Authors: Clever Black
Carmella was drying herself off and had caught the last vestiges of
the news report and she trotted out of the bathroom butt naked. “Now
someone may remember she said my name. I did right killin’ that
whore,” she said somberly as she stared at the fading images on
the TV.
A surprised Pepper eased back on the bed and pulled her knees up to
her chest. “You did that to those people?” she asked
lowly.
“What do you think, Peppi?”
“I think so. But it’s our secret.” Pepper replied
as her eyes welled up. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she
whispered.
Carmella saw right away that Pepper was deathly afraid of her; but
she need not be. A special place inside her heart shed light on Peppi
Vargas and she couldn’t hurt the little girl even if it called
for it. Carmella then briefly thought about the sixteen year-old
she’d killed, a girl similar to Pepper who looked up to her and
only wanted to fill her shoes. She then asked herself that if it were
Pepper who’d said her name inside that bar, would she do what
she’d done to the young female over in East Saint Louis a
couple of hours earlier to Pepper, and her only answer was that of
maybe, maybe not.
“Are you mad at me?” Pepper asked, shaking Carmella from
her thoughts.
Carmella walked over to one of the walls in the room that featured
rows of neat wooden squares filled with neatly folded clothes with
the tags still attached. “I’m not mad at you,” she
told Pepper as she removed a tag and slid into a pair of
loose-fitting cotton shorts “It’s just that sometimes
this business gets too complex even for those who are on top.
Understand?”
“Not really. Can you tell me why you killed those people? Did
they something to you?”
“Yes they did. They got in my way, baby. They just got in my
way.” Carmella said as she popped a tag and pulled a t-shirt
down over head. “I’m going to fix us a good meal now,
Peppi. What would you like for dinner?”
“Enchiladas!” Pepper exclaimed as she stood up and began
jumping up and down on the soft mattress. “Chicken enchiladas!”
“Okay,” Carmella responded as Pepper jumped into her
arms. Carmella caught the little girl while laughing aloud before
gently placing her back onto her feet and leading her out of the
room. “I haven’t used my kitchen but once when we first
got to this place in the summer. You just relax and let me handle
everything while you finish studying.”
While gathering items for the enchiladas, Carmella called Toodie. The
Perez sisters had seen the same news broadcast. They knew just as
well as Carmella that there was one survivor, the only problem was
that neither knew who the person was; the authorities were
tight-lipped about the matter, refusing to release the names of the
victims, the lone survivor, and were unwilling to say whether they
had a list of suspects or not.
“We must keep a low profile for a while, Toodie,”
Carmella said as turned on the water faucet. “I'm going out of
state. You two head over to the other spot.”
“We moving now,” Toodie said as she eased up from the
couch and called for Phoebe. The two of them readying to move the
cocaine they'd stolen a couple of hours earlier over to another trap
house they operated in East Saint Louis, Illinois while things died
down.
Carmella, meanwhile, was planning a trip to Denver, Colorado and
visit Desiree the following evening. She’d missed her friend
and lover the time she’d been away. As she began seasoning the
boneless chicken breasts in the sink, Carmella again thought about
the hit she pulled and couldn't help but to release a sly smile. She
had a good crew indeed. Whatever carnage lay behind in Saint Charles,
Missouri would have to be absorbed by those who’d felt her
wrath because Carmella could care less about the damage she’d
done to her enemies.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SEARCH FOR ANSWERS
The crime scene on Elm Street had been cleared of the carnage.
Mildred, Benito and Gaggi’s bodies had been taken to the
medical examiner’s office in Saint Charles and Lucky had been
transported to Mercy Medical Center near the junction of I-270 and
I-64 and was undergoing surgery for three gunshot wounds to the lower
back, left arm and lower left jaw. A few officers were still on hand
out in front
Connections
filing reports and talking to
witnesses, all of whom gave the same story—eight or nine people
dressed up as federal agents had robbed
Connections
and shot
up the place. No one mentioned drugs, but Benito and Gaggi were known
criminals so that specific detail went without saying as far as
authorities were concerned.
