Checkmate

by Nisa Santiago

  She was squirming, with Keno’s tongue digging inside of her, when the phone rang. She ignored it, and let it go to her voice mail. But then it rang again.

  Kola snatched up her phone. “What?” she shouted.

  “You have a collect call from Cross. To accept, please press—”

  Kola quickly hung up, pissed that she’d answered her phone in the first place. She looked down at her young stud.

  “Continue, baby.”

  Keno dove back into her pussy.

  Kola’s phone started to ring again. “What the fuck!” she screamed out. Then it stopped.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

  Kola snatched up her phone and screamed, “I don’t accept the fuckin’ call!”

  “Who the fuck you screaming at, bitch?” Cross shouted.

  “Cross, what the fuck you doin’ callin’ me collect?”

  “Why I gotta get my man to three-way you for me to talk to you?”

  “’Cuz I’m not tryin’ to be bothered right now. I’m busy.”

  “Look, I’m locked down in Rikers right now, and I need you to come see me.”

  “What? Nigga, is you serious?”

  “Like the national deficit, hells yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious. I need you to collect some information from me and gather up these papers. I need you to get at this new attorney for me. He’s licensed in New York and Miami. ”

  Kola chuckled at his orders. “You is a funny muthafucka, Cross. You need to be callin’ that other bitch, Cynthia, to handle ya fuckin’ business ’cuz I’m through wit’ you.”

  “You think so, Kola?”

  “I’m about to hang up now, so don’t let the dial tone hit you—And don’t drop the soap.”

  “Bitch, you hang up on me, and I guarantee you that you won’t be fuckin’ alive tomorrow morning,” Cross said through clenched teeth.

  Kola chuckled. Cross was no longer a threat to her. Edge was dead, and he was incarcerated. Her problem was already solved.

  “I think I’ve already proven I can handle myself, so you can take your little threats and shove them up your ass!” she began. “It seems I’m smarter than you and your right-hand man. You both are memories while my name is still ringing bells. I’m the baddest chick these streets have ever seen—”

  “You think that massacre at your stash house was the end of it? Bitch, that was only the beginning. You really don’t fuckin’ know, do you?”

  “Was you a part of that, Cross?” Kola asked heatedly. “’Cuz I swear, you will pay.”

  “Come see me tomorrow, and we’ll talk,” he said. “And don’t bullshit me, bitch! I got news that you need to hear.”

  Cross and the third party he’d connected through hung up, leaving Kola outraged and speculating about what he’d just said.

  Keno tried to restart what Kola had put on pause, but she was no longer in the mood. She pushed Keno away from her, hissing, “Just get the fuck away from me!”

  Keno shrugged. He knew not to push. He got out the bed and began collecting his clothing.

  Kola just sat on her bed, worry, speculation, and anger mixed in with her emotions. She didn’t want to visit Cross. However, she felt she didn’t have a choice.

  Her eyes followed Keno as he left the bedroom. It was a waste of good dick. Cross’ phone call had soured the mood and had her pussy drying up like sand.

  ****

  Early the next morning, Kola was on the long and growing visiting line to see Cross. Rikers Island was bustling with guards doing thorough searches of incoming visitors. Streams of people passed through the metal detectors, and then were directed to their destinations. Visitors scrambled about, some with young children, to make sure their papers were in order.

  Kola hated the putrid smell of the jail, the sight of bars caging so many men and women, and the heavy security presence that surrounded her. She thought about her own fate, being on the wrong side of the law.

  She moved slowly behind a woman dealing with two small children. The woman looked too young to be a mother. She seemed poor and frustrated. She fumbled with the children’s belongings as well as her own, as she moved through the metal detector and then was checked by a C.O. waving a wand across her body, and her children’s.

  Kola sighed. She could never see herself being someone’s baby mama, and bringing kids into a harsh environment like Rikers Island. Kola shook her head at the shameful-looking mother and slowly followed behind her. She went through the search easily and proceeded into the larger room to register for her visit with Cross. The room was packed with people, young and old, and there were proportionately more blacks and Hispanics than whites.

