Aside from just needing some pampering after all the bullshit I been through this past year, she thought to herself.
“Congratulations!” both women sang in unison. “So, what would you guys like today?” the first woman, Daliah, inquired.
“We’ll take four deep-tissue, full-body Swedish-style massages,” Kafisa declared.
“Okay, the number three. Great choice,” the other woman, Sue, agreed. “Daliah here is going to take you to the changing room, where you can get undressed, while we start the mineral soak bath for all of you.” She rang up Kafisa’s order. “Comes to two thousand three hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty cents. Will that be cash or credit?”
Kafisa went into her Michael Kors clutch and pulled out a monstrous wad of money. “Cash,” she announced. Daliah’s and Sue’s eyes widened as Kafisa peeled off twenty-five one-hundred-dollar bills from the knot of cash. Kafisa handed Sue the money. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” Sue said after opening her cashier drawer.
Daliah then led everybody to the changing room. Kafisa stripped out of her clothes, keeping on the bathing suit she had on underneath, and got into the robe the spa supplied. She stuck her MP3 player and her headphones in a pocket. The others followed suit. When they were done, there were four masseurs waiting for Halimah, Nu-Nu, Laverne, and Niecy.
“You come with me,” Daliah told Kafisa.
Kafisa and Halimah exchanged humorous looks in response to the brawny woman’s request.
“Lead the way,” Kafisa told her.
Daliah nodded, then led Kafisa to a private room. Kafisa followed her to a water-jet bath infused with natural minerals. She removed her robe, took out the MP3 player, popped in her headphones, and then lowered herself into the bath, feeling the soothing hot water. She got comfortable and instantly closed her eyes. She soaked in the bath for the next forty-five minutes, easing the minor aches in her muscles. She could tell that her body was replenished when it was time for her massage.
After donning her robe, Kafisa walked up the stairs of the spa and into the white marble room where she would be receiving her massage. She nodded and smiled at the handsome Spanish masseur. She removed her robe but kept on her bathing suit, and he instructed her to lie down on her stomach on top of the massage table, which was covered in a brown plush towel, and to place her head against the leather headrest.
“Did you want to take off your bathing suit?” he asked, knowing some customers preferred to lie naked underneath a towel while receiving their massage.
Kafisa climbed onto the massage table. She shook her head with a smile. “No, no thank you,” she answered. She sat on the edge of the massage table.
The masseur smiled, noticing her demureness. “I just asked because it’s almost like a policy. You’d be surprised how many people would rather receive a massage with nothing on. Let’s get started.”
Kafisa lay down on the table and let the Spanish masseur knead her back muscles. The curative nature of the massage was immediately apparent to her. She had once been skeptical about massage therapy, but no more. She could attest to its power. The masseur’s hands lightly stroked her neck and shoulders, then descended to her spinal column. He poured aromatherapy oil on her midway down her back and rubbed it into her backside. His hands then moved down to her thighs and legs, and he rubbed in the oil in a circular fashion. The massage was so ardent that Kafisa almost thought the masseur was making love to her with his hands.
When her Swedish rubdown ended, she thanked the masseur and tipped him graciously. She went back to the changing room to change into her clothes. She realized her bathing suit was still wet, and decided she’d just throw on her miniskirt and showcase the top of the one-piece.
With her MK clutch in one hand and her shirt in the other, Kafisa stepped out of the room and made her way back to where her girls were. Everybody had a relaxed expression plastered across their face. Kafisa was pleased that her crew seemed to have enjoyed the pampering at her expense just as much as she had. After all, they had been working and going just as hard as she had.
They left the spa and piled into Kafisa’s Range Rover. After she dropped everybody off, Kafisa headed home to prepare for what she believed would be an unforgettable night. Yeah, tonight’s definitely gonna be a night to remember, she told herself. She had no way of knowing just how memorable a night it would be, though.
Chapter Twenty-five
Later that evening . . .
