by Wahida Clark
She entered the salon, and, as usual, Cherry, her hairstylist’s, chair was empty and waiting on her.
“What’s up, Miss Lady? And how are you today?” Cherry greeted, exchanging air kisses with Crystal.
“Girl, you already know. I’m fabulous!” Crystal cackled.
“Yes, you are.”
The bodyguards posted up in the waiting area and one near her chair. Several females were waiting for their turn, but three females in the middle of the salon stood out because they looked like men in drag on their way to a costume party. Before the bodyguards could react, all three reached under their skirts and pulled out 9 millimeter guns and opened fire. The three shooters aimed straight for their targets. Ladies screamed and ducked as the bullets ripped. Both of the bodyguards dropped back to back with half of their heads blown off, leaking blood. Their bodies lay twitching on the floor. Cherry got hit in the exchange, and her brains squirted across Crystal’s face, her dead body slumped over Crystal who couldn’t stop screaming, all the while realizing that the streets weren’t for her. She loved all the perks, but this shit wasn’t worth all the stress and danger.
“Grab that bitch and let’s go!” one of the shooters ordered in a deep baritone, confirming what everyone who remained alive already knew; that they were men dressed up as women.
The last thing Crystal saw was the butt of the gun smashing into her head, and then everything faded to black.
• • •
Choppa was true to his word. “I will take my connect to the grave before I let you have it.”
Dark played those words back as he cruised around the city. What could he have done differently? He was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he hadn’t gotten rid of Choppa, Choppa would have definitely gotten rid of him. Crystal had the connect, but then Janay stepped in and put a stop to the flow. Now he needed to handle Janay and get another connect. The Consortium had a connect for its members, but the prices went up, and Dark had plans on becoming their supplier. Shit, he felt that was his right.
• • •
When Crystal woke up, she was tied to a chair in some old garage with rusty, old car parts everywhere. She smelled oil, gas, and transmission fluid. Three dudes she had never seen before stood in front of her.
“I’m gonna ask you one time, bitch. Do you want to live?” Wise snarled.
Crystal nodded, her head still clearing. Who are these niggas and what do they want? Are these the same people that tried to kill me in Benny Thrillz? her instincts screamed.
Wise held up her phone.
“We already know Janay is 704. That’s Charlotte, North Carolina. What we don’t know is where. Start singin’,” he demanded.
The first thing that popped into her mind was an image of Marquis’s face. Sweet Marquis. Her nephew. She knew if she told them where Janay lived, chances were, Marquis would die. She couldn’t stomach that.
“I-I can’t . . . no,” Crystal stammered.
Wise laughed. “Oh, bitch, you can, and you will,” he promised, then pulled out his gun and shot her in the knee.
“Aarrrr!” She screamed out in excruciating pain. “Somebody help me!” The pain was still less than the emotional torment of signing Marquis’s death warrant like she did her father.
“I told you I wasn’t gonna ask again, so stop me when you got something to say,” Wise snapped at her, then shot her in the other knee.
It hurt so bad, she pissed on herself, but nothing came out of her mouth but cries.
“Still ain’t talkin’?” Wise fumed.
He nodded to one of his two goons who snatched Crystal’s shoes off and poured gasoline all over her feet, then set them on fire. The pain seemed to shoot straight through to the top of her brain, searing even her thoughts of survival. The pain was worth her life. She even willed it, but it wasn’t worth Marquis’s life.
Wise put the fire out. Her feet were charred and gnarled. She let out gut-wrenching screams. He ground his boot into her charred feet mercilessly. Crystal cried out, “Fuck you, nigga! Kill me, kill me, ’cause I ain’t tellin’ you shit!”
It took every ounce of her strength, but in her mind she was fighting for Marquis’s life with the force of a mother’s love, and no mother worth the name would give their child up.
“Oh, you finally got some heart, huh, bitch? You gonna wait ’til the day you die to finally live?”
Wise gripped his gun and pistol-whipped Crystal unconscious, but when he looked into her swollen and bloodshot eyes, he saw a wall he knew he would never get through. He shot her in the shoulder once just out of frustration, then put the gun to her forehead and ended it all with two shots, point-blank.
