by Tiana Laveen
Running her fingers against the clear teardrop-shaped pendant of her necklace, she sighed and took a deep breath, then continued to sort out more of the boxes piled in the living room. She screamed when a sudden boom rent the air. This was followed by ‘Oye Mi Canto,’ by N.O.R.E. Ft. Daddy Yankee, Nina Sky, Gemstar, and Big Mato.
“Oh my God! It’s so loud it’s rattling my house now!” Having had enough, she marched to her front door, slid on her white and silver Nike sneakers by the entrance, and made a mad dash down her front walkway, her big hoop earrings slapping her cheeks as she practically flew like a bird towards the street. She looked both ways, then raced across the road until she was finally at the nice house surrounded by palm trees, the place responsible for making her ears practically bleed. She stood at the entrance; certain the people inside wouldn’t be able to hear her as she pounded on the door. Then, she noticed a camera with a red light flashing. It moved, as if someone had used it to zoom in on her. Suddenly, the music stopped, and she heard heavy footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and it felt like the air was sucked out of her lungs, her surroundings, the street, and the entire city.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing light hazel eyes, and tattoos on practically every inch of his neck, chest and arms, including a crucifix in the middle of his forehead. He glared at her, and she instantly filled with trepidation and concern, but fought the urge to flee. He stood barefoot, clad in only a pair of baggy white shorts, his dick print more than apparent, despite the loose fit of the apparel around his hips. Long, muscular legs, covered in black hair and more tattoos, caught her eye, and on his chest was something she’d seen a time or two: symbols for the notorious street gang, the Latin Kings.
There was no way you could be born and raised in Miami and not recognize them. Black, menacing ink of snarling kings, vicious lions, attacking snakes, screaming skulls, and jeweled crowns covered his brawny frame. Shit… This motherfucker is a gang banger. What in the hell is he doing livin’ here?! She fought to find the right words, a way to approach such a bastard without something bad popping off, but then loud barking broke her out of her trance.
“Sarge! NO. Quiet.” The man kept his eye on her, but turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of the dog. The barking stopped immediately. His deep, booming voice made the music that had been playing sound like a whisper.
“Hello.” She worked up her nerve, holding her head high in spite of a racing pulse. “I live across the street.” She pointed to her house. He casually glanced over, then brought his gaze back to her. “My name is Majesty. I just moved in.” The big man said nothing. As she stood there, she expected people to be roaming about inside his home. After all, it sounded like he had daily parties—but there was no one there. At least, not in the visible part of the living area. As if sensing her trying to get a better look, he crossed his ankles, then his arms, and leaned against the frame of the door, blocking her view. “I wanted to—”
“…talk to me about the music.”
“Yeah. It’s too loud. I work… school. I have a kid. I moved out here for some peace. I like music, too, but—”
“I’ll turn it down.” He moved back from the door, then slammed it in her face. Within seconds, DMX’s, ‘We Right Here’ was blaring. Same volume. Same thumping. A swell of anger erupted inside her like a volcano that had been trying to explode for decades. She knocked on the door, so fast and hard, her knuckles stung. The door swung back open and music poured out of the house like an invisible avalanche, while a haze of smoke drifted behind him. She smelled cherry incense and saw a dog run past in the background.
“It’s still loud!” She shouted over the music. Sure, even if he didn’t hear her, the motherfucker could read lips. He rubbed his hands together, bit into his lower lip and grinned. Just then, about six motorcycles pulled up—a bunch of motherfuckers dripping in gold chains and black and yellow attire, with women sitting on the back. The bunch of tatted-up misfits started to snap their fingers, dancing, cackling and cursing as they held what looked like bags chock full of wine and beer bottles. As they approached the door, they acted as if they didn’t see her. In fact, one of the big guys, bald with a big gut, slightly bumped into her as he made his way inside the house, pushing the screen door into her shoulder.
