The Finale Read online

  Halleigh cried as she stood there looking into Malek’s eyes.

  Malek had said enough to satisfy the police, so he grabbed and hugged his woman and kissed her. “I love you with all my heart, and you are the love of my life.”

  “I love you too, Malek.” Halleigh gripped him tight and buried her face into his chiseled chest. She tiptoed and whispered in his ear, “Let’s just leave town. Let’s run,” trying to exhaust every possible option to change the inevitable.

  Malek quickly shook his head no. He would’ve considered it if they didn’t have a baby to bring along, but he knew that being on the run with a baby was immoral. He couldn’t bring himself to have his son caught up in the web of the treacherous street life he had created.

  “I’m tired of running, Hal. I got us into this, I’ma get us out.” He looked deep into Halleigh’s eyes and added, “Tell my son that I will always love him.”

  Those words broke Halleigh’s heart, knowing that Malek wouldn’t be able to tell Malek Jr. that himself without being behind bars.

  Malek pulled his gun from his waist and placed his other hand on Halleigh’s cheek. It was the most difficult thing either of them ever had to do.

  “We will be together again,” he said.

  Malek flashed back to years ago when they’d first met in high school. He thought back to a time when she was pure and innocent. He would trade his life to give Halleigh back her innocence. The ills of their hometown Flint had forced them to move to Baltimore, and even there, trouble found them.

  He walked out of the door with gun in hand. “Bye, Halleigh,” he said.

  Halleigh saw the look in Malek’s eyes, the pain that was embedded deep within. She didn’t fully understand what that pained look meant, but she would soon find out.

  Scar sat back smoking a kush-filled cigar and thought about how business would pick up, now that Malek was on the road of destruction. Fuller had just phoned him and let him know that the master plan was in motion, and that Malek would be behind bars before the night’s end.

  Scar already had his goons in place to rush Malek’s block and give his old workers an ultimatum: Get down or lay down. He had just checkmated Malek after a long battle of mental chess. The only thing left to do now was to wait for Fuller’s call to confirm the arrest.

  “Victory feels so good,” Scar said as he watched the young lady go up and down on his shaft, making it disappear and reappear over and over again. “Damn, Mrs. Fuller, that feels good,” he crooned as his toes began to curl.

  He looked at her shapely naked body and admired her smooth skin while she pleased him. He reached over and smacked her buttocks, making a small wave flow, enticing him even more. The view was mesmerizing and made his pipe even harder.

  While Scar’s partner was handling business for him, he was banging out Fuller’s wife. Scar, at that point, felt on top of the world. He had a dime piece sucking him off, bringing him to the brink of an orgasm, while his main rival was about to be nonexistent, making him the king of Baltimore.

  “Move in! He’s coming out of the house,” Fuller yelled into the phone. He smiled. He was about to lock Malek up for a very long time. He was satisfied with the recordings he had and was ready to snatch Malek up.

  Fuller looked closer at Malek stepping off of the porch and noticed that he had a gun in hand. “He has a gun!” Fuller screamed into the walkie-talkie as Rodriguez slid the van’s door open.

  Fuller’s squad had already rushed Malek with their guns drawn, but Malek had his gun drawn also and pointed at the oncoming crew. Fuller jumped out of the van along with Rodriguez, their guns out.

  “Drop the fucking gun!” one of policemen said as they slowly approached Malek.

  “You drop yo’ mufuckin’ gun! I’m not putting down shit!” Malek yelled as he pointed his gun at each officer.

  Fuller cautiously approached his crew and put his red beam on Malek’s chest, ready to blast at any sudden movement by Malek.

  Malek gripped his gun tight. He had no intentions of going to jail that day. He had planned to go out blazing, just like Jamaica Joe would have. Malek was about to go out like a gangster, no doubt.

  Fuller closed one eye and aimed straight for Malek’s head. “Drop that gun! You don’t want to do this!”

  “Fuck you!” Malek screamed, spit flying out of his mouth. His trigger finger began to itch. He saw Fuller’s face and locked his aim on him, feeling deep hatred for him. The cops had blackmailed his girl and caused all of the pandemonium. He hated him deep down in his soul. The more he thought about leaving Halleigh and his son, he grew more irate.

