The Hill (Ch 13)

Reginald pondered for a moment. "I know Duane is crooked, but hopefully not that crooked," Reginald thought. "Baby, do you hear me," asked Brandie. She grabbed his hand. "You have to find a way to get out of this relationship with him," she said. "I was just hoping that giving Duane a source of legitimate income would sway him," said Reginald. "Deep down, he's a good guy. He's just been hustling so long that it's hard for him to change."

"Yeah, people who are good guys don't take other people's lives," said Brandie. "I can't tell you want to do," Brandie said as she looked into Reginald's eyes. "But I can tell you what I think. I think you should weigh your options," she said. Reginald sat there in silence as Brandie spoke. He really was thinking about what she had to say. "I'll talk with Duane, maybe I can talk some sense into him," Reginald said.

Duane wasn't easily influenced. He was very shrewd. He was also adept in business and flipping a few dollars. He had his ears opened at all times. Whatever the demand was, he was supplying it. Duane had investments in not only dirty businesses, such as narcotics, illegal gambling and prostitution, but he also had a hand in real estate and a trucking company.

His clean businesses weren't all that clean either. His trucking company routinely transported illegal products from one state to another, along with the legal goods. This is part of what made The Hill so popular. Some alcoholic beverages weren't permitted in the state. Duane would import them illegally and sell them for a little more and get a little extra profit. The drugs he sold typically were the highest quality that he could find for a good price. He'd also mark up the price on them and sell for another profit.

His real estate business owned a few upscale condos and some mid-level income apartment complexes. The condos were in a very good area of town, typically where high income customers lived. He 'rented' out the condos to his dealers. They'd stay there for free in exchange for selling his high end drugs, like cocaine to the rich people in the area. They also had to agree to keep a low profile.

The apartments were mostly legitimate. In fact, Reginald stayed in one of them. But in each of the complexes, he had a small number of units reserved for 'preparing' his product and an even smaller number of units reserved for the sale of the product. These units changed on a weekly basis. They'd rotate the apartments and have some willing tenants exchange apartments with them for an extra taste of 'candy'.

Most people didn't realize how connected Duane was and how deep he was into the game. The assumption was that outside of the club, he wasn't bringing in any money. That's exactly how he wanted it though. He kept a low profile, although everybody knew who he was and feared him coming down on them.

Duane did have his share of problems that came along with his power. He was making moves quietly and doing quite well. He didn't have cops on his back and he had very few enemies.

Out of the blue, one day an out-of-towner came through with a proposal for Duane. The deal really was too good to be true. Duane suspected that this guy was either a snitch or a cop. After one of their meetings, Duane had Hank to follow him back to his hotel. After observing him for a couple of days, Hank witnessed a couple of known crooked Narcs come to his room and shake him down. Hank knew he was either dirty or a snitch at this point. He called Duane, from a pay phone down the street. Duane ordered the guy's execution. Earl, Duane's enforcer, went to the room and popped him three times in the chest and once in the head.

Duane later found out that this guy was an undercover DEA agent, who was trying to take down several local dealers. The narcs had no idea who he was. But he knew them. He had a case file on each of them and they were looking at long sentences. Each of them pled out and spilled their guts about what they knew on the local dealers. Once all their information was shared with law enforcement, the DEA, the FBI and the ATF all had their eyes on Duane.

Fortunately for Duane, they really couldn't stick anything on him because local law enforcement was so corrupt that they always warned him when something was up. When it came down to 'offing' somebody, Duane rarely ever got his hand dirty, that is until the most recent incident.

Duane had a business meeting set up with some guys from Texas. He was sitting in his office, talking business with Hank, when Gerald came in. "Santiago and his guys are here boss. Buncha shiney muthafuckas," he said. "They rolled up in three black Escalades," Gerald continued. "It's about 12 of them," he said.

"Fuck, man. Didn't I say this shouldn't be noticeable," Duane said as he banged his hand on his desk. "I told him to keep this simple," Duane said as he stood up. He opened his desk drawer and took out his glock. He put it in the back of his pants and sat back down. "Hank, get the boys into position out back," said Duane. "Gerald, lead them shiney bitches out back," he said.

Gerald walked out and met the men at the door. "Mr. Santiago, thank you for coming. Mr. Clemons will meet you in the back," Gerald said. "What a fuckin' dump this place is," said Santiago. His companions laughed a little under their breath. "I thought Clemons ran a high class business. This place looks like shit," he said. Gerald frowned. "Mr. Santiago, with all due respect Mr. Clemons is a business man who likes to keep a low profile. He doesn't like to play shiney suit man. He doesn't show up at colleagues establishments with an entourage of obnoxious cronies," Gerald said.

Santiago frowned. "Who are you to speak to me in that manner," he said. "I'm the man telling you that Mr. Clemons likes to keep it simple," Gerald said. "And you are making it very hard for him to do that with all the attention you are drawing to us right now and outside with your caravan."

