Loyalty and Deceit

by Beanie Sigel

  “That’s more like it. I’m fine, baby.” She turned her attention back to her son. “Did you do the accounting and balances?”

  “Yes, Ma. I came in last night and took care of it. I also placed orders, restocking everything we’re low on. All I need you to do is sign the paychecks. Everyone’s completed work hours and hourly wages are on the computer.”

  “You talkin’ to me like I just learned how to do this.” Anita smacked her lips. “You boys hungry?”

  “Yeah, but I’m gon’ call a few more people over so we can talk.”

  “Well, you need to hurry up. Ya’ll gotta be finished before two-thirty, ‘cause you know we open up at three o’clock.” Anita turned around and headed toward the kitchen. “Call me when you’re ready to eat!” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Terry pulled out his phone and sent texts to Haitian, Boogs and Twan. He instructed them to come to the restaurant right away, so they could eat and talk.

  Haitian was the first to arrive. He was thirty-two years old and from Brooklyn. His facial features were remarkably similar to the reggae artist Shabba Ranks. He used to constantly travel back and forth from Brooklyn to Syracuse to hustle. However, in time, he became so comfortable that he ended up making Syracuse his permanent residence.

  Twan came to the restaurant second.

  Boogs hadn’t made it in yet. Boogs was originally from Philadelphia. His true nickname was Boogie Man, but over time it was shortened and he stuck with it. At twenty-three years old, Boogs was by far the youngest of the bunch. However, his youth had never been a factor, because he was street smart beyond his age.

  Everyone who was inside the restaurant heard and felt the vibration and rumble of heavy bass from outside. They instantly knew the source. Boogs pulled up behind Jihad’s coupe. He jumped out of his custom candy apple red BMW X5 M. The SUV was fully loaded with red and black suede interior, two fifteen inch JL Audio sub woofers, and gigantic twenty six inch Lexani rims.

  He walked into the restaurant hyper as usual with his large white gold chain and diamond studded cross swaying back and forth. His platinum and diamond Cartier glasses commanded attention. Boogs’ skin was the color of creamed coffee. His charming round eyes, baby face and low cut Caesar contributed to his beguiling appearance. “What’s up, cannon?” He greeted everyone with enthusiastic handshakes, his Philadelphia accent prominent.

  “What the fuck I told you about blastin’ that music so loud in front of the restaurant?” Terry scolded.

  “Damn, my fault. I had that new Meek Mill in there. That bawh is the truth!” Boogs knew that Terry could never stay mad at him for long. He was the little brother that Terry never had. “Guess what, T?”

  “What?” A hint of frustration still lingered in his voice.

  “I was chillin’ in front of Club Roar last night. When it ended, this bad ass shorty came out. As soon as she saw all that candy and chrome she wanted to fuck...the broad was thirty-five!” Boogs professed proudly. “And I popped a Viagra. I beat that pussy like it owed me money!”

  “Yo, you a nut, li’l nigga,” Twan said.

  “Aaight ya’ll. We got some important business to discuss, so let’s get down to it,” Terry announced, bringing seriousness to the conversation. He called one of the waitresses over to the table. After taking everyone’s order, she left.

  “Okay, ya’ll, we have a slight problem on our hands.” The men at the table discontinued their small talk and gave their attention to Terry. “As I’m sure ya’ll know, the coke prices are getting higher and the quality is getting worse.” The group mumbled in agreement. “It’s getting increasingly difficult to keep a steady supply.”

  “Yeah,” Twan said. “The shit you’ve been giving me to cook up can’t take a hit, and still be good enough to put out on the streets. They’re cutting it up heavy before they sell it to you.”

  “Well, one thing we gotta do is cut back on the size of our bags,” Boogs suggested. “How can we keep big bags when we paying so much?”

  “You’re right,” Terry acknowledged.

  Jihad chimed in. “And we’re gonna have to weigh the eight balls up at three-point-two grams instead of three-point-five.”

  “Yeah, every little bit counts. But this is only going to be in effect while the drought is here,” Terry informed his men. “As soon as we find the connect we need, everything goes back to normal.”

  “I think I might be able to help you with a connect,” Haitian said.

  “Oh yeah? How’s that?” Terry asked.

  “My man, Powerful.”

