by Beanie Sigel
The meeting with the real estate agent went well. They explained to the realtor that the property needed major renovations to suit their needs. She contacted the owner and he was willing to negotiate reasonable lease and price terms. With a fair offer on the table, Terry and Mack promised to make a decision and get back with them relatively soon.
Terry and Mack remained in New York City for Friday and Saturday. They were back in Philadelphia by early Sunday evening. Mack drove directly to their lounge house on the eight hundred block of Price Street. Once there, Terry sent Keith a text telling him to come to the house. He was anxious to see if his new car had been taken care of.
Mack grabbed a Blunt Wrap, removed a bright green, sticky nugget of Berry Kush from the Tupperware bowl that was filled with the exotic strain of marijuana, and rolled it up. They smoked and talked about what business needed to be handled. It was time to collect their money from the streets, which amounted to a little over one hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Their shipment of cocaine was expected to arrive within the next two days. The money needed to be counted and packaged in advance so it could be quickly inserted into the panels of the delivery vehicle after the drugs were removed.
Terry picked up his cell phone and called Jihad.
“Hello?” Jihad answered.
“What’s shakin’, sun?”
“I’m chillin’. Where you at?”
“I’m at the cool out. Come through, I need to holla at you.”
“Come through? Nigga, I’m in Miami.”
“Yo, what the fuck you doin’ in Miami?”
“You know Wiz Khalifah invited us to the party he’s throwing at King of Diamonds.”
“Nigga, we said we wasn’t going!” Terry shouted.
“Nah, you said you wasn’t going. Me and Shawn is down here, playboy.”
“We got a ton of work to do up here, and you gon’ bounce out of town like that?” Terry growled into the pone. “So it’s fuck us, huh?”
“T, you buggin’ the fuck out. We bust our asses every day for ya’ll...for the movement. But, damn, my nigga, we need some time to enjoy ourselves, too.”
“How in the fuck are you gonna decide when to bounce out of town without at least taking care of your business first?”
“You know what? You’re right, boss,” Jihad said sarcastically.
“What? Don’t fuckin’ play with me, nigga! Who the...” The line went dead. “Hello?...Hello?” Realizing that no one was on the other end, Terry cursed Jihad aloud in frustration. He was so entrenched by the argument that he didn’t notice Keith enter the house.
“Wassup?” Mack asked Terry.
“Jihad and Shawn are down in Miami partying.”
“What? Oh, them niggas think they runnin’ shit now?”
“Yeah, they’re getting too big headed.”
“Here, T.” Keith disrupted the momentary silence. He tossed Terry the keys to the Tesla along with a paper bag.
“What’s this?” Although Terry’s anger was still present, he was simmering down a bit.
“That’s twenty stacks,” Keith answered. “The bawh, Khabir, pulled me over while I was in the Tesla, thinking I was you. I remembered you saying something about you fronting him some work. So when he asked me ‘bout you, I just told him to give me that money he owes you.”
Terry couldn’t help but smile as he pulled the rubber band wrapped stacks out of the bag. “At least we got somebody who’s loyal to the team.”
“Keep taking initiative like that and you’ll keep rising.” Mack patted Keith on the back. Just then, his cell phone vibrated. “Wassup wit’ it?”
“Wassup, Mack? This is Boogs.”
“What’s goin’ on? I was just about to call you.”
“Shit, I probably wouldn’t have answered. I had a long night with two bad bitches I took home from Club Roxy last night.”
“Goddamn, cowboy. Next time call me before the fun, not after.” Mack kidded.
“Don’t trip, I got these shorties from Reading, that I’m working on. They model material. Aye, you know Reek is gettin’ out, right?” Boogs said, changing the subject.
“When?”
“It might be in a week or two. They have to take care of all the paperwork.”
“Who you hear that from?”
“He called me yesterday. They didn’t indict him on the body. He only got a gun charge. They’re going to let him out on conditional release so he can go to a rehabilitation center. My nigga is able to stand up on his own already.” The pride in Boogs’ voice was unmistakable.
