The Baltimore Chronicles Saga

by Treasure Hernandez

Genres: Urban Fantasy; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

From the same author that brought you the Flint series, comes a new town . . . a new drama. Treasure Hernandez is back with her second street series chronicling both sides of Baltimore's black market. Derek Fuller is the head detective of the Baltimore Narcotics Division. His team has been assigned to take down the biggest drug operation in the city. There's only one problem . . . the head of the operation is his twin brother, Scar Johnson. Separated in Baltimore's foster care system, they came from two different walks of life, but both met at the top on opposite sides of the law. With the Assistant District Attorney in their back pocket, this was a marriage made in heaven-until the drama and deceit enters. Delve into this treacherous story of love, deceit, lies, and murder. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and once one brother feels betrayed, the only retribution is death.

Release date: October 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Detective Derek Fuller splashed water on his face, took a deep breath, and looked up at himself in the small, dull mirror that hung in the men’s bathroom inside the station house. He noticed the bags that were starting to form under his eyes, but he knew those came with the territory. Fighting against the Maryland drug trade was not an easy win. Shaking off his jitters, Derek stared at himself. He thought that despite those bags, his smooth cinnamon-colored skin and chestnut brown eyes still made him a fine-ass dude.

Refocusing, Derek spoke to himself. “Let’s get it, niggah. This ain’t no time to have second thoughts.” He checked his gear, shifted his bulletproof vest, and shrugged into his raid jacket. It was six o’clock in the morning, and he had to get into the right state of mind for the task at hand. Walking back out into the squad room, he put on his game face.

“I hope everybody is ready for Scar. Let’s fuckin’ roll and take this nigga out. This mufucka only thinks he’s the leader of the bitch-ass Dirty Money Crew,” Derek announced to the four officers who comprised his unit. They all stood at attention and started gathering their battle gear.

“Yo, Fuller, can I bring this baby with me?” Officer Rodriguez asked, picking up the brand new MP-5 they had just acquired. The big weapon looked out of place in the petite woman’s hands. To the average eye, she would appear weak and out of her element, but Fuller had come up in the academy with Rodriguez and knew never to underestimate her. She had the gumption that most men never mustered, and she was an asset to his team. He trusted Rodriguez with his life, and in the game they played, that meant a lot. She never hesitated to pull a trigger, and if he was the first man through the door, she was always right behind him.

“Damn straight,” Derek replied, flashing his perfect smile and leading his unit out the door.

Derek felt powerful in his new position as a lead detective with the Baltimore Narcotics Unit of the Maryland State Police. Living and working in the roughest part of Baltimore, Derek had put in work, moving up from a car-chasing, ticket-giving state trooper to a narcotics street officer, and now leader of his own narcotics interdiction unit. Derek’s unit was charged with taking down the so-called Dirty Money Crew and their notorious leader, Stephon “Scar” Johnson.

Everyone in the Baltimore area knew about Scar and his powerful drug ring. He ran cocaine up and down the interstate with ease. On top of that, he was a jack of all trades. He had his hand in everything from extortion and illegal gambling to prostitution. If there was money to be made in the underworld of B-more, then Scar was getting it. Scar had been reigning terror on the streets for years now. He was considered the Rayful Edmond of Baltimore; only difference was he didn’t get caught. He deemed himself untouchable and moved like a ghost through the streets, getting money but going unseen most of the time. Rumor had it that on his climb to the top, Scar had taken out ten police officers and two government officials; but with no proof and witnesses who always turned up dead or missing, it had been an almost impossible undertaking for the over-matched and undermanned state troopers to touch Scar.

That did not stop Derek’s unit from pursuing Scar. Derek was aware of what he needed to do to prove himself to his bosses and the crime syndicates in the streets. His success as a detective depended on the attention he would receive for taking Scar down.

As Derek and his unit arrived at their destination in the worst hood in Baltimore, Derek shook his head and smiled. It was just like the confidential informant had told the unit; Scar was making a very rare early morning creep appearance at one of his most lucrative trap houses. When Derek noticed Scar’s tricked-out black Escalade, complete with its candy paint job, parked on the side of the trap house, Derek felt his dick jump in his pants. He was that excited by this opportunity to shine.