“Hey. You hit her…” The monster who answered the door whispered so low, she almost missed it. He took a hold of the big guy’s arm and pulled him back. The man paused, staring at the both of them. She’d never seen such a thing. With a few words, this big man showed reverence. The respect, tinged with apprehension, was palpable.
“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” The fat man chuckled. “I ain’t even notice you, mami. You Dominican? You look like you might be Dominican.”
“No. I’m Black, as if that matters, and the music is too fuckin’ loud!” Both guys burst out laughing while the rest of the gang marched inside, business as usual.
“Dominicans can be Black.” The big guy shrugged. “You look it is all I’m sayin’.”
“Well, I’m not Dominican. I didn’t come over here for an Ancestry.com discussion.”
The angrier she became, the more they cackled. The big guy walked off, leaving the Monster at the door with her. He shook his head, as if there were some inside joke she wasn’t aware of. Just then, 50 Cent’s ‘I Get Money’ began to play. She loved that song, down to her damn bones, but refused to acknowledge it.
“Look, I’m sure you’re used to people bein’ afraid of you, sir, and you know that I know your affiliations. It’s all over your body, and I can read just fine. But you can’t move into a place like this and expect to be a thug. My son has homework, and so do I, and some of us got to get up in the morning. We have jobs. Turn it down!” She turned and walked off, her heart pounding so hard in her chest, it hurt. Suddenly, as she was heading back onto the sidewalk to cross the street, the music stopped.
“Hey, hold up! Majesty, the Black Queen of England and music volume police!” he hooted.
She huffed and spun back to face him.
“What?”
“Welcome to the neighborhood. You’re sexy as hell, you know that? And brave, too.” He winked at her, and her blood ran cold.
“I don’t give a damn what you think of me. I couldn’t care less if you think I’m titillating and courageous. You have no respect. You are the last person on this street, in this city, in the country, and on this entire damn planet who I would take any stock in wantin’ to impress.”
“Ewwwww! So mean, Mami Chula!” He burst out laughing, showing all his glistening, white teeth, then reached low and rubbed the top of his dog’s head. It was then that she realized it was a blue Pit Bull. Gorgeous dog. It was also then that she saw the butt of the gun jammed into the back of his shorts. Perspiration broke out on her face. Oh shit… see… my mouth always gets me in trouble…
“My name is Viper,” he stated calmly, smiling even. “Look, Majesty, nice name by the way… I’ve got a party goin’ on tonight, so the music will be loud, and there isn’t shit you can do about it.” He shrugged. “But, sometimes, if I’m in the mood, I can be a nice guy, so I’ll make you a deal. The ordinance out here says loud music has to be turned down at ten. I will turn it off at eleven. Sweet dreams.”
And then, he slammed the door once again…
CHAPTER THREE
Snitchin’ and Lyftin’
“They’re definitely snitchin’.” Pedro sighed as he slumped back in a black plastic chair in his new one-bedroom apartment in Little Havana. The bastard had returned to his roots, but the controversy and trouble soon followed. Many of the kings were gathered inside, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes and weed blazing, and the sounds of the big screen television mounted on the wall played in the background. Viper stood and pulled out his keys from his jeans pocket.
“Nothing we discussed today leaves this apartment. I’ll find out what’s going on. I told y’all last week that someone is talking to the police,”
he stated angrily. “I told all of you to lay low! Play it cool. You were being watched. We’re not out here in the streets drawing attention to ourselves! We learned from the past. I had already heard from the inside that that is what was happening. Someone wants to take over that territory. We were warned. You got caught slippin’. I told y’all to be cool, chill, not drawing attention to ourselves, and now with the heat on, some of you decided to get flashy. No one listened. I’m not even supposed to be over here right now, but I had to come to this motherfucker and find out what the fuck happened because Showtime is dead, and Wild is looking at least at twenty to thirty, no questions asked. Someone fucked up. Big time.”
Everyone drew quiet as he raged, pissed about it all. What was the point of being in charge when people sometimes did whatever the hell they wanted to do? But as soon as shit hit the fan, he was expected to come out and fix all the chaos and confusion.
