Spider Web of Conspiracy

By DV Anderson

This work is about an investigating reporter. Marcus Wilton.

Reporter, Marcus Wilton, has a strong sense of duty. He writes a daily column and front spread feature articles on getting justice for the underrepresented. People call on his help when the judicial system and all else fails. and is at wit end. he was their last resort. The big conglomerates media shy away from those suffering the oppression of injustice. It wasn’t news worthy, until it becomes news. Then like vulture the feeding frenzy starts This is why he report and will not stay silent; Marcus has been called a loose cannon when his investigation brings about the fall from grace of powerful individual who thought they were above the law. many truths have been exposed because of his articles. Political giants who have been manipulating the law for decades.

*****

What inspires me? [one] always the changing season {two words] and [three] languages. Each in their yearly abode fills me with revolving inspiration. Seeing life through the eyes of time. Each have an ever-ongoing amazing story to tell. Words in its wonderful alluring seductiveness. Words seduce mind soul and spirit. One runs with it laugh with it cries with it and marvel at it unravel and reveal new avenues, crescents, byways broad and narrow openings. Words allow us to expresses it with million-fold intensity. One word sown in sadness or joyful gladness releases in fulness; several hundred thousand words page turner. So delightful. One sit down to write and enter into the mystery of words; and onto that countless way that will take us in many twists and turns. And yes, we can still find the… Unique. Words with many connections; like planets and stars in the universe. Words have a real presence and a grand consistency. And languages. Not of nations, country or region of people; but of people as worked related. A police officer speaks with a language much different from a solicitor, barrister or judge. So different from the everyday Joe and Jane. Doctors, and those within the medical field have another kind. Criminals also have this separate language especially those in organised crime. The mafia drug dealers and suppliers. Street peddlers market stall traders. Stock market traders extricate from all others language, and is embedded with signs. The picture I am trying to paint is of autumn leaves in the fall. Nature colours at their natural best.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665598415

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© 2022 DV ANDERSON. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  05/20/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9842-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9841-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

FOR ACE

THE OVER COMER

With phenomenal courage, you balance,

you centred, you make the plan

Against all the odds, against all obstacles

focusing on your goal

So, proud of you

Well done ACE. THE CREATOR has certainly blessed you

with success from ashes

33678.png

I nvestigating reporter Marcus Wilton

was on his mobile to the CID HQ about a drug-warring faction in a shootout at a barber shop.

A five-man committee was about to discuss reigning him in for special services with CARDS (Criminal Accountability Recon and Dismantling Services). An action that would drastically change his life forever, if he agrees. CARDS is a covert operative group with worldwide executive power. They have highly active inland power against extremists and have advanced into international operations after the 9/11 atrocities on the World Trade Centre. They are in the dark, outside governmental interference. CARDS was founded by twelve noble men. CARDS’s unimpeded protection of country has carried on for generations. Citizens are so unaware of untold atrocities and near-disasters eliminated. CARDS is just one of the many details guarding the country. Citizens carry on with their lives with a sense of normality.

On this bright spring morning, so much like a summer’s day, death came calling. The time recorded by the reporter was 11:20 a.m. One gang decided to take another gang out of the illegal drug business. Twelve men’s lives were snuffed out.

The barber shop frontage painted leave green. A big sign a top the entrance with bold gold raised lettering [HAIR ART BARBER SHOP] Several male models’ photos framed inside the wide window; showed off the latest hair designs. Popular hair art, fashioned for the up-and-coming street trends.

Four cars screeched to a stop just outside the barber shop. A group of tough-looking men wearing balaclavas jumped out, each man had a different coloured bandana around his neck. The well-known fact is that the colour of the bandana signified rank within the gang. Marcus had been trailing the gang from the night before after receiving a cryptic message. He slept in his car some distance away from the gang’s hide out. As the four cars stopped, he slowed in order to hang back briefly. Then he pulled over to the other side of the road. The Topper gang, with guns in hands, moved swiftly to their targets—sunlight reflected off their guns with each hurried movement of their arms. They burst into the barber shop. Twelve men in heated conversations were caught off guard. An early morning attack on the Hurs gang members. Topper’s guns blazed away as they entered the property. Hell broke loose. What in tarnation! Exclaimed Marcus. A broad daylight shoot out? Marcus punched numbers in his phone. This has to go directly to CID HQ. This is Marcus Wilton, Frontline News reporter.

