“What’s up?” Jerome said, also nodding to the man, and tried to walk past him.
The man blocked his way. “No you don’t.”
“What? I’m with Sugar, and I got business with D’andre.”
“She didn’t say nothing about that, D’andre ain’t said anything to me, and I don’t know you. So, not yet, you don’t. You go in when I’m good with you going in, and I ain’t satisfied yet. You strapped?”
“Yeah, so what?”
The man held out his hand.
“Fuck that! I’m not giving you shit.”
With a small shrug, the man nodded his head sideways, his hand still out.
After a short staring contest, Jerome turned over his 9mm. “I want that back.”
“Anything else?” the man asked.
“No.”
“You hear that shit about the smoke?”
“No. What smoke?”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I got me some smoke here in my hand. More fire might be packed away. You ain’t going in until I pat you down.”
“Fuck this. Gimme my gun back. I don’t need any of your shit. You fucking people asked me here. I didn’t ask to come. Give me my fucking gun. I’m outta here.”
Sugar came up beside them. “It’s okay, T, let him in.”
The man stepped aside. “Go on.”
“You goddamned right, go on. I was asked to come here to discuss a business deal.”
Jerome pimp‑walked into the courtyard, where D’andre lounged in a heavy, metal patio chair with green‑striped cushions.
He sat under a large umbrella standing in a steel base, with his back to the wall and holding a brightly colored plastic glass with condensation running down the sides. An ornate, steel table with a glass top and another large umbrella that came up through the hole in the middle matched his chair and three others. The two umbrellas overlapped, providing a small oasis of shade amid the cement courtyard’s odor of dust mixed with oil, like hot asphalt.
“Hey, bruh, good you came over.” D’andre waved to the surrounding chairs. “Pull up a seat. Sugar, pour some tea for Jerome.”
Sugar filled a glass with ice from a cooler under the table, poured some tea from an Igloo jug, and handed the drink to Jerome.
Jerome gulped down half of the tea. “Good idea.” He held up his glass. “It’s hot as hell out here. Why are you out here in the heat? Isn’t one of these apartments yours?”
“I like being out here where I can see what’s coming. Sugar don’t like me bringing my business in the house, neither. Says it upsets her fish.”
Jerome made a show of relaxing into his chair. “Yeah, I can see that. Can’t be having no nervous fish.”
“Right. You know how women are about their fish—one of them goes belly up, they get all weepy.” D’andre shot a single, imaginary round with his hand. “I just throw the fucker in the toilet and get a new one.”
Jerome glanced at Sugar, who shrugged. “Guess I’m more sentimental about dead meat than D is.”
“I didn’t ask you to come over to talk about dead fish, though. I asked, so we can do some business. Seriously, bruh, I’m glad you showed. I got a little something coming down, and this deal I’m working on could be good for both of us.” D’andre smiled big and clinked glasses with Jerome.
“All right, sounds good. We’ve always been cool with each other, but never friends, so why now?”
“You’re right, you’re right. We’ve never been tight, but I still know who you are, and I respect you. You’ve been a down brother in the hood. Never do no stupid shit like be a snitch or a dope fiend. You be the real deal. You can be trusted to do what you say you’re gonna do.”
“You know how it is,” Jerome bragged. “Gotta lay things down like they are for real.”
“I’m coming to you because you got this thing going on with these women, and this little problem between you and them can help me. You do me this solid and I’ll put you in a regular spot in my organization. Not just no runner, neither; I’ll set you up with your own crew. I’m expanding my area and need good men like you. You interested in learning more?”
“Sure, tell me what you got in mind.”
D’andre smiled, and he poured himself and Jerome more tea. “My man! What’d I tell you?” He turned to Sugar. “I told you Jerome would be down on this business.” Back to Jerome, he said, “I know I can trust you to be quiet on this, right?”
“Of course.” Jerome leaned in. “I get how this move can get some people’s asses shot off. I’m good with that. You can trust me not to talk to nobody.”