When Carmella and her crew drove up, Eddie, Junior, Jay-D and Dooney
had fled the scene; now they were beside themselves having realized
they’d abandoned the bosses under pretense. The repercussions
could be severe; abandoning the bosses warranted death for those who
were supposed to stand guard. Things had to be smoothened over and
explained thoroughly in order to prevent the entire crew from getting
wiped out; but only twenty-six year old Eddie Cottonwood seemed to
understand that fact.
“Sons of bitches wasn’t even cops,” twenty-four
year-old Junior said in disbelief as he paced the floor of Eddie’s
kitchen a couple of hours after the hit. “We fell for that play
and look what happened! I want every set in this bullshit ass town
hit right now!”
“Yo,” Eddie said as he held up his hands, “we don’t
even know who in the fuck these people are, Junior. Maybe we should
get our soldiers around town to open their ears and close their
mouths so we can find out who’s behind this shit before we go
out and start killing people that don’t have nothing to with
what went down.”
“Fuck that! They kill my moms and pops while I’m there?
Anybody can get it as far as I’m concerned!” Junior said
as he eyed Eddie with rage in his eyes.
“That’s the wrong move, man. I’m just sayin’,
before we start a war, let’s think this out and go about it the
right way.”
“We already at war! And the right way is to strike back at
everybody!”
“Hit everybody,” Eddie as matter-of-factly as he eyed
Jay-D and Dooney, who shook their heads somberly. Junior was making
no sense at this moment and Eddie and his brothers knew it.
“I know you want payback and so do I,” Eddie told Junior
from across the table. “We all were out there on the corner
when that shit went down and we all made the wrong move, man. Running
off was the biggest fuck up we ever made to date. At least it’s
the biggest mistake me and my family ever made. We all should’ve
stayed. But because we jump ship, my life and the lives of my
brothers is on the line. We gotta face the music, brother.”
“Don’t give me that brother shit, Eddie! And the only
music I want to hear is the sound of Chicago pianos ringing aloud on
the streets of Saint Louis! You think I give a fuck about what my
granddad or DeeDee says? It was my mother and father who took those
bullets!”
“Benito and Gaggi went down—”
“Fuck Benito and Gaggi! I could give a fuck less about those
two sons-of-bitches!”
“You not in the right frame of mind,” Jay-D spoke up.
“What you plan on doing ain’t gone do nothing but draw
heat,” he said as he watched Junior repeatedly pace the wooden
floors inside the kitchen.
“Jay-D right,” Eddie chimed in. “Let’s call
the people who can make the right decisions and guide us through this
episode the right way so there won’t be any unnecessary
bloodshed is all I’m saying.”
Junior stopped passing the floor and eyed Eddie. “You saw my
mom’s brain’s splattered on the floor of that bar,”
he asked lowly. “Some punk asses swoop in and take my family
out in cold blood?”
“This ain’t just about your family, Junior! We still have
to run a business!” Eddie retorted as he pounded the table with
one fist.
“This is way beyond business! This here is personal!”
“You can’t go at it that way, man! Let’s make some
calls. Let’s take it slow,” Eddie reinforced.
Junior wasn’t trying to hear Eddie’s reasoning. He threw
his hands up and stormed out of the kitchen. “Fuck it I’m
gone!”
Eddie quickly gave chase. “Don’t you go and do something
crazy, Junior! Let me call some people and get some leadership
reestablished,” he said once he'd caught up to Junior in the
foyer.
“I’m the fuckin’ leader now! What part of that shit
you don’t understand, Eddie?” Junior asked as he walked
backwards towards the front door with his arms spread.
“Where you going, man? Don’t you go out on your own and
start wildin’ out down here.”
Junior laughed at Eddie's remark. “How the fuck you're gonna
tell me what to do,” he questioned as he pulled on his suit
jacket. “You do what you have to do. Call whoever you like and
think is in charge.”
“I just wanna talk to the people in charge, Junior. It has
nothing to do with you, man.”
“Sure it doesn’t—for now. But when I get my way?
I’m gonna hit every dealer in this town. I’m going back
to the hospital and check on my pops. But if I find out on my own who
did this? It ain’t gonna matter what nobody says because I will
kill all of them by myself if need be.”
