Book One (A Makaveli’s Prince Novel)

By Sam Hunter

A young black woman with a natural lyrical gift. A street dealer taking control of Miami. A documentary film maker atoning for his past. An assassin who’s ready to kill them all.
Nia is a successful rap artist, talented and beautiful. She’s got it all, a record deal, her own club, and a man she wants to spend the rest of her life with. She loves Leon more than anything. He’s smart, and rising to the top, but the Miami streets are getting too risky for Nia. She’s torn between her loyalty to him and her own future.
Before she can decide what to do, her past comes calling. There are people who want to take everything away from her and will do anything to bring her down. Soon there’s a warrant out for her arrest, now she’s one of America’s most wanted, and an assassin has her in his sights.

After finding a strange note from her mother, Nia is in a race against time to unravel the truth about her past. Her father was always a mystery to her and, as much as she wanted answers, she didn’t expect this.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Hunter
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310974991

Sam Hunter

Sam Hunter is the best selling author of the Makaveli's Prince books. His first novel, Book One, was described by Street Literature as a "true tribute to hip-hop" and weaves a thrilling ride through some of hip-hop's darkest secrets. The urban fiction genre has no rival when it comes to action, gun-play and life on the streets. Sam Hunter is a writer with depth, whose books you won't be able to put down. Packed with conspiracy, drama and centered on strong female characters, you're in for a ride.Sam Hunter welcomes you to reach out to him via Facebook and Twitter.

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Book One

A Makaveli’s Prince Novel

Sam Hunter

Book One

Sam Hunter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Book One is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Sam Hunter

www.samhunter.org

@_SamHunter

www.facebook.com/WriterSamHunter

Smashwords Edition, 2012

Limited portions of lyrics appear under fair use with thanks to Amaru Entertainment.

www.tasf.org

www.2pac.com

‘My only fear of death is coming back reincarnated’ Tupac Shakur (1971-1996)

ONE

Justine closed the heavy door to the dilapidated project apartment and headed towards the stairwell.  The fluorescent light flickered above her as she descended the steps, her left hand intermittently grasping at the handrail.  The sight of flaking paint on the walls, which in places had been covered with graffiti, made her reluctant to hold on for long.  She stepped carefully as she went but not for fear of falling, rather that she hated the feel of cockroaches crunching underneath her feet.

Justine reached the ground floor and exited via the front entrance.  She looked back at the project apartment for a brief moment.  The sun was just breaking the California skyline and darkness was in retreat.  The windows of the small apartment were almost lost in the crowd of others crammed into such a small space and were all in the same state of disrepair.  There was no light coming from the windows and so she was sure the man she’d just left was still fast asleep.  She turned and began to walk.

Her body felt fresh from the hot shower she’d just had but the unplanned stop over meant she was dressed in clothes from the night before - jeans and a green long sleeved thin polyester shirt.  The night before the shirt had been tied up just under her chest exposing her midriff.  Today it hung down crinkled.  The faint lingering smell of the club mixed with a little weed and tobacco smoke would normally have bothered her but she had more serious problems on her mind.

She’d broken the rules.

Justine had fallen in love with this man and was pregnant with his child.  She wasn’t supposed to be pregnant.  They hadn’t paid her for that.  But she knew what they were like and what they’d do if they found out.  The game was getting dangerous.

Justine had to get out to save herself and her child.

TWO

The small room was barely lit and Nia Rodriguez felt trapped.  She felt disorientated and wrapped in a sense of dread.  Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t remember how she’d got there.  Nia felt a sense of familiarity that she couldn’t grasp.  There was a large window in front of her, and through the glass she could only just make out shapes in the shadows.  During several sudden flashes of light she saw what looked like the outline of a man.

A door opened to her right.  A shaft of light sliced into the darkness.  The shadows behind the glass moved rapidly.  A wave of fear gripped Nia as she saw the deep black silhouette of a handgun appear in the doorway.  Time stood still for Nia as she realized the aim of the handgun had fixed itself firmly on her.

Are you afraid to die?  Or do you wanna live forever?

The deep guttural voice filled the room briefly and then faded into nothingness as if the walls of the room had completely absorbed it.

Her heart was beating so hard it was the only other sound she could hear in the room.  She felt it beating so fast her chest could barely contain it and she couldn’t swallow.  Before she had time to react she saw the white hot muzzle flash and retort of the weapon as it fired.

