“Sup Cat?” Bone said getting in rhythm with her groove.
She looked over at DC, who wasn’t paying attention for the moment and answered, “Nothing, just here chillin’ with my man.”
As he tried his best to keep up with her dancing he asked, “So that lil’ nigga your man?” They both looked over at DC’s table. DC and John John were too into their conversation to notice what was going on, but Anthony, who always had his eyes peeled, recognized Bone’s move. Noonie, who was farther back, leaned on the bar sipping a Corona with Chantel who was leaning on him with her back on his chest while drinking a sex-on-the-beach, and she noticed Cat just as he did.
Bone was dancing and spitting game at Cat. She knew he had taken over for Sammy and that meant he was paid in full. DC had money, but Bone had money being the top dog of his crew but this wasn’t the time or the place for her to try to get with him even though he was making his advance at the moment. She’d have to figure something out, but it was too late, DC had seen the show. The song by T-Pain ended and Bone whispered something in Cat’s ear. She tried to hold back a smile that showed that she liked what he was spitting, but couldn’t. The major player told her that when she was ready to have her own place, car and paper, to call him. That he needed a real woman on his team. She ate that shit up like the trick she was.
Chantel shook her head.
“You know her ass is a trick too, huh?” her man asked her.
She asked Noonie, “Why DC don’t find him some other woman cause she’s gonna end up getting him into some shit.”
Before Noonie could answer, Boogie was passing by and noticed him. “Whad’up Noon?” he asked.
Boogie was cool. He was about the same age as Noonie and was getting money. Noonie really liked Boogie because he was down for getting his money and did it the right way—didn’t step on toes or fuck people over unlike his boss, Bone.
“Shiiit, my nigga, Boogie,” he said as he rose from the bar. He looked proud when he told Boogie, “Ay yo, I don’t think you met my girl, Chantel.”
“Hey, lady, nice to meet you. What you doing with this sorry ass dude?” he joked as he shoved Noonie a bit.
“I’m taking him for all his money,” she teased.
Noonie flicked the platinum and diamonds that hung around Boogie’s neck. “I see business is good.”
“I’m straight. Bone don’t fuck with me too much since I been doing this shit for a minute. I make more money out of all them fools he got working for him so he let me run my blocks and corners the way I see fit as long as he gets his cut. Feel me?”
“Yeah, that gang shit is played.”
“A little, but we got each other’s back.”
“Yeah, I feel you. But your dude be trippin’.”
Chantel knew Noonie was about to get into Bone’s move on the dance floor with Cat, so she knew it was time for her to leave. She never hung around when Noonie talked business, so she headed back to the table where DC was giving Cat an ear full. She was surprised that he hadn’t slapped the shit out of her for playing him like that in front of his peeps. She had backed that ass up into Bone’s crouch too many times. If it weren’t for the jeans they were wearing, one would have sworn they were actually fucking.
Boogie grabbed the two Coronas he’d told the waitress to bring. He gave her a ten and nicely waved her off, letting her know to keep the change. “I know Bone be wildin’ out sometimes, but that’s that griminess in him. Robert Taylor project born and raised. That fool is BD fo’ life.”
“Yeah, but just like a few minutes ago, he was all up on DC’s girl. That nigga just trying to start some shit.”
“You know how that shit goes. Sammy took that plea for ten so he gotta lay it down for a minute. Bone is in charge and you know he ain’t like Sammy who likes to avoid conflict if possible. That nigga Bone is straight Gorilla. And about DC’s woman, that ho, excuse the language but I call ’em like I see ’em, she was out on the dance floor with her ass all on his dick. She’s the one that needs to be checked. Men are men, homeboy. Besides, your girl did a strip show for us one night a couple months ago and she and Bone got down. He didn’t know she was DC’s woman, and she was there to get paid.”
Noonie knew Boogie was right. Cat had played his boy and every man knew that one of the man laws were to—check the ho, not the game.
