by Tiana Laveen
He picked up the remote control, muted the television and waited...
“Greetings, Xzion...” came a deep, vibrating synthesized voice that within seconds became clearer and more human in intonation.
“Greetings, Aton. Reporting.”
“Time of take off?”
“Twenty-one hundred hours.”
“Identify the parties.”
“Lewis Carter, AKA, ‘The Preacher’. His best man, BK, will not be in attendance tonight—he was picked up by the local police on an unrelated charge. They’ve been in operation since 1993. Five layer tier. Three main runners—Greg, AKA ‘Granite’, Mike, AKA ‘AK-47’ and Willie, AKA ‘Slicky.’”
“Elimination plan?”
“Two of them smoke their own supply so no mind control would be productive due to drug intake and influence. Additionally, I need to signal a warning.”
“Warning?”
“I will use their demise to teach a lesson, as I’ve done with the latest ones...all of them will be terminated.”
“I want you in and out and I want the Baltimore assignment wrapped up soon but this sounds a bit more complicated since it consists of more than one or two targets simultaneously. This is a group. What additional time is needed?”
“None. Infiltration is complete, though the leader more than likely will attempt to test and possibly rob me. It’s customary.” Xzion shrugged. “Tonight is it...no additional time needed.”
“Don’t worry about your current environment. I know it is not conducive to your existing temperature issues, but your next location will more than meet your needs after this operation is terminated. I have even thrown in some perks, for your pleasure. You have given us great hope, Xzion. By this time, the others that preceded you would have all been sick or worse, dead. The fact that you are still very much alive and working pays homage to your extraordinary genetic material, training and skill. You deserve this. We have someone taking care of it; your home is in the process of final customization.”
Despite the repeated nightly ice baths, Xzion at times felt sick to his stomach, unable to keep from over-heating as of late. During his last assignment, he incurred a hellacious fever that almost caused him to pass out. The computer chips in his arm and brain were misfiring, causing tiny seizures in his sleep and occasionally debilitating pain that would force him to soak for hours in baths of ice after taking out another cocaine chief, pill peddler or heroin Highness. The Earth was doing a number on him but he hung tough, to the best of his ability. He needed a cure just like everyone else and some days were worse than others, but he had no choice. Lives depended upon it.
He sighed in displeasure, eagerly anticipating getting into a calmer area, relishing the thought of once and for all being able to move into his temperature controlled new digs. From his upbringing, Xzion was used to luxury and he’d worked his ass off to obtain everything that he had. Nothing came for free or without hard work. Yet he understood the nature of his job, and not everything would be comfy and cozy.
“Yes, I understand, Aton.”
“Report back once mission is complete.”
And then the wrist-imbedded phone went dead.
Xzion grabbed the car keys off the tilted kitchen table and headed out the apartment to his 1994 dirty white Honda Accord. The outside winter breeze blew briskly across his face and the coolness felt delightful...
****
Xzion lowered his dark hat, pulling it down across his eyes to block the full gaze from others. Cool air curled out from between his parted lips in the icy winter zephyr. Seven inches of snow layered the sidewalks and a long line of men waited impatiently to go in the jam-packed, popular titty bar. Once the search and seizure was over, he was allowed to enter and became immediately inundated with a red light, a haze of copious cigarette smoke and Notorious B.I.G rapping, “Ready To Die.” Soon, the tune came to an end, replaced with, 50 Cent’s, ‘Definition of Sexy’. Incoherent, drunken purls were in earshot as he glanced through the nasty swirls of thick marijuana smolder. The cloudy surfs grinded against each other as if fucking and once the misty love dance ended, he made out a beautiful woman with a long, cherry red wig, twisting and twirling in an erotic dance on the stage...