“You wanna make me step out of character, huh? You want to undermine me?! YOU MOTHERFUCKERS SHOWIN’ OFF FOR WOMEN AND CLOUT CHASIN’! Honking your horns, flashin’ your money, bringing haters to the block! Then you at first only tell me half the story of what went down last night, afraid I’d shoot one of you, that I’d teach everyone a lesson. I am going to teach a lesson all right, but I first need all the facts. I will find out. Your lies don’t work on me. Do you take me for a fool?!”
“No, Viper,” several of them said.
“I told you, if you’re fair with me, I’ll be fair with you. Stacks,” he pointed angrily at Pedro, “I told you to not get back in the game. You were just at Wild’s crib, and had you not left thirty minutes earlier, you’d be back in the joint for life!” Pedro hung his head. “You’ve been busted for drugs, narcotics distribution, too many times to count in the past, and your luck is runnin’ out. You have to be smarter, Pedro. What the fuck is wrong with y’all?!” Viper kicked a chair over, feeling like he was talking to mere children. “¡Voy a matarte! That’s it. We’re in deep shit. If Wild gets a long sentence, you know what’s going to happen: you’re all going down. The Council will demand answers. ¡Te has equivocado! The police don’t give a shit about him, you, or me. They want the big kahuna.”
“Wild got picked up. We know someone dropped a dime. We’ll find out who did it, Viper,” King EC, for East Coast, spoke up. “I know you’re angry, man. Your orders were disregarded by some of us, but not all of us. You sent direct orders, and now things aren’t right, but we’ll make this right. I promise you and Jaguar.”
Jaguar was second in command. What he said went, and if anyone stepped out of line, there were always consequences.
“It doesn’t matter. Damage has been done. If anyone, and I mean anyone, in this room is responsible, I will be given orders… and I think you all know what those orders will be.” If they were lucky, it would be a beatdown of epic proportions. The other scenario involved a headstone and a prayer.
King Wild was a good buddy of his, true blue, but even the bravest of the brave, and the most loyal, could snitch if the pressure was just right. Wild was different though. He was one of the few kings Viper knew who was built to last and wouldn’t fold at the drop of a dime. Wild had been dealing dope out of his apartment; the police pulled up the evening prior and nabbed him. Wild hadn’t been slangin’ on the street in years, but always kept that window of his open, doing business. Watching everyone, too. The man had been there in that apartment for so long he was like a fixture, and the local beat cops were well paid, but someone wasn’t on the payroll. Someone was talking.
Wild was important, a lookout. That was his post while business was being taken care of. He could be trusted; he knew what to peep out, and how to warn the crew. Now, he was gone. That entire street was Latin King territory and ever since the new police chief came into office, things had changed. Their enemies had just been looking for a weak spot, and found it. Between the cops and the Haitian gangs trying to get a foothold, things were a tangled mess. Wild could be replaced, that was no issue, but the fact that he was now facing time in prison due to the cops finding almost a kilo of cocaine in his spot meant he would be serving some serious time. That also meant some people would become paranoid, think he might become desperate and rat them out to lessen his sentence – anything to be set free from the cage of lifetime incarceration.
“I need to head back. Everyone, be cool. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, handle all of your deals on burner phones exclusively. No new customers. No one is to be out on the street, either. Stay away from Wild’s apartment and that entire block for drop-offs. I’ve already got several lookouts there, trying to piece together what went down and what’s going on now. We can’t let anyone think the street is unprotected. Don’t keep product on you, either. You could get pulled over or detained at any time. Put it elsewhere, some place no one will look at, and tell no one where it is. I know I’ve been out of this game for a long time. I don’t slang, never did; the drug game is not my thing because we all have our talents – and you all know what mine is. But even though that wasn’t my assignment, I know what to do to keep you protected. I know what I’m talking about. Just ask any of the old heads. I know what the cops look for, all right? If anyone disobeys me again, your life is over. I will not hesitate. You will bring down others with you because of carelessness, and I can’t have that. Be on top of your shit, twenty-four-seven!” They all nodded in agreement as he headed towards the front door. “Pedro, I meant what the fuck I said to you.”
