In Chinatown, Drake and Dean knew it was pointless running, The Iron Teeth Cartel were everywhere and will not give up. They will have to raise to the challenge even though they thought it wasn't a very good idea but this is the life they know.
They didn't have much anymore just a few guns, some cash, and the address of the new Iron Teeth stash house in New York. Jazmin had begged them not to go, but their mind was made up
"They hit us once," Dean said. "Next time, they won't miss."
Drake adjusted his jacket, checking his weapon. "We end it now. For James, for all our men that had lost their life in the hands of the Iron Teeth motherfuckers and for everything, we can't keep running."
They drove out that night in silence, headlights off. When they reached the stash house it was a abandoned water factory with a bungalow behind and well fenced, it was quiet too quiet. Drake nodded to Dean, and they split up.
As they were trying to scale the fence they were spotted by Iron teeth snipers on an overhead tank who immediately opened fire, Drake and Dean immediately returned fire and serious shooting started not long after, they couldn't get in but managed to bring one of the snipers down and a few more on top of the roof.
By the time it was over, five men were dead. Dean had a big cut on his face and Drake's fractured his wrist.
They didn't succeed but they have made a statement.
Dean kicked over a chair, breathing hard. "That's it, man. We're done."
Drake looked at the mess and said, "No, we just started something bigger."
Dean frowned. "You really think El-Chapo's gonna stop?"
Drake shook his head. "No. But at least now he knows we won't either."
Back In Prison
Back in prison, things got worse for James.
Viper's people spread word from outside fast.
Everyone stayed clear from James as anyone close to him keep getting attacks now nobody wanted to sit near him.
Even the guards tried to limit contact with James so they can't put their families outside in danger, food came late, sometimes cold, sometimes not at all.
He knew they were trying to break him down before the real hit.
He kept to himself, reading, thinking, remembering better days.
He missed freedom, the games of the streets.
One evening, he sat by the window, looking out at the small square of sky above the prison yard. He thought of Drake and Dean, of Jazmin.
He hoped they were safe.
But deep inside, he knew nothing was safe anymore. Not for him, not for them.
As the lights went out, he heard a quiet voice from the next cell.
"James?"
He turned his head. It was a new guy he looked Colombian, around his age. "Yeah?"
The man slid a folded piece of paper through the bars. "Message from your people."
James opened it. Inside were just three words.
"We're still fighting."
He smiled a little. It wasn't much, but it was something.
"Tell them," he whispered, "so am I."
The man nodded. "They'll know."
James leaned back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He was bleeding inside, tired, hunted, but still breathing. And as long as he was breathing, he wasn't done yet.
Outside, somewhere in Los Angeles, Drake and Dean were already planning their next move tired, angry, just can't figure a way to make El-Chapo stop.
And James? He closed his eyes and said quietly to himself,
"How can I get this viper guy to stop?"
Malik Plans A Jail Break
He moved to Victorville two weeks after sentence. It was a place that broke even the hardest of men down. All he could think about is "I can't spend the rest of my life like this."
Sitting on his bunk one night, Malik fixed his eyes on concrete walls but he's mind was far off, all his thought was about the one thing that made sense to him "How to escape, The time scared him, "If I don't break free I'll not make it tilo the end of my term" he said to himself.
The street had been his life.
The next morning he started small. Talking to the people he assumed to be the right people to execute his plans, the ones who still had something to lose or everything to gain.
He wasn't loud about it. Malik had learned not to brag. The worst thing a man in prison can do is announce his plan before it's real. So he listened. He watched.
The first person he approached was Adams twenty-eights of Age with Twelve years sentence and he's just served two year, with tattoos like a road map, been young and plenty of years, Malik knew he would be a like mind. Adams ran contraband for a small Midwest crew.
Malik offered him something he couldn't refuse, a cut, front money moved through a runner on the outside, and a promise to make him important. which, in a place like Victorville, meant food, cigarettes, and power. Adams took the deal.
Next was Ricardo a quiet Colombian who kept to himself and knew how the prison trucks moved. Ricardo had a clean record on paper but a memory people paid for.
Malik knew logistics mattered more than muscle.
Ricardo could tell you when a gate was unlocked, which guard slept with his radio on, which transport route was light on staff. He could move a plan from idea to calendar.
Then Malik asked around for someone with fingers, someone who could make keys or move locks. That brought him to Louis, a French guy and older man of about 56 years old, once a locksmith, now doing time for a bad deal. Louis hands shook at first, but when Malik promised money for his family, Louis steadied.
"It's a shame my kids have to see me here," he muttered, rubbing knuckles.
"But if I get them cash, I don't give a damn where I end up." That line landed with Malik. People sold their loyalty when they had children's mouths to feed.
Malik felt so fulfilled and can't wait to start main planning and execution.
But at the back of his mind he knows he needs help from someone on the inside and official but he told himself he needs to be very careful with that because if he spoke to the wrong person then his Jail Break plan will be dead on arrival.