Queen Diamonds

by Noire

  The chick sniffled, then coughed real hard a few more times and stomped her foot.

  “Whew!” she cleared her throat and finally said. Her pretty brown eyes glistened with tears as she flashed him a beautiful white smile. “You saved me! That cookie must have gone down the wrong pipe!”

  Collective murmurs went up in the room as everyone smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thanks again,” the sexy young thang said and then reached out and gave him a quick hug.

  Fat Donnie was standing there thinking she smelled just like a fuckin honey bun when a secretary poked her head in the door and announced that it was time for the participants to take the stage.

  Eyeballing the chick’s wiggling round ass as it did amazing things to her skirt, Donnie tossed back the rest of his Coke and headed for the door.

  $$$$$

  The auditorium was packed full of noisy twelve and thirteen-year-olds and Donnie was slated to be the third speaker to address them. The first person to take the mic was the school’s D.A.R.E. resource officer, and by the time dude was halfway through his speech Donnie knew he was in trouble.

  He had to take a shit.

  A really fuckin big one.

  He shifted his weight in his chair, then gapped his legs open and laced his fingers over his gut to hold back the rumblings.

  Too many muh’fuckin brownies, big boy, he chastised himself as he belched under his breath.

  He frowned. That belch tasted nasty as fuck and it burned the hell outta his throat too.

  By the time dude on the mic finished flapping his trap Donnie was in terrible pain. It felt like somebody had shoved both their fists up his asshole and grabbed his intestines and was wringing them back and forth.

  “Hurry the fuck up,” Donnie whispered as the other panel members on the stage clapped politely for the D.A.R.E. officer as he finished up his speech.

  The next person up was a blond woman who was representing the department of social services. Donnie could see her mouth moving but he couldn’t hear a damn thing she was saying.

  His throat was burning even worse now, and all kinds of agonizing burps were rising up outta his boiling stomach. He was sweating too. Real bad. Even his ass felt hot. Like if he stood up he’d leave a stankin wet puddle of water in his chair.

  By the time it was Fat Donnie’s turn at bat he could barely talk and the kids were tired of listening anyway. The applause from the crowd sounded like a freight train rumbling through his brain. He tried to smile as he stumbled toward the podium and grabbed at the microphone.

  “A’ight now, whaddup!” he said, trying to sound cool over the noisy pre-teens. He mopped his dripping forehead with his soggy cookie napkin, then held up his hand and got ready to use his jail warden’s voice to grab the wildin kids’s attention.

  Y’all lil niggas shut the fuck up so I can speak real quick and then go find me a bathroom, is what Donnie wanted to say, but instead he swallowed the ball of fire in his throat and looked down at his speech.

  To his horror the words were swimming all over the page. Not one of them shits would hold still so he could read it! Donnie looked out into the sea of juvenile faces and lowered his mouth to the mic so he could greet them again. But it wasn’t the words of his speech that came out.

  “I gotta shit!!!” he blurted into the mic then he clutched his stomach and belched real loud.

  Adolescent laughter cut through the air and then a long stream of blood suddenly exploded from Donnie’s mouth as he collapsed down hard on one knee.

  Sweat poured down his jiggly cheeks in waves. He farted and filled his tighty-whitey drawers with a stream of soft warm poo-poo. Groaning in pain, he sank further down to the floor and wobbled there unsteadily.

  A young girl in the front row of the audience screamed, and the lady from social services jumped out of her chair and rushed over to catch him before he collapsed.

  But her lil ass was no match for Fat Donnie Hassell. His bulky, sweat-coated body slipped through her grasp like a pig greased with butter. And as his body thudded to the floor and the lights started to fade, Donnie’s eyes flew open wide.

  Pandemonium was kicking off in the auditorium full of screaming kids and the last thing Donnie saw was the gorgeous black chick with the sexy stiletto pumps and the wiggling ass.

