The Demise (20 page)

“This my little homie,” Fly introduced. “Tryna get him out of this schoolboy shit.” He turned toward C.J. “You see something you like?”

C.J. picked up a retro sneaker. “These?” he suggested.

Fly Boogie nodded while distractedly texting in his phone. “He'll take everything on that wall. Measure his foot and bag us up.”

C.J. thought Fly Boogie was the coolest dude he knew. He wasn't old like his father or uncles. He didn't walk around in suits and shiny shoes. Fly Boogie's youthful appearance and casual swag made him more relatable to C.J.

Fly turned around and noticed a police officer approaching his car. He walked outside. “Yo, Officer, that's me,” Fly Boogie said. “Is there a problem?”

“You've got some ID?” the officer asked.

Fly Boogie frowned. He wanted to ask why he needed identification, but considering what he had in the car, he wasn't going to cause a scene. “I'm getting ready to reach in my back pocket for my wallet,” Fly informed him, not wanting to give this officer any reason to pop off. In his eyes, all cops were the enemy and the LAPD was the dirtiest gang in the game. He moved more carefully around them than around the goons he sold to. He pulled out his license and passed it to the officer. “I'll be right back,” the officer said, retreating to his car.

C.J. and the sales girl came out of the store carrying several bags filled with shoes. C.J. went for the car, but Fly Boogie placed a hand on his chest, holding him back.

“Hold up, C.J.,” he said, now wishing he had just dropped the kid off at school. Things could be real bad if the officer came back with a hostile agenda. The officer took his time running Fly's plates and checking his name, but Fly didn't budge. For twenty minutes he stood on the curb unmoved, because he knew the cop wanted to rise a reaction out of him. It didn't matter to Fly Boogie. He would play the waiting game all day. He wasn't like most hood dudes who reacted first and thought later. He would remain compliant if that meant he would leave with his life and without his hands in silver cuffs.

The officer came back over and reluctantly gave him his license back. “Move the car. This isn't a parking spot,” he grumbled before retreating back to the squad car.

Fly hustled C.J. into the car and hurriedly pulled away from the block. He wasn't even two blocks away before C.J. said, “Fly, the police are behind us again.”

“Shit,” Fly said. He peered in his rearview. The cop had let him go only to call in to another patrol and have him harassed again. He wanted to peel off, but with Miamor's son beside him, he decided to play it cool. “Reach in the backseat, C.J. Grab the book bag, put the gun inside,” he said as he pulled another burner off his waistline, passing it to C.J. “Put that one in there, too, and put it on your back.”

C.J. hurriedly did as he was told.

Fly Boogie pulled over. A coal-sized lump formed in his throat as he gripped the steering wheel nervously. “Just be cool,” he said, speaking more to himself than to C.J.

The officer got out of the car and Fly could tell by the way he gripped the pistol on his hip that this wasn't a routine stop. “I need to see your hands!” the cop shouted as he approached the car. He pulled his gun, and Fly Boogie stuck both hands out of his window. “The passenger, too!”

“He's an eight-year-old kid!” Fly Boogie yelled back.

“Out of the vehicle,” the officer said, pulling open the driver-side door. Fly Boogie stepped out as the officer roughly slammed him against the car. C.J. wasn't sure what he should do. A crowd began to form as the officer rough-housed Fly Boogie in broad daylight. “What you got on you? Huh? Drugs? Is there anything in the car that I should know about?” the officer asked as he frisked Fly Boogie.

Fly Boogie gave him the grim face and didn't respond. He simply stared straight ahead as he was shaken down.

C.J. eased out of the car with the book bag on his back and assimilated into the growing crowd. The officer noticed and yelled, “Kid! Back in the car! Now!” He twisted Fly Boogie's arms behind his back and slammed him on the hood of the car. The cuffs were so tight on his wrists that they cut into his skin like razors. C.J. watched on in horror. He took a step back into the crowd. “Hey, kid!” The cop started toward C.J., and Fly Boogie rose up, fighting against the officer's force to create a distraction.

C.J. took off down the block, running full speed. His heart pumped, and adrenaline coursed through him as he cut through the bodega. He was running with so much speed that he knocked over a display.

