Page 2 of Dom 3
“We doin’ it now,” I said. “First, Hialeah, then we touch the Grove. We kiss the mailbox in Coral Gables and after that we pull a rope at the dock, fuck it.”
Dique strolled in looking like straight trouble and still had specs of blood on his shirt. “You want me to bring balloons,” he said, with a smile on his face always playing, then looked at the board and got serious. “Aight, say word. I’m on the door for Hialeah. I owe them boys. I never liked none of them niggas anyway.”
“Bring me a ledger,” I told him. “If it breathes numbers, I want it. If there’s a passport with a face that ain’t the name, I want copies and the original. Don’t burn nothing unless I say it’s trash.”
I then called Carmen, and she answered on the first ring. “You good?” I asked like I always did. If she wasn’t, I’d do whatever to make sure she was.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m a little nauseous but I ate some plain rice, and it stayed where it’s supposed to. You out?” She asked not wanting to ask much over the phone. Carmen knew exactly what was going on, she always did.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m two hours away from comin’ to fall in yo’ bed but I gotta finish this part. I’ma have you sent some ginger candies and them sea bands. Wear one, just see if it helps.” I told her. I didn’t know shit about that, but Tone told me it worked for his girl Shona, and although Carmen acted like she was damn near immortal, hopefully it worked for her too.
“You concerned,” she teased. “I like it.”
“You got my baby,” I said. “You got my whole head gone right now wifey.”
“Yeah, that better not be the only reason,” she replied. “I’ll be here when you’re done husband.”
Instead of responding, I hung up before I left all of this shit just to go look at her stomach waiting for it to grow ‘cause wasn’t no doubt about it, she was keeping the baby. I had my mixed feelings about it because this only complicated the lifestyle even more, but it really wasn’t no other option. I’d paint the entire city red about my seed.
I sat back for a second and let Carmen’s voice run through my head. She had me thinking sideways lately and I couldn’t shake her, no matter what moves I was making. She’s tough, and never let me see her sweat, even now, talking about plain rice and nausea like it’s nothing, but carrying my seed was definitely something… something bigger than life itself and it had me feeling some type of way for real. Like I wanted to lock this whole city down just so she didn’t have to worry.
I’d always be her protector just like she was mine. Hell, I’d send her them ginger candies and sea bands like I’m Dr. Oz for as long as I needed to. Tone swore by that shit, so I hope it worked, cause Carmen didn’t ever let her guard down, but I knew when she was hurting that’s why I tried my best to and was always checking, always sending, always wishing I could just be there whenever she needed me to. She made all this mess mean something ‘cause I wasn’t just out here hustling for myself no more. I had her, the baby, and even a lil niece now. Even if it made shit harder, I was rolling with it. She’s the reason I moved smart and had been trying to do right even when trouble called, like the bitches waiting around to suck my dick just to be able to say they had a sample of Dominic Royal, but this dick was royalty, and that shit was dead for now.
I pushed Carmen to the back of my mind and got back to business. Once we wrapped up, we loaded up the four trucks, rolling out toward Hialeah like we owned the block. Everybody knew when we pulled up… but shit, the street never slept anyway. Police were just scattered, stray dogs were still digging through garbage, and the Cubans on the corner were sipping Cafecito as the city moved like nothing happened. It was all regular, just another day.
We pulled up to the spot, right in front of this old warehouse off San Telmo. From the outside, it looked like it was nothing with a big ass faded billboard with an orange on it, making it look legit, like they sell fruit or something, but I knew better. This was just a front. The padlock on the gate was shiny and new which was a dead giveaway somebody was trying to keep the wrong ones out. The paint on the back door still looked fresh too, covering up some old marks where somebody already tried to get in. This shit wasn’t fooling nobody; we all peeped it right away.
The camera over the door was pointing at a blank wall. That’s how you knew it was a fake ‘cause ain’t no real camera pointing at nothing. It was just there to look official, like it was doing something. Everybody on the street knew what a real setup looked like if you were trying to actually catch something, you put that camera where it mattered, not staring at bricks but these fools just wanted anybody walking by to think twice, that’s all. Didn’t make no difference to us though, we’d seen through it all.
