Heist 2 (3 page)

“Why? Because I'm the smartest motherfucker in Virginia . . . that's why and you, your wife, Burkett, and your little crew were all way behind the eight ball while I was out in front of it. I knew when Burkett came to us with the idea of using you and your sweet pussy wife to set up Knight that Burkett had other shit in mind. My little dirty bastard radar was going off whenever I was around that little snake Burkett,” LaBeckie relayed with a lazy grin on his ugly face. I swallowed hard and curled my fingers into tight fists just hearing LaBeckie refer to Shannon as a piece of sweet pussy. It made me start thinking if she had fucked this pig too. This smug piece of shit LaBeckie had not only gotten a promotion by standing on my fucking neck, he had caused my son to be parentless just to advance his own bullshit agenda. My nostrils flared and fire burned in my chest as I listened to him brag about himself.

“So, all in all, you helped us more than you knew you were helping. And since I'm a nice fucking guy, I came back to thank you in person,” LaBeckie said, all sinister like. My stomach knotted because I knew better than to trust this snake. He came back to rub it in my face, that much I was sure of, but what else could he want with me? I mean, he had chased me for years and finally got me where he wanted me. In my eyes our feud was over now.

“To thank me? Yeah fucking right,” I grumbled, breaking eye contact with him.

“Okay . . . okay . . . maybe not to thank you.” LaBeckie laughed. The sound of his laughter sent a heat wave of anger through my chest. I let out a long breath trying to keep my cool.

“But I do have an offer for you, Marshall,” LaBeckie said, leaning in and getting closer to the table with a joker-type smirk painting his face. I just bit down into my lip. There was nothing this devil could offer me that I would accept. I didn't get down for no police and that was final.

“You do a little something for us and I do a big thing for you . . . what we smart people call quid pro quo,” LaBeckie said snidely.

“Ain't shit I would ever do for you, pig,” I fired off, leaning my body forward and staring straight into his evil blue eyes for emphasis. LaBeckie leaned back from the table as if I had slapped him in the face. He was power-hungry and a control freak so the fact that I dissed his ass wasn't sitting right with him at all. I could see the redness—either from embarrassment or anger—creeping up his neck and making its way to his face. LaBeckie closed his eyes for a few minutes, let out a long breath, and then he dug into his suit jacket pocket and pulled something out. I had my head cocked to the side and my eyebrows furrowed, looking at him like I didn't give two fucks about what he had in his pocket. What could he do to me? I was already locked up like an animal. LaBeckie smirked and tossed something onto the table, then squinted with a satisfied look on his face.

“I think if you want to ever see this face or to know that he will always be safe . . . you'll fucking hear me out, you piece of shit,” LaBeckie gritted, slapping the table hard as he pushed something across the table so that I could get a better look at it. Reluctantly, I looked down and my heart immediately came to life in my chest. I glared at LaBeckie evilly as my chest heaved up and down. I couldn't control the emotions that seemed to be choking off my air supply now as I looked down at the face of my son. I was feeling Incredible Hulk strong, like I could just break those foot shackles and handcuffs now. I could feel my veins cording against my muscles and my entire body tensed up.

“Ah yes, Little Todd Marshall, how adorable he looks here. We took this picture while he played alone in the park . . . his careless caretaker off doing her own thing. But I knew that would get your attention.” LaBeckie chortled. He could see my face going dark, my eyes hooding over, and my chest moving up and down so rapidly I almost hyperventilated.

“Now here is how this shit is going to go down . . .” he continued, tapping the table next to my son's picture. My ears were ringing so loud from the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, I could hardly hear what LaBeckie was saying, but I knew that whatever the offer was, it wasn't going to be easy to turn it down, especially if it meant putting my son in danger.

3

Shannon

“M
mmm,” I moaned as I came into consciousness days after the attack. I was immediately aware of every inch of my body because everything was wracked with pain. I slowly opened my eyes and painfully realized I was in the jail infirmary. The pain that shot through my skull when I opened my eyes forced me to quickly snap them shut.

“Mmmm,” I moaned again, quickly feeling a fire raging in my throat. It was because my mouth and throat were so damn dry. I didn't know how many days I had been in the infirmary, but after being conscious for a few minutes, I vaguely remembered being attacked by the Latinas. I guess thinking that Todd's threat was a bluff this time was a big mistake on my part. They were definitely trying to kill me. My head was banging and I could tell there were tight bandages wrapped around it.

The constant blip and ding of the machines next to me told me that my condition was probably serious. Todd had really tried to have me killed, a thought that both hurt me and angered me. The nerve of his ass. I bet he would be fucked up when he found out I was still alive.

