The Perfect Plan: Mastermind

By D Johnson

Eddie Jackson is on a mission. With unwavering resolve, he lays down his strategy to get and keep his piece of that American pie.

The cards have been stacked against him, yet he remains determined to come out on top.

But where does he go? What does he do?

A mastermind plans everything out perfect... sees things coming before they come... and executes... The Perfect Plan

• Language: English
• Publisher: D Johnson
• Release date: May 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476308463

Book preview

D. Johnson Presents:

The Perfect Plan

Mastermind

The Perfect Plan Series

*This book is published by Family Bond Publications, Inc. at Smashwords

The Perfect Plan – Mastermind

By Johnson

Smashwords Edition

*Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, actual events, establishments, organizations and/or localities were used to create a sense of authenticity. All other elements of this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright: 2012, Family Bond Publications, Incorporated

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

No reproduction without express written permission from the author and/or publisher.

Publisher:

Family Bond Publications, Inc.

www.FamilyBondPublications.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

"What is it that transpires from an ordinary jewel of a righteous man…

The ideal concept of nature based on a perfect plan!"

-The Author

Prologue

…forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty… Crime counted out loud, then jumped up from the cold concrete floor for a stretch. He was feeling good… energized – as if he could do another twenty sets of push-ups before ending his nightly workout routine.

A 2x4 magnetic mirror – sticking faithfully to the center of his cell door – solicited his attention: causing him to walk over to it and study himself circumspectly.

Attentively assessing his six foot, two hundred and sixteen pound frame, Crime found his ego being slightly bolstered by the impressive image reflecting back to him. For a man who had just recently turned twenty-eight, he could easily pass for twenty-one. His arms rippled at an intimidating eighteen and a half inches, he had no excess flab around his mid-section, and a broad back – which perfectly complimented his muscular chest.

Stepping a foot closer to the mirror, he noted the qualities that made for an attractive head-shot photo. He wore his fine textured, black hair in an eight-braid corn-rowed style, twisted to the back. He had short ears, a rounded nose, even lips, and light brown eyes with a hint of green in them - which his wife had described as earnest and piercing, yet amiable and enchanting; Illusive lenses she’d called them. He grinned to himself at the thought of his beloved wife, Summer.

A foreboding, almost sinister, smirk curled his mouth.

What? You want some of this? he said suddenly, scurrying back a few feet from the mirror and assuming a taunting fight stance. Then, in an unorthodox style of shadowboxing, he began throwing a quick sequence of jabs, hooks and uppercuts at a would-be opponent.

Yeah!... It is what it is… he sneered, dipping left and crossing over with a short jab. Stick and move… Stick and move, Crime. He threw a sharp right crossover, followed by a sneaky left uppercut. Sink low. He dropped into a squat. Work your way up. One… two… three… four… five… six… He helicoptered mini jabs – starting from the knees, to his would-be opponent’s waistline - then sprang up, erect.

Yeah… Yeah… I like that! Fight back! Using his elbows and forearms – simultaneously shifting his body from left to right – he aggressively began blocking an avalanche of would-be punches coming his way. Kiss and tell. That instant, he faked right, snatched the air, kissed at an invisible hand. Finish him! Launching forward, he threw another swift series of jabs, hooks and uppercuts at his opponent until, finally, he thoroughly exhausted himself.

For the next thirty minutes, he stood in the center of his cell – eyes closed, arms hung loosely at his sides, legs spread - two feet apart – and meditated. Thereafter, he sat on the edge of his bed to rest and think.

As was usually the case, his mind turned to thoughts of Summer. They had been together for more than eight years and, a week ago – in what seemed like the blink of an eye – they had been married. Just like that, they became husband and wife: Eddie and Summer Jackson. Their bond was undeniable and he considered himself the lucky one; she had it going on all around the board. Not only was she intelligent, optimistic, down to earth, kind-hearted, independent and as sexy as they come, she was a few years younger than he – both a present and futuristic bonus: because, when he was old and gray, she’d still be spirited and capable enough to hold him down. He loved her and was determined to give her the very best in life. With that thought playing the forefront of his mind, he spent the rest of the night devising the perfect plan of how to do just that.

