Chapter Sixteen

Dexter

Newton’s Kitchen, Compton Ave, Watts, Los Angeles…

The sodium vapor streetlights cast an eerie orange glow across the deserted street as Rex maneuvered the black GMC into a spot offering the best vantage point of the restaurant. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, betraying his unease.

“What the fuck are we doing here, Dex?” Rex’s eyes darted around, cataloging potential threats in the shadows. “We’re smack bang in the middle of gang territory. From what I know, there’s a long rivalry between Crips and Bloods, which makes this a precariously dangerous area.” A rapid succession of gunshots cracked through the night air, causing Rex to flinch.

“I don’t fucking like this. I’ve been dragged into more than enough violence of this kind in my time. I don’t need to go looking for more. This entire area was a former hotbed for the Black Panther Movement, Dex, and no matter who says what, I never believed they completely disappeared.”

Dexter kept his gaze fixed on the restaurant, his expression contemplative. The fluorescent sign above Newton’s Kitchen flickered intermittently, creating dancing shadows on the cracked sidewalk below.

“Yeah, which poses the question about what Theo Russo is doing here. The Gragna Mafia is into white-collar crime; they wouldn’t sink to the level of gang fare, drug trafficking, and low-level crime syndicates.” He gestured to the establishment, its windows covered with iron bars. “I suppose that offers a clue. Huey Percy Newton, an African American revolutionary and political activist, founded the Black Panther Party. He was their first leader and crafted its ten-point manifesto with Bobby Seale in 1966.”

“What do you mean by offering a clue?” Rex’s brow furrowed as his eyes tracked a lone figure crossing the street half a block down.

“This restaurant is owned by a known drug lord, Rick Hampton, of the Chicago-based Panther Syndicate, and it was named after Newton.” Dexter’s gaze swept over the building, noting the security cameras angled down from beneath the eaves. Iron bars secured the glass door and front windows, hinting at the criminal element within. “He and Bobby Seale crafted the party’s ten-point plan in Oakland. They were considered a threat by the FBI because of their anti-establishment views and militant attitude,” Dexter explained. He scratched his chin, delving into his photographic compartments.

“Newton was eventually killed during a drug deal in Oakland, California, in 1989. But his legacy lived on, inspiring people like Rick Hampton to try to resurrect the Panther movement and ideology, albeit through crime rather than activism.”

“Are you alluding to him resurfacing the Black Panther Movement?” Rex’s fingers tapped an anxious beat on the steering wheel. The passing streetlights illuminated his taut features.

“Not as far as I’ve heard.” Dexter studied the restaurant through night vision goggles, the greenish view revealing four men clustered around a table in the corner, half-hidden by a divider. “But Rick is the son of Fred Hampton from Chicago, who was an American civil rights leader and deputy chairman of the Black Panther Party’s Illinois chapter. He formed the City of Chicago’s first ‘Rainbow Coalition.’” Dexter mentally rifled through details culled from hours of research.

“Hampton was killed during a raid on his residence by Chicago police officers in 1969. Apparently, J. Edgar Hoover considered him to be a threat of an emerging ‘messiah,’ a leader who could ‘unify and electrify the militant black nationalist movement.’”

Rex shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. “How the fuck do you sleep with all that information swirling around in your mind?”

Dexter shrugged as the memories of the articles he’d read surfaced.

“Provided with the floor plan by the FBI, courtesy of the informant O’Neal, the police expected to find a stockpile of weapons, including illegal firearms, in the apartment—which often served as a de facto headquarters for the Panthers. When the raid was over, Hampton and fellow Panther, Mark Clark, were dead.”

He paused, old anger at the violence of the law on that day simmering beneath the calm veneer of his face.

“The survivors of the raid, including Hampton’s pregnant common-law wife, Deborah Johnson, aka Akua Njeri, were arrested for unlawful use of weapons, aggravated battery, and attempted murder. It was a real bloodbath—the cops fired over ninety shots, but only one was ever attributed to the Panthers.”

Rex shook his head in disbelief. “That kind of violence leaves deep scars. No wonder Hampton grew up angry, with a mother filled with bitterness and hate toward the system.”

“That’s the truth.” Dexter’s voice was steady despite the unease the memories evoked. “Apparently, Hampton’s wife had tried but failed to shake Hampton awake and reported that he was asleep during the entire raid. O’Neal denied that he or anyone else had drugged Hampton. Two initial toxicology tests found no barbiturates in his system, but an independent autopsy subsequently revealed a dangerous amount of it in his bloodstream.” He took a slow breath before continuing.

“According to Njeri, after the police removed her from the bedroom where she had stayed to protect her sleeping husband, she overheard one police officer tell another that Hampton was ‘barely alive,’ followed by two gunshots, after which the second officer apparently said, ‘He’s good and dead now.’”

