The Cobra Files

By Amir Brown

Open up Cobra's file cabinet and read one of the most criminal and destructive reports with shreds of evidence about the life of a masterful crime boss. The report goes deep inside the life of a man who sacrificed everything, from his freedom to his soul. He imagined that it was his duty to make sure that his family, circle of friends, and five tough, beautiful women—Cobra's Angels—lived well, ate, and slept comfortably despite the costs. He learns quickly that the police think that he has made a huge mistake.

"They say the truth is so precious that it's usually protected by a bodyguard of lies. This true story has been fictionalized, but will show you that love never fails; it heals. But lust constantly fails, and it will always kill. Enjoy the rise and fall of Cobra."—From Amir Brown

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prodigy Gold Books
• Release date: Nov 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733243278

Amir Brown

Amir Brown is an up and coming American author, creating a painful and gripping retelling of the event that led to his demise: The Cobra Files. Amir was born and raised in Delaware where he endured most of his trials and tribulations that inner-city living delivered daily. After a few times of being separated from his family due to incarceration, he managed to find his hidden talents as an inspiring author in a six-by-eight foot cell. He has a deep passion for speaking to troubled adolescents, traveling on a path of destruction, and studying business and financial literacy. A very loving father of two, Amir has a nine-year-old daughter and an eight-year-old son. “My kids are the roots to my ambition and hunger for prosperity.”—Amir Brown

Book preview

PROLOGUE

RED ROOF INN. 7:30 a.m

The hotel room door slammed off the hinges.

BOOM!

What the fuck, said Cobra, frowning. It happened so fast he or EZ couldn’t react soon enough. His athleticism kicked in, and he hopped up, reaching for his ratchet.

Get’em up. Get’em up. Let me see your fucking hands. Let me see’em, one cop yelled.

Hey, don’t you try it, motherfucker. Don’t you dare move a muscle, another cop added.

The New Castle PD Task Force poured in the motel room like a troop of army ants. There were fifteen ARs pointed in their direction.

Cobra was built like an NFL running back: athletic, muscular build. None of his muscles would be used to beat his way out of this problem.

Slowly crawl backward off the bed and lay flat with your hands behind your back now. Do it now, a cop said, before he added, And do not make a fucking move out the way or those teardrops under your eyes will be my target.

Cobra looked at EZ, who was frozen on the other bed. He was in total shock. He thought, this shit can’t be happening. He had never experienced a takedown like this before. The only words Cobra mustered up was: Its over, bro.

Seconds later, they laid on the floor cuffed, while the task force performed their best routine.

Damn, all that. Get ya fuckin’ knee out my back, barked Cobra. He was five-feet-eleven and two-hundred pounds; a beautiful frame, but the cop’s knee was killing his back.

Shut the fuck up, dick head. You ain’t in no position to be demanding shit, an officer replied.

Fuck!

Yeah, you’re fucked, is right, buddy, an officer blurted, walking them outside the room and into the crisp morning air.

Officers began tearing the room apart, and one of them found about ten- to twenty-years under Cobra’s pillow.

Outside Officer Price pulled a brick of paper from Cobra’s jeans, and he damn near had an orgasm. You would think he had never seen any paper before. Jesus, this guy was banded up, the cop said.

They were caught red-handed, and lackin’ hard. Work in the room. Some paper on ‘em. Cobra knew it was over. His whole operation was compromised and hit hard. Deep within, his soul was crushed and time froze for a spell—trapped in his head like a cloud in midair. Jeezy’s, Grind State, replayed in slow motion. (I took them penitentiary chances, and I rolled with that shit, knowing damn well they find it they going pose with that shit.) Snowman’s words weighed a ton on his heart.

Its cold out here, man. Can I at least have my clothes officer? He was begging like a little boy, not the thirty-six-year-old man that he was.

Didn’t I tell you, you ain’t in no position to be demanding shit.

What? I’m not hearing that. I’m cold as...

Well, well. Mr. Cobra, the detective said mockingly. Even a king snake can be caught. His words were cut smooth off by Detective Bains, the lead detective.

I’mma ignore his Will Ferrell looking ass and keep my mouth shut. I know he is smelling his self, though.

Officer Florez, take Mr. Neeko here, no wait...wait a minute, I meant, Mr. King Cobra, the detective paused, looking around, sharing a laugh with his officers.

Cobra had a lot of things to say, but things looked terrible enough as it was, so there was no point in digging a deeper hole.

As I was saying, Officer Florez, take Mr. Snake down to the station, and I’ll meet you there in an hour tops, Baines ordered.

Will do, sir.

I’m saying, you can call me whatever detective. Snake this. Snake that. The point of the matter is I’m detained and not resisting. Can I at least have my hoody, boots, or something? I’m freezing out this jawn.

Yeah...yeah. Get this guy covered up and out of my face, Officer. I don’t want to be tied up with this thing all day, said Bains.

Nosy residents from the motel began to file back in their rooms once they figured the exciting part of the arrest was over.

__________

The ride to the precinct was the most depressing ride ever for Cobra. It was the ride every drug dealer and criminal-minded individual was punched in the face with eventually. Punched in the face with the reality of they got me. Acceptance was like a horse pill—tough to swallow. He drifted into a daze of questions. Questions that confused him boxed him in and stressed him severely. He felt imprisoned by his thoughts before he even made it to the jail. How the fuck they know we were there? Somebody had to line us obviously, but who? Gotta lot of balls, I know that for sure. His mind began to playback the events, preceding the arrest.

