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Authors: Tysha

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Chapter 6
Summer Nights—The Beginning of the End
Melvin took a long drag from the Newport 100 dangling between his lips as his dark eyes stared a hole through the small man standing before him.
For Silk, each passing second felt like an eternity. He had no idea how much longer he would be able to control his bladder. Silk knew all Melvin had to do was reach out his long arm, grab hold of his neck, and squeeze the life out of him. Melvin gave Silk a free pass the first time he came up short. That pass came with a warning never to deal Melvin another dirty hand. Silk's good luck ran out thirty minutes after that narrow escape.
Silk was pulled stopped by an unmarked police car driven by Detective Keith Roberts. The veteran narcotics officer pulled Silk over and found the three kilos of cocaine taped to the car's undercarriage. Silk was taking his last few breaths on earth as a direct result of being in an interrogation room for six hours with the detective. When the undercover cop approached Silk about wearing a wire to his meetings with his drug connection, Detective Keith Roberts said nothing about the money supplied by the department being short of his outstanding payments. As beads of sweat slowly rolled down his dark skin, Silk silently said a prayer.
“You must take me for some kind of bitch,” Melvin said in almost a whisper. His tone put more fear in Silk's heart.
Silk's knees began shaking uncontrollably, causing him to lose control of his bladder. His head dropped along with his shoulders as Silk prepared to meet his Maker. The only thing that could save him was for Roberts to make his arrest.
“I warned your punk ass not to fuck me over again, didn't I?” barked Melvin. He grabbed Silk by his neck, and slammed him against his own car.
“Come on, man, you ain't got to kill him. Give him a second chance.” Roberts made a weak attempt to defuse the situation. He could not have cared less what became of the weak man who was struggling to breathe. As long as he could get the DA's office to issue a warrant for the city's most dangerous drug dealer, Roberts would be satisfied.
Shit, if it comes down to it, I will add murder to the long list of charges,
thought the detective.
With the life being choked out of him, Silk cannot blow my cover as a consolation prize.
“Stay the fuck up off me, man. This don't have shit to do with our business,” grunted Melvin through clinched teeth. Silk's eye's started to bug out of his head as Melvin tightened his grip. “This little fuck must think he can keep getting away with dipping into what belongs to me. I warned him. Didn't I, you bitch-ass prick?” Melvin grimaced as he watched the life drain from Silk. He hated weak men and everything about them.
Melvin, with the help of his evasive partner, now ran the city and no one dared to challenge them. Over the years, Melvin had risen to the top of the drug chain while B-Boy was sucked into the belly of the Ohio prison system. It was not clear who Melvin's partner was but whispers from the street said the mystery kingpin was powerful enough to keep Melvin protected from betrayal, arrest, and death.
Two minutes later, Melvin released his hold and took a step back as the lifeless body fell to the ground. Melvin turned his back on his handy work and strolled off toward his car. Roberts walked behind his target and considered making the arrest but soon thought better of it. Knowing he now had enough to secure an arrest warrant and put Melvin McGee behind bars for the rest of his life almost made the detective aroused. He wanted all of the bells and whistles when the career making arrest was made.
“Look, man, I'll holler at you later. That cocksucker done fucked up my schedule for the night. I'll hit you up in a week to deliver the last ten you ordered but those few bricks lifted off Silk should hold you over 'til then,” explained Melvin.
The two men clasped hands, pulled each other forward, patted the other's back, and simultaneously said, “One,” before parting ways.
Chapter 7
Never Can Say Good-bye
Shy sat in the first row of the funeral home with a heavy heart and stream of tears. She was sandwiched between her ten-year-old twin boys. Through her own broken heart and grief, Shy found the strength to hold it together for her sons. She felt as if every ticking minute was like a time bomb slowly releasing pellets of sorrow into her spirit.
The teenage sweethearts had become a happily married couple. All of their free time was spent together. Shy had no idea what she would do without the love of her life. Any time the two spent apart was miserable for them both. Whether it was a fifteen-minute trip to the corner store or a five-day girls-only trip to Vegas, their time away from each other was torture.
“Mommy, are you okay?” asked Jayden. After drying his own tears, he noticed the tears streaming down his mother's face.
Terrified that she would lose all control of her emotions, Shy simply shook her head yes in response to her son's question. It was the first time the twins saw their mother cry. For Jayden, it made him feel helpless because he knew nothing would take his mother's pain away. Jayden scooted closer to his mother and wrapped his arm around hers as he stared at his father's lifeless body.
