Dutch III: International Gangster Read online

  “So, do you like what you see so far?” Mr. Odouwo asked with a big smile on his face.

  “Yeah, this is serious. I definitely want a part of this.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that? Now come, I have to take you to meet my uncle.”

  They boarded the plane, and the captain took them to Abuja, Nigeria. Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, was Odouwo’s hometown and the place where he had grown from a boy to a man. As they drove down the dirt road into the city, Mr. Odouwo swanked about his beautiful country.

  “Aww, Nigeria. There’s nothing else like it. It’s the most beautiful country in the world. Look at the trees, look at the land, and look at the people. Sorry Frank Sorbonno never got a chance to see what I was talking about.” Mr. Odouwo snickered while thinking about how he had set Frank up to be killed.

  “Yeah, Frank would have loved it,” Dutch said, returning the sarcasm.

  Not too far from the city limits, they pulled up to a large gated estate. Once they entered the compound, they could see Mr. Odouwo’s uncle, Yusef Odouwo, standing on the front lawn holding a baby tiger. Yusef was an older version of Mr. Odouwo, apart from his bald head and slender frame. Judging by his style, Dutch could tell he had just as much influence as Mr. Odouwo had or more. They got out of the car and walked toward Yusef as he walked toward them.

  “How are you, my nephew?” Yusef said in his Igbo accent, glad to see him.

  “Now that I’m home I feel wonderful.” They shook hands, and Mr. Odouwo rested his other hand on Yusef’s shoulder. “Uncle, it’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, Joseph, it has. The days grow shorter as you get older,” said the wise older man.

  “Uncle, you’re finally admitting to getting older, are you?”

  “No, nephew, I was referring to you. You are getting old. We just saw each other two months ago.”

  “Being away from home more than a week seems like a lifetime.”

  “I understand what you mean.” They shared a laugh.

  “Uncle, I would like you to meet a friend of mine,” Mr. Odouwo said, looking at Dutch.

  “So, I take it you are Mr. James, am I correct?”

  “I am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Mr. James, that is yet to be seen, I haven’t had lunch yet. I can get very angry without food in my stomach,” Yusef said, joking. “Come. Let’s talk more inside,” he added, inviting them into his quarters.

  On the back patio a magnificent array of food was waiting for them on the gathering table. After the meal, they were all ready to talk about business.

  “So, Mr. James, how are you liking Nigeria so far?” Yusef asked.

  “I’ve never been to Africa, so the whole experience is mind-blowing.”

  “The whole experience, you say?” Yusef questioned.

  “I took them to the diamond field this morning,” Mr. Odouwo explained.

  “Aww, diamonds. That is an interesting experience, to see the diamonds being mined from out of mother earth. It’s crazy to think that something so lucid and precious can come from a piece of dirty coal. It’s sort of like the whole triumph of the black man. Any of us can come from unforgiving conditions and turn them around into something grand.”

  Dutch knew all about coming from the bottom, coming from nothing with a foot in his back. His whole life had been built around compromise until he took things into his own hands. Now he was considered impressive not only by himself but by many others.

  “Mr. James. I don’t trust many men, but after looking into your eyes I can tell you are more a man of action than of words. And when I look at you, I see no fear. Is there anything you fear, Mr. James?” asked Yusef.

  “I wouldn’t call it a fear, but the only thing I will avoid at all cost is going back to prison.”

  “I hear prison is a very terrible place. I wouldn’t want to go there either. The only thing I will avoid at all cost is being poor again. I think we can both help each other.”

  “I believe we can, too,” Dutch responded, ready to get down to business. He understood where Yusef was coming from and planned to give him any assistance he needed.

  “Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you about our dilemma.”

  Dutch was more than eager to listen.

