God Luv Us

Chapter One – Strong Bullfrogs In Juffair-4

“Achim, why does my ticket have such a long layover in Amsterdam?” Anthony asked from the seat behind me.

“Because I suspect someone might be looking for two black assassins traveling to the U.S.,” I answered. “It’s a precaution, just in case the Bahraini government is on to us.”

“If we split up, they will only arrest me. You can stay in Amsterdam and switch identities before traveling back home to finish this job.”

“Our customer has paid Robert Charles handsomely for our services. So, we need to be sure one of us makes it back stateside to deliver the results they paid for.”

Reaching into my carry-on bag, I pulled out a small leather pouch and handed it to him. Inside were government documents and a U.S. passport with another false identity. Along with the documents were instructions and a list of black owned safe houses in Amsterdam.

“Hang around Amsterdam for a day or so. After you catch up on some sleep and put food in your belly, fly to that address Jared gave you. When you locate Trevor Hancock, kill him. If any white collaborators try to help him escape, kill them too,” I instructed.

Without words, he took the pouch and buckled into his window seat. Within minutes, the lights in the cabin were dimmed and we were airborne. Once our plane lifted into the dark sky, I felt a sense of victory wash over me. Now my worries immediately returned to the crisis awaiting me in New Orleans.

At cruising altitude, I logged into the plane’s Wi-Fi service and searched through the local news back home. Most of the articles were benign, involving the typical fare about local politics, festivals and traffic issues. After scrolling down, I found a national news article that caught my attention. Clicking on the link, I was only able to read the banner before an embedded video began to play.

“Three Suspects Shot During Record-Breaking Drug Bust In Chalmette,” the headline read.

The video buffered momentarily before coming into focus. I immediately heard the ominous sounding voiceover by the local news anchor. As the footage played on, I noticed it was video of a crime scene. In the video, a long piece of police tape flapped in the wind as an NOPD police unit sat still with its bright lights blasting. The video then cut to images of spent bullet casings laying on a cracked sidewalk. Behind the police tape, I recognized the old brick warehouse as plain clothed detectives strolled out of its entrance carrying bundles of evidence bags. Then the image changed, displaying still photos of three Asian men. Underneath the pictures were their names and ages. All of the Asian men had been killed in a shootout with an NOPD SWAT team. The news anchor reported that several NOPD officers had been wounded, but their injuries were minor. The video cut to an interview and I immediately recognized Pokey’s wide face, as he stood tall in his freshly ironed uniform.

“Today, the NOPD has confiscated over 300 million dollars’ worth of opium. Removing these illegal drugs from our streets will go a long way towards cleaning up this city,” he proclaimed.

“This is a proud day for all of us in the NOPD. Our hearts and prayers go out to those SWAT team members who were wounded. Interacting with dangerous criminals is always risky. Our city is grateful for the dedication and selfless sacrifice of our law enforcement professionals.”

The video abruptly cut to paid advertisement, so I scrolled down and scanned the entire article. A few months ago, Pokey had asked Jessica and I to investigate activities at this very warehouse. Asian gangsters were pretending to use the warehouse to store seafood caught by Vietnamese commercial fisherman. While legitimately storing catch, the warehouse also acted as a storage facility for all kinds of illegal contraband that had been smuggled into the country via the Gulf of Mexico. Using the lawless Southwestern corridor of Louisiana, Asian fishermen would rendezvous with illegal Mexican Shrimpers to onload bales of opium before sailing back to New Orleans. The entire drug traffic pattern was extensive, and I believed it all originated from somewhere in Asia.

After receiving the evidence from our investigation, Pokey raided the warehouse and now three Asian men were dead. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but to think that somehow, he had made a grave mistake. Arresting Asian criminals and confiscating their dope was one thing but killing them in a botched raid attempt was completely another. All over the world, Asian gangsters are notoriously violent. This sort of bold enforcement action would certainly cause more violence in the future, especially if crooked NOPD officers were involved.

I powered down my cellphone and tried to catch a nap, but thoughts of Jessica trapped my fatigue. The oncoming effects of an impending hangover also kept me wide awake. All of the mixed alcohol in the Blue Bullfrog seemed like a good idea going down, but now, I found myself beginning to regret the decision. Aside from Pokey’s raid, I spent most of the flight staring into the darkness of the cabin, wondering if marrying Jessica was the safest thing for me to do right now. A big part of me wanted to marry her. There was no denying my love for this woman. Every time I looked into Jessica’s brown eyes, my soul moved. This relationship was beyond the simplicities of s****l attraction. Jessica added to me. Her quiet encouragement drove me to seek higher quarters, not just for myself, but for the both of us. Yet, the nightmare of witnessing my late wife’s bloody execution still haunted me. There would be no way I could guarantee her safety, especially if we were legally married.