Was this it? Nia thought in a blind panic.

It wasn’t the life she’d had that flashed before her eyes, but instead she saw all the things she hadn’t done.  She’d not yet committed to a serious relationship, married, settled down or become a mother.  It was all things that she desperately wanted to do and do right one day.  But was it too late now?  There were other things, too.  There had always been other things.  She’d missed out on so much for so long that it just felt natural.  But lately she’d had to give up her chance at a normal life because too much rested on her setting the record straight.

It had finally caught up with her and the end had come so quick.  Nia knew she wasn’t ready.  How was this fair?  She wished she had an unquestioning faith in the existence of God and an afterlife.  But she’d seen so much that made her question her Roman Catholic upbringing.  Nia remembered her first communion well but it hadn’t been long before she’d found herself on a very different path.

Rational thought gripped her, telling her that her life was over and this was the end but another part of her screamed in a desperate prayer to God.  She struggled to see what was next as the enveloping blackness suffocated her in every possible way.  The only thing she was now aware of was the same deep and familiar voice. 

Tell me, what’s wrong nigga?

Nia woke up with a pain so sharp in her ribs that she felt her right side, searching for a trace of blood.  She looked at her hand.  There was nothing there.  Short of breath and soaked in sweat Nia threw off the sheets and swung her bare legs out of bed.  She recoiled as she saw she was not alone.  Still panicked from the nightmare, she didn’t recognize who it was.  The figure was athletically built, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight around his bulging biceps.  White and in his late thirties, he had a cold stare.  It lingered, like his frequent use of ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’, picked up in service as a Sergeant in the US Marine Corp’s élite Force Reconnaissance Company. 

It’s only me ma’am, her bodyguard said as he stood.

Shit Marcus, Nia said, touching her hand to her chest, for a second I.., Nia paused.

I was about to wake you.  Same nightmare again?

Yeah, same one.  Nia’s voice trembled, carrying a thin trace of a Cuban accent.  She sat for a moment on the edge of the bed gathering her thoughts.  I’m gonna hit the shower.

Nia was aware of his watchful eyes on her as she crossed the cheap motel room.  They were somewhere between Fort Lauderdale and Miami.  She was too tired to remember exactly where.  She just knew they’d stopped to rest because the next leg of the journey was unlikely to give them the opportunity to sleep any time soon.

She began to casually strip off her clothes before she reached the shower.  They’d known each other since she’d been in her teens and Marcus had been working as her close protection detail for almost half that time.  It was long enough that she wasn’t shy around him anymore.  After all, he went almost everywhere she did.  Nia considered him one of only a few close friends.  Around him she always felt safe.

Nia knew what he was probably thinking.  He’d complimented her before on her looks, saying that her skin had a silky chocolate tone.  Other men had described her as chocolate, as so many white men did to black girls, but Marcus’ compliment had carried a warm sincerity.  They were close.  Their bond of friendship extended past their professional relationship and somehow they’d avoided getting involved with each other.  It had almost happened once, a few years before, at the time when he’d paid her that compliment but when he’d asked about the tiny scar on her jaw line it had brought back painful memories for Nia.  People never normally noticed it but he had.

As painful as the memories were it always made her feel safe knowing he was the sort of man who spotted the smallest details.  There was some comfort in having such a man as a bodyguard when there were so few people in her life she could trust.  She could count more than several occasions when he’d saved her life, each one increasingly more recent and serious.

She stepped into the shower and let the water run its course all over her body.  She found the water running down her back particularly soothing as she leant forward against the tiled wall and hung her head under the water.  Her back was the canvas for a beautiful tattoo of a rose that reached all the way up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck.  She imagined the water running down her back and breathing life into it.

The sensation of the water helped to shake the lingering nightmare from her mind but didn’t rid her of it entirely.  It always haunted her.  She’d flirted with death plenty of times before and, at times, hadn’t even cared whether she lived or died but right now she clung to life like never before.  Lately she’d felt death was close and it loomed with a certainty that she’d never before experienced.  She wasn’t ready to die.  Pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind, Nia told herself she only felt this way because of the secrets she carried.  They were secrets to do with so much more than just her life but Nia knew everything rested on her to ensure their survival.

