Hard Betrayal

by Jason Stanley

  “So?” D’andre shrugged. “They got the best prices. Like you said, it’s a bidness.”

  “Yes, you can buy your product cheaper from the Mexicans. But it’s not smart. The Mexicans are highly visible. I have it on reliable word, they are a primary target for the DEA.”

  “Everybody’s a target. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Ascia’s smile showed almost perfect white teeth, but it didn’t reach is eyes. “By target, I mean, a big bust is imminent.”

  “Imminent? How do you know something like that?”

  “How I know is none of your business. What you need to understand is I’m not happy with BamBam. I’m giving you a real opportunity. But, I’m beginning to think you might not be the right man.” Ascia moved from behind his desk and strolled to a built-in bar on a side wall behind D’andre and Sugar.

  Sugar’s gaze followed Ascia.

  D’andre jumped up, facing him, and leaned back against the edge of the desk. “The right man for what?”

  Holding a cut-glass bottle, Ascia looked at D’andre. “Take over the territory. Are you the right man for the job?” He turned his back. The ground glass stopper clinked lightly and the faint sweet pungent smell of scotch wafted as he poured a single finger shot and sauntered back to his seat.

  D’andre settled into his own chair, again facing Ascia.

  “Why me?”

  Ascia paused, steepled his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. “BamBam worked closely with my top guys, but he was more muscle than operations. I’m looking for a man used to running a more complete operation. We’re looking to put in someone who has a broader business perspective. Someone who will do the smart thing.”

  “Yeah, I’m used to doing all parts of bidness and running my own crew.”

  “We’re aware of that.” Ascia sat upright in his chair — his smile gone. “Otherwise you’d never be here in my office.”

  D’andre stared at Ascia — he drummed his fingers on his thigh.

  Ascia sat reptilian still.

  D’andre broke eye contact. “Yeah, and?”

  “We think you might be the man to fill the recently vacated position.”

  Silence again filled the office, and Sugar glanced from Ascia to D’andre, who both sat quietly.

  D’andre broke the silence. “What do you need from me?”

  “Before we discuss that,” Ascia said, “let’s review Miss Sugar’s involvement.”

  Sugar’s attention snapped to Ascia. “And what’s my involvement with y’all?”

  “Well, Sugar, you run the prostitution end of the business. Is that correct?”

  “Yeah. And . . . ?”

  “Would you agree that obtaining motivated talent is one of the hardest parts of your business?”

  “That, and keeping them from going off with some dickwad boyfriend.”

  “Right, getting and keeping women is your biggest problem. We can help with that.”

  “I mostly know everyone in the hood. Where you gonna get women to work for me that I don’t already know?” Sugar asked.

  “Don’t worry about that. We have the women, I just need to know if you’ll work with us on a profit share basis.”

  “Where do they come from? I won’t mess with a bunch of strawberries. Crack hos are more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “That’s not an issue. They’re from Eastern Europe and don’t use drugs; none are strawberries.”

  “They’re White women?”

  “Most. A few might be Asian. Now, D’andre,” he said, “back to your question of what we want from you. First, it’s about creating trust. You can start building our trust by proving you can handle rival interests or challenges from inside your own organization.”

  “You mean you want me to take out BamBam and his crew,” D’andre said, more as a statement than a question.

  “If you show us you can take control of a loose situation, then you can depend on our full backing. We can supply you with product, and women for Sugar.”

  “Alright, no problem,” D’andre said. “You hang on, you’ll see I’m all about bidness.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Ascia replied.

  * * *

  Standing on the front walk of the United Terminal at Bush International Airport, Sugar watched Ascia’s limo drive away. “D,” she said, “you can’t trust those muthafuckas.”

  “I don’t plan on trusting them or nobody else,” D’andre said.

  “So, what are you gonna do?”

  “A couple things. First, I need to pull some more guys into my crew and then hit BamBam. But I need to create a distraction. It’s smarter to run up on him when he’s looking somewhere else.”