“Here we fuckin’ go!” Derek mumbled under his breath, geeking himself up for the task at hand. His heart was beating so fast that it threatened to jump out of his chest. He turned to Cassell and asked, “You got the warrant?”

“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” Cassell replied, revealing an edge of the warrant from out of his breast pocket.

Some would say he was being overcautious with the warrant, but Derek wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. A few years back, due to his recklessness, he had busted a local drug dealer without a warrant. Needless to say, the drug dealer was set free. That incident didn’t help his reputation within the police force, and he had worked hard to gain back respect.

Satisfied that everything was in order just how he’d planned it, Derek was ready for the raid. Yanking his Glock out of his hip holster, Derek barely put his vehicle in park before he swung the door open and jumped out. He waved his hands over his head, placed his fingers up to his lips, and made a fist, signaling his unit to get into their rehearsed raid positions.

They all silently exited their black Impalas. Ducking low, they fell in line one behind the other and stacked on the door. Derek was first in the stack; he would announce their arrival. The ram holder stood on the opposite side of the door, and the rest of the unit knew their roles in bringing up the back of the stack. Derek raised his right hand and silently counted down. Three, two, one.

At that, the ram holder sent the heavy duty metal crashing into the shabby plywood door. The wood splintered open with one hit. Inside, bodies began scrambling in all directions.

“Police! Police! Put ya fuckin’ hands up now!” Derek screamed, waving his weapon back and forth, pointing it at all of Scar’s scrambling workers for emphasis. All of the members of the unit trampled inside, grabbing whomever they could and tossing them to the ground.

Derek continued into the house with his gun drawn, keeping his back close to the walls. He had his eye on the prize, and he was not going to stop until he had it in custody. Derek came to a closed door at the back of the house. With his gun trained on the door, he kicked it open.

“Damn, man, put the gun down. You ain’t gotta go all hard and shit,” Scar said calmly as he exhaled a cigar smoke ring in front of him, poisoning the air surrounding him.

Derek shook his head. He needed this take down to be as dramatic as possible, and Scar’s laid-back attitude wasn’t helping.

“Put your fucking hands up, mu’fucka!” Derek screamed, pointing his gun right at Scar’s head. “Now! Show me your hands!”

“A’ight, a’ight. Calm down, cowboy,” Scar said, smirking and stubbing out his cigar on the table he sat behind.

Derek was getting more pissed by the minute. He didn’t want to look like a punk in front of his unit, while Scar was looking cool, calm, and collected.

“They pay you to act all extra?” Scar asked, still smiling.

“Let’s go! Stand the fuck up, niggah!” Derek barked again.

“I got one better for you. I will put my hands out so you can cuff me.” Scar chuckled, his smile causing his severely disfigured charcoal-colored face to contort into a monstrous mug. Pushing away from the table, Scar lifted his six foot three inch gorilla frame up from the chair. Laughing like he had heard a joke, Scar turned around and assumed the handcuffing position.

“Cuff this son of a bitch!” Derek spat as one of his officers moved in swiftly to lock the cuffs on Scar’s thick wrists.

“Son of a bitch? Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Scar replied, still laughing.

Derek grabbed the cuffs roughly, making sure they were clamped extra tight so the metal would cut into Scar’s skin and shut him up. That would teach him not to play games. There were just some things that shouldn’t be said in front of the members of the unit. No need to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

Derek led Scar out of the house, and just like he had planned, the media trucks and cameras were right on time to get coverage of the raid.

“Detective Fuller, how did you do this so smoothly when no other law enforcement units could take down the notorious Stephon ‘Scar’ Johnson?” a female reporter yelled out as Derek rushed passed her with Scar in tow.

“It was all in a day’s work,” Derek wolfed out as he pushed Scar’s head down into the back of the police car.

Derek looked and felt like a hero. He had taken down the big, bad drug kingpin. He could not contain his proud smile. He was the man.

Derek and his unit pulled into the prisoner drop-off area in the back of the station house and unloaded Scar and some of his crew.

“Ay, man, when all the pomp and circumstance is done, maybe we can break bread, you know, have a drink and shit,” Scar said, smiling at Derek mischievously.

“Nah, buddy. You’ll be breaking bread with your fellow inmates soon enough,” Derek said smoothly, slapping five with some of his unit members and walking away, leaving Scar to be processed.

