Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4

by Nisa Santiago

  Chico was wearing beige cargo shorts and a T-shirt, along with white Nike’s and dark shades. The two looked like good friends talking, enjoying the summer days.

  Jason spoke in a low whisper as they walked closely. “You got problems,” he said.

  “Who don’t?” Chico replied nonchalantly.

  “First, this psychotic bitch you’re at war with, you gotta put her down.”

  “What you think I’m tryin’ to do?”

  “She’s bad for business.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Listen, the bodies piling up in Harlem are bringing you unwanted attention . . . first, from the local police, the mayor, the congressmen, and the community. And then that shit brings about the feds to come sniffing around in your ass. And when the feds start sniffing, they ain’t gonna leave your ass until they catch shit on you.”

  “I fuckin’ know that too.”

  “Well, know this—You fuckin’ up, Chico!”

  “What you mean?”

  “You remember a few months back I told you about Two-Face? Told you to keep it clean, not to have anything come back to you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s coming back on you.”

  Chico looked confused.

  “Word is, his uncle—You know Roman, that crazy muthafucka you met with down in Texas who’s running a cartel down in Mexico?—he’s coming for you.”

  “For what?”

  “His nephew. Word got back to him that you’re responsible for what happened to Two-Face. I told you to keep it away from you, and point it in the direction of Cross and his peoples.”

  “And I did.”

  “Then why does he think you have something to do with his murder?”

  Chico was lost.

  “You have a leak in your camp then. Somebody’s snitching, reporting to you, but telling your business to other people. Fuck, Chico, the shit is piling up on you hard and fast! Handle it.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Jason. I will handle it.”

  “You better, because I can’t always be there watching your back. I do what I can.”

  “I got my own back, Jason. I’m a fuckin’ problem to anyone that thinks they can fuck wit’ me. I’ma kill ’em all.”

  “Then be that problem and handle your business. But, until you do, this is gonna be our last meet. I’m gonna have to part ways from you until shit cools down with you.”

  “So you just gonna turn your back on me?”

  “It’s just business, Chico. I have my business, my damn interest to protect, and you have yours. I don’t need to get entangled in webs thick like yours. But my gift to you to handle your growing problem is Ion.”

  “You givin’ me Ion?”

  “You’re gonna need his help.”

  Chico smiled.

  “He’ll be in town next week. I’ll set it up for you, but he’s not cheap.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t fuck this up, Chico. Ion’s coming to town to clean house for you. He does that, and then it’s back to business like normal. But until your world cools down, and Ion does what he does best, I’m gone—no contact, no numbers from me. I’m ghost.”

  Hearing that Ion was coming to New York made Chico feel better about his problems with Apple.

  Harlem wasn’t ready for a killer like Ion, a killing machine, and ex-Navy SEAL who had become a hit man. It was more profitable and more fun for him to kill for money than for his country. Fifteen years of killing, from the Seals to the streets, had made him the most proficient and adept killer around. He was strong and patient, but most of all, he was discreet at his job. A sharpshooter, good with a blade, any knife, and excellent at hand-to-hand combat, he could either shoot you between the eyes from a distance, or snap your neck up close.

  “You take care of my man, Chico.”

  “He’s gonna be put to good use. Believe me, he’s gonna have a lot of work on his hands.”

  “Fifty thousand up front, cash money for his services.”

  “Done.”

  “Don’t fuck this up, Chico. You know Ion’s picky with his services. He’s doing this only because I asked him to.”

  “And I appreciate that. So let the games begin,” Chico replied with a smirk.

  The two men continued their brief meeting while walking the track. The sun was slowly fading behind the horizon, and the other joggers and walkers on the track were thinning out, giving the men even more privacy.

  Jason and Chico shook hands and went their separate ways. Chico walked back to his truck, where his two goons were still posted up, smoking cigarettes, and talking shit.

  They noticed Chico approaching.

  “We good, Chico?” Torrez asked.

  “Yeah, we definitely good.”