Boogie continued, “Besides, you never know what that niggas planning now that Fuentes is dead.”
“What?” Noonie almost chocked on his Corona.
Boogie realized that it was new news for his old friend. He said, “You ain’t heard. We got the news about a couple of hours ago.” He took a swig of his brew. “He, his bodyguard and right hand man, Antonio, got murked. Word is some young broads took ’em out. Any other details ain’t out there yet.”
Noonie shook his head, swallowed the rest of his beer, and then said, “Boog, I gots to roll. This some serious shit you know?”
“Shit, your peeps don’t know?”
“I’m ’bout to hit my man right now.”
“A’ight, and Noonie.”
“What?”
“If shit comes to crews bumping heads, holla at a playa first. We got love for each other, and you and me might be able to work some shit out.”
“No doubt.”
With that Boogie patted his short natural and headed back to where his partner was standing so they could canvass the club for a couple of honeys to pull for the night. Noonie picked up on what Boogie was saying. That basically if push came to shove that the two of them could work together. They had been cool back in school and kicked it from time to time. They were in rival crews as far as getting money but never had beef with one another.
“You be on some straight bullshit, ho,” DC told Cat who had her full lips twisted up like she wasn’t trying to hear what he was talking about. “You can play like you don’t hear me if you want. But your bullshit’s ’bout to end.”
She poured some of the Cristal as she sucked her teeth then blew him off by saying, “Whatever.”
“Whatever? Bitch I’ll—” DC was about to slap the shit out of her when Noonie grabbed his arm before it could go forward to meet her jaw. He told him to chill. He looked at Ant telling him that they needed to go outside.
“A problem?” John John asked. His heater was in Tracey’s purse.
“Not like that. We’re straight, just follow me.”
The three stepped outside. The bouncer nodded at them letting them know that everything was all good. He was on their payroll. If shit jumped off he’d start letting off, shots with the nine he was packing.
Once they were away from the door, Noonie told Ant to hit Lucky up. While he was dialing, Noonie advised them that he’d found out that two Latin women killed Freddy Fuentes earlier in the day. Ant had reached Frank and when he started telling Frank what they’d heard, he told him that Lucky had found out about thirty minutes ago and was trying to confirm it, and that they’d call back when they had more information. Noonie knew that this could cause a problem especially if the Fuentes’ didn’t know who made the hit. The young men tried to figure out what was going on. Ant voiced that maybe it was Bone who made the hit. But even though DC hated Bone especially after his play tonight, he told Ant that he thought Bone was too stupid to make the hit. Noonie added, yeah, that he was a hot head who worked off impulse and wasn’t creative enough to get close to the elder Fuentes. They decided to head back inside the club and get their women. It was time to leave and find out what was going on in the streets.
* * *
Earlier in the day, Styles and Smith had been joined to the hip of two homicide detectives for most of the day. Freddy Fuentes’ death was a homicide, but he was a drug kingpin so the district commander called Lt. Dixon and told her to get a couple of her narcotic detectives on the case also. By the time Styles parked the 300C in front of the restaurant where Fuentes and his men were slain, their bodies had been removed and the scene was beginning to clear. Styles spotted
a detective he used to work with years ago and knew that he was the homicide detective who was over the case. Styles sent Smith to ask questions and find out what he could from people who were at the scene while he talked to the detective to see what they had. After greeting each other and asking how the families were, they got down to business. The detective told Styles that a couple of witnesses gave them the description of two women that shot the three men and the description of the vehicle that picked them up for the getaway. They had the two witnesses at the station with a sketch artist trying to come up with a composite. Other than that, that was all they had.
Smith, who was young and eager and the newest member of the unit, had talked with a detective and the two patrolmen who were on the scene first. One of the patrolman told Smith that two of the men had exit wounds that were larger than some of the other wounds. They suggested that a larger caliber weapon was used and that was backed up by one of the witnesses claiming to have seen the driver shot before the women pulled their weapons. Smith knew that meant that there was another shooter somewhere, perhaps a distance away. When Smith went to Styles with the theory, Styles and the fat homicide detective blew the rookie detective off as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. Smith just walked away and continued his investigation while Styles reminisced about old times with the fat lazy Irish cop who was obviously just killing time until his retirement.