“See, I knew you’d be the right man to deliver.”
Jerome eased back into his chair, drank some tea, and nodded knowingly.
“With both Jackson and Lewis gone,” D’andre said, “I’m making a run at the top. Not a single piece or even two, but the whole fucking pie. To put everything together the right way, I need some solid men like you. You step up now, and I’ll take you with me, right to the top. What do you say?”
“Sure, I’m in. What do you need from me?” Jerome smiled, like he’d just made a life‑changing deal.
“I can tell you ain’t no punk that wants to be left out of the heavy shit. But I gotta ask you to do a special mission. When the big hit comes down, you and your crew will be at another place. I can’t trust this to just anybody. In fact, nobody else can do the job like you.”
“D, honey,” Sugar interrupted. “I gotta make some calls to check on those people we talked about earlier.” She left the table.
“Now listen, Jerome, this is the deal: I need you to pull a couple guys from BamBam’s crew off on an important mission, but they can’t know how special this is or why you want them to go with you. To do this right, we gotta play it real smart. But here’s the great thing: these are solid dudes, been around a long time, and they’ll make a down crew for you when everything comes together. They’re only with BamBam because Lewis got capped. They don’t like his ass any more than I do.”
“So you’re saying, after the shit’s done,” Jerome said, “I’ll have my own crew and will be working with you as a top lieutenant in your organization, like Lewis was with Jackson?”
“You do me this solid, and I’ll move you right up—bam!—you can go from hanging in the park to running it.”
“I could have the business at the park?”
“Hell, yes. When BamBam’s gone, it’ll be up for grabs, and who better than someone who’s already up on everything going down over there? You and your crew could start at the park, and after that, well . . . we’ll figure it out a piece at a time. First, we gotta get you set up with these guys.”
“Who are they, and why would they want to hook up with me?”
“Oh man, you’re gonna love this. Sugar done set them up. They’re already pissed and looking to do some business exactly like what you got against those hos that tried to shoot off your shit. Do you know Willie and Terrance?”
“Yeah right, I’ve seen them around. They’re all right. How do I get in touch with them?”
“That’s up to you,” D’andre said and held his tea glass up in a salute.
Jerome clinked his own against D’andre’s one more time. “You can count on me. This shit is as good as done.”
*
After Jerome left, T, the guy at the gate, moved to sit in the shade where D’andre had earlier lounged while D’andre went inside the cool apartment where Sugar sat watching TV.
“Are you really putting Jerome in your crew?” Sugar asked.
“Naw, he’s a stupid lop,” D’andre said. “Did you see how he ate up that shit about him being down in the hood and running the business at the park? Like I’d ever respect a punk like him. A man’s gotta earn respect, and he’s got no respect because he never earned it.”
“You think he’ll do it?”
“Hella yeah. His dumb ass almost come when I said he’
d have his own crew. He’ll do anything I ask him to do. This’ll work out just like we planned. I’ll keep him around for little stuff later. Ain’t no thang. He won’t last long anyway. Guaranteed, some shit will come down after this, and he’s too stupid to figure out he’ll be on point. Right there out front, getting the first shots, he’ll be the first fool capped.”
*
“Man, slap down that bone or get outta the game. You been sitting there all afternoon looking like you’re about to bust a gut. What’s on your mind that’s got you so pleased with yourself?”
After leaving D’andre’s, Jerome joined an ongoing game of dominoes in the park, not yet having figured out how to break in with Terrance and Willie. Now, thinking about it, he couldn’t focus on the game. “I got some big business coming down, but I can’t talk about it. After everything gets set, you’ll see what it’s all about.”
“Yeah right, you got some big business. The only business you got is to make a decision on what you’re gonna do with that bone you’re holding on to like it was some free ticket to see Aretha. Now make your move.”
Just then, Scooter ran up to Jerome, eyes bugged out, face flushed.