“Hey!” the store clerk shouted, but C.J. was already out the back door. He never looked back to see that he had already shaken the officer. He ran down the alley and came out on the next street. He spotted a bus up ahead. By the time he made it to it, he was out of breath.

He pulled out a pocket full of money. His hands were so shaky, he could barely thumb through the bills that Fly had given him. The bus driver frowned in concern. “This is the wrong side of town to be pulling out so much money,” the older black gentleman said. “You in some kind of trouble?”

“No, I'm just trying to get to school,” C.J. lied as he stuffed the bills in his jean pockets and then held out a hundred-dollar bill.

“Keep it, kid,” the man said. He pointed directly to the seat behind him. “You have a seat right here. What's the name of your school?”

“Brookdale Academy,” he answered.

“I'll make sure you get there,” the man said.

C.J. sighed in relief as he held on to the book bag for dear life. He had been so terrified that he had to blink away his tears. He had no idea what was going to happen to Fly Boogie. He wanted to call his mother, but if he did, she would know that he had ditched school, so instead he went to school. He would meet her outside afterward like it was just an ordinary day. Only problem was, it wasn't and he had a bag full of pills and guns that he didn't know what to do with.

The bus driver finished his route, letting all of his passengers off until only C.J. remained. It was the first time that C.J. had been to these neighborhoods. The graffiti, the seedy characters, the old school cars and loud music … it all intrigued him. Coming up as a son in The Cartel, he only knew about the wealth. He hadn't witnessed the come-up, but riding through the hood made him wish he was from the other side. He had no idea the people trapped in the struggle yearned for the life he had. Miamor and Carter had sold their souls to make sure he didn't live the hard-knock life, and here he was craving a piece of it. The bus driver turned off his service light and then made the hike all the way to the Baldwin Hills, where the bourgeois school was located. C.J. got off at the corner. “Thanks,” he said as he passed the old man a hundred-dollar bill and then rushed off.

C.J. headed into school. What he didn't realize was his new school had a no-loitering policy and his presence in the hallways midday made him stand out. The principal spotted him as soon as he stepped inside.

“Mr. Jones, you're late on your very first day.”

C.J.'s eyes widened as he stopped walking midstep.

“I'm Mr. Simpson, headmaster here,” he introduced himself. He held out his hand for the young boy. C.J. reluctantly shook it as he grasped the straps to the book bag. “Let's get you to class. I'll show you where your locker is. We don't allow book bags to be carried during school hours. You can keep it in your locker and carry your books to class,” he informed him.

C.J. nodded and nervously let Mr. Simpson lead him to his locker. He held out his hand. “Book bag?” Mr. Simpson asked. He reached to take the book bag off of C.J.'s back. C.J. snatched it away, shrugging him off, hard.

“I got it,” C.J. said.

The principal frowned, but didn't press the young man. They located his locker. “You can pick up a lock from the main office after school. For now, your belongings should be okay without one.”

“I need a lock,” C.J. pushed as he slid his shoulders out of the straps.

“I assure you,” Mr. Simpson said, “no one will go into your locker. We have a zero-tolerance policy for theft.” He reached down to grab the book bag from C.J., who snatched it out of his hands. This time, the principal didn't let go. “C.J., let go of the book bag.”

“I just need a lock!” C.J. said urgently. He pulled on it, trying to get it out of his principal's grasp, causing the zipper to break. The guns and pills spilled out all over the floor.

Mr. Simpson looked at the contents in shock and quickly apprehended C.J. “Step back. Over there, sit down on the floor,” he said sternly.

Tears welled in C.J.'s eyes and he gritted his teeth, but he did as he was told. He knew he was in trouble and as he watched school security arrive on the scene, he lowered his head, afraid of the consequences to come.

 

C
HAPTER
14

“Where is my son?” Miamor asked the officer sitting at the reception desk inside the precinct. “I've been waiting here for two hours. Where is he?!” Her patience was nonexistent, and anger burned in her eyes.

“He's being processed, miss,” the officer said. “When I have more information, I'll provide you with it. Until then, sit down.”

