Back in L.A., For the very first time in his entire existence on earth James felt helpless, hopeless and even a little bit worthless.
He came out of the hospital but straight into cuffs.
He barely got to stretch his legs before the cops slapped him with the charges.
"Murder, Drug trafficking, Possession of illegal firearms," the detective read out.
"And don't act surprised," the other one added. "Malik's been snitching like a radio."
"Damn it" James muttered and exhaled in defeat.
A week later in Los Angeles Criminal Court,
James stood in court still having pains, wrists cuffed, eyes cold.
Beside him was his lawyer, Thomas Marshall, a sharp tongued, former federal prosecutor turned defense guru.
How did James get him?
James didn't know.
Thomas Marshall just told him the person that hired him chose to remain anonymous.
A quiet deal through Jazmin. Bryan who witnessed the whole shooting and police taking James away had told her, Without Bryan or anyone's knowledge She paid the lawyer in cash, no names, no trail.
Thomas Marshall told James "I charged heavily for your case, and I was paid in full. If you wanna get out better be smart also you better listen when I speak."
Now all is set, courtroom is full, cameras outside and Malik already testifying on screen from another room.
The judge adjusted his glasses.
"Mr. Thomas, you're on."
Marshall stood, buttoned his jacket.
"Your honor, who we have here is not a gangster but a scapegoat. My client has been falsely linked to operations that were personally executed by Mr. Malik Robson Stark, who used James Stark's name, signature, and businesses to cover his own tracks."
Malik leaned forward from the witness screen. "Lies. James signed those deals, He knows that!"
Marshall asked with a sly smile. "And how many of those deals were signed in private, with no witnesses, no paper trail, and no financial gain going into James accounts?"
The prosecutor jumped in. " What are you talking about, the state has bank records and offshore companies linked directly to James Stark."
Marshall stepped forward. With a loud voice "Owned by companies Malik set up. Controlled by people Malik introduced. And every single one of those accounts? Touched by Malik first."
The judge banged the gavel.
"Let's keep this under control."
Marshall turned toward James. "My client has no priors. He built businesses, Real ones, the only crime here is that he trusted the wrong man."
Malik hissed through the screen. "Bullshit, you gonna let him pin this on me?"
Marshall looked back at him. "No one's pinning anything. The pins are falling where they belong."
The courtroom murmured.
James sat still, but inside his blood was boiling, he just felt like he can get up and strangle Malik.
After the session, both men were remanded back into prison.
No bail. Too dangerous, the judge ruled.
James leaned on the wall of the holding cell, breathing hard.
Malik was three cells down, still yelling.
"You'll rot too, James! I'll take you down with me, you fucking grew soft with that girl Jazmin that stole our products and got all our men killed!"
"You stopped listening to me, that's what got us in this shit, don't act like you don't know it, you butt licking motherfucker!"
James looked up at the cold ceiling.
Everything was falling apart.
Iron teeth cartel has taken control.
Drake was out there somewhere.
Dean was messed up.
And now, the system wanted his head.
Blood and Ashes
The downtown gangster war had left its fingerprints on everything and everyone, bullet holes in street signs, bodies in shallow graves, and silence in places where music and laughter was once loud.
The Downtown Devils were ghosts now.
Scattered, hunted.
James was locked up, Malik the rat had been inside for awhile now.
And Leo the son of Iron Teeth cartel's brutal leader El-Chapo was gone too, killed by Drake in the shooting at the Colombian's Creek.
The war wasn't over.
It was just waiting.
Meanwhile In a motel room in the outskirts of LA.
Bryan lay on the stained mattress, wrapped in bloodied bandages. He was barely breathing, his wounds still raw from the ambush.
Beside him, was his sister Jazmin with a towel soaked in hot water, gently wiping the crusted blood from his side.
"You shouldn't be here, i've told you several times it's too dangerous. way too dangerous, anything can happen at any time" Bryan mumbled.
"And let you bleed out alone?" Jazmin's voice trembled. "You're all I have left Bryan."
"The war is not over, I stole from them. I flipped. I deserved...."
"Shiiii" she hushed him pressing her index finger against his lips.
"Shut up," she said. "You do not deserve to die like a rat.
I don't care what you did. You're my brother. That's enough."
She looked at his face, he was looking so pale. They have been on the streets from childhood. "The streets hadn't been kind to either of us Bryan. But if survival was a currency, I am willing to pay every last penny for us to survive.
"We'll get out of this," she whispered. "We'll find a way."
Partners in crime
On the edge of the Mojave desert, where city light melted into dust and heat, Drake and Dean sat in the wreckage of a stolen SUV, all battered just barely breathing.
They had escaped the Iron Teeth cartel's ambush by pure instinct. Both diving through a rain of bullets into the river down at the Colombian runners creek.
Leo had died screaming, Drake had made sure of that as a pay back for the iron teeth cartel's shooting of his "ride or die" James.
They lit cigarettes with trembling hands, eyes scanning the horizon.
"They shot James not once, not twice but nine times... Nine fucking times" Dean said.
"James is probably gone cos up till now no call, no sign, no nothing, not even a fucking word." Drake replied looking at Dean's face like he was searching for answers.
"It's probably just us now," Dean said with a shrug.
"Damn!" Drake exclaimed.
There was a minute silence between them but the silence wasn't empty, it was heavy with the thought that their years of loyalty, brotherhood and dominance in the streets of Sacramento was going down the drain.
They weren't just gang members anymore, they were survivors.
"El-Chapo won't stop," Drake said. "We killed his son. He's gonna come for us,
every day, every block, he'll burn the city to find us."
"Then we disappear before he does." Dean said looking around, we keep a low profile, new names. new city. Maybe we go to Washington or New York Start something new. Something clean."
"You think we deserve clean?" Drake asked chuckling.
Dean looked at the blood on his hands.
"I'm just so sick of this whole shit."
They didn't pack much just a few guns, fake IDs, a bag of cash pulled from a stash house Dean kept hidden even from James, money he kept just to take care of his grandma.
Drake threw the last duffle in the trunk and looked out over the horizon.
"You always think about who we could've been all the time, this is who we are now, we will find a way to survive this."
They drove through the night, past burnt neighborhoods and gang tagged walls. Past old memories that refused to die.
As they crossed into the edge of Mexico, they rented a beach bungalow to rest for the night.