Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4

by Nisa Santiago

  “Just be calm, Kola.”

  “What you think I should do then?”

  “You want out, don’t you?”

  Kola nodded.

  “Then get yourself outta here. If she’s reachin’, take her hand and find out why later. But the most important thing is you outta here. That’s step one. And then, step two, you’ll find out once you get on the other side of these walls.”

  “You right, Danielle.”

  “But be careful. If you don’t take the bail, stay in your cell and keep a shank on you at all times.”

  “Why?”

  “Word is, you might have a contract out on your head. I just got that kite today.”

  “What?” Kola asked, shocked. “By who?”

  “It’s through the wire. Someone put the green light on ya head, so if I was you, I’d watch my back. The bounty is twenty thousand to have you killed.”

  “Twenty stacks?”

  Danielle nodded.

  Kola couldn’t help but feel scared, but she didn’t show it. She was still determined to move around like she was the baddest bitch in Miami, but she only had her reputation going for her in the detention center. OMG and Nikki were her security on the outside. Even though she had proven herself countless times in the streets, without any support, any muscles, or a strong word from OMG to the savages in Miami that she was still his number one bitch, then she was vulnerable just like any other inmate. With her connections from OMG and Nikki fading, the wolves inside began sniffing around, circling their prey, ready to tear into some New York flesh.

  “Here, take this.”

  Danielle discreetly handed Kola a homemade shank. The short, wiry piece of metal had its tip sharpened on the concrete floor to plunge into skin easily, and the handle was wrapped with upholstery thread to make it secure and easy to conceal.

  Kola took the weapon and slid it into the sleeve of her jumpsuit, and she and Danielle went their separate ways. Kola was more alert than ever. Everyone was a suspect, and if any bitch tried her, then they were about to get a handful.

  ***

  As the days moved on, Kola was keeping in constant contact with Sassy. And whenever she called collect, Sassy made sure to answer. They were having lengthy conversations, finding more about each other every day. Sassy assured her that her bail was about to be paid, that she would be a free woman again.

  “Why are you doin’ this?” Kola asked.

  Sassy simply replied, “We’ll talk when you get free.”

  It was obvious that Sassy didn’t want to reveal any information via the prison phones or through any letters. Everyone was always watching and listening. Kola understood. Sassy was becoming the kind of ally Kola truly needed at the moment.

  ***

  Sassy had come through for Kola, who couldn’t wait to leave the detention center. It had been three months since her arrest, and now she would become a free woman. She’d worry about the cost of her freedom later on.

  The day was just starting, and Kola wanted to take a fresh shower and clear her head, but inside, there was no such thing as clearing your head. There was always someone lurking, watching and ready to try you in your weakest moment.

  Along with the other inmates, Kola walked into the prison shower wrapped in a white towel. The shower was a spacious, white-tiled room with eight high showerheads lining the wall. Five ladies entered the showers and hung their towels on the towel racks near the exit and began to wash themselves.

  The showers were noisy, with each showerhead running simultaneously. Kola took the last showerhead at the end of the room, wanting to be far away from the others. A female guard stood watching the door. Kola, two showerheads down from the nearest girl, quickly began to lather her body with the issued soap.

  The water cascaded off her brown skin. She washed with her eyes open, and wanted to be in and out. Her release was in a few hours, and the farther she was away from this place, the better.

  One by one, the girls started exiting the bathroom when they were done. Only three girls remained, one of them a butch named Meeka.

  Kola turned off the shower and moved toward the door then Meeka followed. Kola soon noticed the female guard wasn’t posted by the door, but she didn’t think anything of it.

  Before Kola could exit the shower room, she suddenly felt a piercing pain shoot into her lower back. Meeka had shoved a shank into her. Kola jerked from the attack, and she felt it again and again. It happened so fast, Kola wasn’t able to defend herself.

  Of the three girls remaining, a second girl left the bathroom fast, leaving Meeka alone to finish up the job.

  Kola knew she’d fucked up. She’d let down her guard and left herself open for the attack.

