was able to see what she was seeing. “I’ve never seen him before,” Jackie confirmed.
The music was so loud that Monika knew even if she could get close enough to them, she wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying. And wouldn’t be able to filter out all the background noise if she could plant a listening device. She was able to get pictures of the two of them talking and went back to the car.
The conversation lasted about fifteen minutes, after which Mylo left the Shrine and walked back to his car. Before long, they picked up Mylo on his cell phone. A male voice answered the call on the second ring. “How long?”
“One hour,” Mylo replied and ended the call.
The ladies followed Mylo back uptown to the Baychester Diner on Boston Road. Once again they waited as Mylo went inside. “Take pictures of everybody who goes in,” Monika told Jackie.
“Where are you goin’?” Jackie asked.
“Inside,” Monika said and got out.
Monika spotted Mylo sitting at a table in the back near the restrooms. She quickly grabbed her mouth and rushed up to the waitress. “Where’s your restroom?”
When the waitress pointed toward the back, Monika walked quickly, still holding her mouth. More so to hide her face at this point. Mylo didn’t look up when Monika passed his table. She brushed up against it and was able to place a listening device under the table.
Monika got back in the car with Jackie. “Are we live?” she asked.
“He just ordered coffee,” Jackie told her and the two made themselves comfortable taking pictures and waited to see who Mylo was meeting.
Exactly one hour after Mylo made his call, a black Cadillac CTS pulled into the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-five
Mylo sat in his booth at the Baychester Diner sipping his coffee. He looked at his watch and knew that he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. He had just left the Shrine Bar where he had met Bruce Stark, the so-called chairman of The Commission. Stark called him, frantically demanding that Mylo meet him to talk about Mike Black.
“’Bout time you got here,” Stark said when Mylo approached him at the bar.
“I’m here now, so what’s the problem?” Mylo asked and marveled at how well his plan was going.
“I told you, fuckin’ Black is the problem. That nigga is out to get me.”
“What you expect, you sent somebody to kill him. What you think he was gonna do; throw you a party? Run out of town?”
“You the one that said he wasn’t untouchable, Mylo. After he killed Cash, you were the one who said he can be got just like any other nigga.”
“Yeah, I did. And I meant it. I told you the best time to get him. I told you where the mutha fucka would be. It ain’t my fault that you fucked ’round and sent a nigga that couldn’t get the job done. Now you come cryin’ to me and say I fucked this up, now do something to help me.”
“So what now?” Stark asked.
“What you mean, what now? You blew your shot to kill him. Now you got two choices,” Mylo told him.
“What's that?”
“Make peace or get out of the city,” Mylo advised, believing that Stark would chose to get out with his life.
“What?”
“You heard me, nigga. Music ain't that loud you can’t hear me. Either you need to leave the city or try to make peace with him, cause that nigga ain’t gonna stop. He will kill you.”
“CeCe said he wanna sit down to work out our problems,” Stark informed Mylo.
“CeCe? What the fuck she got to do with this?” Mylo demanded to know. Black meeting with Stark would ruin everything he had set in motion.
“She said he just walked up on her and told her that shit. Black and Bobby been in the street lookin’ for me. Not Freeze, Black himfuckin’-self.”
“That’s the last fuckin’ thing you should do.”
“But, you just said I could make peace with him. Now you sayin’ I shouldn’t?”
“Can’t you see that shit? Do I have to tell you every-fuckin’-thing?” Mylo asked and Stark didn’t say anything. “Look, if you was to call for a meet, you could walk in there and say that it was all Cash and K and that you had nothing to do with it. But if he lookin’ for you, then he know you was the one that sent that mutha fucka to kill him.”
“Right, right,” Stark agreed.
“But if you meet him now, one, it will make you look like a weak nigga who wanna scream peace after they started shit. He won’t respect you and sure as shit Black will kill you at that meeting.”
“That’s fucked up, Mylo, you know that? For some shit that was your fuckin’ idea, for you to stand there now and tell me some shit like that. I oughta shoot you my fuckin’ self.”
“But you won’t,” Mylo said and showed Stark the gun in his hand. “Where’s BB?”
“His boys say he’s ghost. Nigga took all the dope and money and gone.”
“Now you talkin’. But you don’t need to know where I’ll be. I’ll get in touch with you. You just get it done,” Stark said and handed Mylo an envelope. “Earn your money. I ain’t exactly sure that I can trust you. Far as you know, I’m at Foxwoods.”
“Whatever, nigga. You ain’t got to trust me.” Mylo held up the envelope that Stark had just given him. “This all the trust I need from your ass,” Mylo told Stark and left the Shrine Bar.
Stark was right not to trust Mylo, because Mylo had a plan. His plan was simple: organize what was left of Birdie’s old crew, kill them off and then take over their markets. It was a plan that he knew would work perfectly, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone. He would need some help.
Just then, Mylo looked up and saw DEA agent Masters come into the diner. Mylo and agent Masters used to work together, cut a few corners together and made a lot of money shaking down the very dealers they were assigned to investigate and bring to justice. This went on until Mylo was reassigned and began working undercover.
When Mylo determined that he couldn’t carry out his plan alone, the person he turned to was Masters. When the two first talked about it, Masters didn’t seem all that interested in Mylo’s plan to take over the drug market, but a week later, Masters called and said he wanted to meet.
Mylo insisted that the meeting take place at a small bar in Stamford, Connecticut, where he could be sure he wouldn’t be recognized meeting with the agent. When Masters arrived at the meeting, he wasn’t alone. DEA agent Pete Vinnelli was with him.
“Who’s this?” Mylo asked as soon as he saw Vinnelli.
“You asked for my help, right? All you need to know is that he is part of the help you want,” Masters said.
“I’m a friend of a friend of yours, Mylo. Or could I call you Clint?” Vinnelli asked.
“What friend?” Mylo needed to know.
“DeFrancisco,” Vinnelli said simply.
At that point, Mylo knew exactly what the deal was, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not. Before DeFrancisco went to jail, Mylo had begun working for him. When Mylo was arrested, his first thought was that somebody realized that he was out there without a handler and they were bringing him in. He began to worry when Federal Marshals took him to the airport and flew him to North Carolina and deposited him in some small town jail. After three weeks in that cell, Mylo woke up one morning to find agent DeFrancisco standing in front of him.
DeFrancisco told Mylo that he knew what he’d been doing and showed him a picture to prove it. At first, DeFrancisco gave Mylo a choice, “Turn over all the evidence to me or you’ll be going to jail for a very long time.” For
