Promise Kept, page 28
CHAPTER THIRTY
Asher gunned his Benz through the toll booth of the George Washington Bridge at a less-than-advisable speed. He was already behind schedule for his meeting and still had another stop to make before he could go there. His business in New Jersey had taken longer than he had anticipated, but he needed to make sure that all the pieces were where they needed to be before executing the next phase of his plan.
After dealing with Milk and Fangs, Asher and Atilla dipped back to Asher’s where he had left his Benz parked. Asher switched cars, giving the hooptie to Atilla to hold down while he jumped in his Mercedes. Asher was trying to fly under the radar, but the flashy Benz wouldn’t help with that; however, for his next move, appearances would mean everything. After making the car switch, Asher warned Atilla to stay low until he heard from him and headed into New York to meet Saud.
The old head had been blowing Asher’s phone up all afternoon and into the evening. Something had him rattled, and Asher didn’t have to guess what. The chatter on the streets had picked up about the shooting of Don B. at Dirty Wine. This was largely in part due to Asher feeding Shelly a tidbit of information that he was sure she would let slip. She didn’t disappoint. It didn’t take long for the gossip train to start moving and Saud to find himself living on borrowed time.
The riddle had been a fairly simple one for Asher to figure out. He had been there the night Saud and Don B. had exchanged words over the rapper having been rumored to be behind the death of one of his former artists, a cat called Lord Scientific. Lord Scientific had been from their hood and a former protégé of Saud’s, and his death had never sat right with the OG. The only thing that had stopped Saud from getting at Don B. that night in Newark was Ab stepping in, but Saud vowed that there would be a reckoning for what Don B. had done. That reckoning had come at Dirty Wine. Asher didn’t have to see him pull the trigger to know that Saud had been behind it. The pieces fit too perfectly for Saud to have coincidentally been at the same place where Don B. had been shot. Saud going underground immediately after was confirmation of Asher’s suspicions.
The solving of one mystery had also created yet another. Who were the other dudes Asher had seen gunning it out with Don B.’s camp outside the club? They weren’t Newark dudes, this much Asher knew, nor did they fit the profiles of any of the New York cats Asher set Saud up with. Could the Don’s luck have been that bad to where two assassins had been set on his ass on the same night and Saud had just had the luck of the draw? Saud was the only person who could fill in the blanks, and sadly Asher didn’t suspect that the OG had enough time left on earth to do so. Saud had gone from a calculated gamble to a liability. He was now marked in New York and Newark, and it would only be a matter of time before one side or the other caught up with him and put his lights out, which was why Asher had to get to him first.
Saud had suggested that they meet somewhere out in the open, but after what Asher had walked into at Dirty Wine, he wasn’t trying to hear it. They settled on meeting at a neutral spot, Shelly’s apartment. It would still put Asher in a potentially dangerous situation on foreign soil, but at least, by meeting at Shelly’s he’d still be able to control the narrative, at least, to an extent. He spotted Saud’s Cutlass parked on a side street near Shelly’s apartment building. Asher spun the block twice to make sure there were no surprises lurking before parking on the next avenue.
Asher pulled on a dark hoodie, which he kept in the trunk of the Mercedes for just such occasions. He then walked the block to Shelly’s building. She lived on a main street, so the block was teeming with activity. Dudes loitered in front of the corner store, drinking, smoking, and shooting dice. Asher could feel their eyes on him as he passed but never looked up from the folds of his hoodie. As he crossed the lobby, the elevator pinged, just before the door slid open and a man stepped out. He too was wearing a hoodie, but it hadn’t completely covered his face. As they passed each other in the lobby, Asher caught a glimpse of a tattoo that he thought he had seen somewhere before. The man must’ve felt Asher staring because he looked up. When his dark eyes landed on Asher, a cold chill swept over him. Asher was the first to look away. Not because he was afraid, but because he didn’t have time to deal with the kinds of problems that a staring contest with this kid would surely bring. The young man snorted victoriously before exiting the lobby and disappearing into the night.