“Damn, that’s wassup. Yo, I gotta take care of something important, li’l bruh. I’ma call you back.”
“Aaight, bruh. Later.”
Mack ended the call and looked at Terry with a blank expression.
“What’s good? You look like you saw a ghost,” Terry said.
“Not, yet, I might be seeing one soon.” Mack shook his head. “Reek is about to get out of jail.”
“Get the fuck outta here. How’s that possible?”
“Boogs said all he got is a gun charge. They gonna let him out so he can go to a rehabilitation center. Damn...I know my nigga ain’t fold,” Mack mumbled.
Terry walked over to his partner. “You know we gotta find out what’s up with him, right?”
“No doubt.”
“You also know what has to be done if he turned into a rat, right?”
“Come on, T. Don’t disrespect my gangsta. Any nigga that shows weakness in our circle must be eliminated. It ain’t nothin’ else to it.”
Keith listened to their conversation, nodding his head in approval...
CHAPTER 21
After a night of mingling with a few of his white collar associates, Mack was pleasantly surprised by the amount of fun he was capable of having with them. He enjoyed being introduced to new forms of entertainment. He left the function inebriated and in a jovial mood. Instead of going home, he went to Sandra’s house.
Mack pushed a button in his Bentley Flying Spur. “Call Sa—.” Before issuing the command, he de-activated the call assist.
Since Sandra had been texting him throughout the day and he never responded, he figured it would be in his best interest to see her face to face. That way it would be easier to dodge any potential argument.
He eased the Bentley into the driveway, got out, and activated the alarm system. He rummaged through the numerous keys on his chain until he located the right one. The effects of the alcohol caused his balance to be slightly off. He stabilized himself enough to insert the key into the lock. With a few unsteady twists, the lock’s bolt receded. He turned the knob, opened the door, then stepped inside.
To his surprise, Sandra stood at the entrance wearing a red silk robe adorned with Oriental markings. Her hands were on her hips. Her face displayed a mixture of agitation and anger. Nonetheless, she was alluring.
“What are you doing?” she asked, holding her ground.
“Watchu talkin’ about?” Mack flashed an easy smile in an attempt to reduce the tension.
“I’ve been calling and texting your ass all day. Now, all of a sudden, you want to show up at three o’clock in the morning?” Noticing he wasn’t quite himself, she leaned in to get a better look at him. “Are you drunk?”
“Nope...I only had a little.” The slur in his words contradicted his reply.
“Mack, are you serious?” She shook her head in disgust. “I’m not going to keep going through this.” Sandra fought hard to hold back the tears that desperately wanted to escape.
“Going through what, babe?”
Sandra contemplated telling Mack everything that she knew. Things he wasn’t aware of himself. Should she let him know that she was aware of the multitude of women he was sleeping with while she remained faithful to him? Should she let him know that one of the women he had given himself to was her first cousin? Her own flesh and blood? That the brief affair resulted in her becoming pregnant? Should Sandra clue him in that she was
a part of the devastating decision made to abort the pregnancy?
Sandra had lost relationships with both family and friends, all because she strongly believed that the love she so selflessly gave to Mack would someday be reciprocated. She believed that Mack loved her, but she knew that he wasn’t in love with her, as she was with him.
Sandra needed more. Living her life around heartache was breaking her. “What have I done for you to constantly hurt me like this? If you can’t love me the way I deserve to be loved, then let me go, Mack,” she pleaded.
“Baby, do you think I’m out to hurt you? Do you think that’s my intention? I would never want to cause you any pain. I know I haven’t been there for you like I’m supposed to, and I know I’m putting you through a lot, but just hold on for me. It’s going to get better, I promise.” He walked up to Sandra, pulling her into a warm, tight embrace.
“When?...When?” She was no longer able to restrain her tears as she sobbed into his chest. “I can’t take this anymore.”
