“Did you get a call from Pop?” Bugsy asked.
Meyer stopped walking and took hold of the bar against the wall for a breather. “Yeah, he called. Y’all got beef?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?” Meyer said.
Bugsy hesitated with his reply. Meyer was going through a lot, and Bugsy wasn’t sure he should be pulled into this family drama.
“I got Maxine pregnant,” he uttered.
Meyer’s face showed perplexity. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, she and I are together now.”
The news almost made Meyer stumble and fall. He didn’t expect to hear that at all. Bugsy and Maxine, how in the hell did that ever happen?
“Bugsy, what the fuck was you thinking? You serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh shit . . . Wow, and you were Pop’s golden boy.” Meyer laughed.
“You find it funny?”
“Hey, don’t snap on me. I got your back,” said Meyer. “But why? Why did you go there with her?”
“It just happened,” he replied.
“Damn, she must got some good pussy for you and Pop to be fighting over her,” he remarked without consideration.
Bugsy didn’t respond to the remark. Bugsy knew his father well, and he realized that even from behind bars, Scott would move heaven and earth to get at them. He and Maxine weren’t safe. Although he’d considerably hindered his father’s reach and authority, it wasn’t going to be enough to prevent him from counterattacking. Scott always had a few extra moves up his sleeve.
“Don’t worry, Bugsy. I’m getting better every day and I got your back. We go to war, then we go to war as a family because it’s long overdue,” Meyer said from the bottom of his heart.
Bugsy nodded. “One thing, though,” he said, “Keep this information away from Lucky. I don’t want her to know.”
“I won’t tell her a fuckin’ thing.”
Bugsy felt that his sister wouldn’t take the news well and would send her goons after Maxine, which would start a civil war between them. She never liked Maxine, and this would definitely send her over the edge.
Meyer understood the severity of the situation and gave his twin his word and his complete support. It was imperative for him to get better. His siblings were going to need all the help they could get.
***
Friday after Friday, for weeks and weeks, Scott waited for Lucky’s visit, and each time he was met with disappointment. When he was able to contact her and ask why, he was given excuse after excuse why she didn’t visit him that day. She was a very busy woman. But Scott knew that it was payback for everything he’d done to her. He treated her like a princess before his mind got clouded with pussy. Of course she resented him, and it took a man to realize that. But Bugsy, he gave his son everything. He purposely lorded Bugsy over Meyer year in and year out. Bugsy was his trusted ally, his most favored child, and now Bugsy had turned on him. The animosity in Scott was so thick it was harder and harder to swallow.
He understood it. All of his children were against him. They hated him. But if it wasn’t for him, then they wouldn’t be in the position they were in today. It was time to deal with his reality. His offspring weren’t going to be any support for him. He stopped calling Lucky, and he bided his time until the trial date. Scott sat for months with visits from only his lawyer or a representative from the office. Although he despised Arnold Meade for siding with Bugsy, he still needed the man’s help. He wanted out of jail. He wanted his life back—his authority and power.
Scott wanted to stay bitter at everyone. If he beat the case and became a free man again, there was going to be hell to pay. He wasn’t going to forget. Whoever went against him and defied him was going to regret doing so in the worst way. He still had some pawns on the chessboard and he was still a king—no matter what.
42
It was Lucky’s third trimester and she was carrying small at seven and a half months pregnant. She was still able to hide her baby bump from the rest of the world, including Angel, but it was becoming difficult. The summer months were her most trying months, wearing oversized clothing to conceal the bulge. She had to move in cover. She made herself scarce to her peoples, and only a handful of folks knew about her pregnancy. She didn’t do frequent trips to the OB/GYN. Instead, a private physician was secretly escorted into her home for regular checkups and prenatal care for the baby. Everything concerning her pregnancy was cloak-and-dagger.
Business was going great for Lucky, and she no longer needed consignment from Angel. The money and product was flowing back and forth like clockwork. Her men were loyal and ecstatic. They were making money hand over fist. The Bronx was their playground and the city was their stomping grounds. Lucky’s organization was growing fast, but there had been some bumps along the way. A few rival organizations refused to bow down and allow a woman to take control of their territory, so Lucky had to show them who was boss, and bloodshed ensued. Packer was the main one to honor Lucky’s name, and anyone who spoke against her or tried to vilify her name, he was quick to blow their brains out. He respected Lucky and he became her eyes and ears on the streets.
But life was good for Lucky. She had money and power. She had cut all ties with her mother and she was on top of the world, and soon, she was going to become a mother. She was having a girl—a daughter, her little queen to pamper and doll up. And no one was going to take her baby away from her. Lucky had grown an army to surround and protect her. Her men would die for her.
The autumn night was chilly, and Lucky wanted to dine out with a friend who was quickly becoming something else in her life. Packer was rising up in the ranks of her organization, but a romance was also building between them. Packer was in his early twenties and in great shape. He reminded her of a young Whistler. He was stimulating and spontaneous. He made Lucky feel safe and secure, and sex with him was mind-blowing. Most importantly, he vowed to be there for her unborn child. Lucky needed to hear that, and Packer went from being a soldier to her right-hand and top enforcer if needed. Though he was handsome with a dark goatee that framed his mouth, dark curly hair, and light skin, Packer had these dark, deep-set and cold looking eyes, and his fearlessness was a force to be reckoned with. He was Whistler and Meyer all rolled into one man.