  “Fuckin’ bitch!” Meeka exclaimed.

  Meeka was a hard-core butch, standing five ten with a shaved head, and had the body of a linebacker, with cold eyes and rough, manly features. Soon to be sentenced for first-degree murder, she was feared in the prison.

  Kola stumbled against the walls, her blood spilling. Her body was going into shock. Her blood-coated hands stained the white-tiled walls as she struggled to walk and support herself. Then she collapsed on her side in a thud, Meeka towering over her with the bloody shank still in her hand.

  Is this it? Is this my last breath? Kola thought.

  Kola squirmed, the blood spilling from her body like water pouring from a garden hose. She tried to keep her eyes open, but she felt weak and cold, like her soul was parting from her body.

  “You ain’t invincible, bitch!” Meeka shouted.

  Kola felt paralyzed, and her breathing was becoming shallow. She wondered who paid for the hit against her. She had lots of enemies, so it could’ve been Eduardo, Cross, Chico, OMG, or some other forgotten enemy from her past.

  Right before Kola lost consciousness, she heard the words, “That’s from Apple, bitch!”

  Twelve

  Blythe stepped out of the shower feeling a little bit refreshed. She tied a large blue towel around her naked, wet figure. The shower was somewhat of a comfort to her from the problems surfacing in her life.

  She stared at her image in the large bathroom mirror and sighed heavily, her mind heavy from so many worries and her nerves shot. She didn’t know what to think. Her hubby was at war with a psychotic bitch. And the bitch was unpredictable. She had gotten the news of Sheeba’s gruesome murder—the way he was hacked with a machete. It made her cringe in fear for her own safety.

  Blythe no longer felt secure in their fifteenth-floor home, tucked away and guarded across the Hudson in New Jersey, though security in the building was high-end and tight—cameras, a doorman, and guns. She couldn’t even go out anymore without a bodyguard to protect her, so she mostly stayed indoors, out of the clubs, and especially away from anything uptown. Anything connected to Chico was a target for destruction.

  But the sad thing about her man being at war on the streets was that she was alone most of the time. It had been three weeks since she’d last had sex, or any quality time with Chico, who was too focused on fighting a war with Apple. It made Blythe a little jealous. His ex still had most of her man’s time. Ironic. She still came in second when it came to Apple, and she couldn’t help but feel some kind of way.

  Blythe lingered in the shower for a moment, until she heard movement in the living room. She heard loud talking, the voices deep and harsh. She figured it was Chico coming home.

  She stepped out the bathroom and entered the living room still wrapped in her towel. Chico had just walked in the door, but he wasn’t alone. He had a few goons with him—his street lieutenants. They looked perturbed.

  He didn’t even see Blythe as she stood in the hallway out of their view and watched the men turn her luxury penthouse home into some kind of tactical war base.

  Chico was clad in black fatigues, a black tank top, and wore a bandanna tied around his head like a headband. He looked more like a soldier at war than a kingpin, or her hubby.

  His three goons were als
o dressed in all black. One carried a duffel bag that seemed to be weighed down by its heavy contents. He placed the duffel bag on her round mahogany dining table and started to unzip it.

  Blythe only stared on, as the tall goon in the black shirt began removing an arsenal of guns from the bag—Uzis, MAC-10 machine guns, Glocks, and other high-caliber pistols.

  ***

  “We gonna fuck that bitch up, Chico,” Torrez exclaimed with a scowl, a Desert Eagle in his hand.

  Chico walked over and picked up a black Uzi, its clip protruding. He examined the weapon, unhooked the long clip, and checked the ammunition. He nodded. He put the weapon back on the table and picked up two twin 9 mms. He outstretched his arms with the guns and aimed at the wall, looking like some kind of dark action figure or a deadly hit man. He smirked as he pictured staring down at Apple and drowning his ex-bitch and her thugs with heavy gunfire. It was a pleasing thought.

  “Yeah, these will do, fo’ real,” he said.

  Rome nodded.

  “We good then?” Bad chimed.

