by Wahida Clark
Dark chuckled. “I’m self-motivated.”
“Then I guess you don’t need me,” she shot back with a smirk.
The Escalade came to a stop. Nick opened the door. Dark looked out into the dark night. They were three blocks from where he was parked.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“These are your streets, right?” Joy asked. “Then walk them.”
Dark’s ego was bruised by the way she dismissed him as if he was a common thief. He flexed his jaw muscles but held his tongue and got out.
• • •
Briggen swung through Mo’Betta’s block in a rented Buick LeSabre. Mo’ jumped in and as they pulled off, Mo’ handed him a McDonald’s bag filled with money.
“Yo, big bruh, no disrespect, but what you givin’ me ain’t even enough to keep my block fed. I mean, if shit that tight for you—”
Briggen waved him off like it wasn’t that serious, even though he knew it was that serious. It was written all over the three-day stubble on his face. It was clear he wasn’t the man he used to be in every way . . . except in his own mind.
“Just gimme a coupla days.”
“You said that a coupla days ago,” Mo’Betta reminded him.
Briggen glared at him. “Yo, what the fuck I just say? This Briggen, nigga. Shit just fucked up right now, a’iight?”
Mo’ held his tongue because he knew what Briggen was capable of when it came to getting that money. Besides, he still needed a little more time to pick his brain on his out-of-town routes and customers.
“A few mo’ days, then we set shit off, maine! Fuckin’ Shan on this Redbone shit tryna hand-feed a nigga. Me! Brig! I coulda bought that bitch when I found her, now this nigga Nick got her head fucked up . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
“But you, big bruh, she still yo’ wife, right? She probably just in her feelings. I mean, goddamn, buy her some flowers or somethin’,” Mo’ suggested sarcastically, wishing it were his wife. He’d show Briggen how to break a bitch.
Mo’Betta may’ve been trying to be funny, but his words sparked an idea.
“Naw, yo. The bitch don’t need no flowers. She need to be taught a lesson! She wanna play a man’s game, then let’s play a man’s game. Yo . . . I need you to kidnap the bitch for me,” Briggen proposed.
“No doubt,” Mo’ agreed enthusiastically.
“Don’t hurt her or nothin’ but scare her up . . . bad.”
“How I’ma do that without hurtin’ her?” Mo’ questioned, wanting to hurt her anyway.
Briggen looked him in the eyes. “Then don’t hurt her . . . too bad,” he said.
Mo’Betta nodded. “Say no mo’.”
“Then when she call me and I play Captain Save-a-Ho, I’ll show that bitch how much she need me! Then she’ll fold!” Briggen laughed.
Mo’ laughed too. But while Briggen thought he was laughing with him, Mo’Betta was laughing at him. Because Mo’ saw a better route. One that would kill both a vulture and an eagle with one boulder.
Literally.
• • •
The West Side of Detroit was Tareek’s kingdom. By all accounts, he was one of the biggest dope boys in the city and his team was no joke. He had been prepared for war, so if and when they tried to move on him he’d be ready.
He and a bad-ass light-skinned broad were heading to a club called Ace of Spades, one of Detroit’s many strip joints. The broad was putting on lipstick in the visor’s vanity mirror when they stopped at the light behind an old Ford Taurus. Behind Tareek was a car full of his goons. He glanced over at the chick getting ready to say something when the trunk of the Taurus popped open and a masked gunman sprang out. Tareek ducked, but the broad wasn’t so lucky. The stream of bullets from the automatic rifle the gunman was holding peppered and shattered the windshield, then hit her several times in the head and chest.
By this time, Tareek was already scrambling out the door, staying low. His goons returned fire, while two more shooters jumped out of the backseat of the Taurus with automatic weapons.
Brrrrrraaapp! Brrraaapppp! they spat as gunfire erupted in both directions. Tareek took cover behind a parked car and opened up with his .40 caliber. He was more than prepared.
Several seconds later a white van skidded up and blocked the Taurus in. Three dudes jumped out with their own automatic weapons and began spraying the Taurus. Tareek had lulled them into a trap sandwiched between his goons. The Taurus shooters were sitting ducks. In a matter of moments they were all leaking and twitching on the sidewalk. The shooter’s arms dangled from the trunk touching the ground. The only one left alive was the driver.