"Yes, Mr Wilton. How can I help you?

There is a gang drug war going down on East and Pine Street at a barber shop in Greeson, and shots have been fired.

What! Are you there now?

Yes, send a squad. Several armed men rushed inside the shop shooting.

Officer Watson muted the line to the reporter as he dialled through to the section dealing with drugs and gangs. I just got a call from a reporter who says shots have been fired in a drug gang war on East and Pine Street at a barber shop beside a photo studio. He took a deep breath. The reporter says he is still at the scene.

Officer Watson, did the reporter give his name?

Marcus Wilton.

Thanks.

The desk Sargent released the on-hold button and spoke into the phone. The squad is on the way; don’t get caught in crossfire. But the Sargant was met with an eerie silence. He frowned, a bit perplexed. Hell, I hope that wasn’t a hoax call.

The DCI turned to the crew and said, Gang war. Protective gear on. Let’s go. Sirens went off. Six unmarked police vehicles with lights flashing raced off. They were on the scene in minutes. Cautiously, they moved toward the shop and peered in. The sight through the window was shocking; their eyes widened at the scene inside. A massacre. No time for subtlety; holding protective body shields, they entered the property in a rush. Shots were still firing off. This is the police! Drop your weapons! Now! Men scattered in every escapable direction, firing wildly. This was no gang war, sir. This was a slaughter. Police officers waiting outside the property at doors and windows foiled would-be escapees’ plan. There was no escape. Police moved in quickly, cornering criminals. Hell, broke loose here, sir.

If this is what they do to their own, I shudder to think—

Hey, don’t let your mind go there, PC Green said. This is broad daylight. He checked the time; it was 11:35 a.m. The sun hadn’t yet centred.

Turf war. No respect for the law. It’s like the bloody Wild West with these drug thugs. DCI Blaze replied.

The head of the gang under attack was Arthur Benson, known as Art. He named his gang from the three last letters of his first name, Hur. As the attack started, Art had rush to a back room. He knew the fearless Duque E would follow him though, thinking Art a coward running off to hide. But two Hurs were waiting. Art and his two top men cornered Duque E. Duque E had gone in the barber shop with his guns blazing, but now he held his prized machete, which he pulls from down the side of his baggy trousers. As Art legged it to the back, he shouted code one. The two Hurs in the room readied themselves, pulled their guns. Code one was a signal the gang understood well. Duque E rushed in, machete in hand. His eyes bulged with hateful glee, an open-mouthed grin slit his face as he walks towards Art, who was a standing in the far corner. He lifted the machete high to swing at Art. In the same instant, his knees buckled. Bullets pommelled his legs, and put him to the floor in a kneeling frame. Two more to his abdomen. Blood spurted out. Shock was on his face. His mouth opened but no sound came forth. He fell backward. His legs twisted under him. His head bounced like a football being dribbled. The look on his rival’s face said it all. The vicious killer knew the end had come for him. He had fallen with his hand out to swing his weapon. His thoughts swelled in fury; his body writhed in silent screams. What the hell’s happening? It was midnight when he planned the attack. It was Art who should be on the floor. Duque E’s eyes shot venomous daggers, the only fight his body could muster. Then his body convulsed with lightning pain. The three Hurs, gathered to him, smiling.

You didn’t see this going down, did you? Hmm? You don’t look so mighty now, Art said, gazing into Duque E’s venomous eyes.

Noooo, said Justine. Those are the eyes of a poisonous snake.

Chace pried the machete from Duque E’s death grasp. His fingers had tightened around the handle of his machete as he entered the back room. Chase says So you love to dismember your rivals. Well, here goes the same to you. Just then a voice gave loud command. This is the police! Drop your weapons. Now! The three men, without hesitation, simultaneously loaded bullets to the head of the man on the floor. They moved swiftly to the cupboard with hanging barber bibs, slid the back panel down, entered a narrow passageway, without entering the photo studio, and went down a flight of stairs. Then they ran through the drains for two miles. They exited onto a dead-end back road from a manhole. There were high wall concrete buildings on both sides of the industrial site, keeping the road secluded.