  “Taji Tita has made it illegal for the citizens of Nigeria, Uganda, and Rwanda to lease diamond fields. He doesn’t understand how the resources from diamonds can benefit our people, if our people had control of them, yet he commends surrounding countries for their successful diamond networks. We want to shut all those networks down and ultimately control Africa’s entire diamond trade, as we should. This is where you come in, Mr. James. French oil billionaire Kelsin Borvalo is having a party in Paris a week from now, and Tita is invited. And if you’re wondering how we are sure that Tita will attend, trust that I know,” said Yusef, sitting down and crossing his legs like a woman. He sipped his cocktail, then nodded at Dutch, “Tita granted Borvalo a monopoly deal to export oil from Nigeria. This is another reason why we don’t respect Tita as president. Things need to change in Nigeria and the other countries for our people, but with Tita in office that can’t happen. We can’t wait any longer for a new day in Nigeria. It has to be certain that Tita doesn’t leave that party. Can that be achieved, Mr. James?” he asked.

  “Consider it done,” Dutch responded, expressionless.

  He understood the extent of what was being asked of him, and he was more than willing to comply. President Tita had no relevance to Dutch, and if his demise would bring Dutch closer to fulfilling his financial destiny, then that man’s life was a small price to pay. After they had all sat and talked shop for a while longer, Yusef finished sealing the deal and etching out their plans for how Tita would be assassinated. When the meeting was finished, Mr. Odouwo and Dutch got on the plane and headed back to Paris, the wheels already set in motion.

  DEAD OR ALIVE

  Newark, New Jersey

  Delores hadn’t gone to the courthouse. Instead, she sat patiently in front of the television glued to Fox 5 News watching and waiting as the reporters kept showing live updates of what was happening at the courthouse. Then she got the call. She’d never forget how fast they showed up at her door to take her down to the city’s morgue to identify her son. She couldn’t imagine him not being a part of the world that she was in. She couldn’t imagine not hearing his voice again, not touching his face again, and never holding him in her arms. No mother wants to outlive her child, but having to identify a dead body belonging to your only son, now that was something else. And as horrendous and stressful as the day had already been, she couldn’t imagine seeing him lying dead on that table. But she agreed, and within the hour was standing inside the County Coroner’s Office, a detective on either side of her.

  They placed her in a room that seemed completely sterilized. A body was lying on the table in front of her, covered with a white sheet. Detective Meritti explained everything that had transpired before her son’s death, before the fire trapped him inside the courthouse, bringing him to his untimely demise. Detective Meritti showed her a set of matching dental records before placing the folder at the foot of the table. He slowly went to the head of the table and lifted the sheet for her to view the body and make a positive ID. Delores looked down at the body before her. I don’t know who the hell these police officers think they got lying on this table, but this ain’t no damn son of mine, that’s for sure.

  “Oh, God, no, please no, not my baby,” she said, beginning an award performance as she claimed the body as being that of Dutch.

  Wait till I get hold of him. He ain’t even dead. And now he got me burying God only knows who. I swear I’m gonna kill that boy if it’s the last thing I do.

  “It’s okay, ma’am, we’re here,” said Meritti reassuringly as he moved the distraught mother away from the table and out of the room. “She’s made a positive over here. Can I get a cup of water? She’s a little distraught,” said Detective Smalls.
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br />   Delores acted her ass off, completely relieved that Dutch was not on that table. Yet, if you didn’t know better, from the way she was acting, you would think she had lost her only begotten son. Detective Smalls studied Delores’s emotions, waiting to see how she would react to the body they were presenting as that of her son. Apparently, to him, and to everyone else watching, she was buying it. She’s too distraught, the tears, the look in her eyes. She’s going to sign for the body, thank God. Delores continued to perform her Academy Award–winning role as a grieving mother, all the while playing them like a fiddle.

