
The Corner III
No Way Out
by
Alex Richardson
This is a work of fiction. The author has invented the characters. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
If you have purchased this book with a 'dull' or missing cover you have possibly purchased an unauthorized or stolen book. Please immediately contact the publisher advising where, when and how you purchased the book.
Miller Beach Publishing
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Fort Wayne, In. 46858
www.millerbeachpublishing.com
Author: Alex Richardson
Cover design/graphics: www.mariondesigns.com
Edited by: Lu Ann Wells
Cover Models: Jasmine Williams, Malachi Morris III John Ramos Sr. and Jasmine Williams
Copyright © 2012 by Alex Richardson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or a magazine.
"You are going to die, the question is how painful"---CHAVEZ
Slim, LaTanza and Bone sat at the large cherry wood table as Dmitri Sokolov's maid served them Russian Stolichnaya Elit, one of the world's most expensive vodkas. The African-American hustlers were used to drinking top shelf liquor, but had not indulged in the best Russia had to offer. They were told by Dmitri that this was one of the best vodkas they would ever taste, and they welcomed the Russian underboss' hospitality. The gangsters toasted their partnership. One that would have them buying all of their drugs from the Russians. Slim knew it was a dangerous move since the Russians were no joke---they were about their business. Gangsters who didn't tolerate fuck-ups. The bottom line, if you don't have their money, they kill you, your mother and would dig up your dead daddy and kill him again just to prove a point to others. The three leaders of the city's drug trade collectively got into bed with the Russians to receive an incredibly low price on their drugs, but Slim made sure that it was separate on paying back the Russians. Dmitri made the points on the shipments slightly higher, but Slim didn't care. He wasn't going to take a chance on Bone or LaTanza deciding not to pay their share because Dmitri would send a hit squad to deal with all three of them. Bottom line, the three of them were like a couple who were sleeping in bed together, but weren't fucking.
They drank the vodka, and Dmitri's right hand man, who only went by his last name, Kozlov, poured another round. Bone had sized up Kozlov the minute they entered Dmitri's family room. He was about six-four and a rock solid two-fifty. He had a scar flowing down his strong jaw line, and the hint of grey hair and age line on his face told that the man was in his forties.
"This is going to be a great partnership, my friends. I see great things in our future," Dmitri said then raised his glass.
This oyster eating mahfuckah drinks this damn vodka like water. I need me some fucking Hennessy! Bone thought to himself. At first, Bone wasn't on board with collaborating, but when he saw what the prices were going to be for the drugs and saw his profits would triple for the year, he jumped at the chance. The thing was he had planned to get out of the game. His little brother had been shot and killed months ago while trying to hustle in the city of Gary and it hit him hard. His uncle convinced him to stack his money for a year and get out before he was dead or in jail. Bone's plan was to get a couple of million put away and retire down south away from everyone. His uncle had land in Mississippi, and they were going to live life doing absolutely nothing but fishing and fucking. No big elaborate house, just something nice so his money would stretch a lifetime.
LaTanza, on the other hand, didn't care too much for the deal, but Lucky paid her husband, Carlos, the boss of the Fuentes' cartel, a visit at Terre Haute Federal Penitentiary and convinced him that this was the best way, and he ordered his wife to take the deal. That the Russians agreed to deal on a yearly basis and when they were ready to get out, all was good. Carlos knew if they were making the Russians serious money that they wouldn't let them walk away so easily, so he and Lucky made an agreement that when the time came, if the Russians didn't let them end their contract, they would join forces and get out the gangster way.
Slim swallowed his shot then said, "We still have that other thing."
Dmitri smiled at Koslov then turned his attention back to Slim. "My friend, that thing is being taken care of as we speak."
Dmitri and Slim were speaking of Slim still owing the Italian mob millions. Each year they were adding a tax on the one million dollars Slim had owed them, but Slim refused to pay on the strength that when he was going to pay---the Capo Tommy Giadano wasn't having it. He tried to tax Slim and had Slim's life-long friend, Skills, killed while he sat in prison. Once Giadano pulled that unnecessary act of violence, there was no way Slim was going to pay him. While Slim was out of the country in hiding, he met Dmitri in the Cayman Islands, and they hit it off. Once the gangsters were comfortable with each other, Dmitri promised Slim a profitable and safe partnership. He also said that he had the power and muscle to get the mob out of Slim's hair---the easy or the hard way.
"It's being taking care of, is that right?" Slim asked with a raised brow.
"Come," Dmitri said as he motioned with his hand for the three to follow.
LaTanza adjusted her pants suit and grabbed her handbag.
Bone, who was surprisingly dressed in crisp two-hundred dollar jeans, five hundred dollar snake-skinned shoes and a button-down, asked, "Where we off to?"
"A little show. You Americans like shows, no?"
"As long as it's a good one," Bone said as he grabbed the bottle of vodka and topped off his glass.
Koslov simply shook his head at the low-class move as he opened the door of the great room and held it open for the three to follow Dmitri. They walked down a hallway that was lit by the picture lights illuminating various artworks of people, buildings and ships of Russia hanging on the wall.
Dmitri stopped at a door, and as he grabbed the handle, he turned to his friends and said, "This will show you that I mean what I say and I say what I mean." He locked eyes with Slim. "This is the first step to your problems being solved, my comrade."
He opened the door and they followed him down the stairs to a brightly lit basement. Stretched out on the table was an Italian man. When Slim got past all the half-inch slits on the man's face, that were leaking blood, he noticed who the man was. Dmitri slapped the man on the cheek. "Do you know who I am? No, I didn't think so." He pointed to Slim. "You know who this man is, no?"
The man, whose name was Gino Marcelli, smiled and laughed, "Is this what this is about? You raw fish egg eating bastards are in bed with these niggers?" He spit a chunk of phlegm at Dmitri.
The spit hit the underboss on his black suit jacket. One of the muscular soldiers slammed his heavy fist down on Gino's rib cage for the disrespectful act.
"Ahh," Gino moaned then laughed. "The Giadanos will be on your asses for this!"
Not phased, Dmitri asked, "We've only put superficial wounds on you for a reason. So I'm going to ask one time and one time only before I use force to get what I want. Where do I find your Capo Tommy?"
"Fuck you!" Gino spat. "Do what you gotta do. Gino is loyal, not like you faggot Russians getting in bed with some coon ass niggers!"
Dmitri asked, "You call me a faggot, no?" He gave a hard wave to one of his soldiers.
The man quickly tied a rope around Gino's thick ankles and another soldier, who sported a black crew cut and was just as muscle-bound as the other, slid the gurney-style table toward a long black curtain. Crew cut looked at his boss, and Dmitri nodded. The soldier threw the rope over a pole that was on the high ceiling then attached it to a wench that was bolted to the floor. He pressed the on button and the wench began turning, and it slowly pulled Gino feet first off the table as the other soldier pulled the curtain back exposing a tank with about one hundred Amazon River Piranhas. Gino, for the first time, was showing some nervousness.
Dmitri said, "Now you will understand what my, as you call it, 'faggot ass', do to people who don't answer or respect me."
Dmitri nodded to the man controlling the wench, he pressed a button and it slowly lowered Gino's body. The carnivorous fish began to swim wildly, pooling below Gino.
Gino jerked his body and screamed, "You son-of-a-bitch! You are gonna pay!" His head was a foot from the water when he screamed, "No, no, nooo---" The water drowned out his cries, and the blood that was on his face from the cuts washed in the water and that sent all the flesh eating fish into a feeding frenzy.
Only Gino's head was in the water, and it was only for a few seconds. Dmitri yelled, "Bring him up!"
A couple of piranhas were hanging onto Gino's face. He was still alive, but his face was mutilated. The piranhas worked quickly, and if Gino's head had been in the water long enough, the fish would have cleaned all the flesh from his face.
Dmitri turned to his three new business partners and asked, "What do you think?"
Calmly, Slim answered, "You proved your point."
LaTanza, who had no expression on her face, knew Dmitri figured with her being a woman she would be the weakest of the three. She answered, "I would have dipped his entire body in the tank."
Dmitri looked at Bone and asked, "And you, how do you feel?"
Bone smiled, "It's all in the game, bruh."
Dmitri grinned. "Get him down. Take him to Little Italy and dump him on the street in front of his social club so his comrades can see him. He's breathing enough to tell his people who did this terrible thing to him."
Slim stated, "He'll warn Giadano."
"Don't worry, my comrade. That's the beauty of it. I didn't need this man to get to Giadano. I simply wanted to prove a point to the Italians---and you three."
\*
Slim gave Jamel a pound of the fist as he entered Lucky's home. "What's up, Jamel?"
"Nothing much, Slim. Lucky's in his study. He's waiting for you," Jamel said as he closed and locked the door.
Slim didn't smell any food. Something he was used to when he came to Lucky's home. Ms. Joplin, who worked for Lucky, was the keeper of the thirty-nine hundred square feet suburban home. She cleaned, ran errands, kept Lucky company and most important, cooked. She was from Mississippi and had been cooking all her life.
"Where's Miss Joplin?" Slim asked as they walked from the foyer through the living room.
"I know what you're thinking Slim. I said the same thing when I got here. She went with Chantel to the doctor about the baby."
Concerned, Slim asked, "Is there a problem?"
"Nah, a regular appointment. She was over here last night talking about it and you know how Miss J is. She never had kids, but she said she raised over ten brothers, sisters and cousins so she's like doing that 'filling a void' thing or something," Jamel said as he rubbed his stomach. "And she was going to fix me some black-eyed pea soup and some cornbread."
Slim laughed. "What do you know about that?"
"Enough to know that frozen pizza I'm about to fix ain't gonna do any justice."
Slim patted the youngster on his shoulder and before entering the study he said, "You'll survive."
Slim walked in the study, and Lucky's back was turned to him as he looked out the bay window into his plush backyard that had a pool, basketball court, garden and pond. Slim saw the smoke that was permeating the air above Lucky's head.
Slim said, "You know you shouldn't be smoking that."
Lucky took a hard pull then said, "Yours is on the desk in the box. And what's going to happen? I'm going to get lung cancer on lung cancer?"
Slim picked out a cigar and cut the tip with the cutter that was beside the box. Before he lit, he said, "Nah, but remember, you're going to beat that shit. That is how we are, we overcome adversity!" Slim puffed several times as he held the flame of the lighter to his cigar.
Slim sat on a leather sofa that was facing the side of Lucky's desk. He held the cigar in front of his face and nodded his head in favor of the robust flavor then puffed again.
Lucky smiled. "I remember the time when you wouldn't have even been around someone smoking a cigar. Now you're smoking them yourself."
"Only when I'm feeling good."
"I guess that means there is good news about the meeting with the Russians," Lucky replied as he sat in his swivel chair. He reached for the ashtray that was on his desk and put his cigar out. He'd only smoked a quarter of the cigar. He had cancer and needed to be as healthy as possible, but cigars were his vice. He also used the flavorful tobacco to calm his nerves, and Slim's meeting with the Russians was something he was worried about.
"All was well. And I think our problem with the Giadanos is about to be solved," Slim told Lucky without going into details.
"How are things with Bone and that Mrs. Fuentes?"
Slim puffed. "It went well. We are going to get thirty percent a piece, bring that to ninety percent."
"Where is the other ten going?"
"Since there is a group of three of us, we have agreed with Dmitri to go on a yearly deal. At the end we evaluate our partnership and if we want out, that ten percent of all we were due to make off everything goes to the Russians as a penalty for getting out of the deal."
"Damn, they're operating like them motherfuckers on Wall Street."
"Without a doubt, but we will make damn near three times as what we were making between getting drugs from the Italians and the Columbians."
Slim watched as Lucky said nothing and lit another cigar. He knew Lucky was tired and didn't fully agree with dealing with the Russians, but he also knew that it was the best way to make enough money in a shorter period of time. Slim still had hustle in him, and Lucky wished there was a way he could get that addiction out of him. Lucky had seen the light. When you're told that you were living on borrowed time, it was hard to see things in any other light than to get prepared for your time to meet your Maker. Lucky's idea was for Slim and him to make enough money so they could retire and leave Chicago and all of their enemies behind. Lucky also wanted to make enough money so that all the people who worked for them could get away. It would be their choice, but Lucky's idea was to sweeten it with property out west and south. Places where no one in the city would figure they would go. He would then offer them all a substantial amount of money because he knew most hustlers lived in the moment, spending money as fast as they got it because they had the means to get more. Slim was on board with the idea and was making it happen.
Lucky puffed, tilted his head back and blew the smoke in the air. He wheeled his chair toward Slim. He leaned forward and with seriousness in his eyes he told Slim, "I want you to consider running that one year and get out because if I'm dead in a year, I'm out the game. If I'm living, I'm out the game, and I'm taking that young man in that other room, Miss Joplin, Chantel, Noonie, Tesha and my only son with me. I haven't talked to them yet, but I'm sure they will be on board. Anyone else who wants out, I'm all for helping. But you are the main one. They all listen to you, and you are like a son to me, so I want your word that you will get out also."
"I can't promise you that, but I'm considering it. Just like the ones who are willing to go, I have to be here for the ones who are hesitant," Slim told his friend.
Lucky patted Slim on the knee. "I understand and commend you for that. Just try to make an effort."
"I will and I'm still setting things up so that it can happen."
"Also, are you sure about Reese being second in charge? He's a good soldier, but I don't know about him running things."
Slim blew a hard breath. He knew what Lucky was saying to be true. Reese has been on his team since they were in high school, but it was a fact that Reese was more of a gangster and not someone who could run a crew. He liked the glitter of being a baller and the women and power it brought, and Slim wasn't sure about him being in charge of the crew if something was to happen to Slim.
Slim blew a concerned breath then said, "For now, Reese is to be in charge. Unless something happens, that's the way it is."
Lucky said, "Ever thought about Noonie?"
"Reese has been at this shit way longer."
"That doesn't replace being smarter, and Noonie is the smarter out of the two. Hell, behind you, he's the smartest."
Slim smiled and stood. Lucky did the same and Slim gave him a hug. "Lucky, that shit with the Russians has me tired. I had to deal with that damn Bone and LaTanza and then sit and drink vodka."
Lucky laughed.
"Do you know them Russians can drink that shit---"
"Like water."
They walked toward the door of the study. Slim grabbed the handle and Lucky stopped him, saying, "Consider Noonie."
Slim replied, "At one point I did, especially after he took care of DC, who was his partner. That showed his loyalty and strength." He shook his head. "I really didn't want for him to have to do that. That is the part of the game I hate, but for the greater good of all of us---"
"It had to be done. But that's why we need to get out. Blood is on our hands that we can't wash off, but we can spend the rest of our lives doing right, and maybe He will forgive us, for at the time, it was all we knew. We were a product of our environment."
"True that. And I'll keep Noonie in mind, but don't count on it. If he's thinking about getting out, it wouldn't make much sense, with Chantel being pregnant."
"Yeah, when she got shot up last year she was in a funk. I'm so happy for them."
"Me too." Slim stood, "I'm out of here, Lucky."
They hugged then Slim walked to the front door and Jamel let him out. He sat in his STS for a moment before driving off. He thought about all Lucky said, but the hustler in him told him to get all the money he could, and the deal with the Russians was going to bring the crew more money than they had ever seen.
\*
Tommy Giadano was in a bedroom on the second floor of an old grocery store west of South Racine Avenue in Little Italy. He was in the bed of a young woman half his age. His eyes were closed, and he was enjoying the ride the twenty-four year old was giving him, but couldn't concentrate because his cell phone kept ringing. He was pissed at the annoying ringing. He didn't need that at the moment. It was bad enough that he had to wait for a strong enough erection even though he'd taken a Viagra two hours earlier.
"Fuck!" the gruff sounding man spat as he was about to reach for the phone.
"No, baby, I'm almost there," Cathy, the young Italian woman lied.
Tommy smiled at what he knew to be a lie, but did as she asked primarily because what she was doing to him felt so good. He grabbed her youthful breasts and played with her pink nipples as she rode harder and before he knew it he was coming inside her.
Fuck, he thought. He had no plans of sharing his seeds with the jump off. He couldn't help himself because between the Viagra, ecstasy and Cathy's youthfulness he felt good and it didn't hurt that she had been at his beck and call for the past year.
She was still on top of the mob boss grinding away hoping that Tommy would get hard again. She hadn't gotten hers and didn't want to have to wait until he left to pull out her Brad Pitt---the name she'd given her sex toy. Tommy was enjoying the feeling and surprisingly felt himself beginning to rise again---that's when his cell began singing that annoying tune.
Pissed, the husky man pushed Cathy off him as if she were a rag doll. The hairy man grabbed the phone and barked into it, "This better be good!"
"Boss, it is. Gino, he's...he's---"
"Spit it out!" he yelled.
"He's fucked up. The Russians, they did a number on him and tossed him on the curb in front of the social club!"
"What?"
"Yeah, they said it's for you hitting one of that nigger, Slim's, spots. They said to lay off him or you're next."
"Gino told you this? Lemme talk to him," Tommy said as he picked up his half smoked cigar.
"Boss, we've been calling you for an hour. We had to take him to the hospital. He died of shock about twenty minutes ago."
"Them bastards! Meet me at Vito's house in thirty. This shit is about to get messy. I guarantee that!"
Tommy stood from the bed and didn't see Cathy. The shower was running and whether she was finished or not he was going to tell her to get out so he could get in. He was angry and in a hurry. He stepped into the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain back. Steam flew out of the shower from the hot water that was shooting from the head.
"Where the fuck you at, bitch?"
"">8, Dmitri 8 ">=:89 A:070; 74@02AB2C9B5 8 4> A2840=8O." Koslov said in his native language as he entered the bathroom, then fired one round into Tommy's head.
He had told the mob boss that Dmitri and Slim said hello and goodbye.
Koslov walked into the kitchen where Cathy was getting dressed. He admired the young Italian woman's beautiful body.
"The money is in my account, right?" Cathy said nervously, hoping the Russian had kept his end of the deal.
"All fifty thousand. Call your account and check. Be sure, pretty lady, before I leave you."
Cathy finished dressing then pulled her cell out of the bag she had packed. It was a small bag to get her through her train ride to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. She put the phone to her ear and Koslov pulled a different pistol from his pocket and fired three rounds into Cathy's chest before she had time to beg for her life. She died instantly, a round piercing her heart and each lung. Koslov put the pistol he'd shot Tommy with in Cathy's hand then went to the bathroom and put the pistol he'd shot Cathy with in Tommy's hand.
The Russians completed their promise to Slim, Bone and LaTanza. The Italians no longer had a strong hand in the drug game of Chicago.
\*
Chavez stood over the grave of Victoria, his babies momma. He held a dozen lilies to his side---the late Victoria's favorite flower. He felt a tear swell in his eye then looked to the sky. The cool breeze of the Chicago late spring weather hit his face and helped to hold the tear of the ruthless man back. He crouched, then set the flowers on the grave. He spoke low in Spanish, telling his babies' momma that he would get her revenge.
Chavez took hold of his rosary, kissed it softly then felt the presence of someone. He placed his free right hand on his pistol that was in his waistband. Slipped his rosary back under his black sweatshirt---he couldn't let anyone know that he believed in prayer.
Cat quick was Chavez when he pulled a chrome pistol from his waistband. Noonie held his hands up gesturing that he'd come in peace.
Chavez made a quick scan of the area behind Noonie, then said, "This better be good. You meeting me on sacred grounds like this." He gestured toward Victoria's grave.
"Got a tip on who did this. It took a while, but you know how young punks be flappin' their gums about work that was put in," Noonie said as he slowly lowered his hands.
There was a pause as Chavez's glare cut deep into the Puerto Rican's eyes trying to read him. Chavez was good at that, and it was one of his traits that kept him alive on the streets for thirty-two years.
"I'm listening," Chavez said as he lowered his weapon to his side.
Noonie took a much needed breath. He'd spoken to Chavez earlier, and Chavez had agreed to the meet, granted Noonie came alone. Chavez was a killer, and he swore revenge for the death of two of his many children's mother. Bone's crew had made it look as if it was Noonie who had killed Victoria, hoping that it would cause Chavez and the Fuentes' to go to war with Slim and Lucky's people. The plan was going well, but then the police came up with a surveillance video from a grocery store parking lot that showed someone other than Noonie getting out of the killer's vehicle and into another getaway car. Now Chavez had the proof he needed to call his hungry dogs off the wrong track and onto the right one, Bone.
Noonie said, "I have a name and address of the guy who was at a club talking shit. Telling some hoodrat about how he and his boys were on the come up. About how he'd put in work to get on the come up."
Chavez grunted, "I still ain't heard shit that makes sense. Some nigga talking shit in the club to some bitch. Naw homie, that ain't enough."
Calmly, Noonie said, "Let me finish, this clown told this broad that he's going to be put on. Be made a lieutenant for knocking some bitch at a video store." Noonie saw Chavez's eyes squint with anger. "I'm not disrespecting, but I'm giving it to you the way it was said, word for word."
Chavez nodded toward Noonie's waist. "Is that for me?"
He was talking about an envelope that was tucked behind his belt.
Noonie said, "Got old boy's name and his address, also where he hangs out."
Noonie eased the envelope from his waistband and handed it to Chavez, who never took his eyes off Noonie as he took the envelope that was worth more than gold to him.
Chavez said, "I owe you one."
"That you do. Once you get your revenge, I will contact you with what I need," Noonie told him.
Chavez raised a brow, and Noonie caught the look. Chavez was keeping his hard disposition, but if the man whose name was in the envelope had taken part in Victoria's death, he had no problem repaying a debt to Noonie.
Chavez put the envelope in the inside pocket of his thin leather jacket. He then thumbed his rosary, turned his back on Noonie then said, "The streets will let you know if I owe you a favor."
Noonie walked away knowing that Chavez wanted to be alone. As he walked back to his Infinity SUV, he thought about Chavez thumbing the rosary and how a stone cold killer could be religious. "Guess it doesn't hurt when you live your life in the streets," he muttered.
Noonie stepped into the truck and drove slowly through the graveyard looking back at Chavez who'd just finished making a cross in front of his body with his hand, then kissed his rosary before tucking it inside his shirt.
I kind of feel bad for sicking that vicious dog on that poor young man, but fuck it. It's all in the game.
\*
Chantel was pulling the blue edging tape from the walls. She'd just finished painting the walls a sky blue and was ready to glue the clouds on them. She was wearing jean overalls over a long-sleeve white tee. An assortment of colors of paint was blotched, splattered or wiped on the clothes. Remnants of all the painting she'd done in the new home she shared with Noonie in the suburbs. Since she was a little girl, she'd dreamed of this look---a housewife. Well, she wasn't a housewife yet, but she could surely be called a homemaker because she did most of the work around the house. On the inside that is. Cook, clean, paint, decorate and more. It's the way she wanted it. Now all that was left was to get married, and she hoped that she and Noonie would be jumping the broom pretty soon. She had always hoped to be married before she had a child, but for now, things were great, and she had a feeling in her gut that Noonie was going to ask her to marry him pretty soon.
Chantel paused, then sat in the new rocker that matched the baby crib, dresser, chest and baby changing station. "Yep, I feel it in my gut. Your daddy is going to ask me to marry him soon, or is that just you kicking, little fella?"
Chantel was eight months pregnant and couldn't have been happier. Well, maybe a little happier if Noonie had got out of the game. But he promised her when the baby was born, he was finished, he was tying up loose ends making it possible for him to leave. Some would say that Chantel should just walk away, but she knew what she was getting into when she fell in love with Noonie. The game was part of his life, and that made it part of hers. She just hoped that he was able to keep his promise and get out after their son was born because she would just die if something was to happen to their little one or his father. After being shot a year and a half ago and losing their unborn child, she realized that all the money, glitz and glamour that the game brought meant nothing if you couldn't enjoy it because you or a loved one was killed behind it. Looking over her back and worrying about her man and any children they had wouldn't be worth it.
Noonie lightly shook Chantel's shoulder, waking her from her nap, and once focused, she placed her soft hand on Noonie's as it was still resting on her shoulder.
"Ma, the room looks beautiful. Why don't you let me help you with the work in this house? You are going to wear yourself out," he said as he looked the room over. He was amazed at the transformation.
The room, like the rest of the suburban house, had needed much work done to it. The owners had let the home go and when it finally got foreclosed on, the recession kept a lot of people from paying the two-hundred thousand dollar ticket. But Chantel knew that a little work on the house would make it worth closer to three hundred thousand, and that would be a nice profit for when they moved away. Chantel hadn't spoken to Noonie about it, but her father had left her some land in North Carolina, and she figured the slower-paced lifestyle of the south would be just what she and Noonie would need after the fast paced life of the Chicago hustle.
Chantel pulled at Noonie so he leaned in and kissed her. She then said, "The inside of the house is mine, and the outside is yours."
"Okay, ma, but you're eight months now," he said as he knelt and rubbed her round belly. "I don't need you trying to move anything heavy. No need to put stress on yourself or my little man in here."
He kissed her stomach then said, "I brought you some Jerk chicken and beans and rice from Joe's."
"Oh, thanks," she said excitedly as she eased from the chair.
"Go get cleaned up, ma, while I set the table."
\*
Jimmie lay on the bed naked as the day he came into the world twenty-one years ago. Camila, a Dominican born beauty emerged her dark-skinned self from the bathroom wearing a red thong and bra set that barely kept her voluptuous hips and ass contained. She was twenty-five and had been sexing men since she was sixteen---it was all she knew. Her mother was a trick and she'd spent many nights laying in her bed when she was young listening to her mother turn men out. That is, until her mother got hooked on crack, and that's when the teenaged Camila had to fend for herself.
"Damn, you lookin' good than a mothafucka," Jimmy said.
"I'm glad you like. You're the birthday boy. I gotta treat you right," said Camila, her Spanish accent as thick as her hips. "Can I do what I want with you?" she asked as she traced her hand from his inner thigh to his manhood.
Jimmie was harder than Chinese arithmetic so that meant the blood had flown from his small mind to his large penis leaving him senseless.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked impatiently.
"I have a thing that I do. You are sure to have the best orgasm you've ever had. Do you want me to do this to you?" she cooed and Jimmie felt her body heat and sensuality as she brushed against him.
Jimmie was crazy over her Dominican accent and the sensuous way she moved her body, but he played cool by saying, "Do ya thing, baby."
She smiled then walked toward the dresser where her purse lay. She stuck her hand inside the knock off Louie bag, then produced handcuffs.
Jimmie replied, "Been there, baby. Be more creative."
"No, no. It's what I do once they're on. I'm not some sista from one of those strip clubs you hang at. I'm 'bout to put some cultural shit on your ass. Are you up for it?" she asked him, even though she knew his answer.
"Like I said, do ya thang."
There were two pair of cuffs in Camila's hand. She slinked her way onto the bed and crawled over Jimmie. She could tell he liked the way her body felt as she sat on his chest. Her mound emitted warm heat and she could feel his heartbeat quicken. Jimmie was young and stupid. He'd forgotten one thing Bone preached, to never put yourself in a position where you couldn't defend yourself like the position he was in now, legs and arms cuffed.
Click, click the cuffs sounded.
"I'm all yours, baby," Jimmie said after feeling the cold iron contain him.
"Gotta get the oils and stuff from the bathroom," Camila said as she sashayed away.
Jimmie got more excited when he watched her dark brown ass jiggle with every step as if it had a mind of its own. He'd laid a many sistas in the hood but never a Hispanic, and he couldn't wait to brag to his boys. But what Jimmie is about to learn is that his mouth is his downfall.
Once back in the bathroom, Camila picked up her phone and sent a text. ALL GOOD.
She didn't wait for a response. Didn't need one because she knew the man on the other end was waiting for her signal, and he was one who never slipped.
Camila had a bottle of oil in her hand, a feather, candle and lighter. Jimmie was cool with the feather and oil, but the lighter and candle he didn't care for. "Baby, I'm down with everything but if you're thinking about that hot wax shit, we might have to chill on that," he said coolly, keeping his player persona.
Camila frowned then said, "It's your party, baby, so whatever you say."
After setting the candle and lighter on the dresser, Camila knew not to hesitate. Jimmie was handcuffed, but just in case her text hadn't made it she had to keep everything on the up and up, so she began stroking Jimmie. He was rather large, but she had no problem taking him into her mouth. She didn't have to perform the sex act on him too long, maybe only two minutes had passed when she heard a voice.
"Happy birthday, Jimmie, I'm glad you invited me to the party," Chavez said as he stood at the foot of the bed.
Jimmie's torso rose from the bed, and he jerked at the cuffs that were on his ankles and wrists, keeping him from attempting an escape. He knew the man that stood before him, and he was immediately consumed with fear.
Jimmie glanced at Camila who was sliding into her jeans. Her breasts bounced as she hurried into her clothes, but Jimmie was no longer interested in the well put together woman. "Bitch, you set me up."
Chavez grinned, and his voice sounded eerily sinister when he said, "Jimmie, that's no way to talk to a lady." He kept his eyes on Jimmie, but spoke to Camila, "Me pondré en contacto más tarde y le pagaremos. Deja nosotros."
Chavez told Camila to leave them, that he'd contact her later to pay her.
"Si," she said as she left the first floor hotel room.
Jimmie began to sweat profusely, and Chavez walked closer to him. "Now, Jimmie. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Chavez looked into Jimmie's eyes so that he'd understand the seriousness of the situation. Chavez sat on the bed next to the cuffed man. "Now, I'm not going to lie to you. You are going to die. I assure you of that. Now whether it is a quick death or a long, drawn out painful death is up to you."
"Man, Chavez, I'm just a corner hustler. I ain't got no paper," Jimmie begged.
"Nah, puta. This ain't about ya paper. I got plenty of that. It's about revenge. My hija and hijo are without a momma. She was a civilian and died at the hands of the game. Rules were broken. The game ain't supposed to call for civilians to be killed, so I must avenge my babies' momma's death."
Camila left the room. Moments later, two young men entered---Petey and Rafael. Petey, the older of the two, carried a bag. Once the door was closed, he reached inside. He handed Chavez a bottle of chloroform and a rag. Chavez poured some of the drug onto the rag then turned toward Jimmie who was squirming violently in a futile attempt to escape from his restraints.
Chavez grabbed Jimmie by the throat with his left hand. His grip was powerful and any more pressure would surely crush Jimmie's windpipe.
Chavez forcefully placed the rag over Jimmie's mouth and nose. The slimly built man tried to wiggle his head free. It went side to side, but the strong Chavez kept the rag in place, ensuring that Jimmie breathed in the sweet smelling dense liquid. Eventually, Jimmie went limp. He was out of it.
Chavez told Petey and Juan, "Make sure you gather all of his things. Better yet, I'll get them. Carry him to the truck and put him in the back."
"I got you, bro," Petey said. His voice was young, but full of confidence.
"First make sure no one is outside," Chavez warned.
The coast was clear, and the two young Mexicans carried Jimmie's cuffed, naked body out of the first floor hotel room to the Durango and tossed Jimmie in the back like a rag doll.
Chavez stepped out carrying Jimmie's belongings. Camila would return tomorrow at checkout time to return the key. Chavez stepped into the passenger's side of the SUV. The moonlight shone through the front window, and the late May night was a clear one. The stars shone brightly, and Chavez stole a quick glance at them. He knew Victoria was looking down at them from heaven. She was a woman who never harmed a soul. She and Chavez were opposites. Two people from different sides of the tracks who shared two things in common---a young girl and boy. Two children who are now living with their grandmother because their mother was senselessly gunned down while leaving work. Now was the beginning of her death being avenged.
\*
Detective Styles drove the triple black Dodge Charger faster than the posted speed limit on Chicago Avenue. It was after eleven, and darkness had fallen hours earlier. He turned off the major street, slowing his speed as he cruised toward his destination.
Styles neared a city park and when he came to a halt at a stop sign, he finger combed his long goatee and smiled as he watched the group of Hispanic men, who were shooting hoops and the shit, stop to see what he was doing in their Humboldt Park neighborhood.
Styles was born, bred and fed on the south side, but had no fear of cruising in the northwest side neighborhood. He was the police and that gave him that right. If he weren't a lawman, he might have had a problem. The shiny twenty-inch rims came to a halt, and the haze of the orange streetlights shone off them. The car was clean as a whistle---seized from a drug dealer from the southeast side of the city. The youngsters didn't know that, and why should they? There was nothing about the car or Styles that screamed police. They threw up their gang signs to let the black man know where he was and what danger he could be in. Styles grinned at the teenagers as he slid his hand to his cup holder, grabbed his shield and held it up. The teenagers called him a pig, gave him the finger and flashed their gang signs again. Styles smiled then gave the supercharged car gas and cruised off.
Five minutes later, Styles brought the car to a halt at a large house that had been converted to three apartments. An elderly Spanish woman, the occupant of the front apartment, was sitting on the porch knitting a shirt. It's not the first time Styles has seen the woman. He exits the car and walks to the woman. She's heavyset with short grey hair.
Styles speaks, she nods. He hands her a shopping bag.
She says nothing. Sets the bag on the ground and Styles smiles as he walks away down the gangway to the back. The wooden door to the rear apartment is open, but the screen door is locked. He knocks on it. "Trish," he calls.
Walking toward the door is a sexy woman of Brazilian and Black descent. She's smiling and appears to be happy to see Styles. She isn't. It's a front. Trish has been dealing with Styles ever since he had some charges pending against her dropped. Charges that were false. But Trish had always been a bit naïve since she was young. Her mother Anna, who had become strung out on heroin was soon forced to prostitution when there was no room left at shelters for her and a young child. A child who knew no English because her mother rarely spoke it and never sent her daughter to school, but Trish learned the language by watching PBS, Sesame Street, School House Rock and the Electric Company, and all the lonely days sitting in the living room of their one bedroom apartment watching the shows while her mother turned tricks had paid off. Sometimes she would stand by the door and listen to her mother moan and speak words in English and Spanish. She can recall most of the men asking her to speak in her native tongue when they were in the room with her. After the men moaned and spoke a few curse words, but sounding happy when they did, the room would get quiet so Trish would tiptoe back to the raggedy couch where she would sit staring at the television.
Trish had been in America for two years and never let on to her mother that she was becoming fluent in English---and the ways of life. Television and friends in the neighborhood helped to teach her the language, but her mother and her pimp who hung at the apartment on a regular, taught her the game of life.
"You want something to eat?" she asked as she headed for the refrigerator without waiting for a response.
"What'cha got?" Styles asked as he sat at the small wooden kitchen table that was worn and had many chips in it.
Trish pulled a plate that was covered with plastic wrap from the refrigerator. "Brazilian steak and yellow rice."
She stuck the plate in the microwave, set the time for two minutes then grabbed the bottle of Hennessey and a glass that was on the counter. After putting a couple of ice cubes in the glass, she poured the cognac then handed it to Styles.
He took a couple of hefty swigs, almost emptying the glass, then as he was about to reach for Trish, the microwave chimed. She turned and retrieved his plate of food. She was relieved. She knew Styles wanted to have sex, but she didn't. There were times when she didn't mind and actually enjoyed his company, but lately she began to want more. She was taking classes at the community college and while at libraries studying, she would see couples full of life, relishing in the company of each other. While jogging in the park, she would see couples holding hands, smiling and laughing---something she'd never done in her life. She wanted that and hoped to get to that point some day.
Styles finished only half of his meal. While eating and talking on the phone, he watched Trish's heart-shaped ass shift with every move she made as she washed dishes. He became hungry for her sex and that was the reason he was there, along with letting her know what she had to do to help him on a case he was working.
"Come here," he said.
She wiped her hands dry then stepped to him.
He guided her to sit on his lap. He placed a hand on her breast and it felt good even through the fabric of her t-shirt.
He was heading in for a kiss when his cell rang. The ringtone was one of the narcotics offic, so he answered and was pissed when his commander called him to report to a crime scene.
When Styles stood, she kissed him making it seem as if she wanted him to stay.
"I know, baby, but I gotta go. We'll finish this later."
Trish frowned then said, "Okay, call me."
Styles walked up the gangway. When he got to the front of the house, he noticed the old woman. She was still sitting in the rocking chair, knitting. She'd started on something new. She also had new yarn and was working it with a new pair of knitting needles.
"Gracias por el señor que hace punto suministros," the old woman said.
She was thanking Styles for knitting supplies.
He responded with a simple nod, like he always did after bringing the old woman something. He got inside the Charger then sped off. As he was traveling up Chicago Avenue, he blasted rap loudly. Can I Live by Jay-Z pumped through his speakers. He came to a halt at a stoplight. At the opposite side of him was an SUV. The passenger of the Suburban recognized Styles, and Styles recognized the Mexican.
The light changed to green, and the driver of the Suburban hadn't noticed. He was looking at Chavez.
"Drive, Petey," Chavez said as he kept his eyes fixed on the man inside the Charger.
Styles gave the Charger gas and simply nodded as the two vehicles passed one another.
"Damn, that was close," Petey said relieved. The two shorties in the back had no idea who the black man in the sports car was, but he and Chavez did.
Nevertheless, it was all good, but Chavez wondered what Styles was doing in his neck of the woods. He turned and through the SUV's rear window Chavez saw Styles' taillights fade. He then looked down at the man who was tied up and out cold. "That was the police from your hood, dog. That narc name Styles, I know you know him. He must be on some other shit, or he would've stopped us." He turned back around then shook his head. "This just ain't your fucking day, dog."
\*
When Jimmie came out of his state of unconsciousness, he realized that his life was about to end. He blinked a few times so his eyes could focus. As Chavez set several knives on a table, Jimmie visually searched the room. He was stretched out on a pool table that was covered with a sheet of thick plastic. He came to the realization that this was where he was going to die. In a basement and then his body dumped somewhere. This wasn't the way he'd figured his birthday to end. He was supposed to be lying up with the Dominican chick with the fat ass.
Gutter bitch! He thought of the woman who'd set him up.
Chavez put the cigar to his lips. He took a cigar cutter from his pocket. Slid a quarter of an inch of the expensive cigar in the hole of the cutter and with one swift motion he cut the tip of the cigar, and it fell to the ground. He smiled at how easily the tip was cut, and Jimmie had an idea of what Chavez was thinking. Jimmie tugged at his restraints to no avail. Chavez lit the cigar with a small butane lighter. He puffed hard, and the tip glowed bright red. Smoke clouded Chavez's face and if Jimmie didn't know any better, it looked as if the Grim Reaper was standing before him.
Chavez stepped out of the cloud of smoke toward Jimmie. He asked, "Who killed my babies' momma, and who made the call?"
"I don't know what the fuck you are talkin' 'bout," Jimmie spat.
"A little bird told me that you do," Chavez said calmly. "And Jimmie, take some of that fuckin' bass out ya voice when you talk to me.
Chavez put his cigar in his mouth, held it tightly between his lips as he grabbed Jimmie's hand. Jimmie wanted to snatch it away, but the restraints wouldn't let him. Chavez pulled up Jimmie's ring finger and stuck it in the cigar cutter.
"Ahhhh!" Jimmie howled as his finger fell on the pool table.
Jimmie continued to scream. Chavez looked over to Petey and nodded for him to come forward. Chavez took the yellow bandanna from around Petey's neck. He gripped Jimmie's throat with his powerful hand, forcing Jimmie's mouth open. He then stuffed the rag in the slim man's mouth. Petey didn't like the fact that Chavez stuffed his Latin King's colors in the black man's mouth, but dare not say anything to his boss.
Chavez's look was indifferent as he looked at Jimmie. "Now that you've shut the fuck up, listen. I'm not in the business of fucking around." Chavez grabbed another finger. Clip. He cut another finger and the bandanna muffled Jimmie's cries. "I would ask you again, but I'm going to wait. I need you to feel pain so you can understand the seriousness of the situation."
Chavez waved to one of his soldiers who was standing by the table of knives. The young Mexican, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, wheeled the table of hardware to Chavez. Jimmie got a better look at the shiny utensils. He watched as Chavez picked up a syringe and held it to the light. Chavez tapped it and a drip fell from the tip of the needle, and to Jimmie, it looked as if it took minutes for it to hit the ground.
Chavez grinned for the first time. "I bet you're wondering what up with the needle. You probably think I'm gonna dope you up. Nah, bro. That would be too easy. This here is a shot of adrenaline. It's to keep you from passing out and all your senses functioning quite well. I need you to feel all the pain I'm gonna put you through. You're gonna tell me what I want to know."
Chavez pierced Jimmie's vein that was at the bend of his elbow then slowly pressed the plunger. Jimmie squirmed, and his eyes bulged. He was now in a state to where he'd feel all the pain Chavez gave him, but he wouldn't pass out.
"Cut his pants off," Chavez commanded.
The young soldier, Juan, did as he was told. He unbuckled the belt to the baggy jeans then pulled them and Jimmie's boxers down to his knees. He then used the shears to cut them off.
Chavez took a couple of hard puffs on his cigar then held it between his teeth. "You wanna talk, Jimmie?" he said as he slid on a pair of rubber gloves.
Jimmie said nothing. He simply lay on the table breathing heavily.
"Okay," Chavez said then grabbed Jimmie's dick. "Damn, you would've given Camila a run for her money with a cock like this. Oh, well," he shrugged.
Chavez puffed hard then lifted Jimmie's penis. He put the cigar to Jimmie's genitals and began burning them.
Jimmie screamed.
"Who killed my babies' momma?"
Jimmie whimpered.
Chavez burned.
"Who, puta?"
Jimmie stopped yelling but didn't say a word.
Petey said, "This 'fucker is tougher than I thought."
Chavez put the cigar out on Jimmie's forehead then said, "Time to step it up."
Chavez picked up a highly polished knife that was razor sharp. He smiled then said, "Time for me to go to work."
Jimmie screamed as Chavez brought the knife closer to him.
\*
Noonie was in a deep sleep and dreaming. It was a recurring dream that he was being arrested and dragged from his home while Chantel watched as she held a crying baby in her arms. He was being put in the back of an unmarked squad car, then the narcotics detective who was sitting in the front seat turned and smiled at him before punching him several times in the body. The punches kept coming, and there was nothing he could do about it since he was cuffed. Then suddenly he was awake. He realized he was in the comforts of his bedroom, then felt his lovely Chantel's small fist pounding his side as she lay on her back.
Chantel said, "Baby, it's time."
"It's time?" Noonie said then realized what she meant. "Oh, shit. It's time!"
Chantel, even in the moment of contractions laughed then said, "Yes, baby, it's time. Your son is ready to come into this world."
Noonie glanced at the clock as he jumped out of bed. It was two in the morning. He helped Chantel up. She was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Grab my robe and throw, and don't worry about any clothes. Have Tesha come to the house and get what I need. We have to go.
Noonie slid into some jeans and a shirt then carefully helped the love of his life out the front door and into their car. Within minutes they were at the hospital. Chantel was being checked in and wheeled into a delivery room while an anxious Noonie did as he was told and called everyone. Tesha first as he was instructed by Chantel. Tesha was with Chantel when she lost her unborn child when she was shot in a gas station parking lot and was by her side during her depression. When Chantel found that she was pregnant again, with the support of Noonie and Tesha, she broke out of her funk, and now she was about to give birth to her and Noonie's son.
\*
Jimmie was breathing heavily, and his body was covered with blood. His legs had been sliced too many times to count, and he simply wanted to be put out of his misery. Chavez wasn't having that thought. A quick death wasn't in the cards for Jimmie for he hadn't told Chavez what he wanted to know.
"Okay, Jimmie, it's time to stop playing. I'm going to dig one of your eyes out," he said as he put a spoon up to Jimmie's eye.
As soon as Chavez was about to dig the eye out of its socket Jimmie whimpered, "Slim sent the order."
"What? Don't fucking lie to me!" Chavez spat.
"I'm not lying, man. I just wanna be let go. I swear. No one knew who did it. But then one night, I was at the strip joint, and one of his boys was drunk. He got to braggin' to this one stripper broad..." Jimmie coughed. Blood ran down the side of his mouth. "He was talkin' about what an OG he was---"
Chavez cut him off, "You lie, Jimmie, why would he brag to a stripper bitch about killing? Don't make sense."
"Nigga was tryin' to get some pussy. I know the broad. Been fuckin' her for a minute now. She told me how stupid the guy was."
"His name."
Jimmie didn't hesitate, "Reese."
Chavez eyes squinted, "The bitch's name."
"What?"
"The bitch who told you this. Her name."
Jimmie didn't expect for Chavez to ask him her name but figured what the hell. He was trying to get out of a painful situation so he told him, "Pretzels."
"What, motherfucker?"
"Serious. Her name is Pretzels. Her stage name is all I know. She works at Showstoppaz."
Chavez smiled. He knew the spot. He didn't go there but knew someone who did. The place was on the east end and Petey's cousin was a regular.
Chavez said, "If you're lying, I'm going to find your momma and do to her what I'm doing to you."
He told Petey to call his cousin, Tony. Petey pulled out his cell and did as told. Once Tony answered. Petey put the cell on speaker.
"Tony, this Chavez."
"Whassup, bro?"
"Ay, you go to that one strip joint, Showstoppaz, right?"
"Yeah, goin' tonight. Why, you wanna roll? You know I gots VIP up in there."
"Nah, but since you the man up in there, I need to know somethin'."
"Whassup?"
"Do a bitch named Pretzels work there?"
"Yeah, a black chick. Man, you gotta see this hoe. She can put her body in all kinds of positions. That's why they call her Pretzels."
Chavez glanced at Jimmie and a grin formed on his face. "Tony, stay close. I'ma hit you in a bit."
"King Love, bro."
Chavez ended the call then smiled at Jimmie. "I thank you, bro. It was forced, but you came clean. But I'mma have to kill you." He glanced at the area where Jimmie's penis used to be. "You ain't no good without your dick."
Jimmie knew he was going to die, that's why he lied. He knew it was Bone's people who'd killed Chavez's babies' momma, but he wasn't going to give the spic, who he knew was going to kill him anyway, the information, so he lied. One, to protect Bone who'd always been good to him and two, because he knew Slim was more equipped to handle Chavez. He didn't care for Slim but wanted to make sure Chavez got his and going after Slim's people, Jimmie figured that he'd get just that.
