Supreme Clientele

by Ashley Antoinette Snell

  Zya smiled. She had Vinnie right where she needed him to be. “Vinnie, it’s okay. I think we can work something out.” She took the five hundred dollars and put them in her apron. When she pulled her hand out, she pulled out one gram of cocaine. She put the small package in the palm of his hand and whispered, “Taste that and let me know when you want some more. I’ve got that for you all day for thirty-five dollars a gram if you spread the word.”

  Vinnie looked at Zya in amazement then kissed her once on both cheeks, “My girl!” he said almost proudly.

  Zya walked away and continued to wait the rest of her tables. Not even an hour had passed since she had given Vinnie the free sample, and he had already spread the word. It seemed like every table she waited on knew that she had grams for sale. The good thing about Italians was that they loved their highs, and when they purchased the goods, they usually bought ounces. She sold through the entire two ounces in a couple of hours. She had to rush home on her break to get more. By the end of the night, she had run through the whole five ounces. She walked out of the restaurant with $7,000.

  I just made a $4000 profit in a day. Snow had only charged her $3,000 for five ounces, and she had flipped them in a day, earning $7,000, and that wasn’t even including her tips. And because she was supplying her tables with the goods, her tips grew tremendously. She ended up going home with $11,000—seven G’s from product and four G’s for service. She had stumbled upon a gold mine, and knew that she was about to get rich.

  That night, she got off work at 2 A.M., and was on the 2:30 bus to Jersey. She didn’t give a damn how late it was. There was no way she was going to work the next day without any product. It had sold too well for her to miss any money. When she arrived in Jersey she took a cab to Snow’s house. It was late when the cab finally pulled up to Snow’s house, and she hoped that he would still be up.

  “Keep the meter running,” she instructed as she crawled out of the back seat. She walked up to the house and rang the bell. It took him a couple minutes to answer the door. Snow was shocked to see Zya standing before him with her work uniform on.

  “I need ten more ounces,” she said eagerly.

  Snow looked at her like she was crazy and said, “I ain’t trying to tell you what to do or nothing, but you might wanna make sure you get off the five you bought last night first, li’l ma.”

  Zya pulled a fistful of bills out of her Dooney & Bourke and replied, “They’re gone. I sold them all today.”

  Snow was amazed. He had never seen a woman who possessed so much hustle. The more he was around Zya, the more he realized that she was not an ordinary woman. Snow invited Zya in and hit her off with more product. He was definitely impressed.

  The next day when she went to work, she got rid of them just as easily. Her product was selling like hot cakes, and she went back every night to re-cop from Snow. Vinnie had done as he’d promised and spread the word. Every customer that entered the restaurant became her clientele. She was moving ounces so quick that even she couldn’t believe it. When a customer bought more than a half-ounce, she simply borrowed small take-home boxes from the kitchen. She put the coke in them to make it look like her tables were simply taking home leftovers.

  Zya did this routine day in and day out. She managed to run this operation solo and without anyone noticing. She never asked for days off, and as each day passed, her pockets grew fatter and fatter.

  She had easily made a nice profit, but she spent it just as quickly as she made it. She decided to keep her apartment to avoid the hassle of putting a new one in someone else’s name. She did, however, purchase a 2007 Dodge Charger and customized it to her tastes. Zya was getting money, and she wanted the entire city to know it. She stayed blinged-out, and even though she wasn’t whipping a Benz, her car was far from average. The money and the hustle had become addictive, and she loved the fast pace of the game.

  Months passed, and Zya got more and more money. She didn’t think that Meechi knew she was serving his customers, and as long as management didn’t find out, her operation would continue. He did, however, wonder why everybody had started to request Zya as their waitress. Everybody in the restaurant wanted Zya to serve them, and her clientele grew every day. Snow’s dope was so good that once you tasted it, you had to come back for more. There was no one-time buy. Once you got it in your system, you wanted more. The pleasurable experience that Zya provided the customers is what allowed her to eat, and she was eating good.

