War Of The Heart E-Book

Josiah Jay Starr

• Herausgeber: Spirit of 1811 Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Achim Jeffers had no illusions of being a hero or some savior. He was faced with another a covert mission. This one, involving dangerous and lawless cops. Achim’s shadowy bosses needed him to expose the cop’s secrets and obtain justice for the beleaguered black citizens of New Orleans. This was the very profession Achim left his Sunday pulpit to pursue. Now as a ruthless hitman, he enjoyed these types of missions and dedicated the rebirth of his new life towards fulfilling them.

Yet, somewhere in between unearthing evidence of greed, lies, and murders, Achim found himself torn. A mysterious and elusive black cop had stolen his heart, making an already risky mission more difficult and confused. The professional assassin had somehow fallen in love with one of his targets, Detective Jessica Baker. Jessica’s beautiful golden smile, and intoxicating eyes had captured him, launching Achim’s heart into a state of war.

For Achim, the stakes are high, and he must somehow win the war waging within his soul while answering the hardest question of all. Does he embrace his heart’s desire for Jessica Baker, or does he quench his righteous thirst for justice? Find out in this action-packed novel.

Our sequel "God Love Us: An Achim Jeffers Novel" coming soon! Be sure to read Spirit of 1811 Publishing's Sci-Fi novel, "Nothing Will Come Between Us", available now on amazon via Ebook, Paperback and Audiobook.  

Leseprobe

Spirit of 1811 Publishing

New Orleans, Louisiana

www.spiritof1811publishing.com

Copyright 2020 by Spirit of 1811 Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Library of Congress Control Number 2020910833

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-953-10200-3

Hardback ISBN: 978-1-953-10201-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-953-10202-7

Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-953-10203-4

Editors: Kimberly Rose

Interior Design: Daiana Marchessi

Cover Design: Luísa Dias - https://www.luisadias.com/

This is a work of fiction. Any semblance between original characters and real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author in no way represents the companies, corporations, businesses or brands mentioned in this book. The likeness of historical/famous figures have been used fictitiously; the author does not speak for or represent these people. All opinions expressed in this book are the author’s or fictional.

Dedicated to Mildred Heard

and the loving memories of:

Doris (Dot) Johnson

John L. Drew

Jeffery Buggs

Aaron Mackey

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

This was not one of those overpriced hotel rooms in downtown New Orleans. In a place like this, there would be no cheap pillowcases, shaggy bath towels or vomit stained carpets. This wasn’t exactly the room that drunken tourists would use to recover from a long night of binge drinking out on Bourbon Street. This was an exclusive Presidential Suite. The very top floor of a five-star luxury hotel. With its cool marble floors and breathtaking paintings, poor black men like me, are not supposed to be able to afford such luxury or even be allowed to come up here.

Attempting to fight away the nervous butterflies in my stomach, I once again adjusted my cheap powder blue tie before popping several peppermints into my mouth to cool my hot breath. This was indeed a foreign environment for me, and I could literally feel the heavy weight of the ambience of eloquence that surrounded me. The room’s plush furniture, rare artwork and exclusive décor overwhelmed my limited existence. Unable to quail my silent discomfort, I rose from my seat and aimlessly paced the room before it’s panoramic view of New Orleans caused me to stop and ponder. Looking down from behind the large panel windows, I took in the magnificent view of the Mississippi River as it stretched out towards the light blue horizon. The river seemed to churn like an angry brown mass of life from my high perch in the heavens. I noticed that several small tugboats struggled to transit the river’s mighty current as I watched the swirling brown water toss them around like plastic toys. Being a black man, I could relate to the unique plight and challenges opposing the besieged tugboats. In a world where I was surrounded by such godly beauty and elegance, my every effort to fight my way forward in this world had been filled with the ugly realities of progress.