  “What about him?” Jihad questioned.

  “His brother, Justice, got locked up and now he’s running shit. They say that nigga got more birds than a pet store.”

  “Listen, I already had one bad run in. I don’t have time to waste, or money to lose based on some he say/she say shit,” Terry explained.

  “I used to buy weight from Powerful before I moved here. He been gettin’ money, and his brother had Bedstuy on lock for years. It ain’t like these some new niggas that just came around.”

  “Alright, well, I need you to check it out.”

  “You ain’t said nothin’. I’ll get on that expressway tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay, this is what we gon’ do. Haitian, I want you to get in touch with your man, Powerful. I’m gon’ give you the money for a bird. If you come back with the work, and it’s good, then, we’ll fuck with him. Do you really think you can get down there tomorrow?”

  “No question,” Haitian responded.

  “Alright. Let’s see if everything pans out. But for now, we’re just going to do a little cutting back on the size of our bags and shave off a little on the weight we’re selling.”

  “And I got to get on them niggaz about taking so many shorts. From now on, they can’t accept nothing less than nine dollars,” Boogs said.

  “Yo, Twan, I need you to...” Terry cut his words short when he looked over to Twan and saw that his head was tilted back, his mouth gaped. This was not uncommon due to his narcolepsy. Boogs looked at Twan and released a devilish grin.

  “Boogie Man, don’t do it,” Terry warned, realizing that he was up to something.

  Ignoring Terry, Boogs grabbed the salt shaker, removed the top, and poured over half of the salt into the glass of water that was in front of Twan. He then took a bottle of tobasco sauce, twisted the top off, crept up the side of Twan, and poured a generous amount of the fiery liquid into his open mouth.

  Still asleep, Twan closed his mouth and began smacking his lips. The sudden burning sensation brought Twan out of his siesta. Beads of perspiration quickly formed on his forehead as the heat forced him awake. He jumped out of his chair and onto his feet.

  “Oh, shit!” He reached for the water in front of him and took two huge gulps. Suddenly his eyes grew even wider as he spit the salty water out of his mouth, causing it to land all over him and the floor.

  The entire table burst out in uncontrollable laughter. Twan’s angry eyes scanned the table. He instantly knew who the culprit was.

  “Boogs, I’ma whoop yo ass!”

  “What did I do?” Boogs said, attempting to sound as innocent as possible.

  Twan was not going for it. He headed towards Boogs like a bull out of the cage.

  Boogs jumped up from his chair as if it was on fire. “T, text me when you’re ready for me!” Boogs yelled as he quickly darted past Twan and out of the entrance door, narrowly escaping a severe ass whooping.

  The following day Terry met up with Haitian. Just as he promised, a meeting had been arranged with Powerful to purchase a kilo of cocaine. Terry gave him a small duffel bag containing twenty six thousand dollars. He also gave Haitian the keys to the Navigator and instructions on how to use the stash box. Haitian got inside the SUV and headed towards Brooklyn, New York.

  “Uuugh...yeah... It feels good, don’t it?” Powerful grunted as his shoulder length dreadlocks danced wildly, and he pumped ferociously in and out of the slim,
Latin woman in the doggy-style position.

  “Mmm...Hmmm...” she mumbled, unable to say anything else because her face was buried in another woman’s pussy.

  “Don’t be stingy, Marisol,” the curvaceous white girl said. “Let me get some of that big, black meat.”

  Without saying a word, Powerful slid himself out of Marisol and easily moved her face away from the white girl’s pussy. Spreading her legs wide apart, he plunged himself deep into her unbelievably tight and moist entrance.

  “Oh, God!” she screamed from the sudden burst of pain. After adjusting, her screams turned into moans of pleasure as she worked her pelvis, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  Marisol was growing tired of rubbing her own clitoris. She straddled her leg over Amy’s face. Her pussy was instantly greeted by a skilled tongue.

  Ding-Dong! Powerful heard the sound of his doorbell ring, but there was no way he could pull out. He didn’t even allow it to break his rhythm. After ten minutes and five more rings of the doorbell, he felt his orgasm building up.