Asher decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. The last thing he needed was to step out into something unexpected. Whatever might be waiting for him at this meeting, he needed to be able to see it coming. It was a short hike to the third floor, where Shelly’s apartment was. Asher paused outside the door and listened for a few ticks. Inside he could hear music blasting as if someone was having a party. He raised his fist to knock and then paused. Something didn’t sit right with the scene. It took a moment for it to register what it was. There was music, but Asher couldn’t hear any voices. What kind of party were they having where there was absolutely no chatter?
He drew his gun before checking the door and finding it unlocked. Cautiously, Asher crept inside the apartment. He could smell lingering weed smoke, but it was weak, like someone had been getting high earlier. As he crept down the hall, he felt something slick under his foot. He looked down and realized that it was blood. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a trail of bloody footprints that led from the bathroom to his left to the front door. With his gun raised, he pushed the door open and that’s where he found Vaughn. He was slumped on the toilet with his pants around his ankles and a magazine on his lap. There were two nasty-looking bullet holes in his chest. To die while taking a shit was literally one of the nastiest ways that a man could go. Initially Asher thought that maybe this had been the work of Saud, trying to clean house before he vanished. Since Asher had known him, the old-timer had never been one to leave debts unsettled. That theory died when he ventured deeper into the apartment.
There were three additional bodies in the house, all spread out in different poses of death like mannequins in a department store window. Asher surveyed the scene, trying to piece together what had happened. Laying on the floor across the entrance to the living room was a young man with a bullet wound to the neck. From the amount of it pooling, the shot hadn’t killed the man. He’d probably bled out from the wound. There was another body hanging halfway out a partially open window. He’d sought to use it as his escape route until the three slugs he’d taken to the back thwarted his plan. Not far from where he lay was Shelly. She was curled into a ball as if that would protect her from the hail of bullets that ripped through her body. Of all the deaths Asher had caused in his life, this was one of the few he felt bad about. He had dragged her into this, so her blood was on his hands.
The crown jewel of the scene was the older man sitting on the couch, Saud. His head was lolled slightly to one side as if he were simply taking a nap, but the bullet hole in his head said that it was a sleep he would never wake from. One of his hands sat limply on his lap, near the gun tucked in his waistband that he’d never had a chance to reach for. Plastered across his face was the signature scowl that had terrorized Asher and all the rest of the young kids from the hood when Saud was still running things. This hadn’t been an execution, but a massacre.
Asher approached Saud’s corpse and began rifling through his pockets. He had a few loose ecstasy pills on him and a few hundred dollars in cash. He took the cash but left the pills. He’d searched all Saud’s pockets and still hadn’t found what he was looking for. Pulling his sleeves to cover his hands so he didn’t have to touch the dead man, he pushed Saud’s body to the side. There it was, wedged between the cushions of the couch. Saud’s cell phone and the only thing that could connect him to Asher.
He took a minute to make sure he hadn’t left any traces of his passing in the apartment before creeping back out. He replayed the crime scene over in his head on his way back to his car, and nothing about it made sense. The fact that Saud had never drawn his gun was what tugged at him the most. Saud was a soldier, so there was no way he would allow someone to get the drop on him without, at least, getting off a shot or two. This could only mean that Saud had known his killer. That was the only way Asher could see Saud letting anyone get that close up on him. He never saw it coming. Asher had set out with the intent of murdering Saud, but once again, the universe had done his dirty work for him. It was too soon for the Big Dawg crew to have tracked Saud down, and there was no way it could’ve been Zul’s people because only he and Saud knew where Shelly lived. If none of them had killed Saud, who the hell had?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Zod stood in front of a massive office window, looking out at the city skyline. From there, he could see clear across Manhattan. The sun had long ago set, and the moon floated high over the city. This wasn’t his first time observing the moon from that view, but somehow it looked different that night. It was like the moon shone just a little bit brighter, just like his future.
“What are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind Zod.
“Counting my blessings,” Zod said without turning around. There was no need. He continued watching the sun until the overhead office light flicked on and ruined his peaceful moment.
