Free King's Justice: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 2 by Maurice Broaddus Page B

time, Cantrell."
      "Oh, so now you know my name? All right. Let's chat about that."
      Cantrell led him out of the room with a firm hand to the small of his back. Always out to save someone. Half recruiting informants, half trying to save these boys from themselves.
      "So you fine upstanding boys were merely pursuing your academic interests."
      "Just do what you came to do. Might as well earn yours for that trick smoking your joint." The boy knew he crossed the line as all the play left Lee's eyes and he blistered under his stare. Word on the street suspected Omarosa of having the peckerwood on drug patrol in her pocket. Perhaps throwing it in his face wasn't his best play.
      Lee flicked open a pocket knife and let the blade catch the light and the boy's full attention. Eyes still locked on him, Lee stabbed toward the boy's head. The boy closed his eyes and flinched, muscles locked until he heard the knife bury into the wall next to him. When the boy chanced opening his eyes, Lee maintained his cold gaze, not bothering with the charade of a search. He let him know he knew exactly where to look and didn't bother to offer the courtesy pretense of surprise at what he found: bricks of saranwrapped cash. More money than he'd see in his check in a year.
      "Whose money is this? This yours?" Lee asked. The boy turned away as his response. Lee turned to the next boy, but the question of "Yours?" was met with shrugged shoulders.
      "Guess it's my lucky day then."
      Leaning over him like a boyfriend doing the obligatory chat before an end-of-date make-out session, Cantrell chatted in amiable low tones to the skinny, one-eyed crackhead. A snitch he'd refer to as Fathead. As Lee exited the house, Cantrell couldn't help but notice the shrink-wrapped bundles beneath each arm. With a nod, he dismissed the boy, who slunk away without a backwards glance.
      "What's that?" Cantrell asked.
      "Street tax."
      "We're going to have a problem."
      "'We' don't have shit." Lee tossed the packages in the back seat. He stood in the shielding confines of the open car door, the roof of the car a gulf between him and his partner.
      "'We' better voucher whatever 'we' expect to sign off on."
      "Chill out, brother." Lee pronounced "brother" with every bit of the "er" on the end and with every bit of tinny cracker in him. "They simply volunteering to be your benefactor. They had a sudden stirring of conscience and decided to do something positive in the community. Perhaps donate to a mentoring program. They want to be, how did they put it? Ghetto sponsors. Don't that sound good?"
      "Uh-huh." Cantrell remained unconvinced. The temptation of rationalization rattled around in his head, a nagging voice which grew louder with each minute he spent with Lee. The bust would have been no good anyway. They had no warrant and no probable cause. They were simply trolling for information, based on intel provided by Lee's mysterious snitch. The way Lee went about his business made him nervous. It was why Cantrell worked so hard to develop his own network of information. The fresh-out-of-theacademy rules which had been hammered into him had long since been tossed out the window, but Cantrell certainly was not out to take anyone off.
      "Good. Cause the kids will be grateful. Real grateful. And that's who we do it for. The children."
     
    Colvin was a pretty-ass nigga. He had skin the complexion of heavily creamed coffee and almond eyes, with full eyelashes which had an almost feminine quality beneath threaded eyebrows and set above his high aquiline nose. His good hair didn't have to be straightened, his teeth were scrubbed to a brilliant pearl, his nails buffered to a neat acrylic sheen, his skin lightly oiled with a lavender scent he favored. The idea of self-hate amused him. Many perceived him as being closer to white with that diluted blood being the standard of beauty, the features that defined his African roots as obliterated as