenario.” A sharp pain jolted through Love's head. Despite all that had transpired, he did not want to believe that his daughter was the monster being hunted. “Dammit, Baby!” he yelled out. He then took a deep breath and exhaled.

Andre Randle sat and waited until Arthur Love pulled himself back together. “If what we said is the case, then not only will our guys be looking for them, Sammy Black's people will be also.”

“I know, I know,” Arthur Love retorted. The thought had been at the forefront of his mind all day. He'd rather his daughter spend the rest of her life in prison than be tortured, possibly raped, and killed by some cartel.

“We gotta find them before they do. Before everybody,” he put emphasis on his statement to demonstrate he meant business.

“You're right,” Arthur Love replied. “We may have something.” Arthur Love paused. “Maybe.”

“What is it?”

“White cab driver reported he was robbed by some hooker fitting the description of Baby. Said she needed a taxi and then pulled out a gun on him demanding he take her to Chamberlain and Lombardy.”

“Any sign of Treacherous?”

“No, he said it was just a prostitute.”

“Why would you think that was her?” Randle asked, not seeing any connection himself.

“I didn't at first. Not until the investigating officer told me how he got the taxi driver to reveal what really happened.”

“I'm listening.” Randle was all ears.

“Apparently, the girl was standing alongside the curb trying to flag down a taxi. He pulls up on her and rolls the window down asking does she need a taxi. She tells him yeah, but she doesn't have any money but has something else to offer. Says against his better judgment he lets her in and he makes his way to the nearest blind spot.”

“So, he's confessing to solicitation?” Randle chuckled.

Love joined him in laughter. “That's the look of it. Poor guy pissed and shit himself.” His laughter increased. “Admits to getting his pants open right before she popped him upside the head with a pistol, shoved him to the ground and kicked him up the ass before making him count to a thousand while she made her get-a-way.”

Randle's eyes grew wide. “Are you kiddin' me?”

“Scout's honor.” Love threw up the Boy Scout sign with his two fingers.

Randle shook his head in disbelief. He still had the grin on his face from laughing. “You think that was her scoring another car.” It was more of a statement than question.

“Possible.” Love nodded. “We're waiting on a call now as to the whereabouts of the taxi. It has a tracking device on it. We should be—” Before he could finish his sentence, a second knock on his office door interrupted him. “Yes!”

The door opened and young white male officer appeared. “Sir, they've located the taxi.”

Arthur Love and Andre Randle looked at each other.

“Where?” He directed his attention back to the officer.

“Parked in the parking lot of a convenience store off of Chamberlain and Lombardy.”

“What's the status?”

“Forensics is headed over now for prints and DNA.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

The officer backpedaled out of the office and closed the door behind him.

“Time to go to work,” Arthur Love announced.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Andre Randle agreed.

Swimming in the two-hundred-foot-long indoor pool always relaxed Sammy Black Jr. He gently backstroked the length of the pool, as he calmly breathed in and out of his nostrils. His Irish homeland anthem filled the air. It added to his relaxation. He enjoyed everything about his swim sessions. Lately he had been swimming more often than usual. It was the only thing that kept him from going out and taking his anger and rage for the loss of his father out on somebody else until he tracked down those responsible. It was all surreal for him. He knew that day would come when he would be afforded the opportunity to become his father's successor. The other families' primary concern was retrieving the duffle bags but that was secondary to Sammy Jr. His primary mission was to avenge his father's death. The thought caused him to swim even faster and more aggressively. He swam until he exhausted himself. Fortunately, this was right before he reached the end of the pool. As he floated to the edge of the pool, he was met with a towel. He climbed out of the water and began to dry off.

“It's not much, but we got something,” Big Lou greeted his boss.

“What is it?” Sammy Jr. dropped the towel from his face and cut his eyes over at Big Lou.

“A friend of ours at the station said they tracked down a second getaway car in Richmond, possibly to the robbers. Said he'd let us know for sure after forensics confirms.”

“So, the idiots are still local.” He gritted his teeth.

“It seems so.” Big Lou shook his head.

“That's good. Really good,” he repeated.

“Yeah, we need to catch these niggers,” Big Lou chimed. “The sooner the better,” he added.

Don't worry, we will.
“Did my cousin get here yet?” he abruptly asked.

“They have him en route now. And all of our guys are on point. Everybody knows what time to be here. We're good, buddy,” Lou assured his boss and childhood friend.

“Thanks, Lou.” He nodded.

Big Lou had been his only friend and had his back ever since they were kids. On many occasions, Big Lou had put his life and reputation on the line to protect and defend him. He had taken a knife to the gut in a pub brawl after a guy made the mistake of calling Sammy Jr. a yellow coward when they were teenagers, right before he had snapped the guy's neck and had caught a bullet to the chest during a hijacking gone wrong because Sammy Jr. forgot to pat the driver down. It was Sammy Jr. who had actually planted the bullet in the driver's head after he'd shot Big Lou. The two had each other's back from day one.

“Don't mention it, boss; he was like a father to me too,” Big Lou retorted.

Sammy Jr. continued to nod. He knew the effect and influence his father had on the men around him and in their organization. It was the same memory Sammy Jr. intended to leave with the family as well. Starting with the way he handled this matter.

“Let me know when everybody gets here,” Sammy Jr. said then made his way over to the minibar.