He glanced at her, his eyes seizing the seductive movements, but quickly regrouped. Out of the corner of his eye, he peeped the V.I.P section where he was headed, but he needed just one more moment...just one minute to watch the dancer finish her set. He even found himself putting his finger up to some invisible person—asking for just a second or two to watch this tall, brown angel move about on the white lit stage. Her skin glistened with oils and glitter. As he zoomed in on her gyrating hips, she popped them from side to side as if on cue and his chest caved just a bit as she leapt onto the pole, holding on to it with her strong inner thighs before snaking down the damn thing, humping it—rendering the salivating men in lust-filled states, periods of sexually-induced delirium as they shouted obscenities and salacious words. She only gave a slight smile, seemingly lost in her own hidden world. Her dark brown eyes glistened under the strobing lights. She made his dick incredibly hard...but it was time to go, time to push this distraction out of his mind.
He broke away from the trance and made his way over to the V.I.P. section, where his awaiting crowd had gathered. Pausing, he honed his infrared vision on the center member and identified him through his right eye, receiving his vitals like red, blinking credits on a black screen:
Subject identified as: Lewis Carter, thirty-seven, 6’1, 194 lbs, currently carrying three weapons: Remington 870, Beretta 92 and a Glock 17.
Obviously, they let this motherfucker and his affiliates come on in, any way they wish...
He’d left his weapons in the car after noticing the repeated pat-downs and quickly scanned the men huddled around him in the red booth under a halo of crimson light that made the brown skinned bunch burn with ember highlights like lit cigarette cinders. Half naked beautiful women gyrated around them. Their eyes fixated on the rounded, twirling asses as the D.J. now played a custom blend of Baltimore Club music.
“Pop-Lock and Drop It! Pop-Lock and Drop It!” over booming, earsplitting baselines.
Xzion took quick inventory before he arrived at the table. “Smith and Wesson 29, Colt Pistol times two, Springfield 1903 and three blades.”
They stay strapped. Too bad it won’t help them...
Grinning widely, he slapped hands with his new friends as he took a seat. Carter immediately shot him a look, abruptly pushing a curvy dark haired stripper out of the way and causing her to stumble as her knee turned inward in the six inch silver stilettos. He smirked, showing a diamond in his front tooth. Xzion watched him run his long dark fingers over the tabletop before one hand disappeared behind the table.
On the defensive... Cute.
“’Sup!” Slicky nodded in Xzion’s direction then immediately faced Carter, his boss. “Hey man, this is the dude, Cortez, man... Hooked us up with the Rich White Girl. Glad you could make it, we can all have a nice chit chat,” Slicky announced, a muscular medium brown skinned man with short curly hair and pocked skin. He moved a thick blunt away from his mouth, allowing spins of dense smoke to escape and blend into the dank air.
“Don’t nobody get shit fuh free.” Carter slicked his tongue over his fleshy, dark top lip and leaned back, not taking his eyes off of Xzion. The fake persona was immediately dismissed. Far from shy, he let his ribs show, exposing himself completely to Xzion. “Yeah, you been with my guys here for about a mont’ now, got in good with ’em. Let them hang with you but what about your distributors?”
He didn’t wait for Xzion to respond before he continued on the suspicious journey.
“...Sayin’ you don’t want shit, just to join my team, huh? Brought the Rich White Girl. We already had Rich White Girl, what tha fuck I need you fo’, man? I’m Preacher; I can get whatever the hell I want.”
Xzion leaned slightly forward. His eyes shot over to a waitress approaching.
She took drink orders and disappeared just as quickly as she’d arrived. When he looked back at Carter, his gun was in his hand, lying on the table.
Fast...but not nearly fast enough.
“You didn’t have thistype of Rich White Girl; she is only from Columbia and smaller scale, England. No one has her in the States, no one except me. I gave your crew some samples. Now, you can’t keep up with the demand. You are the first, Preacher. I came to you first because I know you’re the best in this area. I figured we could work together. Now that your men have put her on the streets, business is good.”
“Business always been good.” The man looked Xzion up and down, sneering. “What the fuck is yo’ damn objective?”
“I can keep you in supply. The samples are over. Let me bring you on. Let me be a part of your franchise. This meeting is long overdue.”
“Yeah, my guys were impressed, but they always screen the new talent for me first. Nobody comes and sees me.” He pointed to his chest. “Everybody gotta prove themselves first. My time is valuable. I think you want to take over, man. Nobody knows where the fuck you came from,” he said coolly as he lit a new cigarette. He placed it to his lips and took a long drag, then paused as their drinks were distributed on the table.