“Bitch was a soldier. I’ll give her that,” Wise remarked bitterly.
He flipped through her phone until he got to Janay’s number.
J 704-571-2391
He stared at it, then, by mistake he hit the button, sending a call through. By the time he pushed end, it had rung once.
“Fuck it, if I can’t go to the bitch, maybe the bitch’ll come to me,” Wise concluded. Turning to his goon, he ordered, “Make sure they find the body. We wanna make sure she gets a proper burial,” he chuckled, and his goon caught on. Before the goon walked out, Wise added, “And bring the ugly-ass mutt with her!”
• • •
Janay was on her computer when her phone rang. Then it stopped. She looked and saw it was Crystal’s number. She frowned. One ring? She called back, and it went straight to voice mail. Her instincts told her something was wrong and a cold chill shot up her spine.
“Lord, please protect my family.”
Chapter Nine
Fat Rich from Zone 8 was a fat, Biggie-looking nigga that loved to gamble. He had it so bad that he’d gambled on a two-cockroach race. His favorite game though was five card. He was a pro and seldom lost. Unfortunately, his last night playing five card, he lost more than he gained.
“Come on, maine. Let a nigga get some get back, Rich,” one of the gamblers he broke complained.
“You can get some get back, nigga. Get back at me tomorrow!” Fat Rich joked, and the other three gamblers laughed.
“That’s that bullshit, Rich!”
Fat Rich and his man walked out of the gambling spot.
“Yo, you holla at the twins?” Fat Rich asked his man, as they walked toward Rich’s cocaine white Porsche SUV.
“Yeah, them niggas said next week.”
“Next week? It’s always next week wit’ them niggas,” Fat Rich grumbled. “We need to call a sit-down before shit get out of hand.”
“Hold up, I gotta piss,” his man said, standing at the tree the Porsche was parked under.
Fat Rich started to get in, but he saw a fresh Nike print on the hood of his shit.
“Who the fuck been standin’ on my white shit?” Fat Rich spazzed.
A rain of bullets was the reply. His man got hit first. Two in the top of his head came out of his neck, and his body flopped against the tree trunk—and slumped at the root.
At first Rich didn’t know where the shots were coming from. He thought it was somebody in a window. He crouched behind his door for cover. But suddenly he heard something land on the roof of the Porsche. He tried to swing his gun into position, but Baby Boy took aim and blew the top of Rich’s head off. He jumped down and hit Fat Rich two more times, point blank for good measure. He reached down and took Rich’s money and jewelry.
An old Buick hooptie skidded up, and Baby Boy jumped in. They skidded off.
“Goddamn, young buck. You ain’t no goddamn joke! Up in a tree for a muhfucka! You on some Vietnam shit!” the toothless crackhead cackled as he drove.
Baby Boy smiled to himself. He had to admit, it was a good idea. Even though he had to wait for four hours, the ten grand Dark paid him was worth it. Not to mention the bag of money Fat Rich had just won. Not bad for four hour’s work.
The crackhead pulled into a vacant parking lot next to where Baby Boy had left his Suzuki 900.
“Yeah, young buck, you a beast. But let me get me so I can go,” he requested.
“Yep,” Baby Boy replied, putting the gun to his temple and painting the window with his brains.
“Dumb muhfucka.” Baby Boy laughed, got out, jumped on his bike and disappeared into the night.
Baby Boy headed straight for Quita’s apartment. He really had nowhere else to go.
Between her place, motel rooms, and various jump-offs, Baby Boy was basically homeless. But after hooking up with Dark, he knew all of that was about to change.
When he got to Quita’s house, Ty-Ty, her little nine-year-old brother, answered the door. Baby Boy clenched his nose.
“Damn, Ty-Ty, I see you still pissin’ in the bed.” Baby Boy snickered, because he smelled just like piss.
“Fuck you, Baby Boy. Gimme some money,” Ty-Ty spat back.
“Go wash yo’ ass, and I’ll give you twenty dollars.”
“Ain’t no water,” Ty-Ty informed him.