All eyes were on them as Kafisa and her entourage stepped out of the cranberry-and-silver Maybach. Kafisa noticed all the stares through her Dior shades as she and her crew breezed past both the regular and the VIP line. She wasn’t sure at first whether the crowd was more impressed with her and her four-woman team or with the luxury car, but judging by the looks on their faces, she could tell it was a combination of both. Just like she could tell it was the first time the majority of the club goers had ever seen a Maybach outside of a rap video or magazine. When she’d treated herself to the car, she knew it would be a head turner.
Now is a better time than any other, she thought. Tonight was her night, and nothing was too expensive when it came to making her happy. Lately, as the December 31 date was nearing, Kafisa had been feeling some type of way. So much had happened since she had left New York.
Overall, she had weathered the storm and had become stronger than ever, and tonight it would show. She had worked hard, and now she wanted to play hard. She had been stacking her money, the way she had learned from her father, and it had all been worth it. Her work ethic was impeccable. She was like the Energizer Bunny when it came to her grind. Money was her motivation.
She hadn’t slept for a good twenty-four hours combined throughout the entire week to ensure nothing got in the way of her weekend plans. Either she’d been on the highway, driving to some other state, or she’d been on a plane, flying somewhere. Her peoples in North Carolina and Virginia were copping bricks like they were going out of style, and her team in the South Carolina area was moving so many pies, they should open up a bakery. Thanks to Francine’s drug pipeline, supplying enough drugs to meet the demand had her constantly on the move. The raw coke and heroin that she was getting from Francine were definitely in demand throughout the South, but if her buyers did not place their orders and pick them up by the weekend, then they would be ass out. Kafisa let everybody she supplied know that she was about to close up shop for this weekend. Tonight was a celebration without any concerns or worries about street shit.
Between the Maybach she had purchased and the real Queen B pendant she had had made especially for her platinum chain and matching bracelet, not to mention what she had paid out for this night, she had spent just over three quarters of a million dollars. To many, that was a lot of money, but to Kafisa, it was nothing. Money was the least of her worries. She had it and plenty of it. After all, she was that chick who was winning.
Not only was she winning, but so too was her crew. It was no secret that she and her squad were some of the most talked about females in the dirty, but by the way they were all dressed, you never would have known that these five enticing women who had entered the club were some of the most dangerous of their kind. Sexy and deadly would be the best words to describe Kafisa and her girls. Between the five of them, they had over a million dollars in ice around their necks, in their ears, and around their wrists.
As they were escorted to their VIP section, other women envied them, while men lusted after them. The five of them were indeed a sight to see. As soon as they reached their VIP section, the energy of the club increased. There were bottles awaiting them.
“Damn. We haven’t been out in a while,” Niecy reminded them.
“Right!” Nu-Nu and Laverne chorused.
Kafisa and Halimah looked at each other. Kafisa was the oldest of them all, followed by Halimah, so they didn’t feel the same way that their three crew members felt when it came to going out. But tonight Kafisa intended to show them all how to
party on another level.
“What’s up, ladies? Can I take your picture?” a well-dressed light-skinned brother with a camera asked them over the music, interrupting them.
“Come back in a few,” Kafisa replied on behalf of her squad.
The cameraman nodded, smiled, and attempted to make his exit.
“Matter of fact, hold up. You can get us now, before these bitches start disappearing and get white-girl wasted,” Kafisa told him, changing her mind.
“Got you.” The cameraman smiled.
Within seconds, the cameraman began to do his thing. Onlookers stared as he snapped what seemed like a hundred different shots of Kafisa and her crew. Each pose was different as they raised up drinks and bottles. He even managed to take a few of Kafisa tossing a stack of singles in the air. Once he was done shooting, he showed them his photography equipment, and they all leaned in to get a look at his high-tech digital camera, which replayed the photos with a push of a button.
Kafisa gave a nod of approval.
“You like ’em?” the cameraman asked.
“Definitely,” she answered for them all.
“Which ones you like?” he then asked.