Even as a young child, I always knew that I would grow up to become a pastor, and after years of prayer and dedication, that is exactly what I had become. Yet, despite my own selfish plans for my life, God saw fit to alter my path and guided me to work for Robert Charles. At Robert Charles, I found myself fighting a war that many black men had chosen to ignore or fearfully neglect. Living this new life as a Counter-Racist hitman, I spied out White Supremacists and waited for the perfect moment to visit the vengeance of the Lord upon them. In this business, perfection and precision are paramount. I patiently counted the days until Robert Charles would order me to reap the cold law of justice from the soil of this hate-filled earth. Unlike packed Sunday services, combatting White Supremacy is an unpopular task that is too often shunned and ridiculed within black society. Due to this, I often find myself alone and detached from the very people I’m fighting to save.

Yet, from the embarrassment of luxury within this Presidential Suite, it felt like the world of chaos that I had come from was somehow fake or intangible. In this hotel room, I found myself detached from my own black reality. Inside of this privileged little bubble, I was immune from it all. While I watched the world beneath where I was at that moment, one thought dominated my mind. There is no way I could afford to stay alone in a room like this, not even for one selfish night of pure self-indulgence. Even if this unrealistic peace was all just a momentary gift. Even if this room was just a short reprieve from my dangerous reality, I decided it was best to soak it in as much as possible, while never forgetting what was truly important to me.

The only thing I was missing in this moment was her. Her presence would have made this throne a perfect one as we would both stare down at this kingdom from our perch in the heavens. I would do anything to share this moment with that beautiful black woman. To see the look in her eyes as she viewed the world I had set before her feet. Besides, it’s little things like love that motivate men to greatness or in some unfortunate cases, infamy. Before I walked through the hotel’s ice-cold lobby, I had called her, but there was no response from her end. My heart hoped that she might be eager to hear from me, but instead, I felt that same ole disappointment as her phone continued to ring without her answering. Instead of hearing the sweet sound of her voice, all I heard was the robotic tone of her depressing voice mail. Once again, I was left to debate if chasing after this beautiful black woman was truly worth my efforts.

The sudden sound of a door opening and footsteps tapping on the cold marble floor broke my inner quandary. On instinct, I jerked my eyes away from the window and looked over my shoulder. It was my boss, Mr. Darryl. As our eyes met, I noticed the faint look of exhaustion on my mentor’s face. His pace was slow and delicate as he walked towards me. Mr. Darryl was a short black man with a noticeable limp in his stride. His gold-plated walking cane glistened as he leaned against it with each deliberate step. He appeared stylish as his three-piece suit was perfectly tailored. The sweet fragrance of his cheap cologne reminded me of the dutiful church elders I would see at worship services as a young child. The wrinkles on his brown skin conveyed the wisdom gained from experiencing decades of life’s unique plight. I could see small beads of sweat forming on his forehead, just below his fading grey hairline. This was the old wise man that had taught me everything that I knew about this business. Mr. Darryl cultivated me from my old life as a pastor, and into my new calling as a hitman. For me, he was the earthly father of this reborn life I had chosen.

“Let’s have one last look at the damn evidence before I make the final call son,” Mr. Darryl explained as he pointed his cane towards the dining room set.

I grabbed my briefcase and rushed over towards the thick glass table. Out of respect, I pulled out his chair and helped ease him into his seat. After seating myself, I opened my briefcase and removed its contents. It took several minutes to arrange the evidence on the table in front of my boss as he quietly watched like a curious father, inspecting what I was doing.

“Thank you for being so patient with this old man,” Mr. Darryl offered with a bright smile. “When you get my age, son, bathroom breaks tend to get a little more exciting.”

“No problem Mr. Darryl,” I replied with a chuckle.

He picked up a stack of photos and began thumbing through them, pausing only briefly to peer down at each one with a focused squint through his thick set of bifocals. I steadied myself for the inevitable follow-up questions I knew were surely coming. I was certain he had questions about what I had been able to find out. If he didn’t have questions, our big bosses at Robert Charles would certainly have a few questions to ask me themselves.

“Young man, can you do me a favor?” Mr. Darryl asked without even bothering to look up at me. “In the refrigerator, on the bottom drawer to the left, there is a bottle of natural apple juice sitting next to a small fifth of Jack. Make me a drink please.”

“Yes sir!” I murmured on my way to the kitchen.

