Young Writers Society

After a day of interviewing witnesses, Cobbs made his way to “the spot”. The day was long and he just wanted it to be over. All of the witnesses described the perp the exact same way. He was a white guy, around forty, tall, and thin. It was as conspicuous as can be. A twenty-five year old black male and a forty-five year old white male hanging out on the poorest side of Providence. He knew exactly who the man was but he didn’t know why he shot the man. “I swear Melvin…” Cobbs mumbled gripping the steering wheel tight. His eyebrows were low as he stared at the empty road the car jumped from going sixty to eighty and rising. If it were not for the oncoming exit he would have hit over a hundred. After a few miles he pulled into Jordan’s Diner.

Jordan’s Diner was the meeting spot for several reasons: it was owned by his brother, the diner was located in a low-key part of Cranston Rhode Island, and the food was excellent.

Cobbs walked into the diner and switched the sign from open to closed.

“wassup Bro!” Jordan yelled from behind the counter. Cobbs looked exactly like his older brother in almost every way. They were both over six feet, mocha skinned with brown eyes that hung low. The major difference between the two was that Jordan kept a shaven head and face with a scar in the middle of his head, while Cobbs had no a small beard with a buzz cut.

“Nothing much J. Everybody get here?”

“We got Melvin, Q, and Nico here. Is that everybody?”

“Thanks. Hey did you prepare my meal already?”

Jordan sucked his teeth, “Come on, you know I got you man. Handle yo business!” Jordan gives Cobbs a hug and proceeds to lead him to the meeting.

The diner was empty. Jordan had already cleared everyone out hours ago. Jordan walked over to the huge thick mat in the middle of the diner. He pulled the mat to the side. Underneath the mat was a secret door in the floor.

Cobbs walked down the stairs of the secret passage into a green room with three men sitting around round table. He sat down at the table and fixes his seat so it is directly parallel to the tall, thin, middle-aged white man. Nobody made a sound. Cobbs kept his eyes fixed on the man as the two others stood and watched.

The man to the right of Cobbs was Nico. Nico is Cobbs’s personal “fixer”. Nico was a homeless immigrant who was taken in by Cobbs in exchange for his services. Nico was very muscular but older man with a scruffy mustache who spoke Spanglish. His face was riddled with crow’s feet. His appearance stood out the most. He wore a tank top and ripped jeans. Starting from his shoulder he had a tattoo of a snake wrapping around his arm down to his hand.

To his left was Quincy Fisher. Quincy was a young and successful lawyer who knew Cobbs since high school. At age twenty-seven he was two years younger. His hair was long and blonde. He had freckles lightly scattered around his face and the bright green eyes were his secret weapons along with his silver tongue for winning over the judges. He wore a full charcoal suit.

Last and but not certainly least was Melvin. He was the man across from Cobbs. Melvin O’Neal is the son of the CEO of O’Neil’s Figurines, a very popular company around the world. A factory was given to Melvin by his father as a gift. But Melvin didn’t want use it the way it was supposed to be used. His drug problems and poor judgment led to him killing Anthony Jackson.

The silence was broken by Quincy. “So John, we got incompetent, greedy, cowardly, racist, drug addicted idiot.” Quincy said glancing at Melvin while reaching into his bag. “What were you thinking!?” He yells, slamming the folder on the table. His face turned crimson as he unfastens his tie. “Read it John.”

“He was going to report me to the police!” Melvin shot back.

“Just because he was the only black man there and needs the money doesn’t mean he doesn’t have morals”

Melvin stood up then Quincy stood up. They both locked eyes. Nico pulled out a sawn off shot gun and set it gently on the table. Both men saw the gun and slowly sat down but kept direct eye contact.

Cobbs, oblivious to the standoff, opened the folder and observed the information in the folder.

“Melvin.” Cobbs said quietly and calmly. “Don’t lie to me; did you try to bring him into your fold because he was black and poor?”

“Anyone would have done it. It’s not like I was wrong to choose him. They would need it the most. I have two poor Puerto Ricans in the fold. They are happy to smuggle kilos of cocaine throughout the states! He could have used the money to take his family out the ghetto because of me!” Melvin shouted.

“Aye, Puto you no talk to el jeffe like that.” Nico growled.

“Easy, Nico.” Cobbs calmly responded to Nico’s threat. “Melvin, Anthony age twenty-five was a neighborhood hero. Growing up with a brother and a single mother he was a devout Christian. He was an all-stater in basketball, football, and track… He was offered scholarships but broke his shin bone during football season… He had a daughter… He donated most of his time at soup kitchens working for free. He put his girlfriend in rehab… the neighborhood put together college fund. He was also attending the community college…”

“How was I supposed to know he was a saint? I talked to him for months to see what his intentions were. He wanted a job to move his family out of the ghetto!” Melvin yelled.

Melvin got out of his seat and started pacing. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“You messed up bad. It won’t be long before the authorities traced the death to you. Everybody in the neighborhood knows what you look like. And I know you will try to take me down with you. So what do I do with you?” Cobbs said as he stood up and glancing at Nico.