Detroit Cracked: Book 3: Boss Man’s Rise

By Marsell Morris

Now that his best friend and ex-dope dealer, Big-D, was out of the picture while having, accidentally, crossed the Mob, Boss-man was made an offer he didn’t want, nor could refuse, to take over where Big left off.

A retired pimp, Boss, was happy, simply, running his whorehouse / blind pig on the Eastside of Detroit, and watching his house-lady put on freak shows with his working girls, Shirley, Candy, Lillie, and others. He now had Big’s, two, fine, bi-sexual, women, working for him, and business was looking up. But the Mob made their offer in none negotiable terms. He was forced into a dangerous situation he really didn’t want.

The question was, would he fare any better than Big? He was getting old and didn’t have the strength, or desire, to keep track of all of Big’s, established, dope-houses. He would have to rely on others to do the legwork. Rely on others to protect the Mob’s interest.

How could he get out of this unwanted predicament, and still remain alive? As it turns out, his life wouldn’t be a consideration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marsell Morris
• Release date: Oct 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301651009

Marsell Morris

Marsell was born in Detroit Michigan in the year of... well, a good while ago. After graduating from Cass Technical High School, Marsell went to work for the Chrysler Corporation as a conveyor loader. Shortly after beginning his employment with Chrysler, he married, and fathered three children. Thirty-one years later, and after having gained the position of production supervisor, he retired at fifty.After retiring, he began playing golf everyday and all day. Having lowered his handicap to near scratch, and winning a tournament at even par, and behind a debilitating injury, he was unable to continue playing. He had a lot of free time on his hands, whereupon, he took up writing as a hobby and time killer and discovered he had talent for spinning a yarn.After pounding out eleven urban fictions, covering everything from drug use, prostitution, gang crime, murder, and romance/erotica, and having always been a science fiction fan from his teenage years, he thought he’d try his hand at writing a Sci-Fi tail, which culminated in his first work “Alien Plot - First Contact” now retitled "Alien Offensive - Nanobot Storm" and its four sequels, and which, at one time before he ran into problems with its publisher, was considered good fodder for production as a movie, not because he is such a great writer, but because of its unique, previously unexplored, plot.He still lives in Detroit, and being a compulsive writer, he spends most of his time wearing out his fourth keyboard replacement, while pursuing what he loves doing — writing more tails with unique story lines.

Book preview

Prologue

…It was nearly six o’clock, when the expected knock boomed the heavy oak door. Ben, Harlow, and Smith, were seated on the couch, Big-Al was behind the bar, and next to his comforting twelve gauge. The hours had passed painfully slow. Ben didn’t like the fat cop, and wasn’t going to engage in casual conversation, while Harlow was thinking about asking Ben to fix some kind of dinner.

The knock was unassuming, much as any visitor to the whorehouse might knock. Inside, the men, who were waiting silently, scrambled, as each went to a predetermined position. Smith went to his spot, ducking down behind the couch. Harlow took Al’s place behind the bar, and stooped down to hide. Ben stayed seated, while Al went to answer the door as usual.

Al had a plan he came up with while standing behind the bar watching the oversized pig of a cop, who’d called him a boy and an idiot. He was going to take a gamble. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but no slob of a cop was going to get away with insulting him if he could do anything about it…

Chapter 1

Big had no idea where he was being taken.

Wherever it is, it won't be good, he thought, as he sat between the two imposingly large white dudes, who had him sandwiched like the black creamy center between two white cookies.

The freeway was jammed, it being the morning rush hour, and the light snow, which had fallen that morning, was not helping to move traffic along. The stop and go of the limo gave Big time to imagine all sorts of bad things happening to him, all painful, and probably ending with his death.

He watched other vehicles slowly move along in the congested ditch. For some reason he noticed one of the light weight plastic shopping bags that littered the freeway being picked up and tossed in the wind, blowing this way and that, free to land wherever. Big wished he could be out in the wind, free to move wherever he wanted.

******

Big-D, who was called Big most of the time, (a lot of the dealers use the letter D as part of their name, the D standing for DOPE or DEALER) was a well known, mid level, drug dealer / supplier, on the Eastside of Detroit. He was a huge, barrel of a man, at about 6'3'' and around 350 lbs. He was an even-tempered, no bullcrap type of dude, who loved to laugh and mingle, and have a good time. He was also a good manager, and organizer.

He loved fancy vehicles, beautiful women, flashy bling, (jewelry) and, of course, eating good food. He didn’t use his products, and didn’t put down those who did.