Mook.
Tareek ran up on him and put the gun to his jaw. “I told you that bitch-ass Dark was behind this shit!” He laughed, looking at Mook.
Mook gritted. “Nigga, do what you gonna do!”
Tareek smacked him with the pistol, then began to pistol-whip him until Mook slumped in the seat. Tareek searched his pockets for his phone. When he found it, he quickly went through it until he saw: Dk. He called.
“We good?” Dark answered on the second ring.
“Fuck, no, you clown-ass faggot!” Tareek laughed.
Dark got silent.
“You a dead man, nigga!” Tareek spat, then added, “Your man wanna speak to you.”
He put the phone to Mook’s ear. “Yo, maine, fuck these—”
Boom! The gun exploded through the phone, and Dark could only imagine. He knew Mook was dead.
“Fuck!” he barked as he paced the floor of his apartment.
If his hand wasn’t exposed before, he knew it was now. He had been caught red-handed, breaking the oath. He knew the whole Consortium would come down on him, and his team wasn’t deep enough for a war with Tareek, Born, and Kay-Gee. He had already sent Baby Boy down to Tennessee, and then sent Mac back down to take out Baby Boy.
He hit Mac as he paced.
“Yep,” Mac answered.
“Where you, maine?”
“A few miles from Oak Ridge.”
“Yo, I need you to double back. Mook’s gone,” Dark told him, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Gone?” Mac echoed. “What you mean, gone?”
“Fuck you think it mean, yo? He gone!” Dark shot back. “Shit ’bout to get hectic, so what I said about the young boy, dead that. Bring him back too. We ’bout to take these niggas to war!”
Mac looked at the phone as if it sprouted two heads. He knew the situation. Dark had told them about the oath, so if Mook was dead, they knew the oath was broken. There was no way he was coming back to go to war with half of Detroit! Dark was on his own.
“Ay, yo, Dark, you know what they say, yo,” Mac remarked.
“Huh?” Dark grunted, his mind a thousand miles away, plotting his strategy.
“Your main man ain’t your man. Mook was my man, not you. I’ll holla, homie!”
Click!
Dark gripped his phone, then hurled it against the wall in a rage.
“Bitch-ass nigga! You dead too!” Dark huffed, trying not to let his fear mixed with anger get the best of him.
His main soldiers were dead or on the run. The street goons he had he inherited from Cisco, so he couldn’t count on their loyalty. He knew if he was going to survive, he had to strike first and strike hard. Even if he had to move as a one-man army.
“Fuck it! I’ma show these niggas I don’t need nobody!”
• • •
Rudy loved the plan as soon as Mo’Betta brought it to him. “You’re a thinker, Mo’, I like that,” Rudy complimented him as he sat behind his desk.
“Only one problem . . . I don’t know how to get in touch with her,” Mo’Betta admitted. “All I know is she go by Redbone in the street.”
Rudy gave him a cocky smile. “I’m not the best lawyer in the city for nothing. I’ll put you in touch. Ain’t a nigga in the game I can’t get at,” Rudy boasted, wanting Mo’ to think he was more connected than he was. He
didn’t mention the fact that he was Nick’s lawyer and that was the only reason he could get at Shan.
“Shit, then make it happen, maine!”
“It’s done.”
• • •
Two hours later, Mo’Betta was pulling up to Shan’s brand-new candy apple red Maserati sedan Quattroporte. He parked beside it, and when he got out, Michelle and Courtney both got out, gun in hand but casually at their sides. She made sure she had them go with her when the situation called for some extra girl power.
“Whoa, li’l mamas. I come in peace,” Mo’Betta joked.
Courtney said, “I gotta pat you down.”
He raised his hands and turned his back to Courtney. She took his gun off his waist. “I’ll hold on to this,” she said.
“No problem,” Mo’Betta replied, looking Courtney up and down, licking his lips. “Next time I come through, I’ma be checkin’ for you.”
She didn’t respond, so he got in the passenger seat of Shan’s Maserati. Shan was texting when he got in.
