He flipped a double bird to Andie, who was nothing more than a pair of eyes in the viewing slot.
Holloway was smaller than Andie had expected. Had Theo not been handcuffed, the attack would have failed in two seconds flat. Like many inmates, however, he had impressive biceps and well-defined abs that came from battling boredom with exercise. He also had a tattoo on his chest, and since Andie was standing less than six feet away from him, she had no trouble identifying it.
"He's Folk Nation," she said.
"What?" said Jack.
Andie stepped away from the door. "He has a tattoo on his chest with a pitchfork and the letters B-O-S. That's 'Brothers of the Struggle,' one of the better-known identifiers for Folk Nation. The pitchfork is also one of their symbols."
"I know Folk Nation is a gang, but who are they exactly?" said Jack.
"They're actually not a gang – they're an alliance under which gangs are aligned. Think in terms of the New York Yankees and Chicago White Sox being part of the American League. Folk's roots are in Chicago, but it has national reach, traditionally aligned with Crips out of L.A. Their rival is People Nation, which lines up with Blood from the West Coast. The big gangs aligned under Folk are extremely violent and have begun to make serious inroads with local gangs in Florida, mostly for the drug trade."
"Why would one of those Folk Nation gangs want Theo dead?"
"They don't need a reason. Random killing can be part of their initiation ritual."
"Hey!" the man shouted from inside his cell. "Is that a woman's voice out there? Come jerk me off, baby!"
The guard smacked the door with his nightstick. The prisoner just laughed.
Jack and Andie stepped farther away from the door. "Is that what you think this was/' said Jack, lowering his voice. "A random hit?"
"No," said Andie, her words flowing as fast as her thoughts were coming to her. "I think Folk Nation is in this equation because O-Town Posse wants Theo dead. I think O-Town Posse wants Theo dead because Moses ordered it. And I think Moses was headed north on the expressway tonight because O-Town Posse is trying to cement its alignment with one of the more powerful national gangs in Folk Nation."
"Climbing in bed with the big boys out of Chicago?" said Jack.
"Yeah," said Andie, the picture getting clearer by the minute. "But I have a good feeling about this marriage."
"Why?"
"Moses brings way more baggage than he's worth," she said, cutting him a sideways glance. "Thanks to our Theo."
It was the first time Jack had ever heard her say our Theo. Maybe it was innocuous. Maybe it wasn't. But he sort of liked the sound of it.
Chapter 35
Moses was in Atlanta by noon.
His new car was nowhere near as stylish as the one he'd swapped out at the chop shop, but with a dead state trooper under his belt, the last thing he needed while cruising up the interstate was a set of wheels with gang markings. He'd driven all night, keeping his speed at or below the limit, stopping for gas only after he was as far north of the Florida state line as his bladder could stand. His second stop came several hours later at the famous Varsity fast-food restaurant, a greasy-spoon of an institution with irresistible chili dogs and onion rings. It was on Atlanta's north side, directly across the expressway from Georgia Tech, which meant that the lunch time crowd rivaled that of Times Square on New Year's Eve. Moses ordered his food to go, added a chocolate shake to make his overindulgence complete, used his turn signal as he exited the parking lot, and continued on his law-abiding way up the interstate and into Gwinnett County.
Atlanta's most dangerous gangs weren't only in the city. They ruled from the suburbs.
Compared to Miami's Overtown, the metropolitan area northeast of Atlanta was like a forest. Unlike Overtown, however, developers in these parts didn't make a habit of taking the money from banks or housing authorities and running. They actually built things in Gwinnett County – and built and built. The tree-lined streets slowly gave way to patches of overdevelopment, entire neighborhoods that seemed to be in a state of identity crisis, not sure if they were residential or commercial. To Moses it was all commerce. That was the nature of the gang drug trade.
On a middle-class street behind a supermarket, Moses found the address he was looking for. It was a ranch-style house that needed a paint job and landscaping, but so did most of the seventies-vintage residences around it. He counted nine cars that had arrived ahead of him, four in the driveway and five on the street. This concerned him. He'd thought only one person knew he was coming – Levon Dawkins.
Moses parked at the curb by the mailbox and hit speed-dial number one on his cell phone. He'd been smart enough to stash the phone before his arrest and maintain the service even while incarcerated. No way could he afford to lose his programmed numbers.
Levon Dawkins was inside the house when he answered on his cell.
Moses said, "What's with all the cars?"
"No worries. Ain't here for you, dude. "The noise in the background was making it hard for Moses to hear him. Men were shouting, music was blaring.
"Then what you got?" said Moses.
"Two initiations today. You're just in time to see the second."
Moses smiled with curiosity. He'd heard stories about the things young men would do to become a Gangster Disciple, but he'd never seen an initiation rite.
"You're cool with me watching?" said Moses.
"Cool with it? I insist."
"Thanks, dude."
"Don't thank me, fool. You need to see what it takes to become a GD," he said, his tone taking on even more bravado. "And why nobody deserves more respect."
Moses ended the call, stepped out of his car, and headed up the walkway. Not many people could talk down to him and live to tell about it, but Levon was different. Gangster Disciples wasn't just one of the most violent Chicago gangs aligned under Folk Nation. It was also one of the best organized, modeled after a corporation. Cocaine was their mainstay, and Levon was a major player in the wholesale distribution market, supplying mostly retail crack dealers. Lately, the Hispanic gangs had been eating everyone's lunch in Atlanta. Levon was down on assignment from the Windy City to implement Project MAC – Miami-Atlanta-Chicago – and to secure GD's position in the southeast. To that end, building an alliance between GD and O-Town Posse was a top priority, both for Levon and for Moses.
"Who the fugg're you?" said the muscular black man in the doorway. The front door was only half open, and his huge frame prevented Moses from seeing the source of all the racket inside. He wore a red Atlanta Falcons jersey, but the number – Michael Vick's 7 – was nearly covered with the gaudy gold bling hanging around his neck. The rest of his outfit had the telltale right-sided tilt of Folk Nation – black cap with the bill cocked to the right, the right pant leg of his baggy jeans rolled up to the ankle, no shoelaces in the right basketball shoe. He wore a diamond stud earring only in his right ear.
Moses gave the attitude right back to him. "Who the fuck are your
The door jerked wide open, giving the doorman a start, and suddenly Levon was standing in the doorway. "Get inside," he told Moses.
Moses entered. Levon shut the door and secured it with the deadbolt and the chain. He and Moses exchanged the symbolic handshake that marked them as gangsters aligned under Folk Nation, and then Levon led him down the hall to a large, windowless media room in the back of the house. Rap music blasted from state-of-the-art surround-sound equipment, and all of the furniture had been stacked against the opposite wall to create a large open space. About twenty young men were standing around in small groups, all dressed more or less like the doorman. They talked and laughed as several vials of cocaine changed hands, each gangster taking a hit when it came his way Several bottles of coconut-flavored rum were also making the rounds. A movie played on the plasma-screen television mounted on the wall – some hot blonde chick on her knees trying to decide which of three black studs to suck first.