The Plug's Wife (16 page)

              “Keep closed,” the woman insisted as she pushed her knees together.  Her lower abdomen feel like someone had run through her with a Samurai sword. 

              It had taken her weeks to recover from the operation.  She mourned the unborn baby she left behind in the bruja’s house of horror.  On that day, she vowed that if God ever blessed her with a child again, regardless of who the father was, she would never consider abortion as an option.

                                                        ************************

              Summer stood in front of the mirror.  She picked up a decorative throw pillow from her bed and put it under her shirt.  Standing sideways she looked at herself in the mirror again. 

              “Jesse, do you feel him kicking?” Summer asked her reflection. 

              “Here’s the head…must be big just like yours,” she said, moving her hand to the bottom of the pillow where she imagined a baby’s head would be inside of a mother’s womb.  

              “I bet he’s going to look just like you.  I can’t wait to welcome him home,” Summer smiled contentedly.  “He’s our son, Jesse.  All ours. Mine and yours…a product of our love,” Summer announced before a sob escaped her mouth.

Chapter 13 
Turning Up the Heat

Five broad shouldered men stood guard inside the Sentinel, a car rim and detailing shop that was owned by Scrap before his untimely demise.  Tonight, a hundred boxes of SUV and luxury car rims would be loaded with eighty-percent pure cocaine for shipment to various distributors.  Mitch agreed to oversee the operation since Summer had called with a personal emergency. 

The coke was strategically placed between the metal spokes and wheel beds of the rims.  Mitch paced through the shop like a prison warden.  A few times he climbed into the backs of the trucks to personally ensure the packaging was on point.

Mitch looked at his Audemars Piguet for the third time. They were three minutes over the allotted sorting and packing time and every second counted.

              “Yo! Put a fuckin’ move on it.  We do this shit by a time standard.  Slipping up is how shit gets murky!  Nothing can be off, right now.  This is going to be the biggest move we’ve made in years,” Mitch announced to the paid help who needed to step up their packing game. 

Doon walked over to Mitch, sweat dripping down the side of his face high yellow face.  Doon wiped his face with his Brooklyn Nets jersey.

              “This chick Summer is bugging man.  This was a lot more than JB ever shipped at one time.  The time window ain’t cuttin’ it.  We need at least twenty more minutes.  Only truck one is finished and we’re only halfway through with truck two.  This shit is mad over the top.  Don’t she know slow and steady wins the race?  You know, that’s easily over two million dollars that’s gonna be out there for the taking,” Doon huffed, scowling.  “JB was much more patient about making his money.  What’s her fuckin’ rush?”

              “Yo! You sound like a whining ass bitch right now.  A hundred boxes or ten boxes, the shit still gotta be delivered to the streets, right?  I ain’t got all night to be in here watching grown ass men complain and shit,” Mitch grumbled, looking at his watch again.  He was sweating under his clothes too .

              “Man, look.  This was Scrap’s operation. My shit comes through the bitches and that’s how the fuck I like it.  I do my part at Luxurious Ladies e’ery night!  I don’t ask nobody else to run my shit or make my ends meet, feel me? I’m not gon’ be pulling my own weight and the dead man’s weight too.  Especially if I ain’t gettin’ the dead man’s cake in return.  You better tell ya fuckin’ fish ass boss to take some fucking Midol next time and have her ass here to see to her own fuckin’ business.”

Venting complete, Doon stalked off to finish the job. 

Mitch looked as his watch one more time.  He was on a time constraint of his own, but the way shit was going, he would have to scale back his own plans.  Mitch walked into the shop office and locked the door behind him.  He pulled the string on the white metal vertical blinds that hung over the large front window of the shop. 

Mitch pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.  No answer. 

              “Fuck!” he huffed and began pacing.  His plans were being derailed and the price would be very heavy.  “One more try,” he spoke under his breath to himself.  Mitch hit the call button again.  When the line picked up, Mitch let out a long breath and relaxed the tension in his shoulders. 

“Blacka, it’s Mitch.  That thing gotta be put on hold man.  This shit is going way over and I know you had them soldiers ready for me, but the timing ain’t gon’ be right for this one.  We’ll catch up on the next one,” Mitch hurriedly conveyed the message. 

He patiently allowed for the tongue lashing he received.  Mitch closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. 

