by David Weaver
“Jen, is that my shit?”
Jennifer started laughing hysterically; a crazed maniac almost.
“What shit Malcolm? Huh? What is it Malcolm? Cocaine?
“Oh looky looky, you’re mad now! Hahaha. You’re mad? You put my life in jeopardy and you got the right to be mad?”
Jennifer dumped a zip lock bag of cocaine into the sink with the water washing it away. Malcolm grabbed her by the waist, picked her up and attempted to take her out of the kitchen but she kicked everything in reach, forcing him to let her go since she was kicking coke-filled zip lock bags to the floor as well. She turned and faced him, tears rolling down her face and madness building up in his.
“I hate you Malcolm!” She swung at him but he grabbed her arms and jammed her up against the wall. In a dangerous voice, Malcolm spoke sternly and precisely.
“You hate me? You live a life of luxury with no job and you hate me?”
Jennifer was crying.
“You’re hurting me Malcolm.”
“Fuck that Jen. Listen to me! You drive Bentley’s, wear million dollar jewelry, and live in a multimillion dollar mansion and you have the nerve to complain about how the money was made? You must be out of your rabbit ass mind!”
A tear rolled down Jennifer’s face and her body was trembling.
“Let go of me Malcolm. Now!”
Malcolm let go of her and watched as she walked out of the kitchen in slow motion. She was hurt, damned near on the verge of going into shock. Malcolm approached her and put his arms around her, stopping her in place. She stopped and closed her eyes in an attempt to control her crying. She felt Malcolm’s warm breath caress the back of her neck, sending erotic shudders down her spine.
“Baby,” Malcolm was whispering in her ear now, in a soothing voice,
“You know that I love you Jen, you know that. I loved you since day one and I’ll continue to love you until the day that the love that I give you is not returned.”
When Jennifer turned around to face him, Malcolm saw that her whole face was wet with tears. Seeing how much hurt he had placed upon her hurt him. He kissed her on the lips.
“I’m sorry Jennifer, but this is who I am and either you’re going to accept me or reject me.”
Malcolm turned away from her and went to change his clothes. Jen followed him into the bedroom, “Malcolm, where are you going?”
Malcolm finished changing his clothes without speaking.
Jen was furious. “Malcolm!”
Without speaking, Malcolm walked out of the bedroom and went to retrieve the keys to his baby blue Bentley.
“Malcolm you don’t even have the fuckin’ courtesy to answer your wife’s question?” Jennifer was in a rage.
Malcolm kept ignoring her for a few more moments, then he glared at his wife with one of the most menacing looks that he could possibly put together.
“Jennifer I’m giving you some time to think about what I said. You’re going to have to accept me-”
Jennifer cut him off before he could finish and finished his statement for him.
“Or reject you! I heard you the first time you said it Malcolm, what do you think I am, some type of deaf tramp or something?”
Malcolm walked out the house. Jen followed behind him, she was beyond furious.
“Where the flying fuck are you headed Malcolm?”
Malcolm tossed the keys to Jeffrey so that he could bring his vehicle around for him. He turned and faced Jen one last time before leaving.
“Don’t ask me a question and interrupt me when I’m giving you an answer and then turn right back around and ask me the same damn thing again. I’m going to the Power Building, I have a couple of things on my schedule that I need to attend to. Afterwards, I’m going to check out this nightclub that this guy is trying to sell. If I think it’s worth it then I’ll buy it, In the meantime, you need to take a nap, sleep off some of the alcohol that you’ve consumed today. Then, when you wake up, think about what I said.”
Jen stood still with her arms crossed as she watched her husband climb into the convertible Bentley. He let the top down and searched for his Young Jeezy “Trap or Die” CD. He found it and inserted it into the CD deck.
“Jen, put the rest of my shit back where you got it from.”
He reached his hand out so that she could put her hand in his, she did, then he violently pulled her against the car so that he could enforce the tone of his next statement.
