Swag by Angel Santos

Author:Angel Santos [Santos, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Urban, Genre Fiction, WCP
ISBN: 9781936649396
Google: 2pkimQEACAAJ
Amazon: B00ESMMISI
Publisher: Wahida Clark Presents
Published: 2013-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

J

azmine pulled up in the park, put on her sunglasses, and pulled her Atlanta Braves snapback low over her eyes. She didn’t want to be recognized by the wrong people. As she walked through the crowd gathered around the baseball diamond, she heard the crack of an aluminum bat and the cheer of the crowd.

The softball game between the police department and the fire department was in play. She came because she knew Hall wouldn’t be there.

“Hey, Coleman, izzat you?” a Polish officer asked as she walked by.

She stopped and flashed her social smile.

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Long time, no see. Word is, you transferred across town,” he stated with a tone of a question in his words.

Usually, if a woman was up and transferred, it was because of some kind of harassment. But Hall had only spread the rumor to add to her cover.

“Change of scenery. No big deal.” She shrugged.

“Not from where I’m standin’,” he flirted.

Jazmine chuckled lightly and walked off. She hadn’t come to socialize. Jazmine was on a mission. She came to play a game. Simple psychology. If five people, at different times, tell a person they look sick, by the end of the day that person will think the same thing, or at least doubt they are healthy!

Her first mark was Detective Maston, at the top of the food chain in narcotics, right behind Detective Hall.

She said, “Have you seen Hall?”

He answered, “No. Why?”

“I’m worried about him. Does he seem . . . despondent to you?”

Maston shook his head. “Not really.”

“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it’s me, but it’s like he’s . . . distant. Just . . . not himself. I’m just worried about him, you know?”

Maston nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Seed planted.

“I mean, shit, he’s always moody.” Another officer chuckled when Jazmine mentioned it to him.

“Well, more than usual.” She giggled, “I mean . . . he’s getting older, you know? And he really doesn’t have anyone. That’s gotta be hard going home to no one every night. I’m just worried about him.”

Another nodding head, another seed planted. She made her rounds, planting a few more seeds, laying the trap and weaving the web, not of deception, of misperception.

* * * * * *

Since the club shooting, Love had begun to move with an entourage. He kept several shooters around him and a second car to trail him wherever he went. He even wore a vest.

A steady rain fell, giving the night a chilly air.

“So how we lookin’ in the polls?” Love asked the person on the other end of his cell phone. He eased into the backseat of a beige Phantom. It pulled off.

“Your man says the union endorsement should put him over the top,” Jazmine answered as she maneuvered her car through the rain.

“Does he think he can get it?” Love asked, with slight worry in his voice.

The councilman told me to assure you, he can. Don’t worry, boo. He’ll win,” she told him.

Love chuckled.

“He better. I put a lotta gwop on his ass .

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