“What up, li’l mama? I hear—”
“Redbone,” she cut him off. “Not li’l mama. Redbone. We good?” she said, looking him in the eyes. She was determined to set the respect level from the door.
Mo’ was a little taken aback. He hated for a woman to talk shit to him. He imagined himself backhanding Shan, but he kept his composure.
“My bad, Red. My bad. But like I was sayin’, I hear you the one to see.”
“The only reason I agreed to meet you is on the strength of Nick. So do me a favor, get to the point.”
Damn this bitch think she cold, Mo’ thought. Briggen need to check his bitch.
“I’m here to make a deal. I work for your husband.”
“Yeah. I already know that.”
“And, ah, he ain’t too happy with how you been treatin’ him lately,” Mo’ informed her.
Shan looked at him and chuckled. “Who are you? Dr. Phil? You wanna talk about Briggen’s feelings?”
“He wants me to kidnap you.”
She stopped chuckling. He knew she would.
“Okay . . . So kidnap me,” she said with a sneer.
“Li’l mama, I mean Red . . . if that had been my intentions, you think I’d be tellin’ you? I’m here warnin’ you. I’m pourin’ you a drink hopin’ you’d pour me one too,” Mo’Betta explained.
Even though she was good at keeping the poker face, inside, Shan was reeling. Kidnap me? Briggen? My husband? The death-do-us-part nigga that stood beside me in church? She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Why?” She wanted to feel him out.
Mo’ shrugged and replied, “To teach you a lesson. Get you to fall back and put him in the driver’s seat again. I was supposed to snatch you up, smack you around, and then ask for a grip. He would come through, save you, and take over . . . plus keep the ransom money,” Mo’Betta threw in for good measure.
Shan smiled and nodded. “Wow . . . really?” He is stooping real low.
“Really, Red.”
“So you bringin’ it to me . . . what you tryin’ to get out of it?”
“A connect. I’m a go-getter, Red. I just need to know the right people. And like I said, I hear you the right people,” he answered.
Shan thought for a moment, then said, “I’ma look into this. If what you say is true, I’ma see you, and if it ain’t . . . you’ll never see it comin’.”
Mo’Betta smiled and opened the door.
“Well, since it’s true, I’ll be waitin’ on your call. I’ll holla, Red.”
Mo’Betta got out and slammed the door, leaving Shan to contemplate her next move.
• • •
Briggen knew he was dead wrong for fucking his dead brother’s wife, but he couldn’t lie. The pussy was fire! Besides, he was on some emotional shit fucking the one bitch he knew Shan would go crazy over if she found out.
He flipped Nyla on her back and cocked her curvy legs up over his shoulders. She stretched out her arms, grabbing fists full of the bedsheets as Briggen got in a push-up position and stood up in the pussy, hitting bottom with every stroke.
“Oh, Brig! Brig! My . . . sp . . . spot, that’s my—” she gasped as he stroked her G-spot like an expert, pounding her relentlessly.
Her pussy squirted and creamed his dick, and when she felt him tensing up, ready to come, she squealed, “Come in my mouth, daddy!”
He pulled out of her and snatched the condom off. Nyla wrapped her Meagan Good-looking lips around his dick, then sucked and swallowed every drip of cum out of him as his entire body twitched.
They both lay back, naked and unashamed, the guilt having long ago worn off.
“Damn, baby, you be makin’ me feel nasty.” She giggled. “You must be trying to turn me out.”
Briggen chuckled. “Shit, I could say the same thing about you.”
“It’s workin’.”
His phone rang. It was Shan. He sucked his teeth and let it go to voice mail.
“Let me guess. That triflin’ ass bitch of yours. When you gonna learn, Briggen? The bitch done robbed you, left you for dead in jail, and is fucking your friend. I mean like, what the fuck?” Nyla was pissed and in her feelings.
Briggen hated hearing it all laid out like that. It made him feel like a sucker. If she saw it, then he knew the streets did too. So he felt like he had to reply and save face.
“Believe me, the bitch gonna get hers. I gotta play lame so I can rock her to sleep. But once I do, all that about to get straightened out. Then I’ll take care of my so-called friend Nick.”