  “Remember when Michael and Gabe Jr. got killed a few years ago?” Sugar asked. “You probably didn’t know Michael’s sister; she was a kid when it happened. Well, she’s back in town, been here a few months, and she and some of her friends jacked a creep named Jerome.”

  “What the hell does jacking some fool have to do with me taking over Lewis’ operation?”

  “You said you needed a distraction, so hear me out.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “Apparently, they did this mofo pretty good. Shot one of his balls off.”

  “Some bitch shoot me in the balls, she and all her friends are dead! No shit, there’d be blood in the streets, a ho try any shit like that.”

  “Yeah, seems the rest of the women think he feels the same way. They expect him to make a run at some of them. Thing is, it’s that rooty-poot Jerome who hangs at the park playing dominoes. He used to work at the Pep Boys car parts.”

  “Sure, I know who he is. He’s a punk. No wonder some woman got the drop on his dumb ass.”

  “Well, I think we can use him to make the distraction you want.”

  .

  Three: Trouble Brewing

  MICHELLE CHECKED DARYL’S EYES. They were closed, and his breath came deep and slow. She tiptoed around to his side of the bed. On the way, her restrained giggle nearly escaped. Then she raised her hand to swat him . . .

  With perfect timing, Daryl spun and, catching her trying to slap him on the ass, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her onto the bed across his lap. He landed two quick taps on her naked ass.

  “You win,” she said. Dressed only in a big smile, Michelle hopped up and, sat astraddle on him, and did a little wiggle. His immediate reaction brought a different kind of smile to her lips. Daryl pushed against her, making his desire clear, while in between them, the sheet prevented everything, hiding nothing.

  “So, big boy, what’s on your mind? I’m free all morning.”

  “I shouldn’t,” he groaned and checked the clock on the nightstand. “I’m opening the store today . . . How fast are you willing to be?” he asked hopefully.

  “Forget fast. I don’t like fast.” She put her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and rolled her hips touching and moving away from him.

  “Yeah, and I so appreciate it, too.” He pressed against her. “But it’s getting pretty late. I guess if you insist on taking our time, I’ll just have to run along.”

  “No argument? You’re giving up that easy, like it’s no big deal?”

  “Oh, it’s a big deal. It’s big and ready.” He pulled the sheet out from between them. “I’m never in that big a hurry. Fast doesn’t necessarily mean quick. I can be fast and good — like in The Fast and the Furious. Ready for sequel number four?”

  “Just this once. And only because last night you were all that and a big bag of chips.”

  Daryl had become Michelle’s “good fucking buddy,” her GFB. Fantastic in bed, he had a wonderful sense of humor and didn’t take himself too seriously; a gentleman who didn’t press her for anything she didn’t give freely.

  More than just a few furious moments later, sweat glistening, lying on their backs, side by side, arms and legs linked, Michelle and Daryl caught their breath.

  He rolled his
head to look at the clock on the night stand. “Damn, girl! Now I’ll be late to work.”

  “Yeah, and you try telling me it wasn’t worth it.”

  “So worth it, and more. But I’m still late. It’s a good thing I can tell the guys how fine you are in the sack. I’ll need something to take their minds off of waiting for me to open the doors.” He quickly raised a pillow against the playful fist coming his way.

  “I’ll call Scott while you’re in the shower,” Michelle said. “Breakfast will be waiting to go at the diner. Now get your butt out of my bed before I change my mind and don’t let you go to work all day.”

  * * *

  Driving over to Miss Betty’s, Michelle thought about how much fun the morning had been with Daryl. She was enjoying having sex with the same man. For the past few years, her need for secrecy required she only have one-night stands. She like sex so that meant a lot of partners which brought risk. While most guys really were princes in their own right, she did pick up the occasional frog. Now with Daryl, her GFB, good fucking buddy, learning the little things that helped make their sex even more fantastic was a lot of fun. Clearly, he wasn’t ‘the one’ for a permanent even deep relationship, but it was fun.

  Men — can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

  Her thoughts drifted from the joy of one man to the troubles with another.

