The cost of vengeance

by Roy Glenn

  When me and Bobby walked in the place, it seemed like all eyes were on us. “You see her?” Bobby asked.

  “No,” I said and headed for the bar. “Remy, straight up.”

  “Make it two,” Bobby said and looked around again. “A lotta pimp-lookin’ mutha fuckas in here.”

  “You ain’t scared, are you?”

  “Yeah, shakin’ in my pants,” Bobby laughed. “These niggas lookin’ at us like we marks.”

  “Let ’em come, we haven’t killed anybody yet, today.” I looked around. “I haven’t been in here since the Nita told us that bullshittin’-ass story about her, Bull, and Skip.”

  The bartender brought us our drinks and we shot them. I took one more look around and was gettin’ ready to get out of there, when I saw Nita Blue coming out of the back room.

  “There she is,” I told Bobby and headed in that direction. Bobby was right behind me. A couple of young bucks got up to block my path.

  “You want somethin’?”

  “I want you to get outta my fuckin’ way,” I said, and Bobby put two guns in his face.

  “Mike Black and Bobby Ray,” Nita Blue said. “I knew my ass was hurtin’ for some reason.” She walked up and tapped the young bucks on the shoulder and they sat down, but Bobby decided to keep his guns out. “You don’t want to fuck wit’ them two niggas. They old school; the original gangsters,” she laughed.

  “Hello, Nita,” I said. “You got a minute to talk?”

  “For you, Black, I got all the time in the world,” Nita led us to her table and sat down. I looked at Nita’s face. I could still see the effects of the beating she took. “What can I do for you, Black?”

  “I’m lookin’ for Bull.”

  “So am I.”

  “I see why,” Bobby said.

  “You always did think you was funny, but ain’t nobody here laughin’, Bobby. And don’t think that them guns scare me, either,” Nita Blue said definitely.

  “Look, Nita, ain’t nobody come here to try and scare you.”

  “Then what you here for? You may be all dressed up in a suit now, Mike Black, but to me, you still the same Vicious Black that came up in here and held a gun to my head fifteen years ago.”

  “You’re right. I am that same nigga. But it ain’t gotta be like that between us. I know you know where he is. So why don’t you go on and tell me and we’re outta here.”

  “What you want with Bull?”

  “I’m gonna do you a favor.”

  “Only favor you can do for me is kill that nigga,” Nita Blue said.

  “As soon as you tell us where he is,” Bobby said.

  “Y’all gonna kill Bull? For what?”

  “What do you care?” Bobby asked. “You want him dead, you tell us where he is.”

  Nita looked at Bobby and then she smiled at me. “He must know you lookin for him,” Nita Blue said. “I need to make a call, okay,” she said and looked at Bobby.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  Nita took out her phone and made a call. “Where you at?” We sat and waited while Nita listened. “How many he got with him?” she asked then hung up. “He’s hold up in a house in Queens. Got three niggas wit’ him.”

  “The address, please,” Bobby said.

  On the way to kill Bull, I thought about taking a deep breath and calling Monika. Having her along on a job like this would make the whole thing a lot easier. She would have a layout of the house and would use one of her high-tech toys to pick up the heat signatures of everybody in the house, and Jackie would be out in the van monitoring their movements. Monika would toss in a flash grenade and the sudden flash of light would distract them, and before they could react it would be over. Somehow I thought that would be easier than what we were about to do.

  Bobby parked the car down the street from the house. “How you wanna do this?” Bobby asked as I got out and started walking toward the house.

  “Same way we always do it.”

  “Walk in and kill everybody. Good plan,” Bobby said and followed behind me. “Why don’t we just knock on the door and ask to speak to Bull?”

  “That ain’t a bad idea. You knock on the door and I’ll go around back,” I said. “Since they know we’re looking for them, they’ll probably start shootin’ as soon as they see you.”

  “I think we need another plan.”