  Delores stood in the hallway trying to figure out what in the world was going on, all the while she continued to break down and cry as if that was really her son. She wore the mask well. The pain that the detectives saw in her eyes wasn’t from the belief that her son was dead, but because he was still alive. Delores was now more confused and flooded with emotion than she had been when they first lifted the sheet. But her tears were truly tears of joy. Even though she knew the reign of terror that would come from this, and that the nightmare was nowhere near over. Delores signed her name, accepting the body of the imposter they wanted her to believe was Dutch. Whoever the hell he is, I’ma go ahead and bury him. No, wait, cremation is so much cheaper. Yeah, I’ll let the funeral director know we’ll have a service then we’ll go that route. Delores figured she could have the body cremated so that Dutch’s secret could be scattered to the winds, never to be questioned again.

  When Delores left the detectives, of course she was followed, and of course her phones were tapped. The police knew that the body they had presented wasn’t Dutch’s. They only placed the dead body in front of her for the media’s sake and for their own reputations. Honestly, they figured eventually everyone reaches out for their momma, and Delores already knew it. She was one step ahead of them all the way around the mulberry bush. And she already knew they would do everything in their power to try to use her to get to Dutch, from tapping her phone lines to constant surveillance. It didn’t matter. She was one step ahead of them.

  CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP

  Paris, France

  Craze arrived in Paris after he had finished his business and tied up all the loose ends in Newark. He was finally going to get a chance to celebrate Dutch’s great escape. Craze had been friends with Dutch as long as he could remember. Their parents were good friends when they were young, and it wasn’t a surprise that they were best friends now, more like brothers, actually. Craze thought back on the days when they first started hanging and getting into trouble together, when he had been known merely as Chris.

  Chris’s mother died of a brain aneurysm when he was eight. He had to go live with his aunt, and from that day on he wasn’t the same sweet child everyone knew so well. He had loved had his mother so much, and he felt like his whole world was lost without her. Even though he had an aunt who would do anything for him, there was still nothing like having his mother, and he missed her terribly.

  “Watch this,” Chris said to Dutch as they stood on the rooftop of his high-rise building.

  A squad car was making its rounds and Chris was just waiting for it to get in the right spot. When it did, he launched a piece of a brick over the side and watched it crash into the police car’s window. Chris and Dutch started laughing, until the police officer stepped out of the car and looked up at them. They both ran into the building and laughed all day about what had happened. This was just the beginning of Chris and Dutch’s friendship. It would last throughout their childhood and all their adult lives.

  “Hey, girl, what’s ya name?” Chris asked, stopping a young Catholic school girl as she walked home with her friend.

  “Joy. What’s yours?” she asked.

  “My name’s Chris, and this here is my main man Dutch. He’s a crazy motherfucker. He just killed a cop the other day. Right down the street.”

  Dutch just shook his head and laughed, wondering why Craze always told kids far-fetched stories about him. Neither of them had any idea at the time that they would really grow up and knock off the Police Department, or at least try, every chance they got. But they did, and the history between the two was all Craze had of memories. It was hard to remember his own momma without looking at her picture, but Dutch, he had memories of the two of them to fill the pages of a book.

  Dutch watched Craze coax the girls to follow them up on the rooftop where they could have their way under the stars. Craze always said that the girls liked the romantic stuff. And the rooftop was the perfect place.

  “See, look, right there, that’s the Big Dipper, and over there is the Little Dipper,” said Craze, not knowing what the hell he was pointing at. The girls would fall for it, every time. That’s how it was, Craze didn’t have much of a family, but he had Dutch, and they came up together, doing everything under the sun together. From getting pussy in mulberry bushes to going to Sunday church with Ms. Delores, they had done everything together and they still did. They always would.

  By the time Chris turned twelve he had shed his childish layers and was on his way to becoming a young man. He and Dutch would only go to school half of the time while they spent the other half causing havoc, letting their names be heard around the neighborhood. Chris would bully kids in school, stomping their asses out in the schoolyard if they didn’t comply with his demands. He did this just to hold Dutch’s attention or because Dutch had beef with someone.

  Everybody knew Chris was crazy. Most people saw him coming and went the other way. It had become a nickname of sorts—because of his antics, everyone started calling him Crazy Chris, which over time shortened into Craze. The more people knew he was not playing with a full deck of cards, the more the nickname stuck. Like Dutch, Craze refused to let anyone play him like a sucker. The first person who tried had to learn shit the hard way.

