The Union (5 page)

“Seven minutes Mox. You know the rules.” She clenched the baby cannon with two hands, her eyes, focused on the shotgun toting Rasta.

Tyga lowered the weapon, finally dropping it to the floor.

Lion took a step back and raised his hands to the sky. “Mi naw want no problem, bredren.”

“I don’t want no problems either Dred, I just want some answers.” Mox stated. “I need to know who my mother and father were dealing with… anybody they associated with.”

Lion’s eyes shifted to the barrel of the pistol. “Mi nah know a ting, bredren.” He lied.

Mox bent down to pick the shotgun up. “I think you lying to me Dred.”

“Pussyhole… mi nah lie.”

“You like sports, Dred?” Mox grabbed the nozzle of the Mossberg and handled the 30 inch pump like a baseball bat.

Lion ignored him, sucked his teeth and then shot Tyga a distasteful glare.

“I love me some baseball...” Mox continued. “Last year, I was All American, ranked number six in the country. They called me, M. Daniels.” Mox positioned himself like he was at the plate, ready to take a pitch. “It didn’t matter if the pitcher could throw ninety-five miles per hour…”

He raised the shotgun and twirled it like he was about to swing for the fence. “I was tay-king-it-out-the park!” Aiming for his ribs, Mox swung the lightweight weapon with as much strength as he could muster.

 
The force of the blow shattered Lion’s elbow when he tried to block it and he collapsed to the floor.

Again, Mox swung, this time slamming the weapon down on his leg, crushing bones on impact.

Lion writhed in pain, but somehow managed to not scream.

“Hol lon!” Tyga reasoned. He wanted to help. “Mi tell you, mi tell you.”

Mox moved toward Tyga. “See, now he’s a real friend.”

“Tyga, ya nah gwan tell dis faassie boy nuttin’.” Lion was furious.

“Yo,” Mox nodded at Priscilla. “Shut him up.”

Priscilla pressed the cold steel to Lion’s lips. “All I need is a reason,” she whispered.

 
It wasn’t the first time she had held a gun to someone’s head and it sure wouldn’t be the last.

“Tyga, tell me something before this shit get crazy.” Mox cautioned.

Tyga’s lip quivered, he was timorous. In all the years he had stood by Lion’s side never once had he seen him get treated this way. People feared Lion.

“All mi kno is…” He looked at his helpless friend. “Reginald use to work for de white man, dey call him The Ghost.”

“The Ghost? Why they call him that?”

“Because, afta him murder ya whole family—” He paused and looked Mox in his eyes. “Him vanish!”

Mox wasn’t at all moved by Tyga’s story. “That’s it? Where can I find this Ghost?”

Tyga shook his head slowly and a demonic grin appeared on his face. “Ya nah gwan find him… him gwan find you!”

Mox was angry, and when he became angry his inner beast would rear its hideous face. It was like a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde transformation. One minute he was calm, restrained and well mannered, and then, at the blink of an eye he could become violent, audacious and discourteous.

He could never figure out where this maniacal being derived from, but at times he enjoyed it; it was gratifying. He was able to unshackle those locked up feelings and set them free.

“Go start the car.” He hadn’t looked at her or said her name, but Priscilla knew it was time to go. She backed away from Lion and stepped out the door.

Mox ordered Tyga to sit on the floor next to Lion.

“I need to get a message to this Ghost guy, who’s gon’ deliver it?” Tyga slightly raised his hand and nodded his head. “Good… so we don’t need him.” He lifted the black 500 and let it explode.

The roaring blast was ear-piercing and the slug blew away the top half of Lion’s head. Blood, brains and dreadlocks were everywhere. “Tell The Ghost we need to speak.”

Before Mox left the small store, he checked the back room and came out with a Puma duffle bag containing three pounds of high grade marijuana and $65,000 cash.

He wiped the shotgun of his prints, snatched the photo off the counter and walked away from the scene with no regret.

When he got to the car, he tossed the bag into the backseat and jumped in the passenger. The first thing he said was, “Where you get that gun from, Priscilla?”

