The Carter/Luv Series
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The Carter/Luv Series
By Puzz Pacino
It was just a few minutes shy of 3:00 am. The suburban block of Muller Street was almost as black as the hooded mask that covered G-man’s face. The only thing visible was his eyes. His 6’1” inch frame wore a black one piece sweat-suit that was specially designed to cover every aspect of the body, particularly for situations like this. The number one rule among the four crime partners was to leave the least amount of evidence at the scene as possible. The fitted sweat-suits prevented any chance of loose body hairs falling off of any of the men while they were inside. DNA was often the only evidence connecting suspects to crimes that otherwise would have went unsolved. G-man, Wess, Magnetic and Carter was adamant not to leave any of that laying around. Even the Timberland boots worn by the four men were two inches bigger than their actual shoe sizes, such that they would not leave behind any impressions of the real length and width of their feet.
Wess whispered to Carter that the six pair of socks he had on made his feet tighter than Nun pussy. Carter’s responding chuckle was interrupted by G-man’s call. “I-ight yall, be on point. I think this is him.” G-man’s voice traveled clearly through the wireless communication system each man positioned in their ear. It sounded as if he was standing directly over their shoulder. His statement to the other three men was enough to put all of them on alert. Their subject had arrived and everything was on schedule.
A 2005 Porshe Carrera made a right turn onto Muller Street. The candy apple black paint was the only enhancement made to the car. Besides that, it was 100% factory. That was some of the things that attracted G-man to 55 year old Jerry Portsmith. He was classy, but not flashy. In G-man’s opinion, men who drove cars worth 150,000, but added no accessories to it was possible millionaires. They were so busy making money throughout the week that they didn’t have time to get it customized. G-man was right. Jerry Portsmith was a millionaire.
The balding white man driving the pretty black Porsche was the C.E.O. of J. P. Entertainment, a company that promoted some of the biggest artists in the music industry. G-man had been tailing Portsmith for the past two months, watching his house, office, nightclubs, etc . . . Portsmith was great at business, but terrible at security. He never noticed G-man’s noticeable 2005 Bentley GT, adorned with 26’ chrome Anterra rims. For weeks, G-man would tail him in the same car, on the same day of the week, at the same time, without Jerry seeing him. G-man was that good.
Every other Monday, Jerry Portsmith would deposit a minimum of 250,000 in his business bank account at the Commerce bank in Coram, Long Island. The deposits were like clockwork, all before 11:00 am and all in cash. The large sums of money were the profits Jerry made from his events on Saturday and Sunday nights. The Rush Arena was one of the hottest spots in New York, stationed in Syossett, Long Island. The age demographics for the popular establishment was 18-40. The fact that the club attracted young white people meant drugs was prevalent. Portsmith made a hundred thousand a weekend off of extasy alone. The illegal drug money never made its way to Jerry’s business bank accounts. G-man was aware of this.
G-man also knew that tonight was gonna be very lucrative for Portsmith. In the past sixty days, Jerry had promoted events for Avril Levigne, Pink, Jessica Simpson, and Justin Timberlake. All of the concerts were held at the Rush Arena, and Jerry was able to clear 200,000 each trip to the bank. Tonight would be even bigger!
Tickets went on sale at 3:00 am on March 1, 2005 for the Alicia Keys concert. By 3:35 pm, all 5,000 tickets had been sold, each ticket purchased for $50. Even though the mini-arena could hold 7,500 easily, Jerry normally only sold 5,000 in advance, saving the remaining 2,500 tickets for “at the door sales”. With an artist like Alicia Keys, Portsmith knew rich white kids would pay anything to get in on the night of the event.
In less than two hours, Portsmith’s assistant sold all 2,500 tickets at $100 a pop. The tickets were so hot that scalpers were able to resell them for $175 a pop. Between ticket sales, extasy and liquor sold at the event, Portsmith arrived at his Montauk, Long Island home with a little over 300,000 in cash. Jerry routinely stopped all ticket sales at 2:00am, gathered up the remaining club money, and proceeded to his house to put it in his safe. G-man knew this and him and his crew was ready. Jerry Portsmith was not.
Professor Baites ended his class early on September 12, 2005. For three consecutive days he had been pounding the “Big Bang Theory” into the heads of the Cortland University students. Most of them were bemuzed by the idea, others were uninterested. Some found it offensive and argued violently against the ideology that an “atom”, and not God, created the earth. The heated debate, and Luv’s skin tight Dolce and Gabana jeans, was more than enough reason for Baites to end his class 15 minutes early.
Professor Eugene S. Baites was undoubtedly physically attracted to Luv and he had been making sexual advances toward the 22 year old bombshell ever since she stepped into his classroom. As of late, his comments towards Luv had become a little more obscene and direct but he was careful not to lay one unsolicited finger on Luv. For one, she was the daughter of a prominent businessman and local politician. Secondly, Baites wasn’t exactly sure that Luv was feeling him. He was, after all, two years shy of fifty. His dominating gray hair eliminated any signs of his youth and his protruding stomach was evidence that Jack Luillane had a warrant out for his arrest. This aside, Baites also lacked a distinguished swagger that most men his age still possessed. Nonetheless, he was still willing to try his luck with the lovely Luv.
“Excuse Ms. Harrison, may I have a word with you?” said Baites to Luv as the rest of the class exited the room. Luv erased the devilish smile she had on her face before she turned in Baite’s direction. “Yes, Mr. Baites” replied Luv. “If you’re not busy Thursday evening, I would like for you to join me for dinner at my condo in Bellmore.” On the outside, Baites appeared cool as a fan as he awaited Luv’s response, but on the inside he was shaking worse than Michael J. Fox sitting on top of a washing machine. Luv noticed his twitching eye and took full advantage of his insecurity.