  That ass was still wiggling and jumping like Jordan as she got up from her chair and walked over to where he lay. Standing over him, she held up a white napkin with the word Jewelz written on it in bold black magic marker so he could see it very clearly.

  “Now you’s the young pussy getting fucked!” she snapped as she crumpled the napkin in her fist and spit dead down in his twisted face. Brimming with more than ten years worth of pent up rage, Jewelz threw her middle finger in the air and tooted up her lips again. She gathered all the spit that was left in her mouth and shot another thick wad down in that foul fucka’s face.

  And then she click-clacked her red high-heels quickly off the stage.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Great White Hope

  Whitey Reynolds moved with a purpose as he emerged outta the belly of the screaming underground beast. He walked calmly up the stairs from Grand Central Station and began to move at the same pace as everyone else in the swaying New York City crowd.

  Although he was a natural-born killer and one of the most dangerous men in the city, you couldn’t tell it by his clean-cut appearance or by his youthful, handsome face.

  Looking extra-sharp in his Brooks Brothers business suit, Whitey strode down the street with the confidence of a privileged white man in America.

  He stayed in the thick of the moving crowd, blending in without even trying to because two out of every three people looked just like him: white, male, large, and in charge.

  As he walked a cold shadow of ice crept into Whitey’s piercing blue eyes. While he capitalized off false perceptions for a living, right now he gave less than a fuck about what people thought he looked like. For him, it was all about the red briefcase that the Zip ’em up Crew had been ordered to stash in a Manhattan locker after their Fulton Street hit.

  Slick had sent his most trusted soldier to make that drop, and like a good little capo Whitey had done exactly what he was told to do. He had stashed that briefcase in a locker all right. But he stashed it in a joint that was ten spaces to the left of where he was supposed to stash it.

  The feeling that had surged through him when he opened that shit up and saw what was inside had been indescribable. It was like tearing into a Cracker Jack box and discovering a million dollar jewel inside.

  It was a gorgeous high-carat diamond and Whitey had pocketed the jawn knowing he’d have to lay low for a little while until shit cooled off. And while he was waiting he had done some homework and learned that the jewel in the briefcase was on the close-screen radar of both the Pinkerton Agency and the FBI.

  The diamond had been stolen from a major New York City jewelry store, and news of the theft was being broadcasted twenty-four/seven on every television station in the tri-state area. The suspected thief was a dead guy named Joel Samuelson and he had worked as an executive at the New York Diamond and Jewelry Exchange.

  Whitey had checked with a couple of his sources in law enforcement, and according to their reports Samuelson was supposed to be transporting the diamond to a trade show when he made a detour and ended up with his throat cut and his nuts chopped off in a downtown hotel room.

  Security officials at the Diamond and Jewelry Exchange were speculating that Samuelson had either been killed and then robbed, or he’d sold the diamond and gotten himself killed for the cash. Either way he was gone and so was their five-million dollar gemstone.

  After hearing that shit Whitey could only grin. How in the hell Joel Samuelson’s stolen five-million dollar diamond had ended up in the hands of an elderly black man in a run-down jewelry shop in Brooklyn was anybody’s guess. But Whitey didn’t really give a fuck how it had gotten there. All he cared about was how he w
as going to offload that shit and rake in the cash it would bring on the underground market.

  But in order to trade stolen goods on the black market you had to know a black market trader. And just as soon as he got that diamond out of the locker where he had stashed it, Whitey Reynolds was gonna find himself one.

  Because something real big had been about to go down in that jewelry store on Fulton Street the night of the hit. Whitey was sure of it. That diamond was being dropped off there for a real good reason, and like the relentless bloodhound that he was, Whitey was gonna sniff out why.

  He gave no fucks that he was disobeying BBU orders, and sliming around behind his team’s back didn’t fuck with him not even a little bit. Whitey was used to playing both sides of the fence. Pretending to be dependable, reliable, levelheaded, and responsible were skills that he’d practiced to a tee. But in reality they hid his truest nature. The gutter nature of a criminal-minded sneak-thief.

