Tad Dellinger was rotting away in cellblock X, row 214, bed number 24601, just twenty-four hours ago. That was all in the past now. He quietly drove down US Highway 27, southbound, toward the Burning Suns’ hangout: an old insurance agency building that went out of business eight years ago. They had rented it out ever since.
He called Tony Harris—the stand-in leader of the Suns—from his mother’s cell phone, which he borrowed after dinner.
“Who is it?” Tony asked.
“Damn, Tony,” Tad said, “is that how you talk to your boss?”
“Mother fucker, say-it-ain’t-so. You out?”
“Word.”
“I thought you still had some time.”
“What can I say? Good behavior goes a long way.”
He pressed hard on the gas, passed a van, and got back into the right-hand lane. The hangout was two miles away. He told Tony he would be there soon, and that he wanted to speak to him privately. There was “business” to attend to, and nobody needed to know he was out yet. Nobody.
As he turned into the plaza parking lot, he saw Tony Harris outside the front door of the clubhouse, resting against the wall. Tony stood six-and-a-half feet tall, wore a black tank top against his white skin, and had tattooed sleeves engulfing his arms in reds, greens, and blacks.
Tad parked in front of the building next door, and flashed his headlights.
Tony flicked his cigarette, and walked slowly toward the car, his hand hovering over his waistline. When he was halfway to the car, Tad flashed the lights again. A second later, he rolled down the passenger-side window.
“It’s me,” Tad said. “Get in.”
“I thought so, but you can’t be too careful.” He let his hand rest at his side and got into the car.
“What’s with all the fucking secrecy?” Tony asked.
“Can’t be too careful.”
Tad smiled. Tony smiled.
“I’m glad your back, brother. I really am.”
“Good.”
They talked for a while; mostly about the automation that fills one’s life: work, love, family. Tad eventually got down to business.
“There’s something I need you to do,” Tad said. “And I need it done tonight.”
“Anything, Tad. Name it.”
“Lucas Benton and Jim Hawthorne.” He raised his eyebrows, stared hard at Tony. Tony shook his head as if he knew where this was going.
“Name it,” Tony said again, a notch above a whisper, with an ounce of reluctance in his voice.
“They fucked me. I almost got fifteen years for they ass. Fifteen years!” He slapped the steering wheel with an open palm. “They got to go.”
“But you said it was cool. That you would’ve done the same thing.”
“I know what I fucking said, Tony. Don’t quote me, aight? Remember, I got you to the top. It was me who put yo ass as president.”
Tony raised his hands. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… dead. Really?”
“Really.”
Silence.
“Okay,” Tony said. “How?”
“Me and you, we grab they ass and ice them. I’ll make it quick. I know you’s tight with them, and I’m sorry.” He paused. “You know where they stay?”
“Yeah. They’re at home right now, probably fucking some hoes. They just left here like an hour ago with two of them.”
“Aight. I’ll need a piece. A clean piece. And fast. I gotta get back home; it’s been too damn long since I slept in a real bed.”
Tad knew Tony would do anything he asked him to do. Tony had joined the Suns not longer after Tad did, and they had climbed through the ranks together. There had been many occasions where Tony fucked up and Tad had to cover for him. Not to mention, he handed over the presidency to Tony without even considering anyone else. But they held a dark secret, the reason for their seemingly expressway route to the top. Tad had him by the leash, because Tony murdered their old president, John Franklin.
Tony lifted up his shirt and looked down. “A piece like this?” He smiled; his two front teeth had golden plates covering them. He pulled out a silver-plated .38 from his waistline, twisted it around with his wrist.
“Oh, damn. That’s nice. But you know I needs something a little more… automatic.”
Tony nodded and said, “Of course, I got just the thing. You’ll like this. It’ll just be a minute. I’ll go in there, bullshit, and bounce. One minute, okay?”
Tony got out of the car, went inside, bullshitted, bounced, and was back in five minutes. He opened the car door, got in, and sat.
“Is this automatic enough for you, Tad?” He moved his hand from behind his side and rested it on his lap. An UZI.
“This’ll do,” Tad said.
“It’s one of your old ones.”
Tad had a thing for UZIs. He stuck his hand out, and Tony gave him the gun. He held it, aimed it at the windshield.
“Damn,” Tad said, squinting down the iron sights. “Appreciate that.”
A few moments later Tad started to put the car in reverse, when Tony said, “Wait. Where’re you going?”
“Good point. You tell me.”
“Let me drop my car off at my house. If I leave here with you, and my car sits here all night, it’ll raise flags.”
“Exactly why I left you in charge. Good looking out.”
Tony put his hand on the door handle.
“Wait,” Tad said. “Let me hold your phone.”
“Why?”
“I can’t take no chances.”
Tony shrugged, handed over his cell phone.
“Fine. Let’s do this,” Tony said.