“And Jennifer! Make sure that Jeffrey doesn’t start running his mouth about what he’s seen. Your little outrageous outburst could be my downfall! Don’t let it happen. Is that understood?”
“Yes Malcolm.”
Then he released her hand and turned the volume up in the car. He pulled off, leaving Jennifer standing in the same spot with her arms crossed again, pouting. Even after he drove out of the gate and past security, and even after she could no longer see her husband’s vehicle anymore, she could still hear the sound system in the distance, “I’m the realest nigga’ in it/ You already know/ Got trap of the year/ 4 times in a row.. ...
$ $ $ $ $
Catfish was the head of Bankroll Squad’s Special Victims Unit. The SVU was specifically developed for the people who either refused to pay their debts to any member of the Bankroll Squad or for people who owed money and decided to run and hide instead of paying their bills. Catfish was 6’4, 270 pounds, and a most intimidating presence to all violators. He kept a .45 Magnum with a silencer on it that he used efficiently and effectively. He had a brand new Cadillac Escalade with custom paint, rims, and a custom interior, but he had to be reminded by Malcolm to drive the SUV. Catfish could care less about being flashy because he was so dedicated to his job. Even though Malcolm pays Catfish a million dollars a month, Catfish still continues to ride around in his black van. It was his signature. Whenever Catfish had to pull out that .45 and use it, the body always went inside that back seat of the van until he could go burn of the body properly. Today’s Special Victim was a guy named Waller. Waller just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. Catfish heard from a friend of his that Waller was down at the pool hall a couple nights ago bragging that the Bankroll Squad fronted him 10 kilos of cocaine and only wanted $15,000 a piece for them. This angered Catfish because he was running his damn mouth for unnecessary reasons and making the Squad hot. Catfish had to stop this before it got back around to Malcolm; because if it got back around to Malcolm without the situation already handled, he would be thoroughly pissed. He would also think that Catfish was slipping on his job.
$ $ $ $ $
“Get in the van Kyla.”
Kyla stared straight ahead and kept walking up the sidewalk. It was a pretty spring evening and she had every intention to take a walk to the hotel four blocks away and catch a cab to her house. But it was Catfish.
“Kyla get in the mutha’ fuckin’ van. Now!” Kyla glared into the van.
“Stop fuckin’ cussing me you idiot! I don’t need
a damn ride, I’m fine.”
Catfish slammed on the brakes, threw the gear into park and jumped out the van. As soon as his feet touched the ground she swiftly walked to the passenger side door.
“Stop playing Cat, I don’t want no problems, I’m gettin’ in!”
They both had to be at the Power Building in three hours and Kyla wanted to go to her house and get a couple hours of sleep since she had been up all night.
“Cat, drop me off at my house if you don’t mind”
“I’m on my way to go do something.”
“Yeah I know, I assume you’re on your way to my house to drop me off so that I can get some rest.”
“No, this is urgent. If I’m forced to drop you off anywhere that you can rest, it’ll be the ocean.” There was silence for a few moments.
“Catfish I’m really sleepy and I’d appreciate it if you would just....”
Kyla’s voice trailed off when she saw Catfish pull his blue gun case from underneath his seat. She knew t
hat Catfish was nothing to play with even though they had developed a sisterly/brotherly type bond. Sure Catfish joked around with her a lot, but he rarely smiled so it was hard to tell when he was serious or not.
“What’s so damn urgent that you can’t take me to the house?”
Without answering her question, he slowly merged off to a side street. The street had a vacant warehouse on it with a fence around it. The fence had a No Trespassing sign on it and there was a residential home located diagonally across the street from the warehouse. There was a U-turn area at the end of the street. Catfish speed dialed a number with his cell phone as he slowed to a crawl near the entrance of the warehouse parking lot. Prince Tron was on the other line.
“4530 Wekin Street right?,” Catfish asked.
“Yeah, how far away are you Catfish?”
“Shit I’m already here man. Where the hell am I gon’ park my van at?”
“Damn Cat, you drove that big muthafucka? Hurry up and park it behind the warehouse before you start looking suspicious.”