“Damn, can I pull off?” She put the car in drive and sped away. “I took it from my brother.”

Mox reclined his seat. “You know you could’a got me killed back there.”

“I was just tryna help.”

“I’m sure you were, but if you listen to me… that would be an even bigger help.”

Priscilla cut her eyes at Mox. “I can handle myself.”

FOUR

November 2003…

Mox was still working at the car wash. The only difference now, was that he controlled a $200,000 a week cocaine operation and Shiny Gleam was his headquarters.

As soon as he was put into position, Mox recruited all five of his co-workers and appointed them each a specific job. All he did was answer his phone and count the money. He hadn’t touched drugs since the day Priscilla presented the offer to him and that’s how he liked it.

The dealings were run so precisely, that it never interfered with the daily car wash flow. Nobody saw drugs come in and nobody saw them go out.

At the least, Mox would move 7-10 kilo’s a week, sometimes 15. If he really wanted to turn it up, he could easily move 20-30 without breaking a sweat.

Priscilla had customers coming in from out of town on a daily basis. It was no longer unusual to see out of state plates pulling into the Shiny Gleam. Some days, the parking lot resembled a car show, but the supervisors never knew a thing, because all the drug flow enhanced the already profitable business.

Everything Priscilla said to Mox eventually came to fruition. He was young, black, handsome and rich, living a lifestyle most people dreamt about, but he was never content.

Being a drug dealer was never in his plans. In the beginning, all he wanted to do was find the man that murdered his parents. Somewhere down the line, he got sidetracked and lost focus.

Not a bit of information on “The Ghost” had surfaced since the record shop murder, and Mox didn’t have any other leads to go on. A few times, he even felt like giving up, but seeing that picture in his wallet always reassured him that he was fighting for something that meant a lot to him. At any cost, he was going to find who he was looking for.

When Mox first asked Priscilla if he would have to kill anybody for the money, her response was, “only if you want to.”

After a year in the game he learned that meant; of course you are.

FIVE

February 2004…

Mox came to a stop at the red light at Lincoln and North Avenue. He looked up in the rearview mirror and saw a blue and white NRPD patrol car slowing up behind him. He snatched the seatbelt and quickly snapped it in. When the light turned green, he made the right and went up North Avenue with the patrol car following.

As soon as he passed the bus depot, the cop tossed his lights on.

“Fuck!” He cursed aloud, seeing the flashing red lights in his mirror. Mox didn’t know why he was being flagged, he had his seatbelt on and he was doing the speed limit.

He pulled the $90,000 Aston Martin to the curb and waited for the officer. When he heard the cop’s voice come through the horn, that’s when he got nervous.

“Driver! Let me see your hands!”

Mox shut the ignition off and placed both of his hands outside the window.

Two more patrol cars and an unmarked had arrived on the scene.

At 12:10 in the afternoon, on a Wednesday, in the middle of North Avenue, in the blistering cold, the New Rochelle police department had Mox Daniels surrounded and he didn’t even know what he did.

Pedestrians looked on in astonishment as two officers ran at the car from opposite angles with their guns drawn. One of them snatched the door open and yanked Mox from the driver’s seat.

“Yo, what the fuc—”

In two seconds, Mox was faced down on the frosted pavement with a knee in his back and a .40 Caliber to his head.

“New Rochelle police, don’t fuckin’ move!” He screamed in Mox’s ear.

A short, black detective with a terrible receding hairline stepped in.

“Bring ‘em up.” He told them.

They brought Mox to his feet.

He had tiny pieces of gravel stuck to the left side of his cheek from his face being pressed against the cold concrete and one of his sneakers had come off.

“Mox Daniels, you’re under arrest for the murder of Deandre Foster. At this time anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You—”

Mox went completely deaf for a few seconds. He stared directly at the detective, watching his mouth move, but no sound came out.

One officer shouted. “We got something!” and lifted a black .9 millimeter out the glove compartment.

Mox turned, saw the officer holding the gun up and shook his head.

Priscilla.

