Filthy Rich-Part 2 (4 page)

Luke closed his eyes for what felt like hours. He could see his son's face. He could see Gavin lying in that warehouse on his back crying and begging to be put out of his misery. The memory made him bitter. It bred hatred. His son, despite his handicaps, deserved so much more than to die the way he did. Luke knew Gavin's death and the fact the he himself was the one who murdered his only son would remain on his conscience forever.

Opening his eyes and staring at the wall, Luke knew his options for getting out of this situation were limited. The Feds had frozen all his money so he couldn’t offer to pay off the men who were probably about to kill him. What money he
did
have was tied up in the mall investment.

For some reason in the midst of the uncertainty, Luke thought about Nessa. He’d spoken to her a few times but nothing concrete was discussed. She’d let him know things were in motion. Once she got the work, she’d grind hard and get him out, she assured him.  Luke heard her, yet wasn’t convinced that Nessa had his back. It seemed as if he couldn't trust anyone but Pamela at the moment.

Luke truly felt like Pamela was in love with him. He didn't quite feel the way she did but he was pretending to and manipulating her. He knew her money and her connections could definitely come in handy. But now even all that seemed in vain. Everything was now about loyalty.

Luke was now even skeptical about Brandon. He sighed stressfully as he thought about all those things. "Fuck," he said in frustration as he felt the van make a sharp turn. From where he sat, he couldn’t see much; only fog.

Luke began kicking at the back of the seat in front of him. “Hey, I gotta pee!” he shouted, realizing hours had passed.

No one answered.

“Hey! Can we talk about this? There’s something good coming for you if we can work this shit out.” 

Everyone still remained silent as the van drove another forty-five minutes with all tongues motionless. Luke could feel his heart thumping through his jumpsuit.

Suddenly, the van slowed. It then made a turn onto what felt like cobblestone or some type of rocky road. Feeling the turn, Luke grew more nervous than before. He knew he was nearing his destination. The fear of the unknown had a grip on him. He finally realized he was stupid to think Chetti couldn’t reach him. He was stupid to underestimate her power.

Moments passed.

The van finally stopped.

Luke listened but couldn’t hear anything outside.

Finally, the back doors opened.

“Step out,” an officer ordered with his hand touching his holster.

Luke was hesitant.

“Now!”

Luke stepped out reluctantly. When he did, what he saw surprised him …

                         * * *

In a ponytail, jumpsuit and flip flops, Chetti didn't quite look like the Chetti she'd always prided herself on. Given the circumstances though, she looked damn good. Her jumpsuit was brand new. Her ponytail was neatly combed and she smelled of Chanel’s Parfum Grand Extrait; perfume costing $4200.00 per bottle.

Knowing exactly who Chetti was, the bitches and COs in Chetti's pod knew not to fuck with her. They knew she had the power to murder any of them, their families included. Because of that, they showered her with commissary, favors, phone privileges, postage stamps and everything else that inmates valued and found importance in.

"So?" Chetti asked as she sat down in the steel chair across from her attorney. "What's the latest."

"Disheartening news," Deena Phillips, a beautiful black woman of about forty years old answered. She was wearing a navy blue Dolce & Gabbana pant suit. Her long black hair fell to her shoulders. Deena was mesmerizing.

"What?"

"Luke was transferred to another jail."

"Why?"

Deena hesitated before answering.

"Well, why?" Chetti asked again impatiently.

Deena cleared her throat then glared toward the ceiling.

"He has agreed to testify for the Feds against you and Darien."

Chetti frowned instantly. She couldn't believe her ears. Shaking her head, she said, "That's nonsense. Luke would never do no punk shit like that."

Deena opened her briefcase slowly and pulled out the paperwork. She slid it across the steel table toward Chetti telling her she needed to see it for herself. Chetti snatched up Luke's agreement to testify against her and Darien. It was all there in black and white. Reading through it and then seeing his signature, she snapped. "That ungrateful son of a goddamn bitch!" she screamed. "That muthafucka!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bishop," Deena shivered. She hoped none of the officers would enter the room. Chetti’s voice had turned extremely loud and disturbing.

"Sorry's not going to stop that bastard from testifying. Sorry's not going to stop that bastard from destroying everything I've worked so fuckin’ hard for!"

"I've got more bad news," Deena stated hesitantly.

"What?"

"Brandon knew of the raid. He wasn't directly involved in the investigation but he knew
of
everything."

"You fuckin’ with me, right?"

Deena shook her head. "My source in The Bureau said Brandon definitely had knowledge."

"That snake. That fucking snake! I had that bastard on a salary. I paid that muthafucka  thirty thousand dollars per month. And this is how he pays me back?" Chetti stood and began to pace the floor angrily. "They're trying to take me down. Them muthafuckas tryna play me. But I'm not going down by myself. Fuck that."

"The only way to prevent that is to try and cut a deal of your own."

Growing beyond infuriated at the suggestion, Chetti yelled, "Hell no. I'm not a rat. That's not in my character. It never has been and never will be."

"There's no other way out, Mrs. Bishop."

"Yes, there is."

"And what's that?"

Chetti made her way back to the table, rested the palms of her hands flat on the table and looked Deena directly in the eyes. "I'm going to murder them."

"Mrs. Bishop…”

"I'm going to murder Luke, Brandon and even that nappy headed girlfriend of Luke's, Nessa."