Chavez put his knife up to Jimmie's jugular vein. "When I was a kid, my grandmother used to tell a story. Whenever someone died, when a life is taken one is brought into this world." Chavez brought the knife to Jimmie's throat. "So look at it this way, Jimmie, there is a baby being born right at this moment."
Chavez sliced Jimmie's throat and his pain was over.
\*
"Push, Push. Come on Chantel, I can see the crown," the East Indian doctor said calmly as Noonie looked on nervously.
"Ahhh," Chantel shouted and then she became quiet.
Seconds later there was the sweet sound of a new life, cries from a baby. The umbilical cord was cut and the nurses took the baby and began cleaning him off as the doctor took care of Chantel.
Anthony and Tesha nervously sat in the waiting room. They had arrived at the hospital about thirty minutes after receiving the call from Noonie. They were both sleeping and when they received the call they both jumped into warm-up suits and were out the door.
Tesha looked at her watch then asked, "Did you reach Lucky?"
"For the third time, yes. Damn, and I thought I was the one who was nervous," Anthony joked.
"We've been here for over two hours. I need to go talk to somebody," she said as she stood and began to walk out of the waiting room.
Anthony stopped her. "Look here, baby. Just sit and wait. I know you're nervous because she lost the first baby. Hell, everyone is, but everything's going to---"
"Tesha Smith?" a nurse said as she entered the waiting room.
"Yes, yes, that's me. Is everything okay?" she asked nervously.
"Everything is fine. Mr. and Mrs. Rodriquez are waiting for you to come and see their baby boy," the nurse said pleasantly.
"Yes!" Anthony said as he pumped his fist as if Derrick Rose had hit a game winning shot.
The nurse smiled then said, "Right this way."
\*
Jamel parked the Escalade in the east parking lot of the hospital. Dressed in slacks and a button-down, Lucky stepped out of the passenger's side and had a big smile on his face. He was overjoyed that Noonie and Chantel were having a baby. He looked up at the stars and thought about how God is good. Chantel and Noonie had lost a child and here they were less than two years later having their first son.
"Don't forget the flowers," Lucky told Jamel.
Jamel, who drove for Lucky, reached inside the driver's side door and retrieved the flowers from the bench seat.
Jamel asked, "Lucky, you must've known they were gonna have the baby tonight. What you do, buy the flowers earlier today?"
Lucky smiled at the youngster. He loved having Jamel, who was only twenty, around. He felt the young man had potential to do something with his life so he kept him close. "Son, I cut them out of my garden after I called for you to pick me up."
Lucky's house was plush. Thirty-nine hundred square feet brick home in the suburbs. Huge, beautifully landscaped yard with a large in-ground pool in the back. And to top things off at the home was Miss Joplin, a southern lady in her fifties who did all the cooking and cleaning for Lucky. She made sure he was well taken care of. She also assumed the duties of making sure that he was doing what he was supposed to do as far as his health. After being diagnosed with cancer, he was forced to change his diet and lifestyle to help with the biggest fight of his life.
Lucky took the flowers from Jamel then said, "Let's go see the baby."
The room was full of smiling faces and people taking pictures of the baby as Chantel, who was propped up by many pillows, held her firstborn. Miss Joplin, who was like a mother to all the men in Slim and Lucky's crew, had jumped in her minivan and headed to the hospital as soon as Lucky told her that Chantel was about to deliver. Miss Joplin was tall, heavy seat and dark-skinned. She loved working for Lucky because she had no family to speak of. When she was a teenager, she had left Mississippi to escape the racism and poverty for the promise of a faster and more promising life in Chicago. Young and naïve, she got caught up in the wrong crowd and soon her so-called boyfriend had her tricking and strung out on heroin for most of the seventies. She eventually got her life together and began working as a cook in a local soul food restaurant and that's where Lucky met her. He used to eat at the place every Tuesday and Thursday night. Fried chicken, catfish, candied yams, black-eyed peas, fried okra, hot water cornbread, fried corn and fresh peach cobbler just to name some of the simpler foods Miss Joplin could cook. Needless to say, when Lucky bought his home and the soul food restaurant closed, Lucky offered Miss Joplin, who was in her forties at the time, a job as his housekeeper as long as she stayed clean, and that she did and she has been more of a help than he could have ever imagined.
"Chile, watch that baby's head. Hold him like this," Miss Joplin said as she imitated holding a baby.
Chantel adjusted her hold then said, "Thanks, Miss Joplin. Maybe I could talk Lucky into letting you stay with me and Noonie for a couple of weeks."
"That might be a good idea, chile. I love 'em when they're this size. Eat and sleep's all they want to do," Miss Joplin said as she reached for the baby.
"I might be able to survive without you for a couple of weeks," Lucky said as he entered the room.
"Hey, Lucky, everyone said.
"Congrats," Lucky said to Noonie as he gave him a manly hug.
"Thanks, Lucky," Noonie said as he looked at and admired his son as Miss Joplin held him. "That boy is gonna be somebody."
"Without a doubt. Just make sure you are a good dad, and it will all fall in place."
Anthony looked at his father and smiled when he heard the words. Anthony hadn't known his father long, but the past couple of years made up for the over two decades of being apart.
"Son," Lucky said with a nod.
Tesha hugged Lucky. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he said then patted her belly. "It's going to be you and Anthony's turn next."
Tesha, who secretly yearned to have a child of her own, simply smiled.
"Ah, and the woman of the day. These are for you!" Lucky said as he handed Chantel the beautiful arrangement of flowers.
Chantel sniffed them then said, "Out of your garden, I take it."
"Of course."
Miss Joplin handed Noonie his son then took the flowers from Chantel. There was a vase with flowers from the hospital in it so Miss Joplin took the cheap looking flowers out and replaced them with the ones Lucky brought.
Slim, who had been quiet, handed Jamel his digital camera then stood next to Noonie, "Take a pic of the two of us." He put his arm around Noonie, and the two of them posed with the baby.
After a couple of snaps of the camera, Jamel asked, "What's little homey's name?"
Chantel spoke, "Nomar, like his father. Nomar 'Noonie' Rodriquez."
"Jamel said, "That's what's up!"
Miss Joplin said, "Okay, Chantel and the baby need rest." She started shooing everyone with her hands towards the door.
Everyone said their goodbyes and quietly left the hospital. Outside in the parking lot after Lucky and Jamel drove off, Slim and Anthony stood while Tesha sat in the passenger's seat of Anthony's E-class that he only drove when going out with Tesha or other special occasions.
Slim said, "Found out who's killed the two shorties who were in the stash spot."
"No shit?" Anthony asked.
The two shorties were a couple of eighteen year olds who were in one of the crew's stash spots when it got robbed. The crew had lost about ninety thousand, but most important, two young lives were taken. Yes, the teenagers knew their risk in the game, but Slim still didn't like the fact that they were killed. Word on the street was that they had given the men the money and that they wore masks, but killed the youngsters anyway.
"Yeah, and the little bird who dropped the info says it was this independent. Some nigga trying to come up."
Anthony's brow furrowed. "Is that right?"
"Seems that way," Slim said as he eyed a hospital security car that drove past them.
"What are we gonna do about it? You know my Pops is trying to keep the killing to a minimum," Anthony reminded him.
"Yeah, but this has to be done. As long as I'm in charge and I'm still making money. I have to do what I have to do." He patted Anthony on the shoulder. "For all of us."
"You want me to handle it?"
"Nah, got Baby G on it."
"Then it'll get done."
Slim said, "That's fo' sho. Well, I'm about to get some breakfast. It's four in the morning, and I'm hungry."
Anthony looked back at Tesha who was sound asleep. "We would join you, but I think I better get her home."
"That's cool. Outta here, peace."
They gave each other some dap then slipped inside their cars. Anthony drove off, but Slim sat. He was thinking. Thinking about how it had moved him to see all the joy in the hospital room. How the new bundle of joy brought a smile to his face and touched the emptiness in his heart. He turned the satellite radio to smooth jazz and thought about the women he'd gone through since his only real relationship. The one he had years ago with Lisa. Since then he'd been with women who he never really had a connection with because he was scarred. Felt as if all women were out for his money so he always had his guard up and only had one use for women, and that was sex. But watching the happiness of Noonie and Chantel was a reminder that a man was meant to be with one woman. A woman who was a friend, lover and supporter, and he was determined to get that one day.
\*
Slim was parked in front of Ray's, a local restaurant that his uncle used to take him to when he was a young boy. "This here is a greasy spoon, boy. Been 'round for years. They make the best egg and bacon sandwich in the city." Slim can still remember his uncle saying.
The bell that was tied above the door rang as Slim entered the establishment. There were only a few patrons sitting at the bar and a few young men in a booth. Slim checked them out and his intuition told him that they were harmless.
"Marcellus, how are you?" a heavyset man wearing a clean, but stained, white shirt and pants with an apron to match. He was standing in front of the grill with a metal spatula in his hand. He was going to work on eggs, bacon, sausage and hash browns at the same time.
"Ray, when are you going to let someone else run this place? You've been serving for over forty years. It's time for you to relax and enjoy your money."
"And gonna do another forty mo'. Two fried eggs, two slices of bacon, slice of American cheese, mayo, salt and pepper on toasted wheat comin' up."
Slim smiled as he sat on the stool at the bar. Ray knew exactly what he ate. He'd been serving Slim for years.
Ray continued, "And speaking of relaxing and enjoying your money, when you gonna do the same..." Ray's clanked his spatula on the grill then turned and furrowed his brow at Slim, "Feel me?"
Slim knew where Ray was coming from. The older man had been trying to get him to leave the drug game and get into a safer line of work. Slim always listened, but the game seemed to have a hold on him even though he had enough money to last him a lifetime.
"Believe it or not, Ray, I was just contemplating leaving the game. Was thinking on that and other things."
Ray put together Slim's breakfast sandwich, put it on a plate and set it along with a large cup of orange juice.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Other things, like what?"
The bell above the door rang and a woman wearing jean shorts, white K-Swiss and a white t-shirt walked in. Her hair tied back in a long ponytail and her skin was a pecan color and smooth. She sat at the end of the bar by the cake tray that had doughnuts and several slices of cake. She reached in and grabbed a glazed one.
"Ray, when are you going to get some red velvet cake?" the woman asked.
Her looks were so beautiful, and she had the body of a dancer. But her voice sounded so innocent. Slim was immediately interested but figured she had a man.
Ray responded, "Girl, I told you this is a breakfast shop. You better take yourself to the cheesecake factory if you want that fancy stuff. Besides, how you gonna sleep eating all that sugar? That's for folks going to work, not home to sleep."
"No sleep, Ray. I stay up for about three hours. I shower then sit and type," she said.
Ray handed her a glass of milk then said, "Type, you in school? That's good."
"No, Ray, school isn't for me. I'm writing a book," she said with enthusiasm.
"Really, about what?"
"My life and the things I've seen." She adjusted herself on the stool, and Slim stole a glance at her heart-shaped rear.
"That's good. I want the first copy. You get that done and you can sit in here and sell anytime you want. Lunch is the best time. I see all these young sisters comin' in here for lunch sitting and reading," he told her.
"Thanks, Ray," she said then downed her milk.
"No breakfast?"
"Nah, not that hungry. Just had to get my sugar fix."
And with that, the young beauty was gone.
Ray saw the look on Slim's face. He smiled then said, "A looker, huh?"
"Damn right. Who is she?"
"Trish. She comes in for lunch mostly. Talks a little and then is out. Really nice girl."
"Damn good looking, too," Slim added as he stood. He dropped a twenty on the counter then said, "Holla, Ray."
The sandwich and juice was only five dollars, so Slim had to make a fast exit as always because he didn't want to give Ray the chance to turn down the fifteen dollar tip.
As Slim headed for the Dan Ryan Expressway he thought about the beautiful woman who'd come into the diner. Thought about how he should have introduced himself. He usually would have, but he wanted to get out of the mode of just macking a woman. He wanted a good woman to come into his life and figured that that woman would eventually come. But then he thought about the innocence the woman at in the diner exuded and thought maybe he should have talked to her.
"Their money ain't as long as mine"---SLIM
LaTanza sat comfortably on the lounge chair as she watched the waves roll effortlessly onto the sandy beach of a resort in Cozumel, Mexico. The moon was shining brightly on the small waves, and she wished she could stay and enjoy the hot weather and nightlife of Mexico. But she had a job to do, pleasure and fun was not priority on her list. She stood and stretched her long, curvaceous body. She was wearing an Aquaclara bikini. One of her favorites by a brother and sister team, Jorge and Liliana Villalobos of Peru.
Chacho Delarosa sat in a chair next to the brown beauty. He sipped on a glass of Patron and lime as he stole glances of her as she stood. The blend, soft leather microfiber, satin and Lycra-tull was like a second skin on her body. The Mexican kingpin had beautiful women around him twenty-four seven and used them like paper towels. When finished, he simply threw them away. But LaTanza was different. She was a beautiful caramel-colored black woman who was strong, beautiful, powerful and rich. And having many connections in the drug trade didn't hurt. She was the wife of the powerful Carlos Fuentes of Chicago and was running his cartel while he sat in federal prison. Chacho could care less if Carlos was in or out of prison because he was a man who, in his forty-eight years on this earth, got what he wanted---whether it was the easy or hard way.
"Where are you going, Mommasita?" he asked.
LaTanza smiled as she focused on Chacho---salt and pepper hair that was slicked to the back. A goatee that was dyed black and salt and pepper hair on his chest. He was thick around the middle from a life of living and eating well. His Mexican heritage and living in Mexico under the year round intense heat and sun played the part in giving him a dark skin tone, unlike a lot of the Mexicans she knew in Chicago where the heat and sun was intense for only a couple of months.
She told him, "I want to go on the yacht. You promised, remember?"
Chacho looked out into the ocean where his beauty was anchored about three hundred yards from where they were. The sun was setting and the yacht's lights were glowing from its windows. He sipped his drink as he thought. He hadn't planned on taking LaTanza on the luxury boat. At least not until tomorrow, but the beauty wanted to get on the yacht named 'Flotación Bueaty' which stood for 'Floating Beauty'. He started to think with his little head as she leaned over to pick up her drink, a Tequila Sunrise. Her brown breasts jiggled slightly and caught his gaze. She sipped her drink then said, "Chacho, your yacht is so beautiful. I would love to see the inside."
He rose from his chair and was sitting straight up. The thick platinum bracelet slid forward on his wrist as he set his drink on the small basket weave table. He checked his Rolex watch which was platinum as well. His accent was smooth when he grunted, "Ah, my beauty. Me have business to tend to. Maybe we go on the yacht another time."
LaTanza could see lust in his eyes and knew that he wanted her. She'd played a cat and mouse game the past couple of days. He knew that she was in Mexico on business to see what kind of deal she could strike with him. But she wasn't in control of the city of Chicago and others in the Midwest and until she was he didn't want to deal with her. Besides, he was already supplying someone who sold in some of the major cities in the Midwest, and to a cartel that was, based out of Miami. They were the real deal, supplying drug crews from Miami to all the movers and shakers up interstate 95 to New York.
LaTanza smirked her full lips at Chacho, telling him, "Well, since we've talked business already, I guess my stay in Mexico is over. Until next time." With that, she walked away. Slowly, of course, affording Chacho the opportunity to change his mind.
He didn't. He simply let her walk away even though he wanted so badly to taste her. But he hadn't made it to kingpin status for nothing. He was a smart man who'd seen it all, and he never let pussy come before his money. So he just watched the woman who wanted to make a one hundred kilo a month deal with walk away to her hotel room to prepare for her flight back to Chicago. She looked so good to him and he wanted her badly, but there were people on his yacht. People who bought five hundred kilos a month and they were in Mexico to see if they could increase the quantity they were buying, so he would have to wait to entertain.
Back in her hotel room, LaTanza stripped out of her bathing suit. It had done its job in showing off what she had to offer the Mexican drug lord. She had no interest in him physically, but knew what was in between a woman's legs was power and in between a man's was weakness. If she had to she would eventually bed Chacho and get his nose open. He would then get weak and deal with her on a large scale and then she could expand her empire. She was naked when she lay on the bed. She caressed her breasts and thought about how she missed her husband's body on top of hers and his manhood inside her wanting walls. She closed her eyes, opened her legs and imagined it was he who was entering her but the man on top of her was much heavier.
"Ahhh, that's it Fernando," she moaned as her bodyguard entered her.
"I've missed you," Fernando whispered as he picked up his pace.
"I know you have and I'm going to make you come many times tonight." She looked him in his eyes. "You are on my team, aren't you? I can trust you to the fullest, right?"
He dug deep into her velvety love, saying, "You know I'm down for you. I've proven that haven't I?" he said with a couple of hard thrust.
Fernando was referring to him setting up Carlos Fuentes' father to be killed.
She hooked her legs around his and fucked him back. Not sexed him. That wouldn't do to keep him under her spell. It had to be a good fuck.
"Yes you have and I love you for that, now fuck me hard. I want us to come together."
LaTanza felt him swelling and his thickness was well welcomed. Carlos had been incarcerated for almost two years and LaTanza promised herself and her husband not to sleep with anyone and she considered herself to be sticking to her promised since she only slept with men when it came to business. When it came to her becoming the Queenpin.
\*
Love and Happiness pumped through the speakers of Baby G's Chevy Malibu, a discreet vehicle that he liked using when he was on a mission. He sat in darkness on the corner of 80th and Langley and watched from his rearview mirror at the C-class Mercedes as the man inside waited. Once he got impatient, he stepped out of his car. His cell phone was up to his ear, and he looked angry as he walked to the home he was parked in front of.
Baby G killed the music that was playing low, pulled the slide to his .45 Colt back a bit to ensure that he'd racked a round in the chamber. He was always careful like that. He then stepped out of his car. The dome light didn't illuminate because he'd taken the bulb out so he wouldn't be seen getting out. He gently closed the door and headed toward the man. He thought about how the city made it easy to do a killing by not replacing the street lights in a timely manner.
"Bitch, what's taking you so long," the man barked into his phone.
The woman on the other end said, "I'm inside waiting for you! I'm looking out the window and don't see you."
"I'm knocking on the door now, bitch!" he barked.
"Well, you knocking on the wrong door, cause I don't hear shit and don't see you. And make that the last time you call me a bitch!" she spat.
He told her the address she'd given him while they were at the club two nights ago. He'd partied with her and later that evening she'd given him the best head he'd had in his life, and that brought him here from the west side to the southeast side.
She said, "You wrote the wrong address down, stupid ass!" Click she hung up on him.
"I'll kill that bitch," the young gangster spat as he turned and walked back to his car. He was then surprised by a man in all black. He was about to go for his pistol, but it was too late.
Baby G had his pistol pointed at the man as he asked, "Cain, you sent them little niggas into our stash house, who you work for?"
Cain was a gansta who was an independent and was trying to come up. Slim's crew had never heard of the young gansta, but when Baby G got finished with the one youngster who had robbed them, he gave Cain up.
"Fuck you, nigga! Figure it out," Cain barked knowing who was standing before him and why. He then spit on Baby G.
Boom, boom, boom, boom. Baby G shot Cain in the head and chest then walked away as he wiped blood and the spit from his face. Baby G knew Slim wanted information from the man before he was killed but after getting spit on; Baby G had no room for talking.
\*
Slim, Anthony, Noonie, Shaun and Reese, all dressed in expensive jeans, silk blend camp shirts, button-downs and dress shoes, stepped out of the black BMW 760. They were parked in the reserved parking space in the front of RITZ, a gentlemen's club in downtown Chicago. The four well-dressed men walked toward the entrance. Reese's six foot three two hundred and fifty-five pound frame leading the way. Other men who were waiting to get inside the well-established club were cutting their eyes. Jealousy oozed from their pores, directed at the men with obvious power and clout, as they passed them by to be let in by the doorman without waiting.
The manager was at the long L-shaped bar talking to one of the barmaids, a tall, brown-skinned sista with a blown out hairdo that made her look even taller. He noticed Slim and immediately put out his cigarette in the ashtray and headed Slim's way.
"Slim, how are you? You should have told me you were coming. I would have had a---" He saw one of his assistants, a young white man who didn't look old enough to be in the establishment. He snapped his fingers at the man then waved for him to come. "David, clear an area up front near the stage for five."
Slim said, "No need. We're cool blending in."
"You sure, I can---"
Slim raised his hand stopping the manager, who knew big money stood before him. "We're fine, just start the liquor coming because my boy just had his first son!" Slim said while lightly punching Noonie on the arm.
"The place is yours. Whatever you need and we have a good show going on tonight. A few new girls since you were here last."
Slim hadn't been to the gentlemen's club since Antwan's, who is now in Detroit hustling for Slim, birthday which was seven months ago.
The men had Heinekens, Hennessey and Moet. They had seen a couple of girls strip, but it wasn't a big deal to them. They all had women and could get just about any woman they wanted. They were in the club because of the atmosphere---not to trick.
Waitresses changed, and Trish was now working Slim and his crew's table. When she stooped at their table with a bottle of Dom Perignon, Slim's back was to her as he talked to someone he knew who was passing by, and when she spoke, her voice was like music to his ears. Knowing the voice he immediately turned. When Slim and Trish locked eyes he said, "You're the lady from Ray's the other morning."
Excitement was in Slim's voice, and Noonie noticed a glow on his face that he'd never seen before. A smile formed on his face knowing that his boss never showed any excitement toward a woman.
"Yes, Marcellus, it's me, and how are you?" she asked shyly.
"I'm fine," he said then his brow furrowed. "How do you know my name?" Slim asked knowing that no one ever called him by his real name.
She whisked stray stands of her jet black hair from her face as she balanced the tray of champagne in the other as she said, "Ray told me while I was in there this morning."
"Oh," was all Slim said not wanting to press the woman. He made a mental note to remind Ray not to tell anyone his real name, because if a person didn't know it, he didn't need to know it.
Trish noticed the manager and got back to work.
"Congratulations on the birth of your child," she said as she poured Noonie some of the fine champagne.
"Thank you, ma," Noonie said as he picked up the flute. He waited for his friends to get their glasses filled then raised his flute in the air. "To my son, Nomar."
"To Nomar," everyone said in unison.
Trish walked away to attend to other customers, and Slim noticed when she looked back to steal a glance at him---he couldn't help but smile.
The men finished off the champagne and joked with Noonie about him being an old man and tied down. That Chantel already had him henpecked and that Noonie Jr. was going to keep him occupied.
Noonie laughed, saying, "That's okay, that's my baby, and that's my little man. Anyway, I've been thinking. It's about time we all thought about settling down. I mean, not necessarily to a woman. Well, for me it is. Chantel and my little man are my life. But, yo, this game is gonna catch up to us."
Everyone at the table was quiet. Nothing was heard but the bass and lyrics from Ludacris' Splash Waterfalls.
Reese broke the silence by laughing, "You hear this nigga? Talkin' 'bout getting out the game. Shiiit, not me. Women, money and in it to win it."
Shaun who was light skinned, about six feet and average build. Sporting a short natural and an always razor-trimmed goatee, said, "Nah, wait a minute, Reese. I can feel Noonie. When I had my son, shit changed for me. I got out the game for a minute 'cause I had to be there for shorty. If his mom wouldna booked to Oregon, I probably would be working a nine to five. Shit, when she took my little man, I said fuck it and hit these streets hard when ya'll put me on."
Anthony said, "Well, you showed your love when you did what you did by saving Chantel and Tesha's life at that gas station when those niggas tried to slump them."
Noonie said, "That's what I'm saying, all good things don't last forever. Shit, our girls could have been killed. Chantel lost a baby then, so I'm lucky for what God has given me."
Anthony said, "We're here to party, not to get all serious and shit." He waved at Trish, "Ay."
She walked to their table and asked, "More champagne?"
"Reese said, "Nah, tell 'em we want a bottle of Remy XO, and some Heineken for everyone."
"Coming up, fellas."
As she walked away, Anthony said to Slim, "I see ya, homey. Quit bullshittin' and holla."
Reese added, "Shit, she knows you got money. It won't be hard. That's what I'm talking about, we could pull any chick up in here. That's what they in here fo', to get paid fast."
Slim said, "Nah, Reese. That's where you're wrong. I met her at Ray's a couple of mornings ago. Well I didn't actually meet her. I was talking with Ray when she walked in. Heard her convo with Ray. I think she's just working the tables."
Slim didn't know if what he was saying was true. He just heard the innocence in her voice when she and Ray talked. Saw the gleam in her eyes when she said she was writing a book. So he hoped what he was thinking was true.
Trish arrived with their drinks. When she walked off, Slim left his partners behind and caught up with her. He didn't want to put her on front street by trying to talk to her while in front of his boys. He wanted her to know that he was sincere.
"Excuse me, Trish. I know you are busy and most of your work is done on tips but before the night is over, could I have a moment of your time? I would just like the chance to get to know you. No game involved," he told her.
She read the honesty in his face. Not like the liquored up rap that most men threw at her. She knew she worked in a place where sex sells, and if she hadn't seen him with Ray and the next morning Ray telling her that Slim was a good man, she would have just blown him off.
"Look, I can't talk now," she looked nervously at the table of narcs. "If you really want to talk to me, meet me where you know I will be, Marcellus."
Slim knew where she meant. "Cool," he said.
She walked to a booth of six men, and Slim went to the bathroom to relieve himself. He made a mental note of her look at the cops and wondered which one she was involved with. He was so intrigued with Trish that he'd worry about that later.
When Slim had walked over to talk to Trish, he hadn't noticed the three men when they walked into the club, a black, Puerto Rican and white---Styles, Rivera and Spivey. Three of Chicago's finest. Narcotics detectives who were known as cops who got the job done by any means necessary. They were also known on the streets as officers that didn't play. They walked in the place with their chest stuck out. Knew no one could fuck with them and they did just about what they wanted to. Reese noticed the one he knew as Styles. He was brown-skinned about six feet, thick and bald-headed. He was the leader of the group of detectives, and it showed. The men seated themselves in an area that was marked reserved. They were dressed in casual jeans and fancy button downs that cover their pistols that were sure to be in tucked in their waistbands at the small of their back.
A couple of the girls made their way to the men, and it was obvious to Reese that they were tricks who spent a lot of money in the joint.
Reese nodded toward the men as he said to Ant, "Those them narcs who work our area. You think they fucking with us?"
"Nah, not at the moment anyway. I saw them clowns sitting in a Tahoe when we pulled up," Ant said as he sipped the Heineken he had clutched in his hand. "Noticed the white boy when he let the window down to throw out his cigarette. I remember him from when they raided one of our spots about six months ago. He didn't have on a mask. So I figure he's just a narc and don't work undercover."
Reese kept his Evo phone on the table but tilted it. He watched as the screen came into focus and snapped the picture as the three detectives toasted their drinks.
When Slim returned, Anthony said, "We got some narcs up in here."
Slim said, "I noticed them. Ain't nothing to worry about. I spoke to the manager, and he said that they come to party every now and then. He said that the Hispanic cat and the white boy fuck around with two of his strippers. Said they must have hit a lick because they always come and spend when they do."
Noonie asked, "He told you all that?"
Slim grinned, poured himself and his friends a shot then held his up as he said, "Their money ain't as long as mine."
\*
LaTanza looked like a sophisticated businesswoman as she walked confidently through O'Hare International Airport. Her cream-colored pantsuit and Stuart Weitzman pumps made her look and feel like she was somebody---which she was, a woman who was putting together a master plan of controlling the drug trade in the Midwest. When her husband, Carlos, was incarcerated, she took over the duties of running the Fuentes' family. Even though Carlos was calling most of the shots from jail, he was passive. Only doing enough to keep his people fed, but once his wife got the taste of power and money, greed and the ability to control set in, and she wanted nothing to do with sharing. Carlos had made a pact with Lucky and Slim that they wouldn't war. That they would stay within their respected areas and violence would be kept at a minimum. Carlos knew that with his family and Slim's on the same page, they could keep Bone under control, because even Bone's wild self wouldn't dare to take on the both of them.
A man exited the seven series BMW and opened the door as cabs and shuttle busses zoomed past him. He stepped around to the passenger's back door and opened it. "No bags, Mrs. Fuentes?"
"No, Rafael," she said as she stepped in.
"Welcome home, Mrs. LaTanza," Chavez said as he leaned to give his best friend's wife a respectful kiss on the cheek. "Everything go well?"
"It was okay, but not as we planned," she told Chavez.
"I talked to Carlos while you were gone, he needs you to visit him asap."
"Did he say about what?" she asked.
Chavez fingered a Cohiba cigar as he answered, "Nah, but I guess Lucky went to see him. From the way Carlos talks, I think the old man is ready to get out the game."
LaTanza looked at Chavez, "He told you that?"
"Nah, you know he doesn't tell me too much. I'm just figuring because he wants me to slow down on my hunt," Chavez said as he took out his butane lighter.
LaTanza had a scowl on her face. "I know you're not going to light that in this car."
Chavez loved to smoke cigars and had forgotten that LaTanza didn't like for him to light up while they were in tight confines such as a car. He smoked them a lot when he was in deep thought, and LaTanza knew what he was thinking.
She said, "I heard through the grapevine that you killed a young man that might be connected to Bone in some way."
The gangster in him answered with an abrupt, "Your point?"
"Easy, Chavez, I know you need to do what you have to do, but check with me first when going after Bone or Slim's people. We have to look at the bigger picture," she told him.
"With all due respect, the bigger picture for me is to avenge my hija and hijo's mother's death," he said as he looked away and out the window. He usually got glassy-eyed when talking about Victoria. She was the one good thing in his life, and he hated that his children were going to have to grow up without their mother because of the game---the game that he is in. He felt as if he was the cause of her death, so vengeance would be his, and he wouldn't rest until he got it.
LaTanza placed a comforting hand on his thigh and patted it. "I can't say I know what you are feeling, but I do know that if it was Carlita, I would do the same. Just try to keep me up on what you are doing so it doesn't interfere with what we have going with controlling the Midwest."
Chavez turned, and a grin formed on his face. "I'll do my best, Mrs. LaTanza."
She smiled, saying, "Good." She was happy with that answer because she knew what type of man Chavez was, a stone cold killer and she was happy to have him as her right hand man.
They continued to talk about business and life as they headed south on the 294 expressway. They were the perfect combination for controlling a drug crew. She was smart, witty, patient and ruthless. He was smart, relentless, ruthless and loyal. They were the perfect combination.
They arrived at LaTanza's Romeoville home. The sun was about to set, and she was glad to be home. Her maid, Consuela, opened the front door and Carlita was standing with her excitedly, waiting for her mother. LaTanza was about to get out of the car when Chavez said, "LaTanza."
Sounding a bit irritated because she was ready to enter the comforts of her home, she asked, "What, Chavez?"
"Carlos has been my man since we were kids. You know that. When I went with him to kill your stepfather---"
"You mean the rapist bastard my mother married?" she said with channeled anger.
"Yes, that bastard. I knew then you were the one for Carlos. I love him and will kill for him. Hell, have killed for him. So what I'm saying is, I'll never betray him. I'm going along with your plan because it is for the good of all of us, our families. I will spill blood for that and for you and Carlita. I promised Carlos that I would take care of the two of you. And I do feel that your plan is best for all of us and Carlos when he gets out---whether he understands that or not."
LaTanza smiled and said, "I love you like a brother."
As she exited the car he said, "And you are my sister."
Rafael got back in the driver's seat. "Where to, Chavez?" he asked.
Chavez watched as LaTanza entered her lavish home. Once she was safe inside, he said, "To see my kids in Humbolt Park. Their grandmother's house."
Rafael, a twenty-two year old soldier, put the car in gear and they were on their way to the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood.
Chavez lit his cigar and took a few long pulls on it and enjoyed the robust flavor. The bluish smoke filled the car. "Little homey, let the moon roof back."
Rafael did as told, and Chavez cracked his window. "Play some music," Chavez commanded. He puffed his cigar and blew rings of smoke upward. "And Rafael."
"What's up, Chavez?" he asked energetically. He was happy to be one of Chavez's right hand men.
"You repeat to anyone or so much as talk it in your sleep any of what you heard in this car," he took a hit of his cigar. "I'll do you like I did that nigger Jimmie, only worse."
\*
Slim was sitting at the counter sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced at his Movado. It was five seventeen in the morning; the same time it was when Trish came into Ray's the other morning. He sipped his coffee and saw that Ray was grinning as he did his thing on the grill.
Slim smiled, "You told Trish my real name, didn't you?"
Ray shrugged. "The woman asked, so I told her."
"I know you better than that. You wouldn't tell anyone my name, so why tell her?"
"Like I said, she asked. I could tell she was interested in you. And your ass is sitting in the same seat at the same time as two mornings ago. Damn Slim, you need to let that shit that happened with Lisa go. She was actually a good girl who got caught up in the lifestyle that you lead."
"Ray, how I handle things with women doesn't have a thing to do with what went down with Lisa," Slim lied.
Ray slapped three eggs onto the cream-colored plate with his spatula. "Three eggs, bacon and toast," he told his only waitress as he handed her the dish.
He continued, "Slim, you deal with couch women."
"What?" Slim asked confused.
Ray nodded and motioned with his hand, "You got couch women. They get bent over the arm of the couch and get hit from behind. You got bedroom women. The ones you make love to, fall asleep with and wake up and..." he grabbed his spatula and flipped the meat he had on the grill. "Cook breakfast for 'cause you like having them around."
Slim laughed, "Ray, you're crazy! And your theory is wrong. I've had some hoes in my bed, not only on the couch."
"Boy, don't get cute, you get the point."
The bell on the door rang. Naturally, Slim, who was always on alert, turned to see who had entered. Ray said to him, "Bedroom woman."
Trish headed to the pastries.
"Gonna go to ya hips, woman," Ray said.
"And good morning to you, too. Besides, a man should love you for you!" she smiled as she grabbed a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles and bit into it. Ray slid a glass of milk to her, and it stopped in front of her. She giggled, "That was perfect!"
"Years of practice."
Trish smiled, "Good morning, Marcellus, you're up early."
Slim replied, "Someone told me that if I was serious about seeing her that I'd know where to find her."
"Is that right?" She spun a three-sixty on the stool then asked, "Is that person here?"
Slim stood then shortened the distance between them. He sat on the stool next to her and said, "I'm looking at her."
Trish giggled, and without taking her eyes off Slim, she picked up her doughnut and bit it.
\*
It was eight in the morning. Trish had been up nearly twenty hours and should have been asleep, but she and Slim sat in a booth at Ray's and ate breakfast. She stepped out of her beat up Hyundai and was all smiles. Cloud nine was where her head was. She couldn't remember the last time she was so intrigued by a man's conversation. Smart, funny and a good listener. That was the main thing---he was a listener. And that was good because sometimes Trish could ramble on. Especially, when she liked someone, and while talking over eggs, grits, sausage and pancakes, she felt that Slim could be someone special.
Trish swung her imitation Louis Vuitton bag with every step she made as she thought about the movie night she and Slim had planned for tomorrow. She was broken out of her state of giddiness when the black Dodge Charger came to a halt in front of the apartment. Styles stepped out, and he looked as if he hadn't had any sleep and immediately put on a front.
"Hey, baby, where have you been? I came by when you got off, but you weren't here. Where you been?" Styles asked knowing full well of her whereabouts, especially since he'd followed her to Ray's.
Trish's demeanor changed, she was no longer on cloud nine. She had been brought back to earth by a man she simply tolerated. "I stopped to get something to eat. You know I don't like the food at the club so I'm always starving when I leave," she said as she kept walking up the walkway to the house.
Styles caught up with her and matched her stride. "Damn, you were smiling ear to ear when you stepped out of your car. Now you're frowning. What's up with that?" he asked as they walked through the gangway.
"I don't know, I guess it's because it's like you are always tripping on me when I'm not right where you think I should be. Like you own me or something," Trish said in a tone that showed that she was obviously pissed.
They were at the back of the building, Trish's entrance. She took out her keys, unlocked the door and the two entered. Once inside the small apartment and the door closed, Styles grabbed Trish by the arm. His voice was stern when he said, "I saw you with that Slim mothafucka at the club and now having breakfast! What's up with that?"
"It's nothing. He was in the place where I stop and eat. We talked and that's all," she said as she snatched her arm away from Styles.
He thought about his aggressiveness and decided to tone it down a notch. He brushed her arm and then her cheek. "I'm sorry, baby, but I have to be careful. You do know who that man is, right?"
She sobbed, "I told you I just met him. He's a friend of the owner. Why do you have to grab me like that?" Her Spanish accent became prevalent.
Styles kissed her cheek then said, "I'm sorry. I just have to be sure you're really down with me. You know Slim is a known drug dealer. Yeah, he's big time, but his time is about to run out. You and I are cool, and I wouldn't want you to get caught up in his swagger."
He snaked his arm around the small of her back. She wanted to pull away, but simply went with the flow. Styles kissed her deeply, and she kissed him back. Passion was not thrown Style's way even though he moaned as their tongues danced. His powerful hand cupped her breast as the other gripped her ass. Trish slowly ran her hand up his back until she reached the back of his bald head. He undressed her, then himself as they continued to kiss and fondle. He led her to the blue microfiber couch in the tiny living room. He parted her smooth legs and admired what she had to offer.
"Damn you got a pretty pussy," he said as he guided himself to her opening.
"You're not wearing a condom," Trish said as she made a half-hearted attempt to close her legs.
"I want to feel it," Styles said as he slid his thickness inside her with one hard thrust that hurt Trish since she was dry from not being aroused. He commenced to stroke her hard and deep.
When Trish first started sleeping with Styles, she didn't mind. She was slightly attracted to his position as a detective. She liked how he promised to keep her out of jail, but then soon realized that he treated her as his property and that she'd become her mother. A whore to him, the difference---she wasn't getting paid. She remembered her mother telling one of her friends how she thought of happy thoughts when she was with her johns. That she was in another world when conducting her business. So Trish did the same---thought about a happy thought. Imagined that it was Slim inside of her instead of the crooked cop, Styles.
\*
Slim walked inside his downtown loft and closed the door. After deactivating the alarm system, he walked over to his one hundred and fifty gallon aquarium and raised the lid. Most of the cichlids swam to the top awaiting a feed. Slim opened the doors to the cabinet stand. Inside was a thirty gallon tank filled with feeder Guppies. Slim used the small green net to scoop a bunch of the small fish, then dumped them into the tank. The fish scattered as quickly as they could to find a refuge in the dangerous water. The cichlids seemed happy to have live food to hunt rather than the flake food they often received.
"Ahh, I know you all are happy now. Steak instead of Ramen noodles," Slim joked as he closed the lid and watched for a moment as the circle of life took place. He liked watching the way things went on in the food chain. Only the strong survive. It was nature, the way of life and the way animals treated life was sort of the way Slim looked at it and were some of the rules he lived by. They were rules that were around long before man, so he knew them to be rules that worked.
It was morning, and he'd been up all night. He had had a good breakfast and conversation with Trish. She was witty, smart, funny and not to mention, beautiful. They talked and laughed over pancakes, eggs and sausage as they got to know each other. Once the breakfast was over and Trish decided to leave, Butchie admitted when Trish asked who Slim was when she first saw him, he had put in a good word to her about his younger friend, and the rest was up to Slim.
Slim opened the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of orange juice. He poured himself a glass, sat on his Italian leather couch and clicked the remote to the Sony forty-six inch and watched CNBC and Good Morning America. Slim sipped as he bounced from channel to channel catching up on news. He tried to concentrate on what was going on in America, but his thoughts were still in the diner and on Trish. He reached into the right front pocket of his Perry Ellis jeans and retrieved the napkin. The one Trish wrote her number on. He looked the number over then picked his cell up off the coffee table. He was about to dial then smiled before mumbling to himself, "Don't sweat her."
He set the phone down then picked up the remote. He changed the channel to Sports Center to watch what was going on with his White Sox. Stuart Scott was hosting ESPN, and Slim tried to get into the sports talk, but couldn't help thinking of Trish.
\*
Styles was standing in the doorway of Trish's bedroom. He'd just showered and was drying off as she sat on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest and the blanket over her.
Trish asked, "How long are you going to hold those charges over my head? I mean, if you love me like you say, you would've made it go away by now."
Without saying a word, Styles slid on his boxers and then his jeans. He grabbed his cigarettes off the nightstand. He was standing next to Trish as he lit up. He puffed, blew smoke in the air then said, "You were in a car that had a dope in it."
"You know I didn't know anything about that. I had just met him---"
"Just like how you were chomping down on breakfast this morning with a known drug dealer." He shook his head as he grabbed his shirt. "You sure know how to pick 'em."
"You know you treat me like shit," she said as her phone rang. She picked it up and looked at the number. She didn't recognize it so she didn't answer.
Styles said, "Probably his ass right there."
Styles' cell rang. He checked the number, and it was Rivera so he answered. "Rivera, what's up, homey?"
"Can you talk?" the detective asked.
"What's up?"
"That thing for tonight, I just got confirmation that it's on. We need to meet like right now."
"I'm on my way," Styles said then pressed the end button. He slipped on his shirt. Clipped his gun and badge on his hip then said, "I love your ass. If I didn't, I would have let them feds take you along with that dope. I'll see you tonight."
Trish listened as Styles' engine to his Charger roared and the tires screeched as he pulled off. She checked to see who it was that had called her. When she heard Slim's, voice she smiled then whispered, "Marcellus, I see you know how and when to brighten my day."
"Anyone who doesn't understand, really doesn't give a fuck about you"---LUCKY
As the Cadillac Escalade cruised up Michigan Avenue, Lucky stared out the passenger's side window. He was in deep thought. He didn't care much for doctors, but he'd been feeling tired lately and knew that it was the cancer.
"What are you thinking about?" Jamel asked, only taking his eyes off the heavy Chicago traffic for a second.
"Life, youngin'. Life," Lucky told him as he continued his gaze at all the common folk. People who worked nine to five, shift work, or were struggling to make ends meet from unemployment that was about to run out.
Those are real people; they are the backbone to this city. I've been getting rich, but have been tearing the city apart. Lucky thought to himself.
Jamel said nothing. He was Lucky's personal driver and knew when to keep quiet. He knew all about Lucky's cancer and thought Lucky had beaten it. But here he was, downtown, turning the cream-colored luxury SUV into a parking garage of one of the buildings that helped make up the scenic Chicago skyline.
"Where do you plan to be five years from now?" Lucky asked Jamel.
Jamel, who was dressed in casual jeans and a button down, attire he wore when driving Lucky, looked confused. "What's that, Luck?" he asked.
They stood in front of an elevator waiting for it to come down so they could go up to the twenty-first floor where Lucky's doctor's office was. When the elevator door opened, two professionally dressed middle-aged Caucasian women walked out then an African-American man in his late fifties. He had a head full of grey hair and looked to be in good shape. When Lucky noticed the man, he smiled excitedly. "Fight Doctor, damn, it's been a long time!" he said.
They held each other's arms and looked one another over.
"Lucky, how's it been?" he asked.
"Can't complain. I'm living and you?"
"It's going. Just here getting checked out. Had a lump. It's gone now. Went through chemotherapy and now everything's...good." Fight Doctor hesitated because he realized that Lucky may have been going up the elevator to the same doctor. "You?" he asked nodding his head upward.
"Yeah, but you know me. Can't nothing hold me down. By the way, you still training fighters? Got any Golden Gloves prospects down at the gym?"
Fight Doctor finally noticed Jamel, who had noticed him as soon as he had exited the elevator.
An expensively dressed Asian young man asked, "Are you guys going up?"
Lucky waved him off, letting him know to go ahead.
The doors to the elevator closed, that's when Fight Doctor said, "You have one of the best prospects standing right behind you."
Surprised, Lucky said, "Oh, yeah?"
"How's it going, Jamel?" Fight Doctor asked.
"Nothing, just chillin'," Jamel said feeling embarrassed.
At seventeen, Jamel was one of the top boxing prospects in the city. Not too many people knew about him because the people at Southeast Side Gym were keeping him a secret. They knew what they had in the one hundred and fifty-five pound fighter. Lightning speed and the power of a young man twenty pounds heavier. But the fast life of hustling pulled the young man to the dark side, and he never looked back.
Fight Doctor nodded his head up and down, saying, "Just chilling, okay. Well, Lucky, I gotta get going. It was good seeing you."
They hugged.
"Good seeing you, too."
Lucky had caught the vibe his old friend had sent. Fight Doctor knew of Lucky's lifestyle and never approved of it, but it was Lucky's thing so he never said anything about it. But the look Fight Doctor had on his face said that he figured Lucky had pulled Jamel into the fast life and ruined the young man's possibility at a career in boxing. Fight Doctor and Lucky had known each other since they were kids living in the Robert Taylor homes. It was a notorious housing project where most kids ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. Fight Doctor took to boxing while Lucky relished the fast money and women the hustle of the streets provided. A pro career was on the horizon for Fight Doctor, but was never to be after a good left hook to the eye from Irish Davey Ryan. His eye socket had cracked, and his eye was injured leaving his peripheral vision in his right eye damaged. Fight Doctor could have felt sorry for himself and gone to the streets and sold cocaine and heroin, but he decided that wasn't the route for him. He decided to train and made a name for himself as a trainer who could get the best out of fighters. When a lot of his fighters in the late eighties and nineties began selling drugs instead of fighting their way out of the ghetto, he became upset since it was some of his childhood friends behind the drugs being put on the street---Lucky was one of them.
Fight Doctor was walking away, but Lucky stopped him. Without Jamel hearing, Lucky asked his old friend for his number. That he wanted to get Jamel back in the gym to see what he could do. Fight Doctor tried his best to suppress his excitement as he handed Lucky his card, knowing that Jamel was one of the best fighters he'd ever seen. The two men hugged then Fight Doctor was on his way.
The ride on the elevator was quiet. Lucky didn't say a word to Jamel, and the young man knew what his boss was thinking. Lucky had heard from Noonie and the others that Jamel boxed in the police athletic league when he was ten years old, but no one said anything about him boxing with Fight Doctor. Lucky had assumed Jamel had boxed a year or two when he was young when they talked about him fighting in PAL. They stepped out of the elevator and the short walk down the hallway brought them to Dr. Ali's office. The young receptionist smiled when she saw Lucky and greeted him, then noticed that he wasn't his cheery self. After handing him the clipboard so he could sign in, she asked, "Mr. Davis, is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Michelle. I just have a couple of things on my mind. How have things been? Has that young man asked you to marry him, yet?"