“Just a splash of that Jack now. I just need a little taste, so don’t go crazy,” he explained as he picked up another stack of photos to examine.

I made it to the kitchen and carefully mixed Mr. Darryl’s drink before bringing it to the dining room. “Here you go sir,” I said while placing the drink in front of him. Without hesitation, he grabbed the drink and took a big sip while glaring at me with an intense stare.

“Tastes about right”, he said with a surprised expression. Mr. Darryl took several more sips while scanning a photo with a curious grin. I could feel the questions coming, and I braced myself to provide him the right answers.

“You like my hotel suite, son?” He asked with a wide smile.

“Yes sir,” I eagerly replied.

“Do you…want this suite for yourself one day, son?” he asked.

“Well…yes sir. I guess I would like to be up here one day.”

Mr. Darryl laughed at me and turned his eyes back to the photo. “Yeah, this is really nice isn’t it? For over forty years, Robert Charles has been good to me,” he explained.

“Robert Charles saw it fit to hire me in the late 70’s back when I was kneecapping these damn bastards up in Memphis. They moved me down to Baton Rouge to put in a little work and I’ve just stayed down here ever since.”

“When I first moved to New Orleans, I lived with a beautiful black woman named Gwendolyn. I met her at a Church over in New Orleans East. She was a fine little thang with brown skin and beautiful brown eyes. She was everything a black man want in a Black woman. She always kept the house clean and made sure that there was good food to eat at all times.”

“She adored me, and I was in love with her, but it didn’t work out though,” Mr. Darryl declared with regret in his eyes.

“Young man, our occupation will absolutely kill your love life. No black woman will support what we must do here. Remember that and prepare yourself for it. You must be willing to deny yourself for all of this to work out.”

“Since you’re about to retire,” I jokingly interjected. “You should think about giving Gwendolyn a call and see if ya’ll could give it one last go. Maybe the Lord will bless both of you this time around. You never can tell what God’s plan is until you exercise some faith.”

“I wish I could Achim,” he dismissively responded with dejection in his spirit. “If I had it to do all over again, I would choose a life with Gwendolyn over this damned Presidential Suite any day of the week. A big part of me still loves that woman a whole lot. I guess it’s the notion of it all that still has me captured these days.”

“Thank God this black man only has one life to give because if I had another crack at it, I wouldn’t have the strength to give my life away so easily. Especially, if I knew what I know now. I’d choose me instead of this lonely life working with Robert Charles. I’d choose to be selfish son.” He explained, now having blood-shot eyes.

Mr. Darryl’s words touched me as I saw him wipe away a tear with his balled fist. I never knew how he truly felt about this job. The magnitude of the concern in his voice made me think about my own plight. It was then that I began to realize how much he must have sacrificed to be here. Here he was a man well into retirement age; an old man reviewing mind-numbing evidence about a band of thugs instead of reviewing the cocktail menu onboard an exclusive cruise ship. Mr. Darryl reached down towards the table and pulled two photos out of a stack. After taking the final gulp of his drink, he laid out the first photo on the table in front of me so I could see it.

“Achim, is she OK?” he cautiously asked as he pointed at the black woman in the photo?

I wanted to lie to him. I wanted to be the black man that seemed to have all the easy answers, but I could not bring myself to mislead him. He was a good man and a father figure to me. When White Supremacy and the randomness of life had combined to turn my picture-perfect black life upside down, Mr. Darryl and Robert Charles gave me a new direction and renewed purpose. Neither Mr. Darryl nor Robert Charles deserved to be lied to, so I had no choice but to tell him the truth. An extremely complicated truth. A truth that made our future decisions murky and much less definitive.

“Mr. Darryl,” I began. “I don’t know sir…I’m not sure about Jessica Baker,” I replied while looking him directly in his eyes.

He remained still as we stared at each other. The hotel room grew eerily quiet as we examined one another, looking for any signs of mistrust or manipulation between us. Mr. Darryl may be old, but I could tell his mind was sharp. He still had his street senses about him, those deep internal gut feelings that readily tell you when something was off or not quite right. I began to wonder if he knew that I cared about Jessica. Could Mr. Darryl have somehow found out that my business with her was more than just professional? My heart had crossed the line regarding my dealings with this woman. Even worse, my love for her was making this whole case harder.

