Last Call

Chapter 35

Moses was in Atlanta by noon.

His new car was nowhere near as stylish as the one he'd swapped out at the chop shop, but with a dead state trooper under his belt, the last thing he needed while cruising up the interstate was a set of wheels with gang markings. He'd driven all night, keeping his speed at or below the limit, stopping for gas only after he was as far north of the Florida state line as his bladder could stand. His second stop came several hours later at the famous Varsity fast-food restaurant, a greasy-spoon of an institution with irresistible chili dogs and onion rings. It was on Atlanta's north side, directly across the expressway from Georgia Tech, which meant that the lunch time crowd rivaled that of Times Square on New Year's Eve. Moses ordered his food to go, added a chocolate shake to make his overindulgence complete, used his turn signal as he exited the parking lot, and continued on his law-abiding way up the interstate and into Gwi

Atlanta's most dangerous gangs weren't only in the city. They ruled from the suburbs.

Compared to Miami's Overtown, the metropolitan area northeast of Atlanta was like a forest. Unlike Overtown, however, developers in these parts didn't make a habit of taking the money from banks or housing authorities and ru

On a middle-class street behind a supermarket, Moses found the address he was looking for. It was a ranch-style house that needed a paint job and landscaping, but so did most of the seventies-vintage residences around it. He counted nine cars that had arrived ahead of him, four in the driveway and five on the street. This concerned him. He'd thought only one person knew he was coming – Levon Dawkins.

Moses parked at the curb by the mailbox and hit speed-dial number one on his cell phone. He'd been smart enough to stash the phone before his arrest and maintain the service even while incarcerated. No way could he afford to lose his programmed numbers.

Levon Dawkins was inside the house when he answered on his cell.

Moses said, "What's with all the cars?"

"No worries. Ain't here for you, dude. "The noise in the background was making it hard for Moses to hear him. Men were shouting, music was blaring.

"Then what you got?" said Moses.

"Two initiations today. You're just in time to see the second."

Moses smiled with curiosity. He'd heard stories about the things young men would do to become a Gangster Disciple, but he'd never seen an initiation rite.

"You're cool with me watching?" said Moses.

"Cool with it? I insist."

"Thanks, dude."

"Don't thank me, fool. You need to see what it takes to become a GD," he said, his tone taking on even more bravado. "And why nobody deserves more respect."

Moses ended the call, stepped out of his car, and headed up the walkway. Not many people could talk down to him and live to tell about it, but Levon was different. Gangster Disciples wasn't just one of the most violent Chicago gangs aligned under Folk Nation. It was also one of the best organized, modeled after a corporation. Cocaine was their mainstay, and Levon was a major player in the wholesale distribution market, supplying mostly retail crack dealers. Lately, the Hispanic gangs had been eating everyone's lunch in Atlanta. Levon was down on assignment from the Windy City to implement Project MAC – Miami-Atlanta-Chicago – and to secure GD's position in the southeast. To that end, building an alliance between GD and O-Town Posse was a top priority, both for Levon and for Moses.

"Who the fugg're you?" said the muscular black man in the doorway. The front door was only half open, and his huge frame prevented Moses from seeing the source of all the racket inside. He wore a red Atlanta Falcons jersey, but the number – Michael Vick's 7 – was nearly covered with the gaudy gold bling hanging around his neck. The rest of his outfit had the telltale right-sided tilt of Folk Nation – black cap with the bill cocked to the right, the right pant leg of his baggy jeans rolled up to the ankle, no shoelaces in the right basketball shoe. He wore a diamond stud earring only in his right ear.

Moses gave the attitude right back to him. "Who the fuck are your

The door jerked wide open, giving the doorman a start, and suddenly Levon was standing in the doorway. "Get inside," he told Moses.

Moses entered. Levon shut the door and secured it with the deadbolt and the chain. He and Moses exchanged the symbolic handshake that marked them as gangsters aligned under Folk Nation, and then Levon led him down the hall to a large, windowless media room in the back of the house. Rap music blasted from state-of-the-art surround-sound equipment, and all of the furniture had been stacked against the opposite wall to create a large open space. About twenty young men were standing around in small groups, all dressed more or less like the doorman. They talked and laughed as several vials of cocaine changed hands, each gangster taking a hit when it came his way Several bottles of coconut-flavored rum were also making the rounds. A movie played on the plasma-screen television mounted on the wall – some hot blonde chick on her knees trying to decide which of three black studs to suck first.

"Do me!" said one of Levon's men, exposing himself to the TV screen.

"Bitch wants a meal, not a snack," said another.

Loud cursing and shoving followed, but it was quickly broken up.

Moses noticed a guy lying flat in the fetal position on the floor beside the couch. He appeared to be breathing, but his face was a battered mess, and his shirt was drenched in his own blood.

"Wa

Conversations faded into silence, and someone lowered the music. The fact that Moses was standing to Levon's right was the first indicator of his importance. Levon said, "This here's Moses. He's my new main man in Miami. He'll be staying with me a while, till the heat cools in Florida."

Hiding from law enforcement in another jurisdiction was one of the biggest advantages of an alliance with a national gang like Gangster Disciples. Most of these guys struck Moses as expendable morons, but any gangster was smart enough to grasp that Levon's reference to the heat in Florida had nothing to do with the weather.

"What's the crime?" asked the doorman.

Levon answered for him. "Murder."

"Killed a state trooper," said Moses.

"Cool," said another.

"Twelve hours after he got outta prison," added Levon.

A guy with a rum bottle flashed a mouthful of gold teeth." Very cool"

Moses' status was established immediately.

Levon said, "Moses has full rights of a Gangster Disciple while he's here. So bring on the next wa

The men howled like drunken football fans. The rap music cranked up again, and Blondie, the on-screen porn star, was working feverishly on stud number two. A pair of older gang members left the room and returned with a fifteen-year-old black youth who was already blindfolded and stripped to the waist. Crude tattoos covered his chest and arms, and his head was covered with a black-and-yellow bandana. As they led him to the center of the room, it was difficult to tell who was having a harder time walking a straight line, the soldiers or the wa

Levon went to the wa