Lucky wanted to celebrate tonight. Finally, Meyer was out of the hospital and he was fully rehabilitated.
She and Packer climbed out the backseat of a black Escalade and approached an elegant downtown restaurant on 20th Street called Gramercy Tavern. The place was embellished with a wood beamed ceiling and rustic chandeliers and fine art adorning the walls.
Upon entering the restaurant, they were greeted by the restaurant’s maître-d and seated at a lovely table. Packer helped Lucky peel off her long beige pea coat and pulled out the chair for her. He was a gentleman. He sat opposite of Lucky at the decorated table dressed in a solid black long sleeve collared shirt and boot cut jeans. Every so often, he observed his surroundings, watching everyone and everything. He was steadily alert and had a pistol concealed in his ankle holster. One could never be too careful. There was an air of power about Packer that was magnetic.
Their night at the restaurant started off fine. They talked and laughed and dined on appetizers. They both refused to drink any alcohol, since Lucky was pregnant and Packer didn’t drink. He wanted to always be alert and sober. In his world, one slip up could mean life or death. He felt his enemies didn’t sleep, so he had to always be creative with his movement—no habits, no routines. Lucky saw him as more than an employee; he was an opportunity for her.
His family was from Puerto Rico, but he was born in the South Bronx. He’d been on his own since he was eight years old. His father was dead and his mother was on the streets. His older brother was a casualty of gang violence and his sister was a crackhead. Packer was the youngest and he was a survivor. He joine
d a gang at ten, started selling drugs when he was twelve, and committed his first murder when he was fifteen. Packer was a hardened criminal with ambition to climb through the anarchy of the streets and become an authority in the underworld. He had what it took to rise to the top, and Lucky saw it.
“I appreciate dis, Lucky. Ya takin’ me out to a nice restaurant and shit. I never been to anything fancy like this. It’s Chinese takeout and fast food all day for me,” Packer said.
“You deserve it,” she said.
“So, what you suggest I should order?” he said.
“Whatever you want.”
“I don’t know what da fuck dis shit is on the menu. Everything look fuckin’ foreign to me,” he said.
He was still rough around the edges, but in due time, he was going to be perfect, she felt.
“Well, I can tell you what’s good. What you might like—” Lucky started, but then something quickly captured her attention.
Her eyes became fixed on the newest patron entering the restaurant. She appeared alone, despite being flanked by a bodyguard. Lucky watched her movement closely. She observed Maxine being ushered to her table by the maître-d and she watched the winter coat being removed from her body and the protruding belly.
“What the fuck! No this bitch ain’t pregnant!”
“Who’s pregnant?” Packer questioned.
Maxine sat down and noticed Lucky seated across the room. Both ladies scowled at each other. Lucky assumed that Maxine was at least eight or nine months pregnant—but she was only four months. She was growing as big as a house. Lucky assumed it was her father’s baby. Lucky felt that Maxine should have been taken care of long ago, but that wasn’t the case. She didn’t want any half brother or sister from this bitch.
Packer turned around to see what Lucky was gazing at and saw the older pregnant woman seated on the other side of the place.
“Who dat bitch?” he asked her.
“Someone who should have been dead a long time ago,” Lucky replied.
Maxine’s presence had just ruined Lucky’s appetite. She was ready to leave. Packer was right by her side. Lucky stood up and threw a C-Note on the table, her hard frown still trained on Maxine. Maxine looked at Lucky and smirked. She had the audacity to rub her protruding stomach.
“Yo, you want me go handle that bitch n’ that nigga fo’ you?”
She looked at him and was deeply impressed. “You would kill a pregnant woman for me?” she asked in a low tone.
“For you, I’ll kill anybody,” he replied.
He was definitely the one. But no, now wasn’t the time to react. She simply gave Maxine the middle finger and she and Packer left the restaurant. But Lucky was so angry that she wanted to tear that baby out of Maxine’s stomach herself and kick it down the street. How dare she? How dare her father get her pregnant?
She and Packer got back into the Escalade and the first thing she did was call Bugsy. The moment he answered his phone, she screamed, “Why is that bitch pregnant with our father’s baby? How is that fuckin’ possible? Tell me it’s not Scott’s baby, Bugsy! What the fuck, they gave him a conjugal visit inside there? Tell me something, Bugsy. What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s not his baby, Lucky,” he said.
Lucky felt some relief to hear that. She started to calm down, but the feeling was short-lived.
“It’s my baby,” Bugsy told her.
Lucky nearly hit the roof of the vehicle. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Bugsy?! Please tell me you wasn’t that stupid! Please tell me you didn’t fuck that nasty-ass bitch!”
“Yes, I did, and we’re in a relationship now,” he said coolly.