  A single tear dropped from Malek’s left eye—a tear not of sadness, but of pain. “I’m from Flint, Michigan, mufucka!” Malek’s grip grew even tighter, his index finger resting on the trigger. “Do y’all know who the fuck I am? Huh? I’m cut from the cloth of Jamaica Joe! Fuck all y’all!” Malek screamed, ten guns pointed at him.

  “Malek! No!” Halleigh yelled as she stepped out of the door. Her heart dropped as she saw the police standing in front of the love of her life.

  As Halleigh stepped off the porch trying to get to Malek, he looked back, and that quick movement by him made Fuller fire a shot at him.

  That started a chain reaction among the other narcs, and the bullets started flying one after another, hitting Malek in the chest, jerking him from left to right.

  As Malek lay there dying, all Halleigh could think of was that not only did she just lose the love of her life, but it was the end of an era.

  Exerpt From Baltimore Chronicles

  Chapter 1

  The Take Down

  Detective Derek Fuller splashed water on his face, took a deep breath and looked up at himself in the small, dull mirror that hung in the men’s bathroom inside the station house. He noticed the bags that were starting to form under his eyes, but he knew those came with the territory. Fighting against the Maryland drug trade was not an easy win. Shaking off his jitters, Derek stared at himself. He thought that despite those bags, all his smooth cinnamon colored skin, and chestnut brown eyes still made him a fine ass dude.

  Refocusing, Derek spoke to himself, “Let’s get it nigga. This ain’t no time to have second thoughts,” he checked his gear, shifted his bulletproof vest and shrugged into his raid jacket. It was six o’clock in the morning and he had to get into the right state of mind for the task at hand. Walking back out into the squad room he put his game face on.

  “I hope everybody is ready for Scar. Let’s fuckin’ roll and take this nigga out. This mu’fucka only thinks he is the leader of the bitch-ass dirty money crew,” Derek announced to the four officers that comprised his unit. They all stood at attention and started gathering their battle gear. “Yo, Fuller . . . can I bring this baby with me?” Officer Rodriguez asked, picking up the brand new MP-5 they had just acquired. The big weapon looked out of place in the petite woman’s hands. To the average eye she would appear weak and out of her element, but Fuller had come up in the academy with Rodriguez and knew never to underestimate her. She had the gumption that most men never mustered and she was an asset to his team. He trusted Rodriguez with his life and in the game they played that meant a lot. She never hesitated to pull a trigger and if he was the first man through the door, she was always right behind him.

  “Damn straight,” Derek replied, flashing his perfect smile and leading his unit out the door.

  Derek felt powerful in his new position as lead Detective of the Drug Enforcement Section of the Division I of the Maryland State Troopers. Living and working in the roughest part of Baltimore, Maryland; Derek had put in work, moving up from a car chasing, ticket giving state trooper to a narcotics street officer and now leader of his own narcotics interdiction unit. Derek knew all about the so-called “Dirty Money Crew” and their notorious leader, Stephon “Scar” Johnson. Everyone in the Baltimore area knew about Scar and his powerful drug ring. He ran cocaine up and down the interstate with ease. On top of that he was a jack-of-all
trades. He had his hand in everything from extortion and illegal gambling to prostitution. If there was money to be made in the underworld of B-more than Scar was getting it. Scar had been reigning terror on the streets for years now. He was considered the Rayful Edmunds of Baltimore. Only difference was he didn’t get caught. He deemed himself untouchable and moved like a ghost through the streets; getting money but going unseen most of the time. Rumor had it that on his climb to the top, Scar had taken out ten police officers and two Government officials. But with no proof and witnesses that always turned up dead or missing, it had been an almost impossible undertaking for the overmatched and undermanned state troopers to touch Scar. That did not stop Derek from pursuing Scar. Having been born in the inner city of Baltimore Derek knew a little about the streets. He was also aware of what he needed to do to prove himself to his bosses and the crime syndicates in the streets. His success as head of the D.E.S. depended on the attention he would receive for taking Scar down.