Michelle chatted with Lucky whenever she could when he visited the office, had one day rambled about how she'd been with her boyfriend for six years, and he still hadn't popped the question. She was an attractive sista in her mid-twenties who made decent money as a receptionist for the doctor. She had just received her degree in education and had a job lined up to teach at a middle-school on the north side.
Lucky signed his name then handed Michelle the clipboard. "Don't wait too long, Michelle."
Surprised at Lucky's statement, she said, "Excuse me, Mr. Davis."
Lucky usually simply listened to her. He was never one to give a person advice about their love life, but lately he'd been realizing that people were wasting a lot of time in life with the things they were doing.
"Michelle, you told me that your man was working full time for Jameson Construction, that his father was a foreman for the company for years and got him the job when he got out of high school. He's been working there for nearly ten years. Construction work is usually twelve hour days and off in the winter. You said that he has a towing and snow removal service that he runs during that down time. You're finished with college and start teaching the sixth grade this year. Money isn't the issue, and you two have been together for years, so if there's one thing I do know. It doesn't take a man ten years to know if he wants to marry a woman." Lucky coughed. "Excuse me. All I'm saying is, don't waste too much time. You can never get it back."
Michelle smiled then said, "Thank you, Mr. Davis."
Lucky sat next to Jamel who was reading an Esquire magazine he'd picked up off the table. He picked up a Time magazine then Jamel asked, "I wonder why they don't have black magazines in here."
Lucky said, "Because a diverse group of people come here. Besides, most of the magazines in here are giving knowledge." He pointed to the table. "Time, Newsweek, People. You have Sports Illustrated for the sport guy and Cosmopolitan for the women."
"White women," Jamel added.
Lucky smiled because Jamel was right. "That Esquire you have in your hand, men with money subscribe to that. You can learn from some of the articles, and it also has money making ideas in it. Ways for a man to prosper."
"You didn't need this magazine and you make mad loot."
"Mr. Davis," Doctor Ali said as he stood in the doorway to his office. He was all smiles and ready to see Lucky. Usually it wasn't the doctor who called you to the back and that made Lucky slightly nervous.
When Lucky stood, he felt a sharp pain in his gut, and it wasn't from the cancer. It was from Jamel's statement. He knew that the young man looked up to him. That a lot of young people who were on his team did. It was the second time in less than thirty minutes that he'd been reminded that he was doing more harm than good. And he was coming to the realization that it was time for change.
Lucky shook hands with the doctor then exited his office. He had been with the doctor for about forty minutes. He'd had a couple of x-rays taken, blood drawn and a talking to from the doctor. Lucky's health hadn't changed. The cancer in his lungs hadn't spread, but it was still there. The doctor again recommended chemotherapy, but Lucky wasn't having it. He was thinking if God was ready to take him, it was his time. He just hoped that he could do some good before he left the earth. If he had to pay for his sins by dancing with the devil, he was ready.
Jamel and Lucky were at the exit of the parking garage. Jamel paid the attendant, the arm rose, he and Lucky were on their way. The sky was cloudy, and a light rain began to fall. Lucky remembered when he was a young boy, and his grandmother used to say that it was God crying. He remembered asking her since God could do anything, why would he be crying? A smile painted his face when he thought about her telling him to shut up, that he thinks too much.
Lucky glanced at Jamel then asked, "You still have your equipment?"
"Huh?" Jamel asked wondering if he'd heard Lucky correctly.
"Huh? If you can huh, you can hear. You heard me," Lucky said.
Jamel said, "Nah, threw it away."
"Why did you do that?"
"Man, this one Mexican kid. He was from the east side. I read in the paper where he had made Golden Gloves and was fighting to make the Olympics. He'd made the Pan Am games and everything," Jamel said as he clicked the power up on the wiper blades as the rain began to fall heavily.
Not sure where the young man was going, Lucky asked, "What does that have to do with the question I asked you?"
"When I saw that shit, I got pissed and threw my gear away. Well, let me take it back. I just gave it to this one shorty in the 'hood who wanted to box. I was pissed because I had beaten that Mexican dude's ass bad, twice. I had knocked that motherfucker out in the first and second round."
Jamel brought the SUV to a halt at a red light. He then punched his right hand with his left. "He talked shit to me after the first fight even though I knocked him out, so when we fought again, I toyed with him the first round to teach him a lesson, then knocked him out in the first fifteen seconds of the second round."
Lucky smiled. "You're right handed?"
"Yeah."
"But your first reaction when you got mad was to punch with your left," Lucky said of Jamel punching his hand.
The light turned green, Jamel gave the Escalade some gas. "I can fight right or left. My luck is that I fight better southpaw, so I'm able to surprise most fighters, and that's what I did to that Mexican mothafuckah!"
Lucky calmly said, "Respect your fellow fighters is the first thing you should remember. Jump on the next on ramp and head south."
"I thought you had a lunch date here downtown," Jamel questioned.
"Change of plans, young man. For me and you," Lucky said as he took his cell off his hip and began to dial. He cancelled his lunch date then told Jamel that they were about to head to the sporting goods store to purchase him some new training gear. Everything he needed to box. That he was no longer to participate in the street hustle.
"Man, Lucky. What's Noonie and the boys gonna say? Man, I'm down for them niggas."
Lucky said, "And they're down for you, so they will understand. Anyone who doesn't understand really doesn't give a fuck about you. You have a gift from God. A talent and I'm not about to sit and watch you waste it. You down? If not, let me know."
"Lucky, you're like the father I never had, so whatever you say. I just wanna make you happy," Jamel said. He'd been wondering what he could do to get the cancer off Lucky's mind, and maybe this could be it. He envisioned all the men he'd dropped like a bad habit in the ring. Then a frown came over his face. Lucky noticed.
"What's wrong?"
Jamel said, "Fight Doctor. He told me to never set foot in his gym again since I chose the streets over boxing. I have to admit, he did help me a lot, and I fucked him over by leaving like I did."
Lucky told Jamel, "Let me handle that."
\*
Chacho held the leather leash with diamond studs as the German shepherd walked obediently by his side as he entered a warehouse. It was hot and dusty, typical for the summer in Mexico. Chacho had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his collar when he'd exited his Hummer. His main bodyguard, Trejo, was two steps behind his boss. Both men wore expensive suits, but it was the custom made cowboy boots that made their outfits. Trejo wore boots by Wheeler that where seventeen hundred dollars, and his boss wore boots that Forbes magazine rated as the most expensive cowboy boots, custom boots made by Michael Anthony of Sonoma, California. It is said that Chacho paid close to nine thousand for the boots that were made from ostriches.
"Fucking traitor," Trejo said as they neared a man who was tied to a chair.
Chacho walked with confidence. "Well, Trejo, I am going to show you what I do to traitors. Ain't that right boy?" Chacho said as he tugged lightly on the leash of his Shepherd.
Three men stood near the man. They looked like peasants, dressed in overalls and boots, but the AK-47s they held told a different story. They were killers for Chacho and had been tasked to catch Antoine Villarreal. A drug lord who was a main supplier for the Midwest United States and moved millions of dollars worth of cocaine, heroin and marijuana for Chacho, but was found to have been leaking information to the American government, and in the billion dollar drug trade that was something a drug lord didn't tolerate.
Chacho stopped in front of Villarreal. He motioned with his hand to one of the soldiers. He handed Chacho a pair of latex gloves as Chacho handed Trejo the leash and the Shepherd obediently stood by Trejo's side. Chacho snapped the gloves on then slapped Villarreal on the cheek a couple of times to wake him. The man opened his cartoonish-looking eyes and fear settled in them. He was in his early forties, but during four hours of torture it seemed as if he'd aged a thousand years. His jet-black hair was matted to his head with a mixture of dirt and blood. His Armani slacks were cut to shreds from slices that one of his captors used to slice painful, but non-lethal cuts on his legs.
Chacho barked, "My son has a baseball game, so I won't be long. He would be very upset if his papa wasn't at his game. He's only eight so he wouldn't understand me having to take care of business. So...I have a commitment."
Chacho grabbed the horse whip from one of the armed men, then whacked Antoine across the chest. The man screamed, then begged for his life.
Chacho calmly said, "You have no idea what commitment is, do you?"
"Wha... What?" Antoine asked.
"Commitment, motherfucker. You have no idea what that is, you piece of shit!" Chacho barked. His tone switched. He calmly said, "You talked to the government, and I've lost millions. I need to know what you've said."
Antoine was a strong man. He had been a gangster ever since he was a young boy. He was born the son of a peasant who worked as help on a farm. Antoine saw his father struggle for scraps and swore that he'd never do the same. In and out of jail since he was a teenager and that was where he met men who were in the drug trade. Smart, ambitious and ruthless, Antoine made his way up the cartel food chain and eventually became the man in charge. But what no one knew was, years ago he'd made a deal with drug agents from America. While in Laredo, Texas, he was arrested, and authorities cut a deal with him that he'd feed them information on men in the other cartels and the movement of drugs, and they'd ensure that his crew would be left alone with very few raids brought upon them. Only enough to keep other cartels from getting suspicious. But Chacho was smart and noticed that Antoine's crew was only taking minimal losses. When a Mexican politician, who Chacho had in his pocket, alerted the kingpin that Antoine was a snitch, swift justice had to be applied.
Antoine glared at Chacho for a moment. He knew his life was about to end and had made up his mind that he wasn't going to tell anything. That he would go out like a gangster. He gargled his throat and mustered up the best clump of spit and mixed it with the blood that was in his mouth. He spit as hard as he could at Chacho's face. He missed, but the phlegm landed on Chacho's chest, sticking to his expensive shirt.
"I'm not telling you shit, you fat fuck!" Antoine said then mustered up a half-hearted laugh.
Chacho gritted his teeth. He then smiled devilishly as he unbuttoned and peeled off his shirt. "If only you were as strong when the American government put the screws to you," Chacho said as he wagged his finger at Antoine.
Chacho was shirtless. Hairy chest and expanded waistline was exposed and he looked even larger than his two hundred and sixty pounds. He walked behind Antoine to a table. "You know when my brother, God rest his soul, was in the military, he told me of tactics they used to get people to talk."
Antoine heard the fizz of a bottle of soda being opened.
Chacho continued, "Out of all those methods, there was one that I really liked." He grabbed a bag of cayenne pepper. Poured some of the soda out then added a nice helping of the pepper. Calmly he walked behind Antoine who sat tied to the chair. "My brother told me that this method worked ninety percent of the time, and I think that you are going to fit in that ninety percentile."
Chacho held the bottle in his right hand, covered the opening and shook. He put Antoine in a solid chokehold and held the man as he placed the bottle under Antoine's nose and shot the mixture up his nose. His scream was piercing as Chacho let go. He shook his head back and forth violently as Chacho walked around him. He knelt in front of Antoine who was moaning in agonizing pain.
Chacho said, "Now, you will tell me what I want to know."
"The dope may be gone, but you're gonna tell me where the money is, bitch!"---Detective Rivera
Slim and Trish were walking on Oak Street Beach. They walked down the beach as the sun was setting on the eighty-five degree day. Slim thought Trish was beautiful as the orange rays of the sun hit her golden-toned skin. She wore sandals, jean shorts and a yellow tube top with a white short-sleeve shirt that was left unbuttoned.
People were playing volleyball, running, walking small dogs, tanning and swimming. To put it simply, they were relaxing and living. Trish had never been to the downtown beach, and the scenery of the skyscrapers in the background was beautiful.
As they walked along the paved walkway, two of bicyclers passed by them, a man and woman who looked to be a couple. Trish noticed the many couples who were enjoying one another's company and hoped that one day she would have the same thing. But for now, she was enjoying the good time she was having with her new found friend.
Slim noticed the way Trish smiled when she saw the couples. He asked, "So, why don't you have someone?"
"Huh?" she asked, even though she'd heard him clearly.
"Someone, why don't you have someone?"
She laughed, "Guys always ask women that. Can't a woman enjoy being single?"
Slim nodded, yes. "But doesn't it get old? Women usually want someone. Hell, some act like they have to have a man."
"Well, I'm not one of those women. I do fine by myself. But being honest, relationships are so complicated that we women sometimes would rather not even deal with men."
"Is that when you all turn to women?"
Surprised, she emphatically said, "Oh, I don't get down like that. Strictly the d-i-c-k."
They laughed.
Trish had her guard up. In reality, she wanted a relationship but wondered if she knew how. She'd basically been on her own since her mother passed when she was sixteen, and her experience with men was they would sex her then leave her. She also got the wrong idea of love from Detective Styles. When she got in trouble, he acted as if he really cared about her well-being. He kept her out of jail and was nice to her. Helping her with a couple of bills and throwing some cash her way. But then she realized why he was doing what he did. He was using her for one thing---her body. She was young and beautiful with a body of a goddess. Her Black and Hispanic heritage was a combination of genes that enhanced her looks.
Slim laughed, "Strickly the d-i-c-k. I got you. I just figure no children, beautiful and a great personality."
He stopped in his tracks, and Trish did after realizing he'd stopped. She was a couple of steps ahead of him when she turned and asked, "What?"
He joked, "You must be one of those crazy women. Uh oh, I might need to snatch one of those guys off their bikes and make a run for it."
She stepped to Slim, lightly grabbed his light blue rayon/cotton blend camp shirt and pulled him toward her. She lightly kissed him on the cheek then said, "Pedal on Lance Armstrong."
Trish didn't know why she'd kissed Slim but was glad she did it. There was something about him, and she was having such a nice time that she just did it. They had been to a matinee, and the movie was great. They were now walking on the beach getting to know each other, and she was feeling him after simple things like that---simple things she wasn't used to.
Slim smiled, held her hand, and they started back walking. He said, "I think I better stay here and keep you company. Besides, when I pick a woman up from her home, I return her there, no matter how the date goes."
A real man, Trish thought.
As they walked, Slim told Trish some history of the beach. He told her that the city's park commission built a breakwater which extended from North Avenue to Oak Street, and then even farther south to Ohio Street. That the project included a new sand beach at Oak Street in the late 1890s, thus with the scenery of downtown as the backdrop, it was the most appealing beach in the city. When she asked what a breakwater was, he told her it was a wall built in Lake Michigan so when storms came it would lessen the impact of the waves that led to erosion of the land and beaches.
Trish loved the fact that Slim was so smart and when she asked how he knew so much, he told her that his uncle used to give him books to read all the time and whenever he rode in the car with his uncle, he used to tell him the history of various landmarks.
Slim and Trish made their way back to his car. They were standing on the passenger's side of his Cadillac STS. He leaned on the door and faced Lake Michigan. She leaned her back on him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
Trish smiled as she watched seagulls fly and the red sun as it began to dip its way into the lake. "This is so beautiful," she said as she whisked strands of hair from her face.
"That it is." Slim said.
They were quiet for a moment then Slim asked, "Hey, would you like for me to fix you dinner? I know you have to be hungry."
Not sure if she should go to Slim's place, she said, "Well, I think I better be getting home."
Slim caught the hesitancy. His lips were near her ear as he whispered, "Look, dinner and that's it. I'm just not ready for this to end."
Trish felt a tingle in her side from the closeness of Slim's lips to one of her erogenous zones. She held on to his hands that were resting on her waist and gave them a light squeeze when she said, "Okay, I trust you."
\*
Feet and a couple of youngsters were sitting in the stash spot waiting for Greg and Shaun to show with ten of the fifty kilos of cocaine they'd picked up from one of the Russians. Feet and the two young men would break down and package the cocaine. Some would be cooked into crack, and the rest would remain in powder form but stepped on with a cutting agent. Greg liked to use procaine because it seemed to keep the quality of the cocaine and stretched the drug better than other cutting agents.
Feet walked down the stairs into the basement where two of his soldiers were drinking a beer, playing rap music and Madden on XBOX. He shook his head as he walked to one of the men and slapped the wireless controller from the man's hand.
"What the fuck, Feet?" the heavyset man barked as he stood chest to chest with Feet.
Feet, who was about five-feet eight and thin, was one who was never scared, and it didn't hurt that he always packed heat and wasn't afraid to use it.
"Nigga, you best to sit your stupid ass down. We got kilos coming in and y'all niggas down here drinking beer, playing video games and tellin' lies on your dicks." He turned and faced the young man who was still sitting and continued. "Greg is on his way and what you think he's gonna say if he see y'all niggas loafin' like this?"
Red, the skinny one, stood and walked to the game system and turned it off. He picked up the empty beer bottles and threw them in the trash saying, "My bad, Feet."
Red, an eighteen year old light-skinned kid with a few freckles on his nose, had grown up in the hood and used to get teased about his looks, but once he joined up with Feet who was employed by Greg, he was part of a team who was not to be fucked with. He was wet behind the ears but eager to learn.
Parker, the rather large man who'd stood chest to chest with Feet, had been on the team for about six months, but Feet didn't care too much for him. Greg had put Parker on the team, and Parker had put in work, but nevertheless, Feet didn't care for him. He was twenty-seven, six years older than Feet, and it didn't sit well with Parker that he had to take orders from a much younger and smaller man. Feet noticed the hate and always kept a watchful eye on Parker and had no problem with slumping the big man if need be.
Feet's cell rang, it was the two soldiers he had upstairs keeping watch for Greg and Shaun.
"What's up?"
"Man, I think undercover is on us."
"What? I'm on my way up," Feet said as he ran up the stairs.
Once in the living room that had the lights off, Feet asked Dave, "Why you think that?"
The soldier replied, "A black Charger rolled through about thirty minutes ago. I didn't think anything of it, but I was using these," the young man held up a pair of stolen night vision binoculars a dope fiend had given him for some crack a week ago. "And saw the same car parked down the street. He probably thought he couldn't be seen since it's dark out."
Feet remembered when Dave had got the binoculars and thought it was stupid of him to trade the crack for the equipment. But the twenty-dollar piece of crack for night vision binocular transaction was about to be worth hundreds of thousands to the crew. As Feet looked through the binoculars, he saw the vehicle and knew who owned the vehicle---Detective Styles.
"Good job, shorty," Feet said as he handed Dave his binoculars and pulled out his cell and made a call.
\*
Elisa, nicely built, but tough sista with a tattoo of a pit bull on her neck, barked, "Y'all bitches know what to do! Start breaking that shit down, and let's get to work!"
Elisa was yelling at the three women she had working for her. They were women who were under her control. They were all dykes who did as told---by Elisa that is. She'd met the women while doing time and had control over them while locked up in Lincoln Correction Center. It was there where Elisa controlled several women with her mind and violence. She learned at an early age, when she realized she liked women and not men that all she had to do was employ tactics like the pimps she used to watch in the old movies, and she could control women just as men did.
The women were in a basement standing and sitting at a buffet-type table that had the cocaine Greg and Shaun had dropped off on it. They cracked open the packages and began weighing, separating and cooking it into crack. Sitting on a stool watching was a rather large bald man holding a sawed off shotgun and wearing a shoulder holster with a .45 caliber automatic in it.
One woman was taking her time, and that's when Elisa smacked her upside the head. "Bitch, get a move on it. We ain't got all night. You want to get paid, and you want some of this, you need to get to work," she said as she grabbed her crotch then kissed the woman hard on the lips.
The man shook his head at the lesbian scene, and that's when they heard a loud commotion upstairs. Then the words POLICE being yelled by some men. The man jumped from the stool and looked at a black and white monitor that showed men standing on the other side of the secure metal door up the stairs. He looked over his shoulder at the women. "Y'all bitches know what to do!"
Elisa yelled, "Get a move on it, hoes!"
Elisa and the women began flushing the drugs in the toilet and washing them down the sink as the police were banging on the door with the battering ram.
"Hurry the fuck up!" the man with the shotgun yelled knowing that eventually the police would get through the door.
The women had worked quick and efficiently, and Elisa was dumping the last package of cocaine down the drain when she yelled, "The bleach bitch!"
One of the women grabbed the two bottles of bleach, handed one to Elisa, and she used the other. They poured the bleach down the drain on the table and around the toilet. Everywhere cocaine could have fallen. They all were throwing their rubber gloves and all the packaging in a metal garbage can when the door finally opened. Elisa glanced at the detectives as they ran down the stairs. She squirted lighter fluid in the can and set the items on fire.
The man with the shotgun had set his weapons on the ground, and Spivey was cuffing him. Rivera and Johnson rushed toward the women. Rivera realized that they had gotten rid of all the drugs and was pissed.
"Nothing going here, detective. We were just about to party with our man over there. What, y'all crashing the orgy?" she laughed.
Rivera punched Elisa in the nose and the butch of a woman's head snapped back violently. "The dope may be gone, but you're gonna tell me where the money is, bitch!"
\*
"What you got?" Styles said into his phone as he sat in his Dodge Charger.
Spivey said, "The dope's gone---"
"I figured that with their layout. The boy said they'd flush it if hit. It's their money I want."
"That's the thing, Styles, the dyke bitch is tough. Rivera whipped her ass like she was a dude, and she still didn't give up shit."
"If they have the dope, then the niggas who left have the money. Let me give Barnes a call, he's on 'em. Just sit tight until I call you. Don't do anything stupid."
Styles called Detectives Barnes who was in a red Mustang, keeping a loose tail on the two men who had just left the drug house in a black Maxima.
\*
Shaun drove the Nissan Maxima the speed limit as he cruised through the South Deering neighborhood of the south side. He and Greg had just dropped off ten kilos at Elisa's house on 93rd Street. Greg's cell rang, and he noticed the number.
He answered, "Yeah, nigga, we're running a little late. We'll be at the party in less than thirty."
Talking in code Feet said, "Fuck that party, it ain't happening. Some bitches we ain't cool with might be crashing it. I'll meet you at that bitch's crib, and we'll kick it there."
Greg frowned, knowing that Feet was talking about the police may have hit or were about to hit the house. Regardless, Feet alerted them to back off.
"Fuck," Greg barked. "Let's head to your girl's spot.
Shaun asked, "We're not heading to Hyde Park, what's up?"
"Feet says the police are in the mix. We gotta lay back and get off the streets with the bricks."
"Damn, you think they were on the house out here? Shit, they might be following us," Shaun said as he glanced in his rearview.
"If they were going to hit us, they would've knocked us by now, I'm thinking. Just in case, let's go to plan number two," Greg said as he rubbed his chin, something he did when he was thinking.
They continued to drive, and within five minutes they saw what they assumed to be an undercover vehicle. The Ford Mustang was a safe distance away, but when Shaun turned a few unnecessary corners and then drove through an alley, he and Greg knew that it was the police following them.
"Okay, my nigga, that's five-o on our ass. You know what to do," Greg told Shaun.
They were only minutes from a parking garage and Greg knew if they made it there, their chances of getting away were good. The entire time they were being followed, Shaun was driving in the direction of the parking garage.
Greg dialed his cell. After two rings, a woman answered the phone. Greg told her, "We're on our way. About three minutes, get the car running and be ready."
"Okay," Teresa said as she started the engine to the Nissan.
Shaun drove as he repeatedly looked in the rearview mirror. He was nervous and had the right to be. In the trunk of the black Maxima he was driving were ten kilos and one hundred and eighty thousand dollars they received from Elisa for ten kilos. They also knew they should have dropped off the kilos to the stash spot first, like always. If they got knocked, he knew Noonie would be pissed and would relay the loss to Slim who would in turn penalize them for not following protocol.
About ten car lengths back, Greg saw an unmarked police sedan join the Mustang.
Greg barked, "There we go!" He handed Shaun a card when he turned into the garage. It was after hours so there was no attendant.
Shaun slid the key into the slot and the arm rose. He immediately pulled in and they were on their way to the second level, section H, as the detectives came to a halt at the entrance. They had no pass key so one of the detectives fished money out of his wallet, sifting to see if he had enough change.
Shaun and Greg quickly jumped out of the car and into the one Teresa had waiting for them. It was an identical Maxima---color, year, make and model. Teresa jumped into the one they were driving, backed into the space and laid down as the men sped off. The switch took less than ten seconds and they were off on their way to the exit. Shaun stopped and used the keys as the detective barked for them to stop. They kept going, heading west. The detective backed their car from the entrance and followed the men. They were on the cell with Detective Styles who had a blue light on his dash flashing as he sped to the location of the detectives following Greg and Shaun.
"Go ahead and stop them," Styles commanded the detectives.
The sedan hit its siren and lights in the grill and on the dash illuminated.
Shaun looked over at Greg who smiled and said, "Pull the car over in that grocery store lot with all those law abiding citizens. Can't have five-o trying no funny shit."
As the sedan and mustang came to a halt, Greg pressed the speed dial as he held the phone low and out of view. Teresa answered and Greg said, "Okay, baby, we're being stopped. Leave and wait till you hear from me. We went west, so you need to head east. That's to your left." He ended the call as two detectives approached their vehicle with their guns drawn.
\*
Elisa had talked much shit to Rivera. She had called him everything from a wet-back, banana boat rider, bean eater to a spic. She was tough as nails and wasn't going to tell the police shit. They had nothing on them, and it was obvious they were there to rob. Rivera and the other detectives were waiting for a call from Styles. They hoped their partners had stopped the men and got the money. The narcotic detectives were good detectives in the sense that they did good police work and made many cases and good arrests. But there also was an evil side to them---they did whatever they could to get money. And they had a tip that many kilos and money was being moved. The detective sat on the houses two weeks ago and everything went as the young man said, so when he called and said that the same move was being made, the detectives jumped at the chance to get the money because they all needed it. Spivey and Smith were gamblers who stayed in debt from the casino riverboats. Barnes, an avid fisherman who was born and raised in Huntsville, Alabama, was saving all his dirty money to buy a house on the Gulf and to open a bait shop. Rivera and Bates had a penchant for partying, gambling and women. Detectives Styles, well, he was simply greedy and loved power.
Rivera's cell rang, and he immediately answered. "What's up, boss?"
Styles, who was pulling in at the scene where Bates and Smith had the Maxima pulled over in a Jewel grocery store lot, said, "Clear out, and make sure they know this shit never happened."
Rivera slid the cell in the front pocket of his jeans then said, "Y'all free to go." He looked at Elisa saying, "This shit never happened or some for real shit will happen. Feel me?"
Elisa, whose face was swollen from the beating Rivera gave her, didn't say anything; she simply glared at the detective, etching his face into her long term memory, she had made up her mind after the first punch, she was going the get the detective back no matter what it took.
\*
Barnes and Smith had Shaun and Greg handcuffed and sitting in front of the sedan. Styles had his badge hanging from his neck chain resting on a black T. "What you got?" Styles asked as he walked up to Barnes who was pretending to run the young men's information for show since there were a few spectators.
"Stopped them for speeding and running a light," Barnes lied. "We smelled marijuana on them, and to my surprise, the pretty boy right there consented to a search," he said as he pointed to Shaun.
Styles was pissed, but with the bystanders he didn't show it. With Shaun agreeing to the search without hesitation that most likely meant the men weren't carrying.
After the search of the vehicle failed to produce anything, Styles had the men uncuffed and told them they were free to go. It burned him inside to have spent all the time trying to come up on the lick. In a low voice, he told Barnes he'd call him that he had to call the informant to see what had happened.
\*
Feet walked into the basement to tell his soldiers that it was time to shake the spot, that there was nothing happening. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Parker's phone rang. He glanced at the phone saw the number and didn't answer.
"Damn, nigga, that's why shit always fucked up. You niggas always got bitches calling when you supposed to be getting money," Feet spat. "Let's break camp, shit's fucked up right now."
"Damn, they ain't bringing the shit? That mean we ain't gonna get paid," Red hissed as he headed for the stairs.
"I got you, shorty. I take care of my people. I'ma break you off with something," Feet told him just as Parker's phone rang with the same ring tone.
Parker didn't bother to answer, and his demeanor had changed. Feet took notice.
"Answer the phone, nigga!" Feet said.
"Mothafucka, you said let's roll so let's roll. Besides, don't be telling me what the fuck to do," Parker said as he brushed past Feet.
It took all Feet had not to take his pistol out of his waistband and whip Parker. He quickly thought up a better plan.
When they reached the living room and began exiting the house, Feet quietly pulled Red to the side and told him to follow Parker and let him know if he saw anything funny. That there was a thousand in it for him. Red was young, but knew what Feet was thinking---that Parker had something to do with the funny shit that was happening.
\*
Feet was sitting in the car with Greg and Shaun. He was in the back seat explaining what he and Dave saw---the Black Charger with Detective Styles in it. Greg knew what time it was, Elisa had described the detectives to him and what had transpired at her spot. She was pissed and vowed to get their money back for the large amount of cocaine she had to flush. Greg wasn't worried about it, but hated that he had to explain what happened on his watch.
Greg took a hit of the Courvoisier he had in a flask and passed the cognac to the backseat. Feet grabbed it, took a hit then passed it back. Greg held the flask toward Shaun who turned, declining a taste.
Greg took another hit then said, "Good looking on the call, my nigga. That's that grimy ass Styles and his boys. They were looking for a payday."
"They didn't get shit?" Feet asked sounding surprised.
"Nah, nigga. You called just in time. We lost what we dropped off to Elisa's dyke ass, but got the other dope and money. But we got a bigger problem." He took a hefty swig. "The way I see it, there's a snitch in the camp."
Shaun's cell rang. "What's up, baby?"
"When you gonna come get some of this good stuff? I miss you, baby," Teresa said speaking in codes letting her man know she'd made it to the safe house with the drugs and money.
"I'll be there later, just keep it tight for me, holla," he replied. "My girl made it with the money and the shit," he told Greg.
Feet's cell rang, and he saw that it was Red. He answered, and Red told him what he suspected---that Parker was a rat. After Parker dropped Red off at his girl's house, Red didn't go inside the apartment, but got in his car and followed Parker, who had met someone in a black Dodge Charger. They talked for a moment, then Parker got out of the car and back into his, then they both drove off.
Feet slid his cell back in his pocket. He was fuming as he turned and looked out the window into the darkness. "Mothafucka!" he spat.
Greg turned and glared into the backseat. "Problem?" he asked with a raised brow.
"Yeah, I told you I didn't like your man."
"Who?" Greg asked.
"Parker. I put someone on his ass 'cause he was acting funny in the spot when shit went down. Not answering his cell in front of me and shit like that."
"Get to it. Tell me something that gonna explain losing ten kilos!" Greg said irritated knowing that if Parker had something to do with the jack move, he would have to explain to Reese and Noonie since he's the one who put Parker on.
"My man followed him when they left the house, and that was him who called. He watched Parker meet that Detective Styles. Sat right in his Charger and got out carrying what looked to be an envelope," Feet said adding a little extra sauce on the story.
Shaun glanced at Greg who turned and stared out the windshield as drops of rain began to fall. Shaun clicked on the wipers as the rain began to pelt the car with heavy drops.
Shaun had a serious look on his face. "You know what you gotta do," he said to Greg.
Greg blew a hard breath knowing that he didn't want to kill Parker because he'd known him for many years. But if Parker was snitching, it meant that he didn't give a fuck about Greg.
Shaun saw the worry lines on Greg's face, and unlike Feet, he knew Greg's dilemma. But if there was one thing Shaun didn't agree with, it was prison, so he knew Parker had to go.
Shaun's look was serious. "My nigga, I know what you thinking. But homey gots to go."
Feet noticing Greg's hesitation so he said, "I'll do it."
"What?" Greg said.
"I'll slump the nigga. I know that's your boy, but I told you, I ain't neva liked his punk ass. Always tryna flex on me and shit 'cause you and him was close."
"We weren't close like that," Greg replied.
Feet continued, "I mean, you know. You put him on, but that nigga didn't like the fact that I'm younger, and he's been in the game longer so he never gave me the respect I deserved, so he was always buckin' a little bit. Besides, my little homey saw that nigga with the police and know he set us all up. So Parker worked for me, and I work for you. It's my problem, just gimmie a couple days to handle it," he said as he raised his shirt exposing the Glock that was tucked comfortably in his waistband.
Greg said, "Handle that. Now let us get the fuck out of here so we can get the shit from Teresa."
Feet opened the door and sprinted back inside his house. A smile was on his face as the rain fell on it. He was going to enjoy killing Parker.
"Girl, I ain't about to fuck up this money. Call me as soon as I can get those other ones."---COOKIE
Shaun stirred, then awoke. He stretched, then threw the covers off his body. He was butt-naked, the way he liked to sleep. He walked to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He turned on the shower, stepped in, and as he showered he thought of last night's events. He placed his hands on the tile and let the hot, steamy water do its best to relax him as it pelted and flowed down his body. Shaun was a hustler, and after saving Tesha and Chantel, Slim's crew invited him in with open arms, and they were glad they did because he proved to be honest and loyal over the past couple of years. But after last night, he questioned the game of hustling. Anytime someone in your crew decided to cooperate with the law, shit could, and always did get funky, and when the detectives had him and Greg cuffed and on the ground as they searched their vehicle, he knew if they hadn't been alerted by Feet, he would've been waking up in a holding cell in a prison full of men instead of a house with a fine woman.
"The game is getting fucked up," he muttered.
"You okay, what's fucked up?" Teresa asked as she entered the bathroom.
"Nothing, I'm cool," Shaun said.
"Don't sound like it," Teresa said as she pulled the curtain back, slid off her robe and stepped into the shower.
She grabbed a hold of Shaun who stood about six-one, so Teresa, who is five-three, easily rested her head on his chest. She rubbed on his stomach and then down to his crotch. She looked up at him and said, "You're starting to get a little weight around the belly."
Shaun, who was thirty, was nowhere near fat, but years of eating and drinking well could put some weight on any man. "Yeah, but I look good, and besides, everyone can't be as slim as you, skinny minnie," Shaun joked.
Teresa was slim. Slim with a firm ass and large breasts for her petite frame. It was the way Shaun liked his women, petite. He was a pretty boy with a rough edge, and Teresa was a girl he'd known since high school. She had always been a bit tomboyish, but all that changed once she began dating and having sex after finishing high school. She was going to a community college for a year then dropped out and began working retail at various stores in the mall, and that is where Shaun spotted her working at a men's clothing store. He spent a lot of money, she received a fat commission, he got her number and the rest is history. They have been kicking it for several years, breaking up a few times because of Shaun being in the streets, which meant women on the side, but Teresa would always find her way back simply because she was hooked on the fast money. She became a ride or die chick for Shaun, and he took care of her. And after handling her business last night, she knew Shaun would get the C-class Mercedes she's been wanting.
Shaun said, "On a serious note. You did good last night." He kissed her on the forehead.
"Can't have my man caught up, then we wouldn't be able to do this," Teresa cooed seductively. She then kissed Shaun deeply as she raised her leg and Shaun held it as he entered her.
Shaun lifted Teresa and she wrapped her legs around his waists as he bounced her petite body up and down on his manhood. She bucked back and under the water they fucked like Tarzan and Jane in the rainforest of Africa.
\*
Trish rolled over and could smell breakfast food. She rose and whisked strands of hair from her face. She was wearing one of Slim's Chicago Bears tshirts. She stretched her head to look over the bed to the downstairs of the open floor plan loft. She saw Slim standing in front of the counter chopping some fruit. She smiled and laid back down on what had to have been the most comfortable mattress she had ever laid on. And her head form fitted into the pillow as if it were made for her. She was smiling from ear to ear, remembering the night of eating Chinese food and then drinking wine as she listened to Slim play his saxophone, and she was impressed by the way he played along with the great saxophonist, Kenny G. She must've gotten tipsy, because after that she couldn't remember anything. Her smile quickly faded, and she ran her hand up her leg, finding what she was looking for---her panties were still on. A smile crept back on Trish's face. It wasn't that she was happy that she didn't sleep with Slim. She was happy because she didn't want to have slept with him and not remembered it because she had gotten too tipsy.
Trish walked down the steps, and Slim, who was dressed in a pair of tan cargo shorts and a white Polo, chopping vegetables, looked at her and said, "Oh, sleeping beauty finally awakes."
"How much did I drink?" she asked.
"Finished off a bottle. You started dozing, so I gave you a t-shirt, and within minutes you were in the bed asleep.
Trish glanced at the sofa and saw the folded covers, pillow and slippers. Slim noticed and said, "Don't worry, you were a lady and didn't try anything. I slept on the couch."
They laughed lightly, Trish then said, "What are you cooking?"
"Well, I'm going off what I saw you eating at Ray's, so I have a veggie omelet and toast. I also made my own version of a fruit salad."
She stepped to the counter and picked up a strawberry. "Good, because I'm starving!" she said as she seductively ate the piece of fruit.
Slim couldn't help himself. He set down the knife he was using to cut the vegetables and walked over to Trish. He grabbed her by her waist, pulled her toward him so that their bodies connected. She swallowed what fruit was in her mouth, tilted her head, then the two kissed. Slow at first but then their emotions took over. She grabbed Slim's athletic ass, and he ran his hand up her under her t-shirt, up to her breast. He enjoyed her softness and the way her nipple grew from his masculine, yet gentle touch. He used his other hand to cup her ass, and in one motion he lifted her to the counter.
He gazed into her eyes. "I want to taste you," he told her.
She didn't say anything; she grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it off. Slim kissed her soft lips and suckled her breasts. She enjoyed the feeling of his lips and fleshy tongue as he made her feel good. Slim reached and pulled the bowl of fruit toward them. He grabbed a slice of mango and held the piece of juicy, exotic fruit to Trish's lips. It turned him on the way her pink tongue slipped out of her mouth and circled the fruit. She sucked the slice free from his hand, and part of it extended from her lips. She placed her hand on the back of his head and guided him to her. He took the rest of the mango in his mouth, and they shared the fruit and each other.
Mangos, strawberries, pineapples and kiwis, Slim used them all to tease her body. Circling her brown nipples, belly button, earlobes and neck with pieces of the fruit leaving trails juice that he licked and sucked from her body. Slim kissed between her breasts, licked a sticky trail down her belly past her button until he found what he was looking for. Her covered her love with his mouth and began spelling his name with his tongue on what he was claiming as his as she moaned and bucked from the delightful pleasure.
\*
Shaun was getting dressed in a pair of South Pole jean shorts and a graphic T when Teresa came walking into the bedroom. She was already dressed and ready to go. "So you're only giving Cookie three kilos this time?"
"Yeah, and tell her they are twenty-two and not twenty," Shaun replied.
"Damn, Shaun, you know she's going to trip. That's my cousin, why can't we show her some love?"
Shaun slipped on his white Air Force Ones then said, "Need I remind you about last night? We just lost ten kilos. I have other people that I have to get some work to."
"Okay, I'm going to meet Cookie in an hour, and then I'm having lunch with Chantel and Tesha."
Shaun stood and kissed his girl on the forehead. "Be careful, and you know what to do once she got the shit."
"I will," she said then walked out of the bedroom.
Teresa was to call Shaun with a code to let him know all was good. If she didn't, then Shaun was to assume she had got knocked. He sprayed a hit of Derrick Jeter body spray on himself, grabbed a pistol and slid it in the small of his back. As he looked himself over in the mirror, he heard the engine to Teresa's Chevy Malibu. He thought about how he was going to surprise her with the Mercedes she's been hinting about. She deserved it because she helped him make money. At first, he thought that she was like most women, addicted to what the money could buy, but he began to realize that he had become like the men that got trapped in the game. Addicted to the power and fast life like the dope fiends who were addicted to the drugs they sold. He just hoped they would be able to get out in the next year like they had planned because he knew there were only two endings for lifers in the game---dead or in jail.
Shaun was snapped out of his trance when his cell rang. He noticed it was Reese. "What's up, my nigga?"
"You at the crib?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I just finished talking to Slim. Told him about last night. I'll fill you in when I get to your spot."
"Ahight, how long?"
"About ten minutes, peace."
"Peace, my nigga," Shaun said then ended the call.
\*
"Why you only have three for me? And I gotta pay twenty-two!" Cookie yelled. "Shit, we been doin' five at twenty apiece."
"Cookie, some shit happened. Shaun and them lost about ten kilos last night," Teresa replied.
"Word? Damn, anybody get knocked?" Cookie asked in a concerned tone.
"Nah, but that's all I know. You know Shaun don't talk much about his business. So you got the money. I have to meet Chantel for lunch."
Cookie went to a safe that was in a closet. As she turned the knob setting the combination she asked, "Didn't she have her baby?"
"Yeah, girl, about two months ago. Y'all still haven't talked."
"Hell, nah. The way Noonie played my brother, I don't have shit to say to none of them," she said as she counted the band of money.
"I guess, girl," Teresa said. She didn't want to get into a conversation about Noonie and DC. The two men had been boys since they were kids living on the west side of Gary, but when DC brought an undercover into their crew and caused a soldier to die and Slim to lose large amounts of money, Slim ordered Noonie to kill DC. Noonie couldn't do it and told him to get out of town. Not to contact anyone and never to come back. DC was glad that his friend spared his life but was pissed that Slim ordered him to be hit---even though DC broke the rules of the game.
Cookie handed Teresa the sixty-six thousand and Teresa handed her the grocery bag with the three kilos.
"You know I'm the one taking a hit only driving three kilos to Tennessee. Shit, you know DC gonna be pissed. I'm making you a lot of money. Next time, see if I can get at least seven to make up for the two I didn't get this time."
"I will, and tell DC I said hello, and hold it down."
"I will. He's killing them boys down there in Memphis. Three major players down there got knocked so he's really the only one with good dope."
Teresa stood and gave Cookie a hug. "I gotta run, and remember DC's dead. You know if anyone finds out---"
"Girl, I ain't about to fuck up this money. Call me as soon as I can get those other ones."
Teresa left Cookie's house and was thinking that she had made a big mistake when she started selling kilos to Cookie. At first, Cookie lied and said the drugs were being sold by her boyfriend. Teresa started her out with a half a kilo and that grew to one kilo, then three, then five. When Cookie's boyfriend left her, Teresa was about to cut her off, but Cookie came clean that she was driving the drugs to DC. At first, Teresa cut her off, but then she didn't have that extra thirty-five hundred dollars a month going into her pocket from Cookie alone, so the hustler in her agreed to keep the kilos coming with the promise that it wouldn't get out that the drugs were going to DC---or it would mean her ass also.
\*
"What's up, my nigga?" Shaun said as he gave Reese some dap before locking the door.
Reese hadn't wasted any time getting to Shaun's house. He had talked to Slim about what had transpired the night before and had to get things in order. Reese wasn't surprised when Slim didn't get pissed after he told him that the cops had run into their spot. But he was surprised that Slim's reaction was subtle when he told him that a shorty in their camp was the source to the police that they had some kilos coming in---when and where.
"That shit last night is what's up. You got a brew for a nigga?" Reese asked. He stretched and his white Polo rose exposing his waist and the pistol that was tucked in the waistband of his jean shorts.
Shaun was in the kitchen reaching in the refrigerator for one of the Bud Lights. When he turned, Reese was in the kitchen reaching on the counter for one of the sausage patties that was on the paper towel. Shaun handed him the beer and asked, "So, what Slim say?"
Reese was chewing the breakfast meat when he said, "Man, he didn't even trip about the shit, just told me to handle it." He took a swallow of his beer. "You know that shit fucked me up."
Shaun tried to see some reasoning for Slim not to be upset. He then told Reese, "You know you're like an under boss and shit. So maybe he's seeing if you can handle shit." Shaun decided to get a beer for himself. Usually he didn't drink during the day, but he had shit on his mind.
Reese said, "I thought my guy was going to trip, and I bet he would have if it wasn't for the chick he had over at his spot. I heard her talking to him, and his ass sounded all in. I think it's that one chick who works at that one strip club."
"He's fuckin' with a stripper?"
"Nah. The bitch serves drinks, but my guy was all in over this broad. I mean, she's a dime piece. Remember the one that was serving us that look like she's black and Mexican or Rican. I don't know, but the bitch is exotic.
"Yeah, I remember," Shaun said not wanting to talk negative about Slim because he welcomed him into the crew with open arms after he saved Tesha and Chantel's life. But he knew what Reese was thinking to be true. If Slim decided to shut down shop and get out the game, they would be hung out to dry. True, they could hustle, but it was the reputation Lucky built over the years of being smart, fair and no nonsense. Along with Slim's street savvy and ruthlessness helped their crew to keep one step ahead of the others. They were built to lead, and good leaders lasted.
Reese downed his beer. "Man, I even heard some Jill Scott type shit playing in the background. Man, after that shit happened last night, I was thinking about how niggas in our crew are getting soft," Reese griped.
"What up, my nigga?"
"You know what I'm sayin'. Me and that nigga, Slim, go back like bottles and pacifiers, but this is all I know. I ain't tryin' to do shit else," Reese said as he opened the refrigerator and helped himself to another beer.
Shaun sipped as he stared at Reese. He was trying to read the man. Trying to see if Reese was thinking what he assumed he was. Reese caught his look, sipped and with a straight face he said, "Yeah, nigga. That's what I'm saying. I need to find out who is gonna be down. If Slim wants to get out the game, that's cool by me, because I'm sure he's going to give me the keys to the car. I'm just in the process of finding out who is going to go on that ride with me. Who is going to be down?" Reese's brow furrowed.
Shaun knew what he was asking so he told him, "Make me the right hand man, and I'm in. That only if Slim gets out. I'm not going to be part of a third country revolution type shit where we try to overthrow the government."
"Fo sho. I don't have no thoughts of no slick take over shit. I'm just saying if he gets out the game, I don't think the crew should shut down shop. We can keep on moving." He held up his bottle.
They toasted.
Shaun said, "Now on that other thing. When you want Feet to handle it?"
"As soon as possible."
Shaun said, "I'm all for that, but I will give you one piece of advice."
"And what's that?" Reese asked, wondering if he was questioning his decision.
"Since that nigga, Parker, is working with the police, we have to make sure Feet murks that nigga in a way that it doesn't come back on the crew.
Reese rubbed his thick chin then said, "Your smart thinking ass just might work as an under boss. Now let's get on some best out of three in Madden. I got the Steelers."