  Plus, it didn’t hurt that he had the right looks and the right attitude, and that he fronted like he didn’t have a problem playing the number three or four man on the totem pole. Nah, Whitey Reynolds was a real actor, and getting people to sleep on him was his real talent. It was like he had the word “Trustworthy” stamped on his forehead and “Honest” stamped on his pale white ass.

  Sure, his boy Slick was bound to pop off if he found out he was getting fucked sideways, but Whitey would worry about the Zip ’em up Crew later. Right now he needed to go retrieve that stolen diamond and make contact with whoever it was who had been waiting to receive it at that jewelry store.

  Breaking out from the center of the moving crowd, Whitey walked past a bagel shop that smelled better than freshly powdered pussy. Moving closer so he could peer into the clear glass display window he cursed under his breath at the sight he saw reflected back at him.

  Blood.

  In a feathery spray pattern. All over the right side of his suit and the collar of his starched white shirt.

  Damn! Even a harmless-looking white dude couldn’t walk around New York City looking like he had just sparked off a bloody massacre.

  Crazy son-of-a-bitch, Whitey thought as he pictured the fat slob that he had just slumped on the train in cold blood. What the hell was that maniac thinking, snatching up a lil kid and pressing the pistol to him like that? That psycho piece of shit had deserved two fuckin bullets. One to the dome and one to the nuts!

  Whitey was in a fickle line of business and the rules changed every day. Most targets he whacked for money, but others he whacked for personal satisfaction. This morning’s kill had come to him unplanned and unexpected, but it had definitely been satisfying. Satisfying on a deep and intimate level, because something about that young mother on the train, with her pretty chocolate skin and gorgeous hair, had reminded him of Jewelz.

  Whitey jetted inside Macy’s and purchased a fresh white business shirt and put it on in the bathroom. Then he made his way to the locker where he had stashed his take.

  The red briefcase was right where he’d left it. After slipping his fingers inside the white cloth bag and pocketing the glittering jewel, he ditched the briefcase in a garbage can, then went outside and hailed the first passing taxicab he saw.

  Feeling like five million big ones, Whitey grinned as he jumped in the backseat and barked out the address to the downtown Brooklyn jewelry store where the answers to all his questions waited.

  CHAPTER 5

  When Larceny Sets In

  Cucci was standing at the reception desk of the New York Diamond and Jewelry Exchange wearing a classy peach designer dress and a fake smile. She talked shit in her head about every customer who came in the door, but no matter what she was thinking she kept a poised and professional look about her while she worked the front counter.

  Cucci had mastered the art of hiding behind a mask, but she stayed scheming. She got so good at scoping people out that she could spot a customer who wasn’t gonna buy shit and was just there to window shop as soon as they stepped through the door.

  She also kept her eyes open for any unsavory characters who might be looking to score a lick. It was strictly against company rules, but she kept a baby Glock in her purse because she didn’t put shit past nobody. Cucci wasn’t willing to die to protect the store, but she was damn sure willing to spray somebody to save her own ass. She knew the consequences of not being prepared for the worst in this game because there was too much money out there to be made and lost. The murder of Joel Samuelson had confirmed that theory. Cucci knew there was always somebody out there plotting and planning to get the drop on an unsuspecting sucka because she stayed looking for a sucka her damn self.

  And right now she was plotting and planning on her sucka-ass cousin, Honore. That heffa had called in sick first thing that morning and when Cucci had just hit her up to find out what was wrong, Honore had answered the phone sounding like she was getting turnt up.

  “Ga’head with that, Slick!” Honore had squealed happily before she even said hello. “Boy you need to stop playing!”

  “Slick?” Cucci had demanded, her ears on big alert. “Who the hell is Slick?”

  “My new friend,” Honore had giggled. “He’s that dude I was telling you about. The one who snatched me up that night and tried to kidnap me. I’m just lining his ass up but this nigga is shook on this shit for real. He invited me out to a real nice restaurant for breakfast this morning and he just went up front to pay the bill.”

