Turned Up

Book 0: Hot Shot Series

by Clifford "Spud" Johnson

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

It’s time for SAC Gaines, also known as Hot Shot, to turn up the heat on the Inglewood 13s and get the vengeance he seeks for his family. Will he be able to maintain his professionalism without letting his emotions override the task at hand?

Turned Up is the third installment of the Hot Shot series. Hot Shot is back home in California. Operation Clean Up is his mission, but not his primary concern. He has been tasked with bringing down the Inglewood 13s gang, since they’ve been targeted by the F.B.I. This suits Hot Shot just fine, because the Inglewood 13s are also responsible for the murders of his parents and his brother. This mission gives Hot Shot the opportunity to do his job and get the revenge he seeks.
 
Hot Shot has become increasingly more violent, almost to the point where he has no control, and that bothers him greatly. Yet, he’s dead set on murdering every man or woman that had anything to do with the murders of his family.

Release date: April 25, 2023

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Cotton’s eyes opened wide in shock when he saw Hot Shot and Nola enter the house. He has been Hot Shot’s right-hand man since they met in Dallas, Texas. He stood, and with two strides, he was in front of Nola with his arms open and gave her a tight hug.

“Welcome home, Nola. You’re looking good as ever,” he said as he released her from their embrace.

“Thank you, Cotton. I know you’re loving it here in La La Land.”

“Yeah, it’s cool. The females are a trip, though. A man has to have paper to deal with these females on a daily basis. Every time I leave the house, I’m spending ends and not feeling that at all. But you know me. I’m a country boy that’s going to make it do what it does. And best believe these L.A. women got their hands full dealing with me.” He paused and stared at Hot Shot and Nola for a minute, then said, “Wait a minute. How you get out? I thought you still had a couple of more years to do.”

“Cotton, I need to get at you about something serious, so let’s sit down for a minute so we can put this together,” Hot Shot said as he led them to the living room where they sat. Hot Shot really didn’t like deceiving Cotton like he’d been doing. Over the last few years, Cotton had become like a brother to him. It was time to put everything on the table. If it cost him his friendship with Cotton, then so be it. He had a job to do, and nothing or no one would ever stop him. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m a federal agent, Cotton. I’ve been working undercover for the FBI.”

Cotton smiled at Hot Shot and Nola and said, “Damn, why y’all looking all gloomy and shit? Boss man, I may be a country boy, but there’s nothing green about me. I figured you were plugged into some heavy people. I didn’t think it was the FBI, but I knew it was some form of law enforcement. How you move showed me that a long time ago.”

“How I move?” Hot Shot asked curiously.

“Yeah, whenever JT calls or comes through, you act differently. It’s like your body lingo switches up, like you talking to a superior like in the army or some shit. I can’t really explain it. All I knew was you weren’t making all the moves you make on some straight illegal shit—which is cool with me. As long I get this money and stay lit, I don’t give a damn. I also knew that you’d tell me when you felt I needed to know. So, now that you know I know you’re a superagent, does that change anything about us, Boss man?”

Shaking his head, Hot Shot stood, gave his main man a hug, and told him, “No, it doesn’t change a thing. You my guy, and you will always be my guy.” They gave each other another hug, and it was all good.

“OK, now we got that out of the way, can you show me to my room so I can take a hot bath and enjoy the rest of my first day home?” Nola said, and they all laughed.

While Nola was getting herself together, Hot Shot called JT and told him about the conversation he just had with Cotton. He also informed him how Nola felt about wanting to be able to talk to her sister.

In his usual Kentucky drawl, JT said, “Well, hell, you told everybody else. Why not tell her sister too? What harm can it do at this point?”

Hot Shot pondered his words for a moment and said, “I don’t know. What if she told her that her brother and cousins were in federal prison because of me? How do I know she will not be all twisted and angry with me?”

“You’re not giving her the high hard one, so who cares if she’s mad at you? Either way, that’s your call. Let’s get to the matter at hand. That young amigo Toker will be giving you a call for a meeting. Then you can take it from there. Again, I know this is personal for you, too personal if you ask me, but I trust you to remain disciplined and get the job done. Any collateral damage . . . Hell, shit happens, but I want you to make sure that it ain’t too much. Are we clear, Hot Shot?”

“Yep.” Hot Shot ended the call, went into his bedroom, and sat down on the bed with a smile as he listened to his wife sing while soaking in the bathtub. He took off his clothes and went into the bathroom and joined her. Toker and the Inglewood 13s were the last things on his mind.

