side view mirror, while watching the light. Finally, the light turned green and Tommy quickly drove off, only to be caught by the next traffic light.
The SUV was just seconds behind him. This time when they pulled beside him, Tommy heard somebody yell from the car, “Snitch ass nigga!”
He looked over at the SUV, focusing on the gun that one of the men had pointed at him.
Tommy sped off—running the light.
He heard shots being fired.
Tommy crossed the medium in his Range Rover, turning down a side street and sped off, losing sight of the SUV.
He drove behind a building and called Angie. She answered on the fourth ring. “Tommy what the hell do you want calling at this time of night?”
“Somebody was just shooting at me!”
“What?”
He reclined his seat with the phone up to his ear and his heart pounding hard. “Yeah! Baby, somebody wants me dead!”
She sighed, not saying a word but he knew her; knew what she was thinking. He didn’t really want to bother her with his problems but he had to tell somebody.
“Tommy, calm down. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced over his shoulder. He thought he’d heard something; thought the goons were coming around the corner, although he’d hoped not.
“Tommy come home.”
“I’m on my way.” He inched out from behind the building, saw it was clear and pushed the pedal to the floor.
Chapter 18
W
hen Tommy and Angie walked into Dream’s of fice, she looked very concerned. Dream had a blue stress ball in her hand that she was squeezing hard. She got right to the point, looking Tommy in his face. “A fed agent showed up here last night asking questions about you.”
“What? Asking questions about me?” T ommy looked at Angie whose mouth was now wide open. “I haven’t done anything.”
Dream stood and paced without looking at them. She opened her blinds and peered out into the parking lot. It was empty except for two cars. No unmarked in sight. “Tommy, it was the DEA.”
“I’m out of the drug business.”
“Listen, Tommy, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just giving you a heads up.”
“Yeah, but why would they be asking about me ?”
“Maybe it’s your associates. I don’t know, Tommy.”
“Why did they come here , of all places?”
“I think he knows that you volunteer here with me.”
“Sounds like they are watching you,” Angie said. “They probably watch my house too.”
“Shut the fuck up. All you can think about is your house.”
“Well, you say you ain’t selling drugs. What you worried about?”
“Agent Mark Pratt. Does the name sound familiar?” Dream asked.
“Pratt, yeah,” Tommy said and looked away. “I know him.”
Angie looked at Tommy and rolled her eyes.
“I don’t sell dope,” Tommy said.
“Why else would they be fuckin’ with you?” Angie said.
“You don’t understand,” Dream said before slinging the ball across the room. “Pratt is overzealous. He likes locking black men up.”
“Pratt is a white man, huh?”
“No, he’s black,” Dream and Tommy said at the same time.
“Damn,” Angie said.
“The man is just that serious. He just fucks with you and fucks with you until he gets something on you.”
Dream was now playing with her hair, thinking of Pratt and the visit—how he tried to make small talk with her; how he tried to get information about Tommy. She looked Tommy directly in his eyes and said, “Tommy, whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
“I’m not selling coke. That game is so over.”
“Tommy, why did he come asking about you?”
“I don’t know,” Tommy said.
“Keep ya nose clean, Tommy. I like you. You’re good,” she said, and then she sat behind her desk again. “That’s the only reason I’m telling you about this, because you’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing. Right?”
“That’s right,” Tommy said. He wasn’t selling drugs. Why in the hell was Pratt asking about him? He thought about Q’s boy, Squirt. Maybe he had
The SUV was just seconds behind him. This time when they pulled beside him, Tommy heard somebody yell from the car, “Snitch ass nigga!”
He looked over at the SUV, focusing on the gun that one of the men had pointed at him.
Tommy sped off—running the light.
He heard shots being fired.
Tommy crossed the medium in his Range Rover, turning down a side street and sped off, losing sight of the SUV.
He drove behind a building and called Angie. She answered on the fourth ring. “Tommy what the hell do you want calling at this time of night?”
“Somebody was just shooting at me!”
“What?”
He reclined his seat with the phone up to his ear and his heart pounding hard. “Yeah! Baby, somebody wants me dead!”
She sighed, not saying a word but he knew her; knew what she was thinking. He didn’t really want to bother her with his problems but he had to tell somebody.
“Tommy, calm down. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced over his shoulder. He thought he’d heard something; thought the goons were coming around the corner, although he’d hoped not.
“Tommy come home.”
“I’m on my way.” He inched out from behind the building, saw it was clear and pushed the pedal to the floor.
Chapter 18
W
hen Tommy and Angie walked into Dream’s of fice, she looked very concerned. Dream had a blue stress ball in her hand that she was squeezing hard. She got right to the point, looking Tommy in his face. “A fed agent showed up here last night asking questions about you.”
“What? Asking questions about me?” T ommy looked at Angie whose mouth was now wide open. “I haven’t done anything.”
Dream stood and paced without looking at them. She opened her blinds and peered out into the parking lot. It was empty except for two cars. No unmarked in sight. “Tommy, it was the DEA.”
“I’m out of the drug business.”
“Listen, Tommy, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just giving you a heads up.”
“Yeah, but why would they be asking about me ?”
“Maybe it’s your associates. I don’t know, Tommy.”
“Why did they come here , of all places?”
“I think he knows that you volunteer here with me.”
“Sounds like they are watching you,” Angie said. “They probably watch my house too.”
“Shut the fuck up. All you can think about is your house.”
“Well, you say you ain’t selling drugs. What you worried about?”
“Agent Mark Pratt. Does the name sound familiar?” Dream asked.
“Pratt, yeah,” Tommy said and looked away. “I know him.”
Angie looked at Tommy and rolled her eyes.
“I don’t sell dope,” Tommy said.
“Why else would they be fuckin’ with you?” Angie said.
“You don’t understand,” Dream said before slinging the ball across the room. “Pratt is overzealous. He likes locking black men up.”
“Pratt is a white man, huh?”
“No, he’s black,” Dream and Tommy said at the same time.
“Damn,” Angie said.
“The man is just that serious. He just fucks with you and fucks with you until he gets something on you.”
Dream was now playing with her hair, thinking of Pratt and the visit—how he tried to make small talk with her; how he tried to get information about Tommy. She looked Tommy directly in his eyes and said, “Tommy, whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
“I’m not selling coke. That game is so over.”
“Tommy, why did he come asking about you?”
“I don’t know,” Tommy said.
“Keep ya nose clean, Tommy. I like you. You’re good,” she said, and then she sat behind her desk again. “That’s the only reason I’m telling you about this, because you’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing. Right?”
“That’s right,” Tommy said. He wasn’t selling drugs. Why in the hell was Pratt asking about him? He thought about Q’s boy, Squirt. Maybe he had
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