  “Bitch you out somewhere eating breakfast with a kidnapper? The secretary said you called in sick!”

  Honore had sucked her teeth. “I’m sick of that fuckin job, that’s what I’m sick of!”

  “’Don’t try to change the subject! You ditched work to go eat out with some fuckin stick-up kid?”

  Honore sucked her teeth. “See I knew I shouldn’ta told you nothing. I’m still working bitch, I just ain’t at the job right now.”

  Slick. Cucci was nobody’s fool, and her gut instincts told her that her cousin was laying deep in the cut and hiding something real important. Because not too long ago when she had asked Honore straight up if she knew what them stick-up kids who snatched her looked like, the bitch had dead-ass lied.

  “Whatever, I need a fill-in and I was thinking maybe we could go to the nail salon together. You wanna hook up when I get off work?” Cucci asked.

  “Uh-uh,” Honore said real quick. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Sly’s taking me back to the Boatel tonight.”

  The Boatel? Cucci thought angrily as she hung up in Honore’s face and stood at the reception desk tapping her finger loudly on the wood. We supposed to be a money-making team but she be steady holing up with Sly at that fuckin Boatel plotting on the solo tip! Them two are cookin up something sweet. I can feel it. I know for damn sure they ain’t out there relaxing on the water sipping Margaritas and getting no goddamn tans! Lately, Honore be keeping her some closed lips when I come around. And that means the bitch got something real heavy hanging off her bra strap. Well, two can play the shady game! I know she had something to do with Joel getting murked and with that diamond going missing too! Now the bitch tryna play a hustla like me for a sucka? I got something for her ass! Family or no goddamn family, if I find out she’s holding out on me then I’m getting in that ass and all bets are off!

  CHAPTER 6

  Diamonds are Forever

  Walking up to the Brooklyn jewelry store in broad daylight was nowhere near as thrilling as rolling up brandishing a .44 under the dark of night.

  Whitey was all charm and smiles as he pushed through the front door of the Fulton Street shop. The interior was cool and well-lit and displayed no signs of the bloody carnage that had gone down inside not too long ago. Whitey’s gaze swept over the room as he strode over to the counter. He was happy to note that there were no other customers in the small showroom.

  “Can I help you?” a mousy-looking white girl at the counter greeted him. She looked like an albino rabbit with her severe overbite and
turned-down lips. She was young, less than twenty he guessed. The age where she should have been dating and dancing, but with her bucked teeth, pale skin, and crossed eyes, she was not attractive in the least.

  “Can I help you?” she asked again.

  “You’d better hope so,” Whitey said, grinning as he faced her and leaned both elbows on the display glass.

  Quicker than shit his hands snaked out and he jabbed into her flesh with his stiff thumb, damn near impaling her scrawny throat. She gasped and reached for her neck and he snapped his hands closed tight. He gripped the meat of her throat and dug in deeply with his fingers, threatening to tear her entire esophagus out with his bare hands.

  Whitey waited for her to go limp, his smile never fading as the panicked girl kicked her feet and clawed at her neck and wheezed. Froth dripped from her lips as her eyes bulged and her back arched and her face turned bright crimson.

  From the back room came the sound of rushing feet. An elderly man dressed in Jewish garb exploded in the room with a baseball bat held high over his head.

  “You evil piece of shit!” the man screamed, swinging the bat so hard it almost slipped from his grasp. “Let her go!” he cried out. His aim was off and he totally missed Whitey as the bat cracked and shattered the clear glass of the jewelry counter. “Let her go!”

  Whitey released the ugly chick and was on top of the Jewish man before her unconscious body hit the floor.

  Their struggle was brief and uneventful. Whitey never even broke a sweat as he disarmed the older man and then dragged him into the back room and subdued him with a pair of flexi-cuffs. He pulled out his handkerchief and stuffed it deeply into the man’s mouth, gagging the skinny old bastard until he choked.