Читать книгу STREET KARMA - Pain - Страница 9

CHAPTER

2

1989 MIAMI, FLORIDA

Rob was shaking his head, and laughing. Sitting comfortably in the reclined driver’s seat of his dark tinted, stolen 1972 Buick Regal, he took a long deep drag on his weed filled Swisher Sweets cigar. Then he inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs, and glanced toward the passenger seat. His partner, Low was putting the finishing touches on an E-Z Wider rolling paper that he previously packed with a mixture of weed and hash.

Reclining with a serious expression, Low fished in his black Dickies slacks for a lighter. He lit the tip of his joint, taking a few taste-taking tokes to ensure the weed was pulling right. Nodding his approval, he shook his head slightly to himself. It was as if he fully expected Rob ‘s reaction to him paying for a private phone line to be set up in Michelle’s room.

“Yeah bro, I’m just keeping it real hood,” Low repeated. After taking a toke, he continued. “I love her. So paying for a phone line ain’t a big deal.”

Again, Rob laughed out loud then said, “Man, you straight up tripping.”

Puffing on the joint then exhaling, Rob shook his head while glancing at Low. A few years older than Low, Rob had already been through all the puppy love stages with girls in the hood. His heart was broken more than a few times by women that swore they loved him unconditionally. Then they turned around, and left him due to the condition that his pockets weren’t as fat as the next man, or car wasn’t as fly. Rob finally figured that part of the game out. He theorized that women were luxury items to be pursued only after he got his money right. This was viewed as an impossible achievement.

“Let me put you up on game, lil’ homie,” Rob said.

Taking a puff, Rob searched the armrest for a cassette tape to put in the tape deck. Then he continued. “First, these bitches ain’t shit. Second, all they see is dollar signs. Shit…soon as you catch a case or take a loss in these streets, and you ain’t on top of your game like when they first met you—it’s on to the next one. Trust me, I’m telling you all this cause you my nigga, dig? Don’t confuse good pussy for love. Bitches will have you doing some crazy shit when they know they got your heart, trust. Today, you paying for her to get her own phone line, and the next day you on child support like a muthafucka… All while your seed calling the next man daddy. Trust me. I’ve seen it a million times already. Don’t fall victim, lil’ nigga, thinking a phone bill is no big deal, cause you in so-called, love.”

“Hmm, I hear you.”

“How love starts…? The pussy always feels good until you nut.”

Low respected Rob’s expertise, and not only looked up to him but also valued his opinion. It was the only reason Low broached the subject with him. Low really needed Rob’s blessing on this girl. He just had to make him see that Michelle was different. Low watched as Rob finally found the tape he was looking for, and pushed it into the tape deck.

“I feel where you coming from and all, but Michelle’s different from all these hood-rats out here. I mean, she don’t even care about my bread… She never asked me for money—be having her own. She’s even offered to chip in, and pay for the phone line. Shit…it’s the least I can do. I been living with her since I moved out of my Mom’s spot—behind her parents back and shit. Plus, now you can reach me anytime… I really feel like Michelle’s really in my corner—ride or die—”

“Really, that’s all?”

“Remember when I was down for that ten-month bid at that juvie program…? Besides you, she’s the only one I wrote. I’m just telling you cause I look up to you—she ain’t just some other bitch I’m fucking. Dig?”

Rob nodded, and took a lungful of smoke from the Swisher Sweet. He exhaled, and seemed deep in thoughts for a beat. It wasn’t that he was against Michelle, he just knew how badly women could cloud the mind of an over enthusiastic youth. He and Low had come too far. They couldn’t get sidetracked now, and especially not by a hood rat. They were close enough to the prize for them to start tasting it. Rob just prayed Low didn’t allow a bitch to distract him from them getting some real paper.

“I feel ya,” Rob said.

Rob and Low had a business agreement. Michelle was now officially Low’s girlfriend. This meant she was off limits. NWA’s, Fuck Tha Police hummed through the speakers. Rob reached into the cars glove compartment, and pulled out a large envelope. He opened it and saw a color print of her driver’s license.

Damn, she’s pretty he thought to himself while admiring her hazel eyes, and bright smile. Rob had a weakness for light-skinned women. She was twenty-nine, and a dime.

LONNIE DAWSON

It was 2:04am when Lonnie Dawson drove her convertible, cherry red ‘71 Mustang Mach1 series into the drive-thru lane at McDonald’s. Joining a long waiting line behind a green Toyota Celica, Lonnie’s thoughts were on her bed. For the past twelve and a half hours she had been in her law office. Going through thousands of pages of federal motions, legal briefs, and criminal exhibits, she was preparing for her closing arguments in the morning.

