City Culprits (Book 1) Read online

  City Culprits

  BOOK 1

  This book is not yet edited

  Please excuse any errors

  FOR LAURA, ADAM, CHARLES, AND NATHAN.

  THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION.

  CHAPTER 1

  ~Utica, New York~

  Zamora Rose Cortez was an average looking 25 year old Caucasian/Hispanic woman with dyed black hair and black framed glasses. Zamora mostly wore her hair down or in two braids, with a beanie or snapback hat over her head. She liked to dress in leggings or straight legged dark jeans with high top sneakers or high heeled ankle boots. She had several tattoos on her body. She always wore a red rose necklace that belonged to her mother. Zamora was adopted at birth to her Spanish mother and father along with two other adopted siblings. Zamora loved red roses as they met love to her.

  Zamora had dreamt of the same tragedy over and over again. Her younger sister Angel was gunned down in front of her while trying to exit her vehicle in front of their home. She ran out to her sister. She watched as Angel choked on her own blood. She remembered throwing a red rose over her coffin. The dream was always the same.

  Zamora woke herself up in sweat. She looked over at the clock. It was 4am. She looked at the photo behind the clock that was of herself and her sister Angel. Zamora looked back up to the ceiling, touching her face and takes in a deep breath. Angel was a beautiful Latina 23 year old woman with curly blonde hair.

  Zamora got out of bed going in to the bathroom that was in her bedroom. She turned on the faucet to splash water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror. She kept taped on the mirror another photo of her sister. Only her. She looked at it.

  “I’m going to find whoever did this to you Angel. Someone in this city knows who killed you.” She said out loud.

  Zamora went back to sleep. Around 9am, a little boy came running into her room. He jumped on the bed trying to wake her up.

  “Aunt Zamora. Wake up. It’s morning.” He pulled the covers off her face.

  Zamora had custody of her 4 year old nephew Braydon. His father was Hispanic while his mother was African American. Braydon had short dark brown curly hair, light brown skin, and beautiful brown eyes.

  “Here’s your breakfast bubba.” Zamora made a bowl of coco puffs for her nephew. It was his favorite thing to eat in the morning. He sat at his Batman table and on his Batman chair watching his favorite morning cartoons.

  Zamora’s place was just big enough for the two of them. There were still a few unpacked boxes from moving in.

  “What do you say?” She tried to teach him manners.

  “Thanks.” He replied with a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

  The doorbell rang. “I’ll be right back.” She told her nephew who was too invested in his cartoons.

  Zamora went to answer the door still in her pajamas and slippers. Zamora lived on Utica’s West side.

  She knew who was at the door before she opened it.

  “Hey Nikkya? How’s it going girl?” She asked her best friend. They hugged each other as she walked in the door.

  Nikkya and Zamora had been best friends since grade school when they first met. Nikkya was a 24 year old slender African American woman with beautiful flawless skin and brown eyes. She had pin straight black hair that she mostly wore in a low pony tail, which almost lay across her back. Her only tattoo was a small red heart on her left inner wrist. She always wore her favorite white pearl ball earrings. She came wearing her favorite pretty white dress.

  “I’m doing all right. Just dropped off my brother to work.” She answered coming inside.

  Zamora shut the door. “When’s he going to get his own damn car?” She joked.

  “Probably never.” Nikkya laughed.

  Nikkya saw Braydon watching cartoons. “Hey little dude. How ya doing?” She asked him.

  Braydon quickly answered back. He loved Nikkya. He ran over to hug her.

  “Nik!” Sometimes Braydon couldn’t pronounce her full name.

  “Oh I see. You talk to her but completely ignore me when your cartoons are on” Zamora joked to her nephew.

  Braydon smiled and ran back to his cartoons and breakfast.

  “You want some coffee?” Zamora asked Nikkya.

  “Girl you know I come over here just for that.” She laughed.

  “You probably do.” Zamora laughed getting the coffee from the cupboard.

  “So when you going back to visit your brother?” Nikkya got serious.

  Zamora waited a moment before answering.

  “I don’t know. I just took Braydon last week to see his father. Dice doesn’t want him up there all the time.”

  “That’s terrible that he has to see his father like that.”

  “My brother did it to himself. He lost out on his son because of it.”

  “How much time is left again?”

  “Dice has quite a while.”

  “What do you even tell a child his age?”

  “He knows his father’s in prison.”

  “What do you think he’ll think of his father when he finds out why?”

  Zamora faced Nikkya and glanced at her nephew.

  “That’s up to Braydon.”

  “I’m all done Aunt Zamora.” Braydon spoke.

  “Take care of it.” She kindly told her nephew. Braydon slowly grabbed the bowl of cereal and started walking out to the kitchen. He stood up on his little stool so he could reach the kitchen sink and dropped his bowl in the sink.