As I lay there in pain waiting for the nurse to come give me something to knock me back out, I heard footsteps coming toward me. Instinctively, I began to shake inside with fear gripping me tight. In prison you just never knew who worked for who. It would be just my luck if one of those goons paid one of the infirmary staff to let them in to finish me off. I'd be gone for real this time. I swallowed hard, which was painful as hell. I started saying a silent prayer in my head, although I hadn't spoke to God in a hot minute.

Suddenly I felt a cold hand touch my arm. The heart monitors began screeching as my heart rate sped up. I just knew I was about to die. I couldn't bring myself to open up my eyes and face death like a woman. Then I heard a voice.

“Shannon . . . um . . . Mrs. Marshall?” A man's voice filtered into my ear. The voice was kind of soothing and didn't have any hints of evil behind it. I felt relief wash over me, but now I was curious about who this was that knew my name and knew where to find me. I hadn't had any visitors since I'd been locked up and I wasn't really expecting any, either.

“It's me . . . Saul Kaufman, your husband's old attorney . . . you remember me?” Mr. Kaufman said, whispering lightly. “I finally got your messages and got around to coming to hear you out. I didn't think I would find you here.” A jolt of excitement flitted through my stomach and even that caused me pain. He was right; I had been trying to reach out to him for a quick minute. Mr. Kaufman was an ace defense attorney that had gotten many street dudes off on their charges. He was so good, niggas on the street were willing to pay him boatloads of cash for his services. I heard it had gotten so lucrative for Kaufman that he wouldn't fuck with no other types of clients except gangsters and street dudes. I guess he came to fuck with me because he was very familiar with Todd.

I finally calmed down a little bit and struggled to open my battered eyes. I could tell by the look of terror etched on the old white man's face that I must've looked like shit. I moaned and motioned with my one good hand for a piece of paper. I couldn't speak since my jaw seemed like it was wired shut, and my right hand, which is the one I wrote with, was in a cast.

“Oh . . . yes . . . here, let me help.” Mr. Kaufman jumped up so he could retrieve a yellow legal pad and a pen from his briefcase. He passed them to me and it hurt all over to even take the stuff from him.

Barely able to write with my stiff left hand, I finally managed to get my point across to Mr. Kaufman.

 

 

Mr. Kaufman read my chicken-scratch note. He looked down at me with a serious look on his face and let out a long breath. Something about his look caused a flash of panic to go through my chest, but I ignored it. He was the person I had been putting all of my hope on since I'd been locked up. I wanted to see my son again.

“Sure, Mrs. Marshall, I can help you. But I must tell you, your husband owed me quite a bit of money from his last case,” Mr. Kaufman said seriously. I began shaking my head from left to right and waved at him to give me the paper and pen back.

 

 

Mr. Kaufman read the note and lowered his eyes. I felt my stomach drop and it began somersaulting again. I just knew he was going to tell me that he wouldn't represent me because of Todd's debts.

“I will help you, Mrs. Marshall, but I need to get paid upfront,” he said flatly. I shook my head in understanding and closed my eyes as tears began to leak from the sides. All I could do now was pray that when I sent Mr. Kaufman to my stash, I could trust him to only take what I owed him for his services and not everything I had left to my name.

4

Todd

“O
hhhh shit. Yeah, yeah . . . do that shit,” I gasped, throwing my head back against the cold cinderblock wall as my legs trembled.

“Fuck! Haaaahhh,” I gritted, balling my hands up into fists and biting my lip as waves of ecstasy rose in my body. The loud slurping noises were making it even worse for me to control myself. I felt like I was about to lose my damn mind.

“You like that?” Laila Dugan, the CO I had been fucking and getting head from asked me in a sexy, vixen voice. She knew just what to say and do to take care of me and that's why I fucked with her like that.

“Shhh,” I hushed her as I grabbed her head and guided it back to my rock-hard throbbing dick. I didn't have no time to be talking to her like we was in some porno, this was about getting my nut off. She ain't know it, but she was the reason I had stayed sane for so long. Niggas locked up were also backed up and that made them restless, violent, and trouble.

Dugan went back to slurping and sucking my dick like an expert. This chick was all a locked-down nigga could ask for—she sucked dick good, she had a county job and her own paper, and she was willing to do anything I asked her to do. Shit, Shannon ain't never give me head this good. Shannon never held her own when it came to having her own money and Shannon damn sure didn't cater to me like I thought she should have, being that she was living off of me.

