The old man started toward the door, and the guard followed.
Theo watched as they left the room, the pain in his ribs worse than ever.
ANDIE SQUEEZED ONE FINAL concession out of the warden before leaving her office. She wanted to see Theo Knight's attacker.
She knew she couldn't question a prisoner who'd demanded an attorney. But both her psychology background and her FBI training in criminal profiling had taught her that some things could never be gleaned from mug shots and criminal records. Sometimes, just laying eyes on the suspect could trigger a thought that filled in another piece of the puzzle.
Duane Holloway was in the hole, one of several small cells in a separate wing of TGK where inmates were kept in solitary confinement. Eager to go home, the warden had no interest in visiting Holloway at 3:00 a.m., and she even allowed Jack to go with Andie, since all they could do was look at the prisoner from outside the cell anyway A correctional officer escorted Andie and Jack through the maze of corridors and past the security checkpoint that led to the solitary wing. It wasn't underground (basements were rare in south Florida) but it felt like it. The lighting was dim, the concrete walls sweated with moisture, and the air smelled of mildew. Holloway was in cell number three.
The guard stopped at the solid metal door, slid the slot open like the bouncer at a speakeasy, and flipped the light switch outside the cell.
'What the hell?' the man inside said, groaning.
The guard smiled at Andie. 'Feast your eyes.'
Andie went to the slot and peered inside.
Holloway was sitting on the floor, stark naked. He had an annoyed expression on his face, and Andie couldn't tell if he'd been sleeping or if his eyes simply weren't accustomed to the lights.
He flipped a double bird to Andie, who was nothing more than a pair of eyes in the viewing slot.
Holloway was smaller than Andie had expected. Had Theo not been handcuffed, the attack would have failed in two seconds flat. Like many inmates, however, he had impressive biceps and well-defined abs that came from battling boredom with exercise. He also had a tattoo on his chest, and since Andie was standing less than six feet away from him, she had no trouble identifying it.
'He's Folk Nation,' she said.
'What?' said Jack.
Andie stepped away from the door. 'He has a tattoo on his chest with a pitchfork and the letters B-O-S. That's 'Brothers of the Struggle,' one of the better-known identifiers for Folk Nation. The pitchfork is also one of their symbols.'
'I know Folk Nation is a gang, but who are they exactly?' said Jack.
'They're actually not a gang – they're an alliance under which gangs are aligned. Think in terms of the New York Yankees and Chicago White Sox being part of the American League. Folk's roots are in Chicago, but it has national reach, traditionally aligned with Crips out of L.A. Their rival is People Nation, which lines up with Blood from the West Coast. The big gangs aligned under Folk are extremely violent and have begun to make serious inroads with local gangs in Florida, mostly for the drug trade.'
'Why would one of those Folk Nation gangs want Theo dead?'
'They don't need a reason. Random killing can be part of their initiation ritual.'
'Hey!' the man shouted from inside his cell. 'Is that a woman's voice out there? Come jerk me off, baby!'
The guard smacked the door with his nightstick. The prisoner just laughed.
Jack and Andie stepped farther away from the door. 'Is that what you think this was/' said Jack, lowering his voice. 'A random hit?'
'No,' said Andie, her words flowing as fast as her thoughts were coming to her. 'I think Folk Nation is in this equation because O-Town Posse wants Theo dead. I think O-Town Posse wants Theo dead because Moses ordered it. And I think Moses was headed north on the expressway tonight because O-Town Posse is trying to cement its alignment with one of the more powerful national gangs in Folk Nation.'
'Climbing in bed with the big boys out of Chicago?' said Jack.
'Yeah,' said Andie, the picture getting clearer by the minute. 'But I have a good feeling about this marriage.'
'Why?'
'Moses brings way more baggage than he's worth,' she said, cutting him a sideways glance. 'Thanks to our Theo.'
It was the first time Jack had ever heard her say
Chapter 35
Moses was in Atlanta by noon.
His new car was nowhere near as stylish as the one he'd swapped out at the chop shop, but with a dead state trooper under his belt, the last thing he needed while cruising up the interstate was a set of wheels with gang markings. He'd driven all night, keeping his speed at or below the limit, stopping for gas only after he was as far north of the Florida state line as his bladder could stand. His second stop came several hours later at the famous Varsity fast-food restaurant, a greasy-spoon of an institution with irresistible chili dogs and onion rings. It was on Atlanta's north side, directly across the expressway from Georgia Tech, which meant that the lunch time crowd rivaled that of Times Square on New Year's Eve. Moses ordered his food to go, added a chocolate shake to make his overindulgence complete, used his turn signal as he exited the parking lot, and continued on his law-abiding way up the interstate and into Gwinnett County.
Atlanta's most dangerous gangs weren't only in the city. They ruled from the suburbs.
Compared to Miami's Overtown, the metropolitan area northeast of Atlanta was like a forest. Unlike Overtown, however, developers in these parts didn't make a habit of taking the money from banks or housing authorities and running. They actually built things in Gwinnett County – and built and built. The tree-lined streets slowly gave way to patches of overdevelopment, entire neighborhoods that seemed to be in a state of identity crisis, not sure if they were residential or commercial. To Moses it was all commerce. That was the nature of the gang drug trade.
On a middle-class street behind a supermarket, Moses found the address he was looking for. It was a ranch- style house that needed a paint job and landscaping, but so did most of the seventies-vintage residences around it. He counted nine cars that had arrived ahead of him, four in the driveway and five on the street. This concerned him. He'd thought only one person knew he was coming – Levon Dawkins.
Moses parked at the curb by the mailbox and hit speed-dial number one on his cell phone. He'd been smart enough to stash the phone before his arrest and maintain the service even while incarcerated. No way could he afford to lose his programmed numbers.
Levon Dawkins was inside the house when he answered on his cell.
Moses said, 'What's with all the cars?'
'No worries. Ain't here for you, dude. 'The noise in the background was making it hard for Moses to hear him. Men were shouting, music was blaring.
'Then what you got?' said Moses.
'Two initiations today. You're just in time to see the second.'
Moses smiled with curiosity. He'd heard stories about the things young men would do to become a Gangster Disciple, but he'd never seen an initiation rite.
'You're cool with me watching?' said Moses.
'Cool with it? I insist.'
'Thanks, dude.'
'Don't thank me, fool. You need to see what it takes to become a GD,' he said, his tone taking on even more bravado. 'And why nobody deserves more respect.'
Moses ended the call, stepped out of his car, and headed up the walkway. Not many people could talk down to
