The Reign of Rain Robinson Read online

  Milton laughed. “No. But it’s time I told you a few things about me and what I do.”

  For the rest of the trip to their house, DP listened in awe as his father revealed his criminal organization to him. Like his son, Milton had a few gambling spots, but he worked white-collar crimes involving embezzlement and construction schemes and wire fraud businesses.

  “The shit that makes real money. Not like that nickel and dime shit you’re doing,” Milton said.

  He went on to tell DP about the porno film studio that he owned, which had worldwide distribution and brought in millions of dollars each year. As well as live online porn and video sales that ran out of a strip club called Enzo's Palace.

  That conversation took place seven years ago, and over the years, Milton used his position at the Towne Services Credit Union to launder money for DP, who now had a healthy income from dealing drugs.

  Before long, DP was working as a manager in one of the credit union branches and had several loan sharking businesses running that were making hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  It was getting close to midnight and DP had just come in the house. Milton was in his office still working as usual. DP came into the office and sat down on the couch.

  “What’s on your mind, David?” Milton asked and stood up.

  “There’s something I got going on that I need to tell you about,” DP began.

  “This sounds serious,” Milton said as he headed for the bar. “Can I make you one?”

  “Thanks,” DP said and relaxed before he told his father what he should have told him months ago.

  When Milton handed DP his drink, he said thank you and Milton sat down in the chair next to him.

  “So what you got going?”

  “I’m gonna take over Mike Black’s organization.”

  Milton laughed at him; laughed so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair, he was laughing and choking that hard. But not DP, he sat there stone-faced until his father regained his composure.

  “I’m serious, Pop.”

  “You been smoking that dope you’re selling if you’re seriously considering going up against Mike Black and Bobby Ray.”

  “That’s the thing; I won’t be going up against them.”

  “So what’s your plan? You planning on walking up to Black and asking him nicely to hand over his organization? That shit ain’t happening. Them niggas done killed enough mutha fuckas to fill up a small country.” Milton laughed. “And before you even get to Black, you’d have to get through guys like Howard Owens and Sherman Williams.”

  “You’re information is dated, old man,” DP said and finished his drink. He picked up his father’s glass and went to the bar to refill their glasses. “Black is retired to the islands and Bobby found God or some shit like that,” DP said and handed his father back his glass.

  “What about Wanda Moore? Wasn’t she running things for a minute?”

  DP took a swallow of his drink. “She was.”

  “She’s just as dangerous …” Milton laughed. “If not more dangerous than Black and Bobby.”

  “Gone back to working on the legit side of their business.”

  “Who’s running things?”

  “A woman named Rain Robinson.”

  “Ain’t that the little young trick Nick Simmons used to fuck?” Milton laughed.

  “Trust me, Pop, Rain Robinson ain’t no joke.”

  “If that’s the case, why are you in such a hurry to take her on?”

  “Because they’re weak now. All those people you were talking about are gone. Howard Owens and Cynt are dead and Sherman Williams is out.”

  “Those were his Captains.”

  “That’s my point. They got new Captains and they all got problems with their people.”

  “Power struggles.” Milton thought for a moment. “You know who the new Captains are?”

  “Ed Weather, Jackie Washington and Carter Garrison.”

  “Carter Garrison? I remember him. He might be trouble.”

  “Even so, now’s the time. We hit Rain Robinson and start hitting their spots.”

  “What about Carter Garrison?”

  “We’ll hit him next.”

  Milton sat back in his chair and thought for a minute about what his son had proposed. “Go ahead,” he said, still thinking that it was a bad idea. But as long as DP’s plan didn’t interfere with their upcoming overseas shipment, what real harm could it be?

  DP looked at his watch. “It’s already in progress.”

