Page 53 of This Is Law 2

Chapter Eighteen

SEVYN ‘LAW’ CRAWFORD

It was after five in the morning, and I was seated quietly in the back seat of a car, waiting for someone to come on out, and make their way out to the driver’s seat.

I’ve been sitting back here for well over thirty minutes.

The car was off, meaning that were wasn’t any AC running, but because of the mission that I was on, the anger that I felt, and the need that I had to approach this person, I swear I wasn’t even hot.

There was a black hoodie over my head that I wore with black sweats.

I was on black air force one energy early this morning, so that’s the shoes that I was rocking.

Today was the anniversary of my daughter’s death, and instead of being home right now, where I knew Yaya was going to need me because Sarai’s death anniversary, and her birthday were always two of the hardest days out of the year for Yaya.

I planned to be there for her today though.

I already had my shoulder ready for her to cry on, and my lap ready for her to sit because I knew she was going to need both.

The second I handled this shit right here, I was going to head back to the crib, so that I could be there for her.

Five more minutes rolled around, and I saw him coming out of the early morning cycling class that he took.

I did my homework on him, and found out a little bit about his schedule, so here I was.

I wanted to bring this shit to his doorstep, or his office, but I didn’t need anyone getting in the way, so I decided to make this personal, so here I was, camped out in the backseat of his car, and I smiled, while rubbing my hands together, seeing that he was coming my way.

It didn’t take but a few more seconds for him to make it to the car, unluck the doors, and he tossed the gym bag that he had been holding in the passenger seat, and then he sat down, quickly locking the doors behind him.

Because it was so early in the morning, the sun still hadn’t risen, so it was dark out.

The gym parking lot didn’t have much lighting, and that was fine with me because had it been any lighter, he might have saw that he had a visitor in the back seat.

“How you doing this morning, Mr. Sterling?” I asked, my voice coming out calm, smooth, and free of any anger, even though inside, I felt the opposite of all three of these things.

When he heard my voice, he quickly tried to unlock the door, and step out, just like I knew he would, so I picked up the gun that I had in my lap, put it on the side of his head, and I cocked it back, letting his ass know that I was serious, and that I would pull this motha fucka if I had to.

“Sevyn? Really? Man, what the fuck are you doing?” you could hear his voice trembling as he asked me this.

“Ay, stop the theatrics. You know the kind of person that I am, so you had to know that I had plans to pull up on you. You don’t like me because you think I’m a thug, so I’m about to act like a thug right now.

You put money on my head? If you don’t know what that question means, let me articulate myself a little better, and ask it in a way that you can properly understand me.

Did you pay someone to try and run me off the road, and kill me?

” I spat, pressing the gun deeper into the side of his head, anxious to hear what his response was going to be.

“Sevyn, me, and you don’t get along, but really?

What kind of monster do you take me for?

Do you really think that I would risk my name, my license, or my freedom to pay someone all because I want you killed?

Come on. You sound foolish,” was his response, voice still shaking, indications of not only was he scared, but his ass was lying too.

“Ahhh, Eddy. I knew you would lie, and that’s why I came with proof.

One second bud,” I mocked, sarcasm dripping from each word.

I scooted over in the seat, sitting in the middle, so that I could have the perfect angle of him.

I removed the gun from his head, but I kept it in my lap, just in case he moved an inch, and I had to use it.

There was a folder that was sitting right next to me, that I brought with me. I quickly took the contents out, and I reached over, placing everything in his lap, for him to glance over.

Ever since that shit happened between Yaya and I last weekend, I jumped on it quickly, hiring a private investigator because I wanted to get down to the meat of this shit.

The dude that tried to run me off the side of the road, I learned that night from the cops that his name was Mark Henley.

He was in his late thirties, and he had a military background.

With the private investigator that I hired, he was able to give me all the dirt on Mark, telling me about his dishonorable discharge from the military, and after that, his life just kind of went left afterwards.