Santiago bit his tongue. "Okay, I can respect that," Santiago said. "Good, follow me," Gerald said as he led them to Duane.

Gerald led them to a structure that had been added onto the club as a storage facility. It was a steel room, 50 feet by 50 feet and the ceiling was about 12 feet high. There was also a port for trucks to unload. There were dollies, hand trucks, and a few forklifts scattered through the room. There was a large round table with six chairs. Duane sat at one of those chairs, his arms folded and a cigar in his mouth.

"Mr. Santiago, have a seat," said Duane. Gerald walked over to Duane's side of the table and stood next to him. Santiago sat down across from Duane and put his briefcase on the table. "This is a sample of the product that we offer, two kilos of heroin," said Santiago. Duane nodded his head. "This is high end product, and the only reason I made this visit personally is because I heard that you were able to make us both quite a profit off of my product," said Santiago. "But after visiting you here and seeing a small sample of your organization, I don't believe that you are capable of being my business partner," Santiago said. Duane frowned as he chewed his cigar. He leaned forward. "Really," he asked, "Why is that?"

"Your employees are shoddy as are your surroundings," Santiago said. "You've obviously had no experience at this level," he continued. "You'd be a liability to my organization." Duane's eyes tightened. "Uh huh," he said. Santiago stood up and grabbed the black briefcase. "This meeting is over," he said as he turned to walk away. Duane looked to his left, where a pallat stood. He knew that Hank had positioned people in the room, out of sight just in case something went down.

"Santiago, you are one stupid bastard," Duane said. "I can take your product and make a major profit for both of us," he said. "You judge a book by it's cover, but you don't realize that I'm pushing more weight than anybody in the state," he continued. Duane stood up as Santiago turned back to face him. "If you want to get high in this city, chances are, whatever your pleasure is, be it ex, heroin, coke, bud, acid or meth, it's probably passed through my hands," Duane bragged. "However, I'm subtle. I don't need an entourage. I don't need an ego boost. I don't need to dress like a playboy to make myself feel good," Duane said as he walked closer to Santiago. Santiago's guards began to become unsettled. "I just count a couple of wads of my money," he said. "I might laugh at a sorry muthafucka like you who walks around like a got damn peacock, waving his pink fuckin' feathers all over the place for a piece of ass," Duane said. "You don't want to deal with me," asked Duane. "Then get the fuck outta my city!"

Santiago stood in amazement. Duane looked at Santiago with his intense eyes. "Mr. Clemons," Santiago said softly, "I see I have hit you in a soft spot. You obviously have a temper, especially when somebody questions you. That is yet another liability for me and my organization," he said. "I suggest that you step away now before there is trouble," Santiago said.

Duane's anger got the best of him. His fists clinched, his eyes tightened, he gritted his teeth, and he reacted. He caught Santiago in the jaw with a hard right fist. Santiago hit the floor. His guards reached for their weapons, but they were a few seconds late, due to their surprise about the events unfolding before their eyes. Hank and five shooters stepped out from behind several pallets, guns blazing. They each dropped one by one, with shots to the head. Santiago was the only one left.

"Please, Mr. Clemons, I mean no harm," cried Santiago. "If you spare me, I will give you one million dollars, cash money within the hour." Duane frowned. "Fuck you and your money, bitch," he said. "You can't buy my respect," Duane said. He began kicking Santiago in the face until he was a bloody mess. "Please," Santiago muttered through his mouth full of broken teeth. Duane grabbed Santiago's briefcase and slammed it into Santiago's head. Duane had beaten him to death in less than two minutes.

"Hank, go on out front and keep an eye on things, just in case this fucker has more back up. Also make sure there are no cops in the building, even if they are on our payroll," Duane said wiping the blood from his boot. "Gerald, you get a couple of guys together and take these bodies and put them on a truck. Take their keys and bring them to my office. Take their weapons and throw them in the river. Carry their bodies across the state line and bury them somewhere in the woods," Duane finished.

Duane picked up the briefcase and began walking back to his office with three of his bouncers. As he re-entered the club, he saw Reginald standing at the bar. Hank approached Duane. "No cops here and I don't believe anybody heard anything over all the noise out here. Reggie is here too," whispered Hank. "Take the case, and I'll go talk to Reggie," Duane said.

"Reg, what are you doing here," asked Duane. "I have a business proposition for you," Reginald said. Reginald didn't know just how close he was to witnessing something that could have changed his impression of Duane forever.

Reginald knew of most of Duane's endeavors, but he wasn't directly aware of anybody who he had killed and he didn't know just how low Duane could sink. Reginald believed that anybody could be redeemed. He thought by offering Duane an out, maybe he would legitimize. He is a very good business man, after all. Duane should be able to see the benefits of being legal.

Reginald looked at Brandie. "We're pretty close, I think he will listen to me," Reginald said.

To Be Continued...