Baby Boy sucked his teeth. Quita’s sorry-ass mama probably smoked up the water money. Quita’s seventeen-year-old sister was sitting on the couch watching TV.
“What’s up, Quandra? Where Quita?”
“Sleep,” she replied, without taking her thumb out her mouth.
Baby Boy went down the hall to Quita’s room and opened the door. She was sprawled out on her stomach, wearing nothing but her panties, phat ass tooted up in the air. The room smelled like sex. His first instinct was to wake her up and beat her ass back to sleep, but he knew he was partly to blame for leaving her out there. He had been with Quita since she was nine and he was eleven. Now they were nineteen and twenty-one. They had been through everything together. Homelessness, no lights, rockin’ the same clothes for days, no school, no food, everything bad you can think of, they experienced together.
He slapped her hard on the ass, and she jumped like she had been shot.
“Owww! I’ma fuck you up!” she shouted, not seeing in the dark who had done it.
Baby Boy plopped on the mattress lying on the floor and pulled her to him.
“Fuck me up, huh? Who you gonna fuck?” He laughed.
“Hey, baby!” she sang, and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him excitedly.
“Oh, now it’s, ‘Hey, baby.’ But when I’m in the county, you block the phone!”
“Ain’t nobody tell you to get locked up,” she replied sassily between kisses. “Ain’t nobody got no money to hold yo’ hand.”
“Yeah, we do now.” He smiled and dumped Fat Rich’s bag of money on the bed.
Quita’s eyes got as big as two moons. She gasped.
“Bey! Who you kill?” Quita wrapped her tiny hands around a big pile of money.
“Stop askin’ so many questions, nosy ass. Just get yo’ ass up and get us a spot. We gettin’ the fuck outta here,” Baby Boy spat, looking around at the dismal surroundings.
“For real, baby? Ewww, I love you!” she squealed, knocking him on his back with her embrace.
He laughed. “I love you, too.”
Quita stopped and looked him in the eyes soberly. “Why, Baby Boy? Why you love me?” she questioned intently, tears welling in her eyes.
Baby Boy just shrugged and replied, “Because I promised you I always would.”
He was her rock. Despite everything, he was always right there.
“And now you ain’t gotta do that dumb shit no more, Quita. I’m dead ass. And you quittin’ that fuckin’ Subway shit,” he demanded.
“See how much you know about me? I been quit Subway. I work at S&C’s.”
“Whateva the fuck it is, I said you quittin’.”
“Whateva you say, baby,” she cooed as she unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his long dick out.
Quita was already soaking wet when she slid her panties to the side. Baby Boy was the only one she let fuck her pussy, so it stayed hot, tight, and wet. Just another quirk in their strange relationship that fit them like a glove. And he fit her like a glove as she began to ride his dick, squatting on it and bracing herself on his chest.
“Oh yes, this your pussy, daddy. I been a good girl, see? Nobody been in your pussy,” Quita swore to him. It was the truth.
But she didn’t have to tell him, because he could feel it. He gripped her thick hips and ground his dick deep up in her. It didn’t take him long to get off his first jail nut, but when he laid her on her back, he dug out the pussy until morning light and they both fell asleep satisfied.
• • •
“Drug Kingpin’s Daughter Found Slain” That was the headline of the newspaper, but the word had already been all over the city ever since Crystal got snatched up.
The reporter from Channel 2 Fox News started her segment: A gruesome murdered body found belonging to a woman today on the East Side. She was the daughter of a drug kingpin whose organization stretched as far as Memphis, Tennessee.”
But once the word got out that her body was found buck naked with a dog’s dick in her mouth on Nine Mile Road, the streets were abuzz with assumptions and rumors of war. The Consortium members were all abuzz as well.
“I bet you that muhfuckin’ Dark did it,” Tareek from the East Side told his man.
While across town, Tommy from the Number Streets was vexed. “We need to call a meeting ASAP! This nigga Dark got questions to answer!”
Everybody blamed Dark simply because nobody trusted him. But Dark had his own problems. He was now out of a connect. As for Crystal, his mourning period lasted long enough for him to say, “Man, goddamn, that bitch had a helluva head game.”