  Chapter Three

  El Decreto de Guerra, translated to mean The Decree of War. They were a gang of Colombian gun smugglers that had an extensive history with The Family. It began one rainy night in Nassau, when three were bound, gagged and shot in the back of their heads and their throats were cut at Shaggy’s gambling house. Once the perpetrators were identified to be members of a Vincentian drug gang known as The Grenadine Boys, Jada West sanctioned their termination.

  The Grenadines attacked Paraíso in retaliation at the same time that Mr. and Mrs. Black were on the island. When Bobby and Rain arrived on the island, not only did they kill everybody, but Black arranged for the DEA and the ATF to intercept a large shipment of guns coming from Miami that were being exchanged for cocaine and marijuana from Venezuela. Since they were his guns and drugs, this did not go unnoticed by Rodrigo Iñíguez.

  With his Vincentian middlemen in Nassau now dead, Rodrigo Iñíguez began looking at Mike Black and his organization. He wanted to use Black’s organization to take over for them because of Black’s influence with the DEA and the ATF. But it was too late for that.

  By that time, Black had discovered that The Grenadines in New York were backing Lyric Skye in his plan to take over from within. It took the entire family, including Black’s father and brothers in Saint Vincent, to put a stop to it.

  You know how we do it.

  Black and Shy traveled to Caracas, Venezuela for a meeting with Rodrigo Iñíguez. During that meeting, Black made it clear his desire not to be in business with Rodrigo and a gentlemen’s understanding was reached between the two men that Black would have no involvement in, nor would he use his influence to interfere with Rodrigo’s business coming through Nassau as long as they respected the island.

  But that gentlemen’s understanding did nothing for the ties, both good and bad, that now existed with El Decreto de Guerra. With the approval of Damián Custodio, the head of El Decreto de Guerra, Herminio Leoncio ordered the hit that killed Reese and injured Smoke and Geno at Mar Y Tierra. But being a businessman, Custodio wasn’t opposed to anything, or anybody for that matter, that would make him more money.

  It was almost four in the morning and Carlito Munoz and Edmundo Camacho were at Salsa Con Tarifa waiting to meet with Lucus Hill and Garson Anderson to make arrangements to sell them weapons.

  On the way to the meeting at the club, Anderson was texting with his girlfriend while Hill drove. After a while, Anderson got tired of typing and began using the voice to text feature. Hill just shook his head and kept driving.

  “Because that’s what you say!” Anderson shouted into the phone, pressed send angrily and then stared at the phone awaiting her response.

  “Yeah, well, it ain’t gonna be like that. Not no more,” he said and laughed. He looked over at Hill. “I don’t know who the fuck she think she dealing with?”

  “Your dumb ass. That’s who she thinks she’s dealing with. You let her get away with too much shit. She does the shit she does ’cause you let her,” Hill said, but Anderson wasn’t listening. He had gotten a response and was shaking his head.

  “’Cause I fuckin’ said so!” Again he was shouting at the phone.

  “Hey, man.”

  “What?” Anderson barked without looking away from his phone.

  “Why don’t you text her, ‘it ain’t about you’, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point,” Hill said and laughed.

  Anderson laughed. “Have you lost your fuckin
’ mind?”

  “In all caps.”

  “Shit, no!” Anderson dropped the phone he was laughing so hard. “I can just imagine the onslaught of furious texts she’d send as she tracked me down so she could get in my face askin’, ‘what the fuck you mean it ain’t about me?’”

  “’Cause you know it’s all about her,” Hill said, now laughing hysterically as his phone began vibrating in his pocket. Once he got the phone out, Hill looked at the display.

  “Hey, Sexy.”

  “Hello,” a sultry female voice said. “May I ask, what is so funny?”

  “Nothing, Sexy. I’m just fuckin’ with the Big A, that’s all. What’s up?”

  “I was calling to see where you are?”

  “We about to get to the spot. Why?”

  “Your people had inquired about where you and Mr. Anderson were, so I said that I would be happy to call and find out for them.”