Ma’am, Marcus called, there are reports on the radio that there are warrants out for your arrest, drug trafficking charges.  It’s going to complicate things if we wait around.  The clerk may recognize you.  We should make a move.

I hear you, Nia called from the bathroom.

The rushing sound of water from the shower ceased and seconds later Nia emerged.  Marcus looked up from the chair in the corner of the room.  She’d dressed and was wearing boots, black combat trousers and over the top of her dark grey t-shirt she wore a black bullet proof vest.  In a thigh holster Nia carried a Swiss SIG-Sauer P228 9mm pistol, a weapon Marcus had selected for her.  It was favored by the FBI and US Secret Service due to its compactness and ultra-reliability.  Marcus carried the same but his was on his right thigh.  Nia was left handed and had never learnt to shoot with her right like most people.

The stone grey metallic Hummer H2 SUT with cloned plates parked outside was Nia’s and Marcus slung their gear in the back.  Nia tossed him the keys.  You drive.

The sun sat low in the evening sky as they pulled out of the dusty parking lot onto the street.  Nia felt the air-conditioning kick in and the cool air wash over her skin.  She tried to relax as much as she could and attempted to push her nightmare to the back of her mind.  She leant back in the plush tan leather seat and put her sunglasses on over her hazel brown eyes.

John Richard Lloyd sat on the terrace savoring the woody aroma of his vintage Hennessy Paradis Cognac.  He hadn’t always been a drinker but as it slipped down his throat it helped remind him of better times.  He felt the early evening breeze on his unshaven face and took in the supreme elegance of the claret sunset reflecting off his infinity pool, the edge of the water appearing to run seamlessly into the warm Miami waters.  Birds flocked gracefully across the sky, silhouetting themselves against the sunset.  It was this magnificent view which had sold him the house in Indian Creek Village, a small community on an island just north of Miami Beach.

He’d bought the multi-million dollar house shortly after making an award winning documentary and now had neighbors like Sheikh Mohammed al-Fassi, Julio and Enrique Iglesias, all of whom he’d yet to meet.  Indian Creek was notable for its privacy and people liked to keep to themselves.  That probably explained why the island had its own police force with a people to police ratio of two to one, the highest in the US and a far cry from neighborhoods only a few miles away.

After the documentary Lloyd had been quickly scooped up by the networks, landing a position as host of his own self-titled talk show and was now making more money than he sensibly knew what to do with.  Investing in this house had been a smart move despite the economic slump.  Luxury properties there had fared well.  He spent the rest on frivolities such as on membership of the Indian Creek Country Club.  The houses on the island occupied the outer edge with each one having a garden that backed onto its own mooring.  He’d yet to splash out on anything to occupy his but he’d been giving it increasing thought lately after seeing his neighbor’s new yacht.  The center of the island was dedicated entirely to what was arguably greater Miami’s finest golf course.  But the sand traps and waterfront holes were places Lloyd rarely found himself.  He just couldn’t see the point in the game.  He preferred to do laps in the pool or tackle a steep incline on the treadmill at the gym.

Giving the cognac glass a swirl, he drank it dry.  He got up and headed inside and over to his ebony Makassar sidebar to pour another.

Lloyd was in his early thirties.  He was a handsome white man whose looks charmed and captivated at the same time, attributes that had won him plenty of female fans.  He had short scruffy looking brown hair.  Not because he didn’t take care of himself, he did, he just styled it that way.  It was what was in right now, a network image consultant had told him.  His rough cut jeans and white linen shirt completed his casual image.

Before he reached the sidebar the phone rang.  He picked up the cordless phone and answered.  His sister Mary greeted him.  I called earlier but you didn’t pick up, Mary said, sounding a little annoyed.

I’ve been out on the terrace.

I called your cell earlier today, too.  It’s almost impossible to get hold of you these days.  Mary was younger than her brother, in her twenties, but was constantly trying to act like his big sister.

You know I work a lot and can’t always answer, Lloyd replied, cradling the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he poured his next glass of cognac.

You could’ve called me back.  Ever since you finished that documentary you’ve been unhappy and reclusive.  So don’t give me any more bullshit about your work John.  I’m worried about you.  The words struck a chord with him.  You have to let me take you out to lunch some time.  You can meet some of my friends and maybe, well you know.

Sure, sounds great.  I’ll check my diary, Lloyd lied.

You’ve seen the news today?

