Zayvion
March Pen | 3:25 pm
Three days later.
The sun is starting to dip in the sky when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen—Mad Dawg.
Just seeing his name flash across the screen makes my blood boil. The man's not just my brother's best friend who I despise; he's also the father of my nephew who he doesn't takes care of, and that alone is enough to make my skin crawl.
I answer the call, keeping my tone flat. "What?"
"Bricky," Mad Dawg's voice is tense, all business, "we got a problem. The shipment—it got seized."
Kiss me fucking teeth. Me nuh like idiot enuh. Yuh see how long me tell Mafia say dah work deh anuh fi Mad Dawg.
My jaw tightens. "Wah you mean, seized?"
"Police tek it 'pon di way to March Pen. Mi neva see dem coming. But... dem nuh lock we up. Just say fi tell the owner fi come fi it."
My mind races, trying to piece it all together. The drugs are gone, snatched by law enforcement, but no arrests. That means they want something.
The thought sends a bitter taste into my mouth. This mess isn't just going to disrupt my supply chain—it's going to leave a stain on my operation if I don't get it back.
Me cyaa bother with foolishness enuh and if me go light the station a fire, yuh hear say me wicked.
"Who you see?" I ask, my voice low, dangerous.
"A few officers. One a dem a your bwoy— Ironman," he replies, his voice wavering slightly.
My blood runs cold at the mention of that name. Ironman. The same battybwoy who helped take my father's life.
I can feel the anger bubbling up, threatening to boil over, but I keep it in check. Now isn't the time to lose control.
"You meet wid dem yet?"
"No," Mad Dawg admits. "Me know mi haffi fix dis before it reach Mafia ears, Bricky. We cyaa let it slide. The operation ago collapse if di drugs nuh reach."
Thank God him know. And me can bet say if a did somebody else fuck up, him woulda run gone inform to Mafia.
Ole fish.
I know he's right. It needs to be fixed, but the fact that Ironman is involved makes this ten times worse.
He's not just someone I loathe, but the Deputy Commissioner of Police, one of the biggest cops, known for playing dirty. Even him own boss fear him, the amount a dirty work them man deh do and nobody cyaa defend it.
"Aight," I say finally, my voice clipped. "Link dem an' set up a meeting. We need fi get dat shipment back before it cause more problems."
There's a pause on the other end before he answers. "Yuh sure, Bricky? This could get messy memba a Ironman we a deal with enuh."
"Me seh fi do it, Mad Dawg," I snap. "We need dat shipment, and mi will handle di rest."
Me nuh fear Ironman. Him coulda be one a the biggest inah me game, me nuh give a fuck. We ago see who fah guard ring stronger cause no man nuh bulletproof.
Mad Dawg is silent for a moment before muttering, "Alright, mi will set it up."
I hang up, my mind already working through the angles. Bribing police officers isn't new territory, but it's always risky. Especially with Ironman in the mix.
The name lingers in my mind, a dark reminder of the past. But there's no time for second-guessing. I need that shipment back, and I need it fast. Now.
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