  On Utica’s East side near Broad Street, a large unused warehouse had now been occupied by the Jamaican Posse. They all lived there and had recently come into the city. Tyson was the head of the Jamaican Posse. He was 32 years of age and of average build. He almost always wore his dark expensive sunglasses and expensive jewelry. He took pride in his Jamaican heritage. So did the rest of them and they displayed it often. They all had the same Jamaican flag tattoo. He had a diamond earring and short thin corn rowed hair. He had a clean shaved goatee. Tyson drove a black crotch rocket motorcycle. They all drove the same type motorcycle as they preferred them to regular vehicles, although they did own a few of them.

  Tyson was sitting down on the black leather couch smoking a cigar. There was a glass of liquor on the glass table in front of him. His two body guards who were also his main henchmen stood near him with their guns in hand. Jamarco and Deandre were both brothers who looked very much alike. Jamarco was only 10 months older than his brother both being about 26 years old. They were muscular, had many tattoos, and short dreaded hair. They were the only two Jamaicans who grew up in NYC, leaving their accents different than the others. Tyson discovered them years ago on a trip to the city. He trusted them with his life. Cassius was Tyson’s second in command & his cousin. Cassius was 28. He had short afro hair that he kept tied up in a bun and both his arms were covered with tattoos.

  Cassius joined Tyson on the couch, throwing a photo down on the glass table.

  “This is the girl. It came strictly from Que. The only thing is that he does not know where she is located now. She moved her location in the city about a few weeks ago.”

  Tyson put out his cigar and picked up the photo.

  “She goes by the name of Zamora Cortez.” Cassius told him.

  Tyson stared at the photo of her.

  “Zamora Cortez. Interesting. Let’s just say Zamora Rivera. We need to find her before her father does. Otherwise we won’t be able to get anywhere near her. She is the only one who can make The Eye work.” He set the picture back on the table.

  “I know that she lives somewhere on the west side.”

  “Good. Ask around. See if anybody knows where to find her. Don’t make it too obvious that we are looking for her though.
We don’t want to attract any attention so soon.”

  “No problem.” Cassius said getting up.

  Zamora had taken her nephew out for lunch as she did every Saturday. They sat by the TV playing cartoons. She noticed a friend of hers walk through the door nearest to them.

  “Que.” Zamora said his name.

  Que was a tall fit Jamaican man in his late twenties. He had long thick black dreadlocks and a thick goatee. He dressed in mostly tank tops and tan roll top boots. He wore two silver necklaces around his neck. Que and Zamora had known one another for a few short years but had become good friends. Sometimes he had joined them for lunch.

  Que joined Zamora and Braydon at the table.

  “Hey little man, how is it going?” He greeted Braydon.

  Braydon smiled and returned to eating his food and watching the cartoons.

  “So how are you Zamora? How is the new place?”

  “I’m doing okay. The new place is coming good. It’s hard to unpack with a four year old boy.” She joked.

  “I can imagine so. So where are you living now?” He asked with a smile.

  “Still on the West, just moved to a different side of it. Over on Lenox.” She told him before taking a drink.

  “Oh I see. Are there any children around for Braydon to play with?”

  “Just a few.”

  He seemed to be taking an interest.

  “How is your brother doing?”

  “The same as any other person in prison. Just doing what he has to do.”

  “Yeah. I know how that goes.” He agreed.

  “You still getting by on the money your parents left you?” He asked her.

  “Yes. It’s enough to last us for a long time. My brother gave me his share to take care of Braydon.”

  “What about your sister’s?”

  “I don’t like to talk about her. I would really just like to know why my sister was shot up in front of our own damn house and I want the one responsible for it to pay.” She said keeping her voice low.

  “I would imagine that you do. Anyone would want to know that.”

  “Do you remember anything about it?”

  Zamora flashbacked.

  “No. He was on a red motorcycle with a black and red helmet on. I do remember that the right side of the helmet had scratches on it like it had slid across the pavement…he just sped by and-” she stopped not wanting to talk about it in front of her nephew.

  Braydon interrupted. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Okay bubba. Come on.” She reached her hand out for her nephew to grab.

  “I’ll be right back.” She told Que.

  “Yup.”

  He waited for them to leave and then made a quick phone call.

  He kept his voice low, although there weren’t many people around to hear.

  “The girl lives somewhere on Lenox.”

  The person on the other line was Tyson.

  “Word is that her real father is searching for her. He knows that people know about her. Find out exactly where to find her or find out when she is alone. We need to get Zamora before her father does.”Tyson told him.

  “I can’t raise suspicion on myself. If she finds out the truth, it will not be good for us.”

  “Then find a way where she is alone, when she doesn’t have the young boy around. We will take it from there. We don’t have much time. She is of much use to us against her father. Figure it out.” Tyson demanded.

  Que noticed Zamora and Braydon coming back.

  “I have to go.” He quickly hung up.

  “Hurry up and finish buddy, we have to go.” She told her nephew.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nikkya and JT are coming over to the house.”

  “She spends a lot of time with you.” He joked.

  “Of course. She’s my best friend.” She said gathering the trash on the tray.

  “So when are you going to let me see your new place?” He wondered.

  “After I get it together.” She smiled.

  Que grinned.

  “Come on Braydon. It’s time to go. Say goodbye.”

  Zamora emptied the tray in the trash.

  “Bye.” Braydon waved to Que.

  “Later little man.”