Coming within inches of Baite’s face, Luv fixed her full lips in a sexual position and said “Dinner Mr. Baites? I don’t know . . . I guess that depends on what you’re gonna feed me.” A bead of sweat started to form on Baite’s forehead as soon as Luv’s strawberry scented breath made contact with his face. He stared at Luv’s lips with a satanic type of lust in his eyes. Only the power of God kept Baites from forcing his tongue into Luv’s glossy coated lips, which was odd since Baites was an atheist?
Since Baites was still stuck on stupid, Luv whispered to him again “So, what are you gonna feed me Mr. Baites?” The second blast of Luv’s breath only put Baites into a deeper trance. Her seductiveness took the Professor way out of his mind. He was no longer in control of his actions, but more importantly, he had foolishly lost all restraint over his own hands. His fingers started to move upward toward Luv’s chest area, and had it not been for the powerful buzzing sound exploding from Baites’ waist, passion would have gotten the best of him. “You better answer that, it might be Ms. Baites” Luv said as she strutted away making sure every step made her booty bounce just slightly.
Luv Michelle Harrison wasn’t your typical “white girl.” By all means she could pass for a B.G.R.I.T.S. (Black Girl Raised In The South). Standing at 5’9”, her 34DD–26–38 frame drove the men crazy! (and some women too) On most days, Luv wore slightly oversized sweatsuits and dressed her hair in a simple ponytail so that she wouldn’t draw too much animosity from the neighboring students. But on the days she did dress up, she could make a homo convert his sexuality.
Luv was a Coram, Long Island chick, and for the most part, she was spoiled! Her father was Michael Ford Harrison, a democratic New York State Senator. He was widely known and well respected (by some) for his liberal stance on important issues; a “for the people” kind of guy you can say. He often took Luv on campaign trials with him, knowing that the media had dubbed her “New York’s Sweetheart”. With daddy’s little girl by his side, his competition didn’t stand a chance at election time.
Ford Harrison had spent the last 30 years of his life in politics. He enjoyed several years as a successful Criminal Defense Attorney, obtaining a not guilty verdict in the high profile case of
Marcus Johnson, an indigent black man on trial for the rape and murder of an aspiring white female actor. (It would later be proved that the victim’s husband was indeed the true murderer.) Subsequently, Harrison would move on to become City Councilman, a short stint as an Assemblyman, before finally claiming a position as a New York State Senator – a position he’d held for the last 15 years. However, Harrison had worn out the springs in his old Senator’s seat and he had his sights set on a new leather chair.
Amid rumors of a declining public approval rating, the current Governor of New York State, Keith Tanner decided not to run for a second term. Everyone and anyone involved in New York State politics knew that Harrison would be a perfect candidate for the Governor’s office. Over the course of his career, Ford Harrison had voted for Bills that involved the granting of early parole for prisoners, more funding for public schools, a safer environment in public housing areas and a significant decrease in taxes. The liberal citizens of New York State was loving Ford Harrison’s liberal approach on these issues. Even more, Harrison had an impeccable public record in politics, which gave him a leg up on the competition. With all things considered, it would appear that Harrison’s Governor appointment had been solidified?
Luv was fully aware of her father’s intentions to run for the Governor’s office and so she decided to keep a low-profile until after he announced his campaigned, officially. In the meantime, she organized several rallies in low income neighborhoods which focused on police brutality, racial profiling and false arrests. The day Ford Harrison held his press conference about his campaign, Luv hit the ground running, toting her father’s name as the brainchild of the movement. Of course these rallies brought some good press to the Harrison campaign, which increased his popular vote. The truth of the matter, however, was that Luv was the real political genius behind the organization. She was quickly becoming a media darling, but was careful not to step on her father’s toes.
Portsmith pulled into his driveway trying terribly to sing along to Phil Collins’ (In The Air of The Night). Had he focused more on his surroundings and less on his faltering singing career, he would have known he was driving right into a set up. Exiting the car without a worry in the world, Portsmith left the doors unlocked to his Porshe – which was typical of a Long Islander. He headed towards the backdoor of his 1.5 million dollar house, which G-man noticed he used more frequently than the front door. With his house keys in his right hand, and a bag full of money in his left, Jerry attempted to put his key in the door when he felt the presence of four very angry young black men.
“Hello Jerry, we been waiting for you all night. What took you so long?” G-man’s graspy voice was followed by 3 clicks from the hammer of his 357 Magnum. The cold hard steel pressed against Jerry’s face was more than enough reason to do what he was told. As Wess and Magnetic kept look-out from right to left, Carter crept up slowly from behind and politely removed the money bag from Jerry’s hand. “Now open the door, Portsmith. Slowly!” With G-man calling him by his first name, and Carter addressing him by his last, Jerry Portsmith knew he wasn’t dealing with the average stick up kids, which is exactly the kind of effect they wanted to give him.
As the four men entered the house, they instructed Jerry to enter his password into the A.D.T. Home Security System box. G-man knew that the password started with the number 4 and was 6 digits long, but that was it? He watched Jerry closely as he pressed the buttons, anticipating that he would enter a prearranged (incorrect) number, such that it would silently set off an alarm at the local A.D.T. center. Jerry raised his right hand slowly in the direction of the box, and although it shook heavily, he used it to enter a set of numbers that started with 4 and was 6 digits long. G-man was satisfied with Jerry’s selection, and felt that he would be cooperative for the rest of their visit. Before he ordered Wess and Magnetic to tie up their victim, G-man informed Portsmith that as long as he did what he was told, he would come out of this alive. But if he didn’t, he would surely be killed! With watery eyes, and a throat as dry as an Arizona desert, he shook his head. “O.K.”