“Agggggh!” I growled as I nutted. My body tensed and then relaxed. I felt damned good.

When I was done busting my nut down Dugan's throat, I readied myself to tell her the bad news. Well, it was bad for her, but it was good for me. I knew she wasn't going to take it well. As a man who had fucked a whole lot of chicks, I knew when they were in love with me. There was just something about the way they looked at you, even when you were down and out, that told you that they loved you. Dugan was definitely in love with me. She didn't have to tell me with her words. Shit, I could get her to bring me anything in prison and risk her job doing it, that's how I could tell how much she loved my ass. So far, I had gotten a cell phone, weed, porno magazines, and cigarettes from her. All of those things were like having millions of dollars in prison. You could trade that stuff for anything you needed. Niggas would've sold all of their belongings for a nick of weed and something to roll that shit up in. Thanks to Dugan, I was in business behind bars.

“Yo, I need to tell you something before you lock me back in,” I said somberly as Dugan rinsed her mouth out in the mop sink. I closed my eyes, dreading the reaction that was coming next.

“What? What you got to tell me, sweet dick Willie?” Dugan joked. “You wanna marry me?” She chuckled after she spit the water out of her mouth.

In the darkness of the janitor's closet, Dugan didn't look so bad, but I knew the truth. She was one ugly-ass chick, so when she said was I going to marry her, I wanted to say something mean, like
Hell no, I would never marry you
, but I didn't.

“Nah, baby, I want to tell you that I'm getting out of here,” I said, tentatively trying to give her the news as easily as I could. Dugan whirled around on her feet as if she was a ballerina doing a dance move. Even in the dim light I could see the terror in her eyes. She let out a funny noise like a squeak. I couldn't tell if she had started crying or what.

“Stop playing, Todd,” she said, shoving me in the chest lightly. After the initial shock of what I said, I think Dugan thought I was really playing with her. I knew this was the calm before the fucking storm that was coming.

“Laila . . . I'm getting out in two days. I've been put into a special program and I'll be living on the outside while they try to work with me,” I said, telling half truths. “Dead ass . . . I wouldn't joke about something like this.” Dugan moved closer to me. Her eyes hooded over and she drew her lips into a snarl.

“That's bullshit! The only way you'd be getting out is if you snitched or struck a deal with the cops!” she said, her raw emotions causing her to raise her voice. I quickly cupped my hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh! You trying to get us caught? You trying to lose your fucking job,” I said in a harsh whisper, pressing my hands roughly over her big-ass mouth. She quickly realized what I was saying was true and quieted her tone. I slowly removed my hand from her mouth.

“I didn't snitch. I have been selected for this program, but I can't say much more about it,” I lied. Even I knew that in jail, outside, in the hood, and anywhere in America, being a snitch was lower than being a child molester.

“Will you be around here . . . in the state? Will we still be able to see each other? Where will you live?” Dugan shot question after question at me, tears streaming down her plump cheeks.

“Nah . . . you know they ain't letting me stay in the area,” I lied. “These programs don't work like that. How they gon' rehabilitate me if I go back to my old stomping grounds,” I continued deceptively.

“Well, I have to tell you something too,” Dugan said through her tears. “I was going to wait and just show you, but I guess I have to tell you now,” she said, all cryptic and shit. I looked at her strangely, my face crumpled in confusion.

“I'm pregnant, Todd,” she cried. I moved my head to the side and looked at her like she was crazy as hell.

“And it's your baby,” she finished. My knees got weak. What the fuck else was going to go wrong in my life? “So you better try and find a way to make it back to the state because I'm definitely keeping this baby.”

 

LaBeckie and his pig cronies picked me up on the low two days later. I had not been able to sleep, eat, or think straight since Dugan told me she was pregnant. Between that news and this so-called mission LaBeckie was putting me on, my nerves were fried.

The night they came through to get me, I was whisked out of my bunk and out of the prison in the dead of night. They ain't want niggas behind bars to know where I disappeared to and start sending kites to the streets that the cops took me out. Any street nigga worth a damn would know right away that it meant I was on some snitching shit. We all know how much the streets talk and how fast shit gets back. I couldn't afford for that to happen because the street niggas I knew wouldn't think twice about blowing my cap back.