“Alright then,” Mr. Darryl finally declared, breaking our silence.

“How about this damn fella here?” he asked while placing the last photo in front of me.

“I’ve been following Kevin for a year now sir,” I began. “I know this guy’s daily routine better than mine. The evidence we have on Kevin speaks for itself.”

“Kevin Longstreet is not OK. He is a damn problem because he knows way too much about FOWL’s operation, and he has personally invested in it himself. I have even seen Kevin at Andy’s Tavern, drinking and partying with members of FOWL.”

“If we want to deliver the Davis family the justice they paid for, then Kevin has to go. We can’t just move forward with our plans and hope this guy somehow stays out of our way. Kevin can spoil everything for us. He must be eliminated.”

“That’s why I’m here today Mr. Darryl. I need to know how far Robert Charles is willing to push this to get justice for the Davis family. I don’t want to go off on my own script on this one,” I further explained.

“You guys gotta make the call. Do Kevin Longstreet and Jessica Baker, live or die?”

I watched as Mr. Darryl began to nod his head in approval of my sentiments. The look on his face was deep and intense. This was indeed a big decision because it involved the lives of two black people. There is a code of conduct for these sorts of situations and I was intent on following it to the letter. Mr. Darryl grabbed another small stack of photos from the table and quickly flipped through them until he stopped and gazed upon one.

“So, we have all the evidence we need on these four bastards, right?” he pointedly asked me.

“Yes sir. I have two years’ worth of photos and video evidence on each of these FOWL members. I was able to get inside their secret storage unit and I have inventoried every single item locked away inside. I have fingerprints of all the FOWL members, and I’ve compared those prints with all the evidence collected from the Eric Davis murder trial. I even went through these guys’ trash bins to find old bank statements and receipts tracking their spending habits. We have all we need to expose these four guys, Mr. Darryl,” I calmly explained. “All I need is the final word from Robert Charles to start the operation and we will certainly eliminate all of them.”

Mr. Darryl threw the photos down on the table and grabbed his walking cane. As he began to lean forward to elevate himself from his seat, I jumped up to assist him.

“I am not a damn cripple,” he loudly barked, waving me away with his hand. “You’ve done enough work, son. There is no need for you to kiss my old ass anymore. You’re probably going to have my job here soon enough anyway. So, don’t worry yourself about helping me anymore. My time is about done.”

In defiance, Mr. Darryl slowly rose from his seat and pulled his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. “I have to make a few phone calls now. You give me a few minutes and I’ll have your answer,” he said.

I watched as Mr. Darryl disappeared behind a large bedroom door. It felt like the entire room shook as he slammed the heavy door behind him. This was it for me, as my years of painstaking work was now to be considered by Robert Charles. For me, this was a referendum on my professional standing. My reputation as a field operator was at stake. For the Davis family, this was their last chance at obtaining justice and freeing a loved one from an unrighteous conviction. For the both of us, I needed to get this right. Failure was not a choice.

After waiting for about ten minutes, I heard something strange stirring from within the bedroom door. I focused my attention towards the commotion, realizing that it was the faint yet undistinguishable voice of Mr. Darryl.

Seconds later, the bedroom door slowly swung open. The small limping figure of Mr. Darryl creeped out towards the dining area. I once again pulled out his seat, but this time, he limped right by me and walked towards the large window panel. He put his wrinkled hand up against the glass and leaned forward. As he braced himself against the panel, tears began to flow down his face as he silently gazed out over the mighty Mississippi River’s brown water. I felt puzzled and didn’t know what to say as he stood there in complete silence. I was almost afraid to ask him, but I knew it was relevant that I did. Whatever the decision, I knew it had been a hard one to make.

“Sir…. what’s the word?” I cautiously asked.

“You know why I recruited you to Robert Charles, Achim?” Mr. Darryl interrupted. “Because I see my young self in you.”

“I was once like you, Achim. In fact, part of me is still you.”