Nyla gave him a devilish smirk. “Maybe I could help you with that.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to use that nigga to get me close to her, but every single time something comes up. I’m ’bout to cut his ass off for real. But if you need me to do somethin’ . . .”
The two snakes in the grass looked at each other eye to eye.
“Baby, believe me. We get that nigga out of the way, then Shan will be on top. Once she is, then I’ll take care of her, and I’ll be on top!” Briggen proposed.
“You mean we’ll be on top.” Nyla winked, leaning up and straddling his hardening dick.
He chuckled. “Handle your business, and I’ll handle mine.”
“Don’t I always?” she purred, sliding his dick back inside and biting down on her bottom lip as she started to ride him.
“Hell, yeah, baby . . . hell, yeah,” Briggen groaned.
Chapter Fifteen
Dark was on a rampage.
“Spot ’em, get ’em!” Tareek had put the word out in every hood. He put a brick of cocaine on his head. Anybody see Dark and murder him could collect. Every goon on the street was looking for Dark, and now Dark was looking for them.
Dark jumped out of a cab on the West Side, packing twin .457 Magnums and let loose on every hustler on the block. “Y’all niggas lookin for me? Here I come! Why y’all runnin’? I thought y’all was lookin’ for Dark!” He cackled maniacally as he left bodies broken, maimed, and dead.
On the Number Streets he drove by spraying bullets, catching the block by surprise. He stopped, got out with a riot pump shotgun, and started sending slugs that lifted niggas off their feet. He murdered one and hit six more before the return fire drove him back to the car, forcing him to skid away.
On the South Side he walked into a Chinese restaurant, pulled out the twin .457s, and barked, “Y’all know what it is! Get the fuck down!”
All five hustlers lay down on the floor.
“You got it, playa, you got it,” one of the men said and received two in the back of the head.
His brains looked like they skidded across the dirty linoleum floor. The other four shut their mouths.
“Who been lookin’ for Dark? Muhfuckas say it’s a bounty on my head. So which one of you gonna tell Tareek I’m here to collect?” Dark shouted out.
Since the last nigga to speak got his head blown off, nobody said a goddamn
thing. For which Dark shot another nigga for not talking. The third nigga got the message real quick.
“I’ll tell ’em!” he volunteered.
Dark then shot the fourth and fifth niggas point-blank in the head, painting the floor with their bloody brains. He then looked at the third nigga and spat, “Then run and tell that!” Dark turned and walked out.
He dumped the stolen car and then jumped into his Benz. His phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It was Born. “What?” He answered.
“Yo . . . we get the point.”
“I can’t fuckin’ tell! Y’all niggas wanna put bounties out and shit! Fuck it! I’ma make this city so hot, nobody gonna eat!” Dark growled.
“First off, that ain’t us, that’s Tareek. And he ain’t . . . wit’ us anymore.”
“How you figure?”
“He . . . left the board. This thing is strictly between y’all. I made him lift the bounty,” Born explained.
Dark drove in silence, thinking he respected Born, but as far as he was concerned, he could get it too.
“Yo?”
“I’m here,” Dark replied.
“So we good?”
“I’ll think about it,” Dark answered, then hung up.
He ran his hand over his face. Shit was crazy. He was on the verge of owning the city. Now he was one step from being pushed out. He couldn’t trust The Consortium because now they knew it had been him behind the killings. And if he was unable to finish the job, he knew Sherman, Joy, and Nick would probably want him eliminated. Shit had escalated beyond crazy.
He found himself driving to the hospital and parked once he found Lisha’s car.
Dark planned on talking to her, but when she came out talking to another nurse with a light bounce in her step and looking happy, he just didn’t have the heart to bring his darkness into her life.
He thought about how he got the nickname Dark. How his grandmother always said he had a dark energy about him. She was from Mississippi and was deep into practicing black magic. She said she could feel it radiate off him. He had always liked the fact that he was dark, but now it seemed as if it really meant he was cursed. Dark. Black. Bad luck. Bullshit. He pushed it out of his mind.
Dark watched Lisha get in her car and pull off. He followed her. Since she wasn’t paying attention, it wasn’t hard. He wanted to know where his son lived.