Miamor's temper was threatening to boil over, and she had to remind herself that she was standing in the middle of a police precinct. “Listen, you fat, bald, incompetent—”

“Miamor.”

Miamor turned around to see Carter standing behind her with his legal bulldog, Einstein, beside him. Carter was clean and dapper as ever in his Tom Ford suit. The beard was gone, and the sadness that had filled his eyes had been replaced by a look of anger. He stood before her strong, shoulders squared, and with an expression that said he wasn't beat for the bullshit. She hadn't seen this version of him in years. He had been holed up in the mountains for so long that she had hardly recognized him before, but this powerful man in front of her was the Carter she knew. Everything about him signified power. The look of anger that burned in his eyes told her that he would handle this. His presence brought her instant relief.

“Thank God,” she whispered as she walked over to him.

“Don't worry. I'll have C.J. out of here within the hour,” Einstein said as he left the two standing alone in the lobby to talk.

“What happened?” Carter asked.

Miamor was so flustered that all she could do was shake her head. “I don't know. Fly dropped him off at school this morning and next thing I know, I'm getting calls that he's been arrested and that there were drugs and guns in his book bag,” she said.

“Where that nigga at?” Carter asked. He wanted to gather all of the information before he reacted. He could easily piece the day's events together on his own, but he didn't jump to conclusions. He wasn't the assuming type. He would rather hear the facts so that he could handle things accordingly.

“I've been calling him all day. I don't know,” Miamor admitted.

“Go home,” Carter instructed. “I'll get C.J. and I'll bring him to you.”

“I want to stay,” she said.

“I said I'll handle it,” Carter assured her. His word was law. Even after all this time, when he spoke, she listened. She left the station with the utmost confidence that Carter would get their son out of the sticky predicament.

When Miamor was out of sight, Carter walked up to the same officer at the front reception desk. “How are you?” he asked.

“What can I help you with, sir?” the officer asked without looking up from the computer screen he was working on.

Carter handed the officer his identification. “Run that name through your system,” he said.

The officer frowned. “Have a seat, sir.” The no-nonsense tone of the officer told Carter that the man had little patience. He was too tired, had worked long hours, and was underpaid. He wasn't going above and beyond for the badge. He was just there for a paycheck.

Carter leaned over the counter and lowered his tone. “You want to know exactly who you're talking to before you open your mouth,” Carter said.

The officer wanted to beat his chest and stand behind the authority in his badge, but something told him the man in front of him should be taken seriously. He snatched the driver's license off the counter reluctantly and typed the name into the computer database. Carter's entire rap sheet came up. Even crimes that he hadn't been convicted of lit up the screen.

Murder

Drug trafficking

Intent to distribute

Head of a criminal enterprise

Illegal firearms

Everything that the feds wished they could stick to him illuminated the screen in front of the man.

“Don't fuck with me,” Carter stated as he stared at him maliciously, without blinking. “And the woman who just walked out of here … next time, you show her more respect. I want my son in my presence in the next ten minutes or you're going to have a problem, Officer Jenson,” he said, reading his name tag.

The man's skin turned beet red from sheer intimidation. Carter didn't even blink until the cop lowered his head in submission. Carter turned on his Prada loafers and walked over to the waiting area. “Pussy,” he mumbled. Before he could even sit down, Einstein was walking out with C.J. The boy ran over to his father, hugging him. Carter could see the dried tears on his face and the terrified look in his eyes.

“This is bad, Carter. I have lunch with the prosecuting attorney tomorrow. I'll find out how much it's going to cost to make this thing go away. He had two handguns and a shitload of pills in his backpack,” Einstein revealed.

“Take care of it,” Carter stated. He looked down at C.J. “You know we've got to talk, right?”

“Yes, sir,” C.J. answered.

Carter grabbed his son by the back of the neck gently but sternly as he guided him out of the precinct. He didn't speak until they were in his car. Disappointment filled him. He had never even felt this type of letdown before. It was a different kind of feeling. He had done so many bad things in his lifetime that he had lost count, but to witness his son going down a path of destruction broke his heart. He was silent partly because he didn't know what to say.