Detroit Cracked - Book 3: Boss Man's Rise by Marsell Morris

Author:Marsell Morris [Morris, Marsell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Urban, Genre Fiction
ISBN: 148020711X
Amazon: B00AD99WPM
Published: 2012-11-24T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Ben had dozed off while sitting on the couch. His age was showing. He was startled by another heavy knock at the door. He knew who it was, Officers Harlow and Smith, coming to collect their protection money. Ben was wondering when they’d show up. They hadn’t come yesterday, on Friday, as they usually did. Before he could climb up off the couch, Al was at the door. He was prepared to tell whoever it was the place was closed.

Peeping through the heavy glass on the upper portion of the door, he saw the two corrupt cops looking back at him. He opened the door and stood aside, letting the cops in. Harlow and Smith came in and stopped, noticing the lack of activity in the room.

“Where the hell is everybody,” Harlow asked, “This place is dead.”

Ben got up and told the men to have a seat. He explained what happened to Boss and how broken up Lady was. He told them he didn’t have the money they were expecting, and didn’t have any idea when they’d have it.

Harlow and Smith didn’t seem to be moved by Ben’s story. They still wanted their cash. They’d received over a hundred-thousand dollars between them over the years from Boss, and weren’t prepared to give it up. If Boss couldn’t pay, someone would.

“Sorry to hear about Boss’s death. Whoes running the place now?” Smith, asked.

“Well, Boss said, before he died, he wanted Lady and me to run the place, but she’s still mourning his death and hasn’t been able to assist me yet. We’ve been closed for a week now,” Ben, said, sitting back down on the couch.

“Is that right?” Harlow said, “So you’ll be making the payments from now on, correct?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Well, as soon as we’re back in business,” Ben, said.

“Okay, Smith and me, are glad to hear that. What’s in the satchel next to you there?” Harlow asked, feeling there might be money in it — his money, “That looks kind fat to be paperwork.”

“Uh. Its. Uh,” Ben couldn’t think of a lie. He didn’t want the two cops to know it held drugs. He wasn’t sure how they might take it.

“Hand it here,” Harlow said, “Let me see what you’ve got there.”

Ben, knowing the crap was sure enough about to hit the fan, handed the black satchel to Harlow. Harlow opened it and whistled. “My, my, my. What do we have here? This looks like a brick of heroin, or cocaine. Must be worth at least ten to fifteen-thousand? I wonder where this came from. I knew Boss sold a rock or two, but didn’t know he was rolling this much,” Harlow said, pulling the brick from the satchel, and hefting it while handing it to his partner.

“Yes, indeed,” Smith said. “Maybe we were being underpaid for our services? Had we known Boss was handling this much product, we would have demanded much more than the two-thousand apiece we’re being paid.”

Ben, seeing the men jumping to conclusions, while thinking Boss had always rolled that much dope, decided to set things straight.

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