Page 96 of Deuce

“Boss. You should get over here. Some shit is going down.”

“The fuck you mean some shit is going down?”

I stood and Maceo stood beside me.

“The Feds are raiding the place, Boss.”

“Feds? The fuck for? My shit is legit.”

“They claimed they got a tip that illegal activity was taking place. They made everybody leave and they are tearing the place apart.”

The frown on my face deepened. “I’m on my way.”

I hung up and made my way through the crowd with Mace on my heels. As soon as we made it to my office where my keys were, he was asking questions.

“What the hell are the Feds doing at your spot?”

“Martin said they got a tip about illegal activity going on. You know that shit ain’t for real.”

“Sounds like a setup. You beefin’ with somebody?”

“Any nigga that has beef with me, is beefin’ by their damn selves. You know I?—”

I stopped as I picked up my keys. My mind was racing a mile a minute and there was only one muthafucka I knew that would try me like this.

“Mirron.”

“Who?”

“Fuckin, Mirron Hayes. That bitch made ass nigga wants me to sell him some property I own. He’s been riding my ass for months now and I’ve been telling him to fuck off. If I find out he was behind this shit, he’s as good as dead.”

Mace shook his head as we left the office and headed out the back exit. Deuce was only a few streets over, so it didn’t take us long to get there at all. When I pulled up, the placewas surrounded by FBI vehicles. People were standing outside taking pictures as shit. I climbed out of the car, and calmed my nerves before I walked up to the building.

I hated when people fucked with me. If I wasn’t on a contract, I minded my business for the most part. My legal businesses were all legit. There were no drugs or gang activity involved. Legal funds ran all up and through that shit.

“You can’t go in there, sir,” an FBI agent by the name of Tubbs.

I took a deep breath before I spazzed on him. “I’m the owner. He’s with me.” I nodded at my brother.

He radioed in to someone inside and they gave him clearance to let me and Maceo in. Brushing past him, we headed inside. Upon entry, I feel my blood begin to boil. They had completely ransacked my shit. Tables and chairs were overturned. Broken glass littered the floor. Drug dogs were everywhere.

“I’m gonna kill that muthafucka,” I mumbled as a man approached us.

Something about that nigga was vaguely familiar. He was around my age, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was about him.

“Mr. Dillinger, I’m Detective Ian Pearson.”

He extended his hand and a business card. I looked at it, then back up at him with a scowl on my face. Maceo snatched the card from him. Crossing my hands at my waist, I practiced all the restraint I had.

“You wanna explain what’s going on here?” I asked.

“We got a tip?—”

“I know about the bullshit ass tip you got. I wanna know who sent it.”

“It was anonymous.”

“I bet it was. Tell me… you found anything?”

---