He was arraigned on murder and gun charges and then two days later a judge set bail at one million dollars.

County Jail - Valhalla, New York – (Visiting Room)

After a thirty-five minute drive and standing in line for over an hour, Priscilla finally made it to the inside of the visiting area of the county jail. She went through the search, gave the C.O. her slip, and was escorted to a table in the far left corner of the room.

It was her first time coming to visit anyone in prison, so she was amazed at how many women came to see their boyfriends, husbands, and family members. What she didn’t like was people searching through her shit. Once she got past that, she was good.

As she scanned the room, she counted thirty tables and every one of them was occupied. Every few minutes, an inmate and his/her visitors would depart and go their separate ways, and two minutes later, more visitors and another inmate would be at the table.

Mox came through the door, passed the guard a piece of paper and was directed to his table.

She got up when she saw him walking toward her and they hugged.

Mox embraced her firmly, but not too hard. He rested his face in the nape of her neck, kissed her gently and then moved to her lips. Their tongues twisted, and before they broke away, Priscilla slipped something down Mox’s pants.

“Damn…” She said, savoring the taste of his saliva. She pecked his lips once more before she sat down. “That suit is real bright.” She tugged at his orange county jumpsuit.

Mox smirked. “Oh, you got jokes, huh?”

Priscilla blushed. She almost couldn’t look him in his eyes. She felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, Mox.”

He clenched his teeth. “I told you about that fuckin’ gun Priscilla.”

“I know Mox, I’m sorry,” water built up in her eyes. She sniffled and wiped them away. She had been careless and left her gun in his car.

“Listen baby, don’t cry…” He grabbed Priscilla’s hands and held them tight. “I’m just a little upset right now, and I don’t mean to take it out on you. Don’t worry about this… all this shit gon’ go away.”

“What are they saying?”

“They ain’t saying nothing. That murder charge is bullshit; I can beat that with the right lawyer.” He looked around and lowered his tone. “But this other thing might sit me down for a sec.”

“How long is a second, Mox?”

“It all depends. Did you do what I asked you to do?”

Priscilla didn’t even hear the question, she was too busy watching the man to the right of them ice grill Mox.

She whispered. “Why he looking at you like that?”

Mox glanced and smirked. “That’s Deandre’s little cousin, Rudy. I think he wants revenge.” He laughed.

“That’s not funny, Mox. You better be careful in here.”

“I got him taken care of. That’s why I told you to bring this.” He pointed to his pants. “So, what did he say?”

“Who?”

“Juan Carlos, Priscilla.”

She got lost for a minute. “Oh, he said if he does this for you, you’re gonna have to owe him a favor.”

Mox rubbed his head. “I figured that. Tell him everything is good. Just hurry up.” he leaned in to kiss her lips. “Damn, you taste good.”

Priscilla couldn’t help but smile. It had only been two days and she was missing her man crazily.

The one hour visit had gone by quickly.

“Daniels, time’s up.” The guard came to the table and handed Mox his pass.

“Okay, a few days and you should be out of here.” She kissed him one more time before she turned to leave. “I love you.”

It was the first time she had said it and it caught Mox off guard. He didn’t know what to say back, even though he had the same feeling. So he said nothing and let her walk through the doors.

“Daniels, let’s go!” The guard shouted again.

Mox was housed in a part of the prison that they called “The Old Jail” specifically because of the old, rusted bars, molded and cracked walls and no hot water. In the summertime, the walls would sweat and in the winter they would be ice blocks, literally. It was just like the jails you see in those old movies; 23 hour lockdown with one hour of rec.

As soon as he got back to his cell, Mox put a sheet up and stripped to his boxers. He reached into the briefs he had on underneath and pulled out two balloons the same length and width as his thumb. He bit the small knots at the top and ripped the latex apart.

The C.O.’s keys were jingling and Mox knew he was getting closer to his cell. He stashed the ripped balloons and the contents under the thin, county issued mattress and sat on the toilet.

“What the fuck you in there doin’ inmate!?” The C.O pulled the sheet back and peeked in.