Cotton was lying on the couch, talking to one of the many new females he’d met since moving to Los Angeles. He was touching more money than he ever had in his life. There was no way he would mess up this arrangement with Hot Shot. He didn’t give a damn if he was a federal agent. As long as he could keep getting that money, he was straight. He laughed aloud as he realized he had a fucking get-out-of-jail-free card. His life was smooth sailing now, and he was loving the ride.

“So, check this out, baby. What are you trying to do tonight? I’m trying to go get some good seafood, then go back to your place so I can eat that cat. If you’re with that, I’ll come scoop you in a couple of hours.”

“That’s cool. I’ll drop a pin so you can come get me. Where are we going to eat, boo?” the female Cotton was talking to on the phone asked.

“Didn’t you say you lived in Long Beach?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, we’ll grab something out at the Pike.”

“That’s cool. You know it may be cold out by the beach.”

“No worries, baby. Cotton will keep you warm all night long.”

“I’m sure you will,” the young lady said as they ended their call.

“Money, pussy, and more money. Shit, I love L.A.” Cotton got up and headed to his room, humming.

Hot Shot was standing outside the Habit Grill burger restaurant waiting for Toker, the young Hispanic snitch that would help him bring down some heavyweights in the violent Mexican gang known as the Inglewood 13s. He remembered Toker from when his little brother used to hang out. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt him. But if he did, he really didn’t give a damn. He had murder on his mind and a pained soul. There would be a lot of blood spilled on these Inglewood streets, that’s for damn sure, he vowed as he continued to survey his surroundings and wait for Toker.

As he was about to text him again, Toker pulled into the parking lot in a black Audi SUV. He motioned for Hot Shot to come into his vehicle. Then Toker eased the car into traffic on Century Boulevard. He made a left turn on Crenshaw Boulevard and continued in silence.

Slightly agitated by the silence, Hot Shot said, “What’s good, Toker? How is this meeting going to go down?”

“I’m waiting for my homie to get at me, and then we’re going to meet two other homies, Termite and his little brother Puma. They’re the ones who are in charge of getting guns for us. You have to understand how hard it was for me to get this meeting. You’ve been gone a long time, Jason. Things have changed. We rarely deal with Blacks.”

“When did this change? Inglewood 13s always got along with Inglewood Bloods. Wasn’t your beef mainly with the Lennox 13s?”

“That beef will never stop. The thing is, now us Southsiders all fall under Sureno. So we still have our beefs with each other, but we have beef with all Blacks in Inglewood.”

“So you’re telling me that the Mexicans are on some beef with everyone in Inglewood that’s Black?”

“Yep. Times have changed, and the rules are different now, Jason.”

“Stop calling me by my real name. I’m Hot Shot or Shot. I don’t want your people to connect me to my brother. Speaking of my brother, how did that really go down, Toker?”

Toker sighed and said, “You know me and Jeremy been cool since we went to elementary school. He saw how I was on the come-up, and he wanted in. So, I would slide him a little something just to keep some money in his pockets. It was cool. Then he started to want more and more. He wasn’t spending his money. All he wanted was more drugs so he could slang and keep stacking his bread. He got up to buying two kilos a month. It was all good until my people wanted to meet him. At that time, there wasn’t any beef going on, so I set up the meeting and introduced Jeremy to my homie, Casper. After that, Jeremy stopped scoring from me and dealt only with Casper.”

“So, this Casper guy is the man who did that to my family?”

“No. Maybe. I’m not sure. All I do know is me and Jeremy got jacked by the 18s, and it all went bad after that. Shit, there was a hit attempt on my life, but they missed. The only reason I was spared was that I have a cousin that’s high enough in rank that got me a pass.”

“You got a pass, and my family didn’t. I want to know who killed my family, Toker. I want to know who gave the order to have my family killed. Do you understand me?”

“I hear you, Shot. Honestly, for a hit to be approved, it has to come from the top, and the top man is Franco. Period. There are several hitters from the neighborhood, but the ones I feel are ruthless enough to do what they did to your family are Paco and Devil. They are some cold fuckers, homes, for real. Like I said, I’m not sure, but in my gut, I feel they’re the guys you want.”

“And you’re back in with your homies because of your cousin?”

“Right, homes.”

“Since Casper was in charge of the drug parts of things, he’s the one who put the hit out on you and my brother. That’s what makes sense to me.”