  As Derek and his unit arrived at their destination in the worst hood in Baltimore, Derek shook his head and smiled. It was just like his confidential informant had told him; Scar was making a very rare early morning creep appearance at one of his most lucrative trap houses. When Derek noticed Scar’s tricked out black Escalade, complete with its candy paint job, parked on the side of the trap house, Derek felt his dick jump in his pants. He was that excited by this opportunity to shine.

  “Here we fuckin’ go!” Derek mumbled under his breath, geeking himself up for the task at hand. His heart was beating so fast that it threatened to jump out of his chest. Yanking his glock out of his hip holster, Derek barely put his vehicle in park before he swung the door open and jumped out. He waved his hands over his head, placed his fingers up to his lips and made a fist signaling his unit to get into their rehearsed raid positions. They all silently exited their black Impalas. Ducking low they fell in line one behind the other and stacked on the door. Derek was first in the stack—he would announce their arrival. The ram holder stood on the opposite side of the door and the rest of the unit knew their roles in bringing up the back of the stack. Derek raised his right hand and silently counted down. Three, two, one . . . at that the ram holder sent the heavy duty metal crashing into the shabby plywood door. The wood splintered open with one hit. Inside, bodies began scrambling in all directions.

  “Police! Police! Put ya fuckin’ hands up now!” Derek screamed, waving his weapon back and forth, pointing it at all of Scar’s scrambling workers for emphasis. All of the members of the D.E.S. trampled inside, grabbing whomever they could and tossing them to the ground. Derek continued into the house with his gun drawn and keeping his back close to the walls. He had his eye on the prize and he was not going to stop until he had it in custody. Derek came to a closed door at the back of the house. With his gun trained on the door he kicked it open.

  “Damn man, put the gun down. You ain’t gotta go all hard and shit,” Scar said calmly as he exhaled a cigar smoke ring in front of him, poisoning the air surrounding Damon. Derek was baffled as he stared into Scar’s ugly, hard line, and scarred face. It was like Scar knew they were coming. He didn’t even flinch when the door came crashing in around him.

  “Put your fucking hands up mu’fucka!” Derek screamed, pointing his gun right at Scar’s head. “Now! Show me your hands!”

  “A’ight, a’ight. Calm down cowboy,” Scar said, smirking and stubbing out his cigar on the table he sat behind. Derek was getting more pissed by the minute. He was looking a little silly in front of his unit while Scar was looking cool, calm and collected. “They pay you to act all extra?” Scar asked, still smiling.

  “Let’s go! Stand the fuck up nigga!” Derek barked again.

  “I got one better for you. I will put my hands out so you can cuff me,” Scar chuckled, his smile causing his severely disfigured charcoal colored face to contort into a monstrous mug. Pushing away from the table Scar lifted his six foot, three inch, gorilla frame up from the chair. Laughing like he had heard a joke, Scar turned around and assumed the handcuffing position. Scar’s nonchalant attitude pissed Derek off. How dare he act as if he had the upper hand.

  “Cuff this son of a bitch!” Derek spat as one of his officer’s moved in swiftly to lock the cuffs on Scar’s thick wrists.

  “Son of a bitch? Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black,” Scar replied, still laughing.

  Derek grabbed the cuffs roughly making sure he clamped them extra tight so the metal would cut into Scar’s skin. Derek led Scar out of the house and just like he had planned the media trucks and cameras were right on time to get coverage of the raid. “Detective Fuller . . . how did you do this so smoothly when no other law enforcement units could take down the notorious Stephon “Scar” Johnson?” a female reporter screamed out as Derek rushed passed her with Scar in tow.

  “It was all in a days’ work,” Derek wolfed out as he pushed Scar’s head down into the back of the police car. Derek looked and felt like a hero. He had taken down the big bad drug kingpin. Derek could not contain himself from smiling. He was the man.

  Derek and his unit pulled into the prisoner drop area in the back of the Division 1 stationhouse and unloaded Scar and some of his crew.

  “Ay man, when all the pomp and circumstance is done maybe we can break bread, you know, have a drink and shit,” Scar said, smiling at Derek mischievously.