“But along this path to justice, the struggle can change you from a young roaring lion into an old used up toothless reject.”

“We have reached the point where there are certain things, I am no longer willing to do, and there are certain things that still must be done,” Mr. Darryl lamented as he wiped away tears from his face.

“Robert Charles has decided to give you the discretion to do what you believe is required in order to obtain justice for the Davis family.”

“But Mr. Darryl,” I interrupted. “What do I do about this black woman?” I timidly asked.

“If you happen to encounter any loose ends along the way, take care of them without prejudice,” Mr. Darryl said, fighting to hold in the tears. “If you determine that they are not on our side, then they are on the wrong side. Therefore, they must be eliminated.”

“But remember what I told you earlier son. Once you give all yourself to this, there is no turning back from this lonely road of life.”

I was stunned. Mr. Darryl’s answer shocked me. I would be allowed to eliminate my own people. Eliminating the adversary was one thing but killing your own was completely another. I stood there motionless as the thoughts of what I had to do soaked into my consciousness. Mr. Darryl turned from the window and walked over to the front door of his hotel room. “You didn’t lie to me today, Achim. You came straight up the middle. You’re a good young man and I respect the hell out of that. I believe that you will make the right decisions for us and Robert Charles. Whatever that decision happens to be, just know that I support you.”

“On a separate note, Robert Charles asked me if you were ready to replace me and assume my responsibilities.”

“I told them that you are ready. In fact, I told them you will do a better job than I’ve ever done in my forty years in this business,” a now smiling Mr. Darryl explained while unlocking the front door.

This was my cue to leave, and I hastily began to pack away my evidence into my worn brown briefcase. “Thank you, Mr. Darryl,” I replied as a grateful feeling pulsed through my soul. “I’ve learned a lot from you sir, and I want to thank you for your endorsement.”

“The job is not yours yet, Achim,” he further explained. “Robert Charles has decided that you can’t assume the position until you clean this Eric Davis mess up first. When you do, then my job will be yours and I can retire in peace.”

“Don’t forget to validate your parking at the front desk or these greedy bastards will charge your black ass that $35 parking rate,” He ordered.

He opened the front door and stepped aside. We exchanged a long handshake and I walked in the hallway outside of his hotel room. I looked back inside of the room as he held the door open, gazing up at me with a strange and curious expression. In an instant, he shut the door and that was it for us. There were no sentimental goodbyes in this business, just orders given, and orders followed.

I took the long elevator ride down to the ground floor and made my way to the reception desk. As I handed my parking ticket over to the young light-skinned black lady working behind the counter, my thoughts were a mix of excitement and dread. This was my opportunity; a God-given opportunity to rise up the ranks while doing something I genuinely cared about. Yet, I had reservations about what I might be required to do to earn this promotion. Fighting our enemy was business as usual but killing one of my own was something totally different. Internally, it’s going to be something I will ponder on since it will be my first time. Although I was certain I would have no issues killing the loathsome black male, having to kill the woman was a bridge I wasn’t sure I was ready to cross.

As the receptionist punched my parking ticket, she cracked a gracious but phony smile, and quickly handed the ticket back to me. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day,” she said in a core New Orleans accent. I took my ticket and returned a forced smile. We both were in a hurry and had other things to accomplish. We both had jobs that needed to be done. Now, it was time to prepare myself for what I knew had to be done and leave this busy lady to continue with her own priorities.

My drive home across the Mississippi River Bridge was a lonely one. Far gone memories of my old life crept into my mind and replaced my innermost worries as I zoomed past traffic in the fast lane. The dreadful sight of my empty driveway hammered home my painful disposition. Opening my front door and walking into my empty three-bedroom apartment only worsened my ordeal. There was no wife to come home to anymore and I would no longer hold and feed my infant son. My reality was just a void of nothingness. The murderer of my family had himself opened a front door, walking through it into the most painful day of my life. Cruel fate would have the white gunmen drive into our middle-class neighborhood and arrive at the front door of my church. The authorities said the gunman had boasted online about wanting to shoot up a black church and kill a bunch of Dindu’s. It was his barbarous way of teaching us black folks a lesson for promoting the Black Lives Matter movement. Within a single second, the white gunmen had collected his aim and pulled the trigger, changing my life forever in that instant. One cowardly act of white supremacist terrorism had erased all the happiness in my life, while wounding me in the arm and killing scores of my congregation, including my wife and infant son.