Whole time, nobody in the neighborhood even blinked twice, they knew it was best to mind their business. They saw the Royal trucks of ours all the time. You mind your business, keep your head down, and you get to see tomorrow. The old heads were still out there talking shit, and kids were playing in the hydrant spray ‘cause it’s Miami and it’s always hot. We moved fast but not loud and didn’t give nobody a reason to pay attention. That was how you lasted round here.
We hopped out, ready. Dique, Tone, Fats, Manny, and Leon all knew the routine. We’d done this shit enough times to not even need to talk. Everybody took their spot without saying a word… one up the roof, one round the side, one at the door and rest of us straight to the entrance. There wasn’t no knocking either. You walked up bold, period… straight like we owned this shit although we didn’t. I used my shoulder to open the door and felt it give. Just like that and we was in. It smelled like somebody tried to clean up but couldn’t hide that old metal and blood. You never shook that smell I didn’t care how much citrus spray they sprayed in the air like they was fooling somebody. That’s how you knew the spot was hot. You walked in and your nose told you what went down before your eyes did.
I saw the first target and peeped that pistol shining before homie even clocked me. Dude thought he had it on lock with his palm shut tight around that steel, but I moved on instinct andtook two shots at his hand without blinking. When I let my shit off, he caught a clean shot as his eyes got wide, but he didn’t holler, instead just grinned like he knew what time it was. Most cats in this game already made peace with the dirt that came with it. You played with burners long enough, it came back on you, real shit. Wasn’t no fairy tales in the life; you either pull or get pulled, and the streets didn’t shed tears for nobody.
A second dude tried to get fancy behind a stack of wooden pallets, but Tone’s angle was better and quicker. “Bout to send this muhfucka back to God.” Tone groaned. He shaved wood off the pallet till the man believed in God again. We found two with their hands up with fear in their eyes as we moved like trained snipers.
I didn’t like begging, but I like intel, so I let them keep the begging part and asked questions while they tried to hold their breath.
“Phones on the fuckin’ floor,” I growled. “Kick em’ slow and put yo’ hands back behind yo’ head. Where’s the back room?!”
They looked to the left, that’s where the real shit was hiding. Men always check where the truth might jump out, so we slid left. The back room was like a rundown booth in a church nobody prayed in. There was a busted up table, a cheap ass safe, some hard case, and a loud ass fan just blowing air at the wall for no damn reason, just noisy and useless. We quickly cracked the safe with a little tool. Inside was three trap phones, a ledger with three names scratched out but one name circled, a fat stack of bills that smelled terrible like they’d been inside every funky pair of jeans all over the world, and a passport with a face that was faker than the name on it. We snatched all that up and walked out of the room. I focused back on the dudes with their hands still up.
“Who you call when you sneeze muhfucka?” I asked the one with the most fear in his eyes.
He swallowed hard. “The one with the scar. He texts; we don’t call.”
“Hector,” I said. “Where the fuck is he at?”
“In the wind,” he said in a shaky voice. “He floats around.”
I hated the answer, but the eyes told me what his mouth couldn’t, and I processed it. I was patient with puzzle pieces. Without another word, I shot the second one in the foot just to cause pain while Tone whispered into his ear like a pastor did at the church or at a wedding. The way he crumbled, and the blood gushed from his foot, he gave up a parking spot and a sticker on a car window nobody would notice except a man who noticed everything. We stripped what mattered and left the room quietly but not before we riddled their bodies with bullets making sure they couldn’t talk no more.
Back in the trucks, I let my head rest against cool leather staring at the ceiling with my Glock in my hand. “Next stop,” I said to the driver.
Coconut Grove was one of those places one would think was soft with trees leaning over the street, small dogs with cute haircuts, and couples who never look behind them over their shoulders because they just knew they were safe. We circled a rental property with a perfect landscape and a white iron gate. A woman stood in the front watering nothing but was the perfect pretender. A man stood in a window like a mannequin, but his hands betrayed him, because no matter the distance you could always read hands or catch a flaw somewhere. All of this shit was staged. We didn’t stop though, instead, we passed through memorizing exits, and counting cameras, while learning every curve of the driveway. Then we slid to Coral Gables, the mailbox house. It had new clay tiles that weren’t really clay and a shadow behind a curtain like it was just a piece of furniture. We didn’t knock there either, at least not yet ‘cause it wasn’t time. I wanted the Dock to make a statement first.
I pulled out the burner and called the boys overseas. “You remember that rope?” I asked when the voice picked up.