"Shit had to be done."---REESE
Feet and Red were at a crap house on Avalon Street. They had been there for about an hour, and Feet had lost about nine hundred dollars, which pissed him off. He only went to the spot because he and Red were hanging and had time to kill before they picked up a couple of young women to kick it with, and Red, who was a gambler, wanted to blow and roll the dice. Feet was amazed how Red was fading everyone in the joint. His young ass was blowing the dice, talking shit and picking up the paper. He must have come up about four thousand, and Feet was ready to go, but part of the 'hood rules were you couldn't just shake, roll, take money and just jet out the spot after only being there for a moment, so Feet understood.
"You ain't fading shit?" A heavyset Puerto Rican asked Feet.
"Nah, y'all niggas done got me for my pocket change. I'm here just here to watch my partna clean y'all asses out," Feet said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
A muscular built brotha, who looked to be in his late thirties, threw two fifty dollar bills to the floor to fade Red. When the money hit the ground he said, "I got your young ass faded, Red."
Red blew on the dice.
A young thug with corn rolls, who had lost close to two grand, barked, "You need to quit blowing on the fucking dice you high yellow ass nigga!"
Red, who everyone knew to be laid back, simply blew the dice again, not paying attention to what the man was saying then rolled them.
"Uh, good girl!" Red spoke to the dice then picked up the stack of cash from the floor.
The men wanted some get back so they didn't want Red to leave, but he was hotter than fish grease so they really wouldn't have minded if he just took his winnings and left.
Red was ready to roll again when he heard someone say, "My nigga, Parker. What your ass doing here?"
"Shit, just here to get y'all fools' money!" Parker laughed then noticed Feet and Red. He wasn't expecting to see them at the spot and was caught off guard by their presence. "What's up, Feet?" Parker said as he walked over to Feet with his hand extended.
They gave some dap, and Feet could tell that his gesture was fake.
Feet said, "What's up with you? I see you must have a little extra cash to burn." Feet knew he shouldn't have said that especially after Shaun told him not to make a move on Parker until told. So the best thing to do was act as if everything was everything. The problem was that Feet hated Parker even before he found out the man was working with the police.
Not liking the tone in Feet's voice, Parker said, "Yeah, nigga. And you too, huh?"
"What's up, Parker?" Red said as he stood and gave him a fist pound also. He knew Feet wanted to kill Parker, but this was not the time or the place.
Keeping his eyes locked on Feet, Parker said, "Nothing much, just trying to get some of these nigga's money."
The gangster with the braids said, "Fuck! Y'all having a family reunion or y'all gonna roll the dice?"
Parker grinned slyly at Feet then yelled, "I'm fading whatever!" He had his .45 pistol on him and the steel always made him feel confident and strong. He was a punk like that. It was the reason why Greg put Feet in charge of a crew and not him.
The dice game went on for about thirty minutes, and Feet told Red he was going out to the car to smoke a blunt. Feet usually wouldn't have left his partner alone in an environment like the one they were in, but Red was used to coming to the spot by himself so Feet went to get his head right with some of the sticky.
Feet was parked on the grass of the vacant lot next to the crap house. He was inside his Monte Carlo talking on his cell and taking the last few puffs of his blunt. He told the hood rat on the other end that he'd be at her place about eleven, even though he knew it would be more like two or three. That is, if he didn't get lucky at the club.
Red came walking out of the crap house, and he was smiling. Right behind him was Parker, and he looked pissed.
"My nigga must've cleaned that fool out already, serves his punk ass right," Feet muttered. He yelled out the window, "Where we spending that nigga's money at?"
Parker was pissed at losing his money to the men in the house, and barked at Feet, "Fuck you, little nigga." He paused then said what he knew would get Feet out of the car, "Bitch!"
Feet's blood pressure rose, and he yelled, "What mothafucka?" In an instant he was out of the car rushing toward Parker.
Red jumped in front of Parker not wanting anything to go down. Especially, at the crap spot because anyone who fought, shot or anything wasn't welcomed back by the old heads, who had pull in the city, and ran the place.
"Out of the way, Red. This shit's been a long time coming!" Feet fumed.
"Fuck you gonna do, little nigga?" Parker barked.
A rather large heavyset old head rose from the lawn chair on the back porch. Hidden behind the railing was a shotgun. "Y'all youngin's take that shit from 'round here."
The young men paused at the sound of the man's voice, but Feet, who was a hothead, spat, "Fucking snitch ass bitch! I'll catch your ass around the way." He turned to walk to his car when Parker pulled his pistol.
Parker barked, "What nigga, what you wanna do?"
The old head on the porch grabbed the shotgun, a pump that held six buck shots. "Put away the piece, Parker. Take that bullshit away from our spot!" his bass more prevalent.
Parker held his pistol trained on Feet who showed no fear.
Feet said, "Nigga, you better kill me."
The old head yelled, "Red, get your boy, and get the fuck up outta here! Last time I'm tellin' y'all!"
Red ran the short distance to Feet keeping himself in between the two so Parker wouldn't shoot. Red whispered, "Remember what Greg said. Not now, bruh. You can't do nothing to him until Greg and Reese says."
Feet, who was pissed, came to his senses. He couldn't take a chance on fucking things up for Greg, so he decided to get his feelings in check by stepping in his car. Once he was inside, Red hurried to the passenger's side of the two door sports car and got in.
As the two were driving off, Parker barked, "Punk ass bitches!"
As Parker opened the car door to his Chrysler 300, the old head in his gruff voice yelled from the porch, "Hey, Parker."
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Don't bring your ass 'round here no mo'."
"Big Billy, you're just security. You're not running shit."
Billy spit some of the tobacco he was chewing on the ground. He smiled then said, "I know you're related to that cop, Styles. Now I heard that boy say words on you about snitching. Like I said, don't come around here no mo'."
Parker said nothing, but thought about how he should call his older cousin, Detective Styles, and put him on the crap house. Parker was thinking on emotion because there was no way Styles would have dealt with something as trivial as a crap house unless it had drugs in it.
Feet was pulling into the lot of Harold's Chicken. Red said, "I got it. Shit, the way I licked them fool's asses. What you want?"
"Let's get at least two dozen, half hot, half barbecue and some fries," Feet told him as he watched Red count his loot. Red put three hundred in his pocket then stuffed the over four grand in the center console.
"Watch that shit for me nigga, we gon kick it with them bitches tonight!" he said as he stepped out of the car and went inside Harold's Chicken.
It was Saturday night, and the famous chicken shack was packed. Feet's stomach was growling, and he couldn't wait to dig into some of the bird. His cell rang, and he checked the number. It was the young woman he was supposed to hook up with and was about to answer when a red 300M pulled up beside him, and when he saw the car with tinted windows, he immediately got pissed. Parker stepped out of his car and slyly smiled at Feet.
Parker walked in front of his vehicle towards Harold's. He nodded at Feet.
Feet spat, "Mothafucka, you following me?"
Parker, who had done a couple of lines of cocaine when he left the crap house, was feeling strong. He walked up to the driver's side of Feet's car and said, "I ain't never been the one to follow bitches. That's why I have a problem with Greg having me working for your ass, nigga." As he turned to walk away he mumbled, "But that shit won't be for long. Your time is limited, that's fo sho."
Feet's body became extremely hot, and his hands began to shake. "Fuck this shit!" he muttered as he reached into his waistband and grabbed his pistol. He stepped out of his car and yelled, "Ay yo, Parker."
"What bitch...oh shit," Parker said as he turned and saw the weapon pointed at him. He made a move for his pistol that was under his long t-shirt, but his arm barely moved up before Feet hit him with a shot to his chest.
Parker fell backwards, and his white t began to pool with blood. People screamed, and Red saw Feet walking toward Parker. "Shit!" Red yelled. He was about to head out of the carryout when Feet looked up at him and shook his head. None of the patrons caught it, they were too busy ducking and hiding.
Feet stood over Parker and asked, "What you have to say now, bitch? This is for the crew, you snitch."
Feet pointed his weapon at Parker's face.
"No, man, no!" Parker begged. There was a bright light, and then it was all over. Feet had put two rounds into Parker's head.
Feet jumped into his car and sped out of the lot leaving Red to flee on his own. Feet left Red because after putting the first round into Parker, he knew he'd made a mistake. He had killed the man where there were witnesses, and he didn't need to get Red caught with him in the car. He'd let his emotions get the best of him. He had orders to leave Parker alone until he was given the word, so now with killing Parker, he was going to have a problem with the police and the crew.
\*
Greg was getting dressed. He was at a condo in Dolton he was purchasing. It was his low-key spot no one knew about. Greg was a smart hustler who liked to dress in fine clothes, dine at nice restaurants and enjoyed the company of pretty women---women who weren't from the hood. He usually picked up on women from poetry sets, and college hang-outs. At the age of twenty-eight he had done well for himself. During the recession when the housing market crashed, he was taking classes at Chicago State and when he asked a business professor what would be the best thing for a person with about fifty to one hundred thousand to invest his money in, the professor told him, real estate. Greg looked into it and came to the conclusion that he needed more money. About a month later, he was over to a lady friend's house, and she was changing the channels to the television. When she stopped at the HG station, Greg was intrigued by what he saw. It was a show called 'Flip this House' and during the thirty minute program, he learned a lot and decided that is what he was going to do with his money. He was on the road to being legit and told himself that when he hit his mark of one million, he'd stop selling drugs. It was a slow process since he was laundering the money through his houses, but it was going to be worth the wait. He only hoped that he didn't hit any bumps in the road that the drug game brought---death or incarceration.
He slipped on his Kenneth Cole shoes and then his Movado watch. He looked himself over in the mirror and thought about how a lot of dealers liked to wear nice jewelry and clothes---but it was always attire that spelled drug dealer.
His cell began to ring. He saw the name and answered.
The man's voice on the other end was one of panic when he said, "Uncle, I need your help. I just did a nigga."
Greg thinking quickly said, "Hang up, and I'll call you right back!"
Feet did as told, and Greg ran to his bedroom to grab his throwaway cell. He dialed and Feet answered on the first ring. "Unk?"
Feet never called Greg uncle. Actually, no one knew that Greg was his uncle. They knew they were related, with them being so close in age everyone figured they were cousins.
"Yeah, Feet, where are you? What happened?"
"Man, that nigga, Parker. We got---"
"Look, let me know where you're at, and I'll come get you, then you can tell me what time it is."
"At my girl's spot---"
"She there?"
"Nah, she's out of town this weekend, but I need to get out of here."
"I'm on my way, and don't call nobody or talk to nobody. You hear me?"
"I got ya."
Greg hung the phone up and yelled, "Fuck!"
He grabbed his pistol and a change of clothes for Feet in case he needed them. Greg figured he'd bring Feet back to his spot until he knew exactly what went down. He got in his SUV and drove off. As he drove his Suburban, he thought about how Feet could be a hothead, and Greg knew that he'd fucked up. That Feet didn't get along with Parker and couldn't wait to slump him, but he hadn't been given the green light. Now Greg had the hard task of bringing this drama to Reese who would in turn relay it to Slim. Either way, Feet was in serious trouble.
\*
It was Sunday afternoon, and Slim was walking out of St. Michael's Catholic Church. He hadn't been inside a church in a while, but the feeling he had was one that he couldn't explain. He remembered having the same feeling the last time he was inside a house of worship. He was raised Baptist, but didn't feel uncomfortable one bit while the Priest conducted Mass, when they knelt for prayer or when people took communion.
As Slim and Trish walked down the street to his car she said, "Marcellus, you seemed comfortable. I thought you were going to be nervous."
Trish had told Slim that she didn't like calling him by his street name. That she didn't see him that way so she had asked if it was okay to call him by the name his mother had given him. Slim didn't mind. As a matter-of-fact, he liked the way she said it. The way the syllables rolled off her tongue. Usually Slim would have never let anyone call him by his first name. Hell, the only people in the streets and in their crew who knew his given name was Lucky and Reese---two people who have known him since he was a child.
Slim said, "I went to a Catholic school for one year."
"But you're not Catholic, are you?"
They arrived at his Cadillac. He opened her door for Trish, and she got in. Once in the driver's seat, he told her, "My uncle, rest his soul, raised me for a little while. My mom, she was a good woman, but she was out there. In the streets, I mean. Her brother was gangster, but he took time with me. I guess it was because he never had a son. Played ball with me, took me fishing and did stuff I didn't understand, like putting me in Catholic school for a year."
Slim put the luxury sedan in gear, and they were on their way. "I didn't understand why, but many years later when I was grown, a longtime friend of his told me why my uncle did some of the things he did, and by sending me to a Catholic school with the white kids I would learn how white people operated and how to deal with them."
"Your uncle sounds like he cares for you a lot."
"Yeah, but he and my mom have passed. But they and his friend are who helped to shape me into the man I am today," he said as he glanced at his Brown Croc Bulova watch.
"Sorry to hear that," Trish said softly. She noticed Slim looking at his watch and hoped he didn't have anywhere he needed to be. She was enjoying the weekend she was spending with him, from the walk on the beach and dinner, to breakfast, good sex and the time spent at the museum. To the time at her church, and she had to admit that it felt good for the older women to see her with him. He was handsome, sexy, and confident looking and had gentleness to him when introduced to the women.
"No need to be sorry. That was many years ago, and we all have to go someday, and I'm just now realizing that I haven't been living."
He glanced at Trish and noticed the look on her face.
He continued. "I know you probably think that I have everything, but I'm missing a lot."
"What are you missing?" she asked.
His cell rang, and he was glad that it did. He didn't want to have to answer her question.
"Hello," he answered.
"Slim, you don't check in on me, huh?" Lucky asked.
Slim could hear voices in the background and a pounding sound. "Where are you, Lucky?"
"That's what I'm calling you for. I need you to get down here to Southeast side Gym, I have to show you something."
"Lucky, I just left church and about---"
"You just left church? Bring her with you. What I have to show you won't take long."
Slim asked, "How'd you know I had a woman with me?" He glanced at Trish and smiled. She did also.
Lucky laughed and said, "Because the last time you set foot in a church was because a woman dragged you in there." Lucky was referring to Lisa.
"I'll be there in about thirty minutes."
"See you then, and bring her with you so I can meet her," Lucky said in a joyous tone Slim had not heard from him in a long while.
Slim set his cell in the cup holder as he headed for the southeast side.
"Where are we headed?" Trish asked not caring where they were going as long as she was with Slim.
"To see a very good friend of mine. He says he has something important to show me."
"Hmm, taking me to see friends, I don't know, what if he doesn't like me?" she joked.
Slim replied, "Then I guess like Jay-Z said, 'On to the next one'."
Trish playfully slapped him on the arm. She was happy, and a feeling that was foreign to her was creeping into her body and she loved it.
\*
Slim and Trish walked inside the boxing gym and you could hear the chatter of young men and feel the buzz. Slim saw a man he didn't know personally, but knew by the name of Fight Doctor. It was a gym that had been frequented by many young men, some who never left, and Fight Doctor was one of them. He jumped his first rope and hit his first heavy bag right here nearly fifty years ago, and the gym has stood for over sixty years. It had gone through several renovations and at one time had succumbed to a fire in the early eighties where fifty percent of the gym was lost. But with the help of the citizens in the neighborhood and a donation by one of Chicago's young men who made it to the top ranks of boxing, the gym survived.
Slim saw Lucky standing at one corner of the ring, and the older man nodded when he noticed Slim and Trish. As they walked toward the ring, Slim was surprised to see Jamel with a pair of boxing gloves on, listening intently to a short, older Hispanic. Jamel was so focused on his opponent, a man who was thicker, but shorter than he.
Slim gave Lucky a hug and said, "So this is what you wanted me to see."
Lucky turned his attention to Trish. "Excuse Slim's manners. Hi, my name is Lucky, and what's yours, pretty lady?" he said as he held his hand out for her to shake.
Trish's smile was warm when she said, "Trish, and it's nice to meet you." She turned toward Slim, "Marcellus, is this the friend you were telling me about?"
Slim nodded. "Yes, this is my uncle's friend."
Ding, ding! The bell rang for the fight to begin.
Excitedly, Lucky said, "Here we go. Watch our boy. I'm telling you we got something special here." He jokingly punched Slim on the arm, saying, "Marcellus."
The fight was on. Jamel danced side to side as the muscular built man came straight at him. Jamel jabbed with his right in an attempt to keep the man off him. The man's pursuit was relentless, and he was able to get in with some body shots. This went on for the entire first round. The bell rang, and the fighters sat in their corners. Slim glanced at Lucky with a furrowed brow questioning Jamel's fighting. To Slim he looked to be on the defensive and tentative with his punches.
Lucky said, "Jamel wanted to fight someone with the same speed but in a higher weight class. This is his first fight. Three rounds. He said he was going to let the guy hit him to get the feel of being hit again."
Slim asked, "He used to box?"
"A few years ago, then he got in the game."
"So this is why he hasn't been around."
Lucky replied, "I told him he's done with the streets. That boxing is his life right now."
Ding, ding! The bell sounded for round two.
Jamel danced the ring as the young man charged like a young Mike Tyson. Jamel's trainer yelled, "Now!"
Jamel switched his fighting style from a right-handed fighter to southpaw, the boxing term for a lefty. The young man was hit with a combination to his body and head gear that left him dazed. Jamel toyed with him by peppering him with right-handed jabs. His opponent covered up, then Jamel paused his onslaught and the man unconsciously opened his guard, and that's when Jamel hit with a left cross that sent the young man to the floor. Jamel jogged backwards to his corner as the referee helped the young man up. Fight Doctor stepped into the ring and pulled the defeated fighter's headgear off. He checked the young man for injuries then told his corner man, "He'll be okay."
Fight Doctor looked over at Lucky who was trying to hold back his smile. He then walked over to Jamel. "Good job, son. Now go get cleaned up so I can get out of here and catch the evening service of church.
Slim's grin was suspicious as he looked at Lucky.
"What?" the old man asked slyly.
"So, this is what you have been up to. Why I haven't seen you around." He waved his arm around the place then said, "You had Jamel in training. For how long?"
"Not long my friend. We ran into Fight Doctor, and I found out Jamel used to box until he turned to the streets. Fight Doctor said he was the best he had, and now I see why."
"Yeah, the boy got skills," Slim said as he looked into the ring at Jamel who was getting grilled by the trainer for pausing when he had the fighter on the ropes. Even though Jamel pummeled his opponent in quick fashion, he was still rough around the edges.
"He does, and this is all he's doing besides driving for me, understand?" Lucky said without divulging too much information in front of Slim's friend.
"It's done."
Fight Doctor leaned over the ropes telling Lucky, "The boy is good. Let's keep doing what we're doing, and I'll get his first fight scheduled for the end of the month."
"Let's do it," Lucky told him.
Fight Doctor headed to the showers, and Lucky turned his attention to Trish. "So, do you like boxing?"
"I sure do. It's good he's a righty and can switch to southpaw and fight with power. That will handcuff a lot of boxers," Trish said.
"Damn," Slim and Lucky said in unison.
Slim's cell rang and as he was unclipping the iPhone from his hip, he asked her, "How do you know about boxing?" He saw Reese's name and the 9-1-1.
"I love the sport so I watch it a lot, but I'm starting to get into that MMA stuff," she answered.
"I have to take this," Slim said then walked away for privacy.
Lucky used the opportunity to talk to Trish. He knew Slim better than anyone, so he knew Slim was feeling Trish, and he needed to get to know her himself---due to the business they were still in.
"What's up?" Slim asked.
"Man, we got a problem."
"What kind and my line is safe," Slim told him. He changed the chip in his phone earlier in the morning before he left for church.
"One of our soldiers killed that one soldier, Parker, and we---"
"Why are you calling me with this shit. You were supposed to handle that anyway, he got caught or something?"
Reese's voice sounded troubled when he said, "Nah, it was in the evening at a carryout. He did it without us setting it up so it wouldn't come back on us and..."
Slim turned his back to everyone and in a pissed tone, but keeping his voice down so Trish or anyone in the gym could hear him, he said, "You know that's going to bring heat on us, right?"
"Yeah, I could do that nigga..."
"Nah, hold that talk. Look, where is this kid at?"
"Greg got him. Little nigga nervous, but he's a soldier."
"Good. I'll hit you within an hour, meet up with you so I can holla at Greg and this nigga before I make a decision," Slim said then hung up the phone. He was pissed, but tried his best not to let it show. He wasn't going to tell Lucky what went on. He saw how much of a high Lucky was on from Jamel's fight. He didn't want him to worry. He liked the fact that his friend had something to get his cancer off his mind.
Lucky said, "Slim, I like this young lady. She knows her boxing history. She says she used to be a tomboy, and I don't see that."
Trish blushed.
Slim said, "Lucky, we have to run. I have something I have to take care of."
"I'll be out of here as soon as Jamel showers. Fight Doctor has to catch the evening service, and I have to get some rest. I couldn't sleep all night thinking about that boy's fight."
"Are you surprised? Did you like what you saw?" Slim asked.
"I was impressed, but not surprised. That boy trains like an animal. He has instincts. God given talent."
The men hugged.
Lucky hugged Trish and when they broke their embrace he told her, "I plan on seeing you again."
"Me too," she replied.
\*
With Slim's condo being in the River North section of the city, it was closer to the gym than Trish's house, so he drove her there and told her to take his car. She did and was happy to drive the STS. She also knew that she would see him again soon so he could get his car. She hoped it would be tonight and would kill the time by cleaning her home and taking a nap.
Slim was in the passenger's seat of Reese's maroon Tahoe. They had just pulled into the driveway of a two bedroom bungalow on 96th Street. It was one of Greg's rental properties that he had furnished. He did that with some of his houses because he'd read houses sold well when they were furnished.
Slim still had on the slacks he was wearing earlier, but the button-down was untucked---concealing his pistol. Reese was in his normal gear, baggy jeans and a crisp new Rocawear shirt. He and Slim had talked while on the way to the house. They agreed that Feet would turn himself in and claim self-defense, and as long as he kept his mouth shut, they would take care of him. Reese didn't like the idea. He wanted to kill Feet because he hadn't followed orders, and now it put the daily operations of their crew in jeopardy. But Slim was the boss, and he had spoken and Reese couldn't help feeling that his lifetime partner was getting soft.
Once inside the house, Greg paid his respect to Slim.
"Where this little nigga at?" Slim asked.
Greg was standing in front of Slim when he said, "Downstairs, Slim. He's fucked up over this shit. If you see fit, can you spare him? He's my nephew."
Reese said, "You niggas cousins."
"Y'all just thought that. He's my oldest sister's son," Greg informed him.
Slim said, "Take me to see him."
Once downstairs, Slim saw Feet sitting on a couch. XBOX controllers and games were scattered next to Feet. Slim noticed the bottle of Remy and the pizza box. When Feet saw Slim walking toward him, he stood.
Calmly, Slim said, "Sit down, Feet, and tell me what happened. Skip all the unnecessary bull because I have shit to do."
Feet would have liked for Slim to show some emotion, at least that way he would have had an idea of what Slim was thinking.
"Man, Slim, me and Red were at the gamblin' spot. That nigga got to talking shit when I was leaving and shit got squashed by the old head watching the door. That nigga, Parker, pulled his gun on me talking shit."
"I thought this shit happened at Harold's?" Slim questioned.
"It did. Me and Red left to get something to eat. Red was inside when Parker pulled up. He came to my window wanting to continue what had happened at the crap spot. We had words, but I wasn't trippin' until he showed his pistol. He went to up his thang and that's when I let him have it," Feet said.
He told a half truth and Slim figured as much, but what was done was done.
"I got a lawyer for you. I'm going to send him over here to see you and Greg. What you need to do is tell that story and stick to it. The lawyer should get you no more than fifteen years."
Slim saw the dejected look on Feet's face. He continued, "Look, you're supposed to get got. You didn't do what you were supposed to, so you told me a half story hoping that I wouldn't kill you. I will if you don't go do this time and keep your mouth shut. You feel me?"
"Whatever you say, Slim, and thanks, man. I fucked up so whatever you say."
"We'll take care of you while you're in there. Just stay loyal. I'm going to send a woman over here. You fuck tonight and enjoy it, then Greg and the lawyer are going to take you to surrender."
Slim could see the dejected look on Feet's face. He sat next to him and said, "Look here, Feet, the bottom line is that you fucked up. From what I heard, you were an earner, and it's going to be hard to replace you. Reese told me that you are loyal, and I need you to be that way. Be a man about this shit, and I promise you that you will be taken care of."
There was a pause. Greg spoke. He said, "Slim, I got people down south. Maybe we can send Feet down---"
"Greg, I feel that this is your nephew, but what about when he gets caught a couple of years from now on some bullshit traffic stop? I can't help him then. Murder? He's looking at a lot of time, but with the lawyer I'm hooking him up with, he won't do a day past fifteen---maybe only ten. He'll get his charges reduced to involuntary manslaughter or something."
Surprisingly, Feet who was sitting on the edge of the couch with his head down, stood and spoke. "I'm ready to go do the time, Slim," he said with a heavy voice. "I fucked up, so I'm thankful for your help. I don't need a woman tonight. I'm ready to go now, and I will be steady."
Slim gave him some dap and as he and Feet hugged he told him, "Way to be strong. And we got your back, now and when you get out."
When Slim and Reese walked down the stairs, Feet didn't know what to expect. He'd only been in the same room as Slim once and had seen him from afar once in Ford City mall. Both times he had admired Slim's style and swagger. Feet had dreamed of making his way up the ranks so he could look the same way. But tonight when he thought his uncle was going to have to beg for his life because of his fuck up, he found out why Slim was beloved by all who were close to him. He was a fair man and a man who had a heart. Feet swore to himself that he would keep quiet and do his time.
"Alright, I have somewhere I need to be. Since he's ready to go, I'll get someone here with the lawyer so we can begin to put this behind us," Slim said.
Greg gave Slim some dap then thanked him. Slim told him that he'd be contacting him about some things and then told Feet to take care. He and Reese walked out of the basement with Greg following. They talked for a moment while upstairs then Slim and Reese were on their way.
As Reese drove, Slim dialed the lawyer. "Damn, I hate calling Wiesserman this late," Slim said as he looked at his watch.
Reese, who had a stoic look on his face, said, "That's what his ass get paid all that money for. Anyway, don't you think we're making a mistake?"
Slim stopped scrolling for the attorney's number. He wasn't pissed, but definitely wasn't used to being second-guessed. "So what are you saying, big homey?"
"You never know what that nigga might say. He's young. Facing a murder beef? Man, I know that's Greg's people and all, but they all know the game, and I fucking gave word not to fuck with Parker. He said fuck what I was talking about and let his emotions get in the mix. I think that nigga needs to go."
Slim replied, "Reese, you've been my dog since I was folding you up in the sandbox. But it's my call, and I think the little nigga needs to be spared."
Reese smiled, "That's cool. I just thought I'd bring that shit to your attention. That's what I'm here for, and I back whatever you say. And I was the one folding your ass up in the sandbox."
They both laughed.
Slim got in contact with the lawyer who told Slim there was no need for him to go with Feet while he surrendered. It was a Sunday night and all the police were going to do was lock him up, and he'd sit until he went before a judge in the morning. Wisserman said he'd be at the courthouse in the morning to meet with Feet so he'd know something was being done. He would find out what happened, and then he'd meet with the prosecutor to work out a plea agreement. Slim was fine with that and told the lawyer to keep him up on things.
After Slim ended the call, he made another to Trish.
"Hey you. Is everything okay?" Trish asked. Her voice had a harmonious tune to it that made Slim feel good.
"I'm fine. Do you remember how to get to my place?" Slim asked. His voice was lower than normal, but Reese was ear hustling hard.
"I sure do, you need your car?"
"And you. See you around eleven?"
"I'll be there," she said. Slim could hear the excitement in her voice.
They ended the call, and Slim relaxed by closing his eyes and resting his head on the headrest. They were almost at his condo when he said, "Make sure you call Greg. Tell him I want Feet at the station turning himself in by midnight.
"Will do," Reese said trying not to show his disapproval of Slim's decision. He was beginning to think that his mind was being clouded by the woman he was seeing and the thoughts he was having of getting out of the game. Reese figured that it was up to him to keep this straight. And that meant he had to play the role of gangster since Slim wasn't---and also of boss if need be.
Trish had taken a hot shower, and Bath and Body Works had her smelling good. She couldn't wait to see Slim and hurried out of her apartment to the Caddy. She was going to stop by the store to pick up a few items to make a light dish for Slim. She knew what he did for a living and figured he was out taking care of business and probably hadn't eaten. She was walking down her gangway when her cell rang. She stopped to take a look at it and saw Detective Style's name. She frowned and dropped the phone back in her purse. Within seconds she was in the car, and Styles was a distant memory. She was on her way to see the man who respected her.
A shadow was cast in the gangway from the moonlight. Styles walked from the rear of the gangway to the front where he walked up the porch and to the woman who was sitting on the chair. He handed her a bag. She looked in it and smiled.
The old woman said, "She was picked up earlier by a man. Negro, nice build and 'round your height. Good looking, I might add. She returned in his car. Now she's gone. I bet to see him. She looks happy." The woman laughed, and it pissed Styles off, but not enough for him to take back the brown bag he'd given her.
"Just keep your eyes open, old woman."
She pulled the items out of the bag. A lime and a fifth of Jose Cuervo tequila. "I will," she said as she cracked open the liquor and took a swallow. "I will."
Styles walked back to his car and tried his best to keep calm, but he was pissed. His fine piece of ass was stepping out and with the very man he'd been chasing for years. He smiled as he thought about the damage he could do to the both of them, and he would in due time.
\*
Greg and Feet stepped inside Greg's Suburban. It was 3:33a.m. and they were on their way to the station for Feet to turn himself in. Red had stopped by to see his friend, and he felt bad. Felt as if he should have done something. Red had also brought Feet's girl who had been worried. She'd sexed Feet for what would be their last time doing it. She swore she'd wait for Feet, but he knew those were words of the moment. Greg had made it possible for them to stop by and figured that it couldn't hurt.
Greg asked, "Are you ready, nephew?" He never called Feet nephew, but the reality of Feet being gone a long time has him feeling like family.
Feet responded, "Greg thanks for everything, but let's keep our shit gansta like it always had. Call me Feet. I'ma do this time, and I'll be back on the bricks. Ten or fifteen, I'll still be young when I get out. It's all in the game."
Greg pressed the button to the garage door opener that was clipped to his trucks sun visor and as the door rose he turned the key in the ignition of the Suburban. He was about to put the truck in gear and pull out of the garage, that's when Greg yelled, "Oh shit!"
There was nothing the two men could do. A couple of men dressed in all black sprayed Greg's SUV with bullets. The machine pistols sent a volley of over thirty rounds into the truck. Several rounds hit Feet, and Greg was hit three times. The men dropped the stolen weapons and ran to the edge of the driveway to an awaiting car that sped off once they were inside.
Once the rounds started going off, Red ran to the living room and was carefully edging to the window with his pistol clutched in his hand to lend assistance to his friends, but it was too late. The men were already to their escape vehicle. Feet's girlfriend was screaming frantically, and Red was trying to calm her. He eased into the garage and found Feet leaning against the door, dead. On the other side was a moaning and wounded Greg. Red dialed 9-1-1.
Down the street, two men were in a car. They turned on their lights and did a u-turn and left the area. "Shit had to be done," Reese told E-Double, one of his soldiers.
"We're behind you, boss," E Double said knowing that Reese had planned to take over if Slim decided to get out.
It was a decision he'd been wrestling with for months because of the decisions Slim was making. A lot of the moves Slim made were to help everyone get out of the game, but what Slim failed to understand that it wasn't all about money for some of the men, but the hustle. The letters s-t-r-e-e-t-s were letters that made up the DNA of a lot of the hustlers and that is where they were going to stay. In the streets, and Reese was one of those men.
"You street motherfuckers just don't know the difference. It's Detective, not officer."---STYLES
Lieutenant LaDonna Dixon walked into the detectives' office with a Chicago Sun-Times and Tribune under her arm. Clutched in her hand was a white paper bag that held her breakfast---a large cinnamon bagel and a small tub of strawberry cream cheese. The detectives, who weren't doing anything, pretended to be working. It was Monday morning the start of a new workweek, and usually the detectives were slow moving on Mondays, but not when the workaholic, Lt. Dixon, was around. Her pit bull mentality kept the detectives on point.
Lt. Dixon stopped in front of the detectives' secretary's desk. "Anything for me, Tiajuana?"
"Nothing, how was your weekend, Lieutenant?" Tiajuana asked.
"The same as usual, nothing spectacular. She scanned the bureau and didn't see her sergeant. "Where is Styles?"
"Umm, he hasn't come in yet. I think he and Spivey were meeting with an informant," the young secretary said to cover for the detective.
"Call him, and tell him I want him in my office like yesterday."
Tiajuana picked up the phone and dialed Styles' phone. Lt. Dixon walked to her office and noticed Detective Rivera with his cell phone to his ear. Without looking at him or breaking stride, she said, "When you reach Styles, Rivera, tell him to get his ass in my office. That he's late."
Rivera, who was calling Styles, gave his supervisor the finger behind her back as she closed the door and placed her items on her desk. She had a routine she ate her bagel, sipped orange juice and read through both of the city's major papers to see if there was any pertinent information in it.
Rivera reached Styles. He asked, "Man, where are you? Dixon is looking for your ass."
"I'll be there in ten minutes. I had to take care of some business," Styles lied.
"Alright, holla," Rivera said as he watched Spivey roll in with some folders of data.
Truth is Styles was up all night. He wanted so badly to be inside Trish, but she hadn't come home and didn't answer his calls, so he met up with another one of his ladies, a cop from another district. Styles didn't care for the woman too much because all she talked about was the job. What happened on a traffic stop, the domestic call she went to, the pursuit she had of a bank robber or the arrest of some gang banger. Styles would drink with her and listen to the stories as long as it took for her to give it up, which was usually after a couple of hours. She was a pain in the ass, but the sista had some good sex so it was worth the trouble. He just took her like medicine---in doses.
When Styles entered the office, he headed to his desk and Spivey met him there. He handed him a couple of files. One was Slim's and the other was Lucky's. Lt. Dixon stuck her head out of her office. "Sergeant," she called.
Styles told Spivey, Raise the boys and tell them to meet us at the strip club tonight. I got something for us."
"Good, I could use some cash," Spivey told him in a hushed tone.
Styles entered Dixon's office and closed the door. Her office was at the back of the bureau and was enclosed by glass. She liked it that way because she could keep a watchful eye on all the detectives, and if she didn't want to see them, all she had to do was close the blinds.
"You're late, sergeant," she told Styles as he sat.
"Working on a case. That's why Spivey was late also. We were collecting some data on a drug crew," he told her nonchalantly.
"Well, that's what I want to talk to you about. I don't think you have your people pushing hard to get at the Fuentes' and Marcellus Smith's crews," she said as she tossed an open Sun-Times to him.
"What's this?" he asked as he picked up the paper.
Lt. Dixon had highlighted an article. She sipped her orange juice and watched Styles as he read the article. As he read Feet's real name and then his street name, he knew him to be the man his cousin, Parker, worked for. The same man Parker had set up, and his detective intuition kicked in. He had been a detective too long not to know that one thing had to do with another. He checked the rest of the metro section, but didn't find anything. He saw the Tribune on Dixon's desk.
"Let me see that," he said.
She handed him the paper and said, "You look concerned, detective."
Styles shook off the comment telling her, "Doing a little police work is all."
Styles immediately found what he was looking for, the article on Parker being shot at Harold's Chicken. Parker had no family in the city, like Styles, since they were from St. Louis. Styles knew he was going to have the task of calling his aunt. He also knew he had to go to the morgue and identify the body. He would do that and find out what the hell happened.
"Styles, what's the deal?"
"The guy in the article you showed me. He's a part of Slim's crew. Low-level, but he ran an area."
Dixon said, "Well, where he was killed was the same street where an alderman lives. A nice neighborhood, so as you can see I need something done about this shit."
"Shit hitting close to the politicians, so they want some action, huh?" Styles said with a hint of sarcasm.
"Yes."
"Well, you know I love you so much, boss, and I know you have aspirations to move up the ladder, so tell your alderman that you will have something for them in a couple of days. Something big enough to satisfy voters," Styles assured her.
Dixon tried to hold back her smile, but couldn't. She knew Styles did things his way, and she didn't mind as long as he didn't get out of control. He got things done and produced, and with his assurance, she couldn't wait to get on the phone to the alderman and let the prominent politician know that justice was going to be served for bringing violence six houses down the street from his.
Styles stood, told his supervisor that he had to go and hit the streets and police. She had no objections and told him to call her if he needed anything. He said that he would, and after he walked out and closed the door to her office, LaDonna smiled and picked up the phone to call the alderman so she could assure him that things were being taken care of and that he could expect results soon. As she dialed, she thought about how she was going to be an area commander sooner than she had anticipated.
Styles collected all the data he needed and put the folders under his arm. He grabbed a doughnut from the box that was on the table and poured some coffee in a cup that was in his desk. He screwed on the travel lid and was on his way. Rivera watched as he left the squad room and didn't bother his partner. He knew something was bothering Styles, but knew he'd tell him when he was good and ready.
\*
Noonie was nodding in and out of sleep. He had been by Greg's side for a couple of days, only taking the time to go home and shower. He assumed that someone close to Parker had killed Feet and put Greg in a coma because Feet had killed Parker. But it didn't seem right to Noonie. The house Noonie was at was one of Greg's properties he was selling, and no one in the streets knew about Greg's real estate. Noonie didn't like to see his friend lying in bed with tubes hooked up to his body and machines. At times he said a prayer and asked God, why? But in reality, he knew the answer. His friend was in the game and the game has no loyalty, secrets or friends. Hustling was the grimiest of all grime, and Noonie was stuck in the midst of it all.
Noonie had awakened when the nurse came in the room to change Greg's catheter. He was in a coma but bodily functions moved on, so Noonie excused himself to the hallway. The slim built Puerto Rican needed to stretch anyway. He was serving as security for Greg until he was safe, so he was only going as far as the door.
"Tired, huh? You want me to give you a break? I'll watch your man for ya," a strongly built bald-headed man said as he walked to up to Noonie.
Noonie knew who the light-skinned man wearing jeans and a button-down was. "Officer Styles, what's up?"
"Nothing much just checking to see how..." he opened a brown folder he had tucked under his arm and checked it. "Greg Johnson is doing."
"As best he can, considering he---"
Styles cut Noonie off. "Got shot up trying to hide his boy out from a murder."
"He wasn't hiding him. He was turning him in, officer."
"That's detective, Detective Styles, young blood. I haven't been an officer in years. I'm not in a uniform. I dress how I please and have the latitude to do what the fuck I want. Understand me?" Styles said as he got a little closer to Noonie. So close that Noonie could smell the mixture of cigarettes and breath mints.
Not in the mood to deal with the detective, Noonie said, "My boy is in there in a coma, and you're here on some bullshit. So what's up, what do you want?"
Styles grinned slyly then said, "Your boy is laying in there on some shit about the young man, Parker, who was gunned down by your other boy, Feet." Styles looked in the folder. "Says here he was part of your crew. So my question is why would Feet kill Parker which it seems got Feet killed? Your boss, Slim, must've had something to do with it."
There it was. Styles should have left that part out. Noonie remembered when they were in the club weeks ago when Slim was talking to the waitress. Noonie was there to celebrate the birth of his son and even though he was drinking good getting a good buzz and woman-watching, he as always, was focused on what was going on around him. He remembered when Styles and the other narcotic cops came into the establishment. He kept a watchful eye on the men and saw the pissed look on Styles' face when he saw Slim talking to the waitress.
Noonie's face was inquisitive when he said, "I wouldn't think that you would have to come and ask me those questions. Wasn't Parker your informant? I also did a little digging and found out he was your cousin. Now go and figure that."
Styles ginned. "Why did Feet kill him?"
"You tell me. You're the one who said you're a detective," Noonie said smartly.
The nurse exited the room and told Noonie that he could go back in. She smiled at Styles then continued on to her next patient.
Noonie, who was tired of Styles, glared at him and said, "Look, I'm about to go back in there with my boy, so unless you got some type of warrant, I'm through playing your fucking games."
There was a pause as the men stared at each other.
Style grinned then said, "Go check in on your boy. I'd hate for him to keel over and you weren't by his side."
Noonie wanted to punch the well-built detective in his nose, but simply used his better judgment, turned and went back inside the room.
Styles, on the other hand, was pissed, but didn't let it show. He walked off, and as he searched for Rivera's number in his cell phone he mumbled, "I got your mothafuckin' games, you little bitch."
Rivera answered, "Yeah, boss."
"That motherfucker ain't got shit to say so it's a go, do your thang and hit me back before you make the move," Styles told the detective.
"We're on it," Rivera said.
Styles walked out of the hospital and was as pissed off as he was when he had walked in. He really didn't have reason to show up at Greg's room, but he wanted Noonie to know that he wasn't going to sit by and do nothing about his cousin getting killed, and Noonie picked up on that. But Noonie also realized that Styles was shitty over the fact that Slim was kicking it with Trish.
\*
Lucky shook his head as he loosened his tie. "They say that boy was a firecracker," he said.
"Live wire," Slim said as he fixed them a drink. "We call 'em live wires."
Lucky and Slim were in Lucky's bar in the Bronzeville section of the city. Lucky was sitting at the bar, and Slim was behind it pouring himself and Lucky a glass of Martell Cordon Bleu on the rocks. They had just left Feet's funeral. Lucky had given Red the money to bury the young man. Feet's closest relatives that could be found were grandparents and they were very poor. Feet's drug money was their main source of income, and they had no idea that it was illegal money. Feet had told them that he was working construction twelve hours a day. They were proud their grandson was working and knew construction paid well, so they had no reason to question his nice car or the money he gave them weekly.
Lucky shook his head. "It's all the same meaning, just a different time. We called young folks like him firecrackers, among other things, in my day. It's a shame that boy had to die like that. His people seem like good folk. You know they think he was working construction. Think that someone was trying to rob him for his money."
Slim handed Lucky his drink. They both took a hefty swig to take the edge off the grim situation. The temporary fix would set in within minutes.
"That one soldier, Red, was close to Feet. He knew his people and told them that Feet was killed while being robbed."
"That's good, no need for his family to have bad feelings about their grandson. Especially since the kid was supporting them. I think I'm going to have someone take them twenty grand. Tell 'em that it's from an insurance policy that he had at his job. Damn! Why did he have to go and kill the kid without an okay?"
"Reese told me that the kid and Parker had beef."
Lucky asked, "So why didn't Reese make sure nothing popped off when they found out that fucker, Parker, was a snitch and related to that detective?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Slim said as he searched his mind for the right answer. "What I can't get is that they got killed around three. I had given word for Greg to have him surrender to the police by midnight."
"Why at that time?" Lucky asked then drank the rest of his liquor.
"No reason, I just told Reese to tell them that. Greg was taking him to turn himself in but he's fucked up and in a coma. So until he gets better I won't be able to find out why they left so late."
Lucky didn't say anything. He simply made a mental note to keep his eyes and ears peeled for what was going on around them. He would also have Noonie question Red and Feet's girlfriend. They were at the house when everything went down, and Lucky needed to know who it was that pulled the hit. Their crew was tied in with the two other major crews in the city of Chicago when it came to buying their drugs, and he had to be sure that it wasn't one of them.
Lucky said, "Speaking of Reese, have you sat down with him yet and explained your plan?"
Slim sipped, "Not yet. I know it's going to take a while for him to come around. He loves the streets and thinks they love him."
Lucky's laugh was short, he then said, "Don't that boy know there ain't no love in the streets? No matter how you try to slice it."
"What can I say, he loves the life."
\*
With Greg in the hospital, Reese put Anthony in charge of collecting money from the streets. Reese told Anthony that he could keep the percentage off the packages he collected, which was twenty percent. Greg had crack, heroin and marijuana pumping out of houses all over the south side and had large orders of the party drug ecstasy, flowing through clubs all over the city---especially, downtown and up north. Greg liked to hit the clubs and party and when he introduced the ecstasy at an affordable price to the white club managers, word spread, the partying was on, and Greg was making money. The only problem was, Parker knew about one of the club managers buying the drugs and had relayed that information to Styles about a week before his demise. Styles, having that information, had his detectives watching the manager and when he made a mistake of purchasing some powder cocaine for his personal use, it was enough to pounce on him. A traffic stop and a search of his vehicle produced an eight-ball of powder, and with the threat of going to jail, he agreed to give up Greg when he dropped off the ecstasy. Styles knew that Greg wouldn't be dropping off any of the ecstasy since he was laid up in the hospital hanging on to life by hope and prayers.
Rivera, Spivey and Bates sat in the all black Ford Explorer watching as Anthony walked out of the downtown club. Anthony was still dressed in the black suit, shirt and tie he wore to Feet's funeral hours ago.
"His ass didn't even take time out to change, a rush to get that money," said Detective Bates a young wild white boy who lived off adrenaline, sky diving, racing cars, chasing fast women and gambling. He was good at all the things besides the latter, but then again who was.
Rivera, who had his Evo cell clutched in his hand, said, "Business must go on, even if one of their boys got capped."
"How much do you think he's picked up?" Bates asked.
"I don't know, but the two dope spots on the south side bring in a lot of cash, so we should be catching his ass with a sizable amount."
Spivey, the older of the detectives, said, "Styles said we're to stop and hold him until he gives us a call."
When Anthony neared his Chevy Impala, he used the keypad to unlock the trunk. He tossed the bag inside, shut it and within seconds he was driving away. After he pulled off, Bates noticed a blue SUV two car lengths away pull off and follow. "We have a trail car," he told the other detectives.
Rivera said, "That's to be expected. They're not going to have him running around collecting money without some back-up."
Bates pulled his radio from his hip.
Spivey, who was sitting in the backseat, noticed. "What the fuck are you about to do?" he asked as he reached to the passenger's seat to grab the radio from Bates.
Surprised, Bates said, "You know they're packing serious heat, so I was going to call for a squad car to stop them when we stop the man, Davis, with the money."
Rivera pulled out of their parking space and followed the dealers. He then said, "Bates, we throw the strobe light on the dash, and we flash our badges. Reach in the back and put on that vest."