  “I’m not suggestin’ you just stand there and let them shoot you. Knock and move out of the way.”

  “If it’s such a good plan, you knock and move, and I’ll go around back and wait for them to come runnin’ out,” Bobby said.

  “Fine,” I said and watched Bobby go around back. I gave him a few minutes to get set before I walked up to the door. Before I could get close to the door, I heard a noise and knew I should get down. I dove to the ground and when I looked up, there was a big hole in the door from a shotgun blast. I heard shooting coming from the back of the house and wondered if Bobby was still glad he picked that spot.

  I got up and ran in the house. The three of them were at the back door, shootin’ it out with Bobby. They didn’t see me coming. I fired at one of them and hit him in the back of the head. I took aim at another one and fired twice. Both shots hit him in his back. I heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs. The last man at the door turned and fired on me as I ran back down the hall. I got there in time to see Bull Harris running out the front door.

  He moved pretty fast for a big mutha fucka, but before he could make it to his car, I shot him in the leg. Bull went down hard and rolled over. He fired a couple of shots at me and I hit the ground. Bull kept firing and I shot back and hit him in the arm, but he kept firing. I didn’t want to kill him yet. I wanted to know where I could find Skip before I killed him. Once his gun was empty, I got up and walked toward Bull. I put another clip in my gun. I didn’t hear anymore shooting coming from the back and hoped that Bobby had gotten his man.

  Bull threw his gun at me and struggled to his feet. He tried to get in the car, but when I fired a couple of near-missed shots at the door, he changed his mind and decided begging for mercy was his best option. “Please don’t kill me, Black. I didn’t have nothing to do with what Bo and them was planning,” Bull pleaded.

  I heard gunshots and turned quickly. I saw a man go down on the side of the house and Bobby walk up and stand over him. Bobby put two more in him to make sure he was gone and then walked toward me and Bull.

  “Now, what were you sayin’?” I asked and put my gun to his head.

  “Really, Black, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. When Bo told me that shit, I told him that I didn’t want shit to do with it.”

  “Then why did you blow a hole in the door when I walked up?”

  “That wasn’t me, Black. I was upstairs sleep when you got there. I woke up when I heard the shooting.”

  Bobby leaned against the car next to Bull. “You know what, Bull,” he said. “I believe you.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Mike, Bull is a smart man. He wouldn’t be involved in no dumb-ass shit like trying to kill me, you, and Nick; would you, Bull?”

  “No, Bobby, you know me. I ain’t have shit to do with it,” Bull said and I eased my gun away from his head a little.

  “What about Skip?” I asked. “I know Skip was all for it; wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Bull said. “Skip’s the one that came at me wit’ that shit. He said we could stand back, let Bo and Hank do the dirty work, and then we’d be golden. But I told him to count me out of that shit.”

  “See, Mike,” Bobby said and put his arm around Bull. “It was just like I told you. Skip is the man we should be lookin’ for. Not my man Bull here. He’s always been loyal to us. Right, Bull?”

  “Right.”

  “All you need to do now is tell us where Skip is hidin’ out, and it will all be over for you,” Bobby said.

  “He’s hold up at his lawyer’s house; a chick named Quovadda Cobb. She got a place on the Island in Massapequa
, on Leonard drive. I don’t know the address, but it’s a brick house.”

  “Thank you,” Bobby said and shot Bull in the head. “Now it’s over for you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jada West

  It was getting late in the evening and I had only two things on my mind. One was always on my mind. That was money. If there was one thing about me, it was that I was all about the money. It was in my blood. But when Mr. Black looks at me with those piercing eyes, it has the same effect as it did the first time. My mind began to drift to thoughts of him staring into my eyes while he was deep inside me, but I caught myself. I had to remind myself that I had important business to discuss with Mr. Black. When my issues were behind me, then I could think about indulging my passion to seduce him.

  I picked the phone and dialed a number. “Cuisine, how my I help you?” the woman answered.

