Born Sinners

by Marlon McCaulsky

  Jarrel started the engine of his Monte Carlo and followed Bishop’s limo.

  “A’ight, good looking. Yo Mike, he’s on his way.” Dwayne said to Mike and hung up.

  “How we gonna get pass the alarm system?” Big Mike asked Dwayne.

  “Don’t worry, I got me an inside man.”

  Dwayne, Big Mike, and eight other thugs from the hood were camped out around Bishop’s property in Teaneck. They were prepared for war, and armed with AK-47s and submachine guns. Big Mike came through with the muscle like he said he would. Dwayne also paid off one of Bishop’s security team members named Jay to leave the gate unlocked when Bishop returned.

  Bishop had a six-man security team on his property, led by Black at all times. The gates opened. The limo pulled up through the circular driveway and let Bishop out. He went to his office. Dwayne sneaked in the gates after Bishop entered the mansion, and made his way to the back where Jay met him.

  “Hurry up nigga.” Jay said to him as he held the side door open.

  “Where is he?” Dwayne asked.

  “In his office.”

  “You turn off the alarm system?” Dwayne asked him.

  “Yeah, I cut the power a minute ago.” Jay said to him.

  “A’ight, you better dip nigga.”

  “I’m gone.” Jay said as Dwayne went inside the mansion through the kitchen.

  Bishop picked up his phone in the office and called his bank to check his balance. After he punched in his account and pin number in the automated menu, Bishop got an alarming expression on his face. The automated teller said that his account has a zero balance. He hung up, and then dialed Clifford Allen’s phone number.

  “We’re sorry this number is no longer in service or has been disconnected at this time. If you feel you have reached this message in an error please hang up and dial again.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Bishop growled.

  BRRRRRRRRRP! BRRRRRRRRRP!

  The sound of machine gun fire outside broke his concentration. Bishop ducked down and reached for the gun in his desk. Then he peeped out the window and saw two of his security guards dead on the lawn. More shots rang out as Bishop made his way through the hallway to his bedroom. He quickly went into his safe and started to pull out bundles of hundreds and shoving them into his pockets. Then Bishop felt the chrome of a 44 Magnum to the back of his head.

  “Drop the gun.” Bishop heard a familiar voice say.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Drop it now!”

  Bishop reluctantly did so and dropped the 38 handgun.

  “Where ya running off to so soon Bishop? Or maybe I should just call ya Lamont.” Dwayne said him as he turned around.

  “How do you know that name? How did you do all of this? My money…Clifford.” Bishop said, realizing how he was double-crossed.

  “You always did underestimate me. Clifford gave me what I needed. So yeah, I took your money. Now I’m taking the throne. Checkmate nigga.” Dwayne taunted.

  “You still a little boy. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “No, I got your boy Damien. Don’t worry. I’ll be his daddy from now on nigga.” Dwayne said to him cockily.

  Until this point Dwayne had made no mistakes in his hostile takeover of Bishop’s empire. What he forgot is that Bishop came up in the day as a leg breaker. Killing was second nature for him, and making a comment about his son only brought him back to those instincts. Before Dwayne could even react, Bishop grabbed the gun. Dwayne squeezed the trigger and fired a shot into the mattress. Bishop then tagged Dwayne in the jaw with a powerful right hook and sent him crashing to the floor. The 44 Magnum flew out of his hand.

  Just because he was 56 didn’t mean he was a feeble old man. Bishop was as strong as a bull and built like a linebacker. Bishop rushed after him with fury in his eyes, and punched him in the face again. Dwayne was dazed. He grabbed Dwayne around the neck and started to choke him out. Bishop hated Dwayne more then he knew. He hated the fact that he was young and smart. He hated the fact that he allowed Dwayne to get the drop on him. Most of all, he hated that Dwayne was fucking his woman for months behind his back. Bishop picked Dwayne off the ground by his neck and rammed him into a vanity mirror, cracking it.