Her entire body ached from sitting in the office chair for most of the day. She also noticed bags forming under her pretty hazel eyes. Lonnie glanced at her reflection in the rear­ view mirror. It was obvious the toll this case had taken on her. It wasn’t just her social life, but also her physical appearance. Over the past three years, Lonnie worked on preparing for this particular case, United States vs. Alberto Acevedo.

In less than eight hours all her blood, sweat, and tears would be in the hands of a federal jury for deliberation. Her client was not only charged with capital murder—which carried the death penalty. Acevedo was also charged with sixteen other counts. These included drug trafficking, conspiracy, running an on-going criminal enterprise—kingpin charge, racketeering, and witness intimidation.

Even with Lonnie Dawson as his defense attorney, Acevedo’s chance of walking on any of these counts was a long shot. Dawson, however, was currently on a successful run. Twenty-four of her cases received a not-guilty verdict. Dawson let out a deep sigh as the drive-thru lane began moving, only to come to an abrupt stop. The halt in her progress allowed her mind time to wander. It took her back to the day she was first assigned the case.

  

Lonnie Dawson was two years out of Harvard University’s School of Law, and she was already excelling tremendously as one of Miami’s public defenders. Even though a rookie, Dawson was already showing signs of being a very good attorney. She had a tenacious work ethic, and her no-nonsense approach in the courtroom earned her the reputation of a winner. It wasn’t long before coworkers, peers, and newshounds started to make her the topic of their daily discussions.

She continuously focused on errors in the police investigations, and uncovering loopholes in the judicial system. By the closing argument stages of her cases, it was clear that the backs of some of the most seasoned prosecutors were up against the wall before a jury even officially rendered a verdict. In the courtroom, the sight of defeat was painfully obvious on their faces.

Akbar Muhammad was a man who always heard Dawson’s name mentioned in board meetings. A senior partner of Muhammad and Johnson LLC, Muhammad was always looking for fresh, capable talent to bolster an already prestigious criminal law firm, based in Atlanta. So he decided to fly out to Miami. Muhammad was extremely meticulous, and researched all recruits himself. He knew that in order for him to properly assess Dawson, he’d have to observe her.

It was her eighth murder trial. The Defendant Rico Gonzalez, a Cuban Immigrant was accused of killing a Miami-Dade Police, Officer Julian Suarez. Day one of the trial, all chatter in the courtroom seemed to immediately cease when Lonnie Dawson stepped into the courtroom with a man, charged with murder. The attorney and client went directly to their places.

Dressed in white Nike tennis shoes, blue Levi’s, and a gray Southern University sweater with matching hat, Muhammad eased his way through the packed courtroom. Taking a seat on the prosecutor’s side of the courtroom. He observed Dawson’s stone cold demeanor. The two specially appointed prosecutors with over forty-two years of experience between them seemed quite uncomfortable. Fidgeting in their seats, they’d occasionally glanced over to the defense table. They tried nodding in that direction hoping to get a greeting, acknowledgement, but without luck. Lonnie Dawson remained poker faced. She was ready for war.

A sly smirk crept across Muhammad’s face as he stood up along with everyone else for Judge Alana Rodriguez to preside. Muhammad believed that Dawson already had the prosecutors’ hearts. When the trial began, Dawson went on the offensive attack, ripping the state’s case to shreds. She stood firm on her client’s plea of self-defense, pointing to accusations of police profiling, and corruption. By the time she was through with her opening statement, Dawson had vividly painted a picture of an envious dirty cop.

That was contrary to the officer’s many years of service, and the numerous service medals he received for good deeds. Dawson explained why a routine traffic stop was turned into an opportunity for revenge.

“…Officer Julian Suarez, a Cuban native, pulled over my client Rico Gonzalez on that fateful night of March 15th, knowing exactly who he was stopping. Rico, on the other hand, didn’t recognized Suarez, since it had been twenty years since he left his native country, Cuba. And he was obeying the law when he exited his work van, and consented to a full search of the vehicle. It wasn’t until a sufficient amount of cocaine was discovered in Rico’s van that he took a good look at Officer Suarez’s face. He realized that he was being set up. He refused to be handcuffed. There was an intense scuffle. Rico managed to overpower Officer Suarez, grabbed his service handgun from its holster, and held him at gunpoint. Rico next attempted to report the officer to his superiors by alerting them on his work issued walkie-talkie. Rico held Officer Suarez at gunpoint while waiting for help. Officer Suarez reached for his chest, claiming to be having a heart attack. He fell to the ground, and Rico gave a warning for Officer Suarez not to move. He saw the officer reaching for his ankle. It was then that my client fired twice hitting Officer Suarez in the head, killing him instantly…”

The entire courtroom was completely silent. Dawson paused, took a deep breath, and glanced at the twelve members of the jury. She now had their undivided attention. Then she continued. “Rico Gonzalez had ample amount of time and opportunity to flee. However he chose not to. Instead he waited for the authorities to arrive then willingly gave himself up.”