Rex was aghast. “That’s beyond fucked up. I can’t even imagine…” His voice trailed off, at a loss for words. “However, not entirely unbelievable for that time and the movement they were involved in.”

Dexter gave a grim nod. “Hampton and Clark’s families, as well as the raid’s survivors, eventually received a settlement payment from the city, but none of the officers, agents, or officials involved were ever convicted for murder.”

He went quiet for a long moment. Finally, Dexter gestured back to the restaurant, where two more figures had joined the group at the corner table.

“That’s the legacy Rick Hampton inherited—one of violence, corruption, and bitter vengeance. With a mother filled with hate, he was shaped into the brutal criminal drug lord of the Panther Syndicate today, leaving a trail of bodies between Chicago and L.A. He’s a dangerous man, but looking at the camaraderie between him and Theo Russo, perhaps one with a mission.”

Rex let out a slow breath, nodding. “As long as we don’t end up on his body count. I ain’t looking to become another tragic piece of history. I’m too fucking young to die.”

“Don’t worry, Rex. We’re only here on a stakeout. I need to know what the fuck kind of danger my sub is in.”

Rex blinked as a slow grin formed on his lips. “ Your sub. Pray tell, my dear friend… does she know she’s been elevated to being yours exclusively ?”

“By this weekend, she will. I’m taking her with me on the next club flight.”

Rex squinted at the group on the patio. “They seem to be in an earnest discussion.”

“The Panther Syndicate has grown exponentially in numbers over the past year, especially here in L.A. I wonder…” A deep frown marked Dexter’s forehead.

“Wonder what?”

“Apart from hatred against the law driving Rick Hampton, he’s become drunk on the power and money his position offers him. In the forensic report I got from The World Bank, there are numerous transactions to five shell companies that were only recently formed. All of them are part of a closed corporation with four primary owners—George, Tag, and Leo Russo, along with a man by the name of Roland Hunter.”

“Roland Hunter,” Rex mused. “Same initials… let me hazard a guess. You believe Roland Hunter is none other than Rick Hampton?”

“I’ve looked into it. The Russos own fifty-five percent of the properties, which makes them the primary owners. There’s an entire financial trail leading directly to the three of them but not a single one to Roland Hunter. For all intents and purposes, they’re the only ones benefiting from utilizing the accounts. The man is a ghost.”

“So, if The World Bank, the FBI, CIA, or the DOJ make a move based on those findings, the Russos are going to take the hit. Just how much money has been pushed through those accounts?”

“During the past year, over five million dollars, but I highly doubt any of the Russos saw the benefit of one dollar of those earnings.”

“One thing I’m in the dark with…” Rex tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in thought. “What part did Theo Russo play in all this?”

“I can only guess, but that little fuckface is a shithead. He thrives on attention and power. I dug into the dark web a little and came across rumors of discontent within their mafia group. He doesn’t have any power apart from the little the oldest brother, Tag, allows him. Apparently, the little hothead is balking against the restraints his brothers and father place on him. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance at ever holding a position of real power since he’s the youngest.” Dexter gestured toward the restaurant. “This could be retribution from his side… or something a lot more sinister.”

“He wants to be in charge, so what better way to get rid of those in the way of him becoming the leader of the Gragna Mafia, right?”

“Exactly. What a fucked-up situation. To be that driven to rule a criminal organization that he’ll betray his own family to get it.” Dexter watched as Rex typed an instruction on his tablet—a tech guru like him never went anywhere without it. “What are you doing?”

“I can dive deeper into the dark web than you, Dex. I want to see if there was any direct contact or communication between Theo and Hampton. Theo Russo is a stupid little shit, but Hampton is a fifty-something hardened criminal, and as you said, he’s grown his following in L.A. exponentially. No drug lord does that unless he has an even bigger vision in mind.”

“My thoughts exactly. I won’t be surprised if Hampton is after the top dog position.”

“Theo Russo must be one brainless bastard if he sides with that cruel drug lord against his own family.” Rex’s lips curled with disgust. “Fuck if I understand criminals. He has everything. Since his father goes to great lengths to keep their two lifestyles separate, he has the ability to live a normal life, as much as he can play the mafioso, but is that enough? Clearly not. The little shit deserves to be quartered.”

“Damn! I wish I could read lips,” Dexter muttered as he watched the men around the table in deep conversation through the binoculars. “Some of those men seem rather agitated.”

Rex glanced briefly at the restaurant before concentrating on the deep dive into the dark cyber web.

“Heads up. The meeting is over. Theo is on his way out,” Dexter said as Theo swaggered out of Newton’s Kitchen, the gold chains around his neck glinting under the streetlights. Even from across the street, his arrogance was evident in the cocky tilt of his head and entitled roll of his shoulders.

Rex put the tablet away, and they watched as Theo slid into his flashy red sports car. The engine revved loudly as he pulled onto the street. Following him, Rex kept the black GMC truck at a careful distance, blending into the sparse late-night traffic.