  Craze was tagging his name on a wall in the alleyway behind a corner store with a can of black spray paint. Dutch was supposed to bring the red spray but wasn’t there yet. Craze was in such a rush to get his name up for everyone to see, he decided to start without him. He sprayed on a big C and then a lower-case r. He was about to spray on the letter a, but he heard a group of kids come up behind him.

  “Yo, muthafucka. What you doin’ taggin’ on our turf?” the biggest of the three boys said.

  Craze looked at him like he was stupid. “Your turf? Nigga, me and my nigga run all this shit ’round here. I’m Craze, and I know you heard of my man Dutch. So if y’all pussies know what’s good for ya you’ll turn and get the fuck outta here while you still got the chance, ya hear?”

  “Yo, son, I’m gonna wear ya lil’ ass out.”

  The boy ran up, and Craze dropped his can and rose to his feet. As the boy rushed him, Craze moved out of the way and caught him with a blow to his eye. Before the boy could make another move Craze caught him with a blind left, knocking him to the ground.

  One of the other boys ran up behind Craze and tried to hold him until his friend got up off the ground. Craze was stronger than he looked, and he was able to get out of the hold he was in. He punched the boy in the stomach and then pushed him into the wall. The boy got Craze in a headlock and the other two boys jumped on him, beating him down in the street.

  Out of nowhere Dutch came up from behind and swung a right so hard, so fast, he dropped one of the boys with a single blow. Dutch fought off another boy, giving him an uppercut to the kidneys and careening him into a dumpster. Craze picked up the boy who was choking him, flipped him over his shoulder, and began to stomp him out while Dutch beat the one boy up so bad that both his eyes would be swollen for a week. After that, Craze and Dutch became household names. Their popularity grew as well as their menacing ways, and then along came murder.

  Craze sat in his bedroom leaning out his window smoking a cigarette one night when he heard Dutch’s bird call from outside his window.

  “Yo! Come here! I gotta show you somethin’,” Dutch hollered.

  Craze came down the fire escape
and was standing in front of Dutch in a matter of seconds.

  “What up?” Craze asked.

  “Just come on.”

  They walked around the corner and Craze saw a white van sitting halfway down the block. Dutch thought the van he’d stolen belonged to his boss, the guy who owned the pizza shop, but he didn’t know it was deeper than that.

  “Yo, Craze, I love you like a brother, but once I open this door and show you what’s inside, ain’t no turning back, nigga. You either wit’ me or go on and walk away now,” Dutch solemnly declared.

  Craze looked Dutch in the eye. He had never heard such words from him before. Dutch was all he had, and he would die for him or even die with him if it came down to it. He knew what Dutch had to show him was serious. Nothing like he had ever seen before. Craze was ready.

  “Yo, Duke, you know how we get down. You and I, do or die—you ain’t got to tell me to walk nowhere,” Craze stated.

  Dutch looked him in the eyes and when he was satisfied he nodded and opened the back doors of the van. Craze stepped up to the van and saw a long, bulky object between two garbage bags. Dutch snatched off one of the garbage bags to reveal the dead body. Craze took one look and threw up all inside the van.

  “Damn, nigga! We got enough to clean up wit’out yo ass addin’ to it!” Dutch said.

  “What the fuck happened to him?” Craze asked after he’d emptied his stomach.

  “Never mind, we need a whole lot of cinderblocks and some rope,” Dutch responded.

  Craze asked no more questions that night, and when it was all said and done, there was no turning back. It was him and Dutch, thick as thieves, and the bond they shared from that night on would keep them together for the rest of their lives. As time passed, the bond would only become stronger and stronger, unbreakable. No matter where they were in the world, from Newark to Paris, it didn’t matter. Dutch was the only family Craze had, the only family he remembered ever having all his life. For him, Dutch was his brother, and he was his brother’s keeper; he always would be.