Bates looked in the cargo area of the SUV and grabbed the bulletproof vest that had a badge and 'narcotics' embroidered on the front and 'police' on the back.
Rivera continued. "Them fuckers are not going to do shit when they see we are the police. If we were stick-up boys then they would be out the truck blazing. Now, let's stop this motherfucker and get that money."
Bates, who couldn't wait to settle with his bookie, who he owed five grand from gambling on the NBA finals, pulled the vest over his head then said, "Let's get this money."
\*
Styles was on Martin Luther King Drive traveling north. He'd just crossed 47th Street when he received the call from Rivera. They had Anthony cuffed and sitting in the back seat of their Explorer. When they made the stop, Anthony didn't flee. They had Barnes, who was driving a separate vehicle, stop in front of Anthony, and when they came to a stop at a red light, Rivera pulled the Explorer next to Anthony with the lights in the grill and on the dash flashing along with a few short blasts of the siren. Anthony's security was about to jump out ready to fire until they realized it was narcotics that'd stopped him. Mike D, who was in the passenger's seat of the security vehicle got out and headed toward where they were pulling Anthony out of the vehicle. Spivey, with an MP-5 sub-machine gun, pointed at him, ordered him to get back in his vehicle and for them to drive off, or they were going to jail. Mike D didn't budge; he was not going to leave Anthony knowing what was in the trunk and what Reese might say about him leaving his boss. But Anthony knew Rivera and what time it was. He knew he and his security didn't stand a chance so he ordered Mike D to leave the scene, telling him to go holla at his lawyer. Mike D, a career criminal who knew nothing but how to soldier, spit on the ground showing his disgust for the police and did as his boss said. To go notify his lawyer---meaning his father, Lucky.
Styles asked, "Everything all good?"
Rivera said, "More than we figured. What do you want us to do with this cat?"
"Keep him there. I'm almost where I need to be. Take a pic of him with your cell and send it to me. I have some business to take care of."
Rivera looked at the small crowd of people watching what looked like an arrest then told Styles, "I think we need to get a squad here and take him to the station. There's a crowd of people, around feel me?"
"Do what you need to do, but send me the pic. Have them put him in a holding cell. I really don't give a fuck about him. I'm at my destination, handle it, but send me that fucking pic now," Styles said as he parked his car.
"Will do."
He noticed the Escalade and the STS parked in front of the small jazz club and grinned. His cell chirped and vibrated. He glanced at it and saw the message. He opened it and saw Anthony Davis sitting in the back seat of the Explorer, cuffed. Styles' grin became a smile as he stepped out of his vehicle and headed to the club.
Slim was pouring another shot of Martell when there was a hard banging on the locked club door.
"Who the hell is banging on my door like that?" Lucky said.
Slim was about to walk to the door when Jamel came out of Lucky's office and asked, "Lucky, do you want me to get it?"
The banging continued.
"Yeah, ask who it is first."
Slim, who was standing behind the bar, edged the pistol grip pump that was under the bar, closer to him and clicked off the safety.
Before Jamel could ask who was on the other side of the door, Styles barked, "Open the door, Chicago PD."
"What the fuck?" Lucky barked. He and Slim recognized the voice so he nodded his head toward the door for Jamel to open it, knowing that no illegal activities were conducted at his club, leaving him and Slim with no worries.
Jamel opened the door, and Styles walked in. The stocky detective had a smug look on his face. He walked past Jamel as if he was nothing telling him, "Close the door, young buck."
Lucky nodded at Jamel, and he closed and locked the door. "Go to my office, and shut the door, Jamel."
Once Jamel was inside the office and the door shut, Lucky asked, "So what can I do you for, officer?"
Styles shook his head, and his smile was condescending. He said, "You street motherfuckers just don't know the difference. I was just at the hospital visiting that little fucker that's clinging on to life and the spic that's in there watching over him like a bitch."
Slim and Lucky, who were smooth and not the type of men who could have their buttons pushed, didn't say anything towards the disrespectful comments.
Styles continued, "The spic called me the same thing, officer, and like I told him, I'm a detective. That means I run shit and can do the fuck as I please. So getting to the point of doing as I please, I figured I'd send a message to you two."
"And what's that?" Slim asked.
"Parker, by now you all know, he was family. Yeah, he was in the streets working for you no doubt---"
Slim found the opportunity to give the detective a jab, so he said, "I heard he had an application in for the department, if you know what I mean." Slim wanted the detective to know that he knew of Parker being an informant.
"That's funny, Slim, but to get to the point, that boy had no family but me, and it cost a grip for funerals and the way you guys sent that faggot, Feet, away was real nice and fancy. Parker, I had to do his shit at the funeral home. Cheap was how he was sent away. So the way I see it, you all owe me."
Lucky said, "Slim, go to my office to my safe and get a nice stack. I'm going to be nice to this officer and---"
"Detective, like I told your spic friend. It's detective, and you don't have to worry about writing that check. I already have the money, courtesy of you two mothafuckas," Styles said while grinning.
"And how is that?" Slim asked.
"Smart having your boy make the pick-up of money right after the funeral. But when you're the police as long as I've been, you know all the moves."
"Get to the point," Lucky said.
"I had my boys pick up your son after he picked up the last of the stash money. So I have my money that repays me for Parker's funeral." Styles looked at Slim. "And for someone fucking with what's mine, feel me, Slim?"
Slim said nothing, trying to figure out what the detective was trying to direct toward him.
Lucky's facial expression hadn't changed. He was a vet in the game and knew not to let the detective see him flinch, even though the detective had struck a nerve in the old man.
Lucky said, "So you picked up my son on some bullshit, you say?"
"You two niggas heard what I said." Styles took out his cell and showed them the picture of Anthony in cuffs. "Now, I'm going to do you two a favor and have him released since I have some money that never existed, understand me?"
"What station is my son at?" Lucky asked in a no nonsense tone.
Styles gave Lucky the information he wanted, then Lucky was ready for the detective to leave so he could go get his son. Anthony was as hard as they came, but he was still Lucky's son, and he didn't want him spending one night in jail.
Styles began to walk out of the club when Lucky said, "All you wanted was the money in the first place and you got that, so let me tell you a thing or two, detective, my hand reaches further than your narcotics office. If you want to jack my money, it's all in the game. But when you fuck with my family or come at my crew over some pussy that you don't own, shit can get funky like an old batch of collard greens. You feel me, officer?"
Styles had begun to walk out of the office but stopped in his tracks when Lucky spoke. He was about to turn around and comment but decided that he'd made his point. He also knew that there would be another day to deal with the hustlers, but for now, he had to meet his partners to split up the over four hundred thousand they'd stolen from Slim and Lucky's crew.
\*
Styles walked in the basement of the Calumet City home where Rivera's girlfriend lived. Rivera had called the young white girl ahead of time telling her to leave the home. A twenty-four year old dumb blonde who did whatever Rivera told her. She was very attractive and had the body of a sista. Rivera had met her one night while partying at the Funky Buddha, a happening night club in Chicago. She was attracted to his looks, but when she found out he was a detective and when he started showering her with gifts, money and a rent free place to live, she was all in.
Sitting at a poker table were the detectives of the crew. They were busy counting the money they'd just stolen. Cigar smoke filled the air and a glass of expensive cognac was on the table. A rap by Lil Wayne was pumping through the speakers, and the men were talking shit as they clutched their spoils. Gambling, women and free spending clouded their minds.
Styles walked to the table, grabbed the bottle of cognac and took a swig straight from the bottle. "What we come up with?" he asked.
Spivey tossed a plastic bag filled with money toward him, and it landed at the edge of the table where Styles was standing. "Eighty-one thousand a piece," he said cheerfully.
Styles walked away without picking up the money. There was a refrigerator in the far corner and he walked to it, opened and grabbed a beer from it. His partners noticed the look on his face when his share of the money was tossed his way. It was as if he didn't care about the money at all.
Spivey knew his partner all too well, and he knew that he was more concerned with the fact that his piece of ass had started dealing with Slim. Spivey was divorced and had a wife and daughter sucking him dry from child support, and all that came with a father trying to please and a teenage girl who cared more for her mother and her friends than she did her father.
The men at the table were drinking heavily and trying to figure out where they were going to party for the night when Styles grabbed his share of the cash and headed for the stairs, Spivey followed. Once they were outside Spivey asked, "Partner, shake that shit. You can take your ass out tonight and replace the whore. Do that shit so you can get your head right."
Styles smiled and said, "You're right. He hugged Spivey and smiled. "We're some of the luckiest motherfuckers in the city. Do what we want when we want."
\*
Lucky was sitting in his office waiting on Tesha to call. He had sent her to pick up Anthony, who had been released by Chicago PD, courtesy of Detective Styles. Slim had been on the phone with Trish. He'd told her to take a cab to his place that he'd be home later that night. Trish, who was falling for Slim, didn't notice the slight sense of urgency in his voice. She told him that she would be there waiting. Slim hung up from her and fixed another drink as his thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. He knew what Styles meant and his mind wondered what angle Trish was coming from as his heart tried to tell him that she was true, but Slim trusted the organ that pumped knowledge and not the one that pumped blood.
Lucky was watching Slim and could see the worry lines on his face and it wasn't from them losing over four hundred thousand dollars. Lucky was about to say something to Slim when his cell rang. He immediately thought it was Anthony, but when he saw the screen of his phone, he saw it was Fight Doctor.
"Fight Doctor, what's going on, my man?" Lucky asked trying his best to sound upbeat.
"A whole lot. I got two fights scheduled for the next two weeks," Fight Doctor said.
"Two fights in two weeks, isn't that a lot?"
"Nah, Jamel will knock them out in the first round. We do those two fights and my man up north has a white boy who they think is the second coming of Arturo Gotti. They are willing to fight Jamel."
"What's good about that?" Lucky asked. His concern was for Jamel's long term future.
"Trust me, Lucky. I know what we got in the boy, and what I'm banking on is that his skills catch the eye of some of the popular promoters that are going to be there watching the white boy."
Sounding excited, Lucky said, "Let's do this, Fight Doctor. I'll tell Jamel."
"Good, good. And let him know he needs to be in the gym tomorrow at six in the morning. I have some things to go over with him and to start the pre-fight training. Let me go, Lucky, I have some things to take care of."
"See you in the morning."
The men hung up from each other, and Lucky stood from the barstool. He told Slim the news then headed to the office to relay the information to the one person who needed to hear it the most. When Lucky told Jamel, the young man jumped up and down then went into a short shadow boxing routine as he told Lucky he was going to make him proud by knocking the men out in the first round. Lucky chuckled at the young man's excitement, telling him to simply win the fight.
"Lucky, I have to get out of here. Call me when Ant is home. I need to get a few things in order," Slim said.
Lucky stood in front of Slim and asked, "I think I caught what the detective was saying to you. Is it the young lady, Trish?"
"Yeah, and I'm definitely going to straighten it out. That and us losing more money. How in the fuck am I supposed to get all of us out of the game, wealthy, if we keep losing money?"
"Handle your business, Slim. But remember, be stern with the men in the crew and gentle with that woman. Don't let your past cause you to pass judgment on the woman if you know what I mean."
Slim smiled at the wise man. He knew Lucky was speaking about Lisa and the negative weight he'd carried toward women due to his failed relationship with her. He then hugged his old friend telling him, "What am I going to do when you're gone?"
They broke their embrace, Lucky nodded out the door telling Slim, "Get the hell out of here trying to put me in a grave already with that bad karma talk." Lucky's cell beeped. It was a text from Anthony telling him that he and Tesha were on their way to their house and that he'd see him in a couple of hours. Lucky nodded his head mumbling, "That boy wasn't locked up an hour and he gots to get some like he's been down for a nickel."
Slim laughed then left the club. Once in his car, he dialed his captain and his lieutenants. He had to get some order in his crew and tighten things up so he could get back on track making money and recouping the money he'd lost. But first, he needed to stop at the diner and speak with Ray. He felt in his gut that Ray knew more about the woman he was falling in love with than Ray was saying, and he needed to know because he didn't want to lose Trish.
\*
"Ray, if you knew she was seeing Styles, why didn't you tell me? How do you think that looks with me dealing with someone the narcotics detective has been fucking?"
Ray who was facing the grill, turned with Slim's plate in his hand. He slid it the short distance to Slim, saying, "Now why you have to go and say it like that? That girl is in love with you, boy. Yeah, she and Styles dealt, but that shit was dead before it even started."
"Well, he's pissed and becoming a thorn in my side."
"Fine as she is, I'd be pissed too! If it was me I might even become more than just a thorn. I'd become the whole damn rose bush." Ray laughed.
"That shit ain't funny, Ray!"
"Boy, I'm just messin' with ya. Eat your steak and eggs and listen while I break down what she got going with that asshole." Ray poured himself a cup of coffee. "Sharon, take over for a moment," he yelled to his waitress.
Ray walked from around the counter telling Slim to follow him as he walked to the corner booth. The two men sat, and Ray commenced to tell Slim about how Trish was a regular customer of his. That she had been for years. Her mother used to come in the place to eat, but then she eventually got swallowed up by a Reaper that went by the name of heroin, leaving Trish to fend for herself. Slim was listening, barely touching his food, and he was waiting for Ray to tell him where the connection with Styles was. When he asked, Ray sighed telling him that Trish was dating a young man from the northwest side who was in the game. When Trish was driving her boyfriend's car, she was stopped by narcotics detectives who recognized the vehicle. They assumed they could get Trish to agree to a search of the vehicle, figuring she didn't know there were drugs in it. When they searched it, they found enough cocaine to put her away for a long time. She didn't know anything about her boyfriend selling drugs, so she had nothing she could tell. That's where Styles came in. After being booked and sitting in a holding cell crying all night, Styles had her pulled from the cold cell and brought to the narcotics office. There was no one in the office at the time and Trish thought that was funny, but when Styles asked her to tell him all that had transpired on the traffic stop, she told him and explained that she was taking the car to her boyfriend. Styles told her that her man had set her up and that the prosecutor was talking about giving her a max sentence and that she was sure to do well over ten years, possibly twenty. Trish was scared, and that's when Styles told her that he was going to do her a favor and let her go. That he was going to talk with the prosecutor and get her charge wiped away as if nothing happened.
Slim took a sip of his water as he tried to control his anger. He knew what game Styles had pulled on Trish. Faked as if he'd got her from under some heavy charges, then befriended her.
Ray said, "You see, Slim. I told her that nigga was on some bullshit, but it was too late. Trish was young and impressionable. It has been two years and that nigga still telling her that her case was tied into an ongoing investigation and that's why her charges hadn't been dropped."
"Ray, did you tell her that he was on some bullshit?"
"Plenty of times. That is, once I found out she was dealing with him. That man has been grimy like that for years, so I knew it was some shit in the game." Ray shook his head. "Look, Slim, I'm going to keep it real with you. That woman loves your ass. Told me that herself."
Slim's face warmed a bit, and he tried not to let it show. He asked, "She really told you that?"
"Hell, yeah. Asked what I thought she could do to get away from Styles."
"What did you tell her?"
Ray laughed. "Told her to keep seeing you and things will work out, that you'll find a way to get rid of his ass."
Slim thought about how Trish was at his apartment waiting for him. His plan was to let her know what he knew and to send her on her way, but talking to Ray changed everything.
Slim had an inquisitive look on his face. "Ray, why in the hell didn't you tell me about Styles and the shit Trish was going through?" he questioned.
Ray threw his hand at Slim dismissing the question. He then said, "Boy, if I had told you that she was involved with that detective you would have never let that woman in your life. You would have treated her like she was the plague. I knew what was good for you, so I knew what I was doing."
Slim looked at his watch then said, "Yes, you did, and I'm glad you did." He stood and so did Ray. "Good looking, my old friend."
They hugged. Then Ray said. "I'm your friend, but you can keep that old shit."
Slim laughed and began to walk out of the diner. Ray called for him, and Slim stopped. Ray said, "Treat her right, Slim. If you've ever done anything for me, I need you to do that. Treat that young lady right."
Slim balled his fist and gave his heart a pound with it as he said, "Promise."
Ray walked to his office and sat for a moment. He opened his desk then pulled out an old worn picture of him and a beautiful woman. A woman he'd slept with a couple of times before she became strung out on heroin, and started tricking. A woman who had a child eight and a half months after he'd slept with her---a child she named Patricia.
"Don't you or any of you niggas question what the fuck I'm doing or you might get slumped, feel me?"---BONE
Bone sat in his basement with Reynard and a couple of his soldiers. They were drinking and waiting for some strippers to arrive. Reynard had just given Bone the word about what was going on in Slim's crew.
Bone, who was dressed in jeans, a pair of Air Max sneakers and a wife beater said, "Them niggas got more shit going on than a little bit." He took a hard pull off his blunt and inhaled the powerful chronic. He coughed, and then said, "You see, that's why you have to have niggas fearing you. When you don't, niggas in your crew be dropping like flies. Any man with balls will try to take what's yours, and me...I ain't havin' that. No sir."
Reynard poured a shot of Ciroc and hit it with a shot of cranberry juice. "Do you think it was a good idea teaming up with Slim and them Latin muthafucka's?" Reynard asked.
Bone patted his freshly done braids that felt as if the hoodrat had done too tightly. He grinned at Reynard saying, "My nigga, I know you're still fuming from getting shot up a couple of years ago, but you need to put that shit out your mind."
Reynard, who was still pissed at the fact that someone from Slim's crew had shot him up, barked, "Nigga, you wasn't the one who was laying in that fuckin' hospital. I want my get back while you doin' this joining forces shit!"
Bone, who is dark as a boot, smiled showing his strikingly white teeth. He stood and walked toward Reynard. Once he was close enough to smell the vodka and weed that was on Reynard's breath, he said, "You know you my nigga, but don't ever question the way I do things." He put the blunt he had fixed between his fingers and raised it to his lips. He took a hard pull then blew the smoke in Reynard's face. It was disrespectful, but it was in retaliation for Reynard being out of order in front of members of their crew.
Bone turned to Kenny who was Reynard's right hand man and someone who Bone perceived to be a flunky. "You feel me, Kenny. Don't you or any of you niggas question what the fuck I'm doing, or you might get slumped, feel me?" Bone said as he glanced at the pistol in his waistband.
Bone's partner, Dre, who had a penchant for killing, stood as he gritted at Kenny to let him know the seriousness of the situation. The one thing Bone didn't tolerate was disloyalty and disrespect and had killed many men who fit in the category.
"I feel you," Kenny said. He was a killer, no doubt, like most of the gangsters in their gang. All the men were either BD or GD---Black Disciples or Gangster Disciples. They were members of the street gangs that rivaled what most of the soldiers who worked for the Fuentes' were---Latin Kings.
Bone grabbed the bottle of Ciroc then said, "Let's roll up out this joint, Dre. These niggas done blown my high."
Bone and Dre headed up the stairs and halfway up he stopped, saying. "Reynard, make sure I get my money tomorrow from the streets. I need to have that Russian his money so we can get him paid and re-up."
Once Bone and Dre were gone, Wiz, a soldier who was loyal to Reynard, said, "Man, Reynard, ain't no need for Bone to be trippin like that. Most of the money be going to him. Shit, I almost got shot when them niggas ran up in the spot when I was making a pickup."
Reynard, who was in a daze as he stared up the stairs, said, "It be like that, my nigga. Bone know what's good. Thing is, we are making lots of money dealing with the Russians, but I don't trust 'em."
Kenny shook his head and got into the conversation, "Yeah, but I don't like teaming up with the crews we were banging with. I done lost a lot of homies to the hands of Slim's people and to them Latin Kings. Now we all in the bed together?"
Wiz said, "For sho', Reynard. This shit is getting trickier by the minute. When I see one of them Latin bitches, they ain't wearing a sign that says I'm with the Fuentes'!"
Reynard said, "Y'all niggas calm down. I'm not feeling a lot of this shit like y'all. Shit, I'm still trying to get at whoever put the lead in my ass, for real."
"Wiz said, "And from what I heard, that nigga Chavez ain't giving a fuck about a partnership, truce or any of that shit when he finds out who killed his baby momma."
With that statement, the wheels in Reynard's head began to spin. He smiled and his demeanor changed. He then said, "Let's hit the club, my niggas, and the shit's on me. Y'all been making me mad loot, and I want to show my appreciation for that and your loyalty to me." He held up his glass for a toast, and the men joined him.
\*
It was late when Slim arrived home, and the man at the front desk told him that his guest was in his condo. Slim thanked him for letting her in as he asked, then headed for the elevators. As the elevator ascended, he thought about how he was glad that he stopped and talked to Ray instead of heading to Trish's like he intended to. A bell chimed, and the nickel-colored doors opened. Slim stepped out on the fortieth floor and headed to his condo. He opened the door and when he walked in, he saw Trish sitting at the dining table wearing nothing but one of his ties. His manhood shifted at the sight of her beautiful body. The table was set for two, and the condo had a nice glow to it from the candles that were strategically placed throughout.
Trish stood at the sight of a smiling Slim. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Welcome home, Marcellus." She tilted her head and kissed him.
Their tongues danced and Slim placed his hand on her waist pulling her to him. He held her tightly and kissed her hard. He kissed her neck breasts and stomach. He teased around her thighs with his lips and between kisses he said, "I know...all...about...Styles."
"I know," she said as she savored the kisses he planted between words.
Slim was on his knees. He turned her around so he could lick and kiss her heart-shaped ass. "It's over with the two of..." he sucked on her ass cheeks and licked at the small of her back. "...you are my woman and I...don't share," he said then licked and kissed her ass feverously.
"Okay," she whimpered. The pleasure Slim was giving her felt so good.
Trish looked down at Slim who was about to taste her wetness. She stopped him. Placed her hands on his cheeks and tilted his head up. He was on his knees looking up at her. She said, "I fell for you the first night I saw you in the diner. I told Ray not to tell you about Styles because I wanted the chance to show you what kind of true love I can give you."
Slim held onto her legs as he hugged her like as if he never wanted to let her go. "I want you to be mine, and I refuse to share you, feel me?"
She guided him up. She was now looking up at him. "I feel you, Marcellus. I want to be yours. I want you to protect and provide for me, and I will love you, take care of you and be there for you in every way imaginable. I will treat you like a king," she told him.
Slim scooped her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom. Once inside he told her, "And you will be my queen.
\*
Trish's back rested on Slim's chest as they sat in the Jacuzzi tub. They had made passionate love twice and were spent. The feeling that flowed through their bodies was true love, and they relished the moment.
"Oh, this feels so good," Trish said of the warm water Slim was sponging on her breasts.
"Yes, it does. It feels so perfect with you," Slim replied.
There was a silent pause for a moment.
"I want to tell you about what happened between me and Styles. I never loved him and he---"
"Don't say a word," Slim said cutting her words off as he put a wet finger to her lips. "I know all of what I need to know."
"But I don't want you to think that it was more than what it was. I didn't want to go to jail. And I don't want to go to jail." She began to get excited at the thought of incarceration, saying, "And he has those charges hanging over my head."
The water swished as Slim brought his other arm up and through the bubbles that were as thick as cumulus clouds, and wrapped them around Trish's thick warm body to calm her. He then ran his fingers down her hair several times as he spoke softly into her ear. "As of right now, don't you worry about any charges. They were bullshit. I had it checked out earlier today. He bullshitted you into thinking that, then played on your emotions so that you would deal with him."
After Slim met with Ray and found out about the charges, he figured they were bullshit so he called Lucky and advised him of everything Ray had told him. Lucky said that he'd call a friend he had at the department and see what charges were on Trish. It didn't take long for the officer to come back with the information, which was nothing. Only an old police report stating that the car was seized, and after an arrest of the owner later in the day by the DEA, he admitted to the drugs in the vehicle after agreeing to cooperate with the government.
Trish shook her head. "I'm a damn fool!"
"No, you didn't know. Let me tell you something. Fear is an emotion that is stronger than any. It will cause you to do things you normally wouldn't do. It can also give you strength like you've never known. You were scared of going to jail, and he came to you as a savior. No need to beat yourself up about it."
"I should have known," she whined.
"Well, know one thing. I'm feeling you and to keep you out of harm's way, I want you to stay here with me."
A smile warmed her face. "After the way I made love to you, I would have figured I was staying the night." She jokingly pinched his forearm.
"I mean, for good. Tomorrow I'll send someone with you, and you get all of your personal stuff. Don't worry about any furniture or a bunch of clothes or your old car. I got you." Slim kissed her on her forehead as he began stroking her soft jet-black hair again.
Trish tilted her head, and they kissed deeply. She thanked Slim and promised to be the best woman she could be. He didn't say anything. He simply kissed her again, then relaxed as he held her and hoped he was making a sound decision.
\*
Slim and Anthony were killing time by looking at television and talking. They were in a two bedroom apartment of an older woman who Slim paid the rent for. It was a place he could go when he had meetings with his crew. The apartment was in Calumet City, a suburb of Chicago. Slim sat on the sofa as he looked at Eyewitness News on channel seven, ABC. The reporter was telling the story of a killing on the north side of the city. Slim looked at Anthony and said, "See, Ant. That's what we as blacks fail to realize. You can kill all you want in the hood when the victim is a nameless, faceless person that no one gives a fuck about. Take your ass up north and kill a white person who means something to someone, and it'll make headline news."
Anthony said, "Everyone means something to someone.
Slim took a swallow of his RC cola. "You're right about that. Everyone has a momma so everyone has someone who gives a fuck about them, but who gives a fuck about some sista in the hood who ain't doing shit? On drugs, whoring or simply sitting on her ass taking up space in life. Or a man who is running around making babies on every block of the hood. The nigga hasn't worked or made decent money in years. Swearing he's on his shit when he's really a sorry broke mothafucka. They don't count as someone who gives a fuck about someone. Those white folks up north are connected to someone who means something."
"I feel you," Anthony said wondering where Slim was going with what he was saying.
"Straight up, Ant, I was in the gym in my building working out. These two men, one a big time real estate investor and the other a stock broker, were talking. They've seen me plenty of times and have never spoken to me, but when they saw me talking and working out with the same financial advisor they used, they wanted to get to know me."
Anthony noticed the grin on his friend's face. "I know you said fuck their asses."
"Hell, nawl! I rubbed elbows with them honkeys like I was supposed to. Shit, the real estate fucker has come in handy by plugging me with people who could help me find the property I've been looking for, property all over the states."
"Making your money work for you the legit way, huh?" Anthony asked.
"A person doesn't last in the game forever, homey, so from my mouth to your ears, I'm putting things in the works to get us all out and paid. It won't be long, either."
There was a knock on the door, and Anthony got up to answer. In walked Reese, Shaun and Noonie. They all showed each other love by giving dap. Once their signature handshakes were done, Slim told everyone to help themselves to a drink.
Slim let the men mingle, and they talked about two things---women and money. It was that way with hustlers, it was what fueled them to do what they do, sometimes one more than the other.
They were all on their second drink when Slim brought them to order. The men sat on the sofa and loveseat, and Reese on the lounge chair as Slim stood.
"I brought all of you here because we need to tighten up on our business. We've been hit for our drugs and not just some small amounts. It's enough to put a dent in our operations."
Reese interjected, "Ain't much we can do when it's the police hitting our shit."
Slim replied, "Yes, it is. We had a snitch in our camp, and that is what brings crews down. Police can't do their job without the help of the streets."
Shaun said, "That's my bad, Slim. Even though that nigga had been around our people for years, Feet, may that lil' nigga rest in peace, was telling me that it was something funny about Parker. I should have been up on that."
"Yeah, you should have," Slim told him in an even tone. "Look, I didn't call you men here to pass any blame or judgment. We are all a chain and a chain is only as strong as the weakest link. So with that said, everyone needs to be strong. Before I continue, I want to know if anyone has any complaints or gripes of the way things are going. Open floor, my niggas. If anyone has anything to get off their chest, let it be known."
Noonie said, "How long is Antwan going to be in Detroit, and what if the Russians find out about us making money on that end?"
Slim said, "Ain't no need to worry about that. He's running shit there making money for us. Money that is going toward a retirement fund for all of us."
The men let out a slight laugh. It didn't bother Slim because that's the way they were. They were all brothers in a sense, and Slim knew the words, retirement fund, sounded funny, so he explained. "The game don't last forever, so I'm preparing for that end. The money he's making us is for all of you. Reese and Antwan, being a captains, gets a slightly higher percentage and all of you lieutenants get the rest."
Anthony asked, "So when do we get it?"
"That's to be seen. I'm just letting you all know that we will not end up like all those fools getting locked up and all their money getting seized. Look at Big Will. Back in the day, he was one who everyone looked up to. He was like the Donald Trump of the game here in the city, and what happened?"
"His ass is sitting in the fed joint doing thirty years," Reese said.
Noonie added, "And his family is out here starving, from his momma to his wife and kids."
Slim said, "That's right. Now that nigga was said to have millions, and now his ass is locked up until he's old and crippled. His daughter is tricking from one petty baller to the next, and his wife got strung out on heroin by some wanna-be pimp. Nah, I'm not letting none of y'all go out like that. We have to have a time line to getting out, and that's why I have joined teams with the Fuentes' and Bone's crew."
Reese, who didn't care too much for getting in bed with rivals, said, "I don't mind fucking with them Russians since we're getting the prices on the low, but coping with them busters, I never really swallowed that shit, boss man." Reese added the words boss man to show his respect for Slim, not his decision.
"We needed that to get the price. The Russians knocked the Italian mob out the drug game and will keep them out, and we control everything. Dealing with the other crews also keeps down killing. Hell, I put Feet's blood on our hands. I feel that the detective had the hit put on Feet for killing his people so we can't do anything but chalk that one up to the game."
The men in the room shook their heads at the fact that they had to let that go. They knew Slim was right, that there was no way they needed to go against the biggest gang in Chicago---the boys in blue. Reese, on the other hand, was sitting quietly at the comment, knowing that Feet's blood was on his hands, but he knew it had to be done. No matter what Slim said, he felt as if Feet could get cold feet and decide to give up what he knew on the crew for a reduced sentence, and that would land them all in prison.
Slim's phone, which was on vibrate, buzzed. He took it from his hip and checked the message. It was Trish letting him know that she was all moved in. He clipped the phone back on his hip, then said, "Speaking of the Russians, they have a package for us."
Noonie said, "It's not time to re-up, yet."
"I spoke to them about the problem we've had with losing product and money. So they are giving me some product on the side. LaTanza and Bone know nothing of this."
Reese chanted, "Mo' money."
"That's right, Reese, and I need you and one other person to pick it up. I'll give you the information, and I want you to take one of these guys, not a non-thinking soldier. I can't have any problems when you meet them."
"Give me the info, and it's done, when?"
"They'll hit me up, so be on call and ready to roll."
"Bet," Reese said relishing the moment to meet the Russians.
Slim expounded more to the men about the future and ways to save money and ways to be smart while on the streets. He also told them that they were earners and while they are still in the game, they needed to get money. That they needed to recover what they lost and to get on the soldiers to make that money.
The meeting ended, and Reese told Slim that he'd take Shaun with him. Slim was cool with that since Anthony had just been knocked by Styles, and Noonie needed to be at home with Chantel since Noonie Jr. was sick. The men left, and Slim headed to his home where his woman was waiting.
\*
Shaun didn't want to meet with the Russians to pick up the drugs, but Reese looked at it as a chance for him to get in good with the men who controlled most of the underworld of Chicago. Just in case Slim decided to get out the game the Russians would be familiar with him and may be willing to deal. It was almost eight o'clock, and the sun was setting as it took them a moment to find the ranch style house that was away from other homes. It was on thirty acres of land, and if it weren't for being in the city limits, the two south side gangsters would have sworn they were on a farm as they drove up the long gravel road that led to the house.
They exited their rented Toyota Avalon and admired the S-Class Mercedes and the seven series BMW that were parked in the driveway. Both cars had a dealer's plate leading Reese to believe that the Russian was an auto dealer. Reese knocked on the door, and to his surprise, a thin built Russian, who looked to be in his late twenties, answered the door. Reese and Shaun expected the man to be in his forties or fifties, but it didn't matter as long as he was connected.
"You must be Reese. My people say you would be a large, well built, man. I am Ivan. Come, come," the man waved for them to enter rustic home.
"Thank you," Shaun said as he and Reese entered.
Ivan said to Reese, "I mean no disrespect calling you a big man. Actually, in my country you would be considered royalty. Big and strong. I would be considered weak because of my small stature.
"I bet you didn't like being considered weak," Reese said as he and Shaun followed Ivan to a family room that had a country feel to it. Several trophies of deer, elk, caribou adorned the walls and a polar bear rug the floor---all big game.
"That is true, Reese. That's when man has to prove himself. I killed my first man when I was fifteen during a robbery of a thieving politician's home. I was sent to a Siberian prison where I learned to be a man."
Shaun added, "Prison will do that to you."
Ivan grabbed a bottle of liquor from the mantle of the fireplace and poured the men two hefty glasses of the vodka. Normally Shaun would have mixed the drink with some cranberry juice, but out of respect for the foreigner, he didn't bother asking.
"You've been to prison, no?" Ivan asked Shaun.
"Yes," Shaun replied, not going into details.
If this wouldn't have been business, Reese would have called Shaun out for lying. He knew Shaun was fronting, that the only time he'd done was a forty-eight hour hold in Cook County jail.
Ivan held his glass up suggesting a toast, Reese and Shaun followed suit. They downed the liquor then Ivan said, "I must admit prison is a bad place to be. It can change a man." Ivan stared into the air. "Ahhh, I still remember my second night there as if it just happened. Two men came to me. Faggot wanting a piece of my young teenage ass. I knew if I let them, then my time in prison would be spent in horror. Every man who enjoyed boy pussy would have taken a liking to me so when the lead man came to me, I played as if I wanted it."
Reese looked taken aback.
Ivan smiled. "It was a plan, my comrade. I was skinny little boy and very afraid, but there was a beast that resided in me. One that I didn't know until that night. When the man confronted me, I kissed him deeply in the mouth. The most repulsive thing I have done in my life, yet the smartest," Ivan said as he, without looking, reached for the bottle and poured himself more vodka.
"The smartest," Reese said.
"Yes, because he let me put my hand behind his head like I was enjoying it and that's when I used all my might to hold him as I opened my mouth as wide as I could and bit down on his throat like a polar bear would do seal. Tear out windpipe. When his partner tried to help, he'd forgotten that his friend had a knife in his belt. It was exposed to scare me. I had grabbed the knife, and when the other man went to attack me, his heart received the rusty blade." Ivan shook his head, bringing himself back to the present saying, "Enough about me. I do that sometimes at the mention of prison, but that memory does keep me sharp."
"I guess so," Reese said as he held out his glass for some more of the vodka. "Let's talk business."
"Sit," Ivan said as he gestured to the leather sofa.
Reese sat on the sofa with Ivan, and Shaun in the lounge chair that was facing the living room. Shaun was nursing his glass of vodka as the two faced each other discussing business, and to his surprise, two young ladies came walking in the home. One was attractive, but the other was stunning. She was wearing expensive jeans and pumps with a silver shimmer top. Her jet-black hair flowed down her slim frame that sported perfectly round thirty-six c breasts that were purchased---courtesy of Ivan, of course.
When Ivan noticed the women he stood, Reese and Shaun did the same.
"Mariska, come," he waved.
When the stunning one walked toward Ivan, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that she was Ivan's woman.
"Mariska, this is Reese and Shaun, business partners of mine. Reese and Shaun, my woman," he introduced.
"Nice to meet you," she held out her hand and shook both men's hands.
"I thought you two were going to club?" Ivan asked.
"We are, but it is early," Mariska said. Shaun noticed that her accent wasn't as heavy as Ivan's, leading him to believe she hadn't grown up in Russian like her man.
"And where to?" he asked as he turned his back to everyone to retrieve the bottle of vodka.
Mariska glanced at Shaun and smiled when she said, "Bon V, you know me and Francine love that place on Saturday nights.
Shaun caught the hint, but wondered if this was a ploy by the Russian to test Reese and him to see if they would consider following up on the hint.
"Have fun and be careful. Now, let me finish with my business."
After pouring themselves some of the vodka, the women left the men to tend to their business.
Ivan and Reese talked more, and Ivan glanced at his watch. The men had been inside his home for forty minutes---long enough.
"Well, let me check and make sure the money has been wired to the account," Ivan said as he unclipped his cell from his hip. He checked the account and all seven hundred and fifty thousand was there. He then dialed and spoke in Russian which made Shaun a little nervous. He glanced at Reese who was calm. Reese always felt that if it was his time, it was his time, so he never worried about meeting his Maker. His thinking was it all has to end someday, and that's why he lived life to the fullest.
Ivan ended his call, stood and then said, "You may leave now, my comrades. It has been a pleasure, and I look forward to doing business with you again."
Reese and Shaun stood. Reese's brow furrowed when he asked, "Uh, you got your end in the tune of seven hundred and fifty K. Now where is our end?"
Ivan smiled and said, "Leave the rental you came in. The two vehicles outside have your product inside of them. The drugs are hidden to where the vehicles must be taken apart to find them. They are also wrapped to where no police canine can pick up the smell. Proper paperwork is in the vehicles from my car lot. Go on, you will have no problems, and your boss already knows how to get the drugs out. His people has done before."
Ivan hugged the men and led them out of his home. Once they were on his porch, Reese told Shaun, "I got the Mercedes."
They were about to drive off when Shaun saw Mariska in a bedroom window. She was smiling at him, and then she waved. She had been changing clothes and was wearing only a lace panty and bra set. He did nothing, not wanting Ivan or the big Russian, who was walking out of the garage to the Avalon, to see him. Once they were on the road, Shaun muttered, "I ain't never been into white women, but I would love to fuck that sexy Russian.
\*
Shaun and Reese had delivered the car to the warehouse as told by Slim. The workers got all the cocaine and heroin out of the hidden compartment of the luxury vehicles. It was midnight, and Shaun had just arrived home. Teresa was sitting on the couch talking on the phone when he walked in.
"Hey, baby," she said as she covered the phone.
Shaun didn't reply. He got on his knees, hooked his fingers around Teresa's shorts and panties and pulled at them. Without hanging up she raised her butt off the couch a bit to ease the taking off of her panties.
Shaun whispered, "Don't hang up."
He began to kiss Teresa's thighs as she kept her phone conversation going and when he reached her love she began stuttering at the tongue lashing he was giving her. He covered her with his lips and moaned as he savored her juices that began to flow, and the vibration was too much for her to handle. Teresa dropped the phone and told her man that she wanted him in her. He stood and she watched him undress. He then slid all of his thickness inside her, closed his eyes, and started to dig deep as he thought about Mariska's and the way she looked in the window. He pretended it was she that lay on the couch underneath him. She was all that was on his mind the past few hours, and it was her forbidden fruit he wanted to take the chance to indulge in even though he knew what risks were involved.
\*
It was now August a month since Shaun and Reese had picked up the drugs from Ivan, and they did as Slim told them and flooded the streets with the good product which brought the fiends out in full force. Shaun had talked Reese into letting him get rid of the ecstasy, and he agreed since Shaun was more of the club pretty boy type and he'd work well with the white club managers they were dealing with. He had people skills almost as well as Greg, who was still laying in the hospital in a coma.
Shaun was in his Lexus GS heading north on the Dan Ryan Expressway. The cut Headlines by Drake was pumping through the premium speakers as he weaved through the light traffic toward the West Loop section of the city. His cell rang, and he glanced at the screen. It was Teresa. He answered, and she told him that she decided that she was going to stay at home tonight instead of going out with Cookie. Shaun told her that he had business to take care of and that he'd be home later. He ended the call and thought about the lie he'd tell her when he arrived home which, if all goes well, won't be until the morning.
Shaun arrived at the 1100 block of West Randolph Street. After finding a place to park, he looked himself over in the rearview mirror to see if he was good. He patted his natural and used his thumb and forefinger to smooth down his perfectly lined goatee that showed up well on his light skin. He reached inside his center console and grabbed a pill. He tossed the party drug in his mouth and washed it down with the bottled water that was in the cup holder.
Shaun walked inside the Bon V, a popular nightclub that had over 7,500 feet of space to party, and the other two times Shaun had been here, he could see why people came to Bon V, which means "Good Life" in French. And with all the exoticness and sex all over the place, Shaun realized he was missing out on something. He was used to a lot of the clubs that were frequented by only people of his race, which was cool to him, but the clubs downtown were full of young men and women, mostly white, who partied hard. He saw men dancing with women and women dancing with women. There were some black there and the ones he talked to, he could tell had money or were on their way to making money. They realized he had money when he ordered himself a drink, gave the woman a fifty then walked off without getting his change.
After about an hour of dancing, drinking and giving a few women some conversation, he'd seen what he'd come for---Mariska. She was wearing a tight black dress with a pair of Jimmie Choo pumps. The dress was very short leaving little to one's imagination.
Shaun bought Mariska a drink, and she told him that she wondered if he was going to show. That when she was talking to Ivan and said that Bon V was her favorite Saturday night spot, she was hoping that Shaun had picked up on the hint---which he did.
They danced closely on the packed dance floor where Mariska made sure Shaun felt her Russian body heat. At one point she had her back to him, and as they danced, she grabbed his hands and guided them up her hips and over her breasts so he could feel what she was working with. The techno cut the DJ was spinning had them hot and bothered, but that night Mariska was simply playing with Shaun. Making him hunger for her and giving him something to think about when the night was over and he was on his way back to his urban world and urban women on the south side. They drank and talked that night. She told him she'd met Ivan when she was a student attending Northwestern University. She stated that she didn't love Ivan that she was with him for his money. She then got straight to the point, telling Shaun that she wanted nothing from him but a good time and sex. That she loved sex with men and women and that she wanted to show him what pleasure was all about. Guaranteed him pleasure he'd never felt before. Shaun felt as if his dick was going to explode as he listened and watch the words flow from her red lipstick covered lips and after another Saturday of partying with Mariska and her friend he was back at the club. Only this time it was with the promise of a night of pure unadulterated sex.
"Bone is no doubt a fierce man, but we'll get him out of the way"---LATANZA
The summer rolled into the fall, and all was quiet with the three crews. They were making money hand over fist, and Slim was glad there were no waves in the ocean of hustling. To Slim, it seemed as if LaTanza and Bone were happy with their arrangement, but word had gotten back to him that LaTanza was thinking of making a power move. The three crews were seven months into their year deal with the Russians, and Slim didn't need for any of them to mess things up. He had purchased houses and land in North Carolina, Texas, Arizona, Colorado and Washington. They were places far away from Chicago, and his plan was for all the ranking members of his crew to settle down and live normal, but most important, safe, stress free lives. All the houses had plenty of land and mixed communities. Slim had chosen Colorado for himself and his love, Trish, who he has fallen for. She has shown him that love is an emotion that no one should be without. They had gone to Vegas, Los Angeles and Jamaica in the four months they have been seeing each other. Slim learned that her dream was to be an executive chef, and he planned on sending her to culinary school next year when he retired from the game. He would then use some of his money to purchase a restaurant for her to operate. He had so many dreams for him and his friends that he couldn't wait for the time to spring it on them.
Cancer was still making a home in Lucky's body, but the strong-willed man barely thought about the life threatening disease. He was too busy relishing in Jamel's success as a boxer. The young man had won nine fights without taking a loss. Eight of them were by knockout, and he had a big fight coming up with the Mexican he'd beaten years ago before he quit boxing. The same Mexican who had made it to the Pan Am games. The Mexican's name was Poncho Perez, and he had a professional record of twenty-one and two. Jamel swore to Lucky and Fight Doctor that the man would have three losses when he was done with him. The fight was in a week at the River Boat casino in Buffington Harbor. Jamel was lucky to get the fight, managing to climb over a couple of fighters who should have been next in line to fight Perez, but after the Mexican heard Jamel running his mouth in a local magazine about how he whipped him back in the day, Perez relished the moment to fight Jamel. The entire crew couldn't wait. They had their tickets and were ready to root their little homey on.
Bone's crew was full of street gangsters and were used to banging. Robbery, fighting, stealing, killing and of course, hustling was their game, but being connected in a roundabout way to two of their rivals left them with not much to do. They would occasionally find something to get into, especially with people not connected to Slim's crew or The Fuentes'. But they were getting restless, and some of them were getting the feeling that they weren't getting their due share. That most of the profits they were spilling their blood for was going into Bone's pockets. They were fed that theory by Kenny, and Pookie, a skinny former basketball star who blew out his knee and got caught with two ounces of weed in his dorm while playing ball at Oklahoma State. Once back on the block on the west side of Chicago while at a pick-up basketball game in one of Reynard's controlled neighborhoods, Pookie was slam dunking and putting on a show. When Reynard asked him to play on his basketball team that played pick-up games in the city for money, Pookie told him that was cool, but he also wanted to get put on. That he knew many cats who smoked bud back in college and someone who could get the green off. Reynard fronted Pookie five pounds, and two days later Pookie was back with his money. From that point on, Pookie was a good earner---on the court and the streets. Since then, Pookie has been loyal to Reynard and would follow him just about anywhere.
Reynard had been approached by a Hispanic man one night who gave him a briefcase with fifty thousand in it. All the man told Reynard was "For you and not Bone. Compliments of the Fuentes'."
Reynard didn't know what to make of it, until he received a phone call from the head bitch in charge, LaTanza. She told him that there was more money where that came from if he was in charge. Reynard was smart enough to know where she was coming from and couldn't wait for her to contact him again. He was loyal to Bone, but there was always room for change. Especially, when the leadership at hand was not ruling the way he should be and may needed to be ousted like the Libyan leader, Muammar Gaddafi.
LaTanza was sitting back keeping a low profile. She knew her sister had her hounds out trying to find whatever dirt they could since she and Carlos killed her father. LaTanza thought it was funny that her sister would always be one step behind her since she had Detective Styles in her back pocket. It was an ace card in her hand, and she kept a good poker face when it came to Detective Styles working for her. LaTanza also had plans of breaking off from the deal with the Russians whenever Chacho decided to supply her and give her his buyers in all the other states in the Midwest since he hadn't been able to find a good earner. He has had two different men in that position ever since he killed Antoine Villarreal for cooperating with the United States government, but the men were found to be incapable of handling the job. So soon, Chacho would have to call LaTanza. He knew she was ruthless and would make money. She only had two strikes against her---she was a woman and black. But like all racial and gender barriers, they would be broken so that Chacho could get back to making large amounts of money in the Midwest.