He was never seen without his two live-in, as well as riding companions, Candy and Shirley. The two ex-stripers / hookers were both beautiful, bi-sexual, and his willing, blood tested, sex partners. They were also casual users, well on their way to becoming strung out crack addicts. But for the most part, though, they managed to keep their cravings in check when with Big, while only occasional asking for a rock from him. They knew that there were many women who would jump at the chance to replace them, and didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him by asking for too much. Besides, he gave them pretty much what they wanted as long as he could get down every now and then.

Big’s specialty was crack, but he also sold pills of any kind, Weed, Heroin (Boy or Blow), Viagra, and powdered Cocaine (Girl). You name it, I got it, he’d always say. He had several small dope-houses, run by others, which were doing fairly well, all of which he supplied.

******

But right now, none of that mattered to big. He was being taken to, what will probably be his death. He, in a thoughtless attempt to eliminate his competition— eliminate those who wanted to take over his territory, made a serious mistake. He crossed the Mob. Yes it was a mistake, totally accidental, but they didn’t care.

Had he known the men who were holding him captive, were connected, he’d have never gotten in the car with them in front of Boss-man’s whorehouse. He’d have put up some kind of fight — make them drag him out of Boss’s or shoot him. He had a feeling that what they had planed for him would be a lot worst than a quick death while being shot during his attempt to resist.

When they knocked on Boss-man’s door, he thought, as they rode, they sure came on smooth while telling me they had a business proposition they wanted to discus with me. Yeah, they trick me good. But, It’s too late to worry about that now. Maybe It won’t be as bad as it appears? Maybe they only want to talk? I hope so. Sure wish I knew what I did to make them come after me like this? I wonder if Boss-man got their plate number? Maybe he saw them speed away from his place, and decided to call the police? Maybe?

As they came abreast, the people in the other cars attempted to look past the dark, tinted, windows, of the large limo he was in, probably wondering who was the VIP riding next to them.

Boy, if they only knew, he thought, as he watched the drivers of the other cars, some passing, others falling behind.

He tried to send out a mental message telling them he was in trouble, please call the police. Of course no one received his vain attempt at telepathy. All returned their attention to their driving, and went on to deal with their minor problems in life.

I wish I had their problems. Anything they might have can’t be as bad as my problem right now.

Eventually, the traffic cleared, and the limo sped towards Big’s destiny much too quickly for his taste.

Maybe we’ll get into an accident, give me a chance to get away, he thought, hoping for anything that would stop the charging limo.

He was a doomed man grasping for straws. He tried to send another mental message to the driver.

Drive faster, get us stopped by the police, he tried to will the driver to do, but had no luck with his silent power of persuasion.

No one had said a word since they left Boss’s place. The driver, and the other man in the front seat, never turned around to look at Big or his back seat companions since they got into the car. Not once. There was no music playing on the radio, no casual conversation between his abductors — only absolute silence, which added an atmosphere of foreboding to the ride.

It’s like we’re in a funeral car going to somebody’s burial, yeah mine, Big thought. Damn, I can’t take this silence any longer. Maybe I can get some information from these goons?

Okay, fellas, he began, I know you ain’t got no choice about what happens to me, but I was wondering what I did wrong? No response. Okay, I see you might not know, but can you tell me where we’re going?

No response. The four men looked straight ahead while not so much as glancing in his direction.

All right, he pressed, can I ask you… Ouch, that hurt, Big said, as the large man on his right with the big pistol, jammed it hard into his ribs, while not looking at him.

Okay, Gerald, keep your frigging mouth shut, he thought.

He could feel himself getting sick, and felt the panic rising within him. His stomach began churning, and he was sure he was about to toss his cookies and loose whatever he had there.

Damn, I’ve got to take a crap, he thought.

He broke out in a cold sweat, and began trembling uncontrollably. He was embarrassed that he was shaking so severely. He was sure that the men who had him pinned, could feel his shivers. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a way to calm down, and get out of this predicament.

I don’t know what I did, but whatever it was, I’m sure I can explain my actions? Might be able to turn this into a partnership. Yeah, me and the Mob, working together. Big will really be big then. Won’t that be something? Yeah, nobody would dare touch my territory. I wouldn’t have to worry about being arrested because I’d be connected. Stop playing with yourself, Gerald, you know damn well that it ain’t going to be like that, he thought. Oh, crap, I’m going to be sick.

He wondered if he should put up some kind of fight.

I’m sure being shot would be better than whatever was ahead for me. But one look at the giant of a man on his left squashed that thought. One solid blow to the side of the head from him would end any resistance I might put up, he guessed, correctly. No point in having a headache on top of a messed up stomach.