  All three piled into the truck and drove away. Chico knew that the storm was about to become a lot worse in Harlem. Ion was about to tear the city apart with his bare hands. Apple and her Down South crew weren’t ready for a killer like Ion. Shit, all of New York wasn’t ready for the shit storm heading their way.

  Thirteen

  The sweltering New York heat was almost unbearable. The sun felt like it was giving the city a bear hug and wasn’t trying to let go anytime soon. The pavement felt like it was melting underneath people’s feet, and even the buildings were sweating. The residents were trying to keep cool by any means, which meant children playing and keeping cool in open fire hydrants, or running through the sprinklers in the park.

  The ladies were sitting on the front steps of walk-up apartments, or lingering on the benches outside the towering projects and fanning themselves continually, trying to overcome the heat, and the men walked around shirtless and scowling, angry at the summer’s heat bearing down on them.

  Harlem was coming under fire from two deadly forces: the blazing sun above, and the hoodlums at war with each other, shooting up the block and creating casualties. Either way, the residents were getting scorched. With Chico and Apple at war, there was no safe place to hide as even the cops got caught up in the fighting, finding themselves under a blanket of violence.

  Several days earlier, a marked car on patrol near the Lincoln Projects was shot up by machine gun fire from an unknown triggerman. Both uniformed officers were hit and barely survived. The mayor was livid, and during his media coverage about the bold attack on the city’s finest, he vowed that whoever was responsible for the murder attempt on the officers’ lives would be caught and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

  After that latest incident, the city flooded Harlem with dozens more cops in the area. In addition to the young rookies walking the beat through the housing projects, cop cars were cruising the Harlem blocks more slowly now, eyeing and harassing any passing black man as a potential suspect. “Stop and frisk” was the order of the day.

  Getting any kind of illegal income in Harlem came down to a crawl. Many dealers were becoming frustrated and angry. A war that had nothing to do with them was interrupting their cash flow, because cops were everywhere in Harlem. Tactical police teams were kicking in doors and making raids in every direction. Snitching was on the rise, and undercover officers were always around, kicking over the nests hustlers had built in the hood. The authorities wanted arrests and indictments for the vicious attack on two of their comrades, and everything was pointing toward Apple and her band of thugs.

  Apple’s killing crew was paving the streets red with blood. She had come to New York like an unpredictable force of nature, so no one was ready for her. And to make matters worse, while many residents and drug dealers were scared of getting caught up in the crossfire, she didn’t give a fuck.

  She continued to flaunt her wealth in front of the have-nots, riding around in her Bentley, or some other luxury vehicle, catching envy from others. She went on shopping sprees and sported jewelry that cost more than an average worker’s yearly salary. She looked at the people in Harlem like they were something vile and dirty that she would wipe off her five-th
ousand-dollar boots. She was shitting on everyone and not giving it a second thought.

  Apple walked around her penthouse suite in her panties and bra. She took much delight in the air conditioning that flushed the place, keeping her and her goons cool in the heat wave.

  She went to the window and gazed at the city overcome with humidity and the glare of the sun. So many things were going through her head. The suite was quiet, since she was alone for the moment, enjoying some much-needed solitude.

  Guy Tony had jumped on an early-morning flight back to Houston to handle his business. New York was no longer his home. Apple felt it was for the best. He took a few goons with him back to Houston, leaving Apple with a handful of thugs to continue her vendetta. She didn’t have time to fly back to Houston. In fact, it’d been a few months since her arrival, and there was still hell to pay.

  Terri entered the bedroom and saw Apple clad in sexy underwear. Her curves were enticing and able to hypnotize any man, but a few scars on her body showed the evidence of the suffering and torture in the Mexican brothel.

  Terri stood tall in front of her, ready to carry out any orders coming from the boss lady. He was the ideal soldier in her crew—strong and vicious, but also loyal and subtle. Terri knew his place in the criminal organization and was content with being paid handsomely for his deadly deeds as a contract killer. He allowed Apple to be the brain, while he was the brawn. And he liked being the brawn. He used to feel weak at one time, but the pistol put in his hand when he was a teenager gave him strength. And, before long, bloodshed, murder, and violence became his calling card.