The room was in Philly’s name, using his debit card, so they couldn’t have tracked him, and EZ liked that. EZ had brought his Xbox 360 along to play games and bet against Philly. Cobra tried his best to focus on the details, but his anger and anxiousness wouldn’t allow his mind to relax. Cramped up in the back of this cruiser, I can’t concentrate for anything. Who the fuck did this to me?

Philly had dipped around two a.m after a heated exchange wit’ his girl. As usual, she checked his ass, and he left. Shit, he picked the right time to listen to his chick. Summer came through spent a few dollars, talked her shit, and rolled out. Normal stuff. He dismissed her from his radar just like that. Maggie pulled up on them around five-thirty a.m. She counted nine hundred and asked for a sandwich bag, all in one motion. He handed her a stick of CT—Cobra Time—and she wasted no time; the wind was at Maggie’s back.

EZ’s phone rang around six-thirty. Reluctantly, I answered and told Kissy to come on. She strolled through at seven, copped a few bags, and slid. Nothing odd stuck out about her, he pondered. The door was kicked in at seven-thirty. No, not my baby, Kissy. He battled mentally with the thought that she was a CI. The idea disappeared just as quickly as it came. Kissy was too sturdy for that.

Unit 17, we have a 10-39 in progress. All patrols in the area respond to the Walmart on Wilton Blvd.

Cobra’s thoughts were interrupted by the patrol’s radio. At the same time, they were pulling in the precinct’s garage, and reality set back in. As soon as they entered the precinct, it was like a welcoming party for Cobra.

There he is, the man they call, Cobra. We finally caught up with ya, huh? The front desk officer had a coke-and-smile look plastered on his face.

Real funny, dick head, Cobra mumbled under his breath.

A tall white male officer came waltzing through a side door. Hey, I remember you, he said, escorting a black guy over to be fingerprinted. Dude was covered in mud and smelled real bad. From the looks of it, Cobra guessed he was hiding in a ditch or something. He didn’t blame him. When you got to get up out of there, you got to get to getting.

Naw, can’t be me, you remember. You must be mistaking me for someone else. Cobra’s confused expression showed no recollection of the officer’s accusations.

Yeah, it’s you. I pulled you over a couple of months back on New Castle Avenue in front of Gordan’s Pizza.

Not me.

Yes, you. You were in that uh pretty silverish purple Grand Marquis, really dark tint. And to think, I had you in my grasp and let you slip away.

Oh, you recognize this guy? Officer Florez butted in.

Sure do.

Now, you see, the whole team knows the Cobra. They’re calling him New Castle’s number one dope man. Shit, we were hunting you down like Pablo Escobar.

Get the fuck outta here. You couldn’t have been. Pause. Listen here, man. I don’t sleep on anything but pillows. You can’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining, Cobra said.

Believe us when we tell you, you were side-stepping our trap every time we were closing in on ya. We figured we weren’t dealing with the average crumb snatching nickel and dimer. We had a serious problem on our hands. A guy, their calling Cobra, spreading a lot of crack and heroin in the area. Pretty ballsy beings though you’re not from around here. Hey, Officer Thomas, can you do me a small one? Can you take Mr. Neeko here back to uh... he paused, looking at the cell board, back to, no, just put him in cell number eight.

Neeko, this way, sir, directed Officer Thomas.

On my third strike, wow, Cobra, you did it this time didn’t you. They going bury me ten years or more. I fucked up somewhere. Richie always said, pay attention to your blind spots. All of ’em! Officer Thomas was escorting Cobra to his holding cell when he noticed two task force officers bringing EZ through the sliding door. Damn, lil bro, they locked eyes for three seconds and understood one thing: two days. Two days was a saying they learned from the character, Avon, from the show, The Wire. Avon had said, You only do two days in jail: the day you go in and the day you come out.

Cobra’s reality was walking right beside him like a shadow. You can’t run, you can’t hide—no matter how low or high, its always there. Always there with an opened palm ready to smack the shit out of you. Fucking boys ran down on us and crippled our entire thing. Well, not the whole thing. The girls were still round like a nipple. They flew under the law’s radar the entire time they were watching him. One thing, Cobra still had five faces out there. You’re not finished, a voice whispered in his mind. Richie?

Three hours later, handcuffed to a chair, facing Detective Bains was the situation; a situation Cobra anticipated for three hours laying on a concrete slab.

Look, Neeko, I’m not going to sugar coat this thing. We have a substantial amount of evidence against you, sir. We’re talking fentanyl overdoses dating back to November 2015. Bains was hyping it. He reached into his desk and pulled out a thick brown file. This right here, Mr. Cobra, is all about you, sir. It covers your drug dealing  activities throughout New Castle, Bear, and Newark, Delaware. Oh, and not to mention the motels up and down Pulaski Highway. We have your entire operation down to a science.

Do you now? Cobra blurted, thinking out loud.

You shitting me or kidding me? What you think this file contains your medical records? Hell-to-the-no-buddy. This file is the meat and potatoes of it all. A fully detailed script of your day-to-day operations. What do you think of that, huh? Thought y’all were slick, hanging at Hooters, selling your trash in their fine establishment. Lotta girls like you there. Said ya’ll tip well.

That so-called file of evidence you have detective is not sufficient. Whoever you’re getting your info from is taking you for a long walk through a short park.

You wanna fuck with me, Neeko, huh? You wanna play games like this isn’t your doing? I’ll make sure the judge throws the gavel at your black ass. Bains’s composure was gone.

Is everything OK, sir? an officer asked, storming through the door. Bains mean-mugged the guy something serious. Only if looks could kill, the officer would have been laid out flat like a rug.

I got this officer.

The officer left as quickly as he came.

"I’m not fucking with you. I’m asking