The tragic event forever changed the McGee family. His presence would be missed in his sons' lives. Melvin coached little league football and basketball games at the local Boys & Girls Club. Jayden and Prince looked forward to their annual fishing trips with their dad.
From the day he became a father, Melvin was determined to offer his children better childhoods than the one he endured. Melvin raised himself while both his parents dealt with being drug addicts. With both parents often pulling disappearing acts, waking up in the mornings to complete emptiness became a way of life for the young boy. Melvin was nine years old the last time it happened. It was the dead of winter and the heat was off at the McGee household. The cold forced Melvin to seek help at a neighbor's house. Mahoning County Department of Child Services placed Melvin in the custody of his paternal grandmother. Before he could get comfortable at his new home, Melvin's parents were killed during an armed robbery at a local pharmacy. Jamie and Patty McGee were missed by their only child. Though his grandmother showered Melvin with love, he often felt alone as a child. Melvin's parents may have been neglectful but he loved them all the same.
Shy looked to her left to find Prince sitting in a daze. His heart was filled with sorrow and his body was consumed with anger and hate. From the day they were born, Prince was a daddy's boy and Jayden was a momma's boy. Prince knew his life would never be the same again. His hero, his best friend, and, most importantly, his father was gone, never to return. Prince knew in his heart that he would one day return the favor on the trigger-happy officer who murdered his father in cold blood. The feeling of emptiness and sorrow washed over Prince like a wave during a hurricane. He lowered his head and cried for the first time since he stood over his father's warm body.
Jayden immediately jumped from his seat at the sound of his other half cries. He rushed over to comfort his brother by embracing him. The twins cried together for what their father's absence would mean. Prince and Jayden wailed for the pain their mother was forced to endure.
Shy knew the twins were sharing a moment and let them be. Cherise rushed to the front pew to comfort her two godsons but Shy put up her hand to stop her. Shy looked up at Cherise and shook her head no. Cherise understood and sat in Jayden's empty seat and held her best friend's hand. Shy was holding it together for her boys in an attempt to be strong for them. The tears that fell from her eyes were more for her boys than for herself. She sat, rocking back and forth as her heart broke into a million pieces.
Just minutes into the funeral service it was time to close the casket as Lela Boyd sang Shy's favorite gospel tune, “Too Close to the Mirror.” Prince let out a scream that startled everyone in attendance, and everyone began to cry. Prince yelled out, “Don't close that door in my father's face.” Unable to deal with his grief, Prince punched the funeral director, knocking him out cold. Jayden tried to restrain his brother but was not strong enough.
Jayden and Prince' cousin, Quincy, sat heartbroken and feeling helpless to assist his family through their pain. When Prince began his assault on the poor funeral director, Quincy knew he had to do something. Raequan and Quincy raced to grab Prince before things got completely out of control. They were able to drag Prince outside and calm him down.
Shy was in shock and sat helpless to take away her sons' pain.
Lord, please watch over my boys and help them through this tragedy. I beg you, Lord Jesus, get Prince through this and help deliver him from his grief and anger. Forgive him, for he knows not what he does,
cried Shy.
As time went on, Shy would pray that exact prayer for many years. Prince was never able to let go of his anger, his grief, or his thirst for revenge.
Chapter 8
Can't Stomp with the Real Hustlers
“Thirty-two-year-old Melvin McGee, an alleged drug kingpin, was laid to rest today following a ceremony fit for a king. The family and friends said their final good-byes just one week after a secret indictment came down on McGee, who was believed to be one of the most powerful drug dealers in northeast Ohio. The narcotics division of the Youngstown Police Department was attempting to serve an arrest warrant on McGee at the home he shared with his wife and twin sons, when McGee was shot and killed,” explained news anchor Lori Findley. “Police are not saying what happened but it is alleged that McGee resisted arrest during the raid. Community leaders and family members are calling for a complete and unbiased investigation into the incident. It seems that McGee's ten-year-old son witnessed the shooting. A spokesperson for the family promised that both community leaders and the family will meet with the press after McGee's loved ones have had proper time to grieve,” concluded Findley.
Officer Roberts's heart raced while he listened to the brief report the news anchor offered to their dedicated viewers.
“In other news . . .”
Shit, that was a waste of airtime,
fumed Roberts to himself.
The news' focus on that piece of shit McGee is not going to help me make this shit go away.