  Kola looked around the registration area and knew it was going to be a long day. She noticed the fleeting looks her way and some gawking by different groups of people she’d passed, both men and women. They had to be stuck on her tight, trendy jeans that highlighted her shapely curves, black sequined top with the peek-a-boo bodice, open back and sequined hemline, and six-inch heels that made her tower over some of the ladies.

  A few guards tried to flirt with her, but she paid them no attention. Her main concern was seeing Cross and then leaving. She didn’t want to stay longer than she needed to. At one of the many reception desks, Kola had to produce her driver’s license or a form of identification, and the name of the person she was visiting. She gave the pudgy, soft-spoken redbone lady her license. The lady then typed Cross’ government name into the system, and then she gave Kola a white piece of paper and told her the housing unit he was placed in. Kola had to sit in the waiting area with the other ladies and wait for the next bus to transport them. She looked around and took a seat and felt like she was in hell.

  Twenty minutes later, Kola followed behind a group of ladies into the visiting area. They moved past a giant steel door that hummed a short alarm every time it was opened, and they entered the massive room with dozens of visitors and inmates seated at selected locations. Kola handed the lady guard by the door her white paper, and she said to Kola, “Table fifteen,” pointing in the direction where she was to be seated.

  Kola strutted to the area and once again felt the eyes of many upon her. She kept walking and remained nonchalant. She took a seat at the small plastic round table and waited.

  Cross entered the visiting room shortly after Kola’s arrival. He looked around for Kola, handed the guard his ID, and walked toward her with a confident stride and swag that appealed to a few of the ladies he passed.

  Kola didn’t smile when Cross came her way. She felt nothing but anger and hostility toward him. She once loved him, but now it made her uncomfortable just to see him. There were no hugs or kisses when he took a seat opposite her, his back facing the corrections officers and their elevated platform.

  Cross was clad in the bright orange prison jumpsuit with “DOC” printed on the back in bold black letters. He sat upright and focused on Kola. “Good to see you, Kola,” he greeted matter-of-factly. “You look good, baby. Got all these niggas sweating you in here and shit.”

  “Why am I here, Cross?”

  “Were you fuckin’ that nigga?”

  “What? Who?” Kola looked befuddled.

  “Don’t play stupid wit’ me, Kola—I’m talkin’ about Eduardo.”

  “We were just about business.”

  “Business, huh? Then why a couple months ago, it took you over an hour to complete ya business wit’ that muthafucka?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “You know what the fuck I’m talkin’ about.”

  “You followed me there?”

  “I trusted you, Kola.”

  “You wanna talk about fuckin’ trust? How ’bout you and Cynthia having a fuckin’ baby? Making me feel like a stupid bitch. How dare you bring that trust shit up!”


  “Well, ain’t no worry about that nigga now. He’s MIA since we ran up on him. And I had my peoples lookin’ for that muthafucka.”

  “What?”

  “Shit was on the news, but ya young ass is too caught up in the streets and yourself to change the channel from BET or MTV once in a while and see what’s goin’ on in the world. We ran up on him right after you left, shot up his goons, and took what we could.”

  “You’re crazy, Cross. Why?”

  “’Cuz you and him were fuckin’ playin’ me, so I did what I had to do. I wanted to take that muthafucka out, and we came close.”

  It finally made sense to Kola—the threatening phone call she’d received from Eduardo, then her calls being rejected, the feds lingering outside of the building, Eduardo suddenly becoming MIA, and then the hit at her Yonkers stash house. Only Eduardo had the power to pull off a massacre of that magnitude.

  Kola knew she was fucked. She glared at Cross. “What the fuck have you done to me?”

  “You fucked him, so now I fucked you. Let’s just call it even.”

  “I didn’t fuck him!” Kola screamed, catching everyone’s attention in the room. “Fuck you!”

  The guards turned and stared at her and Cross, keeping alert.