LaBeckie made it seem like what he wanted me to do was easy breezy and shit. He would say that I had a simple assignment: set up the Russian muthafucka that I had been getting all my guns from and turn him over to the pigs. I don't know what made this pig LaBeckie think it was going to be that easy. I guess he had gotten spoiled working with that nigga Jock. See, Jock was able to give LaBeckie and Dray and the feds my name, my movements, and all that, but I had never put Jock on to my connect, Abraham Klitni-cov, or Abe, as I called the nigga, so they were never able to get the main source of the guns. Having me locked up apparently wasn't enough. I guess they saw that the guns was still making it to the streets, which told me, there was just some new street cat to contend with that had taken my crown and started wearing it.

When LaBeckie offered me the deal to get out if I agreed to set Abe up, it wasn't like I could refuse. LaBeckie was threatening my son's life. Lil Todd was the one person I still had to live for. Basically, I was blackmailed into becoming a snitch. Some people would just suffer their fate rather than snitch, but me, I wasn't willing to have my son suffer because I wasn't willing to snitch. I would've died for my son and that was the God's honest truth.

As we drove from the prison ground and made it to the city, I could not stop thinking about Dugan telling me she was pregnant. I knew I didn't love her, but the one thing about me a nigga should know is if I had any seeds anywhere, I was going to take care of them
all
. I had it in my mind that I was going to get at her whenever this LaBeckie muthafucka stopped breathing down my neck. I was going to make sure I made a way to see Dugan and keep her up while she was carrying my seed. It was the least I could do.

LaBeckie had his driver pull up to a small one-family house in the Church Street section of Norfolk. I ducked and weaved my head around so I could see just where the fuck they was gon' have me laying my head. I mean, anywhere was probably better than prison, but a nigga had to make sure it was gon' be safe and secure and decent. So far, from what I could see, the neighborhood looked like any suburban neighborhood with similar houses equal distance from one another, fences out front, lawns and driveways with regular cars parked on them.

“This is going to be your home from now on. You do right by us and you may never see the inside of that prison cell again . . . You fuck this up . . . you
will
never see the light of day again,” LaBeckie threatened me, in true LaBeckie fashion. He was such a dick rider for power that I realized he couldn't help himself: being a dick was what kept his ass alive every day. I had long ago realized that LaBeckie was hiding behind that badge like the coward that he was.

We all exited the heavily tinted Impalas that had transported us to the house. I was still shackled and shit. What did they think I could do to the ten of them with no ass gun?

The inside of the house was cool. I mean it was nowhere close to how I was living at the time I got locked up, but it wasn't a hole-in-the-wall roach-ridden project apartment like what I thought they were going to put me in.

The house was simple. It had light hardwood floors, beige standard cabinets in the kitchen with those cheap, bottom-barrel counter tops. There was a small family room area off the kitchen with a dark brown suede couch, a small glass coffee table, and a forty-two-inch flat-screen hanging on the wall in front of it. The TV was a plus since it had been almost a year since I had been able to watch what the fuck I wanted to watch on TV.

Shit, it wasn't the mini-mansion I had lived in before I got knocked, but it damn sure was better than a hard metal bunk and a dank, pissy, roach-infested prison cell. At least in this house I wouldn't have to inhale the stink of another man's balls all fucking day long.

After LaBeckie's flunkies unshackled and uncuffed me, LaBeckie immediately started with his rules, regulations, and lectures. There were more rules to becoming a confidential informant than there was being a fucking prisoner. But I listened because there were a few things I had in mind that I was going to benefit from being out. Number one, I was going to see my son in the flesh. Not a muthafucka alive was going to keep me from doing that. I wasn't going to let Lil Todd see me and start crying and shit, but I was going to creep and see him. I need assurance that he was alive and well before I went through with this mission for LaBeckie. Wasn't no use in snitching if they had already did some shit to my son.

Number two, all the niggas that had shitted on me while I was inside were going to get a visit from me. That meant those bitch niggas Zack, Billy, and most important of all, Jock. And, last, I was going to find Shannon's heist stash and I was going to take every single nickel of that shit. I knew my wife well enough to know that she had taken some of the Bobby Knight money and put it away. What I had to figure out was exactly where she had stashed it. I had a few places in mind. I also knew that she had been trying to get in touch with my old attorney, Mr. Kaufman, because when I called him his secretary had said, “Oh, Mr. Marshall, I told your wife yesterday that Mr. Kaufman would get back to her.” That let me know that my snake-ass wife was trying to hire Kaufman to get her off, which also meant Shannon had money somewhere that she was going to use to pay him.

It would take me some time to get my bearings being out of prison, but as hood rat and predictable my wife was, I knew it wouldn't be long before something came to mind about where she might have hidden her stash. That bitch thought she had pulled off the ultimate heist, but this nigga here was about to pull off the last heist.