  Fucking Jerome, why did he have to be such a rat bastard?

  Miss Betty met Michelle at the door, wrapping Michelle into her traditional big, genuine hug. Miss Betty never gave stingy, A-frame “cheek” hugs; she gave all-encompassing, full-body hugs most women reserved for little children. This hug, plus the bright sunshine that filled living room, and the rich, tangy aroma of mustard greens wafting in from the kitchen, made the homecoming welcome.

  “Hey, guys.” Michelle smiled at Deja and Nikky.

  “Sup?” they answered.

  “Michelle, before everybody shows up,” Miss Betty said, “I want to ask you something.”

  “I’ll answer if I can. What’s on your mind?”

  Miss Betty led Michelle into her small kitchen. “What happened with Jerome?”

  Michelle leaned against the Formica counter. “To make a long story short, he started beating up Nikky, then put Deja in the hospital.”

  “Bastard.” Miss Betty scowled. “No wonder you wanted to shoot his balls off.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t do it.”

  “He did get on ball shot off, right?” Miss Betty asked.

  “Um huh.”

  “But you didn’t do it?”

  “Nope,” Michelle answered.

  “Oh, everybody thought it was you. So, who did—”

  T-Dog strolled into the kitchen. “Hi, Miss Betty. Hey, Michelle. There’s a bunch coming up the walk behind me. What can I do to help?”

  “Here, take in these vegetables and dip,” Miss Betty said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  T-Dog nodded and left, veggie tray in hand.

  “I hear the others coming in now,” Michelle said in a low voice. “Anyway, that’s about it. After he snitched to the cops, he lost his ball.”

  “Snitched?”

  “Sorry; yeah, he snitched on some earlier stuff on me. Nothing came of it, but now I’m on their list of usual suspects.”

  “And you didn’t shoot him?”

  “Not that time.” Michelle grinned and winked.

  “Here” —Miss Betty handed Michelle a large pitcher of lemonade— “carry this out with you.”

  * * *

  The women, who called themselves the Pussy Squad — short for People United to Stop Sonuvabitches like You — filled Miss Betty’s living room, eating lunches from plates balanced on their knees as they discussed the hood.

  “My girls tell me things are strange ever since Lewis was killed,” T-Dog said. “Most of the corners are still running with the same crews, but it’s not solid. The streets won’t stay calm much longer; something big’s gonna happen before things shake out.”

  Both T-Dog and Sugar ran all-girl crews. T-Dog’s worked with several of the men’s crews as logistic and information backup. Sugar’s consisted mostly of street hookers. Between the two crews, they had a pretty good understanding of the goings-on in the hood. Both women joined the Pussy Squad a couple of months earlier when it formed up as sort of a “women’s watch, got-your-back,” sisterhood thing. It all started when Michelle brought her best friends, Nikky and Deja, to Miss Betty’s, looking for help to warn the women of the hood that problems were afoot, problems that could hurt a lot of them.

  “In times like these when the local top drug guys are dead, big trouble could kick off,” Michelle said. “Everyone thinks BamBam will hold on. Does he have the juice to take over?”

  “Sugar,” T-Dog said, “you’ve been hooked up with D’andre for a while. He worked close with those guys. Will BamBam be strong enough to hold the hood?”

  “You got me.” Sugar shrugged. “D’andre don’t talk too much about his bidness.”

  “What about your crew?” Michelle asked. “Any of them getting any word on something about to jump off?”

  “No, nobody’s said nothing.”

  “Well, maybe your girls haven’t caught wind of anything yet, but trust me,” Miss Betty said, “something serious is definitely going to happen.

  “It means trouble for us,” T-Dog replied. “This shit with that asshat, Jerome looking to jack the women in the community, is coming at a bad time. With everything crazy on the streets, our men won’t pay any attention to what some chickenshit rat bastard does. He’s back from getting his ball shot off, and pretty much free to cause all the trouble he wants.”