Smith stood next to the car that the three dead men had ridden in. He looked in the direction away from where the man, who supposedly got shot first, fell. He was told that the witness said that the driver fell into the car and then to the ground. He noticed a building that had the right height. A man of Fuentes’ status would warrant a calculated hit and Smith’s military and big game hunting background told him that a high-powered rifle with a scope and a person with good shooting skills could make the shot. Especially on a day like today that had virtually no wind.
Smith walked up the street a bit toward the building where the shooter was still laying on the rooftop. He was looking for nothing in particular. He was just thinking about how lazy his partner was and how he had to break away from him somehow so he could get to the station where the two witnesses were. He needed to talk to them so he could ask the questions he needed to ask. He needed to gather better information so he could report back to his boss who had fought to get him in the narcotics unit so she could have someone who would report the proper information back to her, to relay any information on Styles, who she had a hunch was dirty. Smith told Styles that he was going to ride to the station with one of the patrolmen and that he’d catch up with him later. Styles told him to go ahead, seeing as how he needed to get in contact with LaTanza so he could see what the hell was going on.
* * *
Carlos sat in his office with Chavez, Rios and Fernando. They were trying to figure out who was behind Senor Fuentes’ death. They wanted someone to blame. Carlos wanted to say that it was Slim’s crew behind it, but Chavez reminded him that Lucky didn’t roll like that. That they needed to look harder at Bone and his people now that Sammy copped a plea and was doing a ten-year bid. Fernando agreed and would have agreed with anything that made sense as long as it kept the heat off him and LaTanza. His cousins had made it to New York without a problem, and he would continue to send them the rest of their money until they received it all. They didn’t know much about whom they hit, why and who was behind the hit. The less they knew the better and Fernando would breath a little better once he knew what LaTanza was going to do about Carlos. Greed and lust was his motivation. The big man feared nothing, not even death. But it didn’t matter who you were when the grim reaper was standing around the corner following your every footstep—it made the toughest man on the planet sweat a little.
The three of them agreed to arrange to meet with Lucky and Bone. They’d set the meeting to take place after the funeral. Chavez puffed on his blunt and the smoke rose in front of his face as he spoke. “We’ll see who pays their respects to Senor Fuentes and who doesn’t. We’ll see who is sincere and who isn’t, and that will give us a little insight on what putas killed the boss. I haven’t put in any work lately. I think them black fuckers think we’re getting soft. I think I need to raise the hairs on their necks.”
Carlos shook his glass of rum and coke, and the ice cubes made that clinking sound. “Just chill until we have better info on what happened,” Carlos said before he sipped.
Chavez pulled hard on his blunt then passed the blaze to Fernando as he took the fifth of Patron to the head. He coughed, “I hear ya, holmes, and I guarantee.” He took another swig of the expensive tequila. “When I find the fucker who took Senor’s life, I’ma take theirs, slowly.”
Fernando took the blunt from his lips and passed it back to Chavez telling him, “I’m wit ya.”
* * *
Lucky hung up the phone from Carlos. It was only he and Frank in the office. He had sent everyone home. Noonie and the gang had arrived after they’d left the club. Lucky spoke to them for a moment but then sent them all home besides Frank and Jamel. Jamel was outside the office at the bar sipping on a brew talking to Ducet’s Creole ass. Lucky liked the young killer, Jamel, who always hit what he aimed at so he’d at times keep him around when he wanted to feel a little secure.
“What’s he talking about?” Frank asked as he set his Chicago Sun-Times down beside him on the wine colored leather couch.
Lucky grabbed the fifth of Martell and poured himself a shot. Frank raised his glass to let his long time friend know that he needed a hit. Lucky poured saying, “That muthafucka says he wants to meet. Us, him and Bone.”