  “Nah, buddy. You will be breaking bread with your fellow inmates soon enough,” Derek said smoothly, slapping five with some of his unit members and walking away leaving Scar to be processed.

  Derek continued to slap fives and crack jokes with his unit as they proceeded into the stationhouse. Pushing open the door they heard whistles and applause . . . “Hooray! Hip, hip Hooray!” It was like the other officers and staff at the stationhouse had planned a surprise party. They had all stopped to turn and see the great D.E.S. unit. They were all cheering and whistling loudly. Derek could not contain his proud smile. He loved the attention, especially when he noticed Chief William Scott standing in front of the uproarious crowd. The chief stepped forward, placing his hands up to quiet the cheers so he could speak. He loved to hear himself speak.

  “Here they are . . . the untouchable D.E.S. They have done in one day what no other law enforcement agency in Maryland State and the Feds have tried to do for years! Led by one of the finest Detectives in state trooper history . . . Derek Fuller,” Chief Scott announced, placing one hand on Derek’s shoulder and grabbing his other hand for a firm handshake. The station house crowd of state troopers and administrative staff erupted in cheers again. Derek bowed his head slightly, trying to act modest. Inside, he loved the attention. He basked in it. It was what he had waited so long for . . . to be considered great. He returned the chief’s handshake. “I couldn’t have done it without the best unit around—Rodriguez, Bolden, Archie and Cassell . . . thank you all for being brave soldiers. This take down was the hard work of us all . . . we have all dedicated countless man hours in the pursuit of justice and now today is our day,” Derek said for good measure. In his head he was thinking, it was all him, he had really single handedly taken Scar down, but he knew he had to show good face in front of the chief. This was his case.

  “Come down to my office Detective Fuller . . . I want to speak to you,” Chief Scott leaned into Derek’s ear and whispered as the crowd began to break up and surround the other unit members. Derek’s heart jumped in his chest. Everyone knew that Maryland State Troopers had a history of being prejudiced against any other race other than whites. The fact that this white chief—who was known to be a red neck, wanted to speak to Derek alone, made Derek feel important. It was all working out exactly as Derek had envisioned it.

  He followed the chief downstairs to his office. Once inside the chief offered Derek a seat on his famed leather couch—another rare occurrence. Usually an invitation to Chief Scott’s office was only for troopers to get an ass chewing or disciplinary action taken against them.

 
Chief Scott slid his fat stomach behind his desk, put a finger full of chewing tobacco into his cheek and looked at Derek seriously. “Detective Fuller. I don’t call many people to my office for compliments. But what you did today was beyond remarkable. Taking down one of the biggest bastard drug lords the state of Maryland has ever seen was more than a simple task. Those fucking DEA federal bastards couldn’t do it this long with all their corrupt agents and pay offs. You have exceeded any expectations I had ever dreamed for D.E.S. and for that I commend you. Detective Fuller, I truly think you have what it takes to be higher up in the department one day . . . maybe even sit at this desk as chief, ” Chief Scott said seriously, spitting his gooey chewed up tobacco into a can on his desk. Derek was glowing from the accolades he was receiving.

  “Well chief, I appreciate the compliment. I just want to work hard and continue to make you and the department proud. It took months of surveillance and lots of footwork on the streets . . . but at the end of the day, that bastard Scar Johnson deserved to go down. I’m just glad it is over,” Derek replied, standing up. “Now, after I finish the paperwork I’m going home to my beautiful family who I have neglected for the last six months. I’m sure my wife will be happy to see me,” Derek said, smiling just thinking about his beautiful wife.

  “I’ve seen your wife. I would be on my way home too,” Chief Scott commented, with a smile sending Derek on his way.

  Derek turned his key in the door to his modest single-family home and he could already smell the sweet smells of his dinner wafting through the house. He loved his wife so much. She was a triple threat—a good mother, a working professional and a damned good wife. “Hello?!” Derek called out and then waited.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” he heard his kids screaming as they ran towards him top speed. They were not used to him being home at night. Most of the time he would come in after a long stakeout and they would already be asleep, so his presence was a welcomed surprise.