No one cared if I didn’t arrive back home from work or if I stayed home all day long. No one cared if I left the toilet seat up or if my dirty white socks littered the hallway. To the world, the bloody massacre at my church was just another gun control issue to use as a political football, for insincere political campaigns. The hell with that lie, I knew better then to believe that weak excuse. All that I cared for had been taken from me in an act the white media would simply label as unfortunate, and not the White Supremacist terrorist act that it truly was. I had been robbed of the precious things in my life. All I had left was a few bar stools, a sofa bed, and a big flat screen TV. This empty apartment, which was once a home, had become the theme of my black existence. For me, this was a new life of extreme passion and painfully lonely ambition. Even though my empty home was a far cry from the excesses of Mr. Darryl’s Presidential Suite, I could see the correlation between these two vastly different environments. Was this promotion worth giving my life up for Robert Charles’s purpose? Could I ultimately find happiness with this type of lifestyle? A lifestyle that only took me further away from rebuilding the life I once had.

I walked over to my refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of grape juice. After guzzling it down to half a bottle in a mere four gulps, I reconsidered saving the rest of the juice for later. “Fuck it,” I blurted out to myself. “I didn’t come this far to quit.” I took a deep breath and then finished the entire bottle before throwing the empty vessel into the trash bin. The empty bottle was useless to me now. Like my past, all its beautifully created contents were forever gone, so it had no further purpose for me.

In a spare bedroom, my gear bag was hidden away in the back of a small closet. After looking down at my watch I knew it was time to prepare myself for tonight’s mission. I picked up a barstool and walked into the spare bedroom. It took several minutes of digging around before I found my gear bag buried underneath several cardboard boxes of old college textbooks and my handwritten copies of old sermons. With one powerful jerk, I pulled the bag out of its discrete space and placed it next to the stool. After emptying the bag of its contents, I arranged my gear around the stool. My guns, bullets, knives, gloves, a prepaid cellphone, and a laptop all neatly compiled on the carpet underneath me. They were beautiful. As a hitman, these were my tools of warfare now. Gone were the days when I would preach about the importance of voting, while imploring the virtues of turning the other cheek to a deadly adversary. I had learned the hard way that the childish hope of bringing morality to the immoral was a scam doomed for failure. If the struggles of Black Americans were to one day end, we would have to exercise our faith. We could no longer pretend with our words. Our faith needed to be put into deadly action.

I picked up a knife and a blade sharpener. The silver metal blade reflected a mirror-like image of me as I began to sharpen its edge. I could clearly see the image of my freshly shaven face and focused brown eyes staring back at me. I had to get myself mentally ready for the realities of this part of the mission. In silence, I closed my eyes for a moment and offered a silent prayer to the Lord, asking Him for strength to face all these challenges.

It was only a matter of time before Kevin Longstreet would call me begging for a hookup. He would no doubt invoke some fake ideal of black male brotherhood between us to score cheap drugs from me. It was my job to play along with his crooked scheme, so I always knew I had to ignore his disingenuous intentions. I had worked hard to make Kevin comfortable with me in this whole process. For me, investigating Kevin was akin to fishing. All I needed to do was wiggle the bait and like clockwork, he would most certainly come calling. The man is a weak ass coward. Weak ass cowards like Kevin did not deserve to live among decent black people, especially when black people are in a war for their future. Kevin is dead weight that the black community desperately needs to throw overboard. Today, his burdensome weight would sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Almost on cue, I felt my prepaid cellphone vibrate on the floor. I put down the knife and grabbed the vibrating phone from the carpet. When I saw the number, it was just as I had assumed. Kevin had just sent me a text, so I opened it and read the content of his message.

“WAT UP NIGGA! IT’S THA DAY AGAIN”. I carefully typed a coded reply and pushed down on the green send button.

