The Disposables by David Putnam

Author:David Putnam
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2014-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Robby jumped, dragged him off, put him facedown in a wrist-lock, and was taking out the cuffs before I got around the nose of the car to help. The crook gasped for air. I looked down the road toward Nickerson. It wouldn’t be long before Operation Safe Street interrogated a few and figured out my game. I didn’t have much time.

Robby picked the guy up. He was an OG, an Original Gangster, someone older than twenty-one, still alive, and not in prison. He tried to talk, but the words wouldn’t come, the air still had not returned to his lungs. I got a closer look. “I know you. You’re Jesse Cole’s nephew. I thought you moved to Rialto?”

“What’d I do?” The first words he could utter.

Robby laughed, “Well, obviously you’re driving that bike on the street without a light because you crashed right into the side of my hooptie.”

“Man, that ain’t right and you know it.”

“Why you ridin’ like that, lookin’ over your shoulder?”

“You know why. The sheriff’s in the hood ridin’ deep. Jackin’ all the homeboys for nuthin’. Nuthin’, man.”

Robby reached up and took a joint from behind the guy’s ear and put it behind his own. “Now we’re going to add a Primo to the charge.”

“Dey ain’t any rock in dere, it’s pure weed.”

“We’ll just send it to the lab and find out. Until then we’re going to put you on ice. Unless you want to make a deal.”

Even if the game was correct and Grape Street was at the bottom of it, Robby was moving too fast. Under normal circumstances, we’d have taken him in and put him in a cell, let him fester while we grabbed a cup of joe. Robby wanted this too badly.

“I ain’t got nuthin’.”

Someone on the radio said, “Ten-thirty-three.” The code for emergency traffic.

Robby yanked on the dude’s arm, “Come on, get him in the car.”

A panicked voice on the radio said, “My partner’s in foot pursuit, Nickerson Gardens, east side, south of 115th.” Deputies from all over came up on the air advising they were en route.

Robby yelled, “Come on, come on. Get his ass in the car we gotta get over there.”

We shoved the Crip in the back. I got in and put the pedal to the floor, burning rubber, leaving the Crip’s bike back in the street. He didn’t seem to care.

The deputy came back up on the air screaming, “Shots fired. Shots fired.”

Robby spun in the seat. “This is going to be better than I thought. We just kicked over a hornet’s nest.”

“Man, let me out.” The Crip in the back said, “Doan take me in dere inta that.”

He knew in situations where deputies get in over their heads, the responding units don’t differentiate the good and bad and beat down anything that moves.

Robby reached over with his foot and slammed it down on top of mine holding it to the floor after I’d eased off a little. The car leapt out, grabbing asphalt faster and faster.

“It’s going to be crazy when we get there,” Robby said.

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