“I’m not sharin’ shit and I’ll blow your ass across the damn club this very second,” he punched the table with his index finger, “if that is your plan. I fuckin’ run Temple Hills and Capitol Heights. It ain’t for sale and I was never good at sharin’.”
“I’ve been trying to earn the right to even be with you here tonight. I respect that this is your territory.”
The music continued to blare, the alcohol continue to pour, and the female bodies covered in glitter and thin sheens of sweat continued to migrate and gyrate around the room, offering lap dances and ‘happy endings’ in hidden coves for an additional fee.
Xzion took notice of all of the men’s tattoos, the dragon symbol known amongst BGF, the Black Guerilla Family gang. Xzion had had his share of dealing with notorious gang members, never underestimating their craftiness and manipulations of others, the prison system and the world around them. He’d learned early on that the local drug activity was always more than likely tied to illegal congregations such as rampant, aggressive gang movement, strong-armed extortion, highly sophisticated prostitution and a buffet of ways to scheme and fraud the system. Carter had spent ten years in prison for drug dealing and two counts of manslaughter were hooked to his name, but he beat the charges.
Out early for good behavior, he re-entered society as a ‘preacher man’ but it was only a farce, a charade, a facade to keep some law officials and local snitches unsuspecting of his behind-the-scenes devious activities. The problem was that Carter, AKA Preacher, wasn’t as smart as he thought he was—he too, was a pawn for a bigger monster. He simply didn’t know it.
“So,” Carter rotated the gun around in his hand, leaned back as the corners of his mouth twisted. “you’re from Columbia, huh?”
“Yes. I’ve been here for only a short while... still trying to get established.”
“What made you come to fuckin’ Baltimore?”
“There are untapped opportunities here. Previously, I just stayed in Columbia but once I came to your country, I understood that this venture was too good to pass up. You’ve got an open market here. It is more controlled in Columbia.”
“If Rich White Girl is doing so well for you, why aren’t you looking like your money is doing the talkin’? You look like a damn bum, ’cept those fuckin’ shoes.” Carter smirked as his bloodshot eyes scanned Xzion.
“Because I re-invested all of my dinero into my project, this project—this is big. I will look like a million bucks soon enough. I’d rather live in a hut, make the operation thrive, than live well and have nothing to show for it due to poor planning.”
Carter smiled at him and nodded. Xzion had already done his research and had the man in the palm of his hand. He’d found out that Carter, unlike some of his counterparts, had a strong work ethic, despite it being a corrupt one. The man rarely slept. He ate illegal activities for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and kept several wayward cops paid. Between his unlawful escort service and the non-stop drug dealing of crack cocaine and weed, he was constantly up like an old man with a new prescription of Viagra.
A few moments of silence passed. Xzion sat back as the gentlemen spoke to one another and grabbed at the ample flesh of the money thirsty women swaying by. Xzion looked at one in particular. Her wavy dark brown weave hit the top of her huge apple-shaped ass, and a bright orange bikini top and bottom contrasted quite majestically against toasty mahogany skin. Lips full and sparkling with sheer gloss, she shot Xzion a look and made her way over to the table.
“Heeeeey, Papi, wanna lap dance?” She pivoted slowly around, shoving her ass into his face. Xzion was surprised at her approach. Most of the women in the joint were soliciting the men dressed in stylish gear, the ones they were sure would hold stacks of cash.
Must be a slow night for her...
“Go ’head, let ’er dance for you,” Carter teased, laughing roguishly as he gently tapped the nose of the gun on the table.
Xzion turned back toward the stripper, his eyes on her bouncing ass. She moved so fast, her whirling corpulent mounds became a frenzied blur to the beat. The men laughed, encouraging the woman affectionately named, ‘BamBam’, to keep on.
“You ’fraid of pussy, man? What chew sittin’ there just starin’ at it for?” Carter laughed.
