Queen Diamonds

by Noire

  Distracted by all the sweet scents in the air, the excited young chick rushed over to the perfume section. She started squirting fragrances from a million different tester bottles in all directions.

  “Damn!” Cucci muttered and covered her nose. “You can’t take a project bitch no damn where!”

  Honore nodded in agreement as hot disgust bubbled around in her stomach.

  If there was one thing Honore and Cucci were a true team at it was shopping. And right now this greedy little hood chick was throwing off their flow.

  But it served them right, Honore admitted to herself reluctantly. Little Indigo had been so broken down after her sister India’s funeral that Honore had consoled her by offering to take her shopping one day.

  Well, that day had come, and so far Honore had dished out over five grand on shoes, clothing, and jewelry for the ghetto-fabulous lil youngster.

  My girl India had way more going for her than this hoochie scripper right here, Honore thought, looking down her nose as the teenager snatched a five hundred dollar knit sweater off a shelf and pulled it over her head and tried it on right there in the aisle.

  Cucci glared at the young scrub too and rolled her eyes in silent agreement with her cousin. Indigo wasn’t nowhere near as smooth and sophisticated as her sister India had been. Although she was blessed with the same pretty face and banging body, she was definitely much lighter on the cap.

  As they shopped up and down the aisles Honore helped the young girl pick out all the fly, classy shit that she would have bought for herself. She had already noted that her and Indigo were roughly the same size and weight, and that they had the same small waist and blossoming booty. She had even picked out and purchased several pairs of designer shoes for the girl, making sure to try them on herself too, even though they wore the same size.

  The three of them got their shop on as they jetted from store, to store, to store, picking out all the finest shit on the racks. Cucci had a sharp eye for fashion so she had the best tastes in both clothes and shoes, but for a broke chick from the projects Indigo had some real expensive tastes too. Everything her little ghetto hands reached for was on the top shelf and had a heavy price tag hanging from it.

  Those are the kind of bird moves you make when somebody else is paying for your shit at the cash register, Honore thought with a smirk as she took care of the girl’s purchases with countless crisp one hundred dollar bills.

  The trio dropped their bags off with the concierge at the five-star hotel next door, and then rode upstairs on the elegant, gold-carved elevator to have lunch in the exclusive dining room.

  Honore ordered soup and salad, and Cucci ordered some hot herbal tea and a crab cake, but Indigo’s greedy eyes were scurrying over the menu like lice running around in some real thick coochie hairs.

  “Umm, lemme get two of them lobster tails and a jumbo skrimp salad—but keep the damn salad. Just bring me some of them big-ass skrimps, okay? I think I want me a couple of them crab cakes that Cucci’s getting too. Plus…I’ll take some crab and spinach dip with tortilla chips, and do y’all have any cheesy biscuits? What? No cheesy biscuits? Well they sure got ’em at Red Lobster! Okay, then can you just bring me a biscuit and slice it in half and stick a piece of cheese up in there? Yep, cool. That’ll work.”

  Of course the chick’s eyes were way bigger than her stomach and she wasn’t shy about hollering for a doggie bag so she could take her leftover shit back to the projects with her.

  When they were done eating they all went back downstairs and the concierge loaded their bags and boxes onto a cart and pushed it outside to the curb where Sly McFly stood waiting near a limo driven by Chimp Charlie.

  Impeccably dressed from the bottom to the top as usual, Sly McFly looked like a real grand gentleman as he helped all three chicks get settled in the back of the whip. Honore turned her lip up as the little project chicken immediately made a grab for the miniature bottles of Henny, Smirnoff’s, Remy, and Cuervo that were stacked in the traveling bar.

  “Um, how old is you?” Cucci blurted, checking the young girl with her eyes.

  “I’m sixteen, about to be seventeen and that’s grown,” the girl answered as she bit into the silver seal on the skinny neck of a bottle of Seagram’s and ripped it off with her front teeth.

  Honore opened her mouth to say something slick, but then she closed it again. Fuck it. Let the little slut get juiced up. What this skank did with a bottle of knotty-head was not her concern.

