No Room for Mercy (30 page)

“What happened, homes?” Malik asked as Dawk guided the
SUV onto Interstate-44 headed east.

“My father told me when came back in the room his soldier was
holding the gun and putting all the money in a paper bag. The then
man started for the door, calling my daddy names and telling him how
stupid he was for trusting him and he was a dead man. When he went to
pull the trigger, though, the gun didn’t fire because my father
had filed down the firing pin. He pulled his gun and killed the guy
on the spot and dumped his body in a landfill.”

“That’s fucked up, homes.”

“It was. This business, this family? It goes back generations.
There was never a double cross in the ranks in its history. I’m
just tryna make sure you down with us no matter what.”

“I understand. That was, that was slick. But you coulda just
asked me, Dawk. I been dealing with Jay-D for a while now. He didn’t
vouch for me?”

“Jay-D was in your corner one hundred. This was all my idea. I
just had to make certain.”

“I feel you. What now, though?”

“You in,” Dawk remarked. “As of now, the family
still on the clock with the Perez sisters. That’s job one for
us. You from Mexico?” Dawk asked Malik as he rode down
Interstate-44 towards downtown Saint Louis.

“No, man. I was born here in America in Yuma, Arizona. My
parents, my parents now live in Santa Fe, New Mexico where they own a
small supermarket. They have a li’l money,” Malik said.
“But I’m my father’s son. He was a hustler—a
loyal hustler—and so am I.”

“How you learn about the loyalty test?”

“My father was a mule from Tabasco, Mexico,” Malik
replied. “He smuggled pounds of marijuana in a back pack across
the desert and over the border down by Nogales, Arizona before he
became a major distributor. When his best friend failed the loyalty
test my father killed the man. After that, he retired. He always said
that the drug business sometimes turns best friends into enemies and
he didn’t want to have to kill any more of his friends.”

“Crazy world, ain’t it?”

“Who you tellin’? Yo, where we going now?”

“Over to the safe house in Granite City to pick up some money.
From there we head back over to Elm Street for a li’l welcoming
party set up for you.”

“That’s what’s up, homes.” Malik remarked,
calmly, knowing he’d just been officially accepted by the crew.

*******

Desiree had just closed
Club Glitz
and was on her way over to
Cherry Creek to spend the night with Carmella. A couple of Q-man’s
soldiers had escorted her to her car where they immediately parted
ways at Desiree’s behest. There hadn’t been any
confrontations as of late and Desiree was certain she would make it
home safely on her own.

Snow flurries were raining down on Denver, Colorado on this cold
October night in 2002 as Desiree drove through the vacant city
streets in her white ‘02 Range Rover. The car that had begun
following her halfway to her destination was of no bother, just
people headed to the same neighborhood was her reasoning. When she
pulled up to Carmella’s mansion, however, Desiree spotted four
people dressed in all black hopping out of the car that was following
her and they were running her way. She ran towards the front door,
soon finding herself having to dodge bullets. The home’s brick
columns in front of the doorway shielded her, allowing her to open
the front door and scurry inside as bullets slammed into the walls of
the entrance.

“
Ex un exito! Carmella, han venido a por nosotros!”
(It’s a hit! Carmella, they’ve come for us!)

Desiree had slammed the door shut, but it was immediately kicked
open, but by that time, she had a .9mm millimeter in her hand and had
opened fire. The masked gunman was struck in the leg and fell down in
the foyer, allowing her to run deeper into the home.

Carmella, meanwhile, was in her bedroom helping Pepper with her
studies as she lounged around in a red silk night gown when she heard
the commotion. “Pepper,” she said frantically as she
pulled the little girl down to the floor and shoved her under the
bed, “hide and stay there until I return!”

Carmella then jumped up from the floor and grabbed her gold-plated
.50 caliber, wrapped a PPD-40 submachine gun that was laying on her
nightstand around her shoulder and ran out her bedroom towards her
living room in her bare feet towards the erupting gunfire. She neared
the end of the hall and saw someone dressed in all black wearing a
ski mask peeking down the opposite hall and let loose with her .50
caliber. Whoever the person was, his body seemed to explode when
Carmella pumped five rounds of white hot lead into his body. Blood
splattered the wall as his body dropped from sight. Carmella then
dropped her .50 caliber and racked her PPD-40 at that moment and
crept towards her living room.