“U Already know bruh. We good,” was the content of my reply. After two minutes, my phone buzzed again.

“COME FUCK WITH YA BOI THAN,” he replied.

“Fa sho. I will get at u. I gotcha,” I quickly replied.

Kevin wanted to buy some drugs from me, and I knew it was time to end our conversation. There was no way I would allow him to specifically discuss drug transactions with me on a cellphone. He was the kind of person that might have the wrong people around listening to whatever we say. I turned the prepaid cellphone off and connected it to its charger. It had been just over a year since I first started spying on Kevin. He was a remorseless drug addict with a sick penchant for misusing single mothers and sexually abusing their young daughters. No one with any street morals in the hood associated with him or even sold him dope. Only desperate low-level dealers would do business with such a person, which is why I had to pose as one. During my investigation, I found that Kevin was not only an NOPD informant, but also an informant for the DEA. I grew to personally despised this treasonous bastard. Instinctively, I knew I had to move carefully when I was around this black traitor. Time after time, I watched as Kevin ratted out each of his previous drug suppliers. He would cleverly set up black men for a fall, thereby landing each of them in prison.

The decision to start selling drugs to Kevin was a calculated risk. Mr. Darryl and I had discussed it at length before he finally relented to my request and blessed my idea. I always felt a bit of uneasiness churning inside me every time I sold drugs to Kevin. There was nothing this turncoat wouldn’t do to avoid the prison time he so richly deserved. Unlike Jessica Baker, there was no doubt in my mind that Kevin had helped FOWL set up Eric Davis. In fact, Kevin was just as bad as those bastards in many ways. He walked among the black community, yet deep inside, he was a cannibalistic monster that fed off of the plight of the black community.

Unlike Mr. Darryl, I did not have a drop of self-condemnation for wanting to kill this black tool. Although he was black like me, I didn’t see him as one. Jessica Baker, on the other hand, confused me. I wasn’t quite sure where she fell in all this mess, but deep inside, I held on to the belief that she wasn’t the monster Kevin Longstreet was.

Lifting the screen on my Laptop computer, I pressed the power button and logged in. Within seconds, my computer linked up with the camera I had planted inside the storage garage. The video feed from inside the bastard’s storage unit displayed nothing but a pitch-black image. Kevin hadn’t arrived at the storage unit yet, but I was certain he would show up. Plus, there was no use in arranging a drug deal with Kevin until I was sure that broke loser would be with money.

I walked to the closet and carefully picked out the best clothes to wear for tonight’s operation. After considerable deliberation, I decided it was best to wear a thin sports hoody and a pair of dark blue jeans for tonight’s duties. I took the clothes and threw them into the washing machine with bleach and water. After pouring the bleach into the washing machine, an ingenious idea popped into my head. I walked into the kitchen and retrieved the empty juice bottle from the trash bin. After washing and cleaning out the bottle, I poured bleach into it and screwed on the top.

Suddenly, I heard a loud beeping noise from the spare bedroom. Racing back to the room to ascertain what the problem was, I quickly noticed that the video of the inside of the storage unit had changed. I sat on the stool and put the computer on my lap and began to watch the clear images, studying them for potential clues. The storage space became filled with light as a shadowy figure slowly rose the garage door. The figure walked into the storage unit and turned towards the wall. Suddenly, an explosion of light ensued as the lights inside the space were turned on. At this point, I recognized the shadowy figure as Kevin Longstreet. Kevin lowered the garage door behind him and began to look around inside. He jolted from box to box, opening their tops and peering down inside. Finally, he opened a box and reached in to pull out a handful of jewelry before stuffing the loot away in his pants pocket. He then reached into the box a second time, pulling out a large fur coat and a brown Chanel purse before opening a trash bag and dumping the items inside. He walked towards the garage door and opened it before tossing the trash bag outside of the storage unit and turning off the lights. Seconds later, Kevin walked out of the storage unit and closed the garage door. Within minutes after Kevin’s arrival, my camera feed once again returned to its original state of pitch blackness.