Derek continued to crack jokes with his unit as they proceeded to the front of the station house. Pushing open the door, they were surprised by the way they were greeted. It was like the other officers and staff at the station house had planned a surprise party. They all stopped to turn and see the unit enter, and they were cheering and whistling loudly.

Derek could not contain his pride. He loved the attention, especially when he noticed Chief William Scott standing in front of the uproarious crowd. The chief stepped forward, placing his hands up to quiet the cheers so he could speak. He loved to hear himself speak.

“Here they are, the untouchable Baltimore Narcotics Unit. They have done in one day what every other law enforcement agency in Maryland and the feds have tried to do for years. Led by one of the finest detectives in state trooper history, Derek Fuller,” Chief Scott announced, placing one hand on Derek’s shoulder and grabbing his other hand for a firm handshake. The crowd of state troopers and administrative staff erupted in cheers again.

Derek bowed his head slightly, trying to act modest, but he loved the attention. He basked in it. It was what he had waited so long for, to be considered great.

He returned the chief’s handshake. “I couldn’t have done it without the best unit around—Rodriguez, Bolden, Archie, and Cassell. Thank you all for being brave soldiers. This take down was only possible because of the hard work of every member of my team. We have all dedicated countless man hours in the pursuit of justice, and now today is our day,” Derek said for good measure. In his head, he was thinking it was all him. Little did they know that he could have singlehandedly taken Scar down, but that was a secret he would have to keep.

“Come down to my office, Detective Fuller. I want to speak to you,” Chief Scott leaned into Derek’s ear and whispered as the crowd began to break up and surround the other unit members.

Derek’s heart jumped in his chest. Everyone knew that it was hard for a black man to get ahead in the Maryland State Police. The fact that this white chief, who was known to be a redneck, wanted to speak to him alone made Derek feel important. It was all working out exactly as he had envisioned it.

He followed the chief downstairs to his office, where Chief Scott offered Derek a seat on his famed leather couch—another rare occurrence. Usually an invitation to Chief Scott’s office was only for troopers to get an ass-chewing or disciplinary action taken against them. Derek knew this time would be different.

Chief Scott slid his fat stomach behind his desk, put a finger full of chewing tobacco into his cheek, and looked at Derek seriously. “Detective Fuller. I don’t call many people to my office for compliments, but what you did today was beyond remarkable. Taking down one of the biggest bastard drug lords the state of Maryland has ever seen was more than a simple task. Those fucking DEA federal bastards couldn’t do it this long with all their corrupt agents and payoffs. You have exceeded any expectations I had ever dreamed of for your unit, and for that, I commend you.”

Derek leaned back and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Detective Fuller, I truly think you have what it takes to be higher up in the department one day . . . maybe even sit at this desk as chief,” Chief Scott said seriously, spitting his gooey, chewed-up tobacco into a can on his desk.

Derek was glowing from the accolades he was receiving. “Well, Chief, I appreciate the compliment. I just want to work hard and continue to make you and the department proud. It took months of surveillance and lots of footwork on the streets,” he said, continuing the act he’d been performing all day, “but at the end of the day, that bastard Scar Johnson deserved to go down. I’m just glad it’s over.” Derek stood up from the couch. “Now, after I finish the paperwork, I’m going home to my family, who I have neglected for the last six months. I’m sure my wife will be happy to see me,” Derek said. Just thinking about his beautiful woman made him smile again.

“I’ve seen your wife. I would be on my way home too,” Chief Scott commented with a smile, sending Derek on his way.

Derek turned his key in the door to his modest single-family home, and he could already smell the aroma of his dinner wafting through the house. He loved his wife so much. She was a triple threat—a good mother, a working professional, and a damned good wife. “Hello?” Derek called out and then waited.

“Daddy! Daddy!” he heard his kids screaming as they ran toward him at top speed. They were not used to him being home at night. Most of the time, he would come in after a long stakeout and they would already be asleep, so his presence was a welcome surprise.

“Ay, baby girl and my big man,” Derek sang, picking up his two-year-old daughter and rubbing his six-year-old son’s head.

“We saw you on the news today!” his son announced proudly, holding onto his father like he never wanted him to leave again.

With kids hanging onto him, Derek moved slowly toward the kitchen, where he knew Tiphani waited for him. Just like he expected, his sexy wife stood by the stove with her back turned, her long jet-black hair lying on her back and her apple bottom looking perfect in her fitted jeans.