I’ve not had the chance, Lloyd said, searching for the remote.

Looks like the economy might finally be picking up.

Flicking on the television, he kept the sound on mute.  Lloyd let his sister ramble on.  She was bad at small talk and he didn’t really care about the market.  He might have if he’d not been disinherited by his banker father for going to study film at university rather than becoming a doctor, lawyer or banker.  It had been the final straw for his father.  They’d grown further and further apart ever since his father had objected to his interest in what he disdainfully called nigger noise.

Lloyd found CNN and to his surprise saw another story that caught his attention.  Can I call you back? Lloyd asked.

Sure but think about what I said, Mary said as her brother hung up the phone and turned up the sound.

...according to official sources federal authorities are seeking the arrest of Nia Rodriguez on a number of warrants, one of which is for drug trafficking.  Sources are telling us that the trafficking took place between Cuba and the US, said the middle-aged female news reader.

Lloyd watched for a while as some short video clips were played and then, as the news moved on to another topic, he picked up the phone again and quickly dialed a number from memory he hadn’t dialed for some time.  He listened to an automated message stating the number was no longer in use.  He hung up the phone and flicked to another news channel to try and catch the whole story on Nia Rodriguez, the primary source for his documentary.

The Hummer pulled to a stop at a red light and sat patiently.  Nia pulled down the mirror on the passenger side visor and began to tie back her wavy black hair.  Nia was a fit and well-toned woman thanks to regular workouts but she retained a seductively curvaceous figure.  Currently, she looked distinctly different from her normal appearance, which often had her wearing something a lot more flattering than a bulletproof vest. 

The lights turned green and the vehicle pulled off smoothly to the low purr of the large engine.  The streets of Miami were heaving with early evening traffic and Nia felt a lot safer cocooned in the Hummer.  The vehicle had been custom built with armor plating and ballistic strength windows.  The additions weren’t noticeable and it had cost her a small fortune but recent events in her life demanded such precautions.  Marcus had insisted on nothing less.

Turning around slightly in the passenger seat she reached into the rear footwell and felt for the M4 Carbine assault rifles behind the driver’s seat.  They were still there, stashed under a jacket and offered her some assurance.  The M4 was an updated, shorter and more agile version of the classic M16.  It had less stopping power up close than the higher caliber P228s but Nia knew they might need something with a little more range.

Marcus was the first to spot the car following them.  Ma’am I think we’ve picked up a tail.  He looked in his rear-view mirror again.  Black Lexus, two cars back.  It’s been following us for a couple of turns now.  I doubt its cops, could be Feds though.

Take a turn down a side street and double back.  We’ll see if they follow us, Nia said.  Marcus took the next opportunity to make a left and turned into a long narrow alleyway.  The surface was uneven and cluttered with trash along the edges.  Looking behind them Nia saw the Lexus drive by.

Suddenly, Marcus slammed on the breaks and Nia jolted uncomfortably forward in her safety belt.  A white delivery truck had reversed out into the alleyway in front of them.  There was no room for the wide Hummer to pass it.  Marcus honked the horn wildly, recalling vivid memories of roadside insurgent ambushes in Afghanistan.  He looked around quickly, assessing the situation.  He began to check his rear-view mirror and slip the vehicle into reverse but then the driver of the truck pulled back into the delivery bay.  Quickly putting the Hummer back into drive he passed before the truck reversed out again.

A few seconds later Nia noticed a car pull across the end of the alleyway blocking their path.  Is that the same Lexus? Nia asked.

Yes ma’am and we won’t be safe for much longer if that’s what I think it is.

The man driving the Lexus had stepped out of the vehicle and was standing behind it, his weapon rested across the roof to assist his aim.

Take him out! Marcus yelled.  That’s an anti-tank missile!  The urgency in his voice was clear.  Their armor plating would not stand up to a direct hit like that.  Nia reached rapidly for the M4.

The Hummer was approaching fast and the man lined up his weapon’s sights.  He didn’t have time to see Nia leaning out the passenger side window.

Nia only had time for a snap shot but it was enough as she fired off a three round burst.  One shot hit its mark, striking the man’s left shoulder at the same moment he fired the launcher.  It was enough to pull his aim wildly to the left.  The rocket left the launcher with an incredible whoosh and the man stumbled off balance thanks to the simultaneous shot to his shoulder and the kickback from the launcher.