“You know Don don’t like nobody in here when he’s not around.” Devil stepped into Zod’s line of view. Devil, or Red Devil as he was sometimes called, was built like a muscle with a mouth and eyes carved into it. He wore his head shaved and sported a faint beard that was starting to show the first signs of gray. Zod had known Devil since he was a kid and first came into the services of Don B. He was now Big Dawg’s head of security.
“I think me being in his office is the least of my uncle’s concerns right now,” Zod said before turning to face Devil. Zod’s eyes were glassy and red, due to lack of sleep. He’d been up for nearly forty-eight hours and wanted nothing more than to crash, but there was still work to do. “I could ask the same of you being here, especially since you’ve been missing in action lately.”
“I just came from seeing the Don, and Tone needed me to come here and grab some files.”
“Any change?” Zod asked.
“Nah.” Devil shook his head. “He’s stable, but still not out of the woods, so they think it’s best to keep him in that medically induced coma for a time longer.”
“It’s been nearly a month already.”
Devil shrugged. “That’s what the doctors are saying.”
Zod was silent for a few ticks. You could see the frustration on his face. “Somebody is gonna bleed for this. You know that, right?”
“That goes without saying. Niggas can’t touch the Don and get that off like that.” Devil fumed.
“So how come my uncle’s is the only blood staining the sidewalk so far?” Zod asked.
“Trust, we gonna find out who did this sooner than later and make it right.”
“Streets talking yet?” Zod asked.
“A lil something, but mostly cap or shit that’s being posted on the internet. You know, when a major figure like Don B. gets hit, everybody and they mama wanna take credit for it.”
“But everybody and they mama didn’t shoot my uncle. I wanna know who did,” Zod said.
“Tone thinks he’s got a pretty solid lead. Some dude from out of Jersey,” Devil revealed. He watched Zod’s face for a reaction. The young man remained unreadable.
“Give me his name, so I can pay him a visit.”
“Nah, can’t do it. This is a delicate situation because of mutual acquaintances. Tone wants to make sure all our ducks are in a row before we make a move and the last thing we need is you jumping the gun and causing a gang war,” Devil told him.
“Fuck the gang! That’s my family laid up in there. Y’all don’t trust me to handle it?” Zod asked defensively.
“No, he don’t trust you not to make a mess of it. You a hot head, kid. You shoot first and ask questions later. That ain’t what we need right now,” Devil told him. “Zod, you been around us long enough to know that we ain’t shooting at each other on corners no more. The game is played differently at this end of the field.”
“Yeah, but the game is still the game, ain’t it?” Zod asked. “How long can you all really expect me to sit on my hands and do nothing while a man I love is in ICU fighting for his life?” Zod ran his finger along the top of Don B.’s bloodred office chair, which sat behind a large cherrywood desk.
“For as long as we tell you to,” Devil replied. “This whole situation is a mess, and it’s gonna be up to me and Tone to clean it up. Had I been there, none of this would’ve fucking happened!”
“And that’s the same thing I keep saying to myself.” Zod slid into the chair and made himself comfortable. He placed his cell phone on the tabletop and folded his hands behind his head. From the look on Devil’s face, he could tell that he didn’t appreciate the slick response. This was just the reaction Zod had been looking for. He’d nudged Devil off balance and gravity would do the rest.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Devil was defensive.
“Only that, for as long as I’ve known you, D, I can’t ever recall you missing a day of work. On a night when my uncle needed eyes in the back of his head most, you come down with a tummy ache and hand your responsibilities over to someone else.” It wasn’t an accusation, more of an observation.
“First off, it wasn’t no stomachache. When I woke up that morning, I had chills and a bad case of the shits. With Covid tagging people left and right, I didn’t want to put the team at risk by coming around. You know nothing short of death or a serious illness would’ve kept me from the Don’s side.”
“Forever the loyal soldier, ain’t you, Devil?”
“Shorty, I don’t like what you’re insinuating. Any nigga talking to me like that better have a pistol on him,” Devil warned.