  “Tell them that we’re there now,” Hill said as he parked down the street from Salsa Con Tarifa and they got out of the car. “I’ll call you when we leave.”

  “Am I going to have the pleasure of your company when you have concluded your business?”

  “Depending on how shit go.”

  “Outstanding. I will look forward to speaking with you when you’ve finished your business.”

  “Bye, Sexy,” Hill said.

  “Goodbye.”

  Hill ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket as he and Anderson walked back toward Salsa Con Tarifa.

  “I may be stupid and let Deshondra get away with too much shit…”

  “Long as you admit it.”

  “Yeah, I admit it, but you a fuckin’ fool.”

  “Why?”

  “You know she fuckin’ that nigga, right?”

  “So.”

  “So you two was all hugged up, lovey-dovey before we left. Now she over there fuckin’ that nigga.”

  “No she ain’t. Not unless they havin’ a threesome.”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “Sayin’ what? I don’t give a fuck what she do with that pussy when I ain’t in it. She a hoe. Hoe’s fuck everybody; that’s why they’re hoes,” Hill said as they reached the door to Salsa Con Tarifa and went inside.

  Since it was closing time when they got there, there were only a few people left in the place, and security was herding them toward the door. When Anderson and Hill looked around, Carlito Munoz and Edmundo Camacho were coming toward them.

  “Caballeros,” Martínez shouted over the music.

  “Carlito,” Anderson said and shook hands with both Munoz and Camacho. Hill just stood back with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Why don’t you two have a seat at the bar,” Munoz said as he moved in that direction. “Once we get the place cleared out, we’ll play show and tell.”

  “Fine by me,” Anderson said and followed Munoz to the bar still looking at his phone.

  “Cervantes, get these men whatever they’re drinking,” Munoz said and then he and Camacho went in the back of the spot. Once Cervantes had taken their drink orders and left the pair alone, Hill turned to Anderson.

  “You trust these guys? I mean ain’t these the same guys who shot Smoke and Geno and killed Reese?”

  “I don’t know nothing about that. All I know is that is what the man say do…”

  “You mean the woman, don’t you?”

  “Whoever,” Anderson said anxiously as Cervantes returned with their drinks. Once he had placed the drinks on the bar, he disappeared.

  “Look, man. I hear what you’re sayin’. But they wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t cool with our new Skipper,” Anderson said sarcastically.

  “I don’t think he even knows about this,” Hill said.

  “Why you think that?”

  “It’s the look that bitch-boy gets on his face when anybody mentions his name.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that too,” Anderson cosigned. “I just thought it was…”

  “Shut up, here they come,” Hill said as Munoz and Camacho came out of one of the back rooms of the now almost empty club.

  There was only one other man in the club, but he was just sitting quietly at the bar, sipping tequila and watching boxing on TV.

  Camacho was carrying a metal case, which he placed on the table. Munoz signaled for Hill and Anderson to come over and Camacho opened the case the second they stepped up.

  “Slow down, Cowboy.” Hill turned and pointed to the man at the bar. “What about him?”

  “Don’t worry about him, he’s harmless,” Camacho said.

  But he was far from harmless. The man was actually Damián Custodio. But the head of El Decreto de Guerra wasn’t the only one listening to the meeting.

  FBI Agents Matthews and McCullough were listening because of El Decreto de Guerra’s ties to Marietta Dynamics. The company is suspected to be involved in the theft of the schematics for an electromagnetic pulse weapon.

  Munoz stepped to Hill. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “No. I don’t trust none of you.”

  Munoz nodded his head. “Good. Because I don’t trust you either.”

  “Good. I think a healthy amount of distrust is a good thing in any business relationship.”

  “I agree one hundred percent. But I cannot trust you, Cabrón, and be nice about it.”

  “Good for you,” Hill said. “Now let’s see what you got.”

  “The QBZ-03 assault rifle, Chinese gas operated, selective-fire weapon,” Munoz said as Camacho handed the weapon to Anderson.

