Hot, New Bone-Chilling Crime Fiction Novel “Implicated: Crazy Chicanos and Americanos” by D.T. Dakota

The crispy late September leaves and pinecones on the ground bore the
colors of candied yams, cocoa, and cornbread. The gusty wind blew a nasty song
into Yorell’s ear. At all of twenty-three years old, he stood at a solid 6’2” tall,
flaunted a bronze complexion and muscular physique. Yet he felt so feeble and
vulnerable as he stood there on the litter-ridden sidewalk waiting.
Perhaps waiting for some relief. Perhaps waiting for someone to pinch him
and tell him this was just all a dream. He knew he had just landed himself into
some BIG trouble. The flash drive was missing. “Javi’s going to be pissed”, he
thought to himself as he paced back and forth on the sidewalk in a tizzy. He
backtracked his steps along the cold narrow street like a madman, keeping an open
eye out for it. “Where the hell is it?”
Kick! Yorell gave the pumpkin on the front stoop to his right side a taste of
his Timberland sole. Frustrated, he worried how Javi would take the news. Javi
was Yorell’s older brother, and he did not play! A man’s man. His tough attitude
was attributable to growing up on the mean streets of Guadalajara, Mexico. He left

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there when he was younger, but no doubt his roots helped shape who he is. Javi
was a real Chicano who did not accept excuses nor disrespect. He liked his guns,
tequila, money, and revolving door of beautiful women. Yorell embodied that
same roughshod toughness tucked away in the human spirit. Said toughness is
forced out when growing up in the hood. But he always knew that life was not
meant to be limited to his bleak surroundings.
“A lot of Mexicans live like Black people here do,” Yorell thought to himself
repeating what Javi always said to him. Maybe that’s why he felt he had license to
say “nigga” ad nauseum. Yorell's parents died when he was young and Javi took
him in, practically joining the two at the hip since. He had no other family willing
or able to take him in, so a young Javi took up that mantle. They first met through
the Big Brother program where they were paired up. Their mere nine-year age
difference made them more like brothers than father and son.
Ever since then, they have fought and had each other’s back just the same,
like blood brothers. After all, Javi felt it his duty because of how Yorell’s parents
looked out for him when his own parents died. Moreover, they were bonded by
loss and their acquaintance with pain.
Yorell continued walking down his street, arms flailing in defeat and the
bounce in his step no more. The dim streetlights lit his path back to his neighbor

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and close friend Virginia’s house. AKA “The Vertex” located a few houses down
where she was hosting a small get-together with friends and friends of friends.
Virginia’s house was dubbed “The Vertex” for a reason. It was the meeting point
for their social circle. It was their sanctuary to unwind and let loose after a day
spent in the harsh, cold world. Yorell knew anytime he came over there he was
bound for a memorable time. Tonight, was no different. She snapped Yorell out of
his reverie.
“Boy, get back in this house and see if you can find this doggone thing!” she
said flipping her long brown weave away from her face. She stood with one hand
on her hip and the other perched on the screen door. She had a face like a chocolate
chip cookie. Round and brown with spots all over it.
The silhouette of her long brown hair and voluptuous body was picture-perfect
under the porch's golden light. It really accentuated her finest features.
Virginia was the baddest Black woman in all of D.C. A former defense attorney,
she worked at the U.S. Congress as a senior staffer to the junior senator from
(ironically) Virginia, Senator Richie Savoy.
She had been one of the key players in his last campaign and was a trusted
advisor. In fact, she spent her entire career climbing the corporate ladder in the
political sphere, having worked for various governmental organizations. Not to

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mention a couple of successful presidential campaigns and administrations. A
certified “D.C. swamp creature”, she was well-connected and respected amongst
political power circles who probably would wonder why the hell she even
associated with someone like Yorell. The kid she’s known since he was eleven
years old.
But Virginia, a former defense attorney was not the type to care what people
thought, nor put on false airs or forget where she came from. Much less, front for a
bunch of uptight corporate bozos. She was not a respecter of persons and abided by
the philosophy of the golden rule. She was from the ghetto of Richmond, Virginia
(her namesake) and was a round’ the way girl at heart.
Besides, it was a close-knit community there where they lived in Southeast,
DC. A settlement once inhabited by freed slaves, this mood was embedded in the
very spirit of their neighborhood. Everyone knew everyone and looked out for one
another. It was just the way of the neighborhood.
“Well, where’s the last place you had it Yorell?” she squinted her eyes.
“I put it in my pocket after I saved the status report onto it!”
“What’s on it anyway, besides the status report?” Virginia rolled her eyes.
Yorell had spent half of the night, even before he got to the party, compiling a
status report about illegal immigration on Virginia’s behalf, so she can present to