  They drove through the city streets until they crossed the bridge back into Queens. The sight of the dilapidated projects outlined against the New York skyline brought a sour feeling to Honore’s stomach. She hated the slums. She had been born and raised in the hood but she worked hard everyday trying to claw her way up outta that bitch.

  She was glad when the limo finally pulled up outside the girl’s building. Her little ass had drained bottles and gotten toasted all the way home, and the glint in her eyes and her rapid fire speech were evidence that she was about to step into the gutter and get loose.

  “Thanks, Honor-Ray,” Indigo waved as she sucked air outta the last bottle and slid her bubble-ass across the soft leather seat. “Girl, I see why India was your friend. I really appreciate all the bank you dropped on me today and if you ever need another shopping partner just holla at ya girl, ’kay?”

  She reached over to give Honore a hug and Honore twisted up her lips. Not only was the chick musty as hell, she smelled like a nasty combo of weak deodorant, top shelf liquor, and a million different brands of perfume.

  “Thanks again, Ray-Ray.”

  “You’re welcome, baby girl. You know you good with me. Your sister was my girl. I truly loved her ass. Matter fact, I loved her to death. Anytime I can do anything for you, you know I will.”

  Cucci was steady giggling under her breath as Chimp Charlie unloaded the girl’s stuff from the car and Honore punched a number into her cell phone. Indigo had so much shit to carry that she had to balance her bags left and right, in both of her hands.

  “T-Bone! Listen up, mothafucka!” Honore barked when Sly’s favorite young hustla answered the phone. T-Bone was Sly’s lil stunt dummy, and after following them around all day he was parked directly behind them in a beat-up blue Toyota.

  “Get your ass in that building and stick that lil bitch up before she gets on the elevator,” Honore ordered as she watched Indigo stagger up the walkway carrying her hard-earned money in a million designer bags.

  “Rob that ass and bring me all my shit back!” Honore demanded. “I’m serious! Ain’t nobody got no money to be tricking off on her stank ass! Go stick that drunk hoe up, T-Bone, and bring me back all of minez!”

  By now Cucci was laughing so hard she had keeled over in her seat.

  “You’s a cold bitch, Honore!” she cackled loudly with mad love and admiration shining in her eyes. “A cold dirty bitch!”

  CHAPTER 17

  No Church in the Wild

  It was early afternoon in the notorious neighborhood of Brownsville as Slick watched his enemies pace back and forth in front of the old folk’s building. Goody had sent in an extra squad of shooters to kick up some dust and find out who had slumped his workers Dolla and Black Pearl, but so far the streets ain’t have no answers for him.

  Slick stood across the street at a distance that was safe enough not to be noticed. Leaning up against a fence in his birdman hat, wrinkled clothes, and shitted-on boots, his blood boiled hotly as he watched Goody’s goons harass and intimidate the elderly people who were hurrying to get off the streets and into the safety of their apartments before the sun went down.

  To the casual passerby Slick looked like the slow, crazy bum Sometimey. His lips curled up in a dumb half-smile, and his eyes were glazed over like his inner light switch had been flipped all the way off.

  But Slick’s fake mask of ignorance hid the fact that deep inside he was seeing red as visions of a massacre surged through his very core. He wanted to rip apart and
destroy every last one of the hunters that Handgun Goody had sent to disturb the tranquility of the place he held most dear.

  Yeah, he said to himself. You just keep on sending ya mutts out Goody, and I’ll keep on zippin ’em up. I’ma send all them bitch-ass niggas back to you headless in a box.

  With his mind stuck in murder-mode, Slick turned away. He walked around the corner stiff-legged style, plotting like a muthafucka as he waited for the sun to go down so he could do what he did best.

  $$$$$

  Darkness had fallen over the ballistic borough of Brooklyn, but the air was still hot and muggy around the projects. It was 3:30 in the morning and Goody’s goon squad was still lurking in front of the old folks building. They had been loud as fuck earlier in the night, but after guzzling a few pints of Henny and wolfing down turkey and cheese heroes and bags of chips, they were getting lazy and tired.