  Ain’t nothing gon’ stop me from making this money.

  The money was blinding Zya, and though she said she was only going to hustle for six months, she never stopped. She couldn’t stop if she wanted to. She knew that she had the best hook-up with the restaurant. She didn’t have to do anything. All she did was deliver the product. A quick and simple transaction was all that she did. The drug sold itself, and the restaurant provided her with a perfect, low-key location. All she had to do was sit back and collect her money. As long as Meechi didn’t find out, she was cool. She knew that she had the perfect set-up, and she couldn’t give it up. The money was lovely, and the fact that she didn’t have to search for customers had her hooked. She didn’t negotiate prices and didn’t have to deal with the bullshit that came with the game. Her customers were willing to pay whatever she was charging because her product was so good. Her shoe box full of cash quickly turned into fifteen shoeboxes full of cash as the money continued to pour in. She couldn’t leave the game alone. She was too good at it.

  This money is too easy to give up. I’m gon’ get it until I can’t get it anymore. The world is mines.

  Chapter 5

  Bona Fide Hustler

  Bills of different denominations were scattered all over Zya’s kitchen table. She smiled as she counted her profit from the restaurant. She moved, at the least, five ounces a day at the restaurant, which made her a nice profit daily. She neatly placed her money into five hundred dollar stacks. She began to count the different piles.

  Eleven, twelve, thirteen ... Damn, I got about thirteen thousand right here. Not bad. I could get used to this shit, fa real. I never knew coke money could come so fast. Another couple of months of this and I can be set for life!

  Zya grabbed a stack of bills and gave them a long kiss. She had never had this much money before, and she couldn’t believe that it was all hers. She had also built a good business relationship with Snow, and her credit was good with him. She got to a point where she was going to re-up every other day. At first Snow grew kind of suspicious. He had never seen a woman move coke like her, not a woman.

  Just as Zya was practically drooling over her cash, a brilliant idea entered her thoughts. I wonder if Smitty would deal with me without Jules. I could sell it cheaper than what he was getting it from Jules and run through more bricks, which means more money. Sell it cheaper and make less for every transaction, but in the long run, I would get more money because I would sell them more frequently. Zya pieced her plan together in her mind like a game of chess. Her hustler instincts kicked in, and she was plotting to get more money. The little money that she just got from coke seemed small now that she saw the potential of the dope game.

  Zya tore up her apartment looking for Smitty’s number. She opened all of the drawers and looked underneath everything that could be looked under trying to find Jules’s letter that contained Smitty’s number. After an hour of searching her entire place, she gave up. Exhausted and frustrated, she flopped down on her couch and thought long and hard about how she could get in contact with Smitty. That little piece of paper was her only connection to him.

  Think, Zya, think. How can you get in contact with Smitty? I got it! I’ll make his ass look for me. I need to contact Big Easy.

  “Yo, yo, yo this is Big Easy at Power 105, where we play nothing but the hits. Ladies and gentlemen the jump-off is this Saturday at nine o’clock. Julius Carter aka Jules’s release party is going down at Club Arlenes. It’s going to be on and poppin’, and everybody who’s anybody is g
oing to be there. My man is coming home. He beat the case, and the streets gotta show him love. Welcome home, baby!”

  Zya smiled as she turned down the radio and listened as her plan went into effect. She had taken a small portion of her money and put it into promoting a “release party” for Jules. She knew Jules would not see the light of day anytime soon, but used him as a pawn in her chess game.

  Fuck it. He’s used me, and now I’m about to return the favor. I’m out for self right now. Jules had a lot of customers with the coke, and I know all of them. Shit, I was the one who usually delivered it to them, but always in public places and never at their spot. I can make some key connections at this party. If they ask for Jules, I’ll tell them that his prison release was postponed and it was too late to cancel the celebration. This is my chance to network, and then I could really start making money. I can hook up with Smitty and everybody else that fucked with Jules. The world is mines.