I just can’t believe the luck of that bastard, shouted Art. He let off a barbaric scream. I wanted to gut and limb that bastard as he looked on his own death, till he grasped his last breath. He screamed and viciously punched the air; he let lose his pent-up anger.

I feel the same, said Justine. The other gang member said nothing. He was pacing about. Then he slumped onto the road, he put his hands to his head, his body rocking. Chace, what with you? Justine asks.

Our friends are either dead or in police custody. Chase replies’ deep worry grove his face.

Art frowned. Those who are dead we will bury and take care of their family; for those in custody, we will lawyer up. Let’s go. We has plans to make.

Chase says, I don’t get it—we never attack the Toppers, we don’t retaliate when they take out one of ours, we don’t sell designer drugs. That’s three big don’ts.

This time we will. This time we will attack. Toppers, won’t know when or where. Art voice filled with rage. This time we will reduce their number to zero. Art replies.

Yes, let’s do it. agree Justine, they have no right breathing the same air we do.

The sun was instantly shrouded by ominous clouds. Justine looked skyward. He smiled a smile that was as unpleasant as it could get.

Art says, Duque E thinks the county is not big enough. Let’s show that gang they are right. Toppers see us as easy targets! Let’s rain hell on them.

All the way with you says Justine, as he helps, Chace from the pavement.

We will hit them periodically, said Art. They then walk off like soldiers on a covert mission.

Arthur Benson had never had a brush-in with the law. He dropped into crime when things had gone sideways with his family. He used his ill-begotten gains from cannabis to set things right. He also diversified into barber shops. So far, the Hurs worked eight shops legally. He intends to open, Hair Art barber shops; throughout many cities with his group of Hurs working within the law. Now death had come calling. And he would answer viciously.

Back in the barber shop, a few Toppers ran to the back room to find an escape route. They were stopped speechless at the sight of Duque E’s twisted, dead body on the floor. Sligo had seen him pull out his machete as he had followed Art; Sligo knew that Duque E did not need help putting Art down. But something had shifted. Now Duque E was here dead and Art, was nowhere in sight; and neither was Duque E, prize machete he loves to brandish. What the hell happens; how did Art, outsmart Duque E? He looks up thinking the attic; but the roof was solid concrete. Sligo was confused. Just as he was about to rip the cupboard doors off. The police enter. ON THE FLOOR NOW … HANDS ON YOUR HEAD. Two officers train their weapons on the gang members, as the other officer put cuffs on. Then he pulls his weapon, cautiously opens the cupboard; with his baton he pushes the clothing. Okay. Clear. One officer says You lot have been busy and it is not yet noon; what else did you have planned for the rest of the day? Another PC, says, If this is half day work; I would hate to see, a full day work. The other says, Or a week. They must be aliens, hey, are you lot humans? the gang men were haul to their feet. Two glared at the officers. Two held their head down. Out … Move it, you lot. Take a good look around; when walking to the wagon. Your time of freedom is numbered." Officer Blanchard, know he should not taunt the prisoners; but these were inhuman scumbags

For the second time that morning Marcus call the CID, HQ; It was while the raid was in progress. "CID, HQ.

Officer, I call about the drug gang a few minutes ago, Marcus says

Officers are at the scene as we speak. Answer the desk Sargent."

I know, I am here also. This is something else … I overheard talk about a house they have in use, at Richman Way, for storing supplies, maybe it worth a few officers; should investigate, they are on the alert could be moving fast

You do … do you? Giving orders to the police force; are you? asks the desk Sargent.

"Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Marc growl, switching off.

"Oh hell, bloody reporter, touting himself up. But he made the call. DC Peters, took the call. Then speak to the DCI,

Sir, I think we will need a warrant … this lot have a connection at Richman Way.