  “Yo, son,” a tall, brolick nigga called Ricky Rollack said. Rollack was a hired gun whose name rung bells throughout the five boroughs. He was a certified enforcer and one of Goody’s most efficient shooters, and due to his rep he always got paid nicely for his services.

  “Where the fuck could this dumb-ass nigga be laying low at man?” Rollack bitched. “I mean how hard can it be to catch one muh’fucka lackin?”

  “Word up, son,” said his lil homey, Cajiid. He was Ricky’s young gunner who held shit down and would pop off at the first sign of static. “I’m ready to fly this nigga’s head off and get the fuck up outta here, but don’t nobody know what he look like.”

  Cajiid took a swig of Corona and smirked. “I heard some old lady just got choked out in this building last week so I know niggas get it poppin in here.” He shook his head. “Fuck all that. A nigga like me puts in real work, nahm’sayin? I don’t fuck with old people.”

  The sharp sound of gunfire popped off in rapid succession a few blocks to their right, but that was no surprise nor did it rouse any suspicion. These were stick-up kid hours, the time where the goons and the goblins took over the streets. Smokers drifted around like zombies, scheming or begging for their next hit, and gangbangers robbed, looted, and exacted revenge on each other under the cover of darkness.

  “Yo, it’s almost time for the police patrol to roll through,” Ricky told his young’un as he stood up from the crate he was sitting on in front of the building. “Let’s duck in the lobby till they bounce. We don’t wanna get spotted before we rock this nigga to sleep.”

  “A’ight,” Cajiid said as his big homey pushed opened the front door. “I’ma take a piss right quick and then I’ll double back and scope out the back door one more time. I’ll meet you inside in a minute.”

  Standing in roughly the same spot he had stood in earlier that night, Slick watched as the big goon walked into the building and the younger one strode off in the opposite direction towards the side of the building.

  Slick had on an all-black polo hoody with a dark ski-mask pulled down slightly on his forehead. He was deep in predator mode, salivating for a meal, and these two niggas was looking just like steak.

  Moving outta his spot, Slick stalked the young slanga as he kept his head down and walked at a pace that was steady, but didn’t draw attention. Cajiid strolled toward the side of the building with the confident bop of a young killer. He stayed strapped and was usually on point. But he was no match for the man that had him in his crosshairs. Cajiid didn’t yet posses the sixth sense that you needed when you played with the big boys. He could only see what was in front of him, and that would be the cause of his demise.

  The young slanga stopped near a small shrub, unzipped his fly, and pulled his dick out to take a piss. He barely heard the two soft footsteps behind him, and by the time he turned his head a sharp object he didn’t even see coming was jammed up into the soft spot right under his chin.

  The long blade penetrated deep up into the roof of Cajiid’s mouth and immediately he let go of his dick as his hands flew up to clutch at the wound. With his tongue pierced and choking on his own blood, Cajiid staggered away from his killer, piss spraying all over his pants and sneakers as he lost control of himself.

  He hit the ground coughing as blood rapidly soaked his shirt and the life began to fade from his eyes. Cajiid’s 45-caliber handgun fell harmlessly from his waistband, without even the slightest chance of being used.

  Slick stood over him and watched the be-boy try to shake off the clutches of death.

  Slick shook his head and grinned. “So you too light in the ass to fuck with me young nigga, but your little bitch-ass is good with killing old folks huh?”

  Slick lifted his ski mask up, then he gathered some saliva in his mouth and spit dead into Cajiid’s face.

  Moving quickly, Slick raised his right knee as high as he could in the air and sent the heel of his scuffed boot crashing down on the bridge of Cajiid’s nose with such force that both of Cajiid’s legs lifted straight off the ground at the impact.

  Slick delivered the fatal death-blow without an ounce of remorse for the slaying of such a tender youngster. There was no church in the wild. Even the young got eaten in the jungle. There was no doubt in Slick’s mind that if he was the one who’d gotten caught out there with his dick hanging out, the young boy wouldn’ta shown him a shred of mercy neither.

  The dark part of Slick’s nature had enjoyed this kill because this wasn’t a contract murder that stemmed from a business obligation. Nah, this shit was personal. He was righting a wrong and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.