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her boss. Surely, the number of illegal aliens in the US was higher than the 11
million that pundits and politicians have spewed for years.
“I can’t tell you that.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “Umm. I didn’t know we kept secrets.”
He reached towards her balled up fists. “Like hell we don’t! You have it.
Stop playing around Virginia!”
Yorell peered around the living room trying to find a distraction to ease his
worry. The quaint China set hiding in the corner. The gaudy gold curtains framing
the bay windows. The aquarium with only two orange fish swimming in it. The
billiards table ducked off in the corner. Anything to distract him from the issue at
hand.
“No, I don’t Yorell! Seriously. How far did you walk back home before you
realized that it was missing?”
“About twenty feet from your front door.”
“Well, it could be anywhere from here to there. Anyway, I need some rest.
I’ll let you know if I see it lying around here somewhere.” She yawned and
covered her mouth to appear classy. She walked toward the kitchen to wish the

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three tarrying guests a good night. Yorell stretched his body, feeling the effects of
the party. He could not help himself but get one last smart comment in.
“As high-profile as you are, you really need to get some surveillance
cameras in here.”
“Good night Yorell, it’s 11pm”.
“Yeah, okay. If one of those niggas you had over here took it, it’s going to
be a problem.” Yorell drank all night and somewhat made an ass of himself. But he
caught the attention of someone special. Virginia’s homegirl Xochitl. There was
also Jay and White Chocolate who still lingered in the kitchen playing poker after
the other guests had left. He knew them somewhat from coming over Virginia’s
house every other weekend.
But no one was innocent as far as Yorell was concerned and he would keep a
close eye on all of them from now on. Besides, he barely knew them. He just could
not shake the iffy feeling he had deep in the pit of his stomach that someone took
it, if even just for the satisfaction of getting away with it. People did shit like that
around here. They had nothing better to do than pick up shit that doesn’t belong to
them.
Yorell climbed the five brick steps to his home. His heart thumped through
his chest like a snare drum. What would he tell Javi? What words could justify his

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careless misfortune? He knew he should have never come over Virginia's house to
help her with that status report in the first place. That is the REAL reason she
invited him over, he figured. So, he could do her work and compile all those
tedious illegal immigration statistics. Her cheapskate ass was barely paying him to
be her unofficial assistant. Good potato salad and liquor just doesn’t cut it.
Yorell inserted the silver-plated key to the Southeast, DC townhouse he and
his brother Javi shared. At least I didn’t lose my key, he thought trying to be
optimistic. Javi was at the party too. But he left earlier in the day to “take care of
some business” at home. True to form, he did not reveal any specifics nor
volunteer any information. Not even to Yorell.
There were not many things that Yorell feared. He had already conquered
the worst of the worst in his life. His parents’ gruesome murder, being ousted from
odd job after odd job and scrambling to feed himself…But he did fear Javi’s
temper because he was very unpredictable and quite the wildcard. Impossible to
figure out at times. But he also had a sensitive side reserved for a select few like
his little brother and close friends. His charisma was disarming. But so was his
machismo.
Yorell twists the doorknob of the giant mahogany door, His palms were
sweaty and slippery. He opened the door to the pungent odor of alcohol, weed, and

                                     7

a faint whiff of floor cleaner. Yorell shut the door close and treaded the beige
wooden floors lightly, to not wake up Javi, which was a task while rocking huge
Timbs. To his surprise, Javi was laid back on the living room futon watching
football, wrapped up in a quilt like a mummy.
“What’s up Javi?”
Javi turned his head and looked Yorell up and down. “What’s up foo! The
ceiling,” he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. A gesture he reserved for very
few. His eyebrows looked like two big black caterpillars above his eyes. They
complemented the deep dimples in his handsome brown face. The doo-rag he wore
was like a line of demarcation between them and the rest of his head.
Even in the dark, his nose ring shined. He was the biggest 2Pac fan. His
signature cross tattoo on his neck appeared visible too. Perhaps his own way of
atoning for all the bad things he did in his life. The television light illuminated the
tat like Christmas lights do a Christmas tree.
“Javi…I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it? I got to get back to the game foo. They just went into overtime.”
They being his home team the Washington Redskins who were battling the
Philadelphia Eagles. A home game at FedEx Field in Landover, Maryland. From
the TV screen, it looked like it was just about to get good. Javi grabbed the remote

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from the coffee table and turned the volume down on the television so his brother
would not have to compete with its sound. “Go ahead.”
Yorell braced himself. “I lost your flash drive.” …
“Nigga what?!” He buried his forehead in his palms and sighed from his
diaphragm. “So, you stole my drive?! AND lost it?!”
““I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it,” he said trying to convince even himself
that he was justified.
“Pendejo!” Javi got up from his seat and paced back and forth. Yorell
intuited that he was close to getting punched, so he waited with bated breath and
kept his distance.
“Man, I’m sorry. I can get it back.”
“Bullshit! You do realize what’s on there, right?” Javi cocked his head to the
side and gave a look of righteous indignation. Almost as if to say, “I could kill you
right now”. But he seemed like he was about to say something serious.
“What?”
“Pictures of us together…Invoices.”

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