“Aight Tron, where you at?”
“I’ll meet you there in about 10 minutes, stay put Cat.”
“Aight Tron. One.”
“One.”
Prince Tron was in control of accounts and balances and kept a long standing direct relationship with Catfish. He was the man who looked into his computer at the end of the week and reported the overdue accounts to Catfish. He was also adept at finding the location of the overdue account holders regardless of where they were hiding. And since he was good at finding people, Catfish had requested information on the whereabouts of Waller. 4530 Wekin Street was the address of Waller’s baby-mother’s house, and according to Prince Tron, no one was home at this hour except for Waller. Catfish pulled his van around the back of the warehouse and parked it. He pulled his .45 out of the gun case with the silencer already assembled, along with the infrared beam. He quickly explained the situation to Kyla, who immediately understood why he didn’t take her straight to her house. Tron pulled up besides Catfish in his Porsche truck and shut off the engine. He climbed out.
“Kyla, stay put in this van. If we get any visitors before we come out, call my cell phone.”
“Okay Cat I’ll do that. Leave the keys so that I can listen to the radio.”
Catfish left her the keys, got out and greeted Tron. Tron had a custom made crown on his neck that had every bit of $100,000 worth of diamonds invested in it. And for some reason, even when he went with Catfish to do dirty work he always kept his crown on. No matter how bloody the situation got, that chain stayed on his neck. Catfish had on his usual attire, black t-shirt and black jeans. Black gloves and black shoes. Black gun, black bag, black diamond watch. A person could take one look at Catfish and instantly be reminded that they will one day die. Tron and Catfish crossed the street and knocked on Waller’s door. Catfish kept knocking and Tron kept ringing the doorbell. Knock, knock, knock, ring, ring. Then the sound of footsteps approaching.
Then a voice. “Who is it?”
It was Waller indeed on the other side of the door.
“Cat and Tron!” Catfish said in his deep, husky voice.
Waller opened the door smiling,
“What’s up my niggaz? Ya’ll come on in.”
Prince Tron and Catfish walked into Waller’s house, scoping out the scene just in case there were surprises. Waller looked puzzled.
“How did ya’ll know I was here or that I even stayed on this street?”
Silence from Catfish; Prince Tron asked Waller a question.
“Waller, is anybody else here with you?”
“Naw Tron, why you ask me that?”
“Because I got something that I wanna’ show you. It’s some private shit Wally.”
Waller was starting to look suspicious now, his forehead wrinkling up and his eyes darting back and forth from Catfish to Prince Tron. The telephone rang and he jumped; startled. He turned to the direction that the phone was ringing and when he turned back around there was a sawed-off shotgun in his face, sponsored by Prince Tron. Also there was a red shaded light in his eyes. He wiped his eye and realized that it was an infrared beam from a .45 magnum.
“Wh-wh-what did I do?”
Waller was shaking and was on the verge of tears.
“Pl-pl-please don’t kill me. I have a child to raise. Please!”
Catfish hit him on the side of the head with the butt of the pistol. Waller collapsed and fell through the living room coffee table.
“Tie him up Tron, and give him a shot to keep him out for a few hours.”
Prince Tron tied him up and gave him a 6 hour knockout serum while Catfish pulled a small case out of his black Kenneth Cole bag.
“Cat, What the hell is you doing man?”
Catfish glared at Tron as if he had lost his mind for questioning him. Cat opened up the small case and pulled out a needle with thread running through it. Wasting no time, he proceeded to thread Waller’s mouth shut.
