Chapter Five #2
It was seven thirty-six p.m., and Crown was locked inside his home office, focused on the high-rise office his firm had been hired to design.
His business world didn’t give a fuck about his personal problems. Work still had to get done, and moves still had to be made.
With another meeting coming up soon, he needed to be sharp.
The client wanted to see progress, updated renderings, layout revisions, and the latest notes from a site walk-through.
Crown refused to disappoint. His reputation meant everything.
He’d been in the game long enough to know that word of mouth was powerful.
Treat the right people well, and they’d send everyone they knew his way.
Over the years, he’d lost count of the referrals he’d received.
His Dell Precision glowed in front of him, layered renderings pulled up as he reviewed load points, structural spans, and interior flow.
Crown worked with intention, double-checking measurements, refining elevations, and tightening the details.
He stayed locked in until soft footsteps broke his concentration.
He looked up.
Nivéa stepped inside, and he took in how comfortable she looked now.
Something shifted in him at the sight. It made him feel good that he could give her that kind of calm so quickly, that even in the middle of a storm, he could make her feel safe.
She’d changed into one of his T-shirts, the fabric slipping off one shoulder, paired with leggings.
“Hey, I thought your mama was coming by?” she asked.
“She is. She just had to straighten up the crib first, fussin’ about Danger tearing up her shit. Trust me, she’s coming.”
Nivéa laughed. “Okay, I’m going to lie down until then since Ny is napping. I guess we can have that talk when she’s gone, and you’re done.”
Crown was about to respond when his phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen and saw Smoky’s name.
“Aight, ma. I got you.” He said.
“Okay,” Nivéa replied before walking away.
“Sup, bro?” Crown answered the phone as soon as she was out of sight.
“Danger just pulled up.” Smoky told him.
Crown exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening.
He’d told Danger to keep his ass in the house, sit down and heal, and that grief didn’t mean he should throw his life away.
Moving around on that injured leg would only slow him down and get him killed.
But Danger didn’t give a fuck to listen.
He’d been ready to crash out ever since Lil Mo’s death, the pain drowning out any fear of the consequences.
“The fuck for? My mama just told that nigga to go straight home. He’s supposed to be healing.”
“That’s what I told him, but he’s not trying to hear it. You know how stubborn he is. He wants to ride out with us to handle the clubhouse.”
Crown leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Stall him. I’m on the way.”
There was a brief pause.
“Aight, and one more thing.”
“Yeah, bro?”
“Pete’s here with some other muthafucka, trying to meet with you. He says he’s been calling but can’t get through to any of your burners. It’s urgent.”
Crown glanced at the desk, dragging a hand down his face.
He’d turned both burners off on purpose to focus on Nivéa and getting some work done.
The streets could wait until tomorrow, he thought.
He’d handle whatever needed handling then, including Boe.
But like his father used to say, “As soon as you get comfortable, life shifts. And niggas like us don’t clock out. We just pause.”
“Aight, tell him to sit tight.”
Crown ended the call, stood up, and headed toward his bedroom. Nivéa had just climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her body when he entered. He kept the air on sixty at night, and she looked cold. He made a mental note to turn the heater on as he sat beside her on the bed.
He met her gaze, his hands finding their place at her waist, steadying both of them.
He hated the thought of leaving her, especially after everything she’d been through.
He didn’t want to upset her either. Would she be pissed?
Disappointed? He didn’t really know where they stood now, but something in Crown felt like she owned him regardless of their status.
All he wanted was to make her happy, keep her safe, and keep her satisfied.
“I gotta go handle somethin’. I didn’t plan on leaving y’all, but this can’t wait. It’s about my bro.”
Nivéa’s stomach tightened. “Is he okay?” she asked nervously, fearing that another tragedy had struck.
“Yeah, he’s good. I’m just trying to make sure it stays that way. He’s not resting like the doctor told him to. I gotta slide up to the clubhouse and get him to go home.”
“Okay. How long will you be?”
“I ain’t gon’ lie to you, ma—”
“I don’t want you to lie to me. Tell me the truth, Ahmad.” She reached up, cupping his face.
Crown took her hand and kissed it. “I don’t know how long. It could be late as fuck by the time I get back. Some other shit popped up too. But don’t worry, you’re safe here. It’s well secured, and only family knows where I rest my head.”