“
Desiree! Ve a la biblioteca al Kalashnikov!”
(Desiree! Go to the library and grab the Kalashnikov!) Carmella
yelled as she stepped into view and let loose with her German-made
PPD-40 submachine gun that held a seventy-one round clip.

Carmella’s elegant domicile, set against the back drop of the
Rocky Mountains, had been transformed into a war zone in a mere
matter of seconds. Bullets shattered fine China, ripped through the
best of Italian leather and shattered crystal vases, but the woman
had a fight in her that was resilient to the death. She would rather
die in her home than surrender to a bunch of inferiors who knew not
the caliber of woman they were up against. Bullets spat from her
PPD-40 shattered the windows on the front of her home, detaching
pictures from her walls and shredding wood and marble like lettuce as
her attackers took cover, unable to withstand the fierce ordinance
raining down on them.

“
Todos podemos morir hoy! Traelo, mutherfuckas!”
(We can all die today! Bring it, mutherfuckas!) Carmella yelled as
she emptied her gun and ducked behind a marble column in her living
room.

Carmella’s attackers took the opportunity to strike back when
the gunfire seized from the home’s interior. They entered the
home again and emerged from the foyer firing M-14s at random, tearing
up the home’s insides as they stepped into the living room.

At that moment, Desiree emerged from the opposite side of the living
room with a fully automatic Kalashnikov holding a seventy-five round
clip. The Russian version of the AK-47 sent the three remaining
gunmen running for the front door, sending one to the floor in the
process as Carmella reemerged with a fully loaded PPD-40 and opened
fire.

When the gunmen fled, Carmella waited a few seconds before she ran to
her front door and saw her potential killers speeding up the block
out of her neighborhood. Desiree emerged from the opposite side of
the room and the two eyed one another, both out of breath with wide
eyes, rapidly palpating hearts and sweat trickling down their
temples.

Carmella looked around at the damage done to her home, lucky to have
survived the first attempt on her life in over three years. She went
over to one of the dead men and pulled off his ski mask and
recognized the man as one of the men she’d seen in Shorter
Arms.

“
Asa Pala ha dejado su tarjeta de visita, Desiree. Es ahora,
mi amor.”
(Asa Spade has left his calling card, Desiree.
It’s on now, my love.) Carmella said somberly as she headed
back to her bedroom to check on Pepper with her head bowed in
disbelief.

*******

Naomi was out on the back portion of her land feeding turkeys in
order to fatten them up for Thanksgiving, which was about a week
away. It was now late November of 2002, a month after Asa Spade’s
failed attempt on Carmella. Earlier in the day, Naomi and Doss had
discussed the war the family was engaged in where he told her he was
disappointed that his crew hadn’t tracked down Toodie and
Phoebe as of yet. Cold weather had also set in, so the crew was at a
stale mate until further notice. Naomi also knew of the problems in
Colorado, but at the time, no one affiliated with the Chicago Gang or
Asa Spade’s crew knew that they were actually battling the same
organization.

To add to the mounting frustration, no one knew of Q-man and his crew
from Minneapolis-Saint Paul. Things weren’t going well for Asa
Spade and the Holland family at this point as far as the war was
concerned, but the cocaine side of things was going along smoothly.
Money was coming in and being washed clean on a monthly basis and
Naomi had in mind to buy more trucks in the spring to further expand
business.

The Holland Ranch’s land was capped with a layer of snow about
six inches thick on this cold and cloudy November morning. Naomi
walked amongst the turkeys spreading corn onto the ground and smiling
as she watched the birds peck at their breakfast. “Eat up
boys,” she said as she continued spreading the feed around. “I
got my eyes on two of you delicious looking rascals and a nice deep
fryer to sit you in to make you all nice, warm and cozy, yes I do.”

It was early Sunday morning, an off day for the ranch hands, but
Siloam, Dimples and Twiggy were out on the land spreading hay for the
cattle and Flacco was on hand clearing the truck’s path so a
couple of truck drivers could leave out later on in the day with
loads of hogs. Not much activity was going on around this time of
year because of the weather and the upcoming holidays.