His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t swallow. His bowls wanted to move, he felt as if he had diarrhea.

Please don’t let me crap my pants, he prayed, as he thought about hearing how someone having the crap scared out of them, and now I knowing what they mean. Hold it Big. Hold it. You ain’t no wimpy punk. You’re stronger than this, he willed, but just barely.

The man on his right, as if he could read Big’s mind, turned and smiled at him. And then, as if giving a gesture of understanding, pulled the pistol back a touch.

Great, YOU can read my mind, but not anyone who might help me, Big thought. What the hell did I do?

After a while, the limo pulled into a long tree lined driveway, along a curving path to a massive garage, which was connected to a huge ornate house. Sliding quietly into a parking space next to a huge, shinny, new Hummer, just one of several expensive vehicles parked in the building, the men began to get out, the man with the gun making sure he kept his pistol trained on Big. Big tried to climb out, but found his legs wouldn’t carry his girth. One of the thugs, while smiling, and seeing and understanding, reached out to offer Big a hand, and pulled him onto his shaky legs.

He was led through one of several doors, which lined the back wall of the garage, down a longish hall, and into a small room, which held several straight backed chairs, the only furniture. The leader of the small group separated one of the chairs, placing it next to a bare wall. Big was seated in that chair, and handcuffed hand and foot with his arms pulled back behind the backrest of the chair, and shackled with cuffs, which were linked with a foot long chain, and were designed for the legs rather than the arms.

Ain’t this a bitch? These guys can use the right handcuffs, but not the cops who always use the short cuffs that were too small for my wrist. Damn, there goes my stomach again. Hold it Big, hold it.

Big was glad to be seated, his legs felt like strands of spaghetti and about to become useless. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to clinch his spinsters to prevent crapping himself. He was still shaking. The mountain of a man left for a minute, while the other men stood near the door joking amongst themselves, one thug, the leader, lighting a cigarette with a flashy gold lighter.

Mountain came back with his lumbering gate, carrying a length of chain over his shoulders with a wry smile on his face. Big got the impression that the giant of a man could rip his head off, and still have that smile on his face. He didn’t appear to be armed, but judging by the size of his arms and hands, didn’t need a weapon.

The large imposing man wrapped the chain around Big a couple times, pulling it so tight that Big had a hard time breathing and placing a padlock in the rear while tossing the key in a corner as if it wouldn’t be needed again. Well, what’s next, the torture or questioning, Big wondered?

After sticking his finger into the over tight chain and giving it a vicious yank, almost tipping Big over, the large man exited the room. The other men, after glancing back at the hog-tied Big, followed. The windowless door was closed, and locked, leaving Big-Alone with his thoughts.

While Big sat in the room, he thought of his dead parents — of the brother who was killed in a drive-by shooting — of Shirley and Candy — of Boss and his group — of how the hell he ended up there.

Damn, I wouldn’t be in this fix if I’d only went on and did my time like I planed too. I know one thing, that Edward sure stabbed me in my back. If I manage to get out of this crap, I’m going to cook his nutts in a frying pan and feed them to him with a little salt and pepper, maybe with a slice of onion, the mutha. But, whatever, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. I wonder how Brick and his boys is doing in jail? I bet they keeps their mouths shut like I shoulda, damn. Why didn’t I listen to my first mind? Too late for that now, he resigned.

He had no idea how long he was chained to the chair — it must have been hours. He watched a large black spider weave a web in the corner of the room. He watched as the spider ran this strand of silk, then ran another strand, then connecting it with another. It continued on, working hard, until it was satisfied that it was finished, and then it moved to one corner of its web, and waited for a meal to come to it.

I bet that spider will set there for days, he thought, waiting patiently for something to get caught in its web. Why couldn’t humans be that patient?

Another long period passed, and he could no longer feel his butt, his legs, or arms. The nerves had long since stopped transmitting because of the pressure on them. If he did crap his pants, he didn’t know it, there wasn’t any odor to indicate an accident, so he guessed he was all right in that area. At least the trembling had stopped. There wasn’t a window in the room to tell if it was dark outside, like it made a difference.

After another long while, Big heard a key being inserted in the door’s lock, and the door was flung open. In walked the three men who’d kidnapped him, followed by four, well dressed, men. One, heavy set dude was smoking a cigar that looked too large for his mouth, and stank to high heaven. The other three men sat down in the available chairs, facing Big, but across the room about twenty-feet away. The three men watched Big, no expression on their faces, and said nothing as they took their seats. None of the men would look Big in the eyes — not a good sign. The three kidnapping thugs took up positions on either side of him, while the cigar smoker pulled up a chair directly in front of Big, and despite his weight, easily straddled the chair with his arms on the backrest. His eyes piercing and unblinking, he pulled the stinking, oversized, cigar from his mouth, and blew a smoke ring into Big’s face, a chubby grin on is kisser.