Marcus gunned the engine of the Hummer and it roared ferociously like an attacking panther.  He swerved as much as was possible and the rocket narrowly missed.  It struck the wall of a building behind them, exploding with a shock-wave that was intensified by the narrow confines of the alleyway.  Nia felt the intense heat pour through her open window.

The wall crumbled, bricks blasted in all directions and dust bellowed out behind them.  The Hummer shook in the blast and surged forward.

It struck the Lexus almost head on with such force it slid easily out of the way.  Nia tried to see what had become of their attacker but the car blocked her view.  She wondered if he had been killed or simply knocked to the ground.  Nia didn’t care either way, so long as he was no longer following them.  Fuck that was close! Nia cried out in relief.

John Lloyd was still channel hopping when several news stations began reporting the breaking news.  An explosion had ripped through a building in the North Miami Beach area.  A delivery truck driver who had witnessed it described hearing a loud hiss followed by an earth shaking explosion.  Lloyd flicked from one news station to another but he could get nothing more on Nia Rodriguez as the explosion became the dominant news story.  There were already questions being asked as to whether this explosion had anything to do with the recent terrorist attack on the Miami Marathon.

Clyde Roberts had narrowly avoided death when the bullet hit him in his left shoulder.  When the Hummer struck his Lexus he was thrown clear and his head impacted the road surface, knocking him unconscious.  He’d regained consciousness quickly, only to find he was bleeding from his shoulder and that he had a blinding headache.  Feeling the side of his head he knew he’d probably need stitches but he could handle that.  His hair was matted with clotting blood from his scalp, a part of the body that, even with a moderate wound, bleeds excessively.  His main concern was his shoulder.  The round had gone clean through the deltoid muscle of his left shoulder without striking bone or causing any arterial bleeding.  He was extremely lucky and he knew it.  It wasn’t his first gunshot wound.  As soon as he could find somewhere quiet he could treat it.  Despite that it hurt like hell as he tried to raise his left arm.  At least the pain told him he was alive, he thought before cursing himself for allowing this to go on for so long.

He pulled himself together and saw that the Lexus was a total wreck.  He took a shoulder bag from the back seat and then popped the trunk.  He took out a gas can and poured the contents over the interior of the Lexus.  He tossed in a match and walked away as fast as he could, hoping no one had seen him or would remember his face.

As he slipped into the back of a cab his cell phone rang.  The display told him the call was coming in on a secure channel.  He answered and listened to the well-spoken male voice on the other end as the cab driver pulled away.

What is your report Roberts?

Operation MP is currently incomplete but, sir, I’m very close to a conclusion.

Give me a time frame.

Impossible to be precise but soon.

Give me something God damn it!

I estimate within the next twelve to twenty-four hours.

You have had long enough.  Finish it.  I want that black bitch dead!  You understand?

Before Roberts could reply the line went dead.  He clipped the cell phone back onto his belt and started to plan his next move.

Darkness had fallen by the time the Hummer finally drew close to its destination.  Marcus had utilized his counter-surveillance training, doubling back several times until he was positive that they’d not been followed.  Out of sight, they’d quickly switched their plates as a precaution before carrying on to their destination.  Changing plates was the first step in beating a police BOLO.  They didn’t have time to find another vehicle.

Slowing right down, Marcus pulled the Hummer up to the security gate.  It was a number of things that got them past the police officer on the gate.  The vehicle looked like it belonged to any one of the private residences beyond the gate and when Marcus swiped an electronic security card the gates opened.  The officer barely gave them a cursory glance from his seat in the gate house.  He assumed from the vehicle, Marcus’ demeanor and the access granted by the card that they belonged on the inside of his security perimeter.

Once through the gates the situation was much more within their control.  The random chance that the officer could have stopped them or recognized Nia had been a huge risk and had anything gone wrong they would have had a whole force bearing down on them.  The Hummer began the slow clockwise journey on the single road that ran around the island.  Only seconds passed before they were at their destination.

Seeing the blinds were drawn and that they wouldn’t be spotted from inside, Marcus activated the property’s electronic gate with the touch of a button.  He cut the Hummer’s lights and engine, silently coasting into the driveway.  He pulled the vehicle to a halt once it was tucked neatly inside the open fronted parking port.  There was already an Audi parked in one of the spaces but Marcus had just enough room to squeeze the large Hummer in alongside it.  He would have preferred to reverse park it, a standard military drill for rapid escape but that would have meant more noise.  He’d turn it around later at the first opportunity.