Mox had a magazine in his hand, sitting on the toilet with his drawers on his ankles. “Taking a shit, C.O.”

He looked at Mox and turned his nose up. “You gonna fuckin’ stink the joint up, inmate. Put some fuckin’ water on that shit… and hurry up and get this sheet off my goddamn bars.” He let go of the sheet, walked back down the tier and hollered. “Count in five minutes, ladies!”

Mox jumped up and pushed the weak mattress to the side. He tossed the ripped balloons in the toilet, flushed them and unrolled the five one-hundred dollar bills Priscilla had given him. The other balloon was full of marijuana.

Getting the contraband into the prison was an easy task for Mox because he knew one of the visiting room C.O.’s. Usually after a visit, you had to walk through a metal detector and get stripped searched before going back to your block, but because Mox had a name and he was able to dish out a few dead presidents; he was invisible to the guards.

He peeled off two big faces, folded them up as small as he could, and then he threw his orange county pants back on and snatched the sheet off the bars. Before the guard called the count, Mox rolled up a couple of sticks, scribbled something on a piece of paper and sent the note two cells down on a line.

“On the count!” The C.O. hollered.

Mox stood at the entrance of his cell and waited for the guard to make his round.

“Williams!” The guard shouted into the cell next to Mox. “Williams, get your ass on the gate! It’s count time.”

When they called count you had to be on your feet, standing at your gate in full county oranges and there was absolutely no talking.

An hour and a half passed, count cleared and the shift changed.

Mox hopped off his bunk once he heard the C.O call out, “On the chow!”

He stood by his gate and waited for the trustee to come by.

“Yo, wassup?” He stopped at Mox’s cell. He was a chubby, light skinned kid with corn row braids. “That was you who sent the kite, right?” he slid Mox’s food tray through the feed up in the bars.

Mox spoke low. “Yeah… your name Botta Bing, right?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Nah, my boy Javier told me that you and him is good. He said you could get me what I needed. “ Mox flashed a few of the rollies he had in his hand.

“Oh, yeah…” Botta Bing nodded. “Yeah, I got that kite. What’s the situation though?”

Mox stuffed three rollies and the two hundred dollars into his hand. “I need what’s on that paper tomorrow morning, and then at lunch, I need you to bring 4 cell’s tray over here before you give it to him.”

Botta Bing screwed his face up. “That’s askin’ a lot.” he looked down at what Mox had given him. “I’m sayin’ that’s the nigga Rudy’s cell, right? Check it,” he looked down the tier. “I don’t like that nigga anyway, so whatever problems yall got, that’s between yall. I’m just sayin’” he shrugged his broad shoulders and made a gesture with his hands. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you.”

Mox smiled. “Exactly.”

The next morning Botta Bing tapped on Mox’s cell and slid his breakfast tray through the feed up.

Mox got up and went to the gate. “Did you get it?”

Botta Bing passed him a small, plastic tube that looked like perfume. “Yo, what the fuck is that shit?”

“Ebony Dream.” Mox grinned. “Make sure you bring that tray over here at lunch.”

Later that afternoon, Rudy Foster had to be rushed across the street to Westchester Medical Center to get his stomach pumped, but the doctors couldn’t figure out what caused it.

The following day, Mox made bail and walked out of the county jail a free man.

As soon as he stepped into the parking lot, a black guy in a grey suit approached him. “Mr. Daniels,” he called out.

Mox kept walking. He sped his pace up. If it was the feds, they were going to have to wrestle him down.

The black guy in the suit called again. “Mr. Daniels, I’m a friend of Juan Carlos.”

Mox stopped and turned around. “Who?”

“Juan Carlos.” He gave Mox his card. “I just spoke with Priscilla. She told me to meet you here. My name is Charles Woods and I’ll be representing you throughout this process.”

Mox took the card and looked it over. “Where my girl at?”

“I told her we had a few things to discuss about your case, so she went home to wait for you.”

“Ain’t nothing to discuss.” Mox started to walk off.