Tampa Black: Part ! (9 page)

Trapped somewhere between life and death in his own personal hell, Tecko made one last promise to his son, everyone responsible for his death would die. With revenge in his heart, he began to fight his way back to the land of the living, and when he got there it would be hell to pay…

As he stirred from his unconscious slumber, he gazed at the ceiling attempting to regulate his breathing. The pain from his injuries would have been unbearable had it not been for the I.V bags feeding pain depressants into his system. Struggling to make sense of where he was, Tecko heard someone clearing their throat. Turning his head to assess the sound, he noticed a clean cut older black male; dressed in a cheap suit sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this guy had pig written all over him, the question was; what did he want?

As if he was a telepath, the detective began to speak as if on que,

“Mr. Tecko Williams… Allow me to introduce myself, I am detective Lawson. I am the leading detective assigned to bring an end to the little drug war that’s going on in the movement of your little nappy headed group of thugs, and I’ve noticed that where ever you go, bodies follow. At the moment you’re being held on two counts of first degree murder for the shooting deaths of a senior citizen couple who was gunned down during your little shoot out. I’m going to make sure you rot in a cage for the rest of your life, your black ass is mine …”

Briefly pausing to observe Tecko’s reaction, detective Lawson pressed on.

“Mr. Williams, you can kill the tough guy act. Because once your slick ass Boss steps foot back on U.S soil I’m going to bury him under so many indictments that he will be more than willing to cooperate. He has done it before, and I’m sure that, he’ll do it again. After all, there is no honor or code to the game anymore. If you decide that you want to ever see the free world again, give me a call, and don’t keep me waiting …”

With that, detective Lawson placed his card on the table next to Tecko’s bed, and walked away. As the door closed behind the detective, Tecko’s eyes closed as well. Two bodies on top of the drug trafficking and conspiracy charges that he was sure would come. There was no denying that he was now stuck in the middle of a deadly dance with the street war that was raging, and now the blood thirsty law enforcement agents that wanted him buried alive.

Thinking back over the detective’s words, he wondered what he had meant by his comment about Zion;

“He’ll cooperate, he’s done it once, he’ll do it again…”

The only time Tecko had ever questioned Zion’s honor was years ago when Jago took the mysterious fall that earned him twenty years in Federal prison. There was no doubt that the lust for money and power sometimes caused strong men to sell their soul to the system. Now wasn’t the time to entertain these thoughts, but they would not be forgotten. In the game, skeletons don’t ever stay buried long…

A week later Tecko was transferred to a Federal holding facility. As he was ushered through processing, Tecko was brought before the familiar face of an attractive female. Meeting his gaze, the woman smirked slyly before looking back down at her papers; and reading off his list of charges.

“Mr. Williams, you are being held on the following charges: two counts of murder, one count of arson, one count of possession of explosives, and one count of possession of cocaine.”

Hearing the charges, Tecko dropped his head at his grim reality. In his heart he knew exactly what had happened, the twin freaks form Ebore City had turned state. Everyone knew that when the Feds applied pressure, sometimes even the strong turn weak. Although things looked grim, Tecko knew that the charges were fabricated; and weak at best. If things worked in his favor, he gauged that he would be back on the streets within a year or two, but for now he would accept his fate.

Being herded through the corridors of the cell house, he heard the unmistakable sound of Patois being spoken by a group of men who were looking his way. Stepping in front of his cell, he double checked the room number to make sure he was in the right place. As the young dread laying in the bottom bunk stood and took off his headphones, he sized Tecko up with open disdain. Knowing the drill, Tecko’s street instincts kicked in as he dropped his small bag of property and stepped inside of the room. Consciously eyeing the young man, Tecko spoke through clinched teeth,

“Is dere a problem youth?”

Far from a coward, the young dread slipped his hand inside of his waist band; and gripped the handle of his shank as he replied,

“me don’t know you stranger. Me tink de mon has de wrong room. …”

Irritated, Tecko stepped into striking range,

“No youth, dis is de right room. As a matter of fact, dat is my bunk you were in. Move your tings and step to de side while I get situated.”

The next moment was so swift that if Tecko wasn’t prepared for it, he would have been a dead man. As the young dread looked down and smirked, with lightning precision he pulled his home made knife and lunged for Tecko’s throat. Sensing the young dreads strike coming, he side stepped it and landed a vicious haymaker to his temple; instantly knocking him out cold.

As Tecko moved in for the kill. The group of dreads that he had seen while coming into the cell house were now crowding the door way attempting to flood into the cell. Diving towards the back of the cell, Tecko relieved the unconscious man of his weapon before turning to face off with his aggressors. Stepping through the crowd, a tall dark skinned muscular older man with gray dreads spoke with a voice as slow as dripping honey; yet as firm as steel.

“Step aside bruhdren …”

Looking into Tecko’s eyes, he smirked before looking down at the unconscious young dread laying on the floor. Shaking his head, the elder spoke to the two men standing next to him in a tone that was barely audible. Within seconds the young dread was awakened with a vicious slap before getting drug out of the room.

As the crowd disappeared, the elder was only flanked by his personal body guard whom everybody knew as Green Mile. At six feet eight and four hundred and ten pounds, it was safe to say that Green Mile was a different kind of beast. Not knowing which way the tides would turn, Tecko looked into the elder’s eyes which revealed a soul that seemed to be as old as time its self. Before Tecko could assess the situation, his thoughts we interrupted by the elder’s words;

“Relax youth… Please forgive de disrespectful young mon who assaulted you, he will not be returning. Please finish unpacking your tings, when you are done, we have much to discuss. By de way, my name is Jago…”

CHAPTER 13

THE PRESSURE IS ON

Nine months later…

Business in the streets of Tampa was booming. Trion was now one of the most powerful men in the streets of Central Florida. Being that all his under bosses were related by blood, the streets named the team, “The Family.” With Carlos running the north side, and Smoke overseeing the projects; things were running like a fine tuned machine.