Picking up a plain white envelope, Dawson pulled out a document then said, “Your Honor, I would like to enter into evidence a certificate of death, for Yolanda Suarez.”

She handed the document to Judge Rodriguez. It was carefully scrutinized. Then the judge nodded her approval, and passed it to the bailiff. It was then passed to the jury.

“Yolanda Suarez, ladies and gentlemen of the jury is Officer Suarez’s first niece…” Dawson paused to pull out another document—a birth certificate of Julio Gonzalez. Then she continued. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Julio Gonzalez is Rico Gonzalez’s first born son with the now deceased Yolanda Suarez.”

Dawson paused to let her revelation sink in before she continued. “Seeking revenge for his niece, Yolanda Suarez, who died tragically in the Atlantic ocean open waters after fleeing Cuba with her boyfriend, my client, Rico Gonzalez some twenty years ago. Leaving their only son behind, they sought a better life in the USA. Julio Suarez, still very much bitter about his niece’s death took advantage of his chance encounter with Rico Gonzalez. He attempted to plant a large amount of cocaine on Rico so he could legally arrest him, murder him, and cover the entire thing up by making it look drug related…”

The team of prosecutors did their best to refute the defense claims, and tried to prolong the trial. Unfortunately Judge Rodriguez had already heard enough, and sighted the conflict of interest in the case as too overwhelming. The judge allowed Rico Gonzalez’s plea of self-defense, and immediately dismissed all charges. Attorney Dawson later filed out the courtroom with her client in tow to a mob of media personnel, and flashing camera lights. Fully convinced he had found his new recruit, Attorney Akbar Muhammad slipped out of the courtroom. The Rico Gonzalez case was Dawson’s last as a public defender.

  

The sound of honking car horns brought Lonnie Dawson back to the reality of her situation.

“Hey lady what the fuck! Move it already!” A male voice shouted.

Glancing ahead, Dawson realized all the cars in front of her were long gone, and it was now her turn to order. Easing her foot off her cars brakes, she eased her Mustang up to the drive-thru window.

“Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order…?”

“I’ll have a six-piece Chicken McNugget meal, with a small Dr. Pepper.”

It took a while, but finally Lonnie made a left turn onto Aventura Boulevard heading to her condo. While her career flourished to unexpected heights, her social life suffered severely, and was virtually non-existent. Other than a slight slip-up with one of her private investigators, a year ago, Lonnie relied on her vast collection of sex toys to bring her the most intense orgasms she ever experienced. But all that was still nothing, compared to the real thing. It had been three years since she had a good fuck. To a nymphomaniac like Lonnie, three years was beginning to feel like an eternity.

3 a.m.

Dawson made a right turn into the basement parking lot. She only had less than four hours to attempt to get some rest. Shutting off the engine, she reached in her backseat to retrieve her briefcase. An unfamiliar vehicle parked in her neighbor’s reserved parking space caught her attention. Giving the black tinted, late-model vehicle the once over, she quickly pushed her suspicion aside. She was just too exhausted, and wanted to get in bed.

Briefcase and keys were in one hand, her meal and drink in the other, Lonnie stepped out her Mustang. She yawned while locking the cars doors with the remote sensor on her keychain, and made her way toward the building’s basement elevators. Lonnie couldn’t wait to get into her Condo.

“Excuse me Miss.”

Lonnie could hear footsteps closing in fast. She rolled her eyes in aggravation at the sound of the male voice coming from behind her. She turned around, and found herself face to face with a masked gunman.

“Hand over the fucking keys!”

The gunman took a step toward Lonnie with the gun clutched tightly, and aimed dead center at her nose. The initial shock instantly turned into a state of fear. Lonnie’s body temperature began to rise, causing sweat beads to form on her forehead and under her armpits. The Dr. Pepper crashed to the ground.

“If it is money you want you can have my wallet,” Lonnie pleaded.

From her peripheral, Lonnie noticed a shadowy figure creeping. A second gunman approached. Cocking his Mossberg shotgun, he said, “Bitch, didn’t you hear? Hand over the fucking keys!”

The second gunmen spat lifted the shotgun to eye level, sticking the cold steel barrel to Lonnie’s temple.

“Bitch, hand over the fucking keys!”

The demands continued falling on deaf ears. Time was of the essence, and patience was wearing thin. It was now or never, and the gunmen were done talking. Taking a step back, he angrily swung his Mossberg pump like Ken Griffey Jr. at Lonnie’s head. The impact of the shotgun’s one and a half inch, solid steel caught Lonnie just above her right eyebrow. It was lights-out before her fragile body collapsed to the parking lot’s concrete surface. Her keys and all the contents in her hands flew through the air.

“What the fuck!” Low shouted, removing his mask.