Mack created just enough space between them to cup Sandra’s chin. He gently lifted her head until her teary eyes met his. “That’s it. No more hurt. I can’t stand to see you like this, baby. From now on I only want to bring joy into your life. That’s what you deserve. Give me one more chance and I’ll make your life so much better.”
Mack ended his words with a gentle kiss to her soft lips. He wiped the tears from her face, kissed her cheek, which led to another kiss on the nape of her neck. Sandra closed her eyes, embracing the pleasure. Her body temperature rose and her breathing became heavy. Mack allowed his hands to glide against her smooth silk robe, coming to a stop once they reached her soft, full breasts.
“I’m so sorry, Sandra,” he whispered between kisses. “I want you in my life forever...I love you.”
Caught completely in the moment, Sandra gave in to any thoughts of resistance.
Mack led her to the bedroom. He took his time giving every inch of her body much needed and pleasurable attention, before making passionate love to her until day began to break.
Around mid-afternoon, the smell of French toast, scrambled eggs and turkey bacon stirred Mack out of a deep slumber. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. Fully awake and refreshed, he followed the tantalizing aroma into the kitchen.
Sandra stood in front of the stove dressed in a sexy peach colored semi-translucent teddy and fur lined slippers. Mack slid up on her from behind, giving her plump, round ass a slap. She slightly jumped at the unexpected smack. He removed any space between them and softly kissed her neck.
“Damn, I’m the luckiest man in the world. I had desert last night and now I’m getting breakfast.”
“Don’t think you’re out of the dog house so soon, Mr. Smooth Talker. You’re far from it. We really have to talk and get an understanding. Can we discuss this over breakfast?”
“Are you serious?” Mack took a step back.
Sandra spun around, spatula in hand. “Damn right, I’m serious, Mack!”
He released a sigh of exasperation. “I think I better go take my medication.” He went into the dining room, rolled a blunt, turned the wall mounted TV on and smoked while surfing through the channels.
Ten minutes later, the food was finished and Mack was feeling good because of the potent weed. His attention was on a developing CNN story when Sandra brought in two plates of food. She placed one plate on the table in front of him, and then sat down next to him with her food.
With an invigorated appetite, Mack tore into his meal. Sandra picked and nibbled at hers. Her mind was more on making an attempt to mend their severely strained relationship.
Unsure of how to begin, Sandra simply allowed her heart to speak. “Mack, our relationship can be amazing if we’d just put more time into it. All I’m asking for is your heart. Instead of you telling me how much you love me, I want you to allow your actions to do the talking.”
“You’re right, Sandra. I can’t argue with that. I make a lot of bad choices, and I’m going to work on doing better.”
She held on tightly to his promise. “I just want you to trust in me, and the love that I have for you. If we can..." Sandra’s words trailed off into silence.
Mack’s attention was suddenly diverted when he heard CNN’s analyst begin to discuss recent trends in the stock market. The speaker talked about the top performing stocks of the month. Mack’s eyes were glued to the television once he saw that Western Union was the number two top performing stock. To his amazement, the woman mentioned her interest in investing in bonds over stocks for the near future.
Mack jumped up from his seat, sped to the bedroom, and removed his iPhone from his pants pocket. He dialed Terry’s number.
“Waddup?” Terry answered on the second ring.
“Yo, he was right!” Mack exclaimed.
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“The ol’ head from Starbucks. I was just watching the news and everything he said was right. I knew I should have put some money in those stocks.”
“Come on, Mack. That was just a lucky guess. That old drunk couldn’t tell his mouth from his ass. You need to be focused on this week coming up. The Cavaliers is playing the Sixers. That means it’s going to be a big bump in business. Plus, we gotta call a photographer to take some pictures of Dynasty for the advertisement.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Mack conceded. But deep down he had a feeling that the drunkard knew what he was talking about. That feeling morphed into a desire to speak with that man again.
