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***
Ish went to his bedroom and got his gun. He tucked it into his waistband and pulled it over his shirt then ran back downstairs to the front door.
“Sorry about that,” he said after re-opening the front door.
“No problem. I don’t mean to rush you, but I have one other stop to make before ten a.m., or else I’m going to hear it from my boss,” the FBI agent said convincingly.
“Yeah, well, I thought Simone was in the house, but she’s not home right now.”
The FBI agent had already gone over the different scenarios, so he was prepared. He looked at his computer and pressed a button, then another.
“Oh okay. I was just double-checking. Well, this will require a signature. I don’t know if you want to sign for it. If not, I can take it back, and someone can pick it up tonight after six o’clock at our JFK facility.”
Ish nodded his head. Everything seemed all right to him. The FedEx worker seemed legit and didn’t seem antsy or overly eager for Ish to take the package. Ish had never had any packages go back to the FedEx facility for later pickup, so he wasn’t feeling good about that option. He had no idea what the screening process was like if the packages went back to the facility. He could hear Nico in the back of his mind.
“It’s a package for my tenant. I had some issues with her, so I’m not really sure if I should take it or not. You know what I’m saying?”
“No problem.” The undercover FBI agent reached for a door tag. “Take this door tag, leave it for your tenant, and just have her pick it up later tonight. And if she can’t make it, we’ll automatically redeliver it tomorrow.”
“A’ight, you know what? Fuck it. I’ll sign for the shit.”
The FBI agent placed the packages on the steps and handed Ish the handheld device and the small pen that went with it and showed him where to sign. Ish thought about asking for the normal FedEx guy, but that would have seemed somewhat weird so he said nothing.
“What’s the last name?” the FBI agent asked.
“Jameson.”
“Okay.” The FBI agent touched something on the computer screen right before picking up the packages and handing them to Ish.
Ish’s phone started to vibrate just as he took hold of the packages. It was Simone calling him back. His hands were full, so he couldn’t pick up, and it went to voice mail.
He went back inside his house and closed the door, feeling somewhat relieved. It seemed like seconds later he heard a noise at his front door, but he was distracted by looking at the missed call on his cell phone.
The noise he’d heard was the sound of the FBI agents’ hydraulic rabbit prying open his metal security screen door. Twelve FBI and DEA agents were lined up on his front steps. The lead agent had pried open the screen door and held it open so the second agent could have free access to Ish’s main front door.
The second agent hit the front door with a battering ram. BOOM!
The front door burst open, and the federal agents stormed the house.
“Shit!” Ish dropped his phone on the ground and went for his gun.
“Gun!” one of the agents yelled.
BANG!
The agent leading the attack had fired his gun before Ish had a chance to fire his own. The shot hit Ish in the right shoulder and caused his gun to fall out of his hand and on to the living room floor. The force of the gunshot caused him to lose his balance and fall backwards, but he didn’t fall to the ground.
Two of the agents grabbed hold of Ish and slammed him face first to the living room floor before handcuffing him.
“Errrgghh!” Ish grimaced in pain on the floor.
Agents flooded the rest of the house looking for others to also arrest.
Outside Ish’s house, the block was now crawling with New York City police, FBI, and DEA, and the sound of an ambulance could be heard approaching the block.
Ish was bleeding from his shoulder and still face down on the living room floor grimacing in pain. His pain wasn’t only coming from the gunshot wound, but also his jaw that broken when the agents slammed him to the living room floor. With his face on the floor and turned sideways, he could see his cell phone lighting up and vibrating. He could also see it was Simone calling him back.
As the phone rang, one of the agents planted his boot onto Ish’s neck to make sure he didn’t try to move. It was the ultimate sign of humiliation, but it was a small thing compared to how fucked up Ish was feeling as he laid there on the ground wondering if Simone had set him up.