Slicky chimed in, smacking the table before picking up his beer and chugging it. “You gay? Are you gay, Xzion?” he taunted.
Suddenly, Carter stood and reached across the table, pushing the twirling pussy popper hard in the middle of her back, causing her to fall clumsily to the floor in a heap of orange fabric and dimly lit flesh. “Get tha fuck outta here, bitch. Can’t you see we tryna do business?! Fuckin’ whores—never where they are supposed to be!”
Xzion narrowed his eyes on the fallen woman as she slowly got to her feet. She hesitated, her back still turned. He didn’t recognize the human emotion dripping off her right away. He ran it through his internal computer:
Humiliation... Hmmmm, interesting.
BamBam looked over her shoulder, biting her pouty bottom lip, no doubt cursing silently. Just then, Xzion noticed a slight gleam in her eyes.
Tears? What is wrong with these people? Just walk the fuck away...I don’t want to have to ice you too, because you were too damn close to the fucking table. Go on. He saved your life.
“What tha fuck you lookin’ at?” Carter spat. “Stankin’ ass hoes...”
She sighed then made her trek away from them, stopping at another nearby table to begin her money dance all over again.
“Now.” Carter glared at Xzion, still gripping his gun. “You wanna be one of my guys, huh? They seem to like you. Think you can help us grow our business here. I’ve been watching your ass, watching closely.”
Xzion didn’t care. He was amused by Carter as he stared the man up and down, pretending to be in awe of the show-off.
I know you have. That’s why I stay in that shithole. I watch where I’m going and who I’m with.
“Here’s what we are going to do. I need to make sure you’re hundred proof. Let’s step outside into my office.”
Xzion stayed cool. This wasn’t in the plan, but he adapted quickly. He wanted mayhem in the club, for word to spread fast. He already had his exit clearly mapped out, but that was all going straight to hell. Regardless, he watched as all the men rose, and followed suit. He briefly looked around the club at all the gawking men in the jam-packed area, waving crisp ‘just got paid’ money in their hands as a thin woman on the stage with dead blue eyes swayed to the beat. Her small breasts glistened under the strobe light as her strawberry blond ringlets brushed her bony shoulders. The men passed by the illuminated stage then stopped short as Carter ceased his stride. Something had apparently caught the man’s eye. Everyone l
ooked in his direction.
Xzion watched him pop his leather coat collar and make his way over to a woman standing near a doorway.
It is her...
Shimmering beads hung from the top of the frame, cascading around her pale pink silk robe covered body. Xzion looked past the crowd of men and took in her image. Standing barefoot, ankles crossed, her bright dark brown eyes—fully alert—darted back and forth as if she were searching for someone. Xzion looked away, tipped his hat even lower, only allowing his chin to show. He took several steps back, drifting in the background of the group, blending in as he customarily did.
She’s beautiful...
“Fine as fuck!” Carter approached her, leaning close, invading her space as much as possible. The woman shifted her eyes then tucked the long, bone straight bright red hair behind her small, diamond studded ear. Statuesque, about 5 ‘10 and petite, but the look she gave Carter made it seem as if she felt ten feet tall and five hundred pounds.
“I ain’t never seen your ass in before—before you was on that damn stage. You ain’t show ya titties but for a minute and even den, the damn pasties blocked all the good shit out. You can’t get paid that way, baby doll. You seemed kinda shy. Must be your first time, huh?”
He surveyed her up and down, seemingly overdosing on the fresh meat before him.
“You wanna come home with me, huh? Get some real money, live the good life?” He grinned garishly, his upper lip curling in a joker-type grin.
“I don’t need a pimp,” she responded, looking past him as if he were a mere window with a garbage heap view.
Carter laughed loudly. “I’m not a pimp,” he winked, feigning innocence with the cheesy smile and toothy grin. I’m a business man. A pretty little thing like you is going to get hurt out here. I ain’t no ordinary man, beautiful. I can show ya extraordinary things. What’s your name?” He stroked the side of her face with his index finger. She hissed and moved away from him, but before she got out of reach, he clutched her thin wrist in his iron clad grip.