Mook chuckled as he and Dark rode along Woodward Street.
“You a cold nigga. I thought you was marryin’ the broad.”
“Marryin’ her connect,” Dark corrected him. “Now I’m gettin’ a divorce before the goddamn weddin’. We gotta make somethin’ happen ASAP. I need a connect.”
“Fo’ sho’,” Mook agreed. He could hear the desperation in Dark’s voice.
Several minutes later Dark’s phone registered a text.
Belle Isle where we first kissed @ 8:30
There was no name, but Dark knew exactly who it was. He glanced at Mook.
“What you ’bout to do?”
“Why, what up?”
“I need to handle somethin’.”
“Take me to the crib. I’m waitin’ on Mac anyway.”
“Yeah, tell that nigga we all need to powwow.”
“Yep.”
Dark dropped Mook off, and Mook breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad Mac handled his business. Now, they could concentrate on getting that gwap.
• • •
Dark arrived on Belle Isle and parked, pissed off that Sherman wanted to meet so early in the morning. He spotted Sherman on the bench, feeding the seagulls. He walked down and took a seat.
“I hope you left the Alka-Seltzer at home,” Dark snapped.
Sherman chuckled. “And I’m glad you brought your sense of humor. Last time you were a tough guy, and tough guys are a pain in the ass to work with.”
“I handled that.”
“Yeah, I see. Only you clipped the wrong guy.”
Dark scowled. “Fuck you mean wrong guy? You said Fat Rich from The Zone. Ain’t but one Fat Rich muthafucka from Zone 8!”
“Did I? Are you sure? I’m gettin’ too old for this shit. I meant Tommy . . . Tommy from the Number Streets,” Sherman informed him.
“What! Ain’t no fuckin’ way! What kind of game you tryna play?” Dark ranted.
“Hey!” Sherman ranted right back. “Whateva game I fuckin’ wanna play! You know why? Because it’s my ball! If I say jump, you don’t say how high, you ask how long should I stay up there! This ain’t a one-night stand, it’s a marriage, and I’m the man in this relationship. Are we clear?”
Dark was really less upset than he put on. Even though he was under Sherman’s thumb, it wasn’t him putting in the actual work. Besides, he was just clearing the way for his own expans
ion.
“So you sure this time? Tommy?”
“For now, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, well, I need somethin’ from you.”
“Let me guess. A connect,” Sherman gathered, having been assigned to Crystal’s case.
“Yeah, a connect.”
Sherman smiled. “See, this is what a marriage is about. Give and take . . . Gimme a couple of days and I’ll have you straightened out.”
“Yeah,” Dark grunted, then turned and walked away. Sherman pulled out his phone and sent a text to Nick.
• • •
Nick got Sherman’s text.
Need to see you ASAP
He replied back:
Not in the city. Gimme 2 days
He received a text right back:
24 hrs
Nick sighed hard, but he knew he had to comply. He had already sold his soul to the devil, and her name was Joy. Sherman was just her tool. But at the moment, his mind wasn’t on business, it was on pleasure. Ever since Tiny had mentioned it, he was obsessed with getting her and Shan in a ménage à trois. It wasn’t like he’d never had one, but getting Shan to agree would be a challenge, which he was up to. He felt like he could convince her, because, at heart, he knew she was a freak. And with Tiny in his ear, he was totally open.
As soon as he left Tiny’s suite, he headed straight for Shan’s brownstone, just like Nyla knew he would. He just didn’t realize when he left that Nyla was right behind him in a rented Honda Civic. But what neither one of them knew was, Courtney and Michelle were right behind both of them.
“There he goes, Chelle,” Courtney pointed out as soon as Nick jumped in the Range and pulled off. “Don’t lose him.”
Michelle sucked her teeth cockily. “I’m from Newark. Can’t nobody lose me.” She snickered, because her driving skills were on 1,000.
But as soon as she started to pull off, a pea green Honda Civic cut her off.
“Dumb bitch!” Michelle spat, falling back speed-wise, but keeping pace with Nick.