  “I would like to speak with Mike Black if he’s available.” I said hoping for the best. If he were available, I would arrange to get a suite at the Peninsula Hotel and invite him over for cocktails.

  “Mr. Black isn’t in this evening,” she replied. “Is there anybody else that can help you?”

  “Unfortunately no, there really isn’t,” I said and hung up the phone. There was only one man that I wanted and nobody else would do. I got up and walked over to the window and wondered why that man doesn’t have a cell phone. Then I remembered that he called me that night to say that he was on his way. I rushed back to the phone and scrolled through the call log until I saw a number that I didn’t recognize. I pressed talk, and once again hoped for the best. As the phone rang, I thought about what I had said to him when he left here that night. “Thank you for agreeing to help me,” I said and kissed Black on the cheek.

  “What was that for?”

  “Just wanted to see how it felt.”

  “And?”

  I opened the door. “We’ll talk about that when you tell me what I owe you.”

  “Fair enough,” Mr. Black said and walked out of the apartment. What I should have done was put my arms around him and kissed his lips, instead the little peck on the cheek I offered up. Maybe then he’d be calling me, instead of me sitting here trying to hunt him down.

  “Hello,” a man finally answered, but it wasn’t Mr. Black.

  “Yes, my name is Jada West and I am trying to get in touch with Mike Black,” I began.

  “Yes, Ms. West, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “My name is Victor. I was the gentlemen that was with Black the other night when he came to your apartment,” he said and I was overjoyed that at least I was on the right track.

  “Is Mr. Black available?”

  “I’m not with him right now,” Victor said, and just that quickly I went from overjoyed to unhappy. “But I could take a message for him.”

  “Would you?”

  “No problem.”

  “If you would ask Mr. Black to give me a call this evening at his convenience, I would be most appreciative.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Please assure him that everything is fine. I would just like to speak with him,” I said and Victor ended the call promising to deliver my message. After I hung up, I wondered if I should have said that it was important, and that I needed him right way.

  Maybe I needed to use a more direct approach on Mr. Black. At each of our previous encounters we flirted with one another, but if I could just tell him to come by so we could have sex.

  Just then, the door flew opened and Jenna rushed in. “Jada, oh my God, Jada,” she said and came to where I was sitting. It was obvious that she had been crying.

  “Okay, Jenna. Calm down and tell me what’s wrong?”

  Jenna sat down on the couch next to me and my first thought was that Oleg Mushnikov was back, or one of his goons had attacked her. I looked at her face and the gown she was wearing, and both still looked as good as they did when she walked out four hours ago-except for the tears.

  “He’s dead,” Jenna said.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “The client,” Jenna said trying to pull herself together.

  “The client?” I shouted. “Patrick?” Patrick Owens was one of my better clients. He was a closeted gay man who worked at a company that frowned that on type of lifestyle. So to keep his cover, anytime his company had a function, Patrick would hire one of my ladies to attend the function with him. No sex involved; just to be seen with him. Since it would be an easy night this evening, I sent Jenna.

  The event was to be held in the Starlight Roof at the Waldorf Astoria. This legendary Art Deco landmark occupies an entire city block on fashionable Park Avenue. The venue features floor-to-ceiling windows presenting sweeping views of New York City and Park Avenue, eighteen stories below. I selected an Yves Saint Laurent draped silk satin dress that wraps and ties in a soft bow at the waist, with a crossover V neckline, cap sleeves, wide ties at waist, and a draped contour hem; Yves Saint Laurent tribute patent leather platform sandals with buckled T-strap, and an Alexander McQueen whipsnake design with a Swarovski-embellished leather glove clutch for her to wear. Patrick was her first client and now she was sitting there telling me that he was dead.

  “Okay, Jenna, start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened.”

  “The event was at the Waldorf,” Jenna said excitedly.

  “I know that, Jenna, I sent you. What happened?”