“Yeah, we like ’em all,” Halimah said, chiming in.
Kafisa smiled. “Yeah, we like ’em all. Give me all of’em,” Kafisa said, backing Halimah up.
The cameraman could not believe his ears. He was used to people he had photographed liking all the photos, but no one had ever wanted to buy so many at one time, especially not women. He knew they were not your average chicks. He did a quick calculation in his head and told Kafisa the price for all the photos.
Without hesitation, Kafisa pulled out her stack of money and peeled off two crisp hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the photographer. “Take this now and come back and take another two hundred dollars’ worth later, once we get some more bottles and everything.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, pocketing the money. “Thanks. I’ll be back with your flicks.”
Kafis nodded. She sat down and leaned back. The rest of her crew did the same, except for Niecy.
“Oh, this my shit right here!” Niecy shouted as the sounds of Chief Keef’s latest jam filled the air. She instantly broke out in her famous two-step.
“Aye!” Halimah threw her hand up in the air and snapped her fingers to the music. Nu-Nu and Laverne joined her as they cheered Niecy on.
Kafisa let out a light chuckle. She enjoyed watching her girls have a good time. Just then, two male servers appeared out of nowhere, carrying cranberry, orange, and pineapple chasers, along with two metal buckets of ice. Kafisa had already called and made arrangements ahead of time as to what she wanted. As if on cue, what seemed like a soul-train line full of servers made a beeline over to Kafisa’s VIP section. Partygoers cleared a path as six sexy females of assorted flavors came through with a bottle in each hand, accompanied by sparklers. The first three females possessed different flavors of Cîroc, while the last three toted bottles of rosé.
“What are you having?” asked the sexy server closest to Kafisa, leaning in.
“Peach Cîroc with a splash of orange juice.”
The girl immediately cracked a bottle of peach Cîroc.
“And a glass of sparkling rosé,” Kafisa added.
“Got you.” The girl gave her a wink and a smile. After she poured Kafisa’s drinks, she attempted to take everybody else’s order. It was too late. Halimah had already cracked a bottle of rosé for herself, while Niecy, Nu-Nu, and Laverne had all helped themselves to the other bottles of Cîroc.
Kafisa smiled. “We good,” she told the server.
The girl returned Kafisa’s smile before exiting the VIP section. Kafisa scanned the club. Once again, she noticed all eyes on them as she and her crew turned up. Her eyes rested on the section across from theirs. She made eye contact with one of the dudes in that section. It was apparent from the six bottles Kafisa observed that he and his two boys had come to turn up as well. The dude raised his glass in Kafisa’s direction and slipped her a sly smirk. Kafisa pretended not to see him and focused back on her own section. At first glance, she hadn’t recognized him, which meant he was a nobody, as far as she was concerned, because she already knew everybody who was somebody.
“Who ready for two-K-fifteen? South Carolina, where y’all at? Make some noise!” the DJ shouted into the mic.
“Whoo!” The crowd broke into a thunderous roar that could be heard throughout the body-infested club.
Kafisa glanced down at her iced-out Franck Muller Rolex. In ten minutes it would be a New Year, and she would be a new woman. The rosé had her feeling nice, but before the year 2014 ended and the New Year came in, she wanted to be white-girl wasted like everyone else. She poured herself another glass of the sparkling wine and tossed it back. After repeating this two more times, her bottle of rosé was empty. She placed it upside down in the ice bucket.
“Limah, hand me that bottle.” She pointed to the closest open bottle of rosé.
Halimah smiled and enjoyed the fact that her boss was finally relaxing. Since she’d hooked up with Kafisa, every birthday had turned better than the last. “Look at you. Tryin’a handle it like a real bitch!” she teased.
“I am a real bitch!” Kafisa wasted no time shooting back. Her words were a little slurred, but her tone was firm. Joking or not, her father had told her never to let anyone downplay or assassinate her character, no matter who it was. Although she knew Halimah had meant no harm, she still had to check her.