I had seen this before, and I knew the score. This negro was going behind his partner’s back to steal from them. There was absolutely no honor amongst this evil den of thieves. It only showcased the typical low life of criminals and how they operated. You could never trust them under any circumstances. They would always find a way to try and screw each other over. Yet, my investigation owed a lot to Kevin’s reckless actions. Without him being a complete idiot, it would have taken me forever to locate this storage unit filled with loot. Not long after I began to follow Kevin, I noticed he would frequently come to the storage unit before buying drugs or embarking upon a weekend of partying. So, I decided I needed to find a way into the storage unit to look around for myself. With a little help from a strategically placed friend, I was able to find a key that would let me in. What I found inside the storage unit amazed me. It held hundreds of thousands of dollars; worth of stolen furniture, clothes, electronics, and jewelry. All of which was hidden away inside this inconspicuous storage garage tucked away in the redneck haven of Harvey, Louisiana.

After planting my motion-activated camera in the ceiling, I had a video of the whole gang of bastards visiting the storage unit each month. Each one of them would take old items out and replace those old items with goods they had recently stolen. Seeing all of that convinced me that I needed to get closer to Kevin. Kevin was the bastard’s eyes and ears on the streets. He gave FOWL information they needed to rob black people, hold them to ransom, or set them up for a fall. The act of selling Kevin dope was risky, but it was a risk we needed to take to send the right message to our adversaries. Kevin was the key to this whole effort to free Eric Davis. He was FOWL’s main source for street intel and there means of operating in the black enclaves of New Orleans. If we eliminate him, we will surely hinder their ability to operate as freely as they had been.

It wouldn’t take Kevin long to hit up his favorite pawn shop and cash in his stolen goods. Once he had his money, he would most certainly reach out to me for drugs. My prices were dirt cheap and my product was strong as hell. Kevin had no idea what was awaiting him today, but it would soon be revealed to him. I turned off the laptop and reached down to the floor. My hands found an extra-large pair of latex gloves and I put them on. Walking back to the closet, I opened a secret compartment and pulled out several Ziploc baggies of dope. After examining the product, I placed the small baggies next to my sharpened blade. Suddenly, the sound of a ringtone exploded from my nearly empty living room. My personal cellphone was ringing, and the ringtone was Jessica Baker’s.

I walked into the living room to answer Jessica’s call. After pressing the answer button, I paused to gather my thoughts. “Hello,” I answered pretending to sound a bit confused.

“Hey Achim, how are you,” she asked with a bit of spunk in her voice. I took a deep breath to calm down, trying to remind myself that this was all just business.

“I’m good Jessica,” I replied. “How about you?”

“I’m good, just enjoying a nice day off from work,” she explained.

“I just hope that I hit the lottery tonight, so I can retire early and avoid going back to work tomorrow,” she teased.

“Hell yeah,” I replied. “If I hit the damn lottery, I’d quit Uber that same day. Working for other people is too damn stressful for us.”

“Damn Skippy,” Jessica retorted. “Let me mess up and hit the lottery. NOPD won’t have to worry about this sister anymore,” she added with a chuckle.

“What about me?” I asked in a fake tone of disappointment. “If you hit the lottery, will I ever have to worry about you anymore?”

“I don’t know. We shall see,” Jessica explained in flirty laughter.

“How about we discuss what you are going to do with your lottery money over dinner tonight?” I asked.

“Sure,” Jessica shot back.

“But we will also discuss how you will be giving me half of your winnings if your black behind wins the lottery,” she teased.

“You can have it all as long as I can be with you, beautiful,” I retorted.

There was a long pause. I could tell from her silence that my frank words had surprised her. Jessica’s tone had been one of playfulness, while my last statement was clearly serious in manner and delivery. As the long seconds slowly rolled by, my mind began to wander and caused me to worry. Was Jessica’s surprise at my seriousness a good sign or a troubling one? I didn’t know how she felt about me. Did I move too fast for her? Did I make her uncomfortable with my frank admission? As our long pause continued to draw out, I knew I would soon receive my feedback.

“Well, you can be with me tonight for free,” she answered. “I feel like eating seafood, how about you?”