Police officers were everywhere, canvassing the whole block, putting up yellow tape. News vans were setting up, saying that the massacre was worse than Charles Manson and the Zodiac Killer put together. These killings had left the LAPD and local council members speechless. The mayor held conferences talking about how they needed to take back their community. The governor condemned the bloodshed as the worst of its kind.
“In all my years in California, I’ve never been so disgraced,” he confessed, wiping his eyes. “There has to be a change, and I’m making one today.”
The news said the total death count was twenty- two. Twenty-two people had lost their lives. They were both young and old. One lady was pregnant and had kids.
“We will make sure that these cold hearted bastards are put behind bars for a very long time,” The mayor of Los Angeles promised, piggy backing off what the governor had just said.
The chief of police asked for anyone who knew or had seen anything to come forward. “We will make sure to keep your identity concealed,” the chief stated.
They knew it was like talking to a brick wall. The citizens were not going to talk; either, they were loyal to the drug dealers, or they were just scared for their lives.
“We beg you. If you know anything, please come see us. Everything you tell us will be anonymous,” the chief continued.
Everyone started leaving the crime scene. They didn’t want to get caught up. They knew how vicious Trent and Wiz could be. Since the police didn’t find much evidence but the shell casings on the floor, they wrapped up their investigations, but the policed stayed hot on their block, making it impossible for any drug dealers to serve.
Wiz made it back to his parents’ three story home in Malibu. It sat on a hill, overlooking the ocean. There were floor to ceiling windows and white plush carpet throughout every room. The kitchen sported granite countertops with stainless steel appliances. They even had an indoor-outdoor pool and a two sided fireplace that the family used inside and outside. The leather furniture was imported from Italy, and flat screens decorated the walls throughout the home. There were exactly ten bedrooms in the house. There were three master suites, a gym, a movie theater, and a security room. That room was equipped with high-tech security equipment, which could detect anyone moving around the house. They could sense when someone was bringing harm their way. The rest of the rooms were used as closets for Wiz’s mother. His father used to tell her all the time, “Baby, with all this stuff you have, you could open your own store.”
Wiz kissed his mother on the cheek. Upon entering the house, he smelled the sweet aroma of peach cobbler.
“Sit down and let Momma make you a plate,” Wiz’s mother said.
Wiz always craved his mother’s homemade peach cobbler. His mother was his favorite cook. He always told himself, once he found a woman who was like his mother, he would marry her. His mom was five feet, seven inches tall with a smooth almond complexion. She had almond shaped eyes and long, jet black hair that she kept bone straight. Before she met Wiz’s father, she was a model in France. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Ebony magazine.
As soon as Wiz sat down, the doorbell rang. Wiz had a displeased look upon his face because that meant someone was trespassing. Just then, Wiz’s father descended from the top floor.
“Don’t be alarmed. That’s just Agent Reinger. I opened the gate when I saw his car,” Wiz’s father explained.
Wiz sat back on the comfy recliner and continued eating his peach cobbler. Wiz’s mother answered the door and greeted Agent Reinger. She stepped aside to let him enter into her home.
“Welcome to my humble abode, and to what do I owe the honor for you showing up unannounced?” Wiz’s father asked.
The agent looked around. Then, he responded, “As you know, sir. We’ve had a sting operation on you, your family, and your whole operation. Let me just say this to you. Your days out here in these streets are numbered. My reason for stopping by is because of the mayhem that took place earlier today in downtown Los Angeles. Looks like it has your MO all over it. Would you know anything about this?”
“I’m sorry, Reinger. You’re wasting your time here. My family and I have been posted here all day,” he said, holding the door open for the agent to find his way out.
The Agent looked around once more. His eyes connected with Wiz’s. He cleared his throat before speaking. Then, he said, “I will be back in three days. That’s all I need for the federal judge to put out the indictment. Please enjoy the rest of your Sunday together as a family because it will be your last.” The agent laughed while walking out the door.
Wiz rose from his seat and said, “That pussy-ass nigga talking shit. They’re bluffing. They just wanna see us fall.”
He looked up at his father for some kind of reassurance, but his father turned his head. “I hate to admit it, but Reinger is right. They’ve had this sting operation on me for years, but I’ve managed to stay out of trouble. They say they have witnesses, informants, undercover police, and special agents that are willing to testify against me,” Wiz’s father said.
Wiz looked to his mother, then to his father. Then, he asked, “What’s this all supposed to mean?”
To Wiz, it seemed like his father was giving up. He had never showed signs of weakness before. He had always remained strong and in control of everything, especially when Wiz was younger. He’d always admired everything about his father, the way he moved, the way he talked, and how he handled people in the streets. He loved how the streets feared him and how the fiends loved him. He had watched his father make a dollar out of fifteen cents. Thanks to his father’s hard work, they had gone from rag to riches, so Wiz couldn’t understand where his father was coming from. All Wiz knew how to do was ride or die. “Get down or lay down” was the code they lived by.
“Look. We’re leaving tonight. I’ve transferred all monies to an offshore account, so I’m temporarily signing over all the businesses,” his father stated. “I changed everything a week ago. I knew that it was just a matter of time before they came with the indictments, so I got everything in order.”
Gabe looked at his son. He could tell his son was perplexed.
“We will be long gone before they come back in seventy-two hours. Tomorrow, they will try to freeze my accounts, put a hold on our passports, but not to worry. We’re flying in my private jet to France,” his father said.
Afterwards, Wiz’s mother chimed in and said, “Everything will stay here like we’re still living here- ID’s, social security cards, birth certificates, the whole nine. Your father has a business partner in France who will be making us new identities.”
Later that evening, Wiz’s father had his chauffer drive them to their private jet. Everyone exited the vehicle. Wiz didn’t like the idea of fleeing. He was a real thoroughbred dude, and he wanted to stay, but he knew it wasn’t the safest thing for him to do, but he had made a promise to his cousin and father that he would body Trent as soon as he returned. It was a must.
Chapter 8
The next day, Kendra called in to work. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the same clothes. It just wasn’t in her nature to do such a thing. When she woke up, she noticed that Trent was gone.
“Hmm… he probably left a little while ago,” Kendra said. She called him on his cell and asked,
“Baby, where are you?”
“Shit, ma. Our house was broken into,” Trent answered.
Kendra panicked and said, “Oh, my gosh, baby! What did they take? Is everything okay?”