  Dwayne’s face was cut and he was bleeding, but he also hated Bishop as much as Bishop hated him. Dwayne grabbed a marble ashtray on the dresser and spazzed out on him. He smashed the blunt object across his head. Bishop staggered back. Dwayne bashed him again in the face. He heard his jaw crack, and blood splattered across his face. For so many years he dreamt of killing Bishop with his bare hands so this was a dream come true, but Bishop was not going to go down quietly. Bishop blocked his attack. He punched Dwayne across the face again. Bishop’s fist felt like cement blocks. Not only could he give punishment, he could also take it. Then he grabbed Dwayne and threw him like a rag doll across the room, and sent him crashing into a nightstand. Dwayne never realized how physically powerful Bishop actually was until this moment. Even with a broken jaw Bishop was like a juggernaut that kept on coming.

  “I ain’t done with you yet boy!” Bishop said with his speech muffled by his broken jaw and stood over him with blood covering his face. He started to kick Dwayne in the ribs repeatedly. Unfortunately for Bishop, Dwayne found Bishop’s 38-hand gun, grabbed it, turned and let off a shot.

  Bishop staggered back and looked down at his stomach. He saw the gunshot wound to his stomach. He chuckled to himself, and then fell on the ground. Big Mike and his brother Jarrel burst into the room and saw Dwayne standing over Bishop with the 38 in his hand.

  “I guess…You won…Future King.” Bishop said, with his speech slurred and blood coming out of his mouth.

  Dwayne stares at him coldly, bloody and bruised.

  “You can just call me King.”

  Dwayne shot Bishop again in the chest. Long live the King.

  26

  Miami Heat

  June 1996

  King cut all ties with the Mafia that had been supplying Bishop with his heroin and cocaine, and found a new supplier. With no more Mafia, he reestablished his connect with Carlos in Miami to supply him with ecstasy. Since he was the new owner of The Blue Angel, he reopened the club and got shit popping again. Damien was more than happy to control the streets again with his nigga King. Damien, King, Big Mike and Irv celebrated their grip on Harlem in The Blue Angel. They sat in V.I.P. like rap stars with weed, Cristal, and women by their sides, and enjoying their success.

  “This is how it should be done!” Damien exclaimed.

  “The Da Unfuckintouchables run this city!” Damien declared as he held up a bottle of Cristal, and then took a swig.

  “Naw son, Da Untouchables are over. That shit died with Bishop.” King insisted.

  “A’ight, so who the fuck are we now?” Damien asked him.

  King sat back on the leather sofa, took another puff of his blunt, and thought to himself. “What was that shit you, Nard and Irv used to call y’all selves back in the day?”

  “The Flip Set,” Damien answered.

  “Yeah, The Flip Set. I like that shit. From now on that’s how we roll.”

  “Yeah my nigga, Nard would have liked that too.” Irv confirmed.

  King exhaled a cloud of smoke, “So what’s them niggas doing on the corner?”

  “We running that shit now. We got them Haitian niggas shook. My little niggas and me came through on 110th and them mutha’fuckas broke the fuck out.” Irv confirmed.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Make sure them little niggas stay on point. Dame, I need you to come with me outta town.” King mentioned to him.

  “A’ight, we making another run?”

  “Naw, not like that. We gonna go down south my nigga. Miami to be exact.”

  “Word? A nigga ain’t been that far before.” Damien replied eagerly. “What’s poppin’?”

  “I’m gonna meet with my nigga Carlos. He’s gonna supply us with that weed from Cuba by
the boat load. So get your summer clothes ready my nigga. We leave on Friday.”

  Damien smiled, “A’ight my nigga, I’m down for that. We can handle that business and we can fuck with them thick ass hoes down there too. I wanna find one of them thick Luke dancers!”

  Everybody laughed and continued to enjoy the night.

  Welcome to South Beach Miami. This Miami is the version that Will Smith rapped about. Not the hardcore areas like Liberty City and Carol City where violent crimes are the norm. In this town you can’t tell the difference between the politicians and drug lords. Almost everybody is living large and pushing a Mercedes-Benz or Ferrari like it’s an everyday thing.