After hanging up with Terry, he used his phone and did a Google search. Mack remembered the man’s first name but was having trouble recalling his last. He sat there brooding for a moment until the full name came to him. He keyed in: Marty Frankel.
Mack was astonished at what he saw. There was a picture of a fit, groomed and well dressed version of the man he encountered a few weeks before. He read the numerous articles that were published on Marty Frankel, amazed at how far the man had made it, only to fall to the depths of alcoholism and poverty.
For some reason, Mack had a strong feeling that the key to financial freedom was Marty’s brain. Continuing his online inquiry, he searched for Marty’s address. He found it. Fuck it, I’m going to go with my gut and see where it takes me, Mack said to himself while getting dressed.
He thought about Sandra and silently cursed for abruptly leaving her in mid conversation. “Sandra!” he yelled out. A moment later she walked into the bedroom. She said nothing. “Listen, baby. Something really important just came up. I have to go to New York.” He slipped on his Gucci loafers and searched for his keys while talking. “I know we didn’t finish our conversation, but when I come back we’re going on a vacation. Just you and I.”
“No, we’re not,” Sandra’s voice was low. She stared at the floor shaking her head.
“Yes, we are. I promise.” He finally found his keys.
“It’s over, Mack. Everything in your life is more important than me. No matter what I say, or try, it’s not going to change.”
Mack turned around and saw her eyes welling up. “Come on Sandra, don’t start that crying shit again. Why do you want to stress me out with all this drama?”
“I want you to get your clothes, guns, and everything else out of my house. It’ll be better if you live your life without me in it.”
Mack ran a hand over his face in frustration. “I’m not about to go through this shit with you right now, Sandra. As soon as I come back, we’ll talk.” Mack walked out of her room, and her house, once again, leaving Sandra alone.
The Flying Spur’s navigation system led him directly to Marty’s address in New York City. After finding a safe place to park, he got out and walked into the outdated building. While walking up the five flights of decrepit stairs, he began to second guess his ambition to reacquaint himself with Marty. He slowly walked down the desolate hallway, coming to a stop once he reached apartment 44. Instead of giving the door a gentle rap, he
knocked hard in hopes of receiving a quicker response.
“Go away!” a voice shouted from the inside.
“Marty, this is Sabrie Mack. I need to talk to you.”
“I said go away!”
“I drove all the way from Philly to make you rich again and I’m not leaving until I talk to you!” Silence consumed the hallway for a moment. Then, Mack heard the two dead bolts unfasten. The door cracked open as far as the interior chain lock allowed. A scruffy bearded man peeked a skeptical eye through the opening.
“Well, if it ain’t the ding bat from Starbucks. You’re going to make me rich? You couldn’t come up with a hundred dollars if someone stuffed it into your pocket.” Marty laughed and slammed the door shut. Mack could hear Marty’s bellowing grow faint as he descended further into the apartment.
“Shit!” Mack swore. He banged on the door again. This time he pounded harder than the first. He heard footsteps as Marty stomped toward the door. He snatched the door open with an erupting attitude.
“What the...” his words were halted. His eyes were transfixed on what Mack held in his hand.
“I reached in my pocket and found this.” Mack held a large, folded wad of bills. “This is five thousand dollars. You can have it if you give me thirty minutes of your time.”
“Listen, kid. I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing, but..."
“I didn’t drive this far to play games with you. Here.” Mack stuffed the money through the door’s opening. With lightning speed, Marty snatched the money out of Mack’s hand, then slammed the door shut.
“I know this mutha fucka ain’t tryin’ to play me,” Mack blurted out. Just then the door opened.
“Come in. You’ve got thirty minutes...not a second more.”
Walking into the apartment, Mack looked around, repulsed at the foul condition Marty had become content with living in. “I’m going to get straight to the point. You gave me some good advice at the coffee shop. Had I listened, I would have been a little richer. I checked you out and you’re official. After that scandal broke out at the company you worked for, you allowed yourself to sink. Call me crazy, but I believe that even though your spirits are weak, your brain still has strength.”