He did have petty shit on his record, like some aggravated assault charges, drug possession, and shit like that.

When I was going to hire someone for a job to help me out, I was going to make sure that I hired the best of the best, so the person that got me the information was skilled in tech, being able to get me Mark’s phone records, bank transaction receipts, and even text messages.

Even though before Mark took his last breath, he told me that it was Edward Sterling that hired him for the job, I wanted to be sure, and once the private investigator got back to me that it was, and he came at me with all these heavy facts, I’m not going to lie, I was shocked.

This cracka hated me so much that he wanted me dead.

He couldn’t get to my son the way that he wanted to.

He couldn’t ruin Creed’s life the way that he had planned, so he had to take it up a notch.

If I wasn’t a skilled driver the way that I was, and if I wasn’t always alert, paying attention to the things that were taking place around me, I feared that Yaya and I wouldn’t have been here anymore for our boys.

All because of jealousy, and hatred, this man was willing to have me killed, and that’s the shit that I didn’t rock with.

“See, this is why you could never beat me in court. Your ass is stupid, and you could tell that you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing.

All the conspiracy cases that I’m sure you’ve seen in court, yet you were still stupid enough to put a hit in on me with your real phone number.

You were stupid enough to send the money to pay him from your personal bank account.

Then, you sending text messages, talking about the shit.

What kind of attorney are you? You literally just handed me this shit, and made my work so much easier,” I finished.

Once I finished, this man had the nerve to be in the front seat, and he started crying.

“I was angry. I just wanted justice for my daughter?—”

“Justice for your daughter for what nigga? My son didn’t do shit to her!

Your daughter took to social media, telling the whole world that my son didn’t touch her!

If you truly believe in your heart that my son violated your daughter, how come you never took her to the hospital, and showed that a rape kit was done?

You know nothing happened! Your hate, and your distain for me just put a bad taste in your mouth, and it hurt your pride to know that my black ass son was in the bedroom with your white daughter.

That’s all it is,” I spat. He didn’t have any words to say.

Just continued to sit there and pitied his self by crying.

I wanted to get him to keep talking because it would all make sense in the end.

“How much do you want? I’ll pay you off.

I was desperate at the time, and I was angry.

That’s why I paid the money to have you killed.

Man, if I could go back in time, I swear I wouldn’t have done it.

I have too much to lose, man. My children.

My wife. Everything that I’ve worked for will go down the drain if you expose this,” he said, and I laughed because that was really all I needed from him.

“I don’t have to expose it. You just did,” I responded, getting ready to see myself out of the back of his car.

“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” he stammered, turning his head around to look at me.

I picked up the recording device that was in my lap, and I flashed it at him.

“You could never beat me in court because I was always ten steps ahead of you. My mind goes to places that yours doesn’t.

Where I’m from, snitches get stitches. The last time I snitched on somebody, I was probably in daycare, but for you, I’ll make an exception.

Killing you would have been far too easy.

I want to see you suffer. I want to see you sit down and ride out that conspiracy charge that you got headed your way.

Be easy, fam,” was all I said, patting him on his shoulder, grabbing my recorder, and I got out of the car.

The whole time, he was behind me, begging, and pleading for me not to turn that recorder over, but it was already too late. My mind was already made up.

I made it back over to my truck, got in, started it up, and I quickly peeled out.

I swear I drove home with the biggest smile on my face, knowing that it was me that had gotten the last laugh out of this shit.

That cracka tried to ruin me. He tried to ruin my son, and the shit only backfired on him in the end.

When that shit made the news, and all the blogs with him in handcuffs, locked up like how they had my son, I swear Ima smile so big that my fuckin cheeks were going to hurt.

I pulled up to the house about twenty minutes later. It was still dark out, but it wasn’t as dark as it was when I left. I pulled my truck into the driveway, shut it off, and I grabbed up everything that I needed.