  “Yeah,” Chico replied.

  Bad started to cram a few guns back into the duffel bag, leaving out the twin 9 mms, the Uzi, and the Desert Eagle. Those were going to be Chico’s personal weapons.

  The men talked recklessly about the streets, the murders, the death of their cohorts, and how they were going to retaliate.

  Torrez began rolling up a blunt, and Bad and Rome tried to counsel Chico about their next move. Nobody would be untouchable. It had to be ugly and calculated, and they had to hit hard and fast.

  “An eye for an eye, Chico,” Bad stated. “She got at your cousin, so then you go after her family too.”

  “What family?” Chico said. “That bitch ain’t got family she loves like that.”

  “What about her moms?” Bad asked.

  “Like I said, that bitch ain’t got family she loves like that.”

  Bad said, “I don’t give a fuck, Chico! Love her or not, we still get at that bitch, and leave a message for her, prove our point. She still in the projects, right? Left wide open to be got.”

  Chico lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He walked over to the windows, where he had a picturesque view of the New York City skyline. He was able to see where they were rebuilding the towers at Ground Zero. The new Freedom Tower, still in its skeleton form, was starting to dominate the downtown area of Manhattan. It towered over the other buildings as it stretched into the blue sky, making New York City look whole again.

  Chico kept his gaze on the soaring tower being built and took another pull from the Newport between his lips. He couldn’t believe that it had to come to this—bloodshed and war with his ex-girlfriend. The woman he’d once loved. He didn’t do anything wrong, but Apple had to find some kind of fault with everyone. She’d blamed him for not rescuing her, and then all of Harlem for the torture she had experienced while being held captive and made a whore in Mexico.

  He’d tried to talk some sense to her, but she wasn’t trying to listen to anyone, so he had to resort to violence. She was being pig-headed and ugly. Her mind was possessed with revenge at any cost.

  “I wanna fuck that bitch up, and everything that belongs to her, Chico,” Bad said.

  “You and me both.”

  “I can have ten goons in her projects ASAP, and they can kick in that bitch’s door and do her dirty,” Bad stated. “Maybe get her to talk and give up her fuckin’ daughter.”

  Chico didn’t reply right away. He only continued to stare at the city, admiring how beautiful it was. It was the concrete jungle where dreams were made, and also destroyed.

  “She don’t know where that bitch is,” Chico said gruffly.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Nigga, I’m sure. Apple ain’t stupid.”

  “Don’t matter,” Bad said. “We still need to prove our point.”

  Chico knew Bad was right. He couldn’t look weak, not right now, and not because of some bitch. Especially his ex-bitch. He had to make a statement—not just to Apple, but to all of Harlem.

  Chico took one last pull from his Newport, snuffed it in the ashtray next to him, and turned to face his lieutenants. “You do what you need to do, Bad. Fuck it! Make it happen.”

  Bad nodded and smirked. He was ready to fuck shit up. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Chico finally noticed Blythe, quiet like a mouse, standing in the shadows of the hallway. He frowned at her for listening in on his meeting with his lieutenants.

  “What the fuck you standing there for, and listening to business that you don’t need to listen to?”

  “Can we talk, Chico?” Blythe asked.

  “Can’t you see I’m fuckin’ busy here? I’m at war right now, Blythe.”

  “I know, and I just need a minute of your time. You seem to have time for everything else, except for me, playing with your guns and always worrying about that bitch.”

  “Bitch, who the fuck you talkin’ to like that?”

  “I’m sorry. I just need some time alone with you, Chico . . . some time alone with my man.”

  Chico sighed. He looked at his lieutenants. “Y’all niggas, get the fuck out, and let me talk to my lady for a moment.”

  “A’ight!” the men said in unison.

  They gathered their things and walked out the penthouse.

  When the door shut behind the last man, Blythe walked into the well-furnished living room and closer to Chico. She only wanted to wrap her arms around him and feel his thick frame against hers. But Chico looked reluctant to have any womanly comfort at the moment.

