Page 6 of His to Have
Just as I closed out the report, my phone buzzed with the one person I trusted to handle business when I couldn’t be everywhere at once. Keem’s number sprawled across my screen.
“Yeah?”
“Aye, we got a situation over on Campbellton… Whitehead Funeral Home.”
I sat up, immediately. “What kinda situation.”
“The messy kind.” His voice was tight. “I had to send some shit to the laundromat.”
“What the fuck happened?” I boomed, pissed the cleaners had to be called for anything.
Every single one of my men had clear instructions. Lay low for the next couple of months and make no moves unless it was sanctioned. And remain drama free unless it was unavoidable. So, unless Keem was about to tell me some shit was unavoidable then I was about to have a serious fuckin’ problem. We didn’t need any more heat. I was trying to establish the Donatelli’s import - export business and a few other valuable fronts while I was still in Atlanta. The thought of local PD sniffing where they don’t belong angered me.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m on my way. I’ll see for myself,” I shoved the phone in my pocket, telling my driver to head to Campbellton.
The minute I stepped inside the funeral home, I could see the tension radiating from Keem. He was chest to chest with one of theyoungin’s apparently responsible for this mess. While the two others sat nearby out of breath and bloodied. Keem’s men covered the entrance, and the cleaners he’d sent for worked on the ‘problem’.
One body… female… mid-forties. The funeral home director.
The moment they saw me, their eyes bucked, realizing they royally fucked up. Terrified was an understatement. Keem’s men moved aside, and even Keem stepped back when I entered the room.
“What happened?” I asked the young bull who obviously went off script. My voice was deathly calm as I looked him unflinchingly in the eye.
I’d already peeped the scene. There were no drugs or money present. Nothing tying this property to any of our enemies, and most importantly there was an innocent woman dead.
“Three of our old corners got hit with new product—” One of the bruised men began to speak but I held my hand up halting him from saying another word. Looked directly at the culprit and growled, “Speak.”
His jaw clenched, but he knew better than to challenge me. Clearing his throat, he began, “YourboyOrlando is back in the dope game. Two weeks in a row I’ve had to run niggas off our blocks… with his product. I followed one of his runners back to his stash house. Then saw Orlando sneakin’ out the back with his men. It was too many of them, but I thought if I could catch him by himself—” He kept talking, and my hands stayed busy, screwing the silencer onto my weapon. When he heard the soft click of it being secured, he gulped audibly but continued.
“Th— That I could catch him slipping and handle him once and for all. For the family. I followed him here but when we got inside he was gone.”
“And that prompted you to shoot an innocent woman?” I asked, my voice icy.
He shook his head frantically. “Nah, I swear I didn’t. She was just here when we arrived, and shit got out of hand. I asked where he was, and the bitch refused. Acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. She started crying and screaming. I had to shut her up.”
I felt my temperature rising.
“What part oflay lowsounded like run up in a legit spot on behalf of the family to you?”
His lips parted like he had something to say, but nothing came out. Just a dry swallow and that same uneasy look.
“Why don’t you show me. Like… how you did it. Maybe that will make all of this make sense to me.”
I walked over to the woman sprawled across the floor instructing the men there to step away from her body.
“Go on... get down there, and show me.”
Hesitantly, he kneeled, his eyes now wide with fear. “Teo, man.”
“Nah, you like to disobey orders. You bigger than direct orders, right? So go on, show me how you executed her like it was nothing. Pull out your gun and show me.” I pointed my gun at him, placing it right at his temple.
“I’m sorry.” He pleaded, still disobeying a direct order.
“Pull out your fuckin’ gun and show me how you did it,” I demanded, pulling my other gun from my waistband, aiming at one of the idiots dumb enough to follow him on this mission.
Doing as I asked he aimed his weapon at the woman lying on the floor, and I put a bullet right between his eyes. His blood splattered across my face, clothes, and the concrete walls. Pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket, I dabbed away the spots on my face.
My voice was cold. And even a little bit detached when I asked, “Anybody else wanna die today?” Nobody moved, or said a word. I took that as a no, then nodded. “How about y’all do your fuckin’ jobs instead of whatever the fuck it is you call this. No one goes after Orlando without MY permission. Are we clear?”