“Ohmygod—what the fuck! You were supposed to be the smart one! What the fuck is wrong wit’ you, nigga? You just like our father, letting that bitch play you and use you, you fuckin’ dumb fuck! Ohmygod! Oh my fucking god—”
The feeling hit Lucky hard and fast like a Mack truck and it took her breath away. She couldn’t rant and scream any longer. Suddenly, she felt faint and she felt her water burst. She was going into premature labor.
“Ohmygod, I’m gonna have my baby,” she cried out.
“Yo, take us to the nearest hospital, now!” Packer shouted at the driver.
The man put his foot to the pedal and accelerated quickly. Packer took Lucky’s hand into his and he was doing his best to calm her down and coach her in the backseat. But he was more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
***
The next day, Lucky lay in the hospital bed exhausted after going through thirteen long hours of labor. She gave birth to a premature baby girl that weighed only 3 lbs. She named her daughter Lucchese Lily West, after famed mafioso Tommy Lucchese of the Lucchese crime family. Her infant daughter was so small, but she was perfect. Her pale skin and dark curly hair were telltale gifts from her father.
Giving birth was a lovely feeling, but Lucky knew she was still in hot water and she needed to correct the situation with Angel. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life hiding from him and looking over her shoulder. So, she had her peoples get in contact with Angel and tell him that she was already two months pregnant when they had sex and that she went full term with her pregnancy and gave birth yesterday.
Lucky hoped it wasn’t a mistake. But if he came for her, she was going to be ready. She was going to protect Lucchese with all her might and bring the cartel hell if they tried to end her daughter’s life.
***
Angel sat by the large pool sipping on his cocktail. He frowned at the news given to him by one of his men. He felt he’d been bamboozled by Lucky. He had his peoples constantly checking up on Lucky and they always reported that she wasn’t pregnant at all—showed him glossy photographs of her, and it showed him that she wasn’t carrying. That she had done what she was told and had the abortion. But now, she gave birth to a child. How could his people have missed that? Something just didn’t feel right to him. Why not tell him sooner if she was already pregnant?
Angel downed the drink and stood up from the chair. Lucky was a slippery bitch he couldn’t take for granted. Though he pretended to believe her story, the situation wasn’t over. If she had played him after he gave her a direct order, then she and the child would both die by his hands.
He hated the cold weather, but he would be making a trip to New York City. It was time he saw Lucky face-to-face and saw that bastard baby with his own eyes.
43
Her trial date was looming, and there weren’t going to be any plea deals or cop-outs. It was going to be a long federal trial in a federal courtroom with a federal judge and over a dozen jurors. Layla met continuously with her lawyer, Fitzgerald Spencer. They went over their game plan—moving through the discovery period, and there were depositions to strengthen, further evidence required, witnesses to weed out, and so on. It was tedious and tireless work for the defense—expensive too. Layla couldn’t afford any fuck-ups or fumbling once the trial started. She’d hired the best and she expected the best, meaning a not-guilty outcome. But there was one credible witness that the U.S. Attorney had, and it was supposedly the nail in the coffin for the defendants.
Arnold and Fitzgerald combined forces and law offices to further strengthen their chances in court. Layla frowned at the idea of seeing Scott and sitting next to him in court, but she had to do what was best to receive an acquittal from the jurors.
But she wasn’t going into her trial wearing a blindfold. During one of her meetings with her lawyer, she handed him a list of names.
Fitzgerald was confused.
“Who are these people?” he asked her.
“Your help to secure my freedom,” she said.
He was dumbfounded by her response. The list included a police sergeant, a state prosecutor,
and a mayor’s aide.
“This is a federal case. Most of these people are local and state. How can these people help us?” he said.
“I’m sure you can find a way and be a lot more creative, Fitzgerald. This is my life—my fuckin’ freedom we’re talking about. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the fuck out of here. It’s going on a year in this place and I need out,” she proclaimed.
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll get my guy on it.”
“Please do,” she replied.
***
A federal courtroom was a place where lives could drastically change. Scott took a seat near his codefendant, Layla West, with their respective lawyers flanking them. They were dressed nicely, Scott in a classy suit and Layla in a formal blouse and skirt. They both sat in the ostentatious courtroom looking straight-faced, but inside, their nerves were spinning wildly like a theme park ride. It was the United States vs. them.
U.S. Attorney Gloria Sheindlin was a fierce federal litigator with a 93% conviction rate. She sat on the opposite side of the courtroom sharply dressed in a dark blue suit exuding confidence. Fitzgerald and Arnold were well aware of Gloria’s track record, and they were ready to do whatever it took to get their clients acquitted.
Gloria Sheindlin stood up and positioned herself in the center of the courtroom. To her right was a jury of twelve—men and women, black and white, Latino and Asian. The federal judge sat high on his bench, observing his domain and poised to keep order in the room.
Gloria’s presence was influential and engaging. She knew the tricks of the trade to captivate the jurors’ attention. Her opening statement was meant to damage the defendants’ character right away. She called Scott and Layla “notorious drug kingpins” and “murderers” and “a threat to society.” She was going to prove to the court that they should get life in prison. The defendants were forced to sit there and listen to a woman they didn’t even know slander their names and vilify their characters.
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