  “Oh, shit...I’m ‘bout to cum!” As if on cue, Marisol and Amy quickly turned around to greet his rod. Each one took turns licking and sucking. With a mellow moan, Powerful released on the eagerly awaiting faces and breasts of both women. “Damn,” he said with a hint of frustration. “Let me see who in the fuck’s at my door.”

  “Wait a minute.” Amy reached out and grabbed his shaft in her hand. “I don’t want you to spill anything.” Using her mouth, she engulfed his dick issuing long, even sucks to remove the remnants of semen from his penis.

  “Damn, baby. You’re the best. Ya’ll go take a shower.” Powerful slid on a pair of jeans and removed a .45 semi-automatic from his nightstand. The chime from the doorbell rang again. “Shit,” he mumbled. He stood to the side of the door out of precaution, with his weapon in hand. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Haitian.”

  Powerful opened the door. “Come in.” Perspiration lingered on his face and chiseled chest.

  “Damn, nigga. What was you doin’, working out or something?”

  “Nah, I was in some pussy until I was rudely interrupted. You’re early.”

  “I’m only an hour early, and I know this money is more important than some pussy.”

  “Is that the dough?” Powerful asked, gesturing towards the bag that Haitian carried.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hold on a minute.” He tucked his gun into the waist of his pants and walked away to the coffee table where a few cell phones lay. After sending a text he waited a moment, then received a response. He then placed the phone down and walked back over to Haitian. “You got twenty-five G’s in there?”

  “It’s all there, counted and wrapped.” Haitian reached into the bag and pulled out a few stacks for Powerful to see. He had told Terry that the price was twenty-six thousand. The extra thousand dollars was pocketed. What the hell, he thought, I’m the one doing the transporting and risking my ass for him. I should be charging him more.

  Powerful took the bag. They sat down at the kitchen table while he removed the money and casually thumbed through it. “Who you coppin’ this brick for?”

  “I’m coppin’ for myself, nigga. That’s all my paper.” He lied.

  Powerful chuckled. Doubt was visibly etched on his face. “Nigga, please. You couldn’t save up two thousand dollars, now all of a sudden you got ki money? Get the fuck outta here!” He couldn’t contain his laughter.

  Just then, Amy walked into the kitchen. Her long brown hair accented with blonde streaks was pulled up into a bun. She was wearing nothing but a navy blue bra and matching lace cheekies. “Excuse me.” She said it more towards Powerful. She walked past them and removed a set of glasses from the cabinet, opened the refrigerator, and bent over to peer inside for a moment in contemplation of what she wanted to drink.

  Haitian could not take his eyes off the beautiful, young, white girl with the slim waist, plump, round butt and thick thighs. He had never seen a white woman with such a shapely figure in person. Powerful noticed Haitian lusting after Amy, but paid it little attention. To him, it was like Haitian was staring at a car he could never afford.

  “Yeah, P,” Haitian began in a cocky voice just loud enough to be heard by Amy as she poured orange juice into the two glasses. “That twenty-five G’s ain’t shit. If I like what you got, I’m comin’ to get seven more next week.”

  Powerful stared at him incredulously. “I hear that, big boy.” He responded with a hint of sarcasm. Haitian didn’t notice it. He was too busy watching Amy’s ass sashay from left to right as she sauntered out of the kitchen, heading towards the bedroom.

  “Damn, P. She’s shaped like Coco. You can’t just find nothing like that strolling around. She had to come special ordered!”

  Ding-Dong! The doorbell rang. Without saying anything, Powerful got up and left the kitchen. When he opened the door there was no one there, only a backpack. He scooped it up, locked the door, and returned to the kitchen table. Without inspecting its contents, he simply handed the backpack to Haitian. He unzipped it and marveled over the kilo of cocaine. This was the first time he had one in his hands.

  “You sure this is straight?” he asked, less out of concern, and more because he simply didn’t know what else to say.

  The question caused Powerful’s anger to instantaneously surface. “Mutha fucka, are you insulting my character?”

  “No, man, I was just...”

  “Nigga, you just disrespected me in my own goddamned house?”

  “Come on, P. It ain’t like that,” he pleaded.

  “Get the fuck out!”

  “Man, I...”

  Powerful removed the .45 from his waist and laid it on the table. His hand was still tightly wrapped around the handle. The barrel was facing Haitian.

  “Do I have to repeat myself?”