“Hey, man, I gotta talk to you about some way‑out shit you’ll seriously want to be up on!”
Jerome abandoned his losing game of dominoes, “Let’s conversate over there,” and pointed with his chin to an empty cement table about fifty feet away, asking, “What up, dog?” as he strutted toward it.
“You know Terrance and Willie?” Scooter asked. “They’re in Bam’s crew and work the corner off Forty‑Third Street.”
“Uh‑huh, I’ve seen them around.”
“I was over at Popeye’s, and they were talking loud about how they’re real pissed at a couple hos. Said the hos jacked them for their money. But what they’re super pissed about is those skanks roofied them.”
“That so? Did you talk to them?”
“No, I overheard them. But it’s what they said. I sat at the next table and could hear everything.”
“How mad did they sound?” Jerome asked.
“Deep‑mad, like they’re ready to do something.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know,” Scooter said. “Maybe still at Popeye’s, or they could be back on their corner.”
Jerome tossed his car keys to Scooter. “You drive. Let’s go find them.”
“Me?” Scooter’s eyes lit up. “I thought you said nobody ever drove your ride.”
“Well, my man, you just got promoted. There’s a lot of that going around. Stick with me and you’ll be seeing more promotions real soon.”
In Jerome’s Sebring, Scooter adjusted the seat and mirrors. “Where to first?”
“Head over to Forty‑Third. They should be out selling to people getting off work.”
Fifteen minutes later, Scooter pulled up to the corner where Willie stood and squinted into the evening sun, catching eyes with people in passing cars. Jerome leaned out his open window. “A‑yo, Willie, got a minute I can holla with you?”
“Sup, Jerome? You looking to buy?” Willie asked.
“Naw, it’s not like that. I got something else to discuss with you and yo’ homie, Terrance.”
“About what?”
“It’s got to do with a special job; something personal. Where’s Terrance?”
“Over there.” Willie cut his eyes to the alley off to the side. “Yo, T, come here!” he yelled, and waited for Terrance to join them before asking Jerome, “So, what’s on your mind?”
“I hear we’ve got something in common about wanting to get even with a couple hos,” Jerome said.
“I’m gonna make them bitches pay, big time, for the shit they pulled,” Willie said.
“I can help you with that,” Jerome said. “I’ve got a real issue with a couple bitches, myself. They fucking shot me in cold blood when I was unarmed and couldn’t protect myself. Lucky I got away alive. Now that I’m out of the hospital and have my strength back, they got some payback coming.”
When Jerome told the story, it changed—a lot. He didn’t mention about his climbing onto his own bed and getting tied down, spread‑eagle. He didn’t explain how they’d flipped a coin to see who’d get to shoot his ball off. He didn’t confess to his mean, cowardly actions that had caused the women to jack him in the first place, and he also didn’t say how, two times earlier, he’d punked out and didn’t fight back.
Now, when he told it, the women were cowards and had come at him with guns over a misunderstanding. According to him, the whole thing should have been handled through a simple conversation.
“They’re crazy bitches who won’t stop until someone jacks them really bad,” Jerome said. “I’d take care of this business alone, but I don’t wanna kill nobody, and they’re always strapped. If I go after them with a gun, it’ll only end with them being dead, and that means doing time. I’m not afraid of prison, it’s just these bitches ain’t worth it, is all.”
“You ever do time?” Willie asked.
“Naw, too smart to be caught,” Jerome bragged.
“So what do you want with me and Willie?” Terrance asked.
“I’m thinking we could work as a team. I help you do those bitches that jacked you, and you help me.”
Six: A Little Help, Please
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’m saying this,” T‑Dog said. “I feel like the lousy po‑po. Their sorry asses are always talking about how they can’t arrest a muthafucka who’s headed for trouble but hasn’t said or done nothing yet. They wait until the brother pulls the trigger, and then, shit, it’s too late for everyone.”
“I hear you. That’s some crazy shit,” Michelle said.