Halimah knew she had crossed the line, just as she knew the reason for this was her liquor.
“Yes, you are, boss! And any muthafucka that says different, they gonna get dealt with.” Halimah’s words came out with conviction.
Kafisa felt the love. She smiled. “Bitch, don’t get all mushy on me. Pass me a damn bottle.”
Halimah chuckled and snatched up the bottle of rosé from the metal bucket.
As Kafisa took the bottle, she noticed another dude in the section across from them eyeing her. She raised her eyebrows, as if to ask what he was staring at, then just waited for a response. The dude answered her with a chuckle, then turned his head and returned to sipping his drink. Kafisa was tempted to step to him, but she decided against it. Tonight was her night, and she was not going to let anything or anybody ruin it.
“Okay, everybody! Thirty seconds till the countdown,” the DJ informed the crowd.
Kafisa stared at her ice beveled timepiece. As the seconds hand approached the ten-second mark, the DJ began to count down.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .”
The crowd joined in. “Six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one! Happy New Year!” The crowd cheered as confetti fell from the ceiling of the Columbia, South Carolina, nightclub. Champagne flutes, bottles, and cups with assorted light and dark liquors filled the air.
“I’d like to wish a special Happy Thirtieth Birthday to the queen bee of not only the South but also the BK! Kafisa the Don! I see you, baby girl. If you don’t know, you better know now, ’cause she one badass bitch!” Mister Cee, the DJ, shouted through the microphone as he switched songs. “This one’s for you, ma!” he added.
Just then the sounds of Biggie Smalls’s classic “Juicy” boomed through the massive speakers that lined the club’s walls and shook the building. It was her thirtieth birthday, and Kafisa felt she deserved to go all out and splurge on her special day.
In her VIP section Kafisa held her glass up even higher than she already had it raised, and nodded. Her birthday was one of the best times of the year for her, as she had been born on New Year’s Day. The two hundred grand she had dropped to rent out the club and pop bottles of Cîroc and rosé all night was nothing to her, especially on her special day. She knew the DJ, Mister Cee, personally from back home and had flown him in to rock her party, which was why she was not surprised to hear her favorite song by one of her hometown’s hip-hop legends.
&nb
sp; Her female entourage followed suit. They held their glasses in the air to toast with their boss. Kafisa turned and smiled approvingly in her team’s direction. The whole while the cameraman shot away. His flashing lights added to the ballin’ ambiance surrounding Kafisa and her female entourage. They were indeed the center of attention in the upscale club.
Kafisa held her hand up to her eyes to block the flash from the camera as she raised her glass to her lips. Between all the rosé she had consumed and the flashing lights, she was getting light-headed. She dismissed the cameraman with a wave of her hand. He nodded and directed his attention to the crowd.
Kafisa took a sip of her rosé. Just before she tilted her head back, something caught her eye. In a New York minute, she went from party mode to combat mode. Her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl at the sight of the two bodies standing up in the VIP section next to theirs. The glare from the chrome weapon one of the men was brandishing was what caught Kafisa’s attention. One look at them and she knew they weren’t local. Kafisa instinctively reached for her weapon tucked in her LV belt, despite the fact that the two unidentified gunmen already had their weapons raised and pointed in her direction. By the time her crew realized the imminent danger surrounding them, Kafisa had already sprung into action, and the sound of gunfire filled the air.
L and Moe had waited patiently for long enough. For the past four months they had been preparing for this moment. It had cost a lot of money to stage the scenery they had put in motion, but the job had paid well, and so they could afford what they had spent. Between the money they had dropped on bottles and on inviting all the sack-chasing chicks into their section, they had paid a pretty penny to blend in. On several occasions they had seen a potential opportunity but hadn’t taken advantage of it. They had been tempted to run down on their target when she first pulled up in front of the club by doing a drive-by but had sided against it. Instead, they had waited for the perfect opportunity. Now was as perfect a time as any, given all the flashing lights being directed at their intended target. They immediately sprang into action.
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 18