\*
Noonie was laying on the twin bed sleeping lightly. He had just fed his son about an hour ago and had fallen asleep shorty after putting him in his crib. Chantel was in their bedroom catching up on some reading. Noonie had been a lot of help to her; he hadn't been in the streets much since their son was born. He was a two months old, and all he did was eat and sleep. Miss Joplin told her that most women think that this is the hard part, but in reality it isn't. She told Chantel that when they were infants all they did was eat and sleep. That it was up to the woman to get on the baby's schedule if her time permitted it, and with Chantel being at home all day, it afforded her the time to do just that. Get on her son's schedule.
Chantel had just started re-reading novel she'd read a couple of years ago, an erotica Lies, Lust, Consequences when she heard Noonie's ring tone. She leaned over to the nightstand and looked at the screen. Greg's name appeared. She waited until it finished ringing before she headed to the baby's room. She didn't want the rapping of Rick Ross to wake the baby. She threw the comforter off herself and headed to the baby's room. When she stepped inside, she noticed Noonie sleeping peacefully. She thought about waking him but decided not to. She clicked on the nightlight then turned off the ceiling light. She closed the door partially then headed downstairs to get some butter pecan ice cream to indulge in as she read her book.
"Thanks," Noonie said as he took the ice cream from Chantel when she entered the bedroom.
"I thought you were sleep," she said as she watched her man lick some ice cream from the spoon. She smiled at how the color of the butter pecan matched the hue of his skin.
"I was, but you know I sleep lightly." He grabbed the book off the bed. "Now you know you shouldn't be reading this type of stuff," he said as he kissed her on the forehead.
"You're right because it makes me horny as hell."
"Just say the word, ma. Just say the word."
Chantel reached in her pocket. "Oh, yeah. You had a call."
He looked at the screen then saw that he had a message from Greg. He was about to check it when Reese called. "Whad up, big boy?" he asked.
"Nigga, you," Reese said. "You on lockdown or what?"
"Nah, just chillin'. What y'all fools got goin'? I hear the music."
"We at that new club, get your ass down here. You ain't partied with us in a minute."
"Nah, homey. I'm chillin' with little man and Chantel," Noonie said.
Chantel sat on the edge of the bed. She could hear in Noonie's voice that he wanted to hang out. She thought about how he had been such a good man by taking care of her and Jr. that he may need a break. She wasn't the jealous type and knew that Noonie was hers. She trusted him and didn't want to have him feeling as if he was locked down so she walked to him and whispered in his ear, "Go out. The baby and I will be fine."
She then knelt and unbuckled his jeans. She grabbed a hold of his manhood.
Noonie told Reese, "I'll be there. I'll hit you when I'm on the road." He dropped the phone to the carpeted floor as he felt nothing but the warmth of his woman's mouth.
\*
Noonie stepped inside the club, and it was happening. It was packed with women in outfits that would make a stripper cry in shame and women who were grouped with their girls dressed in fashionable outfits. They were the proper looking ones. The ones who acted sweet or stuck up but get them behind closed doors they were some of the biggest freaks. The men, well Noonie noticed some hustlers he knew and some he didn't. They were rocking the latest fad and sported much ice. There were also men who weren't hustlers, but chasing the same thing---pussy.
"Damn, married man, I thought your ass wasn't going to be able to get out," Big Reese said as he gave Noonie some dap.
"I'm a daddy, not married. Little man is what keeps me locked down. But don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with staying at the crib to help Chantel out. That's what men do!" Noonie replied as he tapped a passing waitress on the arm. "Can I get a double shot of Remy on the rocks?"
Shaun walked up to where the two men were standing. "No need for that, just bring some Heinekens to our table," he told the waitress as he gestured to where Ant was sitting.
Noonie gave Shaun some dap, looked him over then said, "Damn nigga, you checkin' out my wardrobe or what?"
Noonie was referring to Shaun's Antonio Zengara shoes, Sean John white button-down and jeans. Noonie had on the same attire except for his shirt was a lavender color.
Shaun joked, "We need to play this shit like them women do and say 'fuck this shit that MF got on the same shit take me home'!" he joked
Noonie walked off toward the table. Shaun and Reese followed. Noonie said, "You're lucky we're wearing different colors." They all laughed.
Anthony stood and gave Noonie a hug. "How's Chantel and Jr.?" he asked.
"All good, baby. This you?" he said as he pointed to the glass.
"Yeah, just poured it."
Noonie smiled at the bottle of Remy XO and saw why he told the waitress to bring only some beer. Noonie poured a double shot and sipped as they all sat.
Reese said, "We got your locked down boy out the house."
Noonie said, "Okay, kill the lockdown shit. I'm here to get my chill on," Noonie said as he noticed a thick in the thighs sista staring him down. Noonie acknowledged with a smile, but he wasn't interested.
"I know you saw that shit," Shaun said.
"I'm straight. I'm here to fuck with y'all. I mean do y'all thang, but I'm chillin'."
Before anyone could respond, Ant patted Noonie on the shoulder and said, "Y'all need to follow in me and my man's footsteps. This shit ain't gonna last, so we've been preparing to settle down."
Shaun said, "I feel ya, but dig. Y'all know how I get down so I'm 'bout to go holla at that freak right there," he said as he pointed to two women standing at the bar. He downed his shot then left his boys to rap to the woman. One woman was light-skinned, short and thick, all ass and tits. The other was tall, dark and leggy. Her body was of average build, but her long legs and hair are what attracted Shaun to her. Those attributes on a woman were what he was a sucker for.
Reese said, "Look at that nigga, he always going for them skinny bitches."
They laughed and then talked amongst themselves as a cut by Rick Ross blared through the club's speakers. The waitress finally made it with their beers. They drank, and the woman who had been staring Noonie down, stepped to him. The tight Deron jean skirt with a wrap-around top showed off her well-endowed body well.
"Hi, baby, do you mind if me and my friend chill with y'all?" she cooed.
"No problem, baby," Reese said as he checked out the friend who was just as thick.
Noonie said, "We're straight. Maybe a little later. Me and my boys are kicking it now."
The women looked a bit confused. Anthony nodded for the waitress, and she came over. "Give them a round of whatever they want." He nodded for the women to leave.
As they did, they gave a snobbish, "Thanks!"
Reese said, "Damn, y'all may be locked down, but a nigga here to play, feel me?"
Anthony replied, "I got y'all here to talk business. We can play later."
Reese pointed toward the bar and said, "But playboy over there can...what the fuck?"
The men looked over to where Shaun was and saw what Reese saw. Reynard, Bone's right hand man had stepped to Shaun and he looked pissed.
Reynard faced Shaun as he stood in between him and the woman he was talking to. "Shonda, get the fuck up outta here," Reynard said to the woman.
She replied, "Reynard, I wasn't doing shit. He came up talking to me."
Reynard kept his eyes locked on Shaun emphatically saying, "I ain't about to repeat myself."
Shonda and her friend were pissed as she walked off, but knew to do what her man said.
"Nigga, you trippin. Not off the broad, but being up in my space," Shaun said coolly as he swallowed the last bit of his beer and kept a hold of the bottle in case he had to use it as a weapon.
Reynard barked, "Nigga, you know who I am and who I'm with, so you need to watch whose bitch you tryna holla at."
"Is there a problem?" Reese's voice was deep and forceful.
Reynard had seen Shaun's boys at the table and knew they would come to their partner's rescue, but he had to let Shaun know what time it was. Shaun had seen Reynard with Shonda last weekend and knew that it was his girl, so trying to push up on her was total disrespect to him. At the moment Reynard had no help. His partner was outside smoking a blunt with his boy, so he decided to chill.
Reynard stared all the men up and down as he slowly walked away. "There will be another time, pretty boy!"
Reese gritted at him and said, "Kick rocks like Barney Rubble, bitch."
The men walked back as some of the clubbers watched. Some would have like to have seen a fight, but the ones who knew of the men were glad nothing popped off because it could have gotten chaotic.
Reese poured everyone a shot of Remy. "Man, I wanted to knock that mothafucka out!"
Noonie sighed relief, Anthony caught it and said, "Y'all know how them grimy niggas in Bone's crew do. They have their broads bring the heat in the club since the bouncers don't really check them."
Noonie said, "And I left my nine in the car."
Reese said, "No need to worry, home boy." He nodded to a heavyset woman in a jean outfit. "I keeps a gat near me. Them fools not the only ones who got women bringing in pieces."
The woman smiled showing the gold tooth she had in her mouth, sipped her drink then turned her attention to the women who were at her table---women who carried pistols for Shaun and Anthony.
The men drank, danced, and had conversation with women and men. Women who wanted to bed the ballers and men who wanted to be down. Noonie ran into Boogie, an old acquaintance who was an independent, but got his dope from Bone's people. Boogie lived on the west side on Marquette in the West Englewood neighborhood. It's a tough area where Boogie was given the rights to hustle as long as he bought his drugs from Bone. Boogie and Noonie had become tight when Noonie moved to the city from Gary. He had meet Boogie's sister, and they were an item for about a year. When Boogie got jumped while visiting his sister, who lived on the southeast side, Noonie didn't hesitate to help the young man who was on the wrong side of the city. Needless to say, they have been cool ever since.
Noonie and Boogie were at the end of the bar, and once the bartender brought their cognac, they talked over the bass of the rap Thug by Slim Thug.
Boogie patted his small natural and said, "Man, look how these hoodrats and wanna-be gangsters run their asses on the dance floor whenever they play some hood shit."
Boogie was a drug dealer and from the hood, but he was also smart and didn't get into much of the gangster shit. He had some shorties slanging crack and heroin for him and a handful of soldiers to protect what he had. It also didn't hurt that he made money for Bone so if shit got to hairy that he couldn't handle it, then Bone, who loved money, would.
Noonie laughed. "I know, but there was a time when we both loved that shit," he replied.
Boogie gave him some dap saying, "Fo sho!" He downed his drink. "Ah, damn that's some good shit." He set the glass on the bar then said, "You know my sister asked about you."
"How she doing?"
"Straight, besides that buster ass nigga she keep having them kids by."
"I forgot about that fake ass gangster. How many she have by his ass?"
Boogie frowned as he held up four fingers.
"Damn, she's pumped 'em out every year since I kicked it with her," Noonie said surprised. "Tell her I said what's up, but keep it at that. You know I just had a shorty."
"No shit? Congrats, my nigga. So you and your girl going strong, huh?" Boogie said as he gestured to the bartender.
"Yeah, she and my son are my life, nigga."
The bartender asked, "What you need, Boogie?"
"Let me get two more shots."
Noonie said, "I'm good, Boog."
"One more. A toast to your son."
"Ahight."
The bartender poured their shot and they toasted.
Boogie said, "Congrats, but on some serious shit." He looked around then said, "Piece of info from my mouth to your ears, that nigga, Reynard, ain't feeling that truce shit ya'll and them Fuentes' got going on. That's Bone's boy, but he ain't feeling it, and I think that shit that just happened with him and your boy, Shaun, was just to get some shit started. I think he got some shit up his sleeve."
Noonie nodded and said, "I feel where you are coming from. That nigga still feels like me and my boys are the ones who shot him up, so I know he wants some get back."
"That's what I'm saying, but Bone put a stop, or should I say a hold, on that shit because of the truce. With y'all getting your dope from the same supplier, man, money is pouring in. This shit ain't like it was in the nineties when there were so many niggas on the streets selling, buying and using that you could have made a Tarzan movie. But money is being made."
"You got that right," Noonie nodded as he noticed his boys getting ready to go.
"What I'm saying is, Bone isn't sharing like Reynard think he should, so I think he got something up his sleeve."
"Like taking over?"
"I'm just saying," Boogie said with a raised brow.
"Good looking on the info, fam," Noonie said as he gave Boogie some dap.
"No doubt."
Noonie began to walk away, then stopped. He asked, "How do you know all this?"
Boogie knowing what type of rapport he has with Noonie spread his arms and said, "I'm fucking his bitch. Give her some good dick and she's one pillow talking hoe."
Noonie smiled and said, "My nigga."
\*
It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and LaTanza was at the Lincoln Park Zoo on N. Clark Street. She and Carlita were both dressed in jean shorts, low-top K-Swiss and a colorful knit shirt. Their hair was tied in a ponytail and they sported shades. Carlita's by Disney and LaTanza's by Channel. They had looked at the lions, monkeys, pandas and other creatures. They were taking time to eat a snack---hotdogs and a bag of Lay's chips when Fernando and Liza, who were keeping a watchful eye on LaTanza and Carlita, but from a safe distance, joined them at their table.
"This better be important," whispered LaTanza. She looked irritated that she and her daughter were being interrupted.
Liza pulled a stuffed animal out of her bag. It was one of Lincoln Park Zoo's newest additions, a baby Eurasian Lynx, and began to play with Carlita to distract her from LaTanza and Fernando.
"It was Chacho Mendoza's people. They called and said he wants you to call him directly on his satellite phone tonight. They said to tell you it's what you've been waiting for."
LaTanza managed a nonchalant smile then said, "Thanks, Fernando." She glanced at her daughter who was admiring the stuffed lynx. She then said, "Carlita, I bought an ice cream maker. Do you want to go home and make some ice cream?"
"Yeeesss!" Carlita said as she threw her arms in the air while still holding on to the stuffed Lynx.
LaTanza knew how her daughter loved ice cream so she used that to get her to willingly to leave the zoo. She didn't want to spoil her daughter's fun, but she had to get home, make a few phone calls and get some things in motion in the city because she knew what the phone call was about. She had used a connection she had in Laredo, Texas, to set up Antoine Villarreal, the main supplier of cocaine and heroin to the Midwest. She knew Chacho would hand out swift justice to anyone who cooperated with DEA, or the Federalies as he called them.
The four stood then LaTanza and Carlita walked away, but stopped to look at the monkeys, Carlita's favorite, one more time. Fernando and Liza, as usual, were a safe distance away in case the Queenpin's help was needed.
\*
Reynard was stretched out on the queen-size bed. After the run in with Shaun at the club, he and his right hand man, Kenny, left and went to another spot, a pool hall on the west side where only people from that area frequented. Reynard felt like being around his people, but most of all he wanted to pick up a piece of ass he hadn't hit before and what a better place to pick one up at than Tuffy's pool hall. While drinking and shooting a couple of games, he and Kenny noticed two dark sistas staring at them. The women joined them for drinks and a few games of nine ball. The women could play, and hustling was their game. Not pool hustling though. Hustling a dope boy, and with Reynard and Kenny, they knew they had a couple of paid brothas.
"Damn, what time is it?" Reynard said as the light shone through the cheap blinds into Notrie's bedroom.
The woman stirred, but didn't answer. Reynard raised his torso and realized he was still clothed. He shook his head to gather his thoughts. He quickly reached for his ankle then felt relieved as he felt the steel of the small 9mm he had tucked in an ankle holster. He rubbed his temples then looked over at the woman laying beside him and smiled. His mind began to clear. The sight of the voluptuous woman in the t-shirt that had ridden up exposing her juicy round ass reminded him of the night. A night filled with him and Kenny chilling at the woman's apartment with her and her friend while drinking Tequila and smoking blunts.
"My clothes are still on, so I guess I didn't get any pussy," Reynard mumbled.
He stood and stretched as his stomach growled. "Damn, I ain't ate since 'bout six last night." He glanced at the small digital clock on the cluttered dresser. He mumbled, "Fuck, it's two in the afternoon. This bitch had some good ass weed to knock me out like that."
He walked out of the bedroom and saw Kenny who had on nothing but a t-shirt and socks. Country nigga, Reynard thought. He walked into the bathroom and noticed the woman, who Kenny had apparently fucked, had taken a shower and was drying off.
"Damn, my fault. Didn't know you were in here, "Reynard said while looking the heavyset woman over.
"No problem," she said as she set the towel on the rack then slipped on a pair of panties and walked out. Saying "I'm about to cook something for your boy, you want something?"
"Yeah, don't matter I'm hungry than a mothafucka."
"Cool," she said then went to her bedroom.
Reynard's dick had awakened at the sight of the woman's nakedness. Her thick chocolate nipples and neatly trimmed bush was enough to turn him on, so he pissed, washed his hands and face then went back to the bedroom to wake Notrie from her slumber so he could get some. He definitely couldn't be outdone by Kenny.
Notrie finished giving Reynard some bomb head and was slipping the condom on his tool which was rock hard. She assumed the position, Reynard's favorite. Most of her weight rested on her forearms and she was on her knees. Reynard stood behind her and liked the way her round ass shook when he smacked it.
"Oooh, don't be playing. Put it in me, baby," Notrie cooed.
Reynard's cell rang, and he knew the ringtone, so with one hard thrust Reynard did. He stroked his thickness in and out as she moaned pleasure. He stroked and smacked her ass as he enjoyed the sight of his pole sliding in and out of Notrie. He then flipped her over, bent her legs damn near to her ears as he pounded hard touching every inch of her walls until he came.
Reynard rolled off Notrie and she acted as if it was the best she'd had. Reynard was nonchalant about the situation. He wasn't going to lie and tell her how good her shit was. He hadn't made love to her, she was simply a fuck and he didn't want her to think otherwise.
"I'm 'bout to hit the shower. Can you fix me a plate of whatever your girl is in there cookin' up? That shit smells good and I'm hungry."
"Sure, Rey."
Reynard thought for a second about how she'd called him 'Rey'. Already she had a name for him. Little did she know he hated when people called him Rey. Reynard was his name, and that's what he liked to be called. Rey reminded him of his father. That's what they called the sorry ass man who used to hit him for no reason. That is, until Reynard shot and killed him in their Ida B. Wells project home when he was nine. He hid the weapon, sat and watched cartoons, until his mother came home. That's when he whipped up some tears and told his mother that two men came in demanding money from his father then shot him.
Reynard smiled and kissed the woman, who was sitting on the bed, on the forehead. "Thanks baby, "He told her then went to the bathroom to shower and call---LaTanza.
\*
LaTanza was putting ice in the maker as Carlita waited patiently. They had made two flavors of ice cream---vanilla and strawberry.
"Momma, this is fun. I love when we do things together! You are the best mommy in the whole wide world," Carlita said.
"You're my world, and I do everything for you."
"Can we go see Daddy? He's the best daddy in the world and I miss him. I want to see him today. Can we go see him? I wish he was home," she pouted.
Not wanting their happy mood to be spoiled, LaTanza said, "We can't see him today, honey. It is too late, but I think you have a great idea of visiting him. Tomorrow's Sunday, and it would be a good surprise, so how about we go visit, then afterwards we head out shopping?"
The child's demeanor returned to upbeat. "Okay, Mommy. Because I have to visit him, and that will make me a good daughter!"
LaTanza thought about how smart her daughter was, but knew that was a given. She and Carlos were smart so she definitely has that gene.
LaTanza clicked the on switch and the bucket began to turn as Carlita poured the vanilla mixture in and it immediately started to form into ice cream, then her cell rang. She checked the number and saw that it was Reynard.
"Hello," she answered.
"You rang?" he said.
"We need to meet," she told him.
"Name the time and place. When and wherever is good for me."
"I'll call you about six tonight and tell you where. Be ready."
"Is it that time?" he asked.
"Six."
Reynard got a dial tone. She'd hung up the phone because she had nothing else to say because what she was planning had no room for error and that meant not talking on the phone about certain things because there was no telling who was listening.
\*
It was dusk casting an orange haze over the city streets of the near west side. LaTanza sat in her E-class Mercedes as Fernando and Liza sat patiently in separate cars as protection as their boss met with the west side street gangster. As LaTanza waited, she made the call to Chacho.
The satellite phone rang about ten times before a woman with a heavy Spanish accent answered in Spanish. When LaTanza spoke English the woman gave the phone to her boss.
A jovial Chacho said, "My favorite woman in the America. And most beautiful I might add. How are you?"
"I'm fine, and aren't we in a good mood? You must have something good to tell me," LaTanza replied.
"Good mood, yes, I am because I see the future. You, no?"
"It depends on what you have to tell me."
"I want you to fly to Mexico in a couple of days. Spend a day on my yacht---"
"Oh, this must be good if you are going to finally let me on your baby."
Chacho sipped a glass of wine then said, "Like I said, we have things we need to talk about. I'll run them past you and then you return to the Midwest and decide. I think you know what I'm talking about."
Keeping a steady businesslike voice, LaTanza said, "I do, Chacho."
"Good. We've said enough on the phone. Make flight arrangements, call back and leave your flight information with the woman who answers. The next time I talk to you, mommasita, it will be about business."
In her rearview mirror, LaTanza saw a grey Suburban parking behind her and in front of Liza. She made a quick glance to the side and saw that Fernando's eyes were locked on the two men who'd pulled up. LaTanza placed her .40 caliber Glock in between her cream colored pants covered legs. She said, "Will do, Chacho, later.
"Until then, mommasita."
They ended the call, and LaTanza put the satellite phone in her glove compartment as she watched Reynard get out of the driver's side. He was wearing baggy Roca Wear jeans, a white doo-rag, white Bulls cap and an oversized crisp white t that was covering a 9mm pistol that the shirt had clung onto the handle when he stepped out of the truck---LaTanza noticed but knew the gangster packed heat at all times.
Reynard scanned the business district and thought how there were better places they could have met, but it was LaTanza's call, and he knew that if things went, she would set him up to be that nigga, so he was willing to follow her lead.
Reynard sat in the luxury car then extended his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Fuentes," he said using her last name to show respect.
She shook his hand as she said, "No need for the formal. Call me LaTanza." She searched with her eyes for a wire then said. "Let me see your cap, take that rag off your head and raise your shirt so I can see your waistband."
Without question, Reynard did as told.
LaTanza searched the inside of the cap, checked the buckle of the man's belt. She patted him down. Torso, legs then crotch---which Reynard didn't mind. LaTanza had told him not to bring a cell into her car and not to wear any jewelry and he had done as told.
She handed him his cap and rag as she told him, "If we are going to do business together you need to be a little smarter."
A confused Reynard, who had done exactly as told, asked, "How's that?"
"We are around a lot of business people. A business district, so you are going to have to start dressing the part. That hood shit with the negro-rag on your head don't play with shot callers. Understand me?"
"I feel you," Reynard said. The hood was all he knew and was a little pissed at the way LaTanza came at him, but deep down inside, he knew she was right. He looked out at the businesses that adorned the neighborhood that was west of the Chicago River and Loop and knew that his attire could attract attention to him.
LaTanza knew he'd be dressed in the hood attire. It was a Saturday, and there were hardly any business people on the streets, but she knew she'd get her point across to the gangster she was about to get into business with. She needed Reynard who was street savvy and had been hustling for over fifteen years on all sides of the city. He would be useful for her plan. She had thought about using Bone, but knew he was unreasonable.
"Okay then, Reynard. My question to you is, are you ready to be loyal to me? Fuck that I'm leading a crew of Latinos. The key word is I'm. I'm the one leading, and I'm the one who runs shit," she told him.
Reynard said, "Believe me, everyone on the streets knows that. And my people know that."
"Good. And speaking of your people, I've given you six months to find out who's loyal and who you have to weed out." She looked into his eyes.
"It's all good. All that's left is Bone," he told her and she caught a bit of hesitancy in his voice.
"Bone is no doubt a fierce man, but we'll get him out of the way without it coming back on you. Your people just have to know that they can't come at us when it happens. It will look as if he got gat randomly, but it can't come back on my people. A war would be messy. My people would win, of course, but it wouldn't be good for making money."
"Yeah, that shit brings attention to the police."
"And citizens. And they put the heat on politicians, and they are the ones who can shut money making down," LaTanza said as she slipped her sunglasses back on.
"I will call you and let you know what our next move is. Until then, keep everything steady and go with the flow." She put her hand on the gear shifter, letting Reynard know that she was done with him.
"Whatever you say," he said then exited the car.
"Your ass won't be saying that shit in a minute, you mark ass nigga,"---BIG SAM
Reese was parked down the street from Shaun's house. It was eight in the morning, and he'd been calling Shaun only to receive no answer. Reese took offense to the fact that Shaun was ignoring his calls, especially since he'd heard through the grapevine that Shaun was seeing a Russian woman, and the description matched one of the women they'd been introduced to by Ivan as his woman. Reese immediately thought about the young lady, Mariska. Reese knew Shaun's penchant for women and could be a pussy hound at times, but to fuck one of the Russian's women was completely out of the question. It was a foolish move that could fuck up business and when it came to the Russians---killed.
Once Shaun's Lexus came to a halt, Reese drove the short distance and by the time Shaun stepped out, Reese had the Suburban coming to a halt next to him. Shaun jumped slightly and was about to reach for his pistol then noticed it was Reese.
"Nigga, what the fuck? You know you almost caught one?" Shaun barked.
"Fool, your ass would have been got, get your ass in," Reese said nonchalantly while looking straight ahead out the windshield.
Shaun got in the truck and the tires made a quick screeching sound as Reese gave the SUV too much gas. Shaun took a look at his house thinking about Teresa and how he knew she was going to have something to say since he had spent all night out and his lie was that he and Reese were out of town on business. He knew she was going to figure out that he was with another woman since she was in the doorway when Reese pulled up.
Shaun asked, "What's up, you trying to get breakfast or something picking me up in the a.m. like this?"
Reese was steering with his right and rubbing his goatee with his left. "Nah, nigga, but breakfast is something I have to do, but with Slim. He wants to meet with me about some shit. But don't worry, it's not about what I'm about to put on your brain."
"What's going down, nigga?" Shaun asked wondering what was up.
"You and that Russian broad."
"Huh?" Shaun said to get a moment to gather his thoughts and lie.
"If you can, huh, you can hear, nigga. I'm going to say this shit one time and one time only, you pussy hungry mothafuckah." They came to a halt at a stop light. "Leave the Russian bitch alone."
"What---"
Reese kept his nonchalant demeanor. "Don't fuckin' try to play me. You know I'm talkin' 'bout Ivan's bitch. You know what could happen if the white mothafuckahs were to find out that you're fucking one of theirs?"
Shaun knew he couldn't say shit. Every time he met with Mariska, he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but the out of this world sex always made him forget about the forbidden sex they were having once a week for the past four months.
"I feel you, my nigga. That shit would fuck up our paper," Shaun replied.
"Nah, nigga. That shit will leave your ass slumped! Put a halt to the shit!"
"It's done. I swear it's done," Shaun said as he shook his head side to side.
"Good," Reese said as he made a u-turn so that he could head back to Shaun's house. "I got one question though."
Shaun could hear the seriousness in Reese's voice. He asked, "What?"
"That skinny assed white broad look like she can fuck," Reese laughed breaking the tension that was in the air.
Shaun laughed, "Man, you don't even know. That bitch can make you bust a nut without even being up in her!"
"No shit?"
"Fo' real!"
They shared a laugh as Reese neared Shaun's house.
"Man, I used you for a lie. Now Teresa's gonna know something was up," Shaun said.
Reese brought the Tahoe to a halt. "Sorry, baby boy, don't know what to say. Make sure you honor your word. Kill that shit with that Russian broad."
"Bet," Shaun said as he gave Reese some dap then exited his truck and walked up the walkway dreading the mile a minute mouth he was going to encounter.
\*
Chavez walked into the study, and sitting at the desk was LaTanza. He still couldn't get used to seeing someone besides his friend and boss, Carlos, sitting in the high-back ostrich leather chair. But with Carlos in prison, his wife, LaTanza, was the boss and in charge. She was ruthless as was Chavez. The only difference was she would cut anyone's throat to get what she wanted. It was part of her being mentally unstable from years of abuse. She grew up feeling powerless to a man who was supposed to protect her, but did nothing but abuse her, so now that she had power and respect, she vowed to never give it up.
Chavez was wearing jeans and a Chicago Bears throwback jersey. He and a couple of friends were at the Bears' football game when he got the call from LaTanza telling him that she had some important information for him. That he needed to meet with her when the game was over. Chavez and his boys usually would hit a couple of bars downtown after the game, especially if the Bears had won, so they could party. The Bears had beat the Vikings 27-13, but there would be no bar hopping tonight with the news LaTanza was about to drop on him.
The stocky Mexican sat, then asked, "What's going on Mrs. LaTanza? We have a problem?"
"Not anymore. You know that stash house that got hit?"
"The one off 51st Ave.?"
"Yes. Well, as you know, that is the third house of ours that has been hit. Come to find out, it is Bone's people who are doing the hits," She told him.
"Is that right? How did you find this out?" Chavez questioned.
"The one black kid who our people shot, well, Fernando interrogated him. A painful interrogation I might add. Well, he gave up Bone. Looks as if Bone is thinking of getting out of the thing we have going with the Russians," she lied.
LaTanza had orchestrated the hit using some young thugs from the city of Gary who she paid well. She never met the men, it was Fernando who did, and he gave the men the time to hit the stash houses---the time when they were the most vulnerable. The last place the young men hit was a house where twenty kilos of cocaine were being cooked. The men took the cocaine, but during their escape, one was shot and captured. No one was around when the interrogation occurred and that's because Fernando had killed the man so he couldn't speak on them being paid by a Hispanic to hit the house. Chavez was in Texas at a relative's funeral, so he wasn't able to be there during the supposed interrogation so he didn't think anything of it.
Chavez asked, "So what are we going to do about it?"
"I have some things in the works so I won't have to continue to deal with the Russians."
Chavez said, "We have an agreement. Breaking it off might bring about problems."
"That's true," LaTanza said then sipped her bottled water. "But after I give you this information, there will be one less of us dealing with the Russians, so I see it as our opportunity to get out. We'll leave Slim to deal with the problem."
LaTanza held out a manila envelope. Chavez' thick brow furrowed, wondering what she was handing him. He read, and LaTanza wanted to smile when she saw the fire in his eyes swell. She even thought his lips trembled for a moment. What the natural born killer was reading was a detective's report from the Chicago PD. It stated that a man name Jacques Stevens had been questioned in the hit on Chavez's baby momma. The report went into detail of what they had on the young man, but he had a couple of alibis, his girlfriend and Bone. The investigation was filed as a cold case when the detectives received word that the young man was murdered by a single gunshot to the back of the head---execution style.
Chavez's voice was stern, but respectful, "How long have you had this report?"
"Many months," she replied.
"And you didn't tell me?" Chavez barked.
LaTanza dismissed his tone due to the fact that she knew the information would have him heated. She leaned back in her chair as she rested her hands in her lap. "The man was dead, and we were in with Bone so I wasn't going to fuck up our money not knowing for sure. I have paid the detective who gave me that information dearly---"
"Who, that crook Styles?"
"No, a homicide detective, but what I'm trying to tell you is, that the man we caught robbing us, he corroborated the story. He gave up Bone as the one who ordered the hit while we were at war. For you hitting our spots and trying to eliminate Slim."
"How's that?"
"Remember the initial police report? The one that stated the make, model and color of the SUV the killer was driving?"
Chavez simply nodded.
"Well, Bone's plan was to make us think that it was Slim's lieutenant, Noonie, when in fact it was his ass."
Chavez unclenched his fist. He was calming down even though anger still flowed through his veins---a controlled anger. "So what do you plan to do?" Chavez questioned.
"I give you the okay to do what you feel so---"
"I'ma kill him, you can best believe that!" he said before cutting her off.
"You're owed that much. But I want you to know when it's done, you need to have our soldiers on point. And we are going to have to prepare for battle because I'm breaking from the Russians and Slim."
"What about Bone's crew? They'll come after us." He grinned as he rubbed his waistband where his .40 caliber Glock rested under the jersey.
LaTanza smiled, "There is dissention in their ranks. I met with Reynard to confirm that Bone did the hit. He's ready to take over, and they are going to get their drugs from us as we are going to get them from Chacho."
Chavez smiled, "He has come through, huh?"
She nodded with a fabulous smile.
He stated, "It's about time, I like dealing with my people, anyways."
"I'm going to meet with him this weekend in Cozumel to iron out things."
"You run it by Carlos?" Chavez wanted to make sure LaTanza wasn't getting too ahead of herself without consulting his friend and head of the family.
"No, not yet anyway. He would be against killing Bone right now since he and Lucky are the ones who agreed on dealing with the Russians. But now that we can buy from Chacho, we don't need the Russians. I'll let him know once Bone is dead because Reynard agreed not to deal with the Russians."
"So that is our way out."
"Correct," she said as she stood. Chavez did the same as she came from behind her desk and to where Chavez stood. "I ask one thing. No one knows about this. You can let him know why you are killing him but he must die after that and this information dies with him."
"Don't worry, you know how I do."
With that El Diablo, The Devil, was on his way to formulate his plan. He wasn't going to let Bone live past the next three days. He wouldn't want him to die accidently before he could get to him. If Bone was to get hit by a car by accident, Chavez was filled with so much anger and rage that he would dig Bone's body up and kill him again.
\*
Poncho Perez entered the ring wearing his signature trunks that were white with a green and red stripe going down the side with the Mexican flag embroidered on the left leg. He was dancing to a Mexican song as the crowd went wild. Jamel was in his corner hopping slightly and throwing short punches to keep warm. He looked confident as Fight Doctor spoke to him in his ear. Fight Doctor was animated when barking at Jamel, pointing at Perez the entire time. Jamel was focused and knew if he won the fight he would be on his way as a professional. When he was in the training room waiting to be introduced so he could make his way to the ring, he told Lucky that the fight was dedicated to him. Lucky smiled and told him that he loved him like a son and knew that God had a plan for him and that's why he had him as his driver all that time. That he wanted to keep the young man close to him to ensure no harm was to come to him.
Slim was dressed in a Hugo Boss suit and Trish a plunging lace-applique dress by Mandalay. They were sitting behind Lucky, who was wearing an all black Stacy Adams suit and Anthony and Tesha, who were also dressed to impress. Noonie, Chantel, Reese and his date, a thick chocolate woman named Meka, were sitting in the same row as Slim, only a few seats to the right. Jamel, who was wearing a black and white robe, the colors of the southeast side gym, had given them a wave when he walked past them as he headed for the ring, while the song Swagger Like Us blared through the speakers pumping up the crowd who was rooting for Jamel. Jamel was unknown to most fans, but today it was like usual. An African-American was fighting someone of another race and that brought cheers from all the blacks toward Jamel.
The crowd was cheering, and they were ready for some action. After introducing the fighters, the ring announcer called the young men to the center of the ring. He recited the rules to the men then gestured for them to bump gloves. Poncho walked off, not acknowledging the young man who he remembered beating him in a sparring match. Jamel smiled as he headed back to his corner.
When Jamel returned to his corner, Fight Doctor barked at Jamel over the crowd. "That's what you want, baby! He knew he couldn't touch you then, and he can't now. He just showed fear. Don't go to southpaw unless I tell you. Got it?"
Jamel bounced up and down keeping an eye of the tiger stare on Poncho, and Jamel could swear he saw fear in the man's eyes. The bell rang, and Jamel was on Poncho landing two quick left jabs. Poncho tried to throw several different combinations, but Jamel was simply too fast. Jamel kept jabbing and moving, collecting points and making the heavily favored boxer look bad. Lucky smiled, and relished the moment. Jamel was toying with Poncho and when there were thirty seconds left in the round, Jamel finished Poncho off by forcing the running Mexican in the corner and hitting him with a flurry of punches that reminded Fight Doctor of Sugar Ray Leonard. Poncho was being hit with several combinations, and it was obvious that he was much slower and weaker than Jamel. With forty seconds left in the first round, the predominantly Hispanic crowd was stunned. They couldn't believe what they were seeing and neither could the rest of the crowd. No one knew of Jamel, but they were getting a quick lesson. To the boxing experts, promoters and other boxers who were in attendance they saw a young man who they had figured to have been hidden by Fight Doctor's team, but the truth was Jamel was a talent who simply had skills. A young man who'd gone to the streets but was brought back by faith. Jamel and Lucky's chance run-in with Fight Doctor had put the young man back on track to a life of promise.
It was two minutes into the fight when a left hook caught the slower Poncho on the temple, sending him to the canvass, hard. Poncho fell from a punch, and his record fell just as fast---from twenty-one and two to twenty-one and three.
\*
Bone was sitting on a barstool at the corner of the bar cheering on Jamel. The barmaid, whose breasts were too large for her slim frame, set another Bud light in front of Bone as he lit a Newport. One of his partners, Big Sam, was talking his ear off so Bone had to tell him to hold the noise when Friday Night Fights came on ESPN 2. He had a couple of tickets to the fight, but decided to give them to Reynard. Bone wasn't down with large crowds. He'd rather sit in a small bar and watch sporting events such as the Super Bowl, NBA finals even the World Series or even better on the sixty-inch Sony 3D television in the confines of his west side home.
As Jamel trotted out of the training room and into the ring, Bone noticed him waving at Lucky and Slim. Bone grinned slightly, knowing Lucky had to be proud of the former young gangster, and in a way, Bone was also. Even though they were rivals who have come together to make a substantial profit, Bone wanted Jamel to succeed. He liked when brothas from Chicago made it to stardom. Kanye, Common, Derrick Rose and Michael Turner just to name a few. So he really wanted to see Jamel make it because he had a love for boxing, and when it did happen, he would be able to say that he knew the fighter.
The fight had started, and the bartender served Bone another cold one. He'd taken two hefty swallows of his brew when Jamel sent his opponent to the ground.
After the referee finished his count and Jamel was hailed as the winner, Big Sam barked, "Man, that was some bullshit! That's why I don't fuck with boxing no mo'! If I had paid pay per view for this shit, I woulda been pissed!"
Bone said, "It was on ESPN, so how the fuck would you have paid for it, nigga?"
"Man, I'm just saying. If it ain't football or basketball, this is the way shit always goes. Anyway, I was hoping the Mexican would've knocked that lil' nigga out!" Big Sam said as he reached into the pretzel basket and ate a few of the free snacks.
"Just cause we beefed with them niggas for a moment don't mean you gots to run with the Mexican cat over the brotha," Bone said as he downed his beer. He wasn't feeling the bar anymore, so he decided to run over to one of his many hoodrats apartments to blow off a little steam by blowing the young skeezers back out.
Bone snatched his leather jacket off the stool next to him and slipped it on over his long-sleeve Polo. "I'm 'bout to dip out this motha," he said after flipping a twenty on the bar as a tip.
"Shit, Bone, where you headed? Let's run and shoot a game of pool."
Not feeling like hanging with a hard leg, especially Big Sam's no pussy getting ass, Bone said, "I'm flying solo tonight, Sam. 'Bout to slide in some good sista pussy." He slapped Sam hard on the arm stating, "Know what I'm talkin' 'bout!"
There was a pause.
Bone laughed, "I didn't think so with ya no pussy getting ass."
As Bone walked out of the bar, Big Sam downed his E&J and coke. He wiped his mouth and gritted his teeth. "Your ass won't be saying that shit in a minute, you mark ass nigga," he muttered. He then yelled, "Bartender, another one, and change that fucking channel."
"Change your fucking attitude, you cheap liquor drinking no tippin' ass nigga," the woman hissed.
As Bone crossed the street, the October chill hit him, and he thought about how he should have had his skully to keep his head warm. As he neared his Monte Carlo SS, he noticed the lean to the opposite side. "A fuckin' flat!" he mumbled.
When Bone reached the side of the car, he saw that the rear tire was down. "Shit!" he barked then pressed the keypad to unlock the trunk so he could get the jack and tire iron to change the tire.
Bone managed to get the flat tire off and began to think that he should have called one of the shorties to come change the tire while he sat in the bar chilling until they finished. But he was horny for the twenty-two year old who had no problem getting freaky, and knew that it would have taken longer to call someone to do something he could do himself.
Bone put the spare tire on and was standing at the rear of the car about to throw the flat in when two well-built women got out of their car and were about to step into the rib joint when they stopped for a moment and flashed a million dollar smile at Bone. With pussy already on his mind, the fall mini-skirt wearing whores had got his attention. He smiled as they waved, and he was about to speak until he heard click. It was a sound he'd heard many times before as he pulled the trigger on a poor soul.
"Turn slowly, Puta!" Bone knew the voice and he did as he was told.
Bone said, "I thought we were runnin' together, Chavez, what's this shit?" he said as he faced an all black sweat suit wearing Chavez and his best friend, Mr. .44 Magnum.
"We were, but you gots to go, and I ain't with the talking. You took my kids' mom's life, and I've waited for this moment. This shit is 'bout to be better than sex!"
"Oh, so you think I killed your babies' mom?" Bone asked with bass in his voice. He was showing no fear.
"I know you did, and it's time for you to die."
A couple had come out of the rib joint that was next to the bar. The woman saw a hooded man pointing a pistol at another man, and she instinctively screamed. Bone knew the high pitched sound would capture the attention of people, most importantly, Big Sam, who was strapped.
"I didn't kill your baby momma, but maybe I do know who did, let's talk about this shit."
"Your time is up, Bone. Your boy, Reynard, gave me your whereabouts tonight." Chavez saw the worry lines on Bone's forehead. "Yeah, that's right. I know you pulled the trigger and you would have been dead while you were changing that tire, but I wanted my face to be the last you saw. This is for my kids and their momma!"
Bone knew if Reynard was in on the hit, it meant he was just like most street gangsters who played the role of second. If the opportunity arises, they will do what they have to do to stand at the top of the food chain of hustling. It also explained why Big Sam had not come out to help. The gangster in Bone decided to go out like a champ. "You know what, Chavez? How do you think I knew where she worked? I had met her ass, got close so I could kill her, but the week before I had fucked her," he said calmly.
Boom,boom, boom! Bone's body flew back into the street. The three slugs hit him in his chest. Then Chavez walked to Bone's lifeless body and put the last two rounds of the powerful handgun into his face so there was no way he could have an open casket funeral.
With police sirens nearing, a Chevy Malibu came to a screeching halt, and Chavez got in the stolen vehicle that was driven by Rafael. Across the street walking away from the scene was Big Sam. He had a smile on his face as he dialed his cell thinking about the clout he was going to have on the streets being a lieutenant for Reynard. Big Sam was tired of the Bone regime since he wasn't willing to move him up in the ranks. Big Sam had done dirt for Bone's crew. He'd slumped many men and earned much money which Bone was socking away for himself, so when Reynard promised him a spot as a lieutenant, he knew his appetite was about to be fed.
Big Sam shut the door to his old school Impala and started the V8 engine as the person on the other end of the phone answered the phone. "Yeah."
"It's done, my guy," Big Sam said as he watched the first and then the second Chicago PD patrol car show up on the scene.
"Positive?" Reynard asked. He needed to know for sure before he made his next move.
Big Sam drove past a patrolman who was talking into his portable radio as he used his other hand to check Bone's vital signs. "Deader than a motherfucker," Sam told his boss.
"I'll get with you tomorrow. You did good, my nigga. Or should I say lieutenant?"
"Bet," was all Big Sam said, then turned the volume up on a cut by Drake.
\*
LaTanza loved the way the eighty-nine degree heat felt as she stepped out of the shuttle bus and walked toward her hotel. Fernando and Liza were by her side and when they reached the front desk of the luxury hotel, Fernando took care of the reservation. The three of them had separate rooms, and they were adjoining rooms on the top floor. LaTanza was in Mexico to meet with Chacho to iron out the details of their deal. She was hoping that Chacho would show her the same love that he showed Villarreal which was as many kilos as he could move. LaTanza had things set up in all the states in the Midwest. The money their family would bring in would be astronomical, and she was ready to reach for the stars.
LaTanza was happy to be in her room. She stretched out on the bed and thought about taking a nap before meeting with Chacho. That was interrupted with a knock on the door---Fernando. LaTanza let her bodyguard in, and he gave her the news she was looking for, Chavez had killed Bone. He was no longer the leader of the BDs. It was now Reynard, and LaTanza controlled Reynard.
LaTanza managed to take a nap, and night was falling in Cozumel, the east coast island of Mexico. LaTanza and Liza were sitting in the lobby of the hotel waiting for Chacho when one of his men appeared before them stating he had a boat at the edge of the pier to take them to Chacho's yatch that was sitting in the crystal clear waters two miles off the western coast. Chacho had told LaTanza he didn't want Fernando coming with her. It was okay for Liza, but he didn't want the male on his yatch. LaTanza didn't care as long as they ironed out a deal that she was comfortable with. She also knew the kingpin was going to try to sleep with her, but she wanted no part of it---that is unless it would seal the deal.
\*
Slim and Trish were at Lucky's house along with everyone else who was at the fight the night before. Miss Joplin had cooked a meal that consisted of southern fried chicken, beans and rice, rib tips, fried corn, greens and more. Of course, there was plenty to drink, non-alcoholic and alcoholic. Music played and everyone was mingling and among all the men was the buzz of the way Jamel had knocked the man out before. Everyone was waiting for Jamel and Lucky to show. They had some business to take care of downtown at the office of a well-known promoter, and it was taking longer than expected.
The basement was huge and had an open floor plan. The floor was tan bamboo linoleum throughout with expensive rugs in several places. The walls were white and covered with various art and portraits. The bar was on the opposite end of the basement, and that area was a bit more like a sports bar. Poster art and jerseys of various athletes, some signed, were hanging on the walls. An eighty-inch television was in that area as well, and that's where most of the men were. They were downing beers and shooting the shit about the Bears, Bulls and other teams, but the main topic of discussion was Jamel. Anthony had a DVD made of all of Jamel's fights and training and had a mini-movie made by a professional, and he was going to play it once Jamel and Lucky showed.
At the other more conservative end of the basement, Slim was sitting on the loveseat with Trish answering questions of who was who as she looked through one of the photos albums Lucky had on the end table. She came across a picture of Noonie and another young man. "Wow, is this you?" Trish asked as she turned the photo album around so Noonie who was sitting on the couch with Chantel, could see.
"Damn, I look little skinny," Noonie said as he leaned toward the picture to get a good look at it.
"And young, but cute baby," Chantel cooed then kissed her man on the cheek.
Trish asked, "Who's the other guy?"
There was a pause. Noonie leaned back then said, "That was my best friend, DC. We grew up together."