  “Any word from Jet yet?”

  “Nah. No word,” Terri responded coolly.

  “How fuckin’ long is this shit gonna take?”

  “For what you’re asking for, it might take a little longer than expected.”

  Apple sighed. She wanted Sean’s head in her lap and his body rotting in the dirt. “I want that muthafucka so bad, Terri. I want him dead.”

  “I know you do, and Jet is good at what he do. From his pedigree, he ain’t gonna fail you.”

  “I hope not. We’re paying him a lot of money.”

  “The wolves are gettin’ a little restless, especially Crunch.”

  Apple didn’t like Crunch. She thought he was just too ignorant—too fuckin’ country. He had a provincial way of thinking that bothered her.

  “Fuck him!” Apple hissed.

  “They need work. They’ve been cooped up in the same place for almost a week now. Why have muscle around, if they ain’t gonna be muscle?”

  Apple wasn’t so quick to respond.

  She had Terri and Chicano, two of the most skilled killers she’d ever come across, and with those two men flanking her, she had all the muscle she needed in New York. Crunch and his Southern boys stood out like a stripper with no nipples. They were just hard to look at and be around. But Guy Tony suggested that Crunch stay, for Apple’s protection, so she was left to deal with his nasty odor and tasteless ways. Crunch was a nasty muthafucka with no prudence at all.

  Apple continued to move around the bedroom in her scanty underwear. “Fine. I’ll have somethin’ for them soon.”

  Terri nodded. His eyes shifted to her legs. Then he walked his eyes up to her chest and face. It was hard for him not to notice her attire, but she was the boss’s lady, and he had respect for his boss. It was manifested to him that Apple wasn’t in love with Guy, but for some reason, Guy Tony was in love with her. Their relationship wasn’t his business. He was paid to kill, not to be a relationship therapist.

  Apple felt comfortable enough around Terri to walk around in her underwear. But she was raw like that. She had drastically changed from that young, frightened teenage girl who was hiding from Supreme because she’d owed him money. If only Supreme could see her now. But she’d had him killed. Too bad. He had created a monster.

  Over the months Apple grew to trust Terri, and his judgment. Not only was he was smart, but he was the silent and strong type too, only speaking when he needed to. In some ironic way, he reminded her of Chico, before their deadly feud. He was so handsome and vicious, a mix she was attracted to.

  Terri lingered by the door while Apple stood around and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Are we done here, Apple?”

  She turned and locked eyes with her enforcer. She walked her eyes across his attire. He was wearing a wifebeater that hugged his muscular frame like artwork. The dark blue denim jeans he wore looked good on him. His long dreads were like a thick lion’s mane around his face, and his dark eyes were transfixed on Apple.

  “Yeah, we’re done.”

  Terri nodded and exited the bedroom, leaving Apple with some unexpected naughty thoughts about him. It had been weeks since she’d had sex, and with Guy Tony back in Houston, it gave her some breathing room to do whatever she pleased.

  ***

  Apple took a pull from the Newport she was smoking as she relaxed in the cultured marble jetted tub, trying to soothe her stressful lifestyle in the warm water. She was yearning for a trip to a top-notch Manhattan spa. Even though she was a gangsta bitch, she was still a woman, and she wanted to escape to pedicures and manicures, sensual massages, steam treatments, and mud baths.

  Apple was submerged in the lukewarm water from the neck down. She had her eyes closed and savored the stillness and temporary tranquility around her. Her mind began to drift, and her body to feel appeased.

  Just then, her cell phone started to ring near her reach. It irritated her that she brought the damn contraption in the bathroom with her. She saw it was her mother calling. She wasn’t in the mood to put up with her nonsense. She ignored the first call, and the second from her mother. But Denise was a persistent bitch and would keep calling until someone answered.

  Apple snatched up the phone after the third call. “What?” she screamed into the phone.

  “Something happened to Kola.”

  “What you mean?”

  “Your sister is in the prison infirmary down in Miami. She got stabbed by an inmate.”