              “Nah, you can trust me Blacka.  This one just didn’t pan out.  Let’s try one more time with something that’s gonna be a sure bet.  Plus, it ain’t gonna shake her up if she ain’t even here,” Mitch said calmly. 

Mitch exhaled a windstorm of breath.  He wasn’t going to tolerate too many more “bumbaclots” and “pussyholes.” 

              “A’ight, give me two days.  I’ll let you know about the next go round,” Mitch said before quickly hanging up.

A knock sounded at the door causing him to startle.

              “Yo?!” Mitch hollered bopping over to the door.

              “Locking doors, now?” Doon asked, stealthily scanning the office with his eyes.

              “Are you questioning me now?” Mitch snapped right back.  The entire crew had been suspicious of one another since the Scrap revelation.

              “This shit was a rush job, but everything is set to roll out.  Two to the Bx and one to Spanish Harlem just like always,” Doon informed Mitch. 

              “Yeah, that’s the flow as usual.  You ride with the two.  Marco gonna meet the one.  Once all the collections have been made we’ll meet up and make the split at the Bridge,” Mitch instructed. 

              “And you?” Doon asked, tapping his foot like a mother waiting for an answer from a disobedient child. 

              “Me what?  I’m goin’ the fuck home,” Mitch snarled.  He had too much on his mind to worry about dudes who complained like bitches. 

Doon walked out of the office, Mitch following on his heels. They did a quick walk-through of the shop and made sure both trucks were ready for departure.

Mitch approached the driver’s side window of the first truck.  He nodded at the driver and tossed a rubber-banded stack of cash at the man.

              “Get this shit there or else,” Mitch warned.  It was the same shit Jesse had said each time he sent a man out for delivery.  Jesse joked with Mitch that it was a good luck send off.  “Scare a motherfucker before you send him and he’ll bring you back what you need.” 

              Mitch walked over and climbed into his car.  The shop’s metal gates began to roll up.  Both trucks were idling as they waited for him. 

              Mitch reversed his car out of the driveway and waited for Doon to do the same.  As the first truck made its way out of the garage, tires squealed nearby.  Mitch jerked as he heard the rapid fire chattering of bullets ripping through the air.  Mitch felt trapped as the “tat tat tat” of gunfire hit the exterior shell and glass windows of the shop. 

              Mitch threw his car in reverse and slammed on the accelerator.  His car sped backwards away from the gunfire.  He looked up just in time to see an army of men in black rushing towards the shop.  Doon’s car was still inside. 

              Mitch hurriedly swiveled his car around and drove away from the danger.  His chest felt like it was going to cave in.  Mitch couldn’t think straight; his hands shook so badly he could hardly drive.  After several failed attempts, he managed to hit the Bluetooth function in his car.

              “Call Billy!” Mitch screamed at the machine. 

              “Yo,” Billy answered, his voice groggy with sleep.

              “Yo!” Mitch wolfed, unable to even find the words. 

              “Who this?” Billy replied, his tone an octave higher than before.

              “M…Mi…Mitch man!  Yo, somebody just hit up the shop.  I think they got Doon man,” Mitch stumbled for the right words

              “What? What the fuck?” Billy cussed, on his feet within seconds.  “Who?  Who was it?  Is he dead?  Did they grab him?  What about the shipments?”

              “I don’t fuckin’ know!  All I saw was a black truck pull up on and a flood of dudes in black with AKs and MPs sparkin’ off straight for the trucks.  Doon pulled his whip up and was right there. We are under fuckin’ attack, man! Meet me at the Bridge. This shit is bad.  I really think it was Millenia!  Scrap tried to fuckin’ warn us,” Mitch spat angrily.  His crew was dropping off like flies.  Shit was going downhill fast.  This game was about to be over. 

                                                        ************************

“I want somebody from Millenia dead tonight!” Summer barked as she paced across the meeting room at the Bridge.  Her hair was disheveled and bags hung beneath her eyes.  

Mitch sat with his eyes closed and his hands steepled in front of him.  Billy had both of his burners on the table, barely able to control his breathing.  Marco held his head in his hands; feeling lucky to have made it out alive.  What happened to Doon could’ve just as well happened to him. 