T‑Dog, Nikky, and Michelle sat at a table inside Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. They’d been there for so long, the strong smells of fried chicken, chicken‑fried steak and biscuits, and chicken gravy had all faded into the background.
T‑Dog held a cold cup of forgotten coffee. “Damn. I’m worried one of my girls is in line for something bad, and I can’t let that happen. I’m getting super pissed. Fucking rat bastard Jerome. I’m thinking I need to off him before somebody else gets hurt.”
“Not now,” Michelle said. “There’s already so much history, the police are up in everyone’s business. If anything new happens, they’ll be all over me.”
“Okay,” T‑Dog said. “I understand why we can’t take him out, straight-up. Got any ideas on what we can do? I’m serious. There’ll be hell to pay for a lot of people if this blows back and one of my girls gets hurt. Also, know this: the women who got us into this mess will pay a price, too.”
“Are you saying we have a problem?”
“I’m saying my crew could be in danger and needs to be protected, and I’m holding you partly responsible.”
“Of course you want to protect your girls,” Michelle said. “I do, too. That’s why we came to you in the first place. This thing wound up ugly only because Jerome acted a fool and hurt more than just his woman. He went after her friends and sent one of them to the emergency room. But you know how it is with friends—you do what you can if your dog asks you to take it easy.”
“You’re right,” T‑Dog said. “I agree, you do whatever’s necessary, even if it means doing less than you really should. And now, before someone else gets hurt, it’s necessary that this asshole goes. So, again, how do we deal with this piece of shit?”
“We’ll put eyes on him, find out if he’s hanging with anyone new. That’ll tell us if anyone’s buying his bullshit.”
“Any word from Sugar?” Nikky asked. “A couple of her girls work the park area where he hangs most of the time.”
“No, nothing,” T‑Dog replied. “I asked her if any of the street girls had seen Jerome around, and she said nobody told her nothing. But that’s not how she normally rolls; she’s a serious control freak with her girls and keeps things real tight, always on top of ev
erything with what they’re up to all the time. In that way, she’s like most pimps, making sure the women pay up, full and on time. So, really, if she says there isn’t anything, then there probably isn’t.”
*
Will Smith’s Wild Wild West, the ringtone for Michelle’s personal calls, played on her phone. She kept everyone separated by ringtones—personal and work. Each of Michelle’s work connections had a unique ringtone: one for her local cover job, one for her connection in Houston, and one for Atlanta. Each one meant something dramatically different. This tone was strictly personal. Michelle turned down the car stereo and answered her cell.
“Sup?”
“Hey, pretty lady, this is Trevon. You have a minute to chat?”
Chat? Who asks if you have a minute to chat?
“Hey, Trevon. Well, aren’t you polite with your lawyer‑speak, asking me if I can chat. For a polite lawyerman like you, I’m sure I can find a moment.” Michelle enjoyed teasing him about being so proper, and a devilish twinkle came to her eyes. I’ll teach him to ask if I can “chat.”
“In fact, right now,” she added, “I have a lot of moments to chat. I made the mistake of getting on the freeway, and traffic’s jammed up for miles. Me and a million other people—we’re all free to talk, chat, for as long as you or anyone wants. How’s that for chatty? So, what’s up?”
“You think you’re cute, huh?” he asked.
“I know I am—so do you.”
“What I called about; I’m coming up your way this afternoon. How about we break off some time for a little quality togetherness?”
“How much time are you talking about?” she asked.
“I’m thinking Scott’s for breakfast tomorrow morning sounds pretty good.”
“Now you’re speaking my language. Of course, eating at Scott’s means finding a place close by to spend the night. Any ideas?”
“Yes. About three blocks up the way from the diner is a tasty, two‑bedroom cottage that’s fully furnished with a sunny kitchen and a pleasant little patio inside a privacy wall of shrubs. It’s an excellent place to enjoy takeout from Scott’s, and this crib is so special, it comes complete with the finest shorty in the city.”
Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) Page 4