Derek put his daughter down and grabbed his wife around her waist from the back. He inhaled the scent of her strawberry shampoo and tucked her hair behind her ear so he could kiss the smooth skin of her neck.

She smiled. “Hey, hey . . . you have to wait for all of that,” she sang, putting her stirring spoon down and turning to greet her heroic husband properly.

“Well, hurry up and feed these rugrats so I won’t have to wait too long,” Derek whispered in her ear. He could feel his nature rising. After almost ten years of marriage, he was still attracted to his wife like they had just begun dating. He never grew tired or bored with her, and it was a plus that she kept herself looking right with regular manicures, pedicures, and facials. In his line of work, divorce was rampant, but Derek and Tiphani had stood the test of time. Derek was grateful to have a partner who understood that sometimes his work had to come first, and he gave her the same respect.

After dinner, Derek tucked the kids into bed while Tiphani cleaned up the dishes. As soon as the little ones drifted off, Derek sneaked back downstairs and watched his wife’s sexy frame move around the kitchen. Derek was in awe of her beautiful, flawless caramel skin, her almond-shaped eyes, and beautiful hourglass figure.

He rushed into the kitchen and grabbed her roughly, lifting her off her feet.

“Wait, silly. Let’s go upstairs,” she said with a giggle.

“I can’t wait anymore. Seeing your ass in them jeans got me on rock!” Derek exclaimed, fumbling with the button on her jeans. She acquiesced, throwing her hands around his neck. Derek hoisted her onto their granite countertop and yanked off her jeans, pulling her black lace thong off with them. He inhaled, excited by the sight of her beautifully trimmed triangle. “Fuck . . . you look so damn good!

“I missed you, baby,” he huffed, barely able to contain himself.

Tiphani licked her fingers seductively and rubbed her clitoris, causing it to swell slightly. Derek had finally got his own pants off. His medium-sized member stood at full attention. He was a firm believer that it wasn’t the size that mattered; it was what you did with what you had that made all the difference. Derek began licking the inside of her thighs.

“Ahh,” Tiphani grunted, throwing her head back. Derek teased around her thighs until she put her hand on his head and forced it between her legs. He stuck his tongue out and licked her clit softly. Tiphani slid her hot box toward his tongue in ecstasy. “I want you,” she whispered.

At that, Derek lifted his head, grabbed his dick, and drove it into his wife’s soaking wet opening with full force.

She let out a short gasp as Derek dug further into her flesh.

Tiphani dug her nails into his shoulders. He began to pump harder.

Suddenly, something happened. Derek recoiled slightly. Tiphani closed her legs around his back, trying to keep him inside her. She was hoping that it didn’t happen again.

“Urgghhh!” Derek growled, collapsing.

Tiphani slouched her shoulders and lowered her head.

He had finished less than two minutes after he had started.

“Fuck!” he cursed himself, his cheeks flaming over with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was just so excited to feel you,” Derek said, making excuses for his shortcomings.

“I know you were just excited. That shit was still good, baby,” Tiphani consoled as she hugged him.

“Did you at least cum?” Derek asked.

Is he fuckin’ kidding me with that question? Tiphani screamed silently in her head. “Hell yeah, baby. You know I cum as soon as you touch me,” she lied as she hugged him and hid her face. Derek continued to apologize, and she continued to console him.

This shit is so out of control right now! Tiphani thought as she rolled her eyes behind Derek’s back. It wasn’t like he came fast and stayed hard where he could please her too.

After his nut, he was a goner, leaving her unsatisfied and royally pissed the fuck off.

Derek didn’t know if she was telling the truth, but he did know that his premature ejaculation was starting to become a problem.

It had been three months since the raid, and the day had finally come. Security was tight as Derek walked up to the courthouse. He could hardly make it to the steps because there were so many reporters and spectators outside. Scar’s impending trial had been in the news for weeks. There had even been a countdown of sorts. The media had dubbed it the Trial of the Year. When some of the media hounds noticed Derek, they almost trampled each other to be the first to get a statement from him.

“Detective Fuller, are you nervous to face the notorious Scar Johnson?” a reporter called out, shoving a microphone into Derek’s face.