DCI Blaze, raise his brow. No way, retort the DCI, that’s a dignified residential area … those properties run in millions … Hmm. Get forensic, I want finger prints from top to bottom get the medical examiner down here and wrap this up … he pauses … search their pockets, we don’t want any surprise at the station … bag everything; and get a wagon for this lot … we can’t shift them in cars. I will see to the warrant DCI Blaze got on the phone; then nods to a few officers to follow him. The morning was warming up and the body armour was getting uncomfortable. There was no getting out of it, until they face down the second lot.

Marc took photos of the line-up of police vehicles; then got out of his car. It was now high noon. The sun high energy searing. He ran up close to the barber shop, through a window taking shots of the carnage inside; before officers return to cordon off with crime scene tape. There was a visible tremor of his hands; he felt physically sick at the sight. Man to man is so vicious. What could possess men such evil in a face down gang war. He did not know it then; but the time was coming when he would realise the depth to which any man could fall. Answering his own question then. Just as he was walking briskly away from the carnage; three police officers with crime scene tape, start cordon the area around the barber shop. It wasn’t the usual yellow, but the blue and white like the pattern on some squad cars, he wonders at the significant of blue or yellow crime scene tape. The cordon off premise and pavement would be a big inconvenience. Pedestrian would now have to verge onto the road; when walking by.

Marcus had been following, Duque E, for a few weeks. The man was as evil to those who work the streets for him; and just as merciless as those who are caught from other gang in his acclaim patch. It was whisper he rubber tyre and burn his victims alive. The man also an assassin for hire. His evil knows no bounds. He had to be captured before; Marcus sends of his telescopic recorded evidence; to put the beast away for life. He was recorded with four men; knelling with hoods covering their face; hands raised above their head. Duque E, walks behind the four; swing a two side sharpen machete chopping both hands off his four victims. Marcus, had tip off, the police anonymously; but when the police arrived, the scene was as clean as a rain-washed street. For weeks Marcus had nightmare about the incident. it wasn’t pay back as an act of revenge against something done against him. It was Just to show who is the boss. He is a cold-blooded killer; If Duque E, hadn’t been killed in that shoot out; and is now in police custody; this evidence will put him away for life. Marcus preferred the man be dead; although death would let him escape justice; but with the shoot-out death; he would have met the rough kind he lived by.

At the house on Richman Way. There was no response to the police knocking.

"Where are the helps? Asks PC Dyke. He lifts the lion head brass buzzer a second time, giving three knocks. No one answer. DCI Blaze, looks at the officer, and nodded. He forces the lock. They enter. The house was pristine. As beautiful as magazine display.

"A place as this must have servants, where are they? PC Dyke asks.

"Work late evening as not to disturb the boss. Blake replies.

Wow, was his response.

"Really, says, PC Barth, this is how drug dealers live?

DCI Blaze, remarks "this is no drug dealer house. After clearing the downstairs area. They head upstairs. A gruesome find. The couple lying on the bed was dead. DCI Blaze moves closer to the bed. Rigor mortis had set in. dead, a day or two. He calls forensic and medical examiner. In the past twenty years on the force; he has had his share of looking at death natural or unnatural. This looks like suicide or a murder cleverly concocted. Could also be an accident. His gut feeling, was accident.

Late afternoon DCI Blaze enters the morgue. Ah, I was hoping you would stop by says the M. E.

"Well, your wish is granted, what have we got? asks the DCI

The couple over dose on a mix cocktail of unidentifiable drugs. It must be new … send sample from stomach off to the lab."

The DCI, nods thoughtfully, then says, okay, call me as the report comes in. He walks away quickly. Taps numbers into his phone, PC Barth, are all the drugs still at the station?

Yes, boss.

Good don’t let it leave your sight.

Right, you are sir … PC Barth frown; now what; then his frown deepened, hmm, what’s up with him? this is a secure unit no one can just happen in. Better be safe than sorry. Just as he put the lot in the steel safe. His phone bleeps. Looking at the caller ID, PC Barth raise his brow. Yes, sir?

Barth get a two-man uniform crew to keep a five-day watch on the barber shop and a daily patrol drive by … we are going to hear about shutting the gate after the horse bolted; but I have a feeling this is not over.

Right, you are sir.

