Flippin' the Hustle by Trae Macklin

smart when he shot my girl!” RJ yelled. Without giving Lil’ Roy a chance to reply, he continued, “Nah. What you’re going to do is go back in there and get that nigga to give you an address! Then I’m going to handle this shit on my own!” RJ declared angrily.
    After receiving the whereabouts of the man known as Taz, Derrick and RJ stopped by the house on Grand Avenue to pick up a few utensils for their mission.
    RJ led the way into the dark, damp residence, and went straight to a closet near the front door.
    Immediately, Derrick noticed the variety of firearms that rested neatly inside the closet. Assault rifles of every caliber lined the floor. Just above the rifles on a shelf, were handguns of every caliber imaginable.
    â€œGrab what you want, man,” RJ stated as he walked away from the closet with a Ruger Mini-14.
    Derrick selected a nickel-plated AK-47 assault rifle and a P-90 Ruger, even though he didn’t plan on using them. He noticed a pile of various types of body armor. Derrick pulled down a bulletproof vest reminiscent of the ones that DEA distributed on strategic missions. As the entire pile of vests tumbled from the top shelf, Derrick’s eyes zeroed in on the bright yellow logo that read DEA. Holding the vest up and scrutinizing it, he asked, “These joints official?”
    â€œOfficial as they get, yo,” RJ quipped, going back to the task of loading the powerful assault rifle.
    Derrick thought of Marvin mentioning that RJ had a bargaining chip that could impress a judge to release him if charged with a crime. Judging from the vest and some of the DEA apparel Derrick discovered afterwards, he assumed someone within the agency was supplying RJ with artillery and possibly information to help him avoid captivity. This reality furthered the blurred vision Derrick had begun to see the agency and RJ through. There seemed to be little to distinguish the crooks from the agents. The biggest difference in relation to Derrick, was that RJ was loyal and had his back, while the agency cared little about Derrick. He had an idea that would surely anger the higher ups. Grabbing the vest and any other official Drug Enforcement Agency apparel he could find, Derrick closed the closet and put his plan into action.

    * * * * *

    Not long after Derrick discovered the DEA goods, his plan was in effect. He and RJ were cruising through Flatbush, Brooklyn in a blue Chevy Lumina with dark tinted windows, dressed as if they were DEA agents on an assault mission. Derrick thought it was rather ironic that he’d been desperately trying to hide his identity, and here he was portraying what he actually was.
    Parking unnoticed on a street, Derrick turned the engine off and slouched into the seat comfortably. Everything seemed comforting. Riding shotgun with RJ surprisingly put Derrick at ease more than when he was with his fellow agents.
    RJ’s eyes locked onto a residence a few houses down, where he was told they would find Taz. Following Derrick’s lead, RJ leaned back into the seat and waited for their suspect to emerge.
    After two long hours of camping out in front of the residence, Taz finally surfaced. He hopped behind the wheel of a late model Lexus, and then pulled off from the curb, oblivious to the fact that he was being followed. Just as Taz turned onto Flatbush Avenue, Derrick hit the blue flashers that had been obtained from a party store.
    The fluorescent blue lights instantly caused Taz to pull to the side of the road.
    Once the Lexus was stopped, Derrick looked over at RJ. I got this, son,” Derrick said. He casually exited the car in full police mode. It felt awkward for him to be conducting a law enforcement routine during an illegal act with one of the most dangerous criminals in New York City. He cautiously eased up to the window and announced, “Put your hands where I can see ‘em!”
    â€œMan, I ain’t do shit!” Taz yelled from the