Filthy Rich-Part 2 (8 page)

“Byron, wait!” Brandon shouted.

“Stop acting so childish,” Nessa added. “We can work this out!”

Hearing his daughter’s voice, Byron turned around.

Then the gun sounded.

Crack!!!!!

Crack!!!!!

Crack!!!!!

Nessa froze.

      Three bright flashes exploded from Brandon's gun, each accompanied by hollow tipped bullets. All three bullets immediately tore into Byron's chest and sent him stumbling backwards. He fell to the ground.

Nessa's mouth dropped. She was totally speechless. She couldn't believe what she'd just seen.

Byron, still alive but just barely, turned over and began to pull himself along the ground in a last ditch effort to get away. As he pulled himself, his blood began to leave a trail underneath him and behind him along the surface of the pavement.

“Brandon, don’t !” Nessa screamed.

Refusing to let Byron live, Brandon quickly strutted angrily towards him with his gun aimed.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Nessa screamed while grabbing his arm.

Snatching away from her, Brandon made his way across the concrete to Byron. Taking aim at the back of his skull, Brandon squeezed the trigger. Dying instantly, Byron's brains were now scattered all over the ground.

"You son of a bitch!" Nessa screamed. She was hysterical. "I told you not to kill him. I fuckin' told your ass not to do it!"

Turning around and marching towards Nessa, Brandon yelled back, "It had to be done!"

"No, it didn't!"

Getting directly in Nessa's face, he screamed, "This is the fuckin' life you chose, Nessa. In order to reach the top in this game, you've got to murder the muthafuckas who are trying to hold you back!"

"But he was my father!"

"And Luke, Chetti, and Darien were my family. So, what the fuck about it? That blood is thicker than water shit don't fly in this game. It's dog eat dog, Nessa. Every beast for himself.
That's
how you survive!"

"Goddamn it, Brandon, this is
my
thing. I give the orders!"

Hearing those words made something shift inside Brandon. Developing a rabid expression across his face, he said, "Bitch, don't get it twisted. You may have power but I'm
powerful
. Big difference. I gave you everything. Me, bitch. And I can take it away if I feel the need to. Don't you ever fuckin' forget it."

Nessa stood seething. She didn't quite know how to respond to what he'd just said. She realized maybe it was best to not say anything.

Snatching Nessa's purse, Brandon took the fifty thousand from inside and tossed the purse on the ground. "This is to pay off the Mexicans."

Nessa still remained silent but pissed off as she watched Brandon turn and head to his car. As the engine came to life and he pulled away leaving her alone, she realized two things. One was that her relationship turned partnership with him was going to have to come to an end. And number two...

The car that had been parked across the street from the park was now gone.  

Chapter 8

Outside the cabin a rented Chrysler 300 was parked near the front door. The sun beamed down over the cabin and surrounding trees. Inside, far beyond angry, Chetti paced back and forth across the floor holding a glass of Tequila in her right hand. Ice cubes clinked against the sides of the glass with each step she took. In her other hand she held a cigar; a Louixs, the best cigar money could buy. Smoke slithered from its lit end towards the ceiling.

Chetti, fresh out of jail, still looked just as beautiful as she did the very day she was arrested. Her hair was pulled back and nails freshly done. Dressed in a Chanel from head to toe, her facial expression showed her distaste for the flies buzzing around the dead bodies.

Sitting in a chair in the far corner of the room watching in silence was Mac, Chetti's most trusted bodyguard. Mac got his name because of his solid and rugged build, a build as indestructible as a Mac truck. He stood a towering 6'5". He weighed a little over three hundred pounds and was black as coal. His hands were huge and calloused. And he always kept a gun in close reach.

Mac, although a bodyguard, was a renaissance man of sorts for Chetti. He was a killer, kidnapper, hustler, and businessman. He’d been responsible for watching Chetti’s money on the streets for years. And since Chetti had been gone, he'd been responsible for killing whoever she needed killed. He was also part of the reason she was now free. It was him who had hustled and grinded hard to get up the money for Chetti's release. The very moment Chetti's bond was made public, he posted the bail and was on the steps of the jail awaiting her and her attorney.

At the moment, besides Mac and Deena, no one knew Chetti was free. She wanted it to remain that way for a while. She had to plot and scheme for a moment. Aside from that, she was pissed the fuck off.

"Fucking incompetent sons of bitches!" Chetti yelled as she continued to pace the floor of the same cabin where Trinity and Cedrick had been held captive.  She stepped over the decomposing bodies of the men she’d paid to handle her children as if their lives never mattered. "I gave those idiots two simple tasks. Just two: kill Trinity and watch over Cedrick. That was it. And what did those damn bozos do? Fuck it up!"

She took a pull from the cigar as she kept pacing. She was furious.

"Goddamn morons!" she hollered, smashing her foot onto the rotting face of one of her late goons. Blood oozed causing Mac to gag, yet Chetti never flinched.

Mac didn't say a word, just more gestures from the foul smell. He just sat in his chair keeping an eye on the window for anything or anyone suspicious. Although the cabin was miles away from civilization and no one knew Chetti was out yet, he wasn't taking any chances.

"If a bitch wants something done, she's got to do it her damn self!" Shaking her head, Chetti took a sip of the Tequila. Then she told Mac, "I can't have Trinity and Cedrick coming back to haunt me. You understand?"

He nodded. He had always been a man of only few words.

"I'm going to need you to find them and dispose of their asses just like you've been doing everyone else. I want their asses wiped out. Until I can beat this damn case, I have to cut ties with anyone who the damn Feds can manipulate into talking. I don't trust no damn body. I'll be damned if I let them take me down."