"Where is he? Does he live far away or something?" Trish asked. She didn't mean anything by the question, and she definitely had no idea what had transpired between DC and the crew. He had brought the police in and caused them to lose money, and even worse, some lives were lost in their crew, and Slim had ordered Noonie to kill him---the one street decision that haunts Slim to this day.
Noonie said, "Nah, he's dead. Someone killed him." Noonie leaned back on the couch and downed his glass of Ciroc on the rocks.
In a softened tone, Trish said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just saw how happy you two looked."
She was correct. They were on a boat on Lake Michigan holding a fishing rod and four King Salmon weighing over twenty-pounds each. They were smiling like brothers, and the love showed.
Anthony interrupted them, and Slim was glad that he did because tension was starting to creep into their space. "Slim, Miss Joplin needs your help."
Slim headed up the stairs with Anthony behind him. Once they arrived upstairs, Anthony directed Slim to Lucky's study.
"What's going on, Ant?" Slim asked.
"I'll tell you when we get in the office."
Once inside the office that was furnished with expensive wood and leather furniture, the men stood in front of Lucky's desk, and that's when Anthony gave Slim the news.
Slim had a serious look on his face when he asked, "Okay fam, what's going on that you have to pull me behind closed doors?"
"I got a call from Baby G. He said he heard that Bone was killed last night."
"What? How?"
"Blasted while outside a bar on the west side. They say he was in there watching the fight and drinking. He left and wasn't drunk. Had a flat tire and when he was fixing it, a hooded man, who everyone thinks was Hispanic, gunned him down."
Slim blew a breath of relief and smiled.
Anthony said, "Damn, I thought you would be pissed, he was in with you and the Russian."
"Oh, I'm going to have to deal with that, and I will. I was nervous because I thought you were going to give me some bad news about Greg, and Lucky's not here yet, and neither he nor Jamel answered my call or text."
"I forgot to tell you, he called Miss Joplin on the house phone. She said they were running late and that they were bringing Fight Doctor with them and some good news. Also, it's the same about Greg. Noonie knows more. He's the one who sits at the hospital most of the time."
"Okay, keep me posted on Greg. And no shit? They were meeting with that promoter so maybe it's some good news."
"I bet it is. So what do we do about the Bone situation?" Anthony asked.
"Nothing, tonight that is. If he got killed last night, I wonder why we haven't heard something until now. Why wouldn't his man, Reynard, be trying to reach out trying to find out who hit their boss?"
"I was wondering the same thing," Anthony said as he nodded his head.
Slim said, "Call and have all of our spots shut down for the night."
"All of them?" Anthony questioned making sure he'd heard Slim correctly.
"Yeah, just until tomorrow night. We don't know what's going on. I'll call LaTanza and see if I can get in touch with Reynard. He's the one in line to take over, right?"
"As far as I know. That's the way that gang shit work."
"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of because it might mean that Reynard had him hit."
"You think he'd do something like that?"
"The head of those gangs make a lot of money. It's the way it's structured so Reynard may have had him knocked off. You never know. Now I have to see how I'm going to play the co-op. I'm not feeling fucking with Reynard."
"Then we're going to have to pay his share to the Russians. That's a nice chunk to take over, Slim."
"I know, and that will mean it will take longer for me to reach my goal to get us out of this life. It's like it's no way out," he said as he headed for the door.
\*
LaTanza was sitting on a plush leather lounge chair and Liza the bar stool. They were both wearing bikini swimsuits and cover-ups that were see-through. LaTanza had schooled Liza to talk only when talked to, that she was there only because Chacho had requested. Liza was her bodyguard, but Chacho made them wear bikinis so they had nowhere to put a pistol. He liked being around beautiful women and the two who had come aboard his yacht were that.
Chacho entered the room and waved for the man, who was armed, behind the bar to leave him and his guests alone. Chacho was wearing beige linen pants and his white linen shirt was open exposing his girth, salt and pepper chest hairs and the gold medallion of St. Christopher that hung on his chest.
"Ladies, sorry to keep you waiting, but I was on a very important call." He walked to LaTanza, and she held out her hand. He kissed the back of it then went to Liza. He did the same but held onto her hand and looked her body over. Without taking his eyes off her hip area, he said, "LaTanza, if I would have known your bodyguard was so beautiful, I would have agreed to deal with you a long time ago."
"If I would have known that's all it would have taken, I would have sent her ass here months ago on a one way ticket."
Liza twisted her lips at LaTanza for her comment, and LaTanza shook her head as if to say she was just kidding.
"Well, I got confirmation that the black guy was killed. So their new leader is in with you now?" Chacho said as he poured himself a drink.
"Everything is set. Now all I need is the product."
"Ah, so you are ready for real money. Have you talked to Slim about pulling out of your deal with the Russians?"
LaTanza shook her head. "Not yet, I plan on doing that when I receive the product from you. I can't tell him I'm done dealing with him and you don't hold up your end."
Chacho's laugh was gruff like his voice. Years of heavy cigar and cigarette smoking could do that to one's voice. "Smart woman. Your drugs are in the States, and I will tell you when and how to get them. The first load is on consignment. After that you pay me, and we continue to deal. We will iron out the details over dinner at my home, but for now, I want to party," he said as he smiled.
Calmly, LaTanza asked, "What type of partying are you talking about?"
"I want her," the drug lord said as he pointed to Liza.
LaTanza smiled. "Okay, and what am I to do while you do your thing?"
"Sit there and drink. What, do you want to watch?"
Liza showed her nervousness and finally spoke, "I don't think, I mean..."
"Senorita, it's sex or your life. I don't know you and you are new security for Mrs. Fuentes---"
"Yes, I'm Carlos' cousin, and he asked me to watch his wife's back and that's it."
Chacho laughed, "I don't give a fuck about who, what, where, when, or how. You are floating in Mexican waters where sharks and other carnivorous creatures make their home. So, unless you want to become fish food, you will let me in between those pretty tanned Spanish thighs, unless you are the police."
Liza looked at LaTanza whose facial expression told her that she'd better start undressing. Liza womaned up and did what she had to do, and during the entire act, she felt the worst part was LaTanza sitting there totally tuned out to what was happening.
Once Chacho was finished, he and the two women were shuttled back to land on the same speedboat they were brought there on. They were to iron out the details of their new partnership, and LaTanza was getting horny. She couldn't help the fact that when she made power moves her hormones were triggered, making her want to have passionate sex, and that's the reason she'd brought Fernando along.
\*
Lucky, Jamel and Fight Doctor entered Lucky's home. Fight Doctor knew how Lucky was able to purchase the thirty-nine hundred square foot home but didn't dwell on it. He knew his friend had a good heart, and the way he got Jamel out of the game and back into boxing was something he knew no one else would have been able to do, so he appreciated that of Lucky.
As the men passed by the kitchen, Miss Joplin said, "It's about time. You had everyone worried."
Tesha hugged Lucky and congratulated Jamel with a big hug and kiss on the cheek. She was introduced to Fight Doctor by Lucky, then she took their coats and hung them up. The men headed to the basement so they could tell everyone the news of a promoter getting Jamel a fight with a number two ranked fighter since his opponent dropped out because of a hand injury sustained while training.
Everyone was cheering the words, champ, champ, champ as Jamel entered the basement, and that brought a big smile to his face. Lucky had a smile on his, also. Hugs and handshakes came Jamel's way, letting him know how proud everyone was of him. He realized that this was the type of love a man was supposed to receive. It was easy for him to sell drugs because that's what addicts craved and would do anything to get it. It was easy to pull a trigger after the first time, because usually on the streets, it's either you or the man on the other end. But when the hard work of training paid off with victories and people congratulating you for all the work you have put in, it was gratifying.
Anthony was sipping a beer, and Jamel, water, as they stood next to each other. Anthony pointed the remote toward the huge television, and in an instant the movie began playing. It started out with Jamel training and Fight Doctor who was barking at him like a chained junkyard dog. Lucky glanced at Fight Doctor, who was holding a healthy glass of Jack and Coke in his hand, and saw the smile on his face. The truth was that even though all the people in the basement were part of a crew that did dirt, Fight Doctor could feel the love, and that was something Jamel was going to need to make it to the top.
The DVD continued to play, showing more clips of training, talking with his trainer and the fighting. There was also a clip of Jamel and Lucky in the training room when Jamel told Lucky that he was fighting to make him proud.
Reese grabbed Jamel by the neck with one of his muscular arms, telling him, "Sensitive ass nigga!" He then hugged Jamel. "I'm just fucking with you, baby boy. That's some for real shit, and I like that. Keep your head on, and make all of us proud."
Everyone chatted and kicked it. They were eating Miss Joplin's food and enjoying the party. There was not a care in the world to them, and they all thought that life couldn't get any better. Slim was standing at the end of the bar sipping his cognac watching the scene unfold and couldn't imagine anything happening to his family. And that's what they were, family. He watched as Fight Doctor mingled and seemed to be enjoying himself. He knew of Fight Doctor's dislike of the game they were all in, but knew Fight Doctor couldn't deny the love they all had for each other, even though they were doing wrong, and Slim was trying to find a way to right that wrong. Tesha and Chantel were walking around with a tray filled with champagne flutes, serving everyone. Lucky had told them he and Fight Doctor wanted to propose a toast, so they got everything ready.
Lucky got everyone's attention then said, "I want to thank everyone who has supported Jamel. I asked everyone to let him be so he can train since my friend, Fight Doctor, is going to put him through a rigorous training program that will call for Jamel's undivided attention. And as you all saw last night, good training is starting to pay off." The basement erupted with cheers. Lucky quieted them, then gave the floor to Fight Doctor.
"Well, I don't have much to say but that I'm proud of this young man. Has worked so hard to get to where he is, and Lucky and I wanted to tell you all that he just signed to fight the number two ranked fighter in the world." The cheers were louder than before. When they quieted, he continued. "I too want to thank you all for keeping Jamel focused, and I, hope that you will continue because this is a family that he needs, and when he wins, you all win." Fight Doctor took the bottle of water from Jamel's hand, and on cue, Tesha handed him a glass of champagne. Fight Doctor nodded toward his fighter and said, "Go ahead, you deserve it."
Noonie yelled, "Cause after tonight it's back to water, orange juice and Gatorade!"
They all laughed, toasted and enjoyed the moment.
\*
Liza took a long hot shower and cleaned her vagina as best she could. She had been in an uncompromising situation. If she didn't have sex with the drug lord, she would have surely been killed. When she signed up for the job, she knew that she would be alone without any help and would have to make decisions to keep herself alive---and tonight she made one. She decided that she'd listen in on LaTanza and Fernando as she dried off and dressed. When she turned on the listening device, she could hear moaning and groaning. The two were having sex, so she stopped listening and fixed herself a drink and sent an email to the FBI. Her supervisor would be pleased with the information she was sending and all she could think about was how she was going to move up in the ranks of the bureau. This was her dream, and she had no problem erasing the sex she'd just had out of her mind, but would remind the kingpin of it when she slapped the cuffs on him.
"Don't get it twisted, baby. Fear has never pumped through these veins."---SLIM
Slim was sitting in De Cero, a modern day tanqueria on West Randolph Street. It was an upscale Mexican restaurant where 'fresh' was the standard. Slim had heard of the restaurant but had never eaten there and when LaTanza suggested to meet there for lunch, he agreed. He and Reese met Chavez and her outside the establishment, and they entered together. Slim and LaTanza were well-dressed in the latest designer fashions. Reese and Chavez weren't dressed hood, nice jeans and casual shirts were their attire. The four sat. Chavez and Reese ordered Tequila, Slim, water and LaTanza, a pineapple jalapeño margarita. Once the drinks came, they told the waitress they needed a moment before they ordered. Once she left, Slim didn't waste any time getting to the point.
"What happened to Bone is a shame, and from what I hear your boy had something to do with it." Slim nodded toward Chavez, and the Mexican's grin was evil.
Reese could tell by the look in Chavez's eyes that he was Bone's killer.
LaTanza said, "You heard? People talk a lot so you shouldn't listen to everything they say."
Slim asked, "Is it true?"
Chavez interrupted, "Is it true that civilians are untouchable in this game?" His voice had become harsh.
Slim answered, "That is true. They are to be untouched."
Reese added, "There are always casualties of war.
Slim wished Reese would have kept that comment to himself because he was sympathetic to Chavez's babies' momma getting killed and knew the comment would only infuriate the killer.
Chavez smirked as he glared at Reese while directing his words to Slim. "That is true what your boy here says about casualties of war. I hear you got a new girlfriend that used to live in my part of the city. It would be a shame if she became what you say, Reese, 'a casualty of war'."
"I'm going to give you a pass on that indirect threat, but choose your words carefully, partna, when talking to me," Slim said calm manner but firm voice.
LaTanza interrupted the testosterone-filled conversation saying, "Relax men, we are here about business. Now Slim, I don't have much time. My daughter has a play that she's in that I'm not going to miss." She sipped her drink. "Like I stated to you yesterday, we are willing to pay the share we would owe Dmitri. You give it to him, and we are on our own."
Before Slim could answer, the waitress arrived with their food. She set the tray down with the assortment of various tacos that were made with fresh ingredients. LaTanza had a chipotle chicken, Chavez, a chorizo potato taco, and Reese, a battered catfish with Mexican slaw taco. Slim touched his food and as soon as the waitress was gone he said, "Well, you need to come with me to meet with Dmitri, that would be the best way to do business."
She smiled, "Aw, Slim, you need me to hold your hand. Don't tell me you're afraid of the Russians?"
"Don't get it twisted, baby. Fear has never pumped through these veins. There is a correct way of doing business. Besides, we have to iron out what we are going to do about Bone's share?"
"That's not my concern," LaTanza said between bites."
Slim smiled. He knew LaTanza figured he didn't know about Reynard and her getting in bed together. Noonie received the information from Boogie last night, and Slim had figured out what was going down. He was having the meet with LaTanza, a standard procedure, and to see how she was going to play it.
Slim said, "It is a concern to both of us since the three of us are in business together."
"Things change, Slim."
"Just like that, huh?"
She simply shrugged her shoulders.
Slim smiled, "So, you tell your boy about the card you have been holding for months? He kills Bone and you have the man you want in charge of the BDs so you can pull his strings like a puppet."
LaTanza wiped her mouth. Sipped her drink then said, "I saw a business opportunity and took it. Slim, I'm not a gangster, and I don't get into that shit. I'm a businesswoman, and my only concern is what benefits my family. I chose to pull out and have my own connect. You made friends with those Europeans so you deal with it."
Reese said, "So, is it back to the way it was? Because if it is, once we leave this table---"
Slim raised his hand for Reese to keep quiet.
"I'll deal with the Russians, and I will contact you for what you owe. How things play out when I meet them, it is what it is. When I walk away from this table, your territories are yours and mine are mine. If your people are in our areas, then it is what it is," Slim told her as he stood and threw a fifty on the table.
Chavez smiled, "Like the good old days."
Reese stated, "Gangsta, gangsta homeboy."
Once back in their car, Slim told Reese that he was going to have to learn when to talk and when to listen. His point of the meeting was to get them to pay half of Bone's share, but the gansta talk will cut any civil talk to shreds.
Reese stated that the meeting was pointless, that the Fuentes' had made up their minds. Slim didn't say anything. He knew there was a Fuentes who would not be agreeing to this, and he was going to have Lucky pay him a visit to see if he could get some order in his crew and put a leash on his pit bull of a wife.
\*
Lucky had taken a trip south on Highway 41 to the Terre Haute Federal Penitentiary in Indiana. He and Jamel were led into the visiting room. Lucky told Jamel, "I'm going to get Carlos to put someone else on his visiting form so you won't have to drive me here."
"Lucky, I don't mind. I don't train with Fight Doctor on Sundays. I run five miles, but I can do that when we get back," Jamel told him.
"That's not the point. You coming with me to the penitentiary contradict what I told everyone. This is part of the game, and I don't need you in it."
"I got ya, Lucky."
The guard brought Carlos Fuentes into the visiting room. The khaki prison uniform fit him well. He was on the slim side and in good shape. He smiled when he saw his Lucky. Carlos' smile was wide, and he gave Lucky a hug stating, "What brings you here unannounced?"
"I'm going to get right to the point because you never know when visits can get cut short," Lucky replied.
"True, true, what's on your mind?"
"With all due respect, your crew. Your wife to be exact."
Lucky paused to study Carlos' face.
Carlos sighed and ran his fingers through his jet-black wavy hair.
"Lucky, do you know how hard it is to run things from in here?"
"Carlos, it's hard enough on the outside, so I can't imagine."
"You know, Lucky, when you are on the streets and have more money than the next man it usually means that you have more power. That is why people are not happy with sharing."
Lucky shook his head, "I know that's right."
"I wanted my people to make money and get out. The people close to me. My wife meant everything to me. My daughter means everything to me."
Lucky caught the word meant and noticed he left his wife out at the end of his statement.
"Let me tell you a story, Lucky."
Carlos began by telling Lucky that he'd found out that LaTanza had his father killed and him imprisoned. At first he didn't believe it, but then he was given solid proof. For weeks he seethed on the fact that he'd been deceived and he was about to have his wife killed, but in his heart he still loved her, even though that was not enough to keep him from killing her, it was the fact that he didn't want it to ever be found out by his daughter that he had killed her mother. So he figured he'd deal with her in a different way. Carlos told Lucky that he needed to be careful. With the Fuentes' joining forces with the BDs, now that Bone was deceased, it would be hard for Slim and him to fight them both. Lucky knew this to be true, but knew his crew was not to be underestimated. Carlos said he was against his crew purchasing their drugs from the kingpin, Chacho, but his crew was Latin and they didn't like the fact they were purchasing their drugs from Russians, especially with Slim being the contact.
When it was all said and done, Carlos told Lucky that his days were numbered as the head of the family, that if shit got fucked up, he needed to talk to Chavez, that no matter what, he was loyal. That they were like brothers, and nothing, not even all the money in the world, could change that.
The guard came over to them stating that the visit was over.
They stood and Lucky asked, "How did you find out?"
Carlos smiled. "My lawyer and the U.S. Attorney. The feds had my wife's bodyguard under surveillance. It seems that someone back in New York knew the relatives he used to put a hit on my father. With their surveillance and phone tap, they found out he paid his cousins from the Bronx to do the hit. They also found out he and my wife are sleeping together. Said that she only sleeps with him to manipulate him. But nevertheless, he has betrayed me in the worst way. They both have."
Lucky gave Carlos a hug. "Be strong, my friend."
"I will." He motioned toward Jamel then said, "Helluva fight. May God be with you."
Jamel said, "Thanks, Mr. Fuentes."
Carlos told Lucky, "Until the next visit."
He walked to the guard who escorted him out of the visiting room. As he walked, he thought about the woman he told his wife and Chavez he wanted to help guard her. A woman he told them was his cousin. The feds had all the necessary paperwork, IDs and former address set up for Tonia Silva, whose undercover name is Liza.
\*
Night had come faster than Slim expected. Fall had a way of doing that. Slim and Reese pulled into the parking lot of Dock's, a seafood carryout restaurant on 89th Street and the Dan Ryan Expressway. Reese parked the truck next to a custom painted light blue Toyota Rav-4. Elisa exited the truck and got inside Reese's Tahoe and sat in the seat behind Reese.
"Elisa, my girl, how's everything?" Slim asked.
In her raspy voice she said, "Everything is everything, Slim. Noonie hit me up. Told me that shit has changed. So we're not getting that good shit no mo'?" she asked speaking on the high quality drugs they were getting from the Russians.
"We're still good. That's what I want to talk to you about. I need you and your girls to step up your game. The streets think y'all independent and I like it that way, but that will bring all types of niggas trying to come at you. If I claim you as a part of our crew, I need to get a better percentage."
Concerned, she said, "Don't hurt me too bad, baby. A nigga needs her money, you know how I am."
"And you know I'm fair. I'm willing to make you a lieutenant. You work for me and answer to Reese, and it will be all good. We all eat, feel me?"
She nodded and her grin showed her excitement. "Fo sho, Slim. We got you, and my girls will get that work off. If there are fiends out there, they will get sold to."
"Good. Reese will get with you tomorrow. If you need some hardware, let him know because you're going to need to tool up. We're no longer at a truce with the Fuentes' or Reynard's crew."
"Yeah, I heard some boys tried to rob Bone and capped his ass."
Slim didn't say anything about Elisa having the wrong information on Bone's death. That was the way the streets were. Easy for the wrong information to get passed down.
"Ahight, Elisa, let me get out of here."
With that, the dangerous bull dyke was out of the truck and into hers where her main girl was waiting---strapped of course.
Reese pulled up in front of Slim's condo. Before Slim got out, Reese said, "I'm going to get with Noonie and Shaun. Make rounds and make sure everyone in the crew all the way down to the lowest soldier knows where we stand."
Slim gave him a pound then headed to his condo. Trish was inside fixing dinner and with all the running around and the stress that was on, he was looking forward to the home cooked meal, relaxing conversation and lovemaking he'd become used to over the months.
\*
Teresa was pissed. It was the middle of November, and Shaun was still on some bullshit. It was three months ago when she found the long strand of black hair that was either a white girl's or a Hispanic, but her guess was white from the faint smell of perfume that was on Shaun's body. It was expensive, no doubt, but nothing she'd ever smelled before.
Teresa felt like a fool. She had been true to Shaun and did anything he asked whether it was some gangster shit in the streets or some freak shit in the bedroom. She was no fool. Born and raised in the projects in Harvey, a city south of Chicago, she learned how to hustle and how to survive, but somewhere down the road she became all in for Shaun and couldn't stand the way he'd been treating her lately. She knew he stepped out. It was all in the game and women of dope boys who thought their man didn't step out were fools, but earlier in the day while Shaun was sleeping, his phone vibrated, and she was waiting. She checked, and it was a text. The second vibrate was a picture and when Teresa put them both together she realized that her man was sleeping with a white woman. A Russian at that. It meant that he'd been mixing business with pleasure, and she was furious. It was one thing to get played, but Teresa was from the hood and to get played by a white girl was simply out of the question.
Teresa gathered herself and picked up her cell. She dialed and within seconds Shaun answered.
"Hello?"
"What's up baby, what are you doing?" she asked trying her best to sound sexy.
"I'm about to make that move, you know," he said talking about the kilos he told her he had to take to Tennessee. He'd told her that he was going to make the drive instead of Teresa because he needed to talk to DC personally about moving more weight.
"Are you really?" she asked. He could hear the concern in her voice.
"Everything's cool. I'll be back in a couple of days and we can do you. Whatever you want," he said trying to pacify her.
"Okay. And Shaun, you know I always loved you, bye."
Teresa ended the call, but Shaun was wrapped up in the piece of ass that was laying next to him that he hadn't noticed that she said 'I always loved you'. Teresa cried because she hated what she was about to do, but she felt as if Shaun had brought it upon himself. The thought of her giving him head many nights after he came home claiming to be with his boys, but in all actuality he'd had his dick in the skinny Russian woman.
She read the number that she'd scribbled on the paper and dialed.
When the secretary at the FBI's Chicago field office answered the phone, she hesitated. She then mustered up the strength and gave the man all the information on the type of vehicle, the plate number and where to find the cocaine. When she hung up the phone, she went to her bedroom, locked the door and picked up the unopened bottle of Ciroc and went to town.
\*
Slim was tired, and the warm water beating down on his body felt good. He'd just finished a meal consisting of pork chops, candied yams and greens. He could tell Trish wanted to make love, but she settled for giving her man a massage, and she felt all the stress that was built up in his shoulders. Later that night when Slim arrived in the bedroom after showering he saw that his woman had fallen asleep with a book in her hand. He removed the book from her lap and woke her. He guided the half asleep woman to a much comfortable position. She then fell deep into her slumber.
The weatherman had called for the temperature to drop into the low twenties, and Slim could feel the warmth that swept throughout his condo after dialing up the heat. He got into bed and pulled the sheet and comforter up to his shoulders and before he knew it, he was asleep. Slim had a lot weighing heavily on his shoulders. More than one man should, and he was one who always tried to shoulder more than the average man. He carried a lot because he knew he was a man who could. It was the way he carried himself and never thought of doing it any other way, but tonight, his mother and uncle would talk to him in a dream. Let him know that it was okay to be vulnerable. Okay to let his guard down and love someone and to love himself. His mother told him it was time for him to marry and have children. Children who would grow to be just like him. A boy as strong, caring, loyal and smart as he. A girl as pretty, loving and willing to love her man with all her heart and back him in all that he does. She would be just like her mother---Trish. Slim could see his uncle walking toward him. He was wearing an all white suit and seemed to be glowing as he smiled. He put his arm around Slim and told him, "It's time boy. Time for you to claim your Queen. Your mother and I thought we needed to come to you and guide you. It's okay, ask her to marry you. She will love you no matter what. She's the one." Slim's uncle and mother turned their back and walked away. His mother looked back at him and said, "Start making them grandchildren."
Slim awoke. He raised his torso and shook his head then wiped his face with his hands. His heart was beating fast so he slid out of the king-size bed and went to the bathroom and threw some cold water on his face. He rested his hands on the granite sink as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He smiled then slid off his sleeping pants. He walked back into the bedroom and slid his naked body into the bed. Trish was wearing only a negligee and when Slim pulled the covers back he thought she looked beautiful in the purple silk. He kissed her lips softly. Did the same with her cheek and when he reached her neck, she awoke and placed her hand on the back of his head as he sent love electricity through her body.
They spoke no words. Slim removed the garment then devoured her breasts and she moaned from the pleasure her man was giving her.
Trish guided Slim's head down and he knew what she wanted. She cooed at the sensuous feeling of him writing his name on her clit as if his tongue was a brush and her womanhood was a canvass and he was Picasso painting a masterpiece.
After spelling his name and writing love letters with his tongue all over and inside her love he came up for air. As he hovered over her, Trish placed both hands on his cheeks and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him hard and it felt as if their tongues were one. She took one hand, grabbed his thickness, and put the head at the opening. She gasped as he slid into her. He stroked slowly making the loving last, and after bringing her to orgasm he thrust hard and deep until he released his love inside her. He gently kissed her face and felt in his heart that he had just created their first child.
He layed on his back and her head rested on his chest. He played in her silky hair. He said, "Trish, I can't wait any longer, will you marry me?"
It was unexpected for him and her, but it was time.
He continued, "I meant I love you with all my heart and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"
"Yes, Marcellus. I knew that I would be your wife the first time we went on a date. When we walked on the beach. Yes, I will marry you."
Slim kissed her then joked, "Well, you should have told me that back then. We've wasted a lot of time."
They made love again, and Slim told her that in the morning they would go to breakfast and then to the jeweler for her to pick out a ring. Any ring she wanted because the world is hers.
\*
Shaun hung up the phone and turned toward Cookie. Her slim chocolate body was covered with sweat and she wanted more of Shaun's loving. He wanted to indulge in her warm wet love, but needed to save some of his energy for Mariska. They were going to meet in the early a.m. for a threesome she promised that he'd never forget.
"Damn, Teresa be buggin'," Cookie said. "She trying to make sure you're the one taking this shit down to DC."
"She thinks I'm lying so I can stay here and fuck around."
Teresa rolled on to Shaun and straddled him. She caressed her small breasts that had thick chocolate nipples and Shaun wanted to indulge in what he called his Hershey's Kisses, but he needed to get up north to see Mariska and her friend, and Cookie on the road with the drugs to Tennessee.
Shaun edged Cookie off him. "Baby, I got business to handle." He rolled out of bed and headed for the shower."
"When I get back from the run, I want you to take me out. We can go up north to some fancy place. I want to feel like them rich white women. The ones whose husbands do all the work, and they sit with their friends and do lunch."
Shaun turned on the water, and the steam began to fill the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. He thought about how Cookie was straight hood but wanted the finer things in life---like people should. He gargled with the Scope mouthwash as he listened to her babble.
"I could be a soccer mom. You know, take the kids to practice and that kind of shit."
Shaun laughed. He stuck his head out of the bathroom telling her, "Soccer moms don't curse, baby."
"Whatever."
Shaun got dressed in the button-down and suit he'd hung up in the closet. He was meeting Mariska at an upscale hotel for drinks, then they were going to the penthouse suite for a night of sex. He, her and her girlfriend. He already had the shorty, at the car lot Reese owned, put the drugs in the hiding compartment. It was filled with gas so all Cookie had to do was get in the car and drive, only making one stop to refuel.
\*
Mariska was dressed in a sleek black cocktail dress. She had one leg crossed over the other as she and Shaun sat on the high-back barstools. She was laughing at something Shaun had said. She liked that about him. He was able to make her laugh and as everyone knows, laughter is therapeutic. She'd told Shaun that Ivan was a boring man that all he cared about was how much money he could make. She complained about their sex life, that he couldn't keep up with hers and that's why he didn't mind her lesbian side---he encouraged it.
Mariska glanced at her Cartier watch. Shaun noticed the pink diamonds and knew that the piece had to have cost a grip. He made a mental note that he'd get Teresa one for Christmas next month.
Mariska said, "It's time. Petra should be ready.
Shaun who had a sexual appetite that matched Mariska's and over the past four months they seemed as if they were in competition trying to see whose was the hungrier.
As they rode the elevator to the top floor Shaun couldn't help himself, he backed Mariska to the wall and slid his hand up her sleek thigh to her sex as he tongue kissed her passionately, transferring some of her red lipstick to his full lips. He slid two fingers into her and she moaned. Her Eastern Bloc accent was heavy as it usually was when she was experiencing sexual gratification. They felt the elevator stop and broke their embrace so they could exit the elevator.
Once they were at the door of their suite, Mariska paused before opening it. She pulled a Cuban cigar out of her small handbag. "I'm going to smoke this brown cigar as if I'm sucking your brown penis, all while I watch you fuck Petra. Then once you make her come and only after then, I will join in."
Shaun's smile was sheepish. He grabbed her slender hand and placed it on his crotch so she could feel his nine inches of thickness that was harder than Chinese arithmetic. He said, "Then why are we standing in the hallway."
They entered the suite, and Shaun almost turned as white as his porcelain colored slut when he saw Ivan dressed in grey slacks, black sweater and a grey scarf, and another Russian in dressed in a suit sitting on the large couch with a naked, shivering Petra who was scared shitless.
Ivan, who was holding a chrome Walter PPK that had a silencer attached to it, stood from the leather couch as another Russian came from the side and closed and locked the door.
Ivan pointed his weapon at Shaun who stared at the barrel of the silencer and knew when a man had a silencer on his weapon, his intent was to kill without anyone hearing the blast of the round being fired. Ivan's face was of steel. He said, "The only thing my mind is torn with is which one of you I'm going to kill first." He took the sights of his weapon from Shaun and trained them on Mariska. "I think it will be you, whore, he only took my pussy. You took my money and my respect by fucking this black motherfucker."
\*
Slim had informed Lucky about what was going on with LaTanza and Reynard and that he was waiting for her to give her share of the money to pay the Russians and hopefully Bone's share. Lucky told him if she doesn't pay, then they needed to sit down with Reynard, because with him taking over Bone's crew, it meant that he was taking over Bone's debt---that it was business.
Slim also laid the news of him asking Trish to marry him. That they hadn't set a date, but he wanted it to happen as soon as possible. Lucky told him to let her choose the date and to give her as much time as she needs, that a woman's first marriage is a very special moment.
Later that day, Slim met with his financial advisor and lawyer. The man had made copies of all the paperwork to the deeds of all the homes in the different states. The homes he had purchased over the years for his close friends in the crew. They gave Slim the figures on the clean money he had in various investments, and to Slim, it wasn't enough for him to feel comfortable, especially if he had to pay Bone's share to the Russians on his own. When he left the downtown office, he thought about how life was going to be, living it like normal people. He smiled as he entered his Cadillac, and then frowned as his cell vibrated and he checked the number. When he answered, Reese told him they needed to meet.
"Even near death the woman has more heart than you."---DMITRI
Slim and Reese were sitting in Reese's house. It was in a nice neighborhood and was where he laid his head and made his music. Reese was a good rapper and beats maker and had built a studio in his basement. He made a couple of CDs, but hasn't put any out. He always claimed that it was only a hobby to him, but the truth was, the gangster was shy when it came to letting people hear his music so only his close circle has heard most of his music.
"So you're getting married? Nigga, this shit calls for a drink!" Reese said stunned at the news.
"It was bound to happen. I knew I was going to marry her the first time we went on a date," I never said anything to anyone about it, but I knew it."
"Really," Reese said as he poured Hennessy into two glasses.
"Man, she told me the same thing. Said she knew on that same date," Now how ironic is that shit?"
Reese dropped some ice in his drink and a little cognac spilled on his new Timberlands. "Shit, just bought these joints." He handed Slim a drink. "Let's toast."
They raised glasses and Reese said, "To my boy. May he have marital bliss or however they say that shit."
"Fo sho'," Slim said and they downed the brown liquor.
They hugged and Reese told Slim that he was proud of him then reached in the mini-refrigerator to get a couple of Heinekens.
Slim took off his brown suede jacket and shook his head to the music that was playing in the background, an old cut by Mos Def. Slim was wearing black slacks and a black fitted shirt. Slim got comfortable on the leather sofa and took a swallow of his beer and decided that it was time to talk to Reese about the future of the crew.
"I'm out, Reese."
"You just got here, chill. Wifey gonna be there. My don't get henpecked before you even get married," Reese laughed.
"Nah, man. I'm about to get out of the game. I about to pay the Russians the money and the penalty to get out," Slim said as he studied his friend's expression.
"Is that right? You got a plan for all of us or you just getting ready to ride out?"
Slim sipped his beer and smiled. "I got it all set up. Houses, property and money for everyone. We don't have to do this shit no more. I mean I have us where we all want to be."
"And what's that, homey?" Reese asked trying to suppress his dislike for Slim's assumption that he wanted to get out the game.
"What you mean? Out and living."
"Slim, you fail to understand that I'm living right now."
Slim looked around the room and said, "This ain't living. With the money you've made you should have enough money socked away to live a couple of lifetimes."
"Well, unlike you, I like my life. I'm a gangster. Money, bitches and action. Doing what the fuck I want to do! That's what type of time I'm on, feel me?"
"Nah, bruh. We grind so that we don't have to grind. You see what I'm saying?"
Reese grinned. "Like them niggas who work all their lives in some factory or office? Say like twenty-five or thirty years and then retire?"
"Basically," Slim said thinking Reese was seeing his point.
Reese downed his beer and walked over to the bar to get a stiff one. As he poured the Hennessey he said, "Nah, bruh, that's where you're wrong. Funny thing is, I was sitting here one night doing nothing but flipping through the channels waiting on this one freak to fall through. I got a phone call, so I stopped clicking the remote and landed on one of them cable news stations. When I got off the phone they were talking about that same shit you talking about. Muthafuckas retiring. And you know what they said about that shit, my nigga?"
"What's that?" Slim asked sounding a bit irritated that Reese was giving his analogy on the subject.
"They said that when a nigga been doing something all their life. I mean like clockwork. For years they get up in the morning with the same routine. They punch that time clock and go home to their wife or no one but their fucking dog or cat. The same routine, then they finally retire. Get that gold watch or whatever it is white folk give out when you retire and then you wake up the next morning and the next and the next after that and find that shit is different."
"Reese, what's your point?"
"The report said that most people end up dying just months retiring. The dream of just kicking back and not having to grind may have sounded good, but in all actuality when you stop doing what you've done all your life you're shell shocked." He walked toward Slim and stood over him while holding his liquor. "It's all you know. It's all you're used to, my nigga!"
"That may fly for normal nine to five folk, but we're out here hustling and risking our lives. Common folk don't have that kind of stress. Ever since we were teenagers we had to worry about getting killed, robbed, beat down or knocked by the police. Shit, I'm surprised we didn't have grey hair at the age of twenty-two," Slim said as he stood to fix him another much needed drink. He tossed the beer bottle in the small garbage can. As he poured, his cell that was on the table rang. Reese picked it up and handed it to him.
Slim saw the two letters and knew it was Dmitri. His brow furrowed at why the Russian would be calling him at damn near one in the morning then figured that maybe he'd found out about Bone and LaTanza.
Slim answered, "Dmitri, my friend."
"Slim, how are you tonight?"
"Making it. Just chillin' with one of my partners and you?"
"Taking care of business, my comrade. I'm always taking care of business, and that's what I'm calling you about, business."
Reese watched and listened as Slim talked to the Russian.
Slim asked, "What do you need?"
"To meet."
"When?"
"Now, meet me at the meat market in an hour. I'll see you there."
Before Slim could say another word, the phone went dead.
Reese asked, "What he did he say?"
Slim was looking down at his glass, thinking. As if an answer was floating on the 90 proof.
"He wants to meet right now." Reese glanced at his Feldo v1 watch. "It's almost one in the morning. You think he knows about LaTanza getting out?"
"I bet he does."
"I'm going with you," Reese said as he pulled his .45 colt and an extra magazine from under the sofa.
Slim smiled, saying, "Be easy, cowboy, you can pack the heat, but he's not going to do shit to us. We still owe him lots of money. I'm sure this meet is to get business straight." Slim pulled his 9mm Glock from the small of his back and checked to ensure there was a round in the chamber.
Reese let out a slight laugh. "And what's that for?" he asked as he watched Slim put the weapon in his waistband and his jacket on.
"Just in case, homey."
\*
Cookie was traveling south on Interstate 57 and was passing the city of Effingham and had a ways to go before she was out of Illinois. She didn't need to stop for gas yet, she needed some coffee. Her eyes were getting heavy, and she cursed, wishing that she'd taken the nap Shaun had suggested when he left. She had got wrapped up in a movie, figuring she'd drink an energy drink and all would be good. When she saw the Shell station's sign up ahead, she decided that she would top off on gas, get some snacks and a thirty minute nap.
She stopped at pump number nine, and before she got out, she set the alarm on her iPhone so she could get a little sleep. She went inside, bought some Skittles, a bag of cool ranch Doritos and an Arizona Iced Tea. As she pumped her gas, she thought about heading to the rest area she'd passed about ten miles back, but figured that would be stupid. To head there to lay her head, she'd be adding twenty miles of driving and couldn't do that since she wanted to sleep for a bit. She decided she'd park in one of the parking spaces on the side of the station since she was planning on sleeping only thirty minutes.
Cookie stretched out in the backseat, using her coat as a blanket. The engine was running, and the heat was on low. Her cell was on the floorboard and as soon as she closed her eyes it started ringing.
"Who the fuck is this calling me at damn near two in the morning?" she hissed.
\*
Teresa was a nervous wreck. Her man had been cheating on her. All that flowed through her mind was visions of him with a white woman. She wondered was her foreign sex better and if Shaun liked the fact that she was of another race. She wondered was it something she wasn't doing when she failed to realize that she was simply with a man who loved sleeping with different women. And even though Teresa was hurt, she felt as if she'd done wrong by calling the FBI. Shaun was part of a crew and by getting the feds involved could mean things could come back on her. She had delivered drugs for Shaun and could be implicated if he decided to flip. But she knew Shaun wasn't cut like that---he wasn't a snitch, but she felt as if she'd done the wrong thing and had tried reaching him several times, but he never answered his phone. She figured she'd call Cookie. She usually transported the drugs, so she knew Cookie would know the number of the phone they used when traveling.
Teresa waited, and on the third ring Cookie answered.
"Girl, do you know what time it is?" Cookie asked sounding irritated.
"I know girl it's...it's just...that I---"
"Girl, are you okay?"
"No, I've been trying to reach Shaun and can't catch him. He's not answering and I need to know the number of the phone you use when traveling to Tennessee."
"Girl, he ain't with me."
"What do you mean? I'm trying to catch up with him, he's on his way to see DC. I have to warn him about something," she said as the guilt of snitching to the feds was overwhelming her.
"Girl, he's out with Reese and them niggas. I'm making the run as usual. Oh Shit!" Cookie yelled.
Red and blue lights illuminated the darkness and they had closed in on Cookie quickly.
"Cookie, what's wrong?"
"Get your hands up! Now, get 'em up let me see them."
When Teresa heard those words she dropped her cell, and it bounced off the bed and to the floor. The words she'd heard through Cookie's phone were those of the law. All she could hear were men yelling their police lingo and Cookie begging that they were making a mistake.
Teresa picked up her phone and pressed the end button. She ran to the bathroom and threw up what little food she'd eaten earlier. She was sicker than before and realized she was in trouble. Shaun would have held his own not knowing who made the call to the feds, but Cookie, nah, she would flip in a minute once she realized from Teresa phone call she'd been set her up.
Teresa gathered herself and made a decision to flee. She'd head to her cousin's house in Silver Springs, Maryland, where she'd be safe. No one in Chicago knew that's where she was originally from. Everyone knew her as Teresa, her middle name. Her first name was one she seldom used, Esther. A name her mother had given her at birth and that unknown name may be what saves her life.
Teresa scrambled to pack as fast as she could and within thirty minutes she had two suitcases filled with clothes, all of her personal effects and most important, the fifty thousand Shaun had stashed in the hollowed out wall that he'd collected earlier in the day. He was going to drop it off to Reese in the morning, but Teresa figured she'd need it more than he. She was lugging the suitcase out the front door when the porch light shone on a large white man walking up the steps to the house.
Before she could say anything he produced a pistol and said, "Ivan would like to have a word with you."
She had no idea who Ivan was and couldn't pick up on his accent, but that didn't matter, she knew like all people who stayed in the dope game too long---it was her time to pay the piper.
\*
As Reese drove, he and Slim had been talking about what could happen and how to handle different situations, but knew that no matter how they planned, shit changed on the fly because every situation was different. Nevertheless, they were ready for whatever and when it came to getting down and dirty, they had been through the fire with each other several times ever since they were kids. They were no strangers to danger and feared nothing. Not even the Grim Reaper, him damn self.
When Slim and Reese pulled up at the meat market in Ukrainian Village, a neighborhood located west of downtown and south of Wicker Park, they noticed the black limousine parked in front of the meat market that was owned by Koslov---Dmitiri's enforcer.
Slim's cell rang.
"Yeah," he said knowing who was on the other end.
"Park your car, leave the keys and get in the limousine," Dmitri said as Slim watched Koslov and another large Russian get out of the limo.
Reese saw the men get out and asked, "What's the deal?"
"I guess we're going for a ride."
Trying to stay loose, Reese said, "Good, I didn't want to stay here at that meat market. I feel better knowing they're not thinking about using one of those machines in there to chop our asses up.
Slim and Reese walked with confidence to the black limo. Koslov held his palm up signaling for the two men to stop. They did and were searched and their weapons were taken from them and given to the driver. They were then let in and they sat with their backs to the partition and facing Dmitri. Dmitri was dressed in a charcoal grey sharkskin suit and black shirt that was buttoned to the top with no tie. He extended his hand toward the men and they shook it. Slim noticed the Hublot Big Bang All Black Carat watch. Slim had heard of the watch and knew this particular model ran close to forty thousand dollars.
"Thanks for meeting me, Slim," he nodded toward Reese. "And."
"Big Reese," Reese said confidently.
Dmitri spoke in Russian telling Kolsov to get in and the other Russian to follow in the suburban Slim had come in.
They drove off and rode in silence as Koslov poured them all a glass of Vodka. Once each man had a drink, Dmitri asked, "So, my comrade. When were you going to tell me about our partnership going awry?"
"I wasn't," Slim said looking the Russian crime boss in the eyes.
"No? We are friends and more important we are in business together, so lying to me is not something a man I need to trust should do," Dmitri said as his grey eyes, that looked more like eyes of a Siberian Husky, than eyes of a man, never blinked as he stared at Slim.
"We are business partners and friends so I wouldn't lie to you. I am a businessman, but more importantly I am a man. A real man is a man of his word."
"Tell me of your meeting with the woman, Fuentes. You did have a meeting at that Mexican restaurant, no?"
"We did and it was to straighten out our business. I tried talking to her. She and her people aren't willing to cooperate. They want out."
"Out," Dmitri said as he lit a cigarette.
"Yes, out."
"She has my five million?"
"She's willing to pay but hasn't, yet."
Worry lines formed on Koslov's forehead as he looked from Slim and Reese to his boss who was sitting beside him. There was silence for a beat.
Slim said, "I am willing to pay her cost."
Dmitri turned his head blew smoke toward the window that was barely cracked and most of the smoke was sucked out into the Chicago air. "What about the gangster, him?"
"He's dead."
"That's too bad. I guess you're going to pay his share also."
"I will have it."
Dmitri nodded slowly and looked out the window as the limo exited onto the interstate.
Slim said, "Dmitri, you had a penalty price for getting out early, and I'm willing to pay."
"That would be fifteen million. Five for the three of you. Do you have that? If I was to have my driver turn my limousine around you could get out of this vehicle and have my money by afternoon?"
Slim could come up with the cash, but ten million from his stash would set him back significantly. There would be no way he could get out of the game, so he was in a catch twenty-two. If he paid the money and got out, he would have what he needed to set every one of his friends up comfortably. If he stayed, the Russian would be his contact. But Slim had already made up his mind earlier in the day, he was done. He was going to pay the fifteen million and the game was history.
"I'm done with the game so I will have your money."
Reese's face twisted. It was a natural reaction from the shock he just received. If Slim got out the game, then he couldn't continue hustling on the level he was used to because he'd have no solid contact for drugs like Slim did.
Dmitri caught Reese's look. He smiled saying, "I see your friend doesn't agree. I must say, you would be leaving a lot of money on the table, but that is your choice. Those were our rules, and I am a man of my word. Remember when I said the only way that changes is if you crossed me in any way?"
"Yes, but that hasn't happened."
"I know my comrade. I know."
They drove for a bit, and Slim noticed they hadn't turned around after passing a couple of exits. He was about to say something when Dmitri asked, "Do you know much about farm animals, pigs to be exact, my comrade?"
\*
Baby G and Anthony were sitting at Baby G's apartment, relaxing. They had eaten dinner and were playing XBOX for the last five hours, and Anthony was getting tired. Once his Steelers scored the winning touchdown on Baby G's Lions, Anthony was finished.
"You can keep playing, I'm going to catch a few Zs. Pay attention to the phone. We don't want to miss it if Slim calls."
