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The Kid knew how to do the legwork. Thanks to Panamanian Pete and the sources he paid for, he received enough intel on Maserati Meek to know when the man would take a piss. It was tedious work, but it needed to be done. Three weeks went by with Kid thoroughly doing his investigation via the streets, paperwork, and the internet. From the sources, Kid was able to look into Meek’s real estate and saw that Meek had property all over the city under different names. He had businesses too, and a handful of shell companies helped launder his money overseas.
In the shadows, The Kid followed the breadcrumbs and finally came to the light. That light led him to a nice home in Westchester. The Kid sat parked across the street in a Ford Taurus, armed and dressed in black. He spied on the home with binoculars and noticed several Middle Eastern men came and went, but there were two that definitely caught his attention: a man and a woman. They were older, well dressed, and appeared to have authority over the Egyptians and looked to be important to Meek.
“His parents,” The Kid deduced.
He smiled. It would have been easy to kill them all right there, but Kid had a master plan—and that master plan included getting paid. He wanted a few million, and now he saw how he was going to get his money. He drove off and planned to make his move soon on Meek.
Things had become complicated with his crew. Papa John had shot his father. Though he hadn’t died, he was still a cop, and a cop being shot in New York meant trouble for the suspect and anyone connected to him. However, Papa John was needed. So The Kid told him to go north for a moment, to Buffalo, where Kid had a friend to hide him. The Kid assured Papa John that if his plan was executed well, they would all become rich and live well elsewhere.
Devon took to the streets peddling drugs and robbing dealers, although The Kid warned him to chill and keep a low profile. But Devon was a greased machine that needed to keep operating. There was no such thing as a time-out from the game for him, or keeping a low profile.
The news about Panamanian Pete’s murder reached Kid via Devon while he sat playing video games in the living room. It was shocking to hear, but The Kid wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. It was the life. You play the game, you live, and you die. The Kid was grateful that he reached Pete just in time to get what he needed from him. One drug kingpin was dead and there was one left, in hiding. Once Meek was gone, the market in New York was going to be left wide open.
The Kid and Devon stalked the parents, learning their movements. When the time was right, they were going to strike faster than lightning itself. They were staying at the swanky Marriot in New York City and traveling to Westchester to see their son daily. Armed goons protected them. Getting to them would be difficult, but it wouldn’t be impossible.
“So how we gonna do this?” Devon asked.
“First, with Papa John’s help,” answered Kid.
“That fool done shot a cop. You think he gonna come out of hiding?”
“He will. With the payday I’m looking at, he’ll have enough money to go wherever he wants,” The Kid said.
Two days later, Papa John arrived from Buffalo. They all converged at Kid’s New Rochelle residence.
***
They started following them from the Marriot uptown. Shahib and his wife exited the hotel lobby and climbed into a black Mercedes. Two suited men, armed with obscured guns, escorted them. Through the thick traffic, Papa John followed them closely but subtly.
“Don’t lose them,” The Kid said.
“I won’t,” Papa John assured him.
From Manhattan, they merged onto I-87 North. The Benz traveled north for several miles with the minivan following three to four cars behind them.
“You think they know they’re being followed?” Papa John asked.
“Nah, we good,” The Kid
said.
Devon kept his gun close and his eyes fixed on his payday. He was ready to do what he did best with his gun. “I’m ready to get this money, fo’ real. I’m ready to get paid.”
“We all are,” Kid said.
They would soon approach Westchester County, and The Kid knew that they needed to make their move now or never. They had to execute a guerilla-style kidnapping—quick and rough, no holds barred. If there was one mistake, then they were all dead.
The couple was seated in the backseat, while the two guards sat up front. Papa John steered the van from being three cars behind them to two. Then they were right behind the Benz. They were off the highway and on a less populated street.
“Let me know when,” Papa John said.
The Kid timed the moment. He looked around the area and spotted no surveillance cameras, no people, no cops. When they drove to the next block, he exclaimed, “Do it now!”
Papa John pressed heavily on the gas pedal, sending the van speeding toward the Mercedes Benz, and he purposely rammed the van into the back. The car jerked forward and jumped the curb, causing the Benz to stop. Each man in the van felt the intensity of the situation.
The front doors of the Benz opened. The two guards were climbing out. One was already removing his gun from his suit jacket. The Kid and Devon were ready. They were masked up with Glocks in their hands. The Kid would be without his wheelchair. They burst from the van and quickly opened fire on the two men—gunning them down where they stood.