  “Two-piece receiver made up of forged aluminum alloy with the stock, pistol grip, and handguards made of a polymer compound.”

  Anderson looked over the weapon. “That’s lightweight.”

  “About eight pounds,” Munoz said as Anderson handed the weapon to Hill.

  “The gas block has a two position regulator, one for firing standard ammunition, the other to allow the use of rifle grenades,” Camacho said.

  Hill looked it over, pointed it in Munoz’s face before handing it back to Camacho.

  “The sights are of a hooded front sight with a flip up rear diopter sight similar to the American M16 rifle.”

  “What do you think?” Munoz asked.

  “Nice piece of hardware,” Anderson said. “I think we might be able to work with these. I’ll talk it over with my people and get back to you,” he said, and Camacho closed the case and took it to the back. When he did, Damián Custodio got up from the bar and followed him to the back of Salsa Con Tarifa.

  Anderson shook hands with Munoz. “Sounds good,” he said and then Anderson left with Hill. “Go back and report, errand boy,” Munoz said and went in the back.

  Hill and Anderson left Salsa Con Tarifa and walked back to their car in silence. Once they were in the car, Hill started it up and then he took out his phone.

  “Hey, Sexy.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Tell him we on our way.”

  “I will convey that information to them immediately.”

  “Thanks, Sexy.”

  “And now that you have concluded your business, I will be able to see you, right?”

  “Right, Sexy. Have that thang wet and ready for me when I get there,” Hill said and ended the call.

  He put the car in gear and drove down the street right past Detective Bautista.

  Chapter Four

  It was almost seven o'clock that same morning and Carmen Taylor was in the interrogation room with her lawyer, Gary Walden, answering questions about the murder of Larry Brin and Katana Jackson, as well as Kenneth Castellano, a known hit man, earlier that morning at the City Diner.

  Carmen had hoped that her friend, Detective Mitchell would be the one asking the questions, but she was on vacation, so Carmen was being interrogated by her partner, Detective Jack Harmon. He was putting pressure on her, asking tougher questions than Carmen was prepared fo
r. At this point, she had told her story twice, once to the officer on the scene and once more to Harmon.

  “Okay, Ms. Taylor,” Harmon said and took a deep breath. “Take me through it again.”

  “I got a call from one of my informants,” Carmen began.

  “Tell me his name again.” Harmon said and glanced at his notes.

  “Larry Brin.”

  “And he was one of the victims, right?”

  “Yes. He asked me to meet him at the City Diner.”

  “Is it usual for informants to call you at that time of day?”

  “No, it is not. But Larry, I mean Mr. Brin, said that it took that long to convince her to talk to me.”

  “Go on, Ms. Taylor.”

  “When he got there, he told me that Katana Jackson said that she needed to talk to me about what was going on at Abbate Construction.”

  “What did she want to talk about?”

  “I never got a chance to speak to her.”

  “Okay,” Detective Harmon said. “So you agree to meet him, and Brin shows up with Jackson; what happened then?”

  “A man came in the diner and looked around for a second or two and then he saw Katana. He walked up to her, raised his gun and shot her twice in the head.”

  She didn’t tell the detective that that was when Jada removed the Browning Black Label .380 from her clutch.

  “That’s when Larry screamed no and then the man shot him twice in the chest.”

  “What happened then, Ms. Taylor?”

  “That was when I shot him,” Carmen said instead of telling the detective that when Castellano turned to leave, that it was Jada that shot him in the back of the head before he made it out of the diner.

  Carmen smiled to herself when she thought about Jada, who she remembered as not being a very good shot, blowing the smoke from the barrel and saying in typical Jada West fashion, “I’ve had a lot of practice lately.”

  “Call the police,” the cook yelled immediately, and the waitress picked up the phone.

  “Not yet,” Carmen said quickly. She looked at Jada. “You need to leave.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be alright. Give me the gun.”