  Slick’s senses tingled and he whirled around to see a bum staring at him from the street. The wino was clutching a bottle and standing under a light pole swaying back and forth. He looked at Slick then glanced down at the body at Slick’s feet. Without a word, he simply shook his head and staggered off drunkenly. After all, this was Brownsville, a wolf-eat-dog jungle where the weak and faint-hearted became food for the brave.

  Slick got back to work. He grabbed the young’un by his ankles and dragged his body down the walkway that led to a ramp and tucked him out of sight. But his job was far from over. Slick was in a killing zone and he was anxious to take out the big guy on the scene.

  And right at that moment Ricky Rollack was in the lobby of the building wondering where the fuck his lil manz Cajiid was at.

  “Lemme go check on this little nigga,” Ricky muttered under his breath as he finished smoking his Newport 100 and headed for the door. “His young ass can dumb-out sometimes and I don’t need him fucking this money up.”

  Ricky reached for the door handle but Slick made it there from the other side first. Slick yanked that shit open and stood staring at the six-foot-seven, two-hundred-and-sixty pound man who was posted up in front of him.

  “Where you headed, you big muthafucka, you?” Slick said through the ski-mask as he stared into the eyes of the gigantic goon. “Lemme holla at you for a quick minute, yo. I just tried to have a chat with ya little homey out there, but he ain’t got too much to say right now.”

  Slick watched as Ricky’s eyes dropped and stared at the dark blood that was dripping from his knife and splattering over the toes of his boots. He saw realization start to spread across Ricky’s face and he anticipated correctly that the big bear was just about to go for his burner.

  “You’s a dead man, you fuckin coward!” Ricky yelled as he yanked the gun from his waistband.

  And that’s when Slick crouched low and lunged at him. He drove the knife deep into Ricky’s gut, forcing the big man to yelp and drop his weapon, which skidded across the floor to the other side of the lobby.

  “Ahhhhh! You bitch-nigga!” Ricky screamed. Then he grabbed Slick by his throat and the crotch of his jeans at the same time. He lifted Slick clear off his feet and tossed him high into the air.

  Slick’s long body crashed down hard against the elevator door. Sharp pain radiated throughout his spine as he slid to the floor and landed in a jumbled heap.

  This wasn’t how shit was supposed to go d
own, and Slick knew he had to recover quickly. He could see the big guy wasn’t gonna go down as easily as his boy Cajiid did.

  Ricky stood there bleeding from the gut like a stuck pig, but the fire and desire to either plant a bullet in Slick’s heart or snap his fuckin neck in two kept him steady on his feet.

  Slick ripped off his ski mask then jumped to his feet with the knife clenched in his hand, waiting for the big guy’s next move.

  “You chose the wrong fuckin building tonight,” Slick muttered as he kept one eye on Ricky’s fallen gat. “I know y’all niggas slumped that old lady on the 10th floor, bitch! Now you gotta pay the price and the receipt is gonna come from me, pussy!”

  Slick lunged at him again but with a little too much fury and not enough precision.

  Ricky dodged the strike and grabbed Slick by the back of his hoody. He pulled Slick close into his chest then wrapped his powerful arm around Slick’s neck and latched his right hand onto his left forearm, clutching him up in the dope-fiend position.

  This coulda been the end of the game and Slick knew it. Ricky flexed and tightened his strong muscles trying to squeeze Slick’s neck hard enough to pop his eyeballs out of their sockets.

  “Yeah, mothafucka,” the big man growled as he gripped and squeezed. “Talk that shit now, bitch! Me and my dawgs don’t fuck with old ladies! I’m a wolf, nigga, and I’m about to chew right through yo bitch ass! This is for me and my little nigga, Cajiid!”

  Slick was flailing his arms back and forth and feeling the effects of the oxygen being cut off to his brain. He didn’t mind dying in the building that he had grown up in and had sworn to protect. But now wasn’t his time, and he damn sure wasn’t going out at the hands of this big nigga.

  Before the last bit of coherent thought faded from his brain Slick rotated the knife in his hand and jammed it down into Ricky’s upper thigh. The second he felt Rollacks’s grip slacken he twisted the blade in even deeper and then he yanked it out again.