He took a knee beside Lonnie’s motionless body. Tucking his weapon in the waistband of his Dickies pants, he peered down at Lonnie. Blood was oozing from a deep gash above her right temple, and flooding her pretty face.

“I think she’s dead!” Low muttered.

Low couldn’t believe Rob hit her with that much force. Murder was not part of this plan. Rob saw the panic on Low’s face. Rushing over to Low, Rob grabbed him by the shoulder of his hooded sweatshirt, and pulled him up.

“Get it together!” Rob said, giving Low a menacing stare. Then he continued. “Fuck that bitch! Stay focused. We gotta find the fucking car keys, and get the fuck outta here before one-time come. Or nigga we’ll really be fucked. Now help me find the fucking key!”

Lonnie Dawson opened her blood-filled eyes to the echoing sound of Rob’s voice. With her vigorous blinking, Lonnie was doing her best to focus her blurry vision. Surveying her surroundings, she noticed the robber with the shotgun frantically rummaging through her briefcase, dumping all its content onto the ground. Darting her eyes toward a row of parked cars, she saw the other assailant on his hands and knees beside her Mustang’s rear bumper. Both gunmen were totally oblivious to what she was doing. With her mind racing, Lonnie painfully rose to a sitting position, and desperately began to reach for her ankle.

“Fuck!” Rob shouted in frustration.

Realizing the car keys weren’t in the briefcase, Rob angrily tossed the leather attaché to the ground. With great effort, Lonnie managed to get a firm grip on her gun. Quickly pulling it out of her ankle holster. She immediately took aim at her car. Rob turned his attention in Low’s direction, and his eyes grew wide with surprise at the sight of what was unfolding.

With one last strenuous effort, Low let out a sigh of relief. He grabbed a hold of the Mustang’s keys.

“I found the keys!” Low smiled, lifting himself up off the ground.

“Low watch out!” Rob shouted, raising his Mossberg, and taking aim.

Lonnie squeezed the trigger of her gun twice in succession, letting off two thunderous shots. The first slug entered just below Low’s neck, grazing his collarbone, and went straight through his flesh. The second bullet missed his head by mere inches, shattering the Mustang’s rear taillights on impact. Lonnie took aim at the second assailant, but her attempt proved futile.

“You bitch!” Rob yelled.

He was running toward her. Then he squeezed the trigger of his shotgun. The pellets caught Lonnie dead center in her chest, lifting her petite frame off the concrete, sending her body flying several feet backwards.

“Yo, I’m hit!”

Low painfully stumbled to his feet, clutching Lonnie’s car keys tightly in his palm. Blood flowed down his arm, and began to trickle onto the concrete. Low staggered toward Rob. He was hovering over Lonnie’s body with a murderous look in his eyes. His Mossberg was aimed at Lonnie’s tilted head.

“Don’t do it! She gone,” Low protested.

Handing Rob the keys, and tugging on his shirt, Low pulled Rob away from Lonnie’s motionless body.

“Damn, you bleeding bad,” Rob said.

“I’m good. Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

The pair hustled toward Lonnie’s car. Low hopped into the passenger seat, and Rob was in the driver’s side. Low noticed an armed security guard emerging from the parking lot’s elevator lobby. The sound of footsteps also caught Rob’s attention. Rob cocked his pump, and took aim at the lobby. He squeezed the trigger, unloading a booming round in the direction of the security guard.

Low pulled the revolver from his waistband, and fired at another security guard getting off the elevator. Shards of glass were flying everywhere. Pellets and glass fragments got in the guard’s face, blinding his vision as he tried to run. He dropped his handgun, collapsing to the lobby’s floor, screaming in horror.

“Freeze!” Another security guard shouted.

He came around the corner running full speed from an emergency exit. His Beretta was clutched tightly, and aimed in Rob’s direction. Low rose from the passenger seat of the drop-top, letting off three shots from his.44. The first two shots missed, but the third bullet dropped the guard.

Rob cocked his pump-action shotgun again, and took a few steps toward the screaming guard. He aimed with deadly thoughts. One more shot, and this fucker was silenced for good. The sound of sirens in the distance was closing in fast. Turning quickly, Rob made a dash for Lonnie’s car.

“We gotta get the fuck up outta here!” Low exclaimed.

Rob jumped into the driver’s seat, and quickly started the car. Tires screeching, Rob shifted into reverse, and burned rubber coming out the parking space.

“Watch out!” Low shouted.

Low’s sudden warning caused Rob to make a desperate attempt to turn the cars steering wheel away from Lonnie Dawson’s body, but it was directly in their driving path, and he couldn’t avoid the inevitable. The car sped over Lonnie’s legs, snapping both her shinbones in half, and crushing every bone from her knees down.

Rob quickly zoomed out the condo’s basement parking lot, floored the gas pedal, and made a getaway.