“When is he talking about?”
“The day after his old man's funeral. Whenever that is.”
“He’s just trying to get a feel for who hit his old man. You ain’t going alone, are you?”
“Nah, he agreed that I could bring a soldier. That we all can bring one.”
“Who you taking?”
“Don’t know. Might be that youngin’ out there,” he said as he pointed at Jamel. “He’s reliable and in case shit happens, I don’t want Ant or Noonie fucked off.”
“I don’t want shit happening to you,” Frank said as he rubbed his dark bald head. Something he did when he got a little worried.
“Don’t worry; from the way Carlos was talking I think he thinks Bone’s the one who hit his old man.”
Frank lit a Kool. The cigarette dangled in his mouth as he voiced his opinion. “That crazy fucker is too stupid to plan a hit on someone of that magnitude. He’s a gorilla and brute force is his expertise.”
“We know that, but they ain’t thinking like that. They sitting over there wondering what their next move should be and Carlos has taken over as head of the family, and that’s the reason why I gotta pay my respects and go to this sit-down cause I don’t need any problems with him.”
“You right. I’ma get with my contact with the police and see what they know.”
“Do that and whatever you hear, no matter how minor you may think it is, ring me.”
“Not a problem.”
* * *
Leading the convoy to the cemetery was a black Lincoln Navigator with six heavily armed men. Behind their lead vehicle was the funeral home furnished Cadillac that drove the immediate family to the north side gravesite and behind it was the hearse carrying the body of the beloved Senior Freddy Fuentes. They sky was overcast and it was crisp out. It also looked as if it was going to rain. The long trail of cars seemed as if it would never end. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to make it to the gravesite. It was just too many family, friends and people who had come in contact with the legendary Senor Fuentes for them all to be able to pass by the body of the Don and throw a red stemmed rose on top of his coffin after it was lowered into the grave. An endless line of people passed by Carlos and LaTanza to hug or shake and kiss Carlos’ hand and to hug LaTanza and tell them that it will be okay—that the putas were going to pay. Lucky, Frank and Anthony w
ere able to make their way through the crowd. Eyes were glued to them. Two tall, muscular Cubans in shades and suits stepped to them keeping them from walking toward the tent that the family was under. Lucky had already advised Frank and Anthony to be cool, follow his lead and most of all to chill no matter what happened. With all the Cuban, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans and Columbians they had no way of making it out if shit got funky.
Carlos nodded to his men. They let Lucky walk to Carlos, but the others had to stand pat. Lucky, who was dressed in an all black Stacy Adams suit, walked forward and tossed a rose into the casket. He took LaTanza’s hand and kissed the back of it before giving the grieving woman a hug. He then hugged Carlos and whispered in his ear how sorry he was for his loss. Carlos thanked him and ushered one of his bodyguards from his seat and told Lucky to sit. Frank and Anthony watched from the distance. Anthony saw how much respect Carlos gave Lucky even though they were in Carlos’ world at the moment. LaTanza, who was serving up a few fake tears, noticed the love Carlos was showing Lucky and that mouse on that little wheel in her head began to sprint. Her sick mind realized that her husband had been hit hard by the loss of his father and from all that has been going on and from what Fernando told her about the countless meetings he’d been in with Carlos and the others, it seemed as if Carlos was going to get soft with Lucky which meant getting soft with Slim and she couldn’t have that. Slim was too smart and he would eventually bypass Carlos and his family on the hustling food chain, especially with the ruthless, yet, smart Senor Freddy Fuentes about to be put six feet deep.
After the priest finished with prayer and Senor Fuentes was put to rest, Carlos talked with Lucky for a moment then left to be with his family. He’d told Lucky to make sure he was at the sit down and that he appreciated him paying his respects—unlike Bone. Lucky hugged him again and waited as all the Latin men and women cleared the way before walking back over to his men.
The Corner II Page 15