Keith took a deep breath. "Hello Mrs. Evans. It's Keith."
+++
"Keith Everet?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm out of prison now. Kendra told me what you did for me, pushing to get my sentence reduced. I never got a chance to thank you."
Tears sprang to Maria's eyes. Kendra had come home despondent and jumpy, and last night had woke the whole house screaming from a nightmare. The mother worried her daughter was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. She remembered how happy Kendra had sounded just a week ago, telling her Keith was back in her life.
"You never mind about that, now. You're doing OK? You have a job?"
"Sort of. I'm definitely looking."
"How about a car?"
"Not really. Why do you ask, Mrs. Evans?"
"Kendra needs you. Can you come out to visit this weekend?"
Keith couldn't believe it. "I'll move hell and high water to get there."
"How about I just send you a ticket today?"
Keith hung up. It was several hours until the bus left, and he had some business to handle first. He made a few calls, then boxed up his phone, keys and $40,000 cash. He needed to talk to Mr. Quinn.
Quinn's clubhouse could hardly be called such. From the outside, it was a run-down mechanic's garage, with heaps of rusting junk obscuring the view of the windows. Inside, on the first floor, it was barely better. But the second floor was the private den of Mr. Quinn. Keith had never seen the inside of his lounge.
"Kaine for Quinn," he spoke into the downstairs buzzer system.
"Quinn says wait," came the gruff reply.
Kaine sat on one of the old metal desks, watching new guys and some regulars come and go. They nodded to the soldier with respect—he'd done his bid honorably, keeping his mouth shut and never shirking an order. That's because early on, Kaine had realized that despite the patina of racism Quinn used to attract the slower members, the operation was more about making money than anything else. The drug game, like any other business, thrived on consistent effort and a well-run organization. The Nazi thing just gave it a distribution network.
On the strength of his uncle's recommendation, he'd gotten a meeting, then quickly made himself indispensable to the crew. Where he was involved, there was no muss and no fuss. People paid on time; if not, they got a swift and brutal message that served as an example for everyone else. But he wasn't gratuitous. Pain was a necessary tool, but it wasn't the reason he joined up. He'd joined up so he could make it out as intact as possible, plain and simple, without having to learn how to suck a good dick or take one up the ass. Not that sex wasn't also a weapon. Word got out about his cock soon after his first shower, and he'd had to make it known several times with his fists that he wasn't interested in a "girlfriend," secret or otherwise.
Now that he was out of jail, though, he wondered why he'd clung to the organization. He hated these guys. Most of them were assholes and idiots, or both, like Cody. It wasn't the money, though it was good money. Keith was doing much better funds-wise than a high school dropout had any right to expect. But he'd always been so poor, he had no idea what to do with it. Shopping made him nervous. He lived on canned food, slept in a rented room and took public transportation. He didn't even drink much; it reminded him too much of his father. He just socked his pay away in a series of safety deposit boxes, waiting for...something. Maybe waiting for today. With that bright thought filling his head, he jumped when the buzzer sounded.
"Upstairs."
At the apex of the stairs, a heavy metal barn door slid across its track to reveal the top level of the warehouse. There, Quinn held court among Italian leather sofas and flat screen TVs, billiards tables and a bar. The short, dark-haired older man wore a Members Only jacket and the air of a cop free from the restraint of pretending to be law-abiding.
"Let's go in my office," he said, opening the private doors. He shooed out a gaggle of high school girls doing lines of coke on his desk and sat down behind it.
"What can I do for you, Kaine? You've never wasted my time trying to get a meeting before, so I figured it had to be important."
"Thank you, Mr. Quinn. Just wanted to let you know about a situation."
"Oh yeah? What's up?"
"The black girl Cody and Bam got popped for. They gotta let it go," Keith replied. "I know he wants to take her out. But he can't."
Quinn smiled like the thought amused him, crows feet crinkling the corners of his eyes. "And why's that?"
"She's got connections to the DA's office, judges, the goddamn attorney general. It'll bring a storm of scrutiny if the guys keep messing with her. You don't want that."
"This is what you call me for? To protect the black slut that put my son in the hospital? Nah, naah," Quinn waved his hands, looking for another angle. "If this is bout that little mess with the gun, I got it straightened out. Your piece is out of evidence. Now, I'm going to hang on to it for a while," he paused to let the threat sink in, "but I can let you hold something comparable in its place. I am curious about one thing." Quinn stood, leaning his hands on the mirrored desk top. "How exactly did she come to have possession of your weapon when you weren't there?"
Keith shuffled his deck, calculating with platinum speed the mask Quinn would most likely buy. The Ray.
"I fucked her. I know, she's a nigger. But if you saw the ass on this one," he sucked his teeth. "It's when I was banging her that she told me about all the lawyers and judges and shit in her family."
Quinn's gaze was like a laser: cold, impersonal, emotionless. He was simply looking for a lying tell. After a minute or so, he spoke slowly.
"And you mean to tell me," he queried, "that the pussy was so good, you left your piece behind?"
Keith shrugged. "I couldn't take it with me to see my PO, so I stashed it. I planned to come back and hit it some more, anyway. Didn't know Cody and Bam wanted her, too."
Quinn started to guffaw. "Well, hell, it's pussy! Even monkey pussy. But there's a problem, a-ha-hah," he chortled. "Look son, we all like to play in the jungle every now and then. But these are your brothers we're talking about. And my son. He's gotta be satisfied somehow."
Keith inclined his head at the box. "Cody's been insulted, and a man values his pride. This should help." He pushed the box toward Quinn, who quirked his brow when he saw the bills.
"That's 40," Keith said. "That's to buy her debt. I can do ten more by the end of the week, your cut for brokering the deal. I'm beating the usual 15 percent by five."
Quinn smiled. "That must be some mighty good pussy, to be worth 50 grand."
"It's not just that. I've gotta lay low for a while, get a straight job. My P.O. is really on my back, watching me for organized affiliations or gang activity. It was risky just coming here today, but I owed you the respect of a face-to-face. I'm not going back to the box for anybody."