  South Beach is where the clubs that all pop and the women look like walking centerfolds can be found. Damien had never been on a beach in his life or seen girls like this before. Golden-brown skin tones, long thick legs, and breasts so round you couldn’t tell the real from the plastic are the norm. They can be found wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini and some Gucci flip-flops as they walk pass on the strip. The heat was a different kind of heat from New York. This kind of heat could melt you if you stood still for too long. If it wasn’t for the occasional cool breeze, you might think you were in hell.

  It had been a few months since Tupac put out All Eyez On Me, and almost every car was blasting a different track from California Love to All ‘bout U.

  King and Damien were meeting Carlos at his Spanish restaurant on the beach. They walked in and saw Carlos sitting at a table, drinking a martini.

  “What’s up my friend?” Carlos greeted King as he sat at the table.

  “What up Carlos? Long time, no see.”

  “Dwayne, my friend, I thought I would never see you again.”

  “King. Just call me King now.”

  “King? Well the rumors I heard from up north are true. I guess the King killed the Bishop in this chess game.”

  “That’s right. Carlos, this is my main man Damien.” King introduced him. They exchange head nods.

  “So, now that you’re King of New York, you want more than the ecstasy I supply you with?”

  “That’s right. I want that green also. So how much of it can you supply?”

  “How much do you need my friend?” Carlos asked him with a smile on his face.

  After a few minutes of working out the details of their arrangement, they soon made a deal. A deal that would make King the number one dealer in Harlem.

  “So, now that business is done. You must enjoy my city.” Carlos said to them.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Damien said to him.

  “So, what’s the spot to be at Carlos?”

  “Club Onyx my friend.”

  Later that night, King and Damien took Carlos’s advice and headed to Club Onyx on South Beach. They decided to come in separate cars in case one decided to leave early. King rented them both Lamborghinis for the week. King had the pearl orange Lamborghini Murciélago, the undisputed king of exotic cars, while Damien followed him in a pearl yellow Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder. When they got there, they were not disappointed. The line outside the club was thick. Women walked the street in outfits that consisted of next to nothing, looking like exotic models mixed with Jamaican, Cuban and Trinidadian features. The iconic scissor doors reached for the sky when they both got out, drawing the attention of the women in line.

  Tonight was all about flossin’ to the utmost. King wore a white linen jacket and pants with a white button down shirt, his diamond-encrusted crucifix medallion around his neck, and his platinum Rolex watch. Damien wore black slacks with a long-sleeved silk black button-down, his long, iced out heavy-duty platinum chain sparkled in the light. Everybody knew that they were ballers. The eyes of women in search of new sponsors lit up as they walked to the front of the line, while jealous niggas glared at them from a distance. King stepped to the bouncer at the door.

  “We’re friends of Carlos.” He said to him.

  The bouncer stepped aside and let them in. Carlos was one of the biggest drug lords in Miami, and a regular in V.I.P. on Friday nights. The club itself was packed with women dressed in sexy garments grinding on the dance floor, while the men were at the bar buying drinks for them . Blue florescent lights made King’s white suit glow in the dark. King looked up in V.I.P. and saw Carlos with two girls by his side.

  “Yo Dame, I’m a go up to V.I.P.”

  “A’ight, I’m a chill down here son.” Damien walked over to the bar.

  “Yo, give me a Blue Fucker.” Damien said to the bartender.

  He took a sip of his drink and took in the view of the large dance floor that was filled with fine women. The DJ was playing Chaka Demus & Pliers, Murder She Wrote.

  ‘I know this little girl, her name is Maxine /Her beauty is like a bunch of rose /If I ever tell you ‘bout Maxine / You would a say I don’t know what I know (but) Murder she wrote (fi real fi real) Murder she wrote, Murder she wrote, Murder she wrote’

  All the women were swaying erotically to the rhythm. This one thick and curvy young thing caught Damien’s eye, and he caught hers. Her red silk dress clung to her body as she moved to the beat. She caressed her body seductively as she stared at Damien. Her low plunge dress revealed her ample cleavage and brown-sugar skin tone. Damien’s dick became hard while staring at her round ass as she wined to the music.

  “Yo, give me another Blue Fucker.” Damien said to the bartender.