Well, well, well, the smoker began. Mr. Big-D, or should I call you Mr. Gerald Calvin Reynolds? He paused after the question.

Big took the pause to mean he wanted an answer. Ah, you can just call me Big like everyone else does, Big tried to say in a strong voice, which came out with a trimmer. He wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. He was almost scared voiceless. He realized he’d begun trembling again. He could see this guy was one cold mutha, and obviously the head man.

Fine, Big, if that’s what you want to be called. Let me begin by saying you’re either very brave, or very stupid, I haven’t decided which yet. Tell me, what made you think you could set up our organization by making an undercover buy from us with marked money, and live to tell about it?

So, that’s what this is about — the undercover buy I made for the cops to get out of jail, now I understand. But damn, I didn’t know I was setting up the Mob. I thought I was setting up Brick and his boys, who wanted to push me aside and take over my territory. Surely these guys will understand that? Let me tell them what I was doing. While trying to calm himself, he took as deep a breath as the chains across his chest would allow, and said, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, but I wasn’t trying to set up your operation. I was only trying to get rid of some punks who wanted to take over my set. Had I known it would have led back to you, or anyone connected to you, I’d have let the punks do what they wanted, or had them hit.

Okay. By the way, my name is Ralph, not that it will matter to you. But, If what you say is true, who did you think you were buying the Kilo from? It certainly wasn’t Mr. Brick. He didn’t put the package in your hands. You didn’t give him the marked money. You gave it to one of my runners. You remember? You gave the money to Mr. Horse, or should I say, the dead Mr. Horse. Can you explain how you could have thought you were buying from Brick, when all he did was introduce you to Mr. Horse?

Aw, crap, the man is right, Big thought. I don’t know what I was thinking about? I should have waited for that thieving Brick to bring the drugs to me instead of going with him to pick up the package.

Actually, the reason Big was in the predicament he was in was because at the time he made the undercover buy, he didn’t care where the chips fell. All he wanted was to get Brick out of the way and at the same time square things with the police. Even though he saw Brick hand Mr. Horse some of the marked money, he was only concerned that Brick get caught with part of it. And, knowing that the police were watching the transaction, Big gave no thought about what would happen to the runner, Mr. Horse.

Big sat, staring blankly back at the man, not saying anything. Hell, what could he say? The man was right. Eventually, Big dropped his head, feeling tears filling his eyes.

Yes. Just as I thought. You gave no thought as to who you were hurting. And for that, you will pay. This organization can not function unless everyone involved gives thought to the consequences of their actions. You can surely understand that, having run a small operation yourself? the boss said, as if too a child.

Big only nodded affirmatively, without looking up.

The Mob boss continued. And don’t you agree that anyone who gets into this business, runs the risk of being arrested, and spending some time behind bars? And that the operation couldn’t function if every time one of the lower echelon got busted, they spilled their guts to save their own asses? And that the only way that such rampant snitching can be controlled is through fear? Fear of loosing their lives or their family loosing their lives? Of course, we can’t completely stop some wimp, crack-head, fool, who kills himself by smoking that garbage, from telling where he bought his rocks, but when an individual gets to our level, we should have an unwritten code to take our lumps. Don’t you agree? the man continued, speaking volumes of truth.

Big had to admit to himself, that the man was absolutely right, again. Case in point — he wanted to kill Edward for setting him up, which is no more than what was now happening to him — no matter that it was an accident. But he had one last argument to present, while knowing it wouldn’t save his ass. He only had to present how he viewed the situation. Finally, raising his head, having accepted his destiny, Big explained why he did what he did. You’re absolutely right, Sir. And I know I have to pay for my indiscretions. That’s a given. But I only want you to know that I wasn’t trying to set up Brick and his boys to save my own ass, he, partially, lied. I was trying to eliminate my competition. Trying to get rid of someone who was trying to push me aside. That’s all. I saw us on the same level, and was doing what I had too, to push him aside, as he wanted to do to me. Maybe I should have eliminated Brick myself, instead of using the police to do my dirty work? But at the time, I thought I was being clever, and like you said, didn’t think about what would happen to your man. I now know I made a terrible mistake.

"Well, Mr. Big, that all sounds good, except the person

Reviews for Detroit Cracked

[Kevin Walsh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just love this guy's writing...wrong spellings throwin' truth darts!