Deena just simply leaned back into her chair and accepted what she'd just heard. Obviously most attorneys would have run after hearing their client say what Chetti had just said. Deena wasn't your ordinary attorney though. Although a beast in the courtroom, she was just as sleazy as they came. She had connections in the Feds and law enforcement arena; and even connections on the streets. That’s how she’d been able to supply Chetti with the personal information she needed to have several people associated with the family murdered over the past several days to keep them from possibly snitching.

"I'm going to kill them all, Deena…split their fuckin’ head down to the white meat…and eat their asses for dinner. In the meantime, you get me out of here."

"Mrs. Bishop, I don't think…”

"Goddamn it, I don't want to hear fucking excuses!" Chetti roared, slamming a hand down on the table. "I don't give a fuck what you have to do. Just get me out of here!"

With that said, Chetti turned, knocked on the door and stormed out when the guard opened it.

* * *

Darien slammed the payphone into the cradle and stood there for a moment seething in fury and hatred. He'd just gotten the news about Luke. For a moment he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that his brother would violate blood and family honor. Now though, despite his reluctance to believe it, he had no choice but to.

It was what it was.

Looking around at the pod, Darien saw dozens of inmates sitting at steel tables playing cards and chess. Others conversed and laughed while watching television as if being locked up was nothing to fret over. Seeing them all sent something coursing through Darien's veins. He couldn't control himself, something dangerous had taken a hold of him. Unable to restrain himself, he grabbed the phone's receiver and watched as an inmate headed by him. Without warning, Darien swung the receiver against the unsuspecting man's head and connected squarely with his temple. Blood spewed immediately and the man went down to the floor.

The pod erupted.

Men gathered around eager to see a fight.

Dazed and dripping blood to the floor, the assaulted inmate attempted to stagger to his feet. Before he could, Darien kicked him in the side of the face so hard his neck jerked.

"Damn!" someone shouted.

"Fuck that nigga up!" someone else shouted.

As the man lay sprawled out on his back, Darien stomped him directly in the mouth knocking out several teeth. He then stomped him again.

"Aww, shit!" someone gasped. "He's gonna put that nigga in a coma!"

The CO hit the panic button behind his desk. The siren sounded.

Darien jumped on the inmate and began to beat him mercilessly. He punched him in the face as hard as he could and as many times as he could. It didn't take long before his hands were covered in blood.

The door to the pod slid open. Several COs rushed into the pod and shoved their way through the cheering inmates. Reaching Darien, they pulled him off of his victim who had now gone unconscious and whose face was barely recognizable.

"Get the fuck off me!" Darien demanded as he fought and kicked to break loose from the COs' grip.

The other inmates continued to cheer.

Darien eventually found himself lying on his stomach. His hands were then forced behind his back and handcuffed. Minutes later, he was taken to solitary, un-cuffed and shoved into an empty cell. Still pissed off at the news about Luke, he began to pace the cell wanting so badly to be free. He needed retribution. He needed revenge. He needed it all and it was destroying him inside to be deprived of it.

An hour passed.

Two passed.

Darien finally stopped pacing. Placing his hands against the wall and dropping his head, he was still angry. His adrenalin was still pumping. He didn't know what to do with any of it though. He didn't know what to do with
himself
. He'd never been in this position before. He'd never been locked up.

"Fuck!" Darien shouted banging a fist against the wall.

Darien had no idea where to go from here. Both Luke and his mother had always been the brains. They'd always been what he fed off of. Now with Luke snitching and Chetti unable to be contacted, Darien felt lost. He felt alone. But most importantly, for the very first time in his life...

He felt useless.

Chapter 4

The Ritz Carlton suite sat on the 30th floor. Stars glimmered from the night sky outside its picture windows like countless diamonds. A full moon emitted rays of white light. A breath taking view of the Crystal City skyline sat beneath the sky and stars. Along route one, the glow of cars' headlights and taillights flowed in both directions. In the bedroom scattered about were bags filled with Gucci, Dolce & Gabanna, Chanel, and a number of other fashion designers. On the dresser and nearby table were empty bottles of Ciroc and half eaten plates of Chinese food along with several stacks of money which amounted to a little over twenty thousand dollars.

Nessa was lying in the king-sized bed recuperating from a two hour long fuck fest with Brandon. Lying naked, although pregnant, her body was still shapely, no stretch marks, no outward signs of pregnancy. Her feet and hands were freshly painted and her hair was tied back. The newest Chanel perfume radiated from her pours saturating the sheets with its pleasant scent.

Lighting a cigar and laying naked himself, Brandon laid the back of his head on the stacks of pillows and stared up at the ceiling. Taking a puff of the Cohiba, savoring its taste for a moment and then exhaling, he got up, grabbed his pants and reached into his pockets. Pulling out a small baggie of cocaine, he poured the powder out on a table, positioned it into three thin lines and then pulled out a five dollar bill which he rolled up thinly. Moments later he was inhaling the Coke through the bill. As he did, Nessa watched in silence. She hadn't known he had the habit until recently.

"So how much do you know about your boy?" Brandon asked now wiping cocaine from his nostrils and looking at Nessa with his eyes growing glossy.

"Who?" she asked.

"NaNa."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean how much do you know about him?"

"Shit, everything. Why?"

Nessa thought about how far her relationship with NaNa went back. She trusted him with her life. Besides he’d proven his loyalty to her many times before.

"Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"Brandon, that's my homeboy. He’s like a brother to me. I've known him since we were kids…trust the nigga with my life."