“I do, but I don’t want no trouble with you, OG.” Zod raised his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is, none of this shit sits right with me. One of the most polarizing men in the music business—who made his bones off gangsta rap—not only lets a muthafucka close enough to shoot him, but there was no immediate retaliation. The wolves are hungry, and they’re looking at it like, if Don B. can be touched, then so can any of us. Only be a matter of time before we hear the sounds of wolves sniffing at our backdoor. Shit was already getting shaky over here, but after this . . .” Zod shook his head sadly. “We may as well wave the white flag because it’s looking like we’ve rolled over and died.”
Devil wanted to argue with Zod, but he couldn’t. The Big Dawg brand had indeed been struggling, and people were starting to notice. Don B. and Tone did what they could to keep up appearances, but a buzzard could smell a rotting carcass from a mile away. Whether Don B. pulled through or not, the fact that Mr. Untouchable had been touched was a blow to their whole image. “So, what do you suggest we do?”
“It’s simple. Somebody has to fall.”
“But we don’t even know for sure who shot him yet.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Zod said suggestively. He let the uncomfortable silence linger for a few beats before continuing. “I’m fairly certain that whoever was really behind this will get exactly what is coming to them. That goes without saying, but if we want to save face, we can’t wait. We need to make a move now.”
“I do know, man.” Devil was hesitant. “Tone said—”
“You let Tone keep making his statements to the media. We’ll make ours on the streets. My uncle has no shortage of enemies to choose from, but plucking one of them out at random won’t serve any purpose other than making us hot. This has to be someone who not only stood to benefit from the death of the Don but had a big enough ax to grind against him.”
“I could think of at least ten dudes off the top of my head who might’ve wanted to see the Don dead,” Devil said, rolling over Zod’s plan in his mind.
“Of this, I’m sure. But this has to be someone heavy enough that the entire city hears it when they hit the ground. This will send a message to the vultures circling and waiting to pick over the bones of what the Don has built, that we’re still the biggest dogs on the yard.”
Devil measured Zod’s words. He had to admit that the little nigga had balls. That was one of the only things that Devil liked about Don B.’s ambitious young nephew. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought. Let’s say I buy into this little plot of yours. You got somebody in mind to send this message?”
No sooner than Devil asked the question, Zod’s phone rang on the table. He looked at the screen and read the text from an unknown number: Red Light. “As a matter of fact, I do. I gotta bust a move, but keep your phone close.” He got up and prepared to leave.
“Don’t do nothing stupid, Zod.”
“Only thing I’m gonna do is what one of you niggas should’ve had the balls to do a long time ago.” Zod had just reached the office door when Devil stopped him.
“Is that blood on your shoe?”
Zod looked down at the splotches of red on the sole of one of his crispy white Nikes. “Nah, man. I was eating a pizza and must’ve dropped sauce on them. Keep your phone close,” he repeated before leaving.
The first thing Zod did when he came out of the Big Dawg offices was to find a homeless person and give him the shoes right off his feet. The man was so happy to receive Zod’s gift that he burst into tears. He thanked Zod for the blessing, never knowing that he was really passing off a curse. God help him if the police ever stopped him and looked too closely at his new kicks. That wasn’t Zod’s problem though. He could only imagine how crazy he must’ve looked walking back to where he had left his car with nothing but a pair of white ankle socks on his feet. There were too many other pressing things on his plate for him to care. He had somewhere to be.
Running into Devil at the office had been an unexpected blessing. Devil was definitely on his list of people to see, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. This turned out to be a good thing, as he had now managed to sway the muscle behind Big Dawg to his cause. He’d counted on as much, after doing a bit of digging through Don B.’s private files at the office. He kept them on flash drives in a floor safe under his desk. Zod had discovered it one day when he had found Don in the office, passed out drunk and the safe left ajar. It took Zod three weeks of sneaking into Don B.’s office when no one was around to figure out how to crack into the safe. The code was simple enough to figure out because Don B. was a simple enough man—0-3-1. Once Zod had access to the safe, he would frequently visit the safe and pour over the information inside. It was what he had learned there that would plant the seeds for the weeds that he had been growing.