  Damien took the drink and walked up to the girl on the dance floor.

  “So, are you Maxine?” Damien asked her and she smiled.

  “No, my name is Trina. Why you ask me that?” she said to him in a sexy Trinidadian accent that excited Damien even more.

  “Because you almost murdered me when I saw you dancing ma,” Damien replied as he gave her the drink.

  Trina smiled at his corny come on and took the drink.

  “And what is your name?”

  “They call me Damien.”

  She smirked, “You mean like the Omen?”

  “Yeah, except I ain’t after your soul ma.”

  “Oh, so what is it your after then?” Trina playfully inquired.

  “Just your time.” Damien said as he stared into her eyes.

  Trina could tell he was use to running game on women, but was turned on by his confidence. She found confidence to be a very sexy thing in a man. Plus, the fact that he was fine and looked like money made him more attractive.

  “Where you from ma?”

  “I live in NYC, but I was born in Port of Spain, Trinidad. I’m here to visit some of my people in Miami.”

  “I love your accent. I’m from N.Y. too.”

  “You’re from which part?”

  “Harlem baby. Uptown.”

  “Ummm…I stay in Staten Island. What brings you here?”

  “Just a little vacation. I’ve been dying to see how things were down south.”

  “Really, you just might see everything down south tonight.” Trina said with a smile. Damien grinned and knew the game had just begun.

  It wasn’t long before Damien got a few more drinks in her and they were grinding on the dance floor. Trina was built with an hourglass frame at 5 foot1 with smooth sexy legs. She wined and grind her thick behind freely all over Damien’s rock hard dick in his pants. Her short, red silk dress would ride up to reveal her black thong underneath to Damien, He was happy to be getting with a fine Trinidadian woman. He had always heard that they were very uninhibited sexually. He was going to put that rumor to the test tonight.

  “Hey ma, you ready to go somewhere more private?” Damien asked bluntly.

  He figures the direct approach would leave no confusion on what he wants from her.

  “I’ve been ready to go since you said hello Damien.” Trina said, wanting the same thing she knows he wants.

  She knew that she was going to fuck him tonight as soon as she saw him standing by the bar.

  Damien took her by the hand and led her through the club. He saw King
getting his mack on with a pretty redbone. King looked up, saw Damien with Trina, gave him an approving head nod, and grinned at the sexy woman he had snatched up. Damien took Trina outside to the parking lot, pushed the alarm on his key chain, and the pearl yellow Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder beeped. Trina’s eyes lit up at the sight of his luxurious sports car.

  “Damn, that’s a nice car.”

  “It gets me around. Get in ma.” Damien said as he opened the door for her.

  Trina had never been in such an expensive car before. She settled into the soft leather seats. Damien got in and took off. The power and speed of the $250,000 automobile turned her on even more. Trina could tell that Damien was definitely a hustler. Even though she had messed with a few in the past, none of them were ballin’ on this level. They quickly drove down Ocean Drive and made it to The Regent Hotel on Miami Beach. Damien took her up to his rooftop terrace suite with a beautiful view of the ocean.

  “This is nice.” Trina said to him.

  “Almost as nice as you.” Trina smiled and stepped to Damien, and he kissed her.

  Her lips were like sweet cherries as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. His hand caressed her ample breast and fondled her hard nipples. Trina felt her pussy becoming wet as she tried to hold on. Damien slid his hand down her stomach and between her legs. His fingertips found her clit and stroked it through her thong. Trina gave in to his stroking and came in her thong. Damien felt her wetness on his hands. Trina pulled away slowly and composed herself.

  “What’s wrong ma? You scared?”

  “No. I just want a drink.” Trina said.

  She walked over to the bar, picked up a bottle of champagne, and poured out two glasses.

  “I was thinking we could enhance the moment.” Trina said as she took out a small Ziploc bag of white pills.

  “Ecstasy?” Damien asked apprehensively.

  “Yeah, trust me it makes it feel better.” Trina said to him.

  Other then weed, Damien has never messed with any drugs. After seeing what happened to his mother first hand, it sacred him.

  “Naw ma. What I got don’t need any enhancements.”