“To fucking shit!” he yelled back. “That’s how it went. I don’t know what kind of fucking game you were playing, Vegas, but I fail to see the fucking humor in it!”
This was definitely not what I expected to hear. Two days ago he was singing my praises after getting laid. Now he should have been ready to name his firstborn after me, because he was probably going to be promoted to deputy chief after this bust.
“Conrad, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Twelve dead cops, that’s what I’m talking about, and just as many injured, you motherfucker.” He barely took a breath before he continued yelling into the phone. “I sent my men in that warehouse on your word, and those sons of bitches had the whole fucking place booby-trapped. We were fucking sitting ducks, and it’s all your fucking fault!” He sounded like he was going to have a coronary.
“Get the fuck outta here!” I grabbed my head in frustration. Shit was not supposed to go down like this.
“Conrad, I don’t know what to say. I checked that place out myself. I’m sorry, man. I swear I didn’t know. We’ll take care of each of those officers’ families.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that. Those were good fucking men.”
“I’m sure they were.”
“I’ve gotta go, Vegas, but before I hang up, I’m putting you on notice. I want the man who did this. I want that fucking Brother X, and I want him brought to me alive!”
“I understand.”
I hung up the phone and looked up, expecting to see Orlando hovering over me with a million questions. Instead, he was sending a text. He hit send and looked at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and rage.
“What the fuck did you do without talking to me?” he asked.
I glanced over at my father. I didn’t know if he could hear us, but if Orlando and I came to blows, I didn’t want it to be in front of Pop. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go out in the hall and I’ll explain.”
Outside the room, I gave him all the details about what I’d set in motion with Captain Marks. “So as you can see,” I said as I finished up, “in theory it was a great plan. I just don’t know what the fuck went wrong. Marks said the place was booby-trapped. I mean, how the fuck did X get wind that something was about to go down at his place?”
Orlando was about to say something, but we were interrupted by Paris, who came flying off the elevator looking like she had been taken through a meat grinder. Her clothes were torn, her hair disheveled. Paris would never be caught dead in public looking like that, but it was the haunted look on her face that caused me the most alarm.
“What?” Orlando shouted, getting to her first.
“They took her. We got separated and they took her. There was nothing I could do. They just took her!” she yelled.
“Who?” I didn’t even know that she had left the hospital. “Who was taken?”
“Sasha! They took Sasha.” She was crying, but underneath the tears I could see her fury, and worst of all, I could see fear in her eyes. The sister I knew was fearless—or at least she used to be. “Oh, God,” Paris cried. “Momma’s gonna kill me. We gotta get her back.”
“Slow down. Who took Sasha?” I questioned.
“Brother X’s men. The Muslims. They took her.”
“Wait, this doesn’t make any sense. What do you mean they took her? Took her from where?” In the corner of my eye, I noticed that Orlando had started pacing nearby.
“Yo, O,” I said. “Any reason you’re over there instead of over here asking questions to help me figure this out?” He stopped walking, but he couldn’t look me in the eye. Bad sign.
I turned back to Paris. “Where were you?”
“We were just about to leave for Rosedale to raid Brother X’s spot. Then his men showed up at our warehouse and took out all of our guys, plus Popeye Wilson’s twelve men. Vegas, it was a fucking bloodbath!” She broke down sobbing, and I pulled her in close and held her as her tears soaked my shirt.