“You sure you wanna make such a big decision?  Pedro Millenia is nothin’ to fuck with.  A war between Mexican cartels would leave us all open to the Jamaicans and the Columbians.  Millenia is a big dog,” one of the guys called out from the back of the room. 

Summer sucked in her breath and shot him a cold stare.  She was always sensitive when people questioned her executive decisions. 

              “It was them!  We don’t have beef with nobody else for no other reason. They left the fuckin’ shipment for the narcos to find.  If it was just a robbery, you think that would be the case?” Summer boomed, her face flushing hot pink.  A wave of groans rose and fell around the room. Summer was convinced that if she was a man, the troops would be ready to run into battle rather than questioning her every move. 

Whoever shot up the Sentinel hadn’t taken any of the drugs, just killed all three drivers, and all five guards. Doon apparently had gone missing, but his car was found inside with a spray of bullet holes on its side. 

By now, the Sentinel was surely crawling with police and narcs. She would probably have to deal with the cops and feds since all of Jesse’s businesses were currently under her management.  She’d also have to deal with Cardinale now that the heat was literally crawling up her ass. 

              “I don’t care how ya’ll do it.  I don’t care who you gotta speak to.  I want somebody that is key to Pedro Millenia hit tonight! I need to know by tomorrow that Doon didn’t go out like that for nothing,” Summer announced.  “Go!”

The men filed out of the room except for Billy, Marco and Mitch. 

              “You all right?” Summer asked Mitch, her tone a bit softer.  He looked like he had aged ten years overnight.

              “I almost got my fuckin’ head blown off and one of our own is missing…probably dead somewhere.  Nah, I’m not all right.  Life as we know it ain’t never gon’ be the same. If you didn’t know it before, you damn sure know it now. Summer, this is a fuckin’ declaration of war.”

              “Change happens every day.  My fucking husband is dead and I was forced into this business. Now I’m responsible for my own crew members dying.  If it’s war they want, it’s war they will get,” she shot back.  Even she wasn’t sure how she was really going to handle Pedro Millenia, but she wasn’t about to let the men in that room know that. 

              “Yeah, exactly.  But we need to be smarter than them this time,” Mitch grumbled, pushing his chair back, putting a new dent in the wall.   He stormed out, leaving Marco, Billy, and Summer behind.  Her empire was shrinking quickly.  She needed to find more trusted knights to protect her castle before it was overrun by her many enemies.

                                                        ****************************

              Doon’s naked body shivered.  His ass throbbed from sitting on whatever icy, cold surface they had him on.  His wrists and ankles were bound together.  He managed to pull his knees up to his chest to generate some kind of heat from his thighs. Somewhere in the distance he could hear water dripping.  A slow steady,
plop plop plop
.  It was starting to make him go crazy. 

Doon could hear voices speaking in Spanish.  He lifted his head from his knees, wincing because his neck was stiff.  Footsteps approached and his heart began to race.

              “Hello?” Doon rasped.  Something about the conditions of the room was getting to his head.  He could swear he heard Jesse’s voice too.

              “JB’s boy, eh?” a lanky Hispanic man said, standing in front of Doon.

              “Whatever you want, my crew will give it up,” Doon rambled through bluish-purple lips.  He could barely speak through his chattering teeth.

              “What I want is in your head. No one can pay for that.” Doon knew right away what that meant—the man wanted him to give up the inside goods about his crew. 

              “So tell me—the new lady boss—you like her?” the man asked.  Doon didn’t answer; instead he hung his head. 

              “You won’t speak?  Do you know who sent me?” the man asked.  Doon kept his head bowed.  “Get him up!”

              Three men moved in on Doon like zookeepers attempting to tame a wild animal.  Doon grunted as they forced his stiff, frozen body off the floor.  His skin was sensitive to the touch, almost frostbitten.  With a man flanking him on each side, Doon was held upright.  The freezing cold air in the room stung his entire body. His legs dropped from the bent position, leaving his chest and genitals exposed to the frigid conditions. 

              “Now, I know you feel very cold.  Let’s change that,” the man said.  He pulled out a double spouted blowtorch and turned the feeder knob.  Wooosh.  A blast of fire burst from the end.  Doon’s eyes flew open, frozen puffs of breath escaping his lips. 

              “Nooooooooooo!” he screeched at the top of his lungs as the flame drew closer.  The man let out a maniacal laugh as he turned the torch off.