  “He had an Astor suite there. When the event was over, he didn’t want me to leave right away because of how it would look. So he asked me to come up to the room and stay with him for about an hour.”

  “Sensible.”

  “I know. It was good thing that we did because just as we got to the room, one of the people that he works with and his wife got off the elevator. He grabbed me and pretended to kiss me until they went in their room.”

  “Smart move on his part,” I said and hoped she would get to the part about him being dead soon, though I did ask her to start at the beginning.

  “As soon as we got in the room, he went in the bathroom and shut the door. I sat down and watched TV. After about an hour I was getting ready to leave, so I knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer I opened the door. He was sitting on the toilet with his belt around his arm and a needle stuck in his arm. I think he OD’d.”

  “Are you sure he was dead?”

  “I shook him a few times and he didn’t move,” Jenna said.

  “He may or may not be dead; he might have just been in a real heavy nod.”

  “I didn’t check for a pulse, I just got outta there.”

  “It’s okay, Jenna. Whether he’s dead or not, in either case, it will be all right. If he’s dead, tomorrow morning housekeeping will find him and that will be that. You didn’t take any pictures with him, did you?”

  “No, not that I know of; but I left there so fast, I left my clutch bag in the room.”

  “That’s not good,” I said and immediately found his cell number and tried to reach him. We needed to get that clutch because, other than the obvious reason, the clutch cost me $1,920.00. “He’s not answering.”

  Jenna dropped her head. “Oh.”

  “What?”

  She reached in her cleavage and pulled out the room key. “After the people went in the room, he was just standing there, so I took the key from him and opened the door.”

  I laughed. “And that’s where you put it?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “I guess we’re going to the Waldorf,” I said. And after a quick change of clothes: Dolce amp; Gabbana stretch wool suit with a notched collar, peak lapels, three flap pockets, and one slash pocket; Dolce amp; Gabbana suede covered pumps with a 5-inch heel, and a hidden 1-inch platform, we were on our way.

  On the way there, I thought about drugs and Tangela House came to mind. After I saw Congressman Cantifield at Martin Marshall’s party, his assistant called me and I made arrangement
s to meet the congressman for lunch. Over lobster thermador and cocktails, I assured the congressman that I would be able to service all of his needs, and provide him with those services with the utmost discretion. The congressman agreed and we shook hands on our exclusive arrangement.

  Then he started going on and on about how beautiful and charming Tangela was at Marshall’s party, and how he simply had to have her. “If she’s as good as she appears, my exclusive arrangement may just be for her, all the time.” Then he laughed. “Well almost all the time.”

  Knowing that she had issues, I tried to convince him that she wasn’t quite the one, but he insisted. So against my better judgment and after a very long lecture: a warning not to blow it, I sent Tangela out on an appointment with my most important client. Thank goodness everything worked out fine that evening. But she was late for her next appointment and missed the one after that altogether.

  When she finally resurfaced the next day, I met her for dinner at Bellavitae: an Italian restaurant on Minetta Lane, between 6th Avenue and MacDougal Street. Over dinner, which, by the way, she merely picked at, Tangela explained why she had missed her appointment the night before.

  “I can’t use you, Tangela, if I can’t depend on you,” I told her when she finished her fantastic story.

  “I’m sorry, Jada. It won’t happen again,” Tangela promised and I signaled for the waiter.

  “Check, please.” Once I paid the check I stood up. “I know it won’t happen again,” I said and walked out of Bellavitae. I heard that she hooked back up with Creme, and she got her a job dancing at whatever club she was working at.

  It was after one in the morning when our cab arrived at the Waldorf. We took the elevator up the Patrick’s suite and approached the room. I took the key from Jenna and opened the door. She rushed in the room and grabbed the clutch, which was still on the coffee table. Jenna was on her way back to the door, but I had to have a look in the bathroom before I left. I opened the door slowly and peeked in. “Oh, excuse me,” I said and quickly closed the door. “Let’s go, Jenna.”