  Cross glared at a few inmates with a menacing look, reminding them to mind their business. His fierce reputation was well known in his housing unit, where he had some allies and some enemies.

  Kola pushed her chair back and walked away. She was done with her visit. She was done with Cross. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible. He had to pay for what he’d done.

  “Where the fuck you goin’, Kola? We ain’t done yet! Get the fuck over here, bitch!” Cross screamed, jumping from his chair, ready to chase after her. “You don’t fuckin’ walk away from me!”

  A few guards rushed over, restraining Cross and grabbing Kola, trying to defuse the situation. Cross was sent back to lock-up, and Kola left the area, feeling sick to her stomach. She had never been so angry.

  When Kola made it out of Rikers, stepping off the bus and to her car in the parking lot, she was wishing she’d shot Cross that night instead of Edge. After she got into her car, she thought, If they robbed Eduardo, then what did Cross do with the money and drugs they took from him? Then she remembered Edge mentioning cash and weight before he told her about Cross buying that Brooklyn bitch a ring. Everything had to be with Cynthia in Brooklyn. Which meant Cynthia’s life was now in danger.

  Kola had held her tears in for too long. Once she was in the privacy of her own car, she felt faint and started to cry. It was a brief moment of weakness. She didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. Everybody she’d once trusted was either dead or had betrayed her.

  Kola felt that it was time for her to leave home and break away from what she knew best—the drugs, the sex parties, and the streets of Harlem—and regroup in a different city. She needed to travel to someplace and lay low for a moment. Eduardo was a dangerous and resourceful man. She knew he wouldn’t stop coming for her and everyone else involved with the robbery and murder of his men. Kola was scared. It was the first time she felt the need to run from anyone or anything.

  A few hours after her visit with Cross, she went to her mother’s apartment and began packing her things. Then she sped to her home and got the money and guns she needed. She had enough money saved to go anywhere she wanted in the country.

  Kola decided on Miami. She had some peoples out there she needed to see. She took what she could, and threw everything into the trunk of her Audi, along with her hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash, and got on the I-95 South for the twenty-four-hour trip to Miami.

  Chapter 20

  Two-Face sat slouched in the backseat of the faded black Ford Taurus on 188th Street gripping an Uzi submachine gun. His two cohorts, Narco and Rage, two of New York’s most ruthless thugs, sat in the car with him, waiting and plotting. New York City and Harlem weren’t ready for the murderous Two-Face in their backyard. He had given a violent wake-up call to so many who’d doubted his brutality and murderous ways because of his youthful appearance, people were now afraid to speak his name.

  Two-Face killed viciously with anything he could get his hands on: guns, knives, a brick. He even had a man twice his age mauled to death by a ferocious pit bull. The man, accused of being a snitch, was forced into a concrete basement in the gut of the hood and stripped naked in front of his peers.

  ****

  The tall, lanky victim was shaking like a leaf on a windy day. “Please, Two-Face,” he said, “I ain’t do nothin’. C’mon, man, it ain’t gotta be like this. I ain’t say shit to any police!”

  “You a snitch, homes. You fucked up, big time!”

  The dog barked wildly, its echoing bark sending chills into the man, and its demonic eyes trained on its potential target. The powerful beast was eager to be released.

  The other thugs surrounding Two-Face jeered at the snitch and spat on him, each of them looking to gain Two-Face’s respect and approval.

  “Fuck him up, Two-Face!” one of them shouted. “Fuck that snitch up!”

  The terrier was confident, robust, and bursting with energy. Two-Face gripped the ferocious pit bull by its chain leash. He had a hard time restraining the dog, which constantly yanked him forward, ready to attack.

  “Two-Face, please . . . I didn’t do anything! I swear to you, man! I didn’t say shit. I didn’t say shit!” he screamed.

  Two-Face locked eyes with the man, his gaze as deadly and intimidating as the dog’s. The black of Two-Face’s eyes showed a cruel, treacherous being that lived for the violence; a man without a soul.