Sligo, one of the Toppers gang members; mind was in torment, he was thinking of ways to cut himself free from the gang. Unknown to the gang he was doing an online business course. Now with Duque E, death, Oneman, will head the gang, all of us who came here today; will rot in prison. Unless? Unless he plead out, but if words get out, he would be branded an informer, his life in prison would be on lose hinge angling to his death. I will have to think about this carefully. What the hell, what is there to think about, but saving myself. If they offer a deal, I will take it. And with that thought, Sligo, pulls his legs up to his chest, his head to his knees and fell into a troubled asleep. Visions of Duque E, twisted bullet riddle body; his eyes glaring at him. But his eyes weren’t open, he says out loud. Coming out of his fear induced sleep. He opens his own eyes looking at the other three.

Whose eyes, asks the others in chorus?

Did you see Duque E, before the coppers took him one of the gang’s members ask?

No man, no one seen him replies Sligo

Think he escape, another gang member asks?

Ramon, a nineteen-year-old gang member, quivers as if he was going into an epilepsy melt down.

Let’s not talk about it, Sligo blurt out.

These four members of the gang was in a windowless lock-up not bigger than a small garden shed. It smells of unwashed bodies, and stale urine. Sligo was feeling thirsty, he got up, bangs on the door. A a-four slot opens at the top of the door. What with the racket? ask a duty police officer

Can I have some water please? Sligo asks

Really, you have a nerve. Says, the officer

Hey, copper, you are not the judge or jury, all I ask for is a drink. Sligo replied

A few minutes after, four bottle water was toss through the slot.

Thanks said Sligo.

There was no answer. Sligo picks up the bottles, give one each to the others.

Ramon says, Sligo, don’t piss of those cops, you will make it bad for us.

What can they do … they are cops … they obey the law. He replies

Ramon, the nineteen-year-old youth on his day of initiation. Forced into action to save his sister from the brutal Duque E. He hadn’t fired a shot. He was the first of the Topper gang to get injury at the barber shop. It was only superficial, but he had lain on the floor in terror. Now he will be locked away for life. There were no getting out of it. A Topper is known as a dangerous person. His thoughts turn homeward, what was happening at home? his family without cover. I will seek bargaining with the prosecutor. A good solicitor will know how to work the case; but will the court give good solicitor to gang members. Fear pounding away his head.

Ramon sat in the cell, quietly. But his inside was going like a category seven earth quake. "Will I ever lie on sands by the beach in bright sunlight; before I am forty-five? He sighs out loud. But did not speak what was on his mind. Then a thought hit him, he could plead out; he had no choice, he acted under duress, he had heard talk about it, mitigating circumstances. Do or die. I would get less jail time; I need a lawyer, urgently. Christ, I need help now.

Duque E, was born 28 March 1981. 39 when he was killed. His death did not leave a vacuum in his gang or his illegal drug trade; a gap in the heroin market, his replacement was always just a step behind. Oneman and the rest of the gang not engage with the shootout, was on collection detail. The news reaches him by 2pm. Oneman, you hear what went down? ask Treo, a Topper gang member.

What could have gone down … Duque E, is in control? Oneman answers. Treo pulls out his mobile search the news, puts his phone on speaker. Here it is. [The country is in an uproar over the latest gang war. Thirteen men have died and eight are in police custody. Four of the eight in custody have been hospitalised as critical. Among the dead are leader of a gang name Topper. The leader’s name Duque E, was shot seven times, also, four of his henchmen were killed. According to informed sources, most of the dead gang men are of a rival gang, The Hurs. The police commissioner and the DCI of the drug squad, will be giving a press release; about this latest incident. The fight against this dangerous illegal substance; is a never-ending battle. We have heard promises made each time. But it seems the drug kingpins are invincible. The war on drug is not only with the authorities but also among gangs. And where there is war, blood will flow, as in this morning sad incident; as the blood of seventeen gang members from two gangs did flow. Thirteen deaths and four critical]

