Kip loved his crew. He even managed to laugh at their antics.
Devon and Papa John were down for different reasons. It was a risky lick, but they were confident it could be done.
Kip had to break down the plan to them. He explained that they would go there, kill whoever, take the $800,000 and give Maserati Meek back his kilos and guns, with a lie, saying that the guys they were to meet never came with the money and had planned on robbing them. Kip figured they could actually be walking into a setup and a death trap, and his mentality was, “it’s either them or us.”
Devon felt they should keep the drugs and guns too. “Fuck Maserati Meek! That nigga can bleed too.”
Kip was against it. Maserati Meek was a harder target and was always protected. Kip knew that would bring too much heat on them. The plan was set—Kill these fools, take the money, and implement the lie.
Twenty-Eight
It was leading to the moment of reality for them, the biggest payday they would ever see if everything went as planned, or their demise if things went bad. Either way, all three men were determined and not backing out of it. They were winging it, not having time to scout the location, know the players they were going to jack, or how many there would be. They had to play things by ear, rely on their instincts, and have each other’s backs at any cost.
Kip didn’t know if there would be an army of men at the meeting. How would they pull it off? There was some trepidation lurking inside of him, but he was confident they could make it happen.
Devon’s Expedition came to a stop in front of the greasy-looking auto body shop on Broadway. Kip, Papa John, and Devon climbed out and entered the establishment. The inside was busy with mechanics working on cars, despite the late hour.
Kip said to one of the mechanics, “We lookin’ for Nino.”
A greasy mechanic pointed to the makeshift office near the back of the shop.
Kip went alone. He knocked on the old wood door.
Nino, a heavyset man with nappy hair, dressed in greasy overalls, came to the door. He quickly sized Kip up. “You Meek’s people, right?”
Kip nodd
ed.
Nino already knew they were coming. He had photos of all three men, courtesy of Meek. “Follow me,” he said to Kip.
They came to a gray 2012 Nissan Altima that looked brand spanking new and unassuming.
Nino tossed him the car keys. “You’re the driver?”
Kip shook his head no and then called over Papa John and Devon.
Nino gawked at them, already feeling that they were bad news.
Kip handed the keys to Devon.
“Everything’s ready, placed where it should be.” Nino removed a few Polaroid pictures from the pockets of his overalls—they were of the car, dismantled—and then he showed them several more pictures of where the kilos and guns were concealed inside the car.
Kip was shocked. How could an average-looking car hold so much shit? It looked like it had never been taken apart.
“We okay, right?” Nino asked.
Kip nodded. “Yeah, we good.”
Devon got behind the wheel, and Papa John rode shotgun. Nino seemed almost relieved to have the car leave his shop.
Kip got into the Expedition, and their scheme was now in motion.
The location on Water Street was an abandoned, graffiti-scrawled factory on a cobblestone street and just a stone’s throw away from the Brooklyn Bridge. It was late, and the area was sparse of traffic and people. It was perfect for a setup—no operating businesses, no residents, no people—just silence and buildings for several blocks, and an up-close and personal view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Devon pulled up to the entrance of the place and honked the horn quickly, signifying their arrival. Right away the rolling metal gate lifted, giving the men right of entry into the place. The Expedition followed behind the Nissan into a vast area of concrete, pillars, and emptiness.
Parked in the empty building were two cars, a black BMW 750 and the black Toyota. Four men armed with machine guns stood by the vehicles.