"Fo sho'," Baby G said as he put in a DVD to pass time. He was hoping Slim would call because he needed to get grimy. It had been a minute since he'd got down and if things went right, this job would pay him well and he would be able to kick back for a moment.
\*
The limo cruised up the narrow one lane road, and Reese hated that he didn't have his pistol. He felt naked and wished Slim had not said he wanted out. No matter what, Reese felt that the Russians were money makers and didn't want their cash flow stopped. While he and Slim were in the Cayman Islands, Slim had saved Dmitri's life when his boat had malfunctioned and began to sink. Dmitri and the woman he was with were wading in the water when a shark attacked the woman he was with. Slim was with a guide out on the waters fishing and when they saw Dmitri's boat go under they rushed to help. As they sped their boat to the area as fast as they could, Slim watched in the binoculars as the shark feasted on the woman. Once they arrived to where Dmitri was, Slim jumped in the blood-stained waters and pulled Dmitri to his boat where he was safe, they watched the fins of three sharks cut through the waters like on the movie, Jaws realizing that Slim had arrived just in time.
Later that night and the next day, Dmitri treated Slim to dinner when the two hustlers found that they shared the same appetite for money and realized that they were from the same city. After that, a business partnership was born, but like all business partnerships, it was about business.
The limo rocked a bit as they neared a large farmhouse and they could smell a foul stench in the air. They passed the house and drove about one hundred fifty yards to another house, but smaller. They stopped and no one got out and no one said anything. The mood wasn't tense, but Slim and Reese wondered what was next.
Moments later, two vehicles were flying up the road toward them, a blazer and a Volvo. They came to a halt and out of the Volvo's passenger's side was Ivan, and the driver's side, a man carrying a sub-machine gun.
Koslov, speaking for the first time, told Slim and Reese, "Get out."
For the first time, Slim and Reese began to think that this might be it for them, but the south side hustlers showed no fear.
Koslov spoke in Russian to Ivan who spoke back and Slim could hear the anger in his voice. Ivan glared at Reese as Dmitri stepped out of the limo. Slim thought the man was staring at the both of them, but Reese knew better and had a strong idea of what was going on. He hadn't heard from Shaun all night, and he had a feeling his friend had not listened to his order to leave the Russian gangster's woman alone.
Dmitri said, "Slim, we have a problem. When I talk about respect, it is important in business. It is essential to have that. You agree?"
Slim nodded.
That wasn't good enough for Dmitri. "I asked you a question, my comrade," he said calmly.
"I agree. My question is why I am out here standing next to a pen full of pigs?"
"Ah, that's where you are wrong, my comrade. They are not just pigs. They are Razorbacks, wild boars and Devons, or what Americans call black pigs, and those males in there weigh close to eight hundred pounds." Dmitri nodded at one of the men who worked on the farm. The man threw a large piece of beef into the pen and the animals went crazy.
Dmitri said, "See how crazy they are going. They haven't been fed in days. Did you know a pig will eat about anything? They are omnivores, and these pigs are fierce and hungry. Anything thrown in there would be devoured without a trace."
He stopped talking and studied the men's faces then nodded at Ivan.
Ivan walked to Reese, "You have made us money, and I respect that, but what I don't like is someone disrespecting me!"
Reese said, "I've been straight up with you. If there is a problem with the money it's not from our end."
Slim was hoping that Reese or any of his men had not been shorting the Russians.
Ivan studied Reese's face, and his scowl was one that was fierce. Reese can remember the story he'd told when he first met him when they were in his home and knew the small man had a complex about his size, and from what Shaun told him when he ordered him to leave Mariska alone, Ivan was short in another area.
Ivan barked an order and two men carried Mariska out of the back of the Blazer. Slim had no idea who the woman was but was about to learn.
Ivan spat, "This whore disrespected me and now she has to die."
Slim could tell behind all the bruises and burns to her face, the woman was beautiful, but wondered what the connection was to him.
Dmitri said, "Slim, your people have not honored the code of business. Your man who was in Ivan's home had affair with his woman. You sent him to Ivan's home, and he disrespected him. So you are part responsible. Just like I am responsible for what my men do. But my men know not to do things of this nature because they know of the punishment I can put on a man." He nodded.
Mariska cried as they drug her toward the pig pen. The muscular men picked her up, threw her in the pen and the fourteen hogs went wild as they feasted. The tape that was over her mouth muffled her screams for about ten seconds then she was gone.
"The other two," Dmitri said and when Slim saw a naked, battered and bruised Shaun, he knew what time it was, but when he saw the young lady he'd met only a couple of times he felt bad, but the game has no feelings. Teresa had indulged in all the good the game had to offer. But in a way, the game had gotten her back. It had given her the finer things in life, and she decided that she wanted to call the feds on her man, knowing that most men in the game had other women no matter how she or any woman tried to rationalize that it wasn't right. That's for normal people, civilians---not hustlers. After hanging up the phone from the feds, karma came knocking at her door in the form of a large Ukrainian man brandishing a pistol. Once they had Teresa, they took her and the fifty-thousand she had taken to a house where they had Shaun, Petra and Mariska. Ivan had raped Teresa in front of Shaun as payback and had one of his men rape Mariska. Petra, they killed, when she tried to make a run for freedom. And Shaun, even though he was a man, got raped also---by Ivan.
The men drug Teresa and Shaun toward the pen and the blood stained hogs stirred wildly, anticipating another meal. Shaun begged, "Slim, do something. Don't let them do me like this."
Teresa said nothing. She was in shock and tired. The rape had taken a lot out of her. Dmitri said, "Even near death, the woman has more heart than you." He looked at Slim and Reese. "I've learned over the years that men who fuck other men's women are weak. The women offer themselves and they take. Weak bastards. With all the money he was making he could have had almost anyone, but he takes another man's. Toss her and make sure he watches."
They threw Teresa in the pen as another man held Shaun's face forcing him to watch the hogs eat her alive. They then threw Shaun in and within minutes the hogs had eaten all the flesh of the three people and were fighting each other for the bones.
Dmitri said, "Now that thing about you getting out. That is not possible right now." He stared at Reese. "Your people fucked up, and now you owe me. The year starts over and you owe me the ten million for the gangster, Bone, and the woman, LaTanza. My people got fifty thousand from the woman," he nodded to the pen where they threw Teresa. "I'm a fair man so you can deduct that from the ten million, my comrade. I expect my money by nightfall. Your truck is over there. See you when you bring me my money. And remember Slim, in the game, sometimes there is NO WAY OUT."
All the Russians entered their vehicles, Slim and Reese got in Reese's SUV that the Russian drove to the farm. As he followed the caravan of vehicles down the narrow road he said, "Slim, I didn't know that fucker Shaun was---"
"Tighten your shit up, Reese. While you're spitting that shit about me getting soft and shit, you need to get a better hold on your men, or I will replace you as my captain. Feel me?"
Reese gave a short nod.
Slim pulled out his cell and dialed.
Baby G answered.
Slim asked, "Where Anthony?"
"It was getting late so he was getting some sleep in case you called," Baby G answered.
"Handle that action."
Baby G smiled. He loved this type of shit. "Will be done in less than a couple hours."
They hung up. Slim told Reese, "I know you knew about Shaun, and he got what he deserved, but what happened to his girl?" He shook his head. "Her blood is on your hands, not mine. Get my ass to my car so I can go see my woman. And Reese."
"What?"
"Don't ever think I'm getting soft because I think. I'm just smart and this shit ain't like when we were younger. Wildin' out and shit. Ruthless, yet smart, men last in the game of hustling."
"Man, Slim, I feel you, I didn't---"
"Reese, I don't give a fuck what had happened. I'm about to get my money right, and I am getting out. If you want this shit you and whoever wants to stay, can, but if you're fucking up, I will put someone else in charge, and like I said, get me home to my woman. And you still my man even though you've fucked up," Slim said as he rested his head on the headrest and closed his eyes as he tried his best to get the image of Teresa out of his mind.
"Aw nigga, now you down wit' my theme music."---BABY G
Baby G brought the Chevy to a halt in the alley. They were watching a two-story house that was on the corner. It was the house that Boogie said Reynard had the money hid---Big Sam's house. The money was supposed to be there for only a day. It was the money Bone had put up for when he got out of the game. Reynard had the money taken out of the walls of Bone's house and had it moved to Big Sam's until he could get the two million to LaTanza to be washed---at a fee of twenty percent, of course.
"You ready to do this?" Baby G asked Anthony.
"Let's get these muthafuckahs," Anthony replied.
G said, "Remember the last time me and you was on some shit like this...well, you know."
He was talking about when they were fresh out of high school and pulled a robbery of some kilos and their partner Smiley was killed after they were set up.
Anthony gave G a pound and slid in the CD, Al Green's 'Love and Happiness' began to play at a low volume.
Baby G grinned then said, "Aw nigga, now you down with my theme music.
Anthony reached in the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of liquor and took a swig. He handed the MD 20/20 to his partner, and he did the same. It was the liquor they used to drink back in the mid-nineties when they were teenagers. The same time their boy, Smiley, was killed. They would sip until Al Green finished, then they would take what was owed to Slim because there was no way he was going to pay the share, Reynard, who had taken over for Bone, owed Dmitri.
\*
LaTanza was sitting in the back seat of the white S550 as she watched the plane descend on the small airfield. Chacho was right; she would have no problems and watched as the small plane's wheels touched the pavement on the small airstrip in Iowa. Her people and his were to unload and take the seven hundred kilos of cocaine to a house and divvy it up so that it could be transported to various cities in various states. All under the control of LaTanza. She was truly the Queenpin and relished the moment of watching from afar through binoculars as her people handled their business. Liza was with her instead of Chavez. He was laying low after knocking off Bone. There were different stories floating through the streets of who killed the BD leader, even some saying it was Slim's crew, but the gossip would soon end and people would be back to grinding and getting on the dick of Reynard who was in charge.
LaTanza set the binoculars on her lap and then looked over at Liza. She thought Liza was beautiful and was glad she had passed the test.
LaTanza said, "Liza, when we were in Mexico, it was my idea to have Chacho fuck you." She waited for a response.
There was none.
She continued. "I had to be sure. Even though you checked out as my husband's cousin, he's behind bars and the feds could have sent you. I apologize for that."
"Part of the game, Mrs. LaTanza, besides, sex means nothing to me."
"Everyone loves sex," LaTanza said as she looked out her binoculars at the trucks that were being loaded.
"Not me," the sexy Latina stated. "When I was young I was raped by my uncle repeatedly and when I finally said something, my mother called me a liar. Probably because it was her brother."
Liza had done her homework. She had studied everything the feds had on LaTanza and they knew all about her stepfather. Carlos had given them that because he knew that it would help the female agent gain LaTanza's trust.
LaTanza felt her body itching. That happened at times when she began to have a chemical imbalance and the thought of another woman being raped by a family member triggered the nervous condition. She smiled at Liza saying, "That's bad, but it's good that you put it behind you. Whatever happened to your uncle, if you don't mind me asking?"
Liza looked away out her window then quietly said, "Let's just say he's not walking the earth anymore."
LaTanza said, "You are going to work out just fine."
Liza smiled and said, "I'm here to protect you. That's my job, Mrs. LaTanza." And I can't wait to slap the cuffs on your ass, like that fat fuck Chacho, she thought to herself as she watched the cars and trucks prepare to leave the airstrip with the millions of dollars worth of poison.
\*
Slim made it home. It was five in the morning, and Trish was a nervous wreck. This was the first time Slim had been gone all night and when she called or texted him she couldn't reach him. She noticed how his clothes were wrinkled and simply worn looking. He even smelled bad as if he'd been outside in the woods.
"Are you okay, baby? I was worried sick about you," she said as she gave him a hug then helped him out of his jacket.
He kissed her gently on the lips then headed for the kitchen. He retrieved some orange juice poured himself a glass and drank.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"As a matter-of-fact I am."
She pulled a plate of steak, potatoes and green beans from the refrigerator and took the Saran wrap with the note that told him all he had to do was heat it up and love Trish, taped to it. She put the plate of food in the oven telling Slim that it wouldn't take long to heat up. She poured herself a glass of tea and sat.
Slim looked at how beautiful she was. At dawn wearing a blue silk robe with no make-up and little sleep from worrying about him.
Trish studied her man's face and could tell something was on his mind. "Anything you want to talk about?"
"Actually, it is." Slim leaned back and rested his back on the chair.
"I don't think you really know me." Slim saw her expression change a bit. "I mean know me as far as what I do."
"I know about your lifestyle, but you said you were going to change. That it was just going to take some time."
"That is true. I am planning on changing my life, but it's going to take more time than I thought."
"Oh," Trish said as she left her seat to check the plate of food.
"Listen, Trish, I owe a lot of people. I want to make sure that they are all okay. I care for them too much to leave them out in the streets to fend for themselves."
Trish closed the oven. "The food needs to warm a little more," she said as she walked behind Slim and began massaging his shoulders and neck.
Slim sighed. "Trish, I am a gangster. No matter how you slice it, that's what I am."
"But you are a good man with a good heart, and you are trying to get out."
"So you do believe me when I say that."
"Yes, and I'm not going to pressure you to do that. When I met you, Ray told me who you were and what you did for a living. He also told me what kind of heart you have, so it's my choice to deal with you and I want to. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
"And I want you, too."
She walked in front of him, and he scooted his seat back and she sat on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed Slim. When they broke their embrace she said, "I love you."
Slim reached in his pocket and pulled out a box. He handed it to her and asked, "Will you marry me?"
She took the box from him as a big smile formed on her face. She opened it and saw the largest diamond she'd ever seen. "I told you last night that I would," she cried.
She slipped the ring on her finger, and it fit perfectly.
"I love you, Marcellus."
"I love you, too," Slim said as his cell rang.
\*
Big Sam was sitting in the living room on the couch eating some jerk chicken he'd picked up at Joe's. A masked Anthony could hear him talking shit to some young chicken head about how he was going to put it on her good once she arrived. In the background Nicki Minaj was rapping on the cut Y. U. Mad by Birdman. Anthony and Baby G had entered the house by a duplicate key that was made by Boogie. Boogie didn't want to be a part of the crew with Reynard in charge because he knew they would be going to war with Slim. He didn't want to go through that kind of drama since he was tight with Noonie, and he was simply tired of the gangbanging and there was no doubt that Reynard was going to bring that type of drama. When he found out that Reynard had got a hold of Bone's money he owed Slim to pay the Russians, he met with Noonie who talked to Slim and a deal was brokered that Boogie would receive twenty percent of what was recovered if he helped them get it.
"Bitch, they don't call me Big Sam because of my height and weight. It's my dick size. You think you can handle it?"
The woman said something and he laughed.
"Yeah, whatever. You better watch your mouth, I'm old school. I'll smack a bitch!"
With that, Anthony eased closer and once he was in range, he drew his hand back and smacked the shit out of Big Sam on his bald head. "I'll smack a bitch, also," Anthony said.
Big Sam fell over a bit then caught his balance. "What the fuck?" he barked. He was shocked for a moment because he had no idea that someone was in the house with him.
Baby G rushed around the couch and trained his weapon on Sam before he had a chance to grab the pistol that was on the coffee table.
"What y'all niggas want?" he barked.
Anthony snatched the phone from his hand then placed it to his ear. "Who this?" he asked.
"Who the fuck is you?" the young woman hissed.
Anthony could tell she was hood so he said, "Look here, spread the word to everyone in the hood that Big Sam and Reynard had Bone killed and stole his money, holla baby."
"What the fuck y'all niggas doing some shit like that fo'?" he barked.
Anthony pulled his mask off his head revealing his identity.
"Ant, what the fuck kinda time you on?"
"Where's the money at, dog?" Anthony asked in a no nonsense tone.
"I don't know what you talking about," Sam lied.
"Nigga, I figured you'd bullshit me. Look here, you niggas foul for killing your man, Bone."
"Fuck you, nigga, I ain't have shit to do with---"
Boom, boom!
Noonie shot Big Sam twice in the chest, and he fell back on the arm of the couch. He'd been hit in the lung and the hole in his chest made a sucking sound every time he breathed. Anthony leaned over him and said, "I didn't need your ass, I know where the money is at. Get you some G."
"That's what I'm talking about," Baby G said then walked up to Sam and pointed his pistol in his face.
Big Sam held his hands up screaming, "Nooooo!"
Baby G fired one round that went through Big Sam's hand and hit him in the skull ending his life.
"Let's get the money," Anthony said.
\*
Trish was still on Slim's lap as he answered his cell. She slipped her tongue in his other ear making him feel good.
"What's up, is it done?"
Anthony told him, "More than we thought. It has to be close to two million. We would have never found that shit without Boogie. It was in a false wall. No wonder they didn't have a lot of niggas in the house, it was no need."
"Hook Boogie up with his ends, and I'll see you in the evening so we can get Dmitri his money and our organization headed in the right direction. Now, let me chill with my future wife."
Preview of The Corner 4, Phoenix and Lies, Lust, Consequences on the following pages.
Join the author on Facebook: Alex Richardson and his fan page Alex Richardson Books.
Also By Alex Richardson:
The Corner (Slim's Revenge)
The Corner II ( The Queenpin)
Phoenix
Lies, Lust, Consequences
Lines Crossed (the true story of an undercover cop)
THE CORNER 4 PREVIEW
DC sat at the round table in the hotel room of the Motel 6 tapping his lighter on the cheap wood. He wanted to fire up a blunt but decided to wait until the deal was over. He needed to be on alert while dealing with men he didn't know. DC had been getting his drugs from his cousin Cookie who was getting supplied by Shaun. He was getting the drugs at a much better price than they were going for in Memphis and with the drought he was making a killing. DC stood, poured a shot of Crown Royal whiskey into the glass that sat on the table. He dropped some ice cubes from the ice bucket into the brown liquor and thought about how a lot of the men down here in the south drank the drink. He sipped then swallowed. The liquor slightly burned as it went down but he immediately felt better. He checked his watch then walked to the bathroom. He still had about fifteen minutes before his company was due to arrive.
After relieving himself, DC, went to the sink and threw some water on his face. He didn't use a towel; he simply wiped his face with his hands a couple of times. He grasped the sink, leaned forward, and studied his reflection that was staring at him. He looked at the mirror then touched the scar that was on his head. A reminder of the blow Reese had given him with pistol the night that his best friend, Noonie, was supposed to execute him, but decided to let him go free. Noonie had spared his life but told him to get out of Chicago. That he was to never come back and to never contact anyone. That he was considered dead the way Slim wanted him. DC had slipped up and caused Slim to lose money, and brought an undercover cop into their organization. It was a mistake that DC never intended on making, but there are rules in the game and DC had to be dealt with. The only thing was Slim had sent Noonie to do the job, but he couldn't kill his best friend.
DC had lost a little weight the past year and a half. In the mirror was a reflection of a six foot, one hundred and seventy-five pound man, fifteen pounds lighter than he was when he was living in the city. Living like a damn gypsy could do that to a man. But he was on the come up. Word on the streets started ringing about him having that good shit and he started blowing up like nitro. He'd stacked his paper spending only enough to get by on and to have a little fun with, and also to trick a little with his girl, Tammie. A young hood rat who he'd meet when he first came to Memphis. She lived a block from his grandmother and had reeled in the city slick DC as soon as he hit the block. She was his plug. Some cats from Murfreesboro, a city southeast of Nashville were on their way to meet him. Tammie said that they were friends of her cousin and they were looking for a lick. She labeled the men as slow and new to the game. He was buying a half a kilo from DC for ten thousand and also giving DC a couple of pistols and a Mac-10. The automatic weapon was something DC thought he would need since he bowing up. Getting paper made other men jealous and hungry. Hungry enough to take your shit. By hook or crook and DC wasn't going out like that.
The prepaid cell vibrated on DC's hip.
"Yeah," he answered.
"We pulling up, baby," Tammie said.
DC walked to the bed and picked up the small .22 automatic he'd purchased from a youngster who'd lost all his cash in a crap game.
"A'ight," DC said, then hung up the phone. He then grabbed the black gym bag that had the cocaine in it and slid it under the bed knowing that in a hotel room there wasn't many hiding places. It was his last kilo but that was okay, Cookie was on her way to drop off another shipment.
Headlights lit up the ground floor hotel room then within seconds they were off. DC slid the pistol in his waistband then quickly threw his white tee on to conceal the weapon. He trusted Tammie but had to be safe.
DC heard the giggling of Tammie and the muffled sound of a man's voice. There was light tapping on the door. DC pulled the curtain back slightly and saw Tammie with a slender male.
"DC, it's us, baby," she said. Her voice was cheerful, but that cheerfulness seemed forced. The hairs on the back of DC's neck rose like a porcupine on defense. He slid the chain back but hesitated for a second as he grabbed the door knob.
DC thought about the fact that Tammie's cousin pressed the issue about adding in the guns as payment. Something just didn't sit well with him, but he opened the door anyway.
Tammie walked in first and behind her was a thick built man. DC noticed the clean cut and average joe haircut.
The man said, "What's up, cool?" He extended his closed fist to give DC some dap. "Von," he said, telling DC his name.
DC didn't give the man any dap. He closed the door, and in monotone, he said, "What's up?"
Von said, "Ain't shit, happening. You got that work?"
DC looked at Tammie with a stoic look painted on his face. "You check him?"
"He ain't got no gun on him," Tammie hissed, then plopped herself down on the cheap bed.
DC frowned at her. "A wire, bitch. Did you check him for a wire?"
Her neck craned, "I told you, he's my cousin."
DC turned to Von who raised his hands to his chest and said, "Everything is cool, dog. I understand you being careful and all. But I ain't one time."
DC, said, "Raise your hands."
"What?"
DC pulled his pistol, but held it down to his side. "Raise your hands, nigga! I don't know you."
Tammie hissed, "Why are you trippin', DC? He's my cousin."
DC looked Von over. He thought for a moment, then said, "I ain't got shit on me right now nigga. I was just feeling your ass out. I'll let you know what's happenin'."
Von frowned then barked, "What?"
DC, returned the tone, yelling, "Step nigga. I gotta talk shit over with your cuz. We'll hit you up later and let you know the deal. I had to feel you out."
"Ah'ight, dog. Ah'ight. Holla at me." He looked at Tammie. "Get wit' me."
Von unlocked the door and left the apartment.
"What the fuck, DC?" Tammie barked as she sprang from the bed.
"Bitch, shut the fuck up!" he told her as he carefully peeked through the curtain. He watched as Von walked to his old school Monte Carlo and pulled off.
Once Von was out the lot, and his taillights faded as he drove down the street, DC turned to Tammie, "Bitch, that nigga ain't your motherfuckin' cousin! Now you got like yesterday to come clean."
"DC, you trippin', I told you, Von's cool!"
"Fuck that nigga. He's the police!" DC spat as he grabbed the Bible from the table. He opened it and pulled the zip-lock bag that was filled with powder and rock cocaine from inside.
DC had hollowed out the religious book to hide his drugs in.
Tammie rose from the bed and pushed DC on the shoulder. She spat, "You got the shit and you ain't even sell it to him? Your stupid ass!" She turned her back and headed to the bathroom. "I'm through with you. And you call yourself a hustler. Chicago niggas must be lame." She slammed the door behind her.
Fuck that bitch. Something ain't right, he thought as he gathered his things. DC shoved the cocaine in his drawers then adjusted the bag so that it wouldn't be uncomfortable on his private parts. He glanced back at the bathroom door and shook his head. "Shady bitch," he mumbled.
He left out the door and paused to scan the parking lot. It was fairly empty but the hairs on DC's neck were still raised like a porcupine's, and rightfully so. Within seconds the parking lot was lit up like a Christmas tree---red, blue, white and yellow. Federal, city and county vehicles had the hotel lot surrounded.
DC thought about running but had nowhere to go. He was frozen. Fear overwhelmed him but was quickly replaced with rage. He then bolted back inside the room. Tammie had come out the bathroom and was looking out the window. When DC rushed back inside she was startled.
DC slammed the door then quickly locked it as three agents dressed in jeans and tshirts that had DEA boldly embroidered on the back rushed toward him.
Tammie, shrieked, "What the fuck, DC."
DC's eyes showed hatred toward the woman he'd been sleeping with since his stay in the south.
Southern voices barked from the other side of the door. Voices of lawmen and they barked for DC to open the door.
DC knew there was no escape, he only ran back inside the hotel room for only one thing. Without saying a word he drew back his arm, then like a slingshot it came forward and his fist connected with Tammie's nose. He felt the cartilage crunch and blood instantly shot from her face. DC smiled as she fell to the cheap carpeted floor. He'd broken her nose and knocked her out cold.
"Trick bitch," he spat, then opened the door. Agents rushed in threw him to the floor and he fell almost as fast as Tammie did only he was being handcuffed and she was being attended to.
Preview of Phoenix
Leonard watched as Tone pulled into the lot of Walgreen's. He knew the Acura that had factory rims and legal tint on it as one of Tone's vehicles---and so did the men who were parked down the street in the undercover Tahoe.
"What's up, T?"
"Get in," was all Tone said while keeping his engine running.
Leonard, who was dressed in slacks and a sharp looking button-down shirt, sat in the passenger's seat. He asked the baggy jean shorts, crisp white T and white Air Force Ones wearing hustler, "What's up, dawg? I got the loot in the car."
"I wanna holla at you for a sec." Tone scanned the area then continued. "Nigga, you lucky you cool with my peeps NuNu. Why you ain't tell him about this shit? Is it 'cause he'd clown yo' ass since y'all got mad loot from them bank licks."
Leonard was shitty seeing as how he and NuNu had a pact that they wouldn't tell anyone about the bank heist. The less who knew, the less chance that it would be that they'd get caught, was their motto. But who was he to trip? He hadn't let NuNu know that he was taking part of his share of the money to get a couple of kilos from Tone. It wasn't a smart move, but Leonard wanted the fame and respect that came with being a baller. He wasn't satisfied with just having money and being financially set. He wanted to live the glamorous life---the life of a hustler. But only certain people were cut out for that, and Tone knew this and that's why he wanted to talk to Leonard first. He put the Acura in gear and put the tinted windows up. Before he drove off he asked, "Your loot hid, nigga?"
Leonard brow furrowed. "Yeah, it's cool."
Tone drove off.
Leonard asked, "What's up, dawg? I mean I trust you and all, but where the fuck we going?"
Tone didn't even look at Leonard. He reached into his console and took out a grape Cigarillo that was filled with a small amount of weed. He lit and inhaled some smoke, then blew it out his nose. "I need to holla at you. You know, let you know the consequences of this shit here. The game ain't no joke, and I don't want to see you get fucked off. You feel me?" He slid in an old Nas CD then let his moon roof back.
"Whatever, dawg. You that nigga. I'm just trying to be down."
They passed the Tahoe that was occupied by the two undercover cops who were ducked down. Once the Acura passed, the two narcs raised. Detective Hall put his hand on the gear shift then asked his partner, "You want me to follow?"
Sims watched the Acura's taillights fade into the night as he put a cigarette in his mouth. He lit it. He blew smoke up and out of the moon roof. His cancer stick dangled between his lips as he spoke. "Nah, they'll be back. Big Frank's bitch said that the homeboy in the Cutlass was bringing the loot so we gonna stay with the money. Just keep your eyes peeled for them niggas returning."
Tone looked at Leonard's gear. He smiled at the well-dressed brotha. "You going out or something, nigga? All dressed to impress and shit."
Leonard smiled. "Shit, gonna hit this spot downtown. Now that I got money I'm trying to hang with a more upscale crowd."
Tone took a drag. His brow furrowed when he asked, "What nigga, you ain't trying to get all uppity and shit?"
He shook his head replying, "Nah, dawg. I'm just trying to rub elbows. I'm going to invest my money. You know real estate and other shit. We in a recession and this is a buyer's market. I'm going to put my loot into some shit. So you know I gotta hang around people with money. People who are making legal moves."
"So why get two kilos? Why get in the game? This shit's grimy, fo' real! I mean, you got paper. You and that nigga NuNu been hitting licks." He laughed an admiring laugh. "I mean y'all like some cowboys and shit. Riding off in the sunset wit' the bags of money."
"We're doing alright."
"Yeah, whatever. I call what y'all pullin' more than alright. But on the real though, that bank shit don't last. That's one thing about the robbery and stick up game. It doesn't last. There's always a day when your time will be coming. In that game there are too many variables."
Tone took another hard drag, lowered his window then threw the Cigarillo out.
They drove through the southeast side neighborhoods and all the hustlers were out on Michigan between 105th and 115th. They even passed by a group of young men beating the shit out of a fiend that had tried to run off with some crack without paying. Leonard was unfazed, but the sight of a pregnant teenager going into a dope house made him shake his head. Tone noticed the look on his face. Knew that the young man riding beside him had a heart.
"You rob banks, my nigga. Like I said this shit out here is grimy as fuck. I saw the look on your face when you saw that young pregnant sista go up in that spot." They came to a stop at a red light on 111th. Tone looked over at the college educated young man who was sitting in his passenger's seat. "You know she's pregnant and about to let a couple of nigga run up in her, and she gonna suck them off also."
Leonard glanced at Tone then back out the windshield. "Light's green," was all he said.
Tone gave the car some gas, and they were back on their way. He said, "That ain't shit. What about the nigga that fucks you on some loot? You gots to be ready to bust that nigga's head or have some soldier ready to do it. If not, you ain't shit in the game and you might as well give your product away. You feel what I'm sayin'?"
"So are you saying you don't want to fuck with me or what?" Leonard questioned with a bit of an attitude. He had brought forty grand for Tone and had it in his car that was parked. He felt if Tone didn't want to deal with him he should have told him that before agreeing to meet.
Tone caught the attitude, but it didn't bother him. He would have felt the same way, but he had made his mind up an hour ago not to serve Leonard. It wasn't because he didn't trust him. It was that he knew Leonard wasn't cut out for the game, and he didn't want to see him get caught up.
After riding for a moment, Tone glanced at Leonard as they approached the Walgreen's. He saw the shitty look. "I ain't saying that. But you been puttin' down good licks and got loot already." He put the car in park next to the Cutlass, grabbed a cigarette and lit up. He took a quick drag then blew. "You serious than a motherfucker ain't you?"
Leonard looked at Tone sternly saying, "That's right, I'm serious than a motherfucker. I'm trying to get mine. No disrespect, but if you don't serve me then I'll just have to cop somewhere else, fam. I mean, I respect you to the fullest and trust the shit out of you, but if I gotta take a chance I'll have to holla at that nigga, Frank."
Tone rubbed his goatee as he smiled, coolly saying, "Fuck his fat ass." He knew Frank was his main competition and he didn't want him to get not one red cent. He nodded as he thought. "So you wanna do this? Bet nigga. But remember, to G or not to G is the question. When you cop thangs from me remember one thing."
With a change in his attitude knowing that he was about to get what he came for Leonard asked, "What's that, dawg?"
"You speak to no one on where you coppin' from. If I hear my name ringin' wit' yours in the streets, I cut you off. If a nigga ask, it ain't none of his business. Tell 'em you coppin' from them Mexicans off 106th like most people who first get put on. Them fools will serve anybody."
"Whatever you say, dawg."
"Also, if you ever get locked up. Even if it's only for a parking violation. You cut off until I'm ready to start back serving you. Don't even call me. Gotta protect myself, feel me?"
"That's what's up. So you want me to get the loot?"
"Nah. I wasn't going to serve you but now that I done talked to you and seen where your head at. You on, nigga. So what I'm gonna do is have you follow me to one of my spots, and I got you, fam."
The two detectives in the Tahoe were getting impatient. They didn't know what had transpired while Tone and Leonard were gone. They couldn't put a tail on the Acura because they were doing dirt for Big Frank so this was the play they had to make.
Detective Hall asked his senior partner, "So what you think?"
"I think we ought to holla at them fools right now," Sims replied as he checked his 9mm ensuring that there was a round in the chamber.
"What if they ain't made a move?"
"Big Frank's bitch said that the one fancy dressed nigga got the loot on him. If that other nigga don't have the dope on him," Sims reached in his pocket and took out a baggie with and three ounces of crack in it. "Then I'll just have to find this in the back seat."
Leonard went to the trunk to retrieve the bag of money from the false compartment. Tone shook his head thinking that Leonard was brand new to the game. He should have waited until they got to the spot for him to give him the money. Never show or give the money until you've seen the product. That was rule number one.
Tone closed his eyes, muttering, "This fool ain't gonna make it. I hope I ain't making a mistake."
Hall, the slimmer and faster detective was up on Leonard as he pulled the bag from the trunk. Sims had his nine pointed at Tone.
Sims barked, "Get your fucking hands up! Lemme see 'em now!"
Tone did what the plainclothes narc told him. For a split second he thought that he was being jacked since the men were dressed in faddish jean outfits, but the words and the tone that was used were those of the police.
Leonard, who had been bending over inside the trunk when the detectives quickly eased up on them, was shocked to a frozen state when Hall put the muzzle of his automatic at the base of his skull when he rose with the bag of money in hand.
Just in time, the squad they'd called before they stepped out of their Tahoe pulled up with lights flashing and no siren blaring. The patrolman quickly jumped of out the squad and assisted Hall who was already cuffing Leonard who hadn't put up a fight. Seeing that Hall didn't need any help, the patrolman hurried to the driver's side of the Acura to assist Sims. Once they had Tone cuffed, the patrolman searched him as Sims leaned into the car to begin his search of the vehicle.
Tone smugly said, "I ain't got shit, Mr. Poh-lice. Not today, dawg."
From inside the car Sims said, "Your boy was pulling a sack of cash out of his trunk and it wasn't to take your ass inside Walgreen's to do some shopping...dawg."
Tone glared at Leonard who was in a state of shock. He pondered the thought that maybe he'd set him up. He watched as Hall opened the bag and took out a handful of the cash. The detective smiled then stuffed the cash back in the canvas gym bag.
"All good," Hall said to Sims letting him know that there was cash in the bag. Another squad pulled up and then another. The two uniforms, an older white man and a thirty something sista got in the mix by doing a little crowd control. The patrons at the Walgreen's and some pedestrians were eyeing the show. Some even shouted vulgarities at the cops. Sims couldn't find anything on the inside of Tone's vehicle. He grabbed the keys out of the ignition, pressed the button on the keypad and the trunk popped open. To the detective's surprise a full search of the trunk produced no drugs. That is until Sims raised a baggie full of crack in the air.
Tone shook his head and knew that it was some shit in the game. Any other dealer would have suspected that Leonard had set them up but Tone knew better. It was the cops dope that he held in his hand for all to see and Tone just had to figure out what the hell was going on and where the set up came from. All of this thinking would be done from the 2700 block of California Street---in the notorious Cook County jail.
Preview of Lies, Lust, Consequences
TANISHA
I was sitting on my couch reading an erotic novel trying to pass the time. I was thinking about Danny and the pain his slut ass wife was causing him. I have always had a thing for him. I can remember the first time I laid eyes on him when we were in the academy together back in '98. I thought he was so smooth and good-looking. Has always had women gravitating toward him. The mix of his dad's African American heritage and his mother's Puerto Rican's made for a good combination. He's strong and well-built like his father and inherited wavy jet-black hair from his mother. Hair he kept faded closely on the sides. His dark yet shinny goatee was always perfectly trimmed and contrasted well on his peanut butter colored skin. I wanted his six-foot Adonis ass the moment I'd laid eyes on him.
Danny was also so helpful to me. Willing to study with me for every test while we were in the academy. He also pushed me to get better physically, and it helped me when it came to the physical training test. Something I had lacked at the time, but now I stay in top shape only getting a little out of shape when I was pregnant with my son five years ago. Damn, how could his wife cheat on such a caring and honest individual? He works with kids. Is honest on the job. Not on the take like some of the other detectives we work with. I'm guilty of keeping a little money I found abandoned by fleeing drug dealers. I've even known his fine ass to turn down some of the finest ass in Chicago. He is faithful to a cheating ass wife. I can't stand that bitch and the funny thing about it, it's because I want her man. Want him as my husband. Want him as the father to my son. Want him because of the good man that he is. Want him because she doesn't deserve him.
I decided to open back up my novel by Zane. I sipped on my Amaretto sour trying to get a buzz, but there was no effect of the get loose juice yet, so I poured a little more alcohol to the mix. I read on and was starting to get turned on by one of the many sex scenes. I was interrupted by a knock on my door just as my hand had started to creep its way to that place so I could please myself.
"Who is it?" I asked, as I looked through the peephole. I ran my fingers through my braids when I noticed it was Danny.
"It's me, Danny," he said in a low voice that was music to my ears.
He'd been to my house here on the west side before but never at night. Only during the day when we'd be working and I needed to stop for something. I thought about my damn near see through robe I'd purchased from a Newport News magazine at seventy percent off. The magazine wasn't one I shopped from, but an officer was placing an order while at the station, and she let me browse through the magazine, and that's when I saw the steal. If it was someone else at my door, I would have told them to wait a second while I slipped something on, but I didn't give a damn if he saw my neatly trimmed bush or my dark, thick nipples through the robe.
The door to the old house creaked as I slowly opened it.
"Danny, this is a surprise."
He walked in with a fifth of Hennessy, which looked as if he'd taken several hefty swigs from, clutched in his hand. His tie was missing and the top two buttons to his shirt unfastened.
"Can I come in, or do you have company?" his mouth asked but his face showed that he hoped that I was alone.
"I'm alone."
He walked in. Headed straight for the couch as I closed and locked the door. He unclipped his holster and badge from under his suit jacket and set his pistol on the coffee table next to mine. Something I imagined the two of us doing as we came home from work together as a couple.
"James?" he asked referring to my son.
"His dad picked him up a couple of hours ago. He's with him until Sunday night."
"Oh," was all Danny said as he uncorked the top to his liquor.
"Wait," I told him as he started to take a swallow from the bottle. I retrieved two glasses I got with a Courvoisier gift set. I dropped some cubes of ice in the glasses to cool the warm brown then took the bottle from him and poured.
Danny drank his down---I sipped.
"You okay?" I asked concerned with what the man I had fallen in love with was going through.
"I will be."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I just got hit with a dose of reality."
"And what's that?" I asked, even though I knew.
"That marriage now-a-days ain't shit but a front. Something to do."
"Don't say that. You just got a slut." He gave me a funny look for calling his wife a slut, but then his memory reminded him of her infidelity and a smile warmed his face.
"You're right."
I sipped my drink as he poured himself more. I guess he thought that he could drink the pain away.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Find someone of my own."
Wondering if I heard him correctly, I asked, "Huh?"
"Do unto others," he held his glass up for a toast. "As they do unto you!"
"Going out and getting a piece doesn't solve your problems. Once you get your nut and your nerve endings come back down to normal, your problems are back."
"Sounds like you been there before."
"Yeah. So I had to stop fucking James' dad. I stopped fucking period. Until I found the right one."
"The right dick," he managed to laugh. And I was glad to see a smile on his face.
"Whatever." I got up from the couch. "I need to add a hit of coke with this shit." I headed to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and bent over moving a head of lettuce, some bottles of juice and a Tupperware filled with left over lasagna to the side, trying to find a can of coke that I hadn't drunk. As I reached for the soda I felt the heat from Danny's hands as he gently grabbed my hips. I smiled a smile that he couldn't see as I rose.
He pulled me toward him.
I backed it up.
He moved my hips with his hands and I went with his flow. My ass was grinding against him as I felt him grow. I knew he liked the feeling of a nice, thick, round ass instead of the small hump his thin wife sported. I moaned as I continued my grind and his hands slid toward my V. He bypassed the love area; sliding his hands up toward my midsection he untied my robe.
"You okay with this?" he asked. A bit of nervousness was in his voice.
"I think I should be asking you that question," I said as his hand drifted down slowly, traveling over my pubic mound finding its way to a moist place.
He didn't answer---at least not with words. He let his fingers do all the talking. One caressed my thigh and hip as the other massaged my wetness. He placed kisses on my neck and nibbled my ear. I turned my head so I could kiss him. So he could kiss me.
He did.
I did.
The taste of the straight cognac was still present on his tongue, and mine danced with his as if it was trying to get drunk.
He broke the kiss, moaned and began grinding his now rock hard tool on my ass all while he finger fucked me as if we were back in middle-school and this was all we knew to do. It felt good---damn good to have him in this way and to know what was next. I had masturbated to the thought of fucking this man for years and now was the time for it all to come true. I grabbed his wrist gently pulling so his two fingers would slide out of me easily. I turned to face him.
A puzzled look was on his face.
He asked, "What's wrong?"
I didn't say anything. I answered his question by licking his two fingers with the tip of my tongue then inserting them both into my mouth. Didn't have to say a word. My actions showed that there was nothing wrong, that he was doing what I have wanted him to do for a long time. I moaned, as I tasted my own sweet juices. Turned him on with that. Acted as if his two fingers were his throbbing erection. Got him ready for what was next. He slid my robe off me, and it fell helplessly to the floor. He marveled at my body. I knew he liked what he saw. Gazed at what he'd been missing. He was about to take a breast to his mouth---I stopped him.
I got on my knees and unbuckled his expensive slacks. In an instant they along with his boxers were on the floor. I grabbed his one eyed snake as it stared me in the face. I stroked it as I admired the different shade of color. I was about to take in the dick of African American and Puerto Rican descent. I slowly took inch by inch as Danny moaned with delight. I did him oh so slowly savoring every bit of him. I caressed his balls and he intertwined his fingers in my braids as he caught my rhythm. I performed my magic on him. Tried to get him to forget about Angelica's cheating ass.
Tried to get him to want what I have.
Tried to get him to want me.
Tried to get him to fall in love with me.
Because I was in love with him.
When I felt that Danny was to the point of no return I stopped then stood. We kissed deeply. No words were exchanged. There was no need. Our actions spoke volumes. He led me to the living room. Told me to sit, and I did as he took off the rest of his clothes. His body was so fit. I couldn't wait for him to lie on top of me. He knelt down and parted my smooth chocolate thighs.
"Damn, you're so wet!" he said excitedly.
I could see the hunger in his eyes.
"That's what happens when a woman finally gets the man she has wanted to fuck for years," I cooed.
He shook his head as if he was amazed at the sight of some good sista pussy.
I had to take him out of his trance, "So are you gonna tame this pussy or what?"
And with his whip of a tongue---tame my pussy was what he did. He ate me good and didn't leave anything on the plate. He licked slowly for a while on my folds taking every nerve ending to its brink. He moaned as he spelled his name on my clit. He tongue fucked the hell out of me and when I came he drank my sweet juices without hesitation. When he looked up at me his goatee was so shinny that it looked as if he had used Vaseline on it. He stood as I still had my hands on my breasts caressing my thick, hardened nipples. He stroked himself and I noticed how his pubic hairs were just as pretty as the hair on his head. I spread my legs open even wider than they were. My ass was on the edge of the couch, my back on the pillows. He leaned over me and supported himself by resting his hand on the back of the couch. I grabbed his throbbing pole and directed its head to my opening. He barely broke the flesh and started to moan a sweet tune as he entered me slowly. I gasped as he stretched my walls.
"Fuuuck it's so warm and wet," he moaned.
"Oh, shit," I screamed as he picked up his pace with every stroke.
"Do you want me to love you or fuck you?" he questioned.
I tried my best to put on my serious face, but I couldn't while his sweet dick was doing the hustle inside of me.
In between strokes I managed to say, "You...still love...her, so fuck...me. Fuck me and...fuck me good in case you...feel...guilty tomorrow and this never happens again."
And fuck me was what he did until he came inside me.
I lay in the bed and watched Danny as he slept. I had loved him for some time now and knew he wasn't going to leave his wife. I knew he just wanted to feel good. Wanted to be loved. So that's what I gave him and that's what I'll give him whenever he needs it. I couldn't help but to think about that bitch. His wife was so fucked up, and I couldn't stand her arrogant ass. I can remember the time when she wanted Danny to get rid of me as a partner. To get a male. The nerve of that ho to be jealous. She didn't even realize that she had a man that was faithful. That is until now. When Danny and I sat in the bath together washing one another, he told me that it would be hard for him to leave her. I already knew that. He asked if we could still do this. Do what we'd done. I agreed, but I also knew I had to do something to that bitch. She had hurt my partner. The man I rode with everyday. The man I trusted with my life and he with mine. We had each other's back every day. And I needed to have his. I knew what I had to do.
Danny was still upstairs sound asleep. I was in my den going through some of my notes from the job. I combed through the papers wondering if I had lost the number. Then I found it. I picked up my cell and dialed. Hanging up the phone crossed my mind but then a young woman answered.
I asked, "May I speak to Raheem?'
"Who this?" the young woman asked with her best hoodrat tone.
Not liking her attitude, I told her, "A friend."
She droped the phone, and I heard her yell, "It's another one of your bitches calling. I told you about that shit. You always---"
"Girl, shut the fuck up!" he yelled. "Who dis?" he answered the phone.
"Raheem, my man. This is Detective Wakefield."
"Whad'up, fam," he answered then I heard him yell toward the young woman, "See you always speculating and shit. That's why I'ma get rid of yo' ass. This the detective over my case. Damn, you stupid!"
The woman retorted, "So, the bitch shouldn't be callin' yo' ass damn near midnight on Friday. I ain't stupid!"
He barked, "Shut the fuck up, and go in the other room. I'm talking bidness!"
I asked, "You can't keep your ho in check?"
"She 'bout to check her ass the fuck out my crib. Anyway, whad'up?"
"I got a job for you."
"I get out my charges, all of 'em?"
"This some for real shit."
"That time I'm gonna have to do if my charges don't get dropped is some for real shit."
"Meet me at the McDonald's around the corner from your house tomorrow at ten, and I'll lay it down to you. If you can handle it, I guarantee your case will go away."
"Damn, ten. That's earlier than a muthafucka!" he grunted.
"They serve breakfast in jail earlier than that."
"Aw you got jokes now, huh? I'll be there."
I hung up then went back upstairs. Danny was still sound asleep lying on his side. I thought about waking him so he could get home---so his wife wouldn't suspect anything. I smiled thinking fuck that bitch, then crawled in the bed and lay in the spoon position against him.
Thank you for purchasing my novels, the author, Alex Richardson