$ $ $ $ $
Every section leader of the Bankroll Squad was in attendance for the meeting at the Power Building. Kyla, of Negotiations/ Special Services, Catfish of Special Victims Unit, Prince Tron of Accounts and Balances, Brink of Aerial Transportation, Marco the Associate Director, Pam of Contamination Control, and their leader, their boss, the brain to the body, Malcolm Powers.
three
M
alcolm graduated from Georgia State University, majoring in psychology and minoring in Business Management. He hustled in order to pay for his expensive education and had every intention of leaving the “game” alone and getting a top-notch job once he graduated. But after he graduated, he realized that his dream job of becoming a psychologist would never be able to match the salary he was making by hustling. And he was only hustling part-time. By his calculations and with his connect, he figured that he could become a millionaire in 12 months maximum. Along his path to millions, other people with the same drive and motivation reached out to him for assistance. He couldn’t turn away everyone that approached him and still expect to continue maintaining the kind of business he was involved in; which at the time was coke and weed, so he put his ego aside and recruited a very small group of thoroughbreds to roll with him. To keep everybody happy, he kept everybody paid. To keep everybody paid meant that more money was required. He decided that the best way to maximize a group’s earning potential is to first get organized, and only after organization comes expansion. If everybody knew which role they played, then there would be less questions down the line. And less questions meant less talking; thus less talking meant more thinking. Taking a cue from his Business Management courses, he knew that a business or organization, no matter how big or small needed an identity. To have an identity was to have a name. He named his organization The Bankroll Squad. After making his first million, he soon realized that by taking control of a group of hustlers to get paid and then leaving them behind would be detrimental to his health. He had assumed a responsibility as a leader and there would be no easy, quick exits, no matter where he graduated from. To organize The Bankroll Squad, he created creative job titles for his employees. Brink, of Aerial Transportation, was simply the pilot that flew their private jets to pick up whatever was required, no matter where it was located. Marco, the Associate Director simply made sure that all of the “workers,” or associates were fulfilling the supply and demand in the streets for coke, weed, ecstasy, LSD, heroin, and crack. Pam, of contamination control took all of the dirty money and made it clean. She made it appear that all of the proceeds were derived from legitimate sources and also invested a lot of the money into gold bullions, which are 1 ounce bars of gold. She also placed millions of dollars into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
$ $ $ $ $
They sat in the conference room at a polished oak table. Malcolm Powers was walking back and forth slowly, with his hands behind his back. He had asked a question and did not hear the answer that he wanted to hear. He decided to ask
it again, just maybe Catfish heard the damn question wrong. He glared at Catfish and tried again.
“Catfish. I received word that a guy named Waller was out in public blabbering on about us fronting him 10 kilos of coke. Have you heard about this?”
Catfish shifted in his seat nervously. He could feel his deodorant giving up as sweat rolled down his arms.
“Yes,” he answered.
Malcolm stood in place, staring Catfish down. “When do you plan on handling the situation since you’ve already heard about it?”
Catfish glanced at Tron for help, but Tron was paying no attention to Catfish. Tron was staring at the floor.
“I’ve already handled it Boss. I handled it today.”
“Oh yeah? You handled it today? Did you kill him?”
Catfish stared at the floor.
“No I didn’t because—”
“Well how the hell did you handle it if you didn’t kill him?”
Tron’s heartbeat sped up while listening to Catfish explain what happened. He thought for sure Cat was about to implicate him in the threading and he knew that Malcolm strongly disapproved of torture. His motto was “either they get lectured or deaded” and he stressed this to the Squad because in the streets the shoe could always be on the other foot.
“I went over his house and I knocked him out. Then I. ... I ... I threaded his mouth shut.”
“What!”
Malcolm walked to the water fountain and filled his cup up. He drank half of it, then he slung the rest of the water across the room. Then he kicked the shit out of an aluminum trash can. The trash can skidded briefly, then flipped until it hit the wall. It made a mark on the white, clean wall.
“Fuck,” Malcolm exclaimed,
“You sewed a human beings mouth shut ... What the fuck, do you think that it’s impossible to just cut the fuckin’ thread?”
“Naw, I know it can be cut, I just-”
“Do I pay you a million a month to be an amateur? No I don’t, I pay you for professionalism Catfish, and every since I’ve know you, you have always been the best problem solver in existence.... Do you know why I’m so pissed off at you Catfish?”