Forty
Recommendation: Listen to “Emotionless” by Jim Jones
Zoya got back into the states and negotiated the terms of my surrender. They were told that I was flying commercial into JFK from Mexico. Menace got me from Grenada to Mexico, so they wouldn’t look further into me coming from that island.
I stayed in Mexico City for a couple days and then Zoya called and told me to book my plane ticket.
The phone I had been using to call Amaria had been tossed in Mexico.
I boarded the jet to Mexico with none of my bags.
Just the outfit that I had on my back, and a burner phone so Zoya could get in contact with me.
The plane landed but didn’t immediately go to the gate. It stopped a bit away from the gate. I sat near the window in the back and saw the blacked-out SUV’s and local patrol cars with their lights flashing.
Standing right in the middle of the agents and officers was Zoya. She stood with her arms folded, as she wore a pair of dark shades. She scanned the plane windows and when she spotted me, she turned to the officers and said something to them.
“Ladies and gentlemen please remain seated. Fuquan Jackson…er… can come to the front.” I watched as they moved the stairs towards the door.
Zoya stood at the bottom of the steps and climbed them soon as they opened the doors. I stood up and headed down the aisle and met her halfway.
She wasn’t nervous or even scared.
Zoya stood confident as she looked up at me. “They put a fucking hand on you during bookings, you let me know. We already prepared for this and know what to expect. Ready?”
“Make sure my peace knows I’m good, Zoya… please?”
“I will.”
“Let’s get this shit over with.”
She nodded and headed down the aisle. We made our way down the steps. “My client is surrendering peacefully. He will not be answering questions. All communication goes through me.”
Soon as my foot hit the runway, they had me turn around and put the cuffs on me. The media was here, recording video as Zoya stood waiting for them to do something outta pocket. She walked beside me as we walked the runway towards the black SUVs.
My unlaced Timbs stepped one in front of the other, as I kept my head down from the flashes. “Hold your head up… look ‘em in the fucking eye. You’re a fucking God,” she whispered, and I lifted my head, staring straight ahead.
I smirked, exposing my gold fang, and winked at the reporter.
Game time.