  Zya had dollar signs in her eyes, and knew that the money she was getting out of the restaurant was only the tip of the iceberg. She was aiming for the sky.

  Wade sat at his desk with his feet up. He was listening to the radio, and what he was hearing grabbed his full attention. Big Easy was announcing Jules’s release party.

  What the fuck are they talking about? I put that nigga in jail myself, and he ain’t getting out no time soon. This must be a mistake, Wade thought angrily as he picked up his phone and called the front desk.

  “Yeah, Mona, this is Wade. Do me a favor. Look up some info on Julius Carter. Tell me his release date.” Wade waited a few minutes in silence for the information to come back. Mona gave him the information that he already knew.

  “So, he isn’t even eligible for parole for another three years, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and wondered why a release party was being thrown for a person who wouldn’t see the streets for at least another three years. Wade made a mental note to go see what was going on at the Arlenes club that Saturday. He turned down his clock radio and put his gun and badge on. He was about to hit the streets for his daily rounds. He always stayed in tune with the streets.

  Just as he was about to get ready to leave, his door opened. It was Felix, a rookie cop.

  “Yo, Wade. Jones wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

  “What the hell does he want me for?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. But he looks mad as hell. What did you do now, man?”

  “Who knows? I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks,” Wade said just before Felix closed the door and left Wade to himself.

  “What the hell does he want to see me for? It’s always something, shit!” Wade muttered as he headed to see what Jones wanted. When Jones called him into his office, nine times out of ten it was to chew his ass out for doing something. The last time Wade was called into Jones’s office, it was to put him on probation with the force because he shot two unarmed dealers in a drug bust. That incident cost them the case, and Jones was infuriated. The time before that, a couple bags of weed were found in Wade’s squad car. Jones called Wade in to confront him, and Wade was still high off the two bags at the time. So, Wade was pretty much on thin ice. Wade’s badge should have been taken a long time ago, but his ability to infiltrate drug rings and take down kingpins was undeniable. He was NYPD’s best.

  Wade knocked on Jones’s door hesitantly, and heard his lieutenant’s voice.

  “Come in.”

  Wade stepped in and watched Jones as he focused on the files that were in front of him.

  “What’s up, Lieutenant Jones?”

  “Have a seat. I have a new case for you. Now, this target is unlike any you have ever been assigned to. This target is ruthless, as well as the most intelligent drug dealer New York has ever seen. That’s not the best part. She’s a woman.”

  Wade sat up in his seat because now Jones had his undivided attention. In the bottom of his gut, he knew who Jones was talking about. Jones slid Wade the profile of the target, and when Wade saw the target, his heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly who it was. He listened as Jones continued.

  “This is Anari Simpson aka Tony. She is believed to be one of the top distributors of cocaine in the U.S. She is believed to be the mastermind and top supplier of Supreme Clientele.”

  “Supreme Clientele?”

  “Yeah, an inside source has informed us that Supreme Clientele is a roundtable where only the top drug distributors around the country are allowed. Tony is believed to be the ringleader and an active member of the table. Many people believed she died seven years ago, in a car explosion in Flint, Michigan, but these pictures prove otherwise.” Jones tossed pictures of Anari walking with bodyguards into the restaurant. “This is her walking into Stello’s in the wee hours of the night three weeks ago. It makes sense for her to come out of hiding seven years after she faked her own death. The statute of limitations just expired, meaning we couldn’t arrest her for fraud for faking her death.”

  Wade looked at the picture of Anari, and rage overcame him. He knew who Anari was. Actually, he knew her well. She was involved in the slaying of his favorite cousin, Tiffany Davis about six years back. She was found hung in her apartment in Jersey. The Jersey police labeled it a suicide, but Wade was close to his cousin, and knew she wouldn’t kill herself. It was the little details surrounding her death that led him to believe Anari was still alive and responsible for the murder. Anari and Tiffany had been at odds with each other for a long time, so that created motive. A book was found by Tiffany’s body, entitled Dirty Money. It was a biography about Anari’s life and their beef. Another suspicious thing was Tiffany had a lipstick stain on her cheek. It was obvious that someone had kissed her wearing lipstick.