Roberts jumped up from his worn couch in search of his car keys and three-year-old Air Nikes. He went to the corner store for a copy of the day's newspaper and a carton of cigarettes. The Vindicator would offer more information.
Roberts was disappointed after reading the article covering Melvin McGee's funeral. The report pretty much read like the news coverage except for insinuating he was a trigger-happy detective looking to make a name for himself. Roberts made no apologies for taking the life of any man, woman, or child who sold drugs on the same city streets he vowed to protect. His only regret was not connecting with Melvin's unidentified partner in crime.
Negative attention hovered over the city like a helicopter. The mayor had demanded a full investigation be conducted. Roberts doubted his fellow officers would say anything to drown his career but the victim's son was another matter. With his future on the line, Roberts found solace in alcohol and self-pity. A detailed report had been delivered to the police commissioner and as a result, Roberts would be meeting with him early the next morning.
Roberts arrived at the Commisioner's office at exactly seven-thirty. Roberts sat across from the oversized leather chair embroidered with the Commisioner's initials. Booker Thomas Martin III was as strong as his name suggested. The Commisioner's frame was a massive six foot, four inches, and he was 280 pounds. His skin was the color of a macadamia nut and his scalp was as smooth as a baby's bottom, which helped him sport his bald head with both dignity and authority.
Manila file folders, a desk calendar, and pictures of his wife and four children covered the mahogany desk. Roberts noticed the bright red flashes of light coming from the Commisioner's telephone, signaling voice messages.
Roberts drank a gulp of his warm black coffee in attempt to wet his palate. Nerves always made his mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. His eyes continued to study the corner office and for the first time since entering the space, Roberts noticed the forty-two-inch flat screen hanging on the wall to his far right.
I am going to get me one of those before football season rolls around.
Commissioner Martin walked into his office, thirty minutes after Roberts's arrival, without acknowledging the detective's presence. He set his coffee mug on its electric coaster, removed his tailor-made suit jacket, and immediately began pacing the floor. Roberts noticed the worn carpet where the Commissioner paced.
He must do that often,
Roberts thought. After what felt like an eternity to Roberts, Commissioner Martin stopped in front of the window and broke his silence.
“It's going to be another hot one today,” said Commissioner Martin.
“Yes, sir, it looks like it,” responded Roberts in a cracked voice.
“I wasn't talking to you. It was just an utterance on my part, so shut up,” the Commissioner spoke without looking at his subordinate.
Roberts shifted in his seat, offended, but he kept his mouth shut. He swallowed another gulp of his now lukewarm coffee and waited for the pat on the back he believed was coming.
“Detective Roberts, thanks to you the city is in an uproar and the mayor has his steel toe right in the crack of my ass. To top that off, there was a message from the governor's office waiting for me yesterday morning. Would you like to tell me just what in the hell went wrong executing the warrant on McGee?”
Roberts let three seconds pass before responding to be certain Commissioner Martin was finished with his question.
“Well, sir, a rookie went to handcuff our suspect when McGee suddenly jumped at him. To protect my fellow brother, I gave him two taps of my side arm and he dropped.” Roberts's response was matter-of-fact and emotionless.
“Bullshit! No man, drug dealer or not, would risk his life in the presence of his own son, especially not with sixteen firearms pointed at his ass,” barked Commissioner Martin. He walked behind his desk and sat across from Roberts. “Now, I do not want the story you feed Internal Affairs.” He paused briefly for effect before continuing, “I want the truth and nothing but the damn truth.”
The angry tone of his superior stunned Roberts. The meeting was far left of where Roberts believed it would be.
“If I may speak,” began Roberts. “Melvin McGee was a lowlife drug dealer with a natural appetite for money, power, and street credibility. I watched him choke the life out of a man with his bare hands and I cannot believe this case is getting national attention. The entire situation is a travesty and Youngstown is better off with McGee six feet under.”
“You shot the man dead, Roberts, right before his ten-year-old son. What did you think would happen? Were you expecting a commendation from the mayor?” Commissioner Martin sarcastically asked.
“It was unfortunate that the boy was home but, damn, he'll work that shit out in counseling,” spat Roberts. He had not meant to say it aloud but once the words left his lips, there was no forcing them back. Roberts would be damned if he apologized for doing nothing wrong.
“Are you serious?” hollered Commissioner Martin with a pound of his fist on the desk. “Are you serious? You're sitting there, lying to me in my face; are you kidding me?”