They slipped out of the Hummer with minimal noise.  From this point on they both knew silence was crucial as they depended upon the element of surprise to control the unfolding situation.  Any number of things could go wrong and the risks were too great.  Nia’s face was all over the news and she was risking jail or worse, death, but the secrets she held had to be exposed.

The property’s grounds were average in comparison to the others on the island but it was bigger than any place Marcus had ever owned.  They had originally planned to enter and then lay in wait for their target but a few lights were on.  Nia had run though this scenario with Marcus several times on the way over and this was how it had to go down.  They would expect the worst going in.  Realistically they couldn’t afford to play it any other way.  What they were doing was already risky enough.

Both dressed in their tactical gear, Nia and Marcus blended into the semi darkness.  There was little risk that they would be spotted.  Every movement was expertly executed, the full weight of Marcus’ experience and Nia’s training showing.  They shouldered their M4s and the only sound was the near silent patter of their boots on the driveway.  Marcus carried additional equipment in a tactical vest that was integrated with his Kevlar body armor.  His experience had taught him to be well equipped.

The villa was built on three levels.  The ground floor was made up of the large double parking port at the front and a utility room to the rear.  To the left of the driveway was a stone stairway leading up to the front door on the first floor.  There was a cast-iron gate to the rear of the parking port which led through to the rear of the property and access to the rear ground floor entrance.

The gate was locked and required a five digit PIN to be entered on an electronic keypad mounted on the wall.  Nia held the up the small device that had opened the driveway gate and again it defeated the electronic security.  From his time as a Marine Marcus still had contacts that helped him get almost anything security related.

Nia opened the gate carefully, lifting it slightly to take the pressure off the hinges and avoid any squeaking.  Marcus made his way through and paused as Nia closed the gate behind them.  They remained crouched for a moment, taking in the environment and making sure they hadn’t alerted anyone to their presence by opening the gate.

Squatted just inside, Nia tapped Marcus softly on the shoulder.  This was the all clear sign.  Silently they began to move again.  They moved in the shadows against the wall where they couldn’t be seen and stopped at the door.  Marcus paused and softly tried the handle.  It was locked.  Behind him Nia listened and watched in the darkness, covering their position with her assault rifle.

Marcus slung his weapon, letting it hang across his back so that he could get his lock picking kit from his chest pocket.  He worked quickly and there was a noticeable click as the last tumbler fell into place, allowing the lock to turn.  The door opened inwards and Marcus drew his P228 as he stepped inside.  He didn’t switch on the lights because his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and that was to his advantage.  Nia followed closely behind, also slinging her weapon and drawing her handgun.  She closed the door behind her, locking it in the process.

Inside was a corridor running left to right connected to a room on the right hand side.  Marcus stepped inside and found it empty apart from a washer, dryer and a pile of laundry.  They moved down the corridor to the left and at the far end there was a set of stairs leading up to the main part of the house.

Lloyd had seen enough news for the day.  He switched it off and put on a Nina Simone CD. He wanted to clear his thoughts and the music helped him do that.  So did fresh air, so he stepped outside to the pool and let the music drift out with him. 

Nina Simone took him back in time further than he could remember and he found it relaxing.  He had been born much too late to remember her at the peak of her success.  The black housekeeper who had substituted for his parents during his privileged white childhood had introduced him to most of the great African-American artists whose music he now enjoyed.

He imagined how he would have been more at home during the fifties and sixties in a Harlem Jazz club or marching alongside Martin Luther King Jr than he was in this social networking internet age.  Back then the news cycle didn’t run twenty-four-seven, flitting from one topic to another.  People had views, deep principled ones that were worth believing in.

The interior walls of his home reflected his romanticism of the civil rights struggle with portraits of Martin Luther King, Huey P Newton, and Malcolm X.  To him they were all icons of an age where issues were more defined, in contrast to the present where he felt almost anyone could be bought for a price.