DeeDee was in town, having visited Francine before he left Chicago.
She’d had her double mastectomy two weeks earlier and was
recovering nicely and was planning on spending the Thanksgiving
holiday with Mendoza, Junior and Fin back in Cicero. A semi-hiatus
was underway for most, and Naomi was really looking forward to
spending the day in the warmth of Ponderosa watching NFL with the
family while preparing a pot of seafood gumbo and stuffed bell
peppers.

“Be nice if I could have some fish to fry, too,” Naomi
thought aloud as she looked over to her nameless neighbor’s
land and reflected on the days when her kids were bringing home
buckets of catfish. She stood and stared at her neighbor’s land
for a minute and then thought—she hadn’t seen the grumpy
old man in a few days. On any given day he’d be out riding
across his land in his old, beat up orange Ford F-150 pulling up tree
stumps to cut firewood.

The land the man owned on the other side of the canal was laden with
decades old hickory trees. His man-made pond had frozen over with a
layer of thin ice and the trees had lost their luster. The man’s
house was also deteriorating at a rapid pace. There was so much
potential in the land opposite the canal in Naomi’s eyes. The
family could double their acreage and build more homes, sell timber
and expand in agriculture. Naomi felt the land was going to waste.
She looked over to her right towards a bend in the land where the
man’s home sat before a thick grove of hickory trees and saw
his pick-up truck parked out front covered in a thick layer of snow.

To Naomi, it appeared as if the old man’s truck hadn’t
moved in days. She and her neighbor had a few words more than three
times when she’d confronted the man over his actions concerning
Walee and the man denied that he’d ever pull a gun on her son.
Naomi believed Walee all the way, however, and since he’d never
given her an apology, she took each and every opportunity to let the
man know just how much she despised him by hurling every conceivable
gross insult she could think of whenever the two were alone. Naomi
was hoping to get a chance to curse the old man out again his
morning, but the more she stared over at his home and his truck out
front, the more she became engulfed with an ominous feeling.

Naomi left the turkey pen and dusted her leather gloves. She locked
the gate and looked towards the north portion of her land and saw no
one in sight. The twenty-four degree weather had forced Dimples,
Siloam and Twiggy back inside Ponderosa the moment they were done
spreading hay. Naomi also saw Flacco’s black Nissan Titan
riding off the land. Now alone, she removed her .44 magnum from her
waist and tucked it inside her tan wool trench coat pocket and began
a leisurely walk over towards the man’s home, looking back on
occasion to make sure she was the only soul out on the land this
early Sunday morning.

Naomi’s knee length, tan leather boots sloshed across the
snow-covered land. She descended the hill down into the canal and
stepped onto the ice, which gave way and turned into a muddy slush.
Undeterred, Naomi crossed the shallow channel, climbed the hill
opposite her land and made her way over to her neighbor’s home.
She stood outside the man’s two story cabin-style log home
admiring what was obviously a lovely home once upon a time. She then
turned around and looked at the man’s vast span of land and saw
potential in the unkempt property. The old man hadn’t done much
the time he’d been around because the area was in decline. The
space around the man’s home was unkempt as well. A rusted
fifty-five gallon drum that had been gutted out to make a grill sat
beside the wooden porch, dead weeds were growing up through the
wooden stairs and the home’s wooden rails were failing. Some of
the logs on the home appeared to be rotting, and when she stepped
back and looked up, Naomi could see that the home’s roof was in
need of repair. Birds were nesting in the attic for the upcoming
winter and the bricks on the chimney looked as if they were about to
crumble.

“Hello?” Naomi called out as she walked up the ice
covered stairs, purposely tapping the wooden rails to make noise as
she did so. When she tapped the right wooden railing lining the front
porch a third time, it fell off into the snow, followed by several
wooden rafters on the home’s covered patio. “Anybody
home?” Naomi called out as she approached the front door
cautiously, never getting a reply.

Naomi walked over to one of the windows and peeked in, but she
couldn’t see a thing because the screens were caked with grit.
She walked back over to the front door and twisted the knob and saw
that the door was unlocked. She removed her gun and gently nudged the
door open and remained on the porch. This man was a strange man, and
for all Naomi knew, he could’ve been trying to lure her in in
order to shoot her. She called out again. “I say, is anybody
home? Your door is unlocked, mister!”