  Que watched them leave.

  “Damn. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.” He said to himself.

  Tyson was looking at a newspaper article.

  Cartel kingpin Carlos Rivera-hidden adoption of daughter 25 years ago. Sources say he and his wife gave up daughter to protect her from his life, after son was killed years earlier. Carlos Rivera was released from all criminal charges Monday morning. Sources say there has been no contact with birth child since adoption and hid wife’s pregnancy and the adoption.

  “This is quite interesting.” Tyson laughed. “I wonder who released this to the press. We should thank them for it.” He threw the paper back down.

  “I guess they didn’t hide the adoption as good as they thought.” Cassius said, sipping his drink.

  Tyson lit a cigar. One of his men came over with news.

  “Boss, we have a problem.”

  “What is it man?” He said annoyed.

  “Tessa has not returned yet with the money for the drugs. She’s probably using them again.”

  Tyson was very irritated.

  “Find the bitch. Bring her back to me.” He ordered Jamarco and Deandre.

  “I’m sure that won’t be difficult. She goes back to the same place every time.” Jamarco said.

  “Then it should be quick.” Tyson said.

  “We will find her boss.” Deandre reassured him.

  Tyson didn’t respond.

  Jamarco and Deandre left without hesitation.

  “I’m sick of these damn bitches stealing my drugs or money. I should freaking kill all of them.”

  “Nah…then we’d have to do all the work. They’re easier to control.” Cassius grinned.

  “That you’re right.”

  Jamarco and Deandre came back with Tessa gripping tightly on to her. She was a skinny light skinned woman in her middle twenties. She wore a long sleeved shirt and short skirt. Her hair was in a messy pony tail. They held onto her tightly as she tried to break free from them. She looked frightened noticing all of his men and the women that made the drugs standing around to watch. Tyson used women to make and sell drugs on the streets because they were easier to control and watch. Tyson’s men did the bigger drug operations not related to the local streets.

  Tyson finished off his glass of liquor. He set it down gently. He looked up at Tessa and then stood up from the couch. He walked slowly over to Tessa. He grabbed her by the throat. Jamarco and Deandre let go of her

  “You owe me drug money. Where is it? Are you using my shit again instead of doing your damn job? I give you plenty enough for your own use. It’s your fault if you waste it.”

  She didn’t answer him which only made him angrier.

  “Are you using my drugs to get high? Or are you stealing the money?” He let go of her throat.

  “I-I don’t have them.”

  “Don’t have what love? Which is it?”

  She was afraid to answer.

  He sighed in annoyance.

  “I didn’t use it.” She hesitated.

  “Then where is the money? Are you hiding it? Did you think that we wouldn’t come looking for you?

  She didn’t answer.

  Tyson quickly pulled out his hunting knife from the back of his pants. He flaunted it in her face.

  “Do not…ignore me.” He warned.

  “I have it on me.”

  “Get it.”

  She reached into her bra and pulled out the wad of cash. Tyson grabbed it from her.

  “First you steal the drugs and now you steal my money. Neither of them belongs to you. This is the second time you have stolen from me Tessa.”

  He took in a deep sigh of disappointment, putting the money in his ba
ck pocket.

  “You know the rules of my business. Everyone gets one mistake…you have already made yours.” He told her, revealing the knife scar he put on her body for screwing up.

  “I won’t steal again.”

  “I know. I’m going to make sure of that.” He whispered in her ear.

  Tessa suddenly lost her breath. Tyson had jammed the knife into her side.

  “I gave you two chances.” He twisted the knife and then pulled it out of her.

  Tessa looked down, seeing the blood flow from her body.

  Tyson jammed the knife into her again dragging it across her stomach. He pulled it out.

  Everyone around stood as still as a statue. Some of the women’s faces were disturbed and scared.

  Tessa fell to her knees. Tyson pushed her over with his foot. She was lying on her back with her hands on her wounds. She tried gasping for air.

  Tyson looked around at everyone.

  “If you take what belongs to me, I will gut you! I will take care of you as long as you do what you are supposed to do! You know the rules…of my business. If you mess with my money…I will cut out your insides.” He told them.

  No one said a word. Tyson stood back over Tessa, watching her take her last breath.

  “Now that I have made myself clear…GET BACK TO WORK!” He shouted.

  “Clean up this mess.” He told a few of his men nearest to him.

  “You know what to do with the body.” He said to Jamarco and Deandre.

  Jamarco and Deandre wrapped her body in plastic and took it away on a loading cart.

  “Why do they even bother trying to steal?” Cassius asked himself.

  Que walked through the door, noticing the body being wheeled away.

  “Did I miss something here?” He asked.

  “Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Tyson said.

  Nikkya was trying to get her brother JT to hurry up. They rented an apartment together as they were both all they ever had growing up in the foster care system. They were extremely close. JT was Nikkya’s older brother. He was 27 years of age with no hair and a left pierced ear. He joined the army at 18, serving for a few years. He always had his dog tags on around his neck. He liked to wear tank tops and leather jackets. He was fit and also had flawless skin like his sister. He had no tattoos and never cared for them on his skin.