  “She dead?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad!”

  “Apple, this is your gotdamn twin sister.”

  “I don’t have a fuckin’ sister, Denise. I don’t care nothin’ for that bitch anymore. If she lives or dies, she ain’t my fuckin’ problem.”

  Denise sighed. “Did you have somethin’ to do wit’ it?”

  “You blaming me now for this shit?” Apple barked.

  “Kola is awake, and your name came up as the culprit. Apple, did you try to have your own sister killed?”

  “You’re fuckin’ impossible, Denise. Always taking her side, right. I didn’t have shit to do wit’ it. I ain’t the only enemy she got. Fuck that bitch! She deserves everything that’s happening to her.”

  “Apple, you can’t be that evil.”

  “Watch me. I ain’t that little girl anymore. And if that bitch wanna blame me for her gettin’ stabbed, then so fuckin’ be it. But she better keep her ass down in Miami, ’cause I ain’t that bitch to fuck wit’. I got an army for that bitch now.”

  Denise shouted, “What is wrong wit’ you?”

  “Everything.”

  “You know what, Apple—You’re making the same fuckin’ mistakes twice. Look at you, riding around the hood in fancy cars, shitting on the people you came up with, and you’re creating a shit list of enemies in Harlem. You’re becoming overwhelmed by madness. You’re becoming a lunatic. I fear you ain’t gonna ever learn. I feel so sorry for you.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Denise. I’m good, and gonna always be good. I don’t need you or any fuckin’ backstabbin’ family around me.”

  “You gonna always need family.”

  “You think so, huh? Where you at right now? In the fuckin’ projects. And you wanna know where I rest my head at every night—a penthouse suite in midtown, Denise. You think I need Harlem? I don’t need a gotdamn thing from that asshole of a pl
ace. Fuck Harlem! And fuck you, if you think I’m gonna kiss ya ass and feel sorry for Kola. I’m lookin’ out for myself right now.”

  Denise sighed heavily once again. “I’m gonna tell you somethin’, little girl. No matter where you set your throne at, you gonna always need allies if you want to stay alive in this game.”

  Apple let out a mocking chuckle.

  “You think it’s funny?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Apple, I pray—”

  “What, you prayin’ now? How can you pray wit’ a dick in ya mouth? Get the fuck outta here, Denise!”

  “I just hope you didn’t have anything to do with the attempt on your sister’s life.”

  Apple shouted, “And if I did, what that bitch gonna do to me? Huh, Denise? That bitch is lightweight right now, probably a fuckin’ cripple too, and she ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me. You can go and personally tell that fuckin’ bitch-ass twin sister of mine to kiss my black ass and go fuck herself. ’Cause I ain’t the one to come at. So fuck her, you, Chico, Harlem, and your fuckin’ prayers! You ain’t fooling me wit’ that nonsense, Denise!”

  “You’re impossible, Apple.”

  “Yes, I am. Ain’t nobody gonna touch me. I’m the baddest fuckin’ bitch on the block. I’m running things now.”

  Denise grew a little salty. It was bad enough that her girls weren’t looking out for her any longer, but now they were ready to kill each other like they were complete strangers. It left a bad taste in Denise’s mouth, and their feud was leaving an ugly stain on the family’s name. It was embarrassing to her.

  Apple clutched the cell phone tightly to her ear. Her soothing bath suddenly felt like rocks scraping against her. Her mother had soured her evening.

  “Do me a fuckin’ favor, Denise—Don’t ever call me about that fuckin’ bitch again. I’m done wit’ the both of y’all.”

  Apple hung up and quickly removed herself from the tub. Her face in a scowl, she didn’t bother to dry off. She hurried into the bedroom wet from head to toe and snatched a kimono from off the back of a chair and threw it around her. She plopped down in the chair, lit a cigarette, crossed her legs, and stayed there for an hour, thinking. She knew one thing for sure—there was going to be a family reunion soon. And when that time came for her and Kola to face off, the question would be answered—Who would be the first sister to pull the trigger and take the other’s life?