“Are you kidding me with that question? If I wasn’t nervous to bring him down in his own hood, why would I be nervous about facing him in a court of law?” Derek replied, giving the reporter a bit of heat. After he set the media straight, Derek smoothed the front of his Brooks Brothers suit and continued his stride up the courthouse steps.

It was no better inside the courtroom. There were throngs of cameras and reporters lined up around the back and sides. Derek sat on the bench directly behind the prosecutor’s table and looked around. He could feel more than one pair of icy eyes on him. There were numerous members of Scar’s crew peppered throughout the courtroom crowd, and they weren’t hiding their glares. Derek didn’t care because it just added to the drama of the scene and made him look better.

Derek turned around just in time to see the court officers leading Scar to the defendant’s table. Scar had a huge smile plastered on his face, and he stared directly at Derek.

Knowing that all eyes would be on him, Derek frowned at Scar and shook his head. “Ain’t this a bitch?” Derek mumbled when he noticed that Scar donned an expensive Armani suit, complete with a tailor-made French cuff shirt with diamond cuff links, and to top it off, what looked to be an authentic Cuban cigar sticking out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Scar looked down at his suit and back over at Derek. Speaking with his eyes and facial expression, Scar was letting Derek know that he was still the man, regardless of the bust.

“All rise. The honorable Judge Irvin Klein presiding in the matter of the State of Maryland versus Stephon Johnson,” the court officer called out. Everyone in the courtroom stood.

Derek broke his gaze on Scar, turned around, and stood as the judge slid into his seat on the bench.

With a bang of his gavel, the judge started the highly anticipated court proceedings. An eerie hush fell over the courtroom, and all eyes were front and center.

“Is the state ready to present its case? If so, prosecutor Fuller, you may begin,” Judge Klein stated.

On cue, the prosecutor, who Derek thought was the most beautiful, sexy caramel specimen of a woman he had ever laid eyes on, stood up to start. My wife is not only beautiful, she is on point. She got this shit, Derek thought to himself, smiling proudly. She moved her sexy frame from behind the table and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Scar’s defense lawyer, a shark named Larry Tillman, jumped to his feet.

“Your Honor, I would like to move to have this case dismissed immediately,” Mr. Tillman announced.

Everyone in the courtroom was looking at him like he was crazy. Not only was he interrupting the prosecutor, he was stepping on the toes of one of the most hard-ass judges in the Maryland court system. Hushed murmurs passed amongst the onlookers.

“Mr. Tillman, you will speak when spoken to,” Judge Klein said.

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I am requesting to approach the bench,” Mr. Tillman said.

Prosecutor Fuller looked around, confused. She was seething mad. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She ran her hands over her skirt and cocked her head to the side in an attempt to compose herself.

“Your Honor, please tell me you will not allow the defense to turn this trial into a sideshow,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Approach!” the judge yelled.

Derek looked around and saw that Scar was smiling from ear to ear. The members of the media were going crazy, writing and recording.

The two attorneys approached the bench. The judge leaned in and spoke to them, while everyone else seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Finally, the judge spoke somberly. “Mr. Tillman, you may proceed with your argument for dismissal,” the judge said.

“I would be glad to,” Tillman replied, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I am asking that the state’s case against my client, Stephon Johnson, be dismissed, and that the evidence obtained be deemed inadmissible, as it was obtained with an illegal warrant. My client was arrested inside the house at the address 245 Covington Lane. The warrant used to illegally search my client’s property was granted for the address 254 Covington Lane—a completely different, and might I add, nonexistent address. Therefore, it was obtained through an illegal search and seizure, which you and I both know was a direct and despicable violation of my client’s rights.

“The state and their rogue cowboy troopers showed no writ of probable cause to enter my client’s property and seize property or persons contained therein. This case was a prime example of the Maryland State Police’s constant attempt at racial profiling and prejudice against young men like my client. I move to have this case dismissed without prejudice and expunged from my client’s record,” Mr. Tillman argued.

Tiphani Fuller looked back at her husband, contorting her face with anger. He told me it would all be good. This better not come back to haunt my career, she thought.

Loud gasps and murmurs erupted in the courtroom as Scar’s attorney laid out his argument. Derek gripped the bottom of the wooden bench so hard that his knuckles turned white. He knew Scar would be released, but his lawyer was supposed to let the trial go on for a while first, to help Derek score a few more points with the chief. Making himself, his wife, and the department look bad had never been part of the plan. This was supposed to be a win-win for everyone, but Tillman was flipping the script.