“So, what’s the deal with trailing this punk all night?” Rex asked, watching the Ferrari weave recklessly between lanes.

“I can’t get a lock on his home address. This was our only opening to tail him back to his lair,” Dexter explained, flexing his fingers against his thigh. “We need to get closer. After Violet’s visit to my office, mentioning his impromptu break-in at her house to confront her about me, combined with the intel I received from John Wilder, red flags went up. Then, after demanding she needs my help, she does a three-sixty and walks away, so something just doesn’t add up. My gut says he’s the one trying to undermine his old man and threaten Violet in the process, and that’s something I—”

“Won’t allow. Yeah, I got it.” Rex shook his head wryly. “You do realize you’re already in ride-or-die mode for a woman who hasn’t even committed to you yet?”

“I’m not sinking into the mire, Rex. I’m levelheaded, not some love-struck teenager.” Dexter's jaw tightened as his eyes kept track of the Ferrari. “I will protect what’s mine. I refuse to allow some power-thirsty brat to jeopardize the future I envision for Violet and me.”

“So, once we know where he lives, what’s the plan?”

“We need to bug his place. I want to know what they’re planning. It’s the only way I can truly protect Violet.”

“Good Lord. First, we turn into stakeout detectives, and now this. With all due respect, Dex, you’re a financial mogul, and I’m an IT guru. Yeah, between us, we have the brains and the tech, but neither of us are experts at planting undetected bugs.”

“We don’t need to. Cooper Baxter, my newly appointed Club Manager, owns a private security firm specializing in leading-edge tech installs and undercover ops.”

“You’re right. If I recall correctly, he’s the preferred security provider for many senators and public figures.”

“Ah, fuck,” Dexter grunted as the sports car turned abruptly, pulling into the parking area of garish flashing lights of a strip club on Grandee Avenue. Neon signs promised beautiful girls and cold drinks beneath the peeling facade. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

“Little shit is popular, so I guess you’re right,” Rex groaned as Theo stepped out of the Ferrari and was immediately swarmed by scantily clad women competing for his attention. He preened under their ministrations like a strutting peacock, nodding and smirking as he chose a pair of busty blondes to escort him inside.

“Arrogant little shit.” Dexter grimaced and fisted his hands. “He’s in for a rude awakening once I have confirmation of the scheme he’s running with Hampton.”

Rex’s lips turned into a grimace as he studied the entrance to the strip club. “I sincerely hope you don’t expect me to go in there. I’d probably catch crabs by just tapping a toe inside.”

“No, we’ll hang out here and wait.” Dexter dug a small, round device from his pocket and held it up for Rex to see. “What you can do is attach this tracker to Pretty Boy’s flashy ride. Under the rear bumper is the best spot, according to Cooper.”

Rex raised an eyebrow. “A mini GPS bug? Slick.”

“It’s cloud-based, so distance doesn’t matter. We’ll be able to track him anywhere,” Dexter confirmed.

“We could’ve just done this back at the restaurant,” Rex complained, though he took the device when Dexter handed it over.

Dexter shook his head. “His car was right in front of their patio table. He would’ve noticed you loitering around. Here, we’ve got the cover of darkness and distraction on our side.”

Rex shrugged. “Yeah, well, I still don’t like taking unnecessary risks.”

“And that’s why I need you, Rex. Don’t worry, I’ll be on the lookout.”

“You fucking better be.”

They exchanged a meaningful look—the kind honed over decades of friendship and mutual reliance. Rex was the only one besides his cousin Jax who Dexter trusted unconditionally and who he would protect with his life.

Their bond had been forged in childhood, two kids from opposite sides of the tracks finding strength in brotherhood. Together, they had navigated the minefields of schoolyard fights and, for Rex, abusive homes and gang recruitment.

When Dexter’s talents led him into white-collar finance, Rex had been there to ground him. And when Rex’s conscience needed soothing, Dexter had provided the voice of reason. They balanced each other out, brothers until the end.

Dexter tracked Rex’s progress as he weaved unsteadily down the street, playing the part of a tipsy patron to perfection. Rex peered into shop windows, pausing occasionally as if admiring the displays.

“He should’ve been an actor,” Dexter smirked as he watched Rex reach the Ferrari and make a show of leering at the car, running an appreciative hand along the cherry-red hood. With a subtle lean, he affixed the tracker under the rear bumper. To any observer, it merely looked like he was getting a closer look.

Mission accomplished, Rex drunkenly swaggered his way back to the black GMC. Dexter nodded in satisfaction as his friend slid into the driver’s seat.

“You deserve an Oscar for that performance.” Dexter laughed with Rex. “Let’s keep eyes and ears on this clown and see where he leads us.”

“I’ve got your back, Dex. Just say when.”