  Forensics couldn’t prove that the kiss had come from Anari, and it went down as a suicide. The Greeks used that tactic, and called it the kiss of death. They kissed their enemies after they killed them as the ultimate sign of disrespect.

  Shortly after his cousin’s death, Wade tried to go after Anari, but to no avail. She was virtually untraceable. Even though it went down as a suicide, Wade had a feeling in his heart that Anari was behind it and somewhere smiling.

  Wade’s hands began to shake out of pure hatred for Anari as he stared at her file. Wade knew he had to conceal his emotions to avoid getting taken off the case. Jones would not allow him to take the case, knowing that it would be personal. Jones tossed more photos at Wade and continued to brief him.

  “That man that you are looking at is Jimmy Castello. He owns Stello’s, the place we believe the roundtable meetings are held.”

  Wade rubbed his neatly trimmed goatee and asked, “Stello’s . . . the fancy Italian joint, right?”

  “That’s right. We also believe Castello is a member of the table. Castello used to be a henchman for Capone in his early teens back in Chicago. In the late seventies he got convicted of extortion. He got out about ten or fifteen years back, and I guess he couldn’t fly straight. The person you see standing next to him is his son, Meechi. He’s a dumb, arrogant little fuck. He thinks he can’t be touched because of his father. He’s a piece of shit, and he runs the restaurant. I think he will be the weak link, so target him.”

  “Damn, they on some real Mafia shit, huh? I thought that shit was just in movies.”

  “Nah, my boy, this shit here is real. The FBI has been on this case for a while now. They have sent four undercover agents there, and all of them either come up missing or they ask to be pulled out before they can even build a case.

  “When the FBI said they needed someone who thought like a criminal and someone who could match their wits, I recommended you. The chief has been on my ass about getting rid of you, but I always put my ass on the line for you. You have to get a conviction on Anari Simpson. She is by far the biggest drug lord the East Coast has ever seen. And how does that make us look? She’s a woman,” the lieutenant said in exasperation.

  “I’m on it,” Wade said as he grabbed the files
and headed out of the office. Just before he reached the door, Jones spoke.

  “And Wade.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Cut off those damn cornrolls and pull up your damn pants. You look like the criminals you chase.”

  Wade let out a small chuckle and replied, “The same traits y’all hate me for are the same ones that y’all need me for.”

  Wade exited the office and began to think. I can’t believe this bitch resurfaced. She killed Tiff, and now I’m about to put her behind bars for a very long time, fa real! Fuck that bitch! Where do I start, though? I thought Supreme Clientele was a myth. My niggas around the way talk about it, but I never believed them.

  Even rappers would lie in songs and claim that they were connected to Supreme Clientele, but everyone knew Italians didn’t fuck with black people too often. Wade thought hard about how to approach this, and he came up with an idea. He was going to smoke her out of her hole, shake things up a bit.

  He rushed back into Jones’s office and said, “Do you think we can get a search warrant?”

  Tonight was the night of the fake release party, and Zya was looking forward to putting her plan into action. She was on her way to pick up Vita. She didn’t tell Vita the real reason for the party, and she played along as if she had forgiven Jules and really was throwing him a bash. Telling Vita her hidden motives would have been the equivalent of putting it on primetime CNN. Vita couldn’t hold water, and Zya knew that there was too much at stake for her to take a chance on telling Vita.

  Zya reached Vita’s place and blew her horn as she pulled into the driveway. Not a minute after Zya pulled up, she heard the sound of Heavy’s speakers shaking the ground. He pulled his truck up alongside the curb and hopped out with another guy. Heavy noticed Zya waiting in the driveway and sarcastically spoke to her as he walked by.