“Nah, Casper’s scary ass ain’t built like that. He acts hard, but he’s soft. Franco gave the order. I’m damn sure about that.”

“Okay. This Termite and Puma will do business with guns, but what about drugs?”

Toker laughed and said, “Nah, there will be no drug talk with those two. Plus, the drug connection is secure. You do that, and you will get them suspicious. Please, don’t do that. I’m skating on thin ice as it is, so you cannot slip, or we’re both dead.”

“Understood.”

Toker received a phone call and was told where the meeting would take place. He disconnected the call and told Hot Shot they were meeting Termite and Puma at Inglewood Cemetery. “Remember, homes, no slips. We know each other from around the way, and we bumped into each other a few weeks ago. No need to go into detail because they will watch your reactions to everything you say. Before the talk about weapons takes place, they’ll try to feel you out. If they think they have tripped you up, then it’s a wrap.”

“No worries. I know what I’m doing. Once things move along and I start doing business, we will not need to communicate unless you have some pertinent information I need. Still, get at JT once I’m in. I’ll take it from there.”

“I feel you,” Toker said as he drove his car through Inglewood Cemetery toward the destination he was to go to. When he saw his two homeboys, Termite and Puma, kneeling under a tree, he parked the SUV, got out, and told Hot Shot, “I gotta pat you down, so if you strapped, you’re going to have to give it up.”

“Are they holding?”

“Definitely.”

“Then why do I have to give up my weapon?”

Toker rolled his light gray eyes and gave Hot Shot an exasperated look as he searched him. After he relieved Hot Shot of his 9 mm, he said, “This is the start. You handle your shit now, and you’ll get to the end of this shit, hopefully, alive.”

Toker stepped away from Hot Shot, nodded toward his homeboys, and mumbled a silent prayer: Please, let this go right, Father.

Hot Shot stepped onto the grass and over grave sites until he stood in front of the two Inglewood 13 gang members dressed in typical Los Angeles gang member garb: black Dickie pants and white tee shirts. As he was being closely scrutinized, he never let his gaze leave the two men in front of him, showing no signs of nervousness or fear. He may not have his weapon on him, but he was confident if something were to arise between himself and the two men in front of him, he would be able to defend himself adequately. His Special Forces training assured him of that. That’s why before he spoke, he made sure that he was close enough to strike if need be.

“What’s good, gentlemen?” asked Hot Shot.

Both men stared at him with frowns on their faces. Then the shorter of the two said something in Spanish to his homeboy. His homeboy didn’t speak but nodded. Hot Shot felt it would be to his advantage not to let the two men know that he was fluent in Spanish. So he stood there and waited for them to speak, acting as if he didn’t realize that the guy had told his brother that Hot Shot didn’t look like too much of nothing.

“What up, homie? What you got for us? We don’t have time for too much talk. Me and my li’l bro have a busy schedule, so talk,” Termite said.

“It’s not about what I got for you but more about what you need from me. I have a large range of weapons, so what do you guys want?” Hot Shot asked, never once losing eye contact with the gang members.

Nodding, Termite said, “We need some heavy shit. AR-15s, AK-47s mostly, and some pistols too, nines.”

“You get more than a case of ARs, and I’ll give them to you for two thousand apiece; same for the AKs. I can give you the nines for 800 apiece again if you get more than a case.”

“How many come in a case?” asked Puma, finally joining the conversation.

“Twenty-five in each case of assault rifles. Fifty in each case of pistols.”

The two men exchanged glances, then Puma said, “We can do better than those, homes. We’ll move with you if you can get at us with $1,800 apiece on the assault weapons. As for the nines, we’re not trying to spend more than $650 apiece.”

Hot Shot shook his head and said, “I apologize for wasting your time, gentlemen, because I am not here to negotiate. I’ve given you my prices.”

Termite and Puma shared a quick back-and-forth conversation in rapid Spanish. Termite told Puma that Hot Shot’s prices were okay, whereas Puma said, “Let’s just agree to his terms and jack this square-looking fool.”

Hot Shot felt it was time to turn up on the situation, and in rapid Spanish of his own, he told the brothers, “You should listen to your brother, Puma. My prices are good. And if you think you can take anything from me, that would be a major mistake. No man has ever, or will ever, take anything from me and live to talk about it. So, either we’re going to do some business, or let’s end this now.”

Both men wore shocked expressions after hearing Hot Shot speak their native language. Termite smiled while Puma frowned in annoyance. “If. . .