“I know…”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Stacks.” He glared at him. “If I find out you’re involved in selling any of this shit, in any fucking shape, form or capacity, be that online, in person at some club, on the street, through the pussy of a bitch holdin’ bags for you, I’m going to break your fuckin’ neck. I’d rather kill you than have you disgrace the Nation, or your mother have to deal with you being locked up for life. To some, that’s worse than death.” Snatching the door open, he slammed it behind him.
He headed to his black Bugatti with gold chrome and custom paint job, and got inside. He kept the beauty in his garage, protected under lock and key, and only took her out for special occasions. Today, he had business to attend to, but had also visited some of his family in Little Havana earlier in the day. He wanted to assure everyone that he was doing fine, that everything was under control. The best way to do such a thing was to look one’s best, and he did that so well. He stared at himself in the car mirror for a spell, then turned on some music. ‘Mas Maiz’ by N.O.R.E blasted through the speakers, and the white Pit Bull air freshener swayed back and forth as he zigzagged out of the parking space and merged into traffic.
He cracked his window and the scent of grilled meat and marijuana from outside filled his vehicle. He noticed all of the beautiful women standing around checking him out in his ride, some calling out to him… more than likely creaming in their lacy panties, wishing to be near him. Be seen beside him. Fuck him. They knew him by name.
“Viper! King Viper!”
“Dominic!!! Hey! Wait up!”
He smiled, offered a wave, and kept rolling until about an hour later, he was back in Boca Raton. He turned off the music as he pulled into his driveway and pressed the garage opener, beckoning for the door to rise while listening to ‘I Love My Life,’ by Norega. He enjoyed the earlier rap hits more than recent music as of late. His father called him a knucklehead with an old soul.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Black queen known as Majesty across the street as he pulled in. He’d not spoken to her since the day she’d come to his home, demanding things, her hand on her hip and a sneer on her face. Her car hood was up, and from what he could make out, she looked downright frustrated. Moments later, he was out of his car and inside his home. After taking a swig of cold coffee, he headed out the front door to see what was going on. As casually as he pleased, he crossed the street and headed in her direction.
“Of course I can’t.” She had her back
to him as she gripped her phone to her ear. “But I can’t miss work today, Porsha. That’s the whole point. I already had to take a few days off for this move… No… by the time you come get me, I’ll be extremely late. Besides, I don’t want to take you away from your job right now… I know… It keeps making this knocking noise, too. I have to drop off Troy at the babysitter. Now, I’m runnin’ late… I know, but it’s not working out! I don’t have time for this… Who? I told you that Mitch didn’t fix it right. I just spent five hundred dollars on this piece of shit and here it is, doin’ the same thing again. Some mechanic he is! I swear that—” She spun around, stumbled back, and her eyes widened when she saw him. “…I swear that he is trying to rob me… Let me call you back, girl.”
She disconnected the call. He looked her up and down, taking note of her button-down pink blouse that hugged her tits just right, and her tight black pants and low heels. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her sweet, sexy perfume filled the air, mixing in with the smell of oil and grease. A black smudge stained her cheek, and her right hand was covered in soot. Stepping in front of the car, he looked down at the engine and began to tinker around.
“What are you doin’?”
He picked up a nearby wrench and got to work.
“What’s this? A 2018 or ’19 Dodge Charger?” he asked after a few moments.
“…’18. Do you even know what to look for? How do I know you’re not making it worse?” He ignored her and kept at it. After a few minutes of messing around, his fingers now black and slick with oil, he figured it out.
“These are the wrong transmission rods. They don’t fit right.” He pointed downwards. “It was an accident from the manufacturer. The car is stalling, right?” She nodded. “That’s because of the voltage regulator. Your mechanic fixed the wrong thing. You gotta take this to the dealer. They’ll fix the rods free of charge. It was a recall from years ago.”