  Another thug shouted, “Do that shit, Two-Face! Do that shit!”

  The naked man was cowered into the corner with his hands outstretched in front of him. The whites of his eyes dimmed with fear.

  Two-Face sneered at the man. Without warning, he let go of the leash, and the dog rushed forward, slamming its victim into the wall as it tore its teeth into the man’s flesh, ripping apart skin and his fingers.

  The victim’s blood-curdling scream brought the basement alive with laughter. The thugs stood around and watched pieces of the man fly in the air, and thick crimson blood began pooling on the floor. The assault went on for fifteen minutes, until the victim was left lifeless and his body contorted like a pretzel.

  Two-Face smiled at his method of killing. It felt like Christmas day for him.

  Two-Face’s violent killings had placed him on the police and task force radar. When the cops were finally able to attach a face to the name, they were stunned at how young and innocent he looked. They understood why he had gotten the name Two-Face. The precincts made it their priority to bring the young killer and his violent organization, along with Chico, to justice and try him for his inhumane crimes.

  Word on the streets started to surface about Chico and Two-Face being at odds with each other. Two-Face began asking around about Chico. He wanted to know why his boss was so insistent about getting information about a prostitute and disfigured whore in Mexico. He wanted to know the connection.

  Little by little, information started to come back to Two-Face about Chico and Apple. He learned of the events and incidents that took place before his arrival in the city. He learned about Chico’s undying love for Apple and her sudden disappearance without a trace. He knew Kola was her twin, and that they were warring sisters.

  People were willing to tell Two-Face anything out of fear. Whatever information he needed, it was given to him. The streets started to fear and respect Two-Face a little more than they did Chico. Two-Face was the one on the streets putting in work. He had the young killers at his beck and call, while Chico was playing house with a Brooklyn bitch and the streets were seeing less and less of him every week.

  The plan to bring Two-Face in
for muscle and control had backfired on Chico. A few soldiers were starting to turn against him. Jason had forewarned him about this.

  Two-Face had gotten a taste of the action and power in New York City and wanted more of it. With his name ringing bells in the streets, and having plenty of young thugs ready to follow his lead, Two-Face planned on taking over. He had gotten Chico the connect with his uncle’s Mexican cartel, and he was the one spilling blood on the streets, so he thought he should no longer be Chico’s subordinate. He should be the one wearing the crown.

  The streets soon started buzzing about the situation between Chico and Two-Face becoming rivals, and people started to take sides.

  Two-Face made the first move against Chico, declaring that certain corners were his to control and take over. If you went against him, then you would be dealt with violently. A few soldiers and workers still had loyalty to Chico, so Two-Face decided to make an example of them.

  ****

  Two-Face sat in the Taurus playing around with the Uzi while waiting for those loyal to Chico to enter the 188th Street building. He kept a keen eye on the block as they sat snug and obscured, parked between a dark van and a Ford truck. It was nearing eleven p.m., and foot traffic was light.

  After the men sat for an hour waiting, Narco asked, “You sure about this, Two-Face?”

  “What you mean, Narco? You tryin’ to back out on me now?” Two-Face asked. “Huh, homes?” He leaned forward, the Uzi almost aimed at Narco in a threatening way. “You got doubts?”

  “Nah, you know I’m down, one hundred and everything, but Chico . . . I known the nigga for years, and he ain’t somebody to play wit’. We fuck this up, and he’ll fuck us up.”

  “Fuck Chico! I’m tired of that muthafucka!” Two-Face spat. “He don’t run the show no more.”

  Narco decided to remain silent. He knew Two-Face was a psychopath. Narco had killed before, but Two-Face took death and violence to a whole other level. He was the new terror, while Chico was becoming the old.

  A short while later, a Dodge Magnum crept down the block and stopped in front of the building they’d been staking out. It doubled-parked, and two men stepped out and walked toward the building carrying book bags. Two-Face knew they were filled with money or coke.