Oneman, smiles, so, I am the topman now. Good. Wider smiles; as he looks at the other; his head nodding as if in rhythm to his own music. The old man is gone. My time begins. Oneman, went into a room, pull out his tarot cards. Trumps [The Wheel of Fortune] Oneman eyes gleam with anticipation. Good start, he says out loud. A damn good start, he continues to read [you can guarantee this card signifies significant changes. These maybe recent, ongoing, or due to happen soon. You should prepare yourself for the huge change coming your way] Oneman rubbed both hands together with glee. He walks out of the room in a rush. We are having one day of celebration … today. Then he laughs for a few seconds. The gang wonder what was so amusing. The captain had died and four of their friends. Then between the laugh he says. Did you hear what I just say? One day celebration. One day, for Oneman. He begins another bout of laughter. That night he dressed in Duque E, flashiest suit; before hitting the night club. He had a rousing night, nothing was excluded. Exits the night club at 3am. Highly intoxicated on alcohol and power. He was about to enter his car when a sucker punch baseball bat blow took him by surprise. Aughhhhhhh." The one sound from him; echoes in the stillness. Then rains of blows, from three Hurs, baseball bats assault his body. After a while he did not feel the blows. Beaten into unconsciousness. Blood poured from open head wounds; his head well battered; no doctor could save him. He bled out.

His body was found by refuse collectors; on their early morning round. They call 911. Waited until the ambulance arrival. Both paramedics carrying a stretcher; rush to the man lying between two cars. They tried to revive him. It was hopeless. The man had bled out. At the hospital he was written as dead on arrival. Oneman, one night celebration was indeed, one. In different locations two other of the Toppers were killed. The Hurs who went in for the kill, on Toppers, leaving night club, on their night of celebration. Did so without showing emotion. No cheering or victory sign. They nod, then hurry into the unlighted dawn. Eight of their friends were killed. Their lives will be avenged. No Topper will be left wounded. Death only, will suffice. It was a busy night for the officers. They had just left a crime scene where two others had been killed. These officers, arrived on the scene close on the ambulance. Another gangland butchering. The DCI talks with the ambulance crew quietly. An officer quickly, takes photo of the crime scene and that of the victim along with his finger print. The DCI, surmised; it was a tit for tat killing. But they had nothing to go on. They thoroughly search the area; but came up empty.

We, should arrest all of the Hurs gang until one talk, voice DC Blake. He looks from top of the road to where the body lies. Then on buildings along both sides of the road. No surveillance attached to any.

Let it rest for a while they are bound to make a wrong move soon, says the DCI. Let’s finish up here.

Back in the squad room. The Hurs topman is very clever, said DC Peters. I was wondering how he escapes the barber shop incident?

Maybe out on other business; now he is taking, Toppers out, one at a time DCI Blaze comment

It’s not like he can come out and openly accuse the Toppers gang … they have their own band of justice. DC Blake says.

So, the blood shed is inevitably? asks PC Blanchard.

There will be cries of outrage … we keep this out of the news, at all cost; I did mention this to the paramedics, the DCI says, the body goes direct to the morgue

What then, is the solution? The Toppers have open hell gates declare PC Blanchard

And we will close It replies the DCI.

Right or wrong, street gangs have their own code of ethics. says PC Blanchard.

A locked in conviction says DC Peters.

What does that mean? asks another PC who had just enter the squad room.

Eight of the Toppers must equally be killed. PC Barth answers.

I have an idea They all turn to look at the DCI. He smiles. Have to sleep on it. he says walking to his office.

Marcus has a stack of write ups, ready for Front Line News; front page publication. He would start off with the photos of the men emerging from their vehicles and their rush in with guns blazing. He wasn’t in a rush to print the articles of the massacre straight off. He was getting ready for a seven-day headline run.

Two day later, Marcus, phone to speak with DCI Blazington.

Mr Wilton, what can I do for you?

What I heard on the news… is it true … The Toppers, boss, a man name Duque E, did he die in that shot out, or was he arrested?

The DCI deliberate for a moment if he should be straightforward with him or not

Straight to the point … a true reporter.

I find it is best that way replies Marcus, in a clip voice.

Why are you interested in that no-good hoodlum, who should not be call human?

"I have information to put him away for life, but only if he is in locked down … Marcus clears his throat; too many lives will be put at risk