Roberts swallowed hard and tried the best he could to keep control of his anger. Roberts could not understand why he was being treated like a common criminal.
“I'm lost, sir. What am I lying to you about?” Roberts sat more perplexed than ever.
Instead of getting a sore throat, Commissioner Martin aimed the remote at the flat screen television. Roberts followed the Commisioner's eyes and focused on the screen. It did not take long for Roberts to recognize the people, the place, and the incident replaying for him.
Oh, shit! How in the hell did the department get their hands on this? I am fucked.
Only five minutes had gone by but it felt like forever to Roberts. There he was, standing by, doing nothing when Melvin McGee snubbed the life out of Silk. Roberts knew he should have intervened and arrested McGee the minute he wrapped his hands around Silk's neck. Roberts knew he had more than probable cause at that point but he had become just as addicted to the money and power as his mark had. When the time came for Roberts to arrest Melvin, he wanted lights, cameras, and plenty of action.
“Sir, I can—” began Roberts.
Commissioner Martin raised his right palm and spewed an order at Roberts, “Shut up!” His eyes remained fixed on the television.
Roberts returned his attention to the screen and dropped the paper coffee cup he had been holding. His eyes bugged from their sockets and for the first time since his wife packed up and took off with their three children. Roberts wanted to cry. He now understood why the Commissioner, Mayor, and probably every living soul in the city wanted his head on a stick.
McGee had hidden cameras inside his cars, in each one of his drug houses, and anywhere he conducted business. Meeting Silk in the empty parking lot was no coincidence; McGee knew what he was doing when he scheduled the meeting there. The initial meeting between Roberts and McGee now played on the clear flat screen.
Roberts was on tape doing drugs and pocketing some of the drug money the department fronted him for stings.
Undercover officers were expected to melt into the melting pot of drugs and money but only to a point. No one is ever given a free ride for taking the life of another human being. With all of the police-related killings in the news lately, McGee's action threw the steel mill city into the national limelight. Killing a man in front of his son was a horrible mistake. Roberts had been undercover for so long, he'd begun to feel untouchable.
“From my view, it looks as if you provoked McGee to make a move. You have kids and you know damn well you would lay down your life for them,” said irritated Commisioner Martin.
Roberts clinched his jaw at the mention of his children. It had been almost six years since he last saw them. He did not know how Brenda pulled it off, but it seemed as though his wife had disappeared off the face of the earth.
“Sir, you know I had to do certain things in order to protect my identity. McGee had the power to make me disappear if he ever discovered I was a cop. Everything you saw on that tape was unavoidable. We had to get McGee off the streets,” said Roberts angrily.
Commissioner Martin aimed the remote at the screen and pushed play. There, in high definition, appeared Roberts at home alone snorting cocaine and drinking. The edited tape showed him stepping over the line from undercover officer to common criminal. Roberts sat speechless as his life played out before him.
“Detective, you became an accessory to murder when you stood by and did nothing to help the snitch
you
put in harm's way. You not only stole money from the department, you're a drug addict. Did you see all of the coke you were snorting up your nose? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Again, sir, I was undercover. I had to get deep into McGee's operation in order to bring him down. Thanks to me, one of the city's biggest drug dealers is permanently off the streets. With just a little more time, I could've discovered the identity of his partner.”
“There is no way for you to double talk your way out of this, Roberts. You killed your career the exact moment you pulled that trigger on an unarmed man. This video can give the district attorney's office more than enough ammunition to charge you with this man's homicide. Detective Roberts, as far as the department is concerned, you are nothing more than a drug-dealing addict with a trigger-happy finger. You are hereby relieved of your duties. Please, turn in your badge and weapon,” Commissioner Martin sternly ordered. He was furious with the insubordinate detective. The department had been on notice for years of Roberts taking the law into his own hands. Roberts had been involved in four shootings during the past eight years. His psychological exams had alerted to trouble ahead but the department chose to overlook each instance. Being a trigger happy, gun totting hot-head translated into career ambition until it went terribly wrong. It was an election year and the mayor couldn't afford to have a scandal ruin his chances for re-election. Roberts had to go, immediately.
Roberts stood on his weak legs, placed his badge and gun on the desk, and turned to leave the office with his head hung low and tail tucked between his legs.
Damn, what am I going to do now?
Roberts asked himself.
What am I going to do?
BOOK: Young-Minded Hustler
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