"I got you, boss," Mac told her.

“I mean maids…drivers…friends…everybody!”

Mac nodded. With his heavy-set voice, he asked? “You want a proper burial for Cheo and Mooch?”

“Hell fuckin’ no!” she shouted, followed by the ugliest grimace he’d seen her make in a while. “Those morons didn’t do as I instructed! Instead of killing Trinity they got themselves killed…so why in the hell would I bury them! Feed them to the wolves!”

Heading over to the window, she took another stress filled pull of her cigar. Damn, how she'd missed the taste of its smoke. She’d craved it many nights along with a drink while she sat in that damn cage. Now staring through the cloudy veil she'd exhaled in front of her, looking out into the woods, growing solemn as the hours passed. "Fucking children," she muttered with both anger and a twinge of sadness.

Mac watched her back.

"You spend your entire life sacrificing for them," she continued. "You give them the world. You give them an excellent life. You give them yourself. But what do they do in repayment?" Her face twisted as she answered her own question. "They turn around and cut deals with The Feds. They spill family secrets. They disobey."

Mac shook his head.

Silence.

A little over a minute passed.

Still looking out of the window, Chetti thought hard about Darien. Memories of giving birth to him filled her head along with lessons taught. She saw his smile. She heard his voice. It all brought heavy sadness to her heart. What seemed like a dark cloud fell over her.

"My baby," she whispered as she thought about what Darien must've looked like after taking such a savage beating in jail and dying so mercilessly. She grimaced at the pain he must've endured after being shanked. Just to know he bled out like a pig left her heart broken. She could imagine the blood. She could imagine its smell. She'd heard he had died with his eyes open. The thought of him staring up at the ceiling of his cell unearthed her for a moment. She could feel a tear welling up. Refusing to show weakness, she took a sip of her drink, threw her shoulders back like a soldier and held her chin up as she accepted what she'd done. "Couldn't take a chance," she now said to herself. "I knew he was going to disappoint me just like the rest of them. I knew he'd break. I had to do what I had to do...”

"I had to have the guards kill him."

Those words were accompanied with silence. There was nothing more for Chetti to say about it. With conspiracy charges, drug trafficking charges, gun distribution charges, and racketeering charges just to name a few dangling over Chetti, she'd had Darien beaten and killed by the guards out of fear that he'd break. She knew he wasn't built for jail. She knew he'd never been too smart. Yes, he'd been loyal. And yes, he had been a momma's boy. But with so much time hanging over his head, Chetti believed it was only a matter of time before he'd spill his guts to the Feds. She couldn't have that. She couldn't take that chance.

"Every bitch for herself," Chetti said just before throwing back what was left in her glass. "Every bitch for herself."

Turning to Mac, she said, "Set up a meeting with Brandon. He knew the mansion was going to get hit and didn't say a thing. I want to know his fucking reasons. If they're not good, I'm going to kill him where he stands."

"No problem," Mac said.

"Also, it's high time I pay Luke's little ghetto bed winch Nessa a visit. Since he wants to turn on the family, I want his bitch to see what pain feels like up close and personal. I want to cut that tramp's throat from ear to ear nice and slow."

“Got it, boss.”

“And find fuckin” Trinity and Cedrick!!!!!!!!” she blasted angrily. I want them brought to me,” she ordered as her veins nearly popped from her neck. 

Turning to the window once again, she smirked. Folding her arms across her breasts with the faces of Brandon, Nessa, and her remaining three children branded on her brain, she said...

"The bitch is back."

                      * * *

When the door of the plush office lobby opened and Cedrick walked in, the secretary was at her desk talking on the phone. Once her eyes set on Cedrick, her bottom jaw dropped to the floor. Her face drained of color. Not a word fell from her mouth. At that moment, an attorney, Richard Falou, walked into the lobby also with his head down in paperwork. Finally, raising his eyes and seeing Cedrick, he froze and dropped his paperwork to the floor. Just like the secretary, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. He was absolutely speechless.

The secretary was the first to speak. "Mr. Bishop?" she asked as if scared he
would
answer her.

"Cedrick?" Richard asked.

"Yes," Cedrick answered.

"But," Richard said. "But." He was so in shock he couldn't speak another word.

"You're supposed to be dead," the secretary said.

"Been getting that a lot lately," Cedrick told her with a smile.

"Is it really you?" Richard asked. The expression on his face was still marred with shock and disbelief.

"Yes."

Realizing he wasn't staring at a ghost or a mirage, Richard crossed the lobby floor and hugged Cedrick. "Everyone thought you were dead."

"I know. That's just the way my mother wanted it."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to talk to you in your office. It's important."

"Obviously," Richard said. Then after telling his secretary to hold all his calls, he accompanied Cedrick back to his office and closed the door.

Richard's office sat on the tenth floor of the downtown Washington building. It's window held a beautiful view of the downtown skyline. Its furniture was expensive and imported from France. One of its walls held a stoic but intimidating life size painting of the law firm's founding father, Mr. Reginald Falou dressed in a suit and sitting in a chair with almost a cold stare. It was obvious he had been a man of no nonsense or fear.

"Have a seat," Richard told Cedrick.

Cedrick sat in a high-backed chair in front of Richard's desk.

Heading around the desk to his chair, which was also high-backed and leather, Richard took off his suit jacket to expose a crispy white button down and black suspenders. Hanging his jacket over the back of his chair and sitting down, he said, "It's still strange to wrap my mind around the fact you’re still alive. What's going on? Where have you been?"