  “Nah.” Haitian eased out of the chair, clutching the backpack and headed toward the door.

  Powerful followed. “When you come back, bring some fucking respect with you!”

  Haitian narrowly made it out before the door was slammed behind him. Powerful walked to the living room window overlooking the street just in time to see Haitian scurrying to a Lincoln Navigator, and after a moment, pull off. “Lying ass nigga.” He was going to find out who Haitian was buying for later. But for now, he had some unfinished business to attend to in his bedroom.

  When Haitian was within fifteen minutes of reaching Syracuse, he sent Jihad a text message letting him know that he was on his way to the house. Terry, Twan and Jihad were driving together when he received the message. He then drove directly to the spot.

  A few minutes later, the Navigator pulled into the driveway. Haitian hopped out carrying the backpack over his shoulder. He trotted to the back door and began pounding. Twan jerked the door open, completely blocking the entrance with his massive frame. “Nigga, what the fuck is wrong with you, banging on the door like you’re crazy?”

  “I just made it back, T,” he stated proudly. “I got the work right here!” He held the bag up as if it was a grand prize.

  “Gimme that shit.” Twan snatched the bag out of his grasp while giving him a cold stare that crushed his pride. He stepped to the side and Haitian darted inside hoping that Twan didn’t use his ham sized hand to smack him in the back of the head as he passed.

  Terry and Jihad were in the living room watching a Smack DVD when Haitian stormed in, stopping directly in front of the TV blocking their view.

  “I told you I was gonna come through, T. I made it, baby! It wasn’t nothin’, kid. Everything went like clockwork. Once my nigga, Powerful, saw me, he rolled out the red carpet for ya boy. He was about to start poppin’ bottles and...”

  “Are you made of glass?” Jihad asked.

  “Huh? No, why?”

  “’Cause your simple ass just came and stopped in front of the TV like I can see through you. Move the fuck outta the way!”

  Haitian briskly stepped to the right. He
knew better than to take a chance by arousing Jihad’s anger. Terry and Jihad got up and walked past him and into the kitchen. Haitian followed them like a lost puppy.

  “Yeah, my man was gon’ front us an extra bird, but I told him we don’t need nobody to front us nothin’. We got paper.”

  Twan was already in the kitchen. He began to pull out the materials and ingredients to convert the powder into crack.

  “What you think, Twan?” Terry asked, completely ignoring Haitian as he babbled on.

  “I’m about to find out right now.” Twan sliced open the plastic wrapped kilogram with a box cutter. He removed and weighed exactly ten grams of cocaine on a scale. He then took a bottle of clear ammonia and poured about eight ounces into a small bowl. He dropped the powder into the ammonia. The cocaine fizzed up as the impurities rose to the surface, and the pure powder rocked up into crack. Twan removed the crack rock from the bowl, ran it under water, and allowed it to dry. Once completely dried, he placed the crack rock on the scale. It weighed almost seven grams. He picked up the off white rock and studied it. “It ain’t bad. It’s over sixty-five percent pure. It’s not no helluva good shit, but it will hold enough cut for us to stretch it a little. But it’s better than the shit we was getting before.”

  “Probably better than anything else around here,” Terry added.

  “I’ll probably turn it into a thousand and seventy grams of decent work,” Twan said.

  “I know you’re gonna make magic.” Terry had total confidence in Twan’s ability. He, then, turned to Haitian. “I have to admit, I’m proud of you. Tomorrow, I’m going to give you a grand. In two days, I’m going to need you to go back up there to get four more. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “No question!” Haitian beamed. He was already imagining pouring all that money onto Powerful’s table. He ain’t gon’ believe it when he see me with all that dough, he thought to himself...

  CHAPTER 3

  Now that Terry was once again able to meet the demands of the streets, everything began to run smoother. Everyone within his circle had been replenished with drugs, and in turn, they were taking care of their tasks diligently. Terry was concerned that two of his drug houses had recently been raided by the Syracuse Narcotics Unit. His workers who sold drugs out of the houses had been arrested and charged with sales and possession of cocaine. He had arranged for their bails to be paid, as well as hired attorneys for them. He understood that for every potential to make a gain, there was also the potential to take a loss. Preparation and planning had to be made for both.