Chief Scott and the entire unit sat in the back of the courtroom. They were up in arms as they heard the defense basically make them look like racist assholes. Scar just sat there with a smug look on his face, knowing he was about to be set free.

“Order! Order!” Judge Klein screamed out, banging his gavel over and over. Finally, things quieted down in the courtroom. “In light of this new and unsettling revelation and the fact that the court records reflect the address on the warrant is in fact the wrong one, I have no choice but to honor the U.S. Constitution, in accordance with the fourth amendment, which provides citizens the right to be free from illegal search and seizure. I hereby dismiss the State’s case against defendant Stephon Johnson on the grounds that the State’s evidence is inadmissible in the nature it was obtained,” Judge Klein said regretfully, slamming his gavel and rushing up from the bench.

The courtroom erupted into pandemonium. Reporters scrambled to get the best shots of Derek and Scar. Tiphani threw her papers on the desk and stood up, enraged. The narcotics unit members and Scar’s henchmen began exchanging harsh words, and the court officers were overwhelmed with trying to bring order in the courthouse.

Derek hung his head in shame. His wife shot him evil looks. This was no longer part of the act. She had put her ass on the line for this case, and she was truly pissed off now.

Chief Scott rushed over to him and grabbed him by the arm. “I need to talk to you, Detective Fuller . . . now!” he growled, pulling Derek into the hallway by his arm. “For Christ’s sake, Fuller, what the fuck were you thinking? Something as simple as the right address on a fucking warrant!” Chief Scott said in a harsh whisper.

“I told Cassell two forty-five. I even wrote it down for him. I can’t help it if he’s dyslexic and can’t write the right number!” Derek lied. The truth was he didn’t write it down, and Cassell had written the address correctly. Derek just went back and reversed the numbers. He had failed to factor Scar’s pain-in-the-ass lawyer into the equation, and now things had blown up in his face.

“Chief, I can fix this,” Derek started.

“You let the department down. You better come up with some good shit to redeem yourself, Fuller,” Chief Scott said.

Just then a huge, uproarious crowd began moving toward them. It was like the scene around a hot celebrity surrounded by fans.

Derek and the chief looked on and saw Scar in the middle of the crowd. He could not contain the still-smug smile that spread across his face as he rolled his unlit Cuban cigar between his fingers. As the crowd, complete with media cameras and Scar’s henchmen, approached Derek, Scar stopped.

“If it ain’t the fuckin’ man without a plan,” Scar said sarcastically to Derek, winking.

That was it.

“Fuck you!” Derek screamed, lunging at Scar. He instinctively reached to his waistband for his weapon, but felt nothing there. When he entered the courthouse, he’d had to check in his gun.

“You lucky bastard,” Derek grumbled as Chief Scott blocked him. This take down was supposed to make Derek look good, and now Scar was standing here in front of all the cameras, rubbing shit in Derek’s face. This was not the way things were supposed to go down, and if Derek didn’t know better, he’d say that Scar was enjoying this a little too much.

Scar’s crew had gotten ready for battle, stepping in front of Scar, ready to take on Derek. Chief Scott continued to struggle to restrain Derek.

“Fuller! This bastard is not fucking worth it,” the chief said, dragging a raging Derek down the opposite end of the courthouse hallway. Scar popped his collar and stepped across the courthouse threshold into freedom.

The show looked good, and everyone was completely fooled, except one lone person, who sat in the back of the courtroom and witnessed the whole circus act. From the moment they saw Scar’s lawyer argue the fourth amendment and the little wink that Scar gave detective Fuller after the trial, the observer knew something was not right. It was now time to find out exactly what was going on.

Scar’s custom built mansion sat on almost twenty acres in an affluent Baltimore suburb. The circular driveway was filled with every luxury car on the market. There was no mistaking his wealth because he flaunted it relentlessly. Music could be heard blaring from beyond the huge wrought-iron gates. Scar wanted to celebrate every day for the same amount of time he was locked up awaiting trial. This was just day one of his planned festivities.

Inside of his twenty thousand square foot home, Scar sat on his custom-made throne in his very own champagne room. He watched as two beautiful, exotic model-type chicks performed a striptease