She failed to realize the gravity of my past and its tremendous effects on my present. The business of killing White Supremacists for Robert Charles had turned a lot of dangerous people into mortal enemies. For years, I had sustained myself in this lonely life by avoiding any and every attachment. Hell, as a hitman, emotional attachments are one of the first things I looked to expose in order to trap a target. Now, I was sitting in this cramped middle seat trying like hell to convince myself that I could survive in this line of work with a whole family.

The hours slowly melted away and our plane touched down on the runway. As we taxied to our terminal, the flight attendant turned on the bright cabin lights and my assaulted eyes screamed for cover. Glancing behind me, I saw a groggy looking Anthony unbuckling his seat belt. He had undoubtedly been beating himself up over the mission, thinking he had screwed up somehow. Waving my hand to get his attention, I motioned for him to lean closer.

“You did good,” I offered. “From here on out, you shouldn’t need me anymore. That was the best lesson I could have ever given you.”

“Always remember, a smart man merely plans for his success, but a genius has contingencies if things fall apart. You must find a way to give yourself a chance in every battle Anthony, just in case things don’t work out as planned. In our business, things never go the way you plan them. You need to bend events towards your will with foresight and bold action.”

The cabin door opened and we all filed out into the airport terminal. Following the signs, I made a left towards my next gate while Anthony turned right, heading to the customs area. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No one was following me and security in the terminal was light. It was my guess that our Eastern European thugs hadn’t talked or that Jared had somehow, managed to survive. Either way, paying them could go a long way towards concealing our secret and making amends.

After buying a bottle of water and taking some Aspirin, I found a seat near my next gate. I took out my cellphone and logged into my international bank account. With a few finger swipes, the final half of my payment to our White European gangsters was transmitted, along with a final message.

“I took the liberty of adding two zeroes to your final invoice. I trust that this bonus might help subdue any anguish your admirable service may have caused you. Have a great life.”

With that, their payment of $1.00 was sent to them before I blocked their accounting string and transferred my remaining cash into a separate Robert Charles savings account. If they weren’t mad before this, they would surely be incensed by my trickiness now. But hey, f**k’em, at least I let them live.

My time at Amsterdam airport came to an end, so I boarded my plane. The plane flew me across the Atlantic Ocean with the rising sun chasing close behind. After a layover in Atlanta, I finally landed on the sweet soil of New Orleans. Seeing the magical city appear below me, sent familiar chills running down my spine. No matter where I traveled or how long I had been gone, for some strange reason, New Orleans just felt like home.

Walking downstairs to the lower level, I entered the baggage claim section and found her patiently waiting. She was wearing her Sunday’s best and her hair was twisted and held up with bobby pins. Her small belly bump barely protruded past her unbuttoned jacket. From the bulge on her right hip, I knew she had to be carrying her Springfield 911. Until I saw Jessica, I hadn’t realized how much I missed her. No matter how exhausted I felt, the awe-inspiring splendor of her brown eyes always seemed to give me a boost. I had only been gone a week, yet seeing her stand there in the full beauty of motherhood made the absence seem like ten years.

“Hey baby.” I offered while leaning in for a hug.

“Hurry up and get your bags so we can go,” she softly snapped.

I’d only been home a few minutes and Jessica was already blazing hot. Once her snarky words left her lips, I watched her face tense up as she turned her gaze away from me. She was pissed and we both knew why. Wounded by her reaction, part of me wanted to lash out at her, but I decided it was best to quietly take my lumps. Holding my tongue, I plucked my luggage from the conveyor belt, and we walked outside to our SUV in awkward silence.

As I loaded my bags into the trunk, Jessica gingerly slid behind the wheel. From her muted grunts of pain, I knew that her back and feet were bothering her. It had likely been a long night for Jessica, filled with painful cramps and bouts of nausea.

“Let me drive, baby,” I offered.

“No, I got it,” she answered. “Plus, we’re leaving here and going straight to church. Aunt Rita needs you to talk some sense into Pokey’s ambitious ass.”

“So, we’re going to church service right now.” I retorted.

“I’ve been flying all day and I’m not even dressed. Let me call Aunt Rita and tell her that I can go visit Pokey tomorrow after he gets off work.”

“No way, Achim. Aunt Rita wants this done today,” she declared.

“Pokey just shot a campaign ad for Governor Lewis that’s going to air during the Democratic Convention next summer.”

“Both the Governor and the DNC have gotten really chummy with Pokey, and there using this whole Asian opium bust to boost the Governor’s street cred in the black community.”

“Because of it, Pokey is getting all kinds of media exposure. Aunt Rita wants us to make sure he doesn’t find himself too close to these white politicians. She’s worried and she’s not in the mood to wait around, Achim.”