Eddie sighed a sigh of relief at that moment, happy Junior was not
going to start riding around to the crew’s several trap houses
and start issuing ill-advised orders to soldiers to start hitting
other sets; but he still had it in him to go off on his own and that
would be dangerous on his part. When Junior left the block, Eddie got
on the phone and called Doss.
*******
Elm Street was a tranquil place early Sunday morning. Soldiers from
around the Saint Louis area were on hand to protect the Chicago
Gang’s home turf from further retaliation. A few were hiding
out in the old cleaners across from the bar and several men were
parked in SUVS up and down the block.
Eddie stood outside the entrance to
Connections
in an olive
silk suit and black gator shoes talking to one of the crew’s
most trusted soldiers in Saint Louis, seventeen year-old Malik Gomez,
who ran a trap house in Fox Park.
“Anybody said anything last night about what happened around
here over where you at, Malik?” Eddie asked as he tucked his
hands inside his silk slacks.
Malik Gomez, a five foot nine one hundred and seventy-five pound
muscular Mexican with short black hair, shook his head slowly and
said, “Nothing of any value, homes. But this set over on Ann
Avenue back in Fox Park? Business been picking up for them the past
few months. A few buyers say they have a connect coming out of
Mexico. I can’t say if they were in on this thing or not
because I don't know enough about them.”
“You know their names?”
“Some of them. They just a bunch of crazy Mexican girls if ya’
ask me. I’ll check them out some more if that is what you want
done.” Malik replied as he scanned the block, making sure the
guys he’d brought with him were in the right place.
“Look into that for me. They might be the type to do some shit
like this. You know their names?” Eddie asked as he looked down
at Malik.
“The only names I know off Ann Avenue is Toodie and Phoebe.
They’re sisters who run that block and a few other spots in Fox
Park.”
“Keep your ears open for me. If they was involved in this here,
it'll come out soon enough.”
“Si, boss. Who we waiting on again?”
The question had barely escaped Malik’s lips when a black
Suburban with dark tinted windows pulled up in front of
Connections
.
Malik, and two other soldiers standing outside of the bar with him
and Eddie watched as four people, a man dressed in a dark brown silk
suit, followed by a young male and two identical twins, all emerged
from the interior of the vehicle.
The young male wore a cream-colored suit and black dress shoes. The
identical twins were dressed in baggy jeans and tight-fitting shirts
and all three were clutching a .45 automatic handguns. The group
walked slowly up the sidewalk leading to the establishment.
Doss had driven up from Oklahoma overnight when Eddie had called and
he was planning to get the crew on the same page until he could talk
to Mendoza and DeeDee in person back in Chicago. He greeted a few of
the workers before he and the big three walked into
Connections.
“What do we know?” Doss asked he walked over to the bar
where Eddie was now standing with his younger brothers.
“All we know is that before the raid, a Spanish broad jogged
onto the block with a puppy on a leash,” Eddie stepped forth
and replied. “She bought a sno-ball from the deli and then
left. Next thing we know we gettin’ hit. Whoever did it
disguised themselves as federal agents and raided the joint. We
believe this Spanish chick was in on it, but we don't have a clue
where she’s at right now.”
“Where were you and your people when this went down?”
Doss asked as he walked behind the counter and eyed the register and
safe, which hadn’t been touched.
Eddie rubbed his face in frustration and said, “We were, we
were on side the building when they rode up, Doss. They had these
lights flashing, badges and even had the jackets and shit that the
FBI be wearing. We thought it was a legitimate bust so, so we, we
umm—”
“Y’all took off running?” Doss asked calmly as he
eyed Eddie seriously.
“Yeah, man. When they left without making arrests, we came back
but by then someone else had found the boss.”
Doss stared down at the floor in deep thought; he knew the only way
the crew would ever get hit would be for someone to have talked.
Eddie should have stayed regardless was his thinking. A man could
still fight behind bars, and the feds for the most part could be
beaten if one had the money required to obtain a top notch lawyer.
“We can’t change what’s happened,” Doss
remarked as he approached the bar from behind the counter, “but
we most certainly can’t let it happen again. I’m not
saying be stupid and open fire on the police and go for suicide, but
had it been an actual raid, we would’ve been in a better
position to fight this thing maybe. And had we stayed we could’ve
defended our turf, you see?”