Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance

“What?”

“All we got now is the word of a scumbag drug dealer tryin’ to make a deal to get out and sell some more drugs. Let’s check this out a little and if he comes up dirty, I’ll hold him while you tear him a new asshole.”

Sanchez finally exhaled. “Okay.”

Sanchez and I discretely dug into Brown’s life; his finances and the luds from his phone, just like we would any other criminal. The picture that was being painted by the information we found, made one thing crystal clear: Brown was dirty. But I wanted more before we confronted him, so I suggested that we follow him. We lost him in traffic the first day, but the second, Brown led us right to what I was looking for.

“Get a picture,” I said and Sanchez got out his camera.

That next morning, Sanchez called Brown into his office. Before he got there, I made Sanchez promise to take it slow. “Don’t let that famous Latin temper of yours blow this.”

“I’m cool,” Sanchez said as Brown walked in.

“You wanted to see me, lieutenant?”

“Yeah, come in and close the door,” Sanchez said.

“Detective,” Brown said to acknowledge my presence in the room.

I just nodded my head and took another sip of my coffee.

“How’s the car running?”

“Like a dream, lieutenant. It’s worth every penny of that fat note I pay for it every month,” Brown said.

“Kids doing good in school?” Sanchez asked, and I was surprised that he was actually taking it slow. Normally, Gene was the kind of guy that would have called him a dirty cop and asked for his gun and shield as soon as Brown walked in the door.

“They’re doing great.”

“I remember when my kids were that age; wanting something all the time because the other kids had it. I used to have to tell them all the time that they didn’t know what their parents were doing to get all that stuff.”

“It is tough, but me and Kathy, we get by,” Brown said cautiously.

“I know it must be tough paying that fat car note and keeping three kids in private school,” Sanchez said and the look on Brown’s face told the story. “Mount Holy Oak, that place ain’t cheap.”

“What’s going on here, lieutenant?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Kenyatta Damson,” Sanchez said.

“The vic from the other night; what about her?”

“How much did you ask her for?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brown said and squirmed in his chair.

“Well maybe you’d like to tell me what you were doing with Bryce Tyler, and what you had to talk about for an hour?” Sanchez said and I dropped the pictures of him and Bryce Tyler in front of him.

“I need your gun and your shield,” Sanchez said and held out his hand.

I guess Brown knew he was done and quietly gave it up. Then he started talking about a deal where he could walk out of this without going to jail. “The deal is that you give up every dirty cop in the building,” Sanchez said.

At that point, he asked to have a PBA rep present. When the rep got there, Brown told us what he was doing and then he rolled on no less then seventeen cops who were taking payoffs from the same drug dealers they were supposed to be arresting. “So what happened with Kenyatta Damson?”

“She’d been payin’ us off for years. She used to sell for Lorenzo Copeland, the one that killed McDill.”

“Was McDill dirty?” Sanchez asked.

“He got me started. That’s why he was fuckin’ with Copeland that day. He approached Copeland after we flipped Bryce Tyler, but Copeland was an arrogant fuck and wouldn’t play ball. After he went down, I found out that she was back up and running in the same spot, and I approached her. I told her that if she didn’t want to suffer the same fate as Copeland then she would pay.”

“What happened that night? Why’d you go see her?” Sanchez asked.

“I told her the price was going up,” Brown said.

“You fucks always get greedy,” I said in disgust.

“But she refused to pay.”

“That why you had her killed?” I asked.

“I didn’t know he was gonna kill her.”

“Who?”

“Bryce Tyler.” Brown said. “Anytime somebody didn’t want to pay, we’d send Bryce around and he’d convince them that it was in their best interest to pay.”

“What happened then? Dead dealers don’t pay,” I said.

“He said that it was personal.”

“That what you were talking about?”

“Yeah, I told him that he had fucked up and that he needed to lay low for a while ’cause you were putting pressure on us to close this one.”

“How do we find him?” Sanchez asked.

Mike Black

As Bobby drove to Nita Blue’s spot, I thought about Ms. West. Every time I saw her it was always my intention to seduce her, but somehow, each time we meet it turned into a discussion about business. She called me one night and invited me to her apartment. Ms. West said that she had something important to talk to me about. It didn’t matter what she wanted to talk about, I was going to talk her out of her clothes.

When I got there, Ms. West was dressed in a black Herve Leger armor trim dress, with a single strap across the shoulder and a string of pearls. She looked beautiful, but she always does, and I’ve come to expect nothing less from her.

That night Ms West told me that an ex-KGB operative with ties to the Izmaylovskaya mob named Oleg Mushnikov was trying to shake her down for twenty percent of her business. “How do you wanna come outta this?”

“With this guy off my back and me not owing you twenty percent of my business,” Jada said quietly. And just like that, the seduction of Jada West once again, got put on hold. I called and arranged a meeting with Oleg Mushnikov that same night and offered him a deal that in the long-term would be far more lucrative for him than Ms. West’s little pussy business.

It was kind of funny when you think about it. I am now business partners with Oleg Mushnikov in a joint venture to bring wind power to The Kola Peninsula in the Murmansk region in Russia, which should prove to be quite lucrative in the long run, but it was to keep Oleg from shaking Ms. West down for twenty percent of her business. Now, here we are about to scheme our way into shaking Nita Blue down for twenty percent of her little pussy business. Sometimes I don’t understand myself.

Ms. West and Nita Blue are in the same business, but where Ms. West is a madam with a stable of high rent escorts, Nita Blue is a pimp with a stable of seven streetwalkers. What one of Ms. West’s ladies earns in an hour would take Nita’s ladies all night to make.

If I was gonna shakedown somebody, it should be Jada West.

But I’m not.

I had other plans for the lovely and talented Ms. West. And that may or may not include fuckin’ her brains out.

Me and Jamaica were expanding our operation into the gambling market in Nassau; And the international tourist clientele that Jamaica had begun to attract to his spots, don’t seem to be willing to pay for the caliber of women that currently worked the trade in Nassau. Those women are run by Harry and Deidra Walker. In addition to the women they run, they also have a few gambling spots. Eventually, we’ll get around to taking over their business, but for the time being, my attention is focused on getting our gambling operation up and running.

Something that Jamaica said to me one night made me think of Ms. West and her skill set of recruiting and training women to be high-price hookers. “All we need now is some girls, and we take all their money,” Jamaica said. If Ms. West could recruit and train high-quality talent from around the world, I’m sure that there would definitely a market for that.