The closer Tasha got to her due date, the more pressure she put on Trion to step away from the game. Together they now owned the hottest beauty salon and barber shop in the city, not to mention their investments that amounted to a small seven-figure fortune. Unable to resist Tasha’s nagging, Trion enrolled into the University of South Florida; and began to take real estate and accounting classes...

Trion may not have wanted to admit it, but Tasha was slowly beginning to change his life, and he liked it.

Flying down Fletcher, Trion raced towards the highway on the way to Tampa General Hospital, where Tasha was now in labor. Pulling up at the hospital emergency entrance, he jumped out of his Range Rover leaving it running as he ran inside. Approaching the nurses counter, he was out of breath when he demanded answers.

“Where is Tasha Williams... She was brought in here a few hours ago in labor.  I need her room number now, where is she!?”

While attempting to answer the relentless flood of questions, the helpless nurse had to put him on hold, in order to attend some more pressing emergencies; like the young man who had just been brought in with half of his face blown off by a shotgun. Just as Trion was about to explode, Tasha’s best friend came walking around the corner.

“Hey Trion, how are you doing boy? Come on in here before you mess around and miss your son being born.”

When he finally reached the delivery room, Tasha was roaring like a lioness from the pain. As he grabbed her hand to coach her through the pain, she locked down on his hand as a violent contraction hit and she began to push their child into the world. After sixteen hours of labor, Trion Jr finally made it into the land of the living. Holding his son for the first time, Trion looked down into his sleepy eyes and realize that Jago was right. Trion could remember his words clearly,

“Youth one day every mon will find his reason for being. When dat day comes, de money nor de streets will matter. Protect your reason, for it is de reason dat gives us purpose and life its meaning.”

As the words sank into his soul like an anchor into the deepest ocean, at that moment nothing else mattered. Looking over at Tasha as she began to drift off to sleep, time stood in a still silence. It was time to change the game before it was too late, that's if it wasn't already too late. After all of the bloodshed and casualties, Trion knew deep inside that things would get worse before they got better, however for now he was just happy to hold the purest part of him; his son...

As Trion pulled out of the hospital parking lot, rain began to fall from the sky like large droplets of gods tears cleansing the earths sins. Slipping into traffic, he lit up a blunt of kush that was sitting in his astray as he meditated on his new responsibilities. As his thoughts flooded his mind, he reflected on the words of the only father figure he had ever known. Jago once told him,

“youth de measure of a mon lies witin de sacrifices dat he is willing to make for his family...”

Passing a state trooper parked on the shoulder of the highway, Trion checked his rear view mirror to see if the coast was clear; but as he expected the officer was pulling into traffic and gaining speed. A quarter of a mile down the road he began to notice that several unmarked cars were now closing in behind him, and hitting their lights. Feeling the threat of panic beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach, he began to assess the inside of his vehicle for paraphernalia as he hit the button on his keypad opening the hidden compartment in his dashboard.

Placing his twin glock 40’s inside, he closed the compartment as he pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and called his lawyer. On the second ring Mr. Kessler picked up the phone.

“Hello Mr. Napper. How may I help you?”

Feeling a small sense of relief, Trion replied with a sigh,

“Damn I'm glad you picked up dawg. Listen, I just got pulled over on 95 by some unmarks. I need you down here ASAP I'm on exit 41...”

Sensing the urgency in his favorite client’s voice, Mr. Kessler hung up, and was out of the door before Trion even ended the call.

As a few detectives approached Trion’s truck with their firearms drawn, the tension was so thick in the air that you could almost reach out and touch it. Walking up to the driver’s side window, the trooper knocked on it with one hand as he kept his firearm pointed at Trion with the other.   

“Sir could you please roll your window down, take your keys out of the ignition; and place both hands out of your window palms up?”

Knowing that the wrong movement could mean death, Trion did as he was instructed while fighting to maintain his composure. Opening the driver side door, two officers drug him out of his truck, throwing him to the ground face first as a plain clothes detective placed a gun to his head, daring him to move. While Trion lay face down on the cold wet concrete being handcuffed, he notices a clean cut older black detective approaching the scene.

“Hey, hey, hey relax gentleman. Stand Mr. Napper up so I can see him. I want to ask him a few questions.”

As the two officers that were handcuffing Trion snatched him to his feet, he could feel the handcuffs digging into his skin as they threatened to break his wrist. Now looking into Trion’s eyes, Mr. Lawson spoke in a calculated tone.

“Well, well, well if it isn't Mr. Trion Napper, or should I say, Tampa black...”

In pain from being cuffed too tightly and annoyed by the fact that this detective had just called him by his full government name and alias, Trion stared at the old detective before replying.

“Listen dawg, I don't speak Pig Latin broke ass rent- a- cop. My lawyer is on his way, talk to him.”

Infuriated by Trion’s disrespect, detective Lawson snapped.

“Fuck this low budget street punk. Bring in the fucking K9 units, and make sure you tear this mother-fucking truck to pieces. I know there's something in there, and I'm going to find it... I don't give a fuck if it's a crumb, book his ass on something and make it stick...”