He’d learnt this lesson first hand while making his documentary.  He couldn’t help feeling regret at his own betrayal of his cultural investigation into rap music.  All the awards he’d won did nothing but compound his feelings of guilt for the bias he’d shown.  It had been hard to get a break and when his limited funds ran dry he didn’t want to question where the money started coming from and admit to himself what he was doing to get it.  He took it and funded his documentary, sensitive to his patron’s requests for a specific edit.  Lloyd had convinced himself that all he needed was one film to get him a break and then he’d have better executive control over his future productions.  But in fact all he’d succeeded in doing was pandering to certain prejudices and betraying all that he loved and believed in.

He knew he hadn’t done the right thing and had hoped it was his opportunity for a second chance when he was offered his own talk show.  But a few months passed by and the reality of the television media agenda caught up with him.  He’d been pigeonholed by the stance he’d taken in his documentary.  He tried to make a difference to some people but began to feel he’d never have the second chance he really craved, one that would undo the damage he’d done.

Nia signaled to Marcus and he inserted a device into the electrical socket at the bottom of the stairs.  They climbed the staircase slowly, following it as it turned ninety degrees to the right approximately two thirds of the way up.  Marcus signaled a pause, crouching as he looked around the kitchen.  Still several steps from the top, his eyes were level with the Rosa Aurora marble floor and no one was to be seen.  He signaled to Nia that the kitchen was clear.  She acknowledged and pointed her fingers to the left indicating for him to move.

The ground floor was an open plan design, high ceilinged and the lounge ran straight off the kitchen.  Marcus checked the lounge was clear, noticing the expensive furniture.  He stopped on the far side of the kitchen with his back to the wall.  On his immediate right was a set of open doors leading outside.  He saw the target, holstered his P228 and nodded to Nia.  She saw his signal and pressed a button on the remote control for the device Marcus had plugged into the wall socket.  Instantly the house fell into complete darkness.

The nervous tension building inside Nia was now at its peak as she contemplated the imminent confrontation.  It was long overdue and she’d spent too much energy avoiding it.  The darkness was enveloping her again and her mind flashed for a split second back to the nightmare.  Death felt tangibly close but she prayed this move would be the first step to lead her away from that nightmare.

Lloyd fumbled his way a little in the dark.  It had been a few years since his last power cut and he’d never had one in this house.  It was probably the circuit breaker, he thought.  He found his way to the door using the weak light from his cell phone.  It helped him find a clear path a few feet in front of him and stopped him falling into the pool but had the effect of making everywhere beyond that appear much darker.

For a second at the doorway he thought he heard a sound that was out of place but dismissed it as nothing without thinking, worrying more about the circuit breaker.  He crossed the threshold into the lounge and before he could react he felt an arm around his neck, so tight he couldn’t make a sound.  His larynx was being crushed by an inhuman force.  Lloyd struggled with his attacker but lost his footing as he was pulled sideways.  This caused the vice like-grip around his neck to tighten as it took his full weight.  His feet scrabbled at the floor to try and regain his footing.  He could barely breathe and any fight in him quickly faded.  Scared, he realized he had no chance of escape and his life was in the hands of his attacker.  He hoped this was just a robbery.  His fear intensified as his mind ran through all the possibilities.

Nia pressed the button again and power was restored throughout the house.  The lights came on immediately.  The sound system came to life taking a few seconds to spin up the CD before music once again filled the house.

Nia’s ear was caught by the music that started to play.  She wasn’t a fan of Nina Simone but reflected upon the lyrics of the song that had begun playing.

"Don’t you know that no one alive can always be an angel? 

When everything goes wrong you see some bad.

But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,

Oh Lord please don’t let me be misunderstood."

Nia knew what that felt like and wondered if Lloyd would understand her actions given the troubled history they shared.  She walked around the lounge double checking all the blinds were closed.  She didn’t want anyone to see what was going on inside.

Part of her half expected some young groupie of Lloyd’s to appear from upstairs at any moment.  Nia knew how charming he could be.  Standing in front of Lloyd Nia extended her arm gripping her P228 and pointed it at his face, which had begun to turn a light shade of purple.  His eyes locked with hers and Nia could see the fear in them.  She raised her index finger to her lips signaling silence and looked at Lloyd questioningly to check he understood.  He nodded, encouraged by both the pistol aimed at his head and the fact that he wanted to be able to breathe again.  Marcus let go, setting him down on the diesel brown leather sofa and took up a position behind him.  He drew his handgun, aiming it at Lloyd while his eyes watched the entire room.

Lloyd was beyond confusion.  He could barely believe he had only moments