Chapter One

A homeless-looking pair stood silent, discretely observing the crack heads coming in and out of the building on the opposite side of the street from them. It was two a.m. The air was cold and windy, the sky drizzling rain. The street’s pavement was littered with hundreds of empty crack vials in various colors, broken beer bottles, cigarette butts and chunks of dirty ice mixed with everything from dog shit to human piss. This was the ghetto - New York City without the glamorous bright lights, a place where yellow cabs refused to come, no matter the fare. Bold tourists found themselves victims of cruel stares, robbery, pick pocketing, racially motivated attacks and homicide. But, even in all its filth and chaotic madness, the Upper West Side of Manhattan served as a comfort zone to its residents. The people who lived there - in Harlem - not only felt comfortable, they embraced their hood in the same way that the rich embrace Capitol Hill. Harlem was their home. It was a place where they were not only accepted, but also understood: providing a cultural bond that enabled them to endure poverty, death, violence and racial discrimination outside of their own race.

Summer, Crime said in a low voice to his wife. It’s almost time.

Good. I’m freezing my ass off out this mothafucka, she responded.

You want some of this blackberry brandy? he asked.

Nah, I’m good. I need to keep my head clear.

Okay. Just stay cool for another five minutes and they should be pulling through.

I’m cool, Summer said with conviction in her voice. Don’t worry about me.

I ain’t worried, Crime shot back.

In truth, Crime was worried about his wife. He wished she had agreed to drive the getaway car instead of his brother Tyrod but, she had insisted on standing by his side and playing a more active part. He didn’t deny her this demand, simply because he couldn’t. She had more than earned the right to be there with him. For the past eight years, she had stood by his side while he served time in state prison for armed robbery and attempted murder. She regularly sent him money, books, clothes, food packages and whatever else he needed in order to do his time as comfortable as possible. She constantly encouraged him to open his mind and take in more information about the world and what was going on in it. It was because of her that he had gone back to school and gotten his G.E.D., and then later took college courses in World History. She not only supported and inspired him; she sustained him psychologically, giving him hope where hope didn’t seem an option.

That’s them, Crime alerted. Remember, follow my lead, it’s my show. You’re the backup.

I got you, Summer confirmed.

As the two drug dealers stepped out of the car, they did a quick survey of the area and acclimated themselves with the scene. Feeling secure in their surroundings, they lazily made their way into the building for the nightly pickup. A few minutes later, they emerged from the bottom-floor apartment. The taller of the two, Que - carrying a black knapsack in his hands – led the way, while his partner followed half-cautiously. As soon as they made their way to the lobby doors, Crime and Summer stepped through, toting angry looking 357 magnums.

Without a word, Crime raised his gun and pulled the trigger - knocking a hole, dead center of Que’s right eye. At that same moment, Summer squeezed off a shot in the other dealer’s face, planting her mark about a half-centimeter under his right eye. The bodies of Que and his partner both collapsed in mangled heaps on the floor of the hallway and, together, Crime and Summer stepped directly over their fallen victims and let off a shot apiece, this time in the left eyes.

No words were spoken. No emotion shown.

Fully alert, they moved with precision and unity. Summer snatched the knapsack from Que’s lifeless hands while Crime removed the car keys from the second victim’s pocket. Swift and calm, yet alert and eager, they exited the lobby doors and proceeded to the dealers’ car. They got in, careful to touch nothing unnecessarily, started the car, and drove five blocks to where Tyrod was waiting in the getaway vehicle. Despite the fact that they wore gloves, they wiped down the door handles, steering wheel, and seats. After locking the doors and hustling into the getaway car, they headed for home.

Crime ran the evening’s events through his mind and was pleased with the outcome. Phase one was off to a good start.

** ** ** ** **

Twenty-five thousand dollars! Tyrod almost screamed with excitement. Holy shit! Damn, I can’t believe this shit. We’re rich! You are a motherfucking genius! I love you nigga! I knew when you came home it was gonna be on!

Okay, Okay. Calm the fuck down. We ain’t nowhere near rich, Crime responded. This is bitch money and you ain’t getting a dime of this shit either.

What? Tyrod yelled. I’m family, Crime. Don’t play me to the curb like that.

Taking in a deep breath, Crime said, Look little brother, I love the shit outta you. You ain’t never got to worry about me playing you to the curb, or no shit like that. This money ain’t nothing but investment dough. We need it in order to get the shit for the next lic.

What next lic? Tyrod asked with confusion. You ain’t said nothing about no next lic.

Well, I’m saying it now, Crime responded. We have one more lic to do that will more than triple this.

Triple? Tyrod’s eyes lit up as he worked out the math. That’s like a hundred thousand! Shit, we should have done that lic instead of this one.

