1: Three

Three

Early September, 2013 - North Richmond, Virginia

 

The clean, black Dodge Charger growled as it pulled into the “VIP ONLY” spot at the entrance of Jay’s BBQ. It was 12:35pm on a Saturday, a time that the Charger’s owner is typically preoccupied with other, more frivolous activities.

He exited the vehicle, walked up to the entrance, and saw four known gang members congregating at the door. As he approached them, they  quickly turned their attention to him, looked solemnly, then opened the door for him, all while not saying a word. They were known as The Gambas, and he is Faizon “Faze” Jackson, their leader.

“Thanks n***a,” Faze said, walking into the packed restaurant. His 6’3” frame adorned with a bright dashiki and a large, gold-plated Africa-shaped pendant stood out amongst the patrons dressed in casual attire. He smiled wide, greeting the elder waiters and waitresses whom he’s known since he was a child. He turned to Clarence, the 70-year-old waiter and co-proprietor of Jay’s BBQ since the 70’s.

“Derek upstairs?” Faze asked.

“Yep, waiting for you with some white guy,” Clarence responded.

“Thanks Pops. Hey, can you make some ribs for me too? A ‘Willie Special’ please.”

“Sure thing, Faizon, I’ll tell Jones.”

Faizon thanked the elder owner and walked towards the stairs, nodding towards the repeat customers and Gambas gang members hidden in plain sight enjoying their meals. The jukebox in a corner of the large room was playing the tail-end of Marin Gaye’s “Got to Give it Up”, slowly fading to Cheryl Lynn’s “Got to Be Real” as the mostly-black patrons cheered, rhythmically moving their heads while chewing their food. Faizon moved upstairs quickly, holding onto the pistol tucked in the front his jeans.

Faizon reached the top and was greeted by a long hallway. He walked towards a door at the end holding a sign saying “Warrior Business Only”. He opened the door and saw Derek “Knuck” Jameson, his gang’s lieutenant, and an unfamiliar white man in a suit. The man had a briefcase on the desk in front of him, to which his right arm was handcuffed.

“What’s up Knuck?” Faze asked. Knuck rose and gave Faze a complicated handshake.

“Hey man,” Knuck responded. “This is the guy that wanted to speak with you. Wouldn’t say s**t to me until you got here.”

“Alright cool, let’s get to it then. What’s up, homie, what’s your name?”

“Not important,” the man with the briefcase responded.

“What?” Faze was appalled. He turned to Knuck, Knuck turned to Faze, and Faze turned back to the man. He walked closer to the man and leaned in, asking again, very slowly, “What. Is. Your. Name?”

 

The man with the briefcase, who couldn’t have been younger than 50, looked back into Faze’s eyes and repeated just as slowly: “Not. Important.”

Faze gave an annoyed chuckle and walked in a circle, then faced towards the man. 

“Okay, look white n***a, you’re in my second home. You somehow got into the top floor -- you’re in my motherfucking bedroom right now, alright? And you suddenly don’t have a name?”

“It’s not relevant.” The man said. “I have a job that I need done tonight.”

“24 hour notice, n***a,” Faze responded.

“I know,” the man said. “That’s why I have this to make up for it.” He nodded towards the briefcase on the desk.

“Knuck, what’s in there?”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t show me.”

“Okay, um,” Faze began while stroking his light beard, “so what’s in it?”

“I won’t open it until the job is done,” the man said.

“N***a we can just take it from you,” Knuck said.

“Yes, you can. But you won’t be able to open it. You don’t know the code”

“We can force it out of you.”

“No you can’t, I don’t know the damn code either,” the man responded. “My boss is very cautious.”

“Who the f**k do you work for?” Faze asked.

The man repeated, “Not. Important.”

Faze and Knuck paused for a moment, then conceded. Faze finally asked the man 

“What’s the job and why the f**k is it so important?”

“I need you to kill someone.”

“Whoa!” Faze responded, stepping back immediately.

“What, are you not up for it?” The man asked. Faze proceeded towards the man.

“Who the hell are you to come into my spot and ask me to do that? You don’t know who I am, n***a.”

“I know who you are, I know what you do and how you do it. But please don’t be surprised by that, it’s my job to know,” the man responded.

Faze looked angered. “You the police?”

“No, not at all. A bodyguard.”

“N***a for who?” Knuck responded.

The man chuckled, giving a light, naive shrug.

“Not important?” Faze guessed.

“Look, I’m not with the Richmond PD, not with the Richmond MC, I’m sure as hell not Vietnamese. I don’t have a wire, none of that. Cops wouldn’t just come into a gang’s territory, walk into their favorite restaurant, and ask for the leader, would he?”

Faze looked up, contemplating for six seconds, responding with “Yep, that would be dumb as hell.”

“So who do you need dealt with?” Knuck asked.

The man looked up and said, “Long Neck”.

“The Saigon Boys lieutenant?” Knuck asked, surprised.

“Yeah.”

“S**t, n***a the price better be good,” Faze replied.

“It is. $40,000.”

Faze and Knuck turned around, exhaling with shock and delight.

“In the briefcase?” Faze asked, smiling ear to ear in disbelief.

“$35,000 of it,” the man responded. He dug into his jacket’s pockets, pulled out the other five grand, and placed the stacks of money on the desk. “There’s the rest of it.”

Faze picked up a $1,000 stack of money and scrolled through it. Looking for imperfections and repeated serial numbers, he was unsuccessful.

“I need it done between 6 and 7 pm tonight,” the man continued. “He’ll be at the Roanoke Garage around that time.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Faze stated.

That’s fine, you don’t have to. But you trust Franklin, right?”

“S**t,” Knuck replied, chuckling. “Faze, he’s probably good for it. A cop wouldn’t just walk in here like this.”

“Probably,” Faze said. “We still don’t know this n***a, who his boss is, or why he wants Long Neck dealt with.”

“N***a prolly don’t like pho too much.” Knuck jokingly responded.

“It’s complicated, but basically, Long Neck knows something that my boss doesn’t want him to reveal. My boss knows you guys are opposing gangs and you're their biggest threat. He gave me this briefcase, but won’t text me the code to open it until you send me a picture of Long Neck, which I’ll forward to him on a burner, and he’ll text me the code to the briefcase.”

“What if the money’s not in there?” Faze asked.

“If it’s missing a single bill, you can kill me and take the five grand for your troubles. What do you say?”

“Give me a moment,” Faze responded. He walked around the room contemplating on the offer. “So, we don’t have major beef with those Vietnamese n****s at the moment, I have no idea who you are, and I get to kill a n***a for the price of four; worst case scenario, kill a white man on the side.” Faze continued to contemplate.

“What the hell could Long Neck know that anyone else wouldn’t?” Knuck asked. The man stayed silent. After 35 seconds of silence, Faze finally spoke up.

“You’re gonna stay here until the job is done?” Faze asked.

“Yep,” the man said. “Might have some Hellfire ribs and watch The Jeffersons.”

“You know what Long Neck supposedly knows?” Faze questioned.

“I do. But I won’t tell.”

“Does it have anything to do with bringing slavery back?”

“Definitely not,” the man said, chuckling.

“Then f**k it,” Faze replied. “We’ll see you back here tonight, whiteboy. Derek, get the remote so this n***a can watch The Jeffersons.”