“Okay,”
“You cool with my mama still coming through? I can tell her we headed to bed if you ain’t all the way comfortable dealing with her by yourself yet.”
“No, don’t do that. It’s fine.”
“You sho?”
“I’m positive.”
“Aight, here, ma. Take this. Call me if you need me.” Crown pulled his business cell from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I’ll be back, and I promise we gon’ have that talk.”
Nivéa hugged him, trusting him. He kissed her forehead without lingering because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t leave her side.
Crown pulled up to the warehouse around eight fifteen and swung off his bike, his size thirteen boots striking the concrete. Just like Smoky said, Pete stood near the entrance, another man with dirty blond hair posted at his side.
Crown’s hand went straight to his waist, gun raised and trained on the stranger’s head before a word left his mouth. “Who the fuck is this?” He barked.
The moment Crown moved, the prospect guarding the door reacted too, his gun snapping up and locking onto Pete. He didn’t give a fuck that Pete was a cop or why Crown had drawn his weapon. If Crown moved, the rest of them would follow, having his back.
Pete’s hands shot up. “Hold on. Guys, lower the weapons. I assure you he’s not a threat.”
“Must got a death wish, muthafucka. You brought a new face to my shit.” Crown replied, ignoring him.
“I tried calling to let you know I had important information and that we were coming, Crown. You did not answer.” Pete turned slightly toward the man beside him. “This is someone who can be very valuable to you.”
“I don’t do business with niggas I know nothin’ about.”
“I’m aware, and that’s why I’m standing here, vouching for him.”
Crown eyed Pete, searching his face for any signs of deception before glancing over at the man again.
“After all these years we’ve been doing business, why you want to add someone new now, old man?”
“You wanted the name of the snitch. Well, he’s the one who can give it to you. This is Lieutenant Spencer in Major Crimes. He’s also my brother-in-law. As I said, I vouch for him. He can be trusted.”
“My son is sick.” Lieutenant Spencer quickly interjected, making his intentions known.
“He’s developed a heart condition. I dropped him from my insurance when he went off to college, and he never picked up coverage of his own. Everything’s out of pocket. I need the money. Without treatment, he won’t survive.”
The space went silent. Crown studied him for a long moment, the gun still aimed. Then, slowly, he lowered it. The prospect followed suit just as Smoky stepped outside, quietly joining the scene.
“Talk,” Crown said.
“What about the money—”
“You get paid when you give me the name.”
The man hesitated, looking to his brother-in-law for guidance. Pete gave a slight nod, signaling that Crown was a man of his word.
“His name is Borris Thompson. Street name Boe.” Lieutenant Spencer revealed.
Crown’s expression didn’t change as he shrugged. “I don’t know a Boe. Shit doesn’t ring a bell.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know of you.
He’s mentioned his leader doing business with the Knights, along with others.
I want to make it clear that you all are not who we are after; his leader is.
But if you cross paths with the target at the wrong time, you could get caught in the fallout, and you’ll be brought in right along with him. ”
“And who the fuck is Boe’s leader?”
Crown wanted to know if they were after the weapons or the drugs, but Lieutenant Spencer went quiet on him. Long enough for him to understand he’d already given up what he was willing to share for free.
“Price?” Crown asked.
After Lieutenant Spencer confirmed the amount, Crown glanced over at Smoky. “Go get the money.” He instructed.
In minutes, Smoky returned with a duffel bag stuffed with cash. He passed it to Lieutenant Spencer without hesitation. That money wasn’t shit to Crown. He could wipe his ass with every bill in that bag, and his accounts wouldn’t even feel the dent.
“What’s the name?” Crown asked.
“Pierre Guerrier, known as Preach. The Dessalinés Mob's current leader.”
Crown and Smoky exchanged a look, everything clicking at once. They now understood why Preach’s shipments were suddenly getting seized. He had a snitch in his camp.
Crown stepped closer to Lieutenant Spencer, close enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “How old is your son, Spencer?” he asked, his gaze dropping briefly to the wedding band on the man’s finger.
Lieutenant Spencer cleared his throat, scared out of his mind. “He just made twenty.”
Crown nodded slowly. “If you lying to me, if any of this info is wrong…I’ll cut his fuckin’ heart out myself and have it delivered to your wife. You understand? I don’t give a fuck about that badge.”
Lieutenant Spencer swallowed hard as he said,
“I understand.”