  He took a step back from Blythe’s grasp, screwing his face at her. It wasn’t the time for any affection. His mind was racing with so many things, thinking about different ways to strike and kill his ex-bitch.

  “So, this is how it’s gonna be, Chico? You step away from me like I’m some plague? I’m trying to show you some love, and I can’t even get a fuckin’ hug from you?”

  Chico yelled, “I got other things goin’ on right now, Blythe! You fuckin’ know this!”

  “Chico, what about me? I’m scared. I’m lonely. I’m horny. And I need comfort. And you out there playin’ soldier games with your ex-bitch. How you think that fuckin’ makes me feel? We haven’t had sex in three weeks.”

  “Fuck you, Blythe! I’m worrying about my business and reputation, staying alive, and I ain’t got time to give a fuck about how you feel. If we dead, then you ain’t gonna be able to feel shit.”

  Blythe glared at Chico. She was ready to smack him, but she didn’t dare. Her eyes became glazed. Her tears wanted to fall. She took a deep breath.

  “Baby, I love you so much, I don’t want to see anything happen to you. I want us to be whole again, have things normal like the way it was before this bitch came back to Harlem.”

  “With this bitch around, Blythe, things will never be the way they were. She’s out for my head and yours too. You understand that? With her out for revenge, it ain’t safe to be how we was.”

  “I just want this fuckin’ war over with.”

  “You and me both.”

  Blythe sighed heavily. “Are you really going to kill her moms?”

  “I told you—Stay the fuck out my business, Blythe!”

  “I’m not trying to be in your business. I was just asking a question.”

  “The less you know, the fuckin’ better.”

  Blythe didn’t push it.

  Chico pushed past her and went into the next room, slamming the door behind him and leaving her standing in the plush living room an emotional wreck. The tears started to fall.

  She could hear Chico’s phone ringing behind the shut door. He immediately picked up and started talking.

  Blythe slowly walked toward the door, tempted to knock and finish their argument.

  But when she heard Chico say, “Jason, what’s good?” she knew to move on.

  When Chico was on the phone with Jason, she knew not to interrupt him.

 
Blythe went into her bedroom teary-eyed and feeling hopeless. She shut her door, her mind whirling with so many worries. Every day was a threat to her existence, not knowing if her man would survive this vicious war, or whether he would be incarcerated for his violent actions, and running a drug empire. She didn’t want to be alone, but the way things were happening, their future together looked uncertain.

  ***

  Chico pulled up to the curb of Warinanco Park in Elizabeth, New Jersey, and stepped out of the truck flanked by Bad and Torrez. Across the street from the park were two-story middle-class apartment complexes. With working families and soccer moms, the area was quiet and far removed from the ghettos and slums of Harlem.

  Chico sighed as he stared at the trees filling the park on the warm, clear evening. He noticed a few kids lingering at the entrance.

  “Y’all stay here,” Chico told his two lieutenants. “I’ll meet wit’ him alone.”

  “You sure, boss?” Torrez asked.

  “Nigga, I’m sure. This nigga is like a brother to me.”

  The men nodded.

  Chico walked off, fading down the paved trail that led into the park before emerging in the track and field area. The track was sprinkled with a few joggers and some walkers, trying to keep fit under the fading sun with their iPods and smart phones plugged into their ears, tuning out the world while moving around the Tartan track.

  Chico looked around for Jason and soon spotted him in a white tracksuit with black edging. He was alone and walking slowly around the bends, but Chico knew Jason’s goons were always watching.

  He waited for Jason to reach him as he leisurely walked in the center lane and a few runners sprinted by him. When Jason circled the track, he joined him in their easy walk.

  “Chico, glad you could meet up with me,” Jason said coolly.

  “Always. But you said there was something important you had to tell me.”

  Jason, with his pale bronze skin, didn’t even break a sweat in his tracksuit as he walked. He barely looked at Chico, keeping his eyes forward, focused on his walk. He looked more like a handsome and fit suburban dad out for an evening walk than a drug kingpin having a meeting with another drug kingpin from Harlem.