  “Jerome needs to show he’s man enough to get his revenge,” Michelle said. “Problem is, he’s a coward. A real man will come at you straight, so you can deal with it. Cowards always put a knife in your back or hide in a crowd.”

  “I hung out with that jerk for almost a year,” Deja said, then held up her hands. “Don’t ask me why I stayed; I can’t explain it, not even to myself. Jerome thinks he’s a real stand-up guy, but he isn’t. He’ll try to convince others to back his play so he can feel like he’s the top dog running stuff. If he’s able to recruit some other idiots, we’ll have a lot more to worry about than just a bunch of loud shit-talking.”

  “You say this prick is a real big problem,” said T-Dog, “so why not just cap him and be done with it?”

  “Because I was the one he tried to snitch on,” Michelle said. “He told the police I shot him in the side, which happened weeks before he was shot in the nuts. They let me go because I had a solid alibi. Now, they have a record of the situation between us, so I can’t do anything without them getting real deep in my business.”

  “So?” Sugar asked.

  Michelle pinned Sugar with a long stare. “I don’t run street girls like you so don’t have as much to hide, but I still don’t need them all over me.”

  The room grew silent for a long moment.

  Miss Betty, stood, picked up the pitcher. “More lemonade anyone?”

  Several people murmured and shuffled. Miss Betty filled a few glasses.

  “I agree with T-Dog,” Michelle said. “Things are messy right now, and with all of the shit going on, it might be hard to clock what Jerome does. So, you guys ask your crews to pay extra attention to anything they might pick up.”

  “One of my girls told me about something that sounded important,” T-Dog said. “It’s about the streets, not Jerome. She said some of the players from Long Beach were talking with guys on the local corners, acting real friendly-like, but everyone thinks they’re sizing up the area to make a move. Might be a big problem; might be nothing.”

  “Did you find out who they work for?” Miss Betty asked.

  “Some guy named Trevon runs the streets in Long Beach,” T-Dog replied. “Think it’s important?”

  “What can anyone tell us about this Trevon?” Sugar asked.

  “Not muc
h,” T-Dog said. “Things have been pretty quiet down there for a while. I understand he’s an OG in Long Beach.” She stopped and looked at Miss Betty, “Sorry, you know, OG, original gangster, been around a long time.”

  Miss Betty smiled. “I know dear.”

  T-Dog continued, “Seems he’s been running a tight crew for the last few years. You guys think it’s worth checking out?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Sugar said. “Sure, won’t hurt. I’ll ask my girls if they know anything about him. If he’s OG, somebody will have the four-one-one.” She turned to Michelle. “What about you, Michelle, you hear anything on this guy?”

  “Nothing more than what you already told us,” Michelle answered. “All right, back to talking about the real issue for us. Doesn’t matter if Jerome is a punk-ass wankster or for real. If he talks enough shit, another wannabe like him or some young baby-g will back his play. If enough of them pull together, then they can cause some real trouble. How are we going to be ready for what Jerome’s up to?”

  “He’s always playing dominoes with a bunch of homies down at the park,” Miss Betty said. “Who else does he hang with? Sugar, can you check if any of your girls deal with Jerome? Those hooking at the park can probably tell you who else he hangs with. Same for you, T-Dog. Can you check with your crew?”

  “If either of you learn anything, how about you give me a call,” Michelle said. “I’ll pass any information on to everyone else.”

  “Sounds good to me,” T-Dog said.

  “Me, too,” Sugar agreed.

  .

  Four: Sugar’s Set-Up

  DONTRICE PUSHED THE DOOR OPEN, knocking while calling out, “Knock, knock. Sugar? You in here?”

  “Hey, girl,” Sugar said. “Come in, get out of that miserable heat.”

  She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Oh my God, it feels good in here. It’s gotta be over a hundred out there. Is D’andre here?”

  “No, it’s just us.”

  Dontrice scoffed. “What am I asking that for? Of course, he isn’t here. He always keeps the door locked.” She pointed to a bright aquarium perched on a solid wood base and filled with tropical fish. “New tank?” she asked.