Thoughtfully, Crime stood still for a pause while looking at his little brother. He was trying to decide whether or not he should pull his coat to the plan. Would he understand? More importantly, was he ready for the bigger picture? He had no intention of leaving his brother behind, but how much should he tell him? Better give him a little at a time, he decided.

Walking away, Crime called for his brother to follow him to the bedroom where Summer sat re-counting the drug money they had just taken. Look, little brother, he began, it’s time that you understood how the game is supposed to be put down. Tyrod opened his mouth to speak, but Crime put up a hand and continued. I don’t want to hear your mouth, just fall back and try to soak up what I’m about to lay on you. You with me?

Yeah, I’m with you, was Tyrod’s half-hearted response.

Them niggas we hit tonight were fools, beginners… who, at their very best, could only grasp the fundamentals, or the basic concept of the game. It’s because of that fact that I chose to hit them first. They didn’t know what they were doing.

Unable to control his tongue, Tyrod cut in. Twenty-five thousand says they knew something! he mocked sarcastically.

Twenty-five thousand ain’t shit, Crime snapped. Anybody can sell some crack and make some money. That’s the easy part. The trick is being able to make the money work for you before getting a bullet in your head, or getting knocked. Sensing that his little brother was starting to pay closer attention, he continued in a much more firm tone. These young punks today got the game fucked up. Selling drugs, pulling stick-ups, extortion… it’s all a hustle. Their flaw is that they try to make the hustle a lifetime career. The game, on that level, was never meant to be a career. On that level, the rules to the game demand that you get in and get out, and if you try to stay, then, the game itself will expel you. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

I understand, Tyrod said with a sudden seriousness.

Good. Crime could feel the connection forming. We couldn’t pull the next lic first, because it involves some major players. This money is going toward the toys we need to pull that job off. First thing tomorrow, I want you to take ten thousand and pay Big Jake a visit. You’ll need a street sweeper, a P89, three Walther P38 ten millimeters equipped with silencers… Returning his gaze to his brother’s face, he asked, You getting all of this? Get a pen and write it down.

I got it. I got it, Tyrod replied, yet he still reached for a pen and pad from the dresser in front of him.

Crime continued, I want a twenty-five round shell feed for the street sweeper.

What kind of shells you want? Tyrod asked while jotting down the list.

Twelve-gauge, double alt slugs.

And bullets?

Cop killers, of course, Crime responded with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, making reference to the popular black talon silvertips. Oh… see if you can get your hands on a few boxes of hydro-shock bullets… and those Black Rhinoceros’.

Got you. Anything else?

Crime looked over at Summer, then back at Tyrod. Yeah, one more thing. Four bullet proof vests. Tyrod made the note and stood. Summer, he continued, what’s the deal with them uniforms? Did TJ come through or what?

Yeah, Ed. It’s all good, Summer answered. He’s bringing them by at around noon tomorrow.

Perfect. Hand me ten thousand out of that stack, so I can send little brother on his way.

Without comment, Summer handed her husband the ten grand, while giving Tyrod a reassuring nod. Though they were in-laws, the bond between them was blood tight. He was like her little brother too. You take care of yourself Ty.

Tyrod grinned. Why wouldn’t I?

She gave him an accusing glare, and Crime ushered his little brother out of the bedroom before his wife could tell him just how irresponsible he could prove to be.

After offering Tyrod positive words and sending him on his way with a brotherly hug, he headed back to the bedroom. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to take it down. He embraced her from the back, planted a soft kiss behind her ear.

Don’t start nothing you can’t finish.

Oh, I can finish… He kissed her again.

** ** ** ** **

As Crime slept, Summer lay silently beside him reflecting on the night’s events and how her life had changed so dramatically since her husband had come home from prison. She had known all along that it would. He had been preparing her for the change for as long as she could remember. Still, one could never really be prepared for cold-blooded… Murder! she whispered with a shiver. It was as if the word itself invoked some type of mental trigger that transported her back to the crime scene. In her mind’s eye, she saw their victims; the shock in their facial expressions… their heads unwillingly being jerked back from the impact of the copperhead 357 slugs as they forced their entries, and finally… the bodies collapsing to the ground.

Suddenly, Summer felt dirty. No, not dirty. It was more like unholy, evil, soulless, condemned… wicked. But, she reasoned with herself, it was unavoidable. Deep down though, she knew her reasoning was a lie. Crime had pleaded with her to stay with Ty in the getaway car, but she had stubbornly refused. I could have just been the driver, her mind argued. But again, she saw the words for