by Michel Moore
Royce
“Hey, Deacon, did you read today’s paper?” Storm came in the club with the newspaper tucked under his arm.
Deacon was pissed. “Yeah, I read that bullshit! We gotta slow this shit the fuck down. The cops are running up in all the houses that are on the north side. It’s getting wild out there like it’s an election year or something!”
Storm poured himself a shot of Remy. “Yeah, I feel you. We need to try to sit down with that old, wrinkled nigga Royce and figure some shit out that can help us all. I know that he gots to be hurting just as much as we are, shit, probably even more.”
Deacon knew his partner was right. He had an idea that might smooth things out for both crews. “You know what, I’ll send one of the girls over to the spot where Royce and his crew hangs out at, and ask him to come to the club for dinner, drinks, and discussion. We gotta slow these motherfucking police raids the fuck down! This shit gotta stop!”
It was Thursday night when Royce and three of his main men decided to take Deacon and Storm up on their invitation for a sit-down. They were all suited and booted acting as if they were going to a funeral or some cornball shit-bag-ass job. That’s how Royce and his boys rolled every day everywhere they went. Most of his crew were younger and rarely dressed like their boss, but some were desperate to fit in and possibly raise in the ranks, so they followed his lead, dressing like men three times their age.
“Look at these old players, players who done escape from the museum.” Storm nodded in the direction of the door and Deacon glanced over to see what his boy was talking about.
“Well, baby boy. Let’s do this shit!” Deacon patted Storm on his shoulder, reassuring him that his idea to meet with Royce would have a good outcome. When they started to walk over to the table, Storm stopped one of the shot girls and asked her to bring over a bottle of Hennessy VSOP and several glasses for the special guests.
After all the talking and trying to peep each other out, the two rival crews had come to an agreement. Both of them hardcore, not wanting to be the first to blink, were reluctant to give any sort of solid guarantee, but would try to stop any more unnecessarily outrageous violence in their zones. It would be hard to promise a 100 percent total truce, because they were at war. And with war, there were always casualties. That was a given. But for now, the police and the everyday snitches were common enemies they could beef with together as a unit.
“Why don’t you gentlemen enjoy the rest of your evening? Of course, everything is compliments of Alley Cats.” Deacon then called a waitress over, authorizing her to put everything on his book. “Tell the girls to take care of my friends here. I’m going to take care of their fee. Dances on me!”
Royce stood up to shake both Deacon’s and Storm’s hands. “Listen, young brothers. I respect both of you as men, and I wish you well. You try to handle your end and I got mine. Thanks for the hospitality. My crew and myself appreciate it to the fullest.”
For a Thursday night, the bar was off the hook. Kenya had booked a featured dancer from back east, who was also an XXX porn star. Cum4u was on stage performing the most erotic, nasty, and shocking dance routine ever seen to man or beast. She’d not only captured every one of the males’ attention, but the other dancers, the wait staff, and Kenya, who thought that she had seen it all; but this ho was a master at the craft of entertaining a crowd. She was bending like a pretzel and licking every part of her own body. The crowd loved it as they watched, spellbound.
“Damn, Kenya! Where in the hell you get her from?” Deacon was also amazed as he lusted for the flexible young dancer on stage. “That ho wifey material!”
“Come on now, you know a chic like me got skills and contacts. Look around. Everyone is buying drinks and spending money. I’m about that life.” Kenya was doing her thang and knew it.
Deacon patted Storm on his back while looking at Kenya. “Damn, girl, tell me you have a sister, a cousin, even a close friend anything like you. You know how to make shit really happen. Plus you fine as hell!” They opened a bottle of Moët and toasted to the club and making money for the rest of their young lives.
“Just like me?” Kenya laughed out loud to her inside joke. “Naw, sorry, Deacon. I’m an original, besides, what the fuck would y’all do with two of me running around?”
Deacon, Storm, and Kenya were finishing up the bottle when Royce and his crew, done taking advantage of Deacon and Storm’s offer of hospitality, were leaving, heading toward the door. Royce, old but not blind, couldn’t help but stare lustfully at Kenya. Alley Cats had some bad bitches swinging from poles and grinding in laps on the payroll, but Kenya was the finest of them all, and she had all of her clothes on.
“Damn, fellas, where did you have this one hiding at all night? She the real showstopper!” Royce was looking her up and down, from foot to fro, licking his lips, imagining what he’d do to her given the opportunity.
Making sure Royce knew what was really good, Storm wrapped his arms around Kenya’s small waist. “Hold tight, this here is top shelf, cat daddy! This all me!” He started kissing her on the neck while Royce marveled at the young man’s eye candy.
“Damn, I can respect that. Let me just say, you’re one lucky man.” Royce envied him as he grinned.
As Royce and his crew left out the door, Deacon and Storm were overly amused at his game, or lack of it.
“Old players kill me. They just don’t know when their time in the sun is over! Shit, it’s our time to shine bright!” Storm gave Deacon a dap and they continued drinking the rest of the night.
Chapter Eighteen
London
Within the few months of London returning to school, a lot of things had changed. The first thing being that PAID had blown up far beyond her dreams. The days following the big meeting she’d spoken at got a lot of people motivated. Both students and politicians alike were starting to get involved in the newly formed movement. Not only was her campus fired up, so were schools all across the East Coast. Different schools were forming chapters of PAID and were getting London to speak on their campus.
“Wow, I never thought we would be getting this much mail!” Fatima was going through all the correspondence that the organization was receiving.
“Girl, I know what you’re saying. This entire thing has us so busy, it’s getting hard for me to study. I need some sort of a break.”
Fatima smirked as she spoke. “Well, stop getting folks so damned geeked up with your speeches and maybe you can get some rest.”
London sat back on her bed, wondering what her twin was up to. It had been more than a hot minute since the two had talked on the phone and she missed at least hearing her voice if nothing else. She hoped that Kenya’s new life was everything that she wanted it to be and more, but still secretly prayed for her to move back home. London tried calling Kenya a couple of times, but her cell phone always went straight to voicemail. She knew her sister and knew Kenya would get back to her in her own time.
Fatima, who’d been acting somewhat peculiar since the night of the shooting at Heads Up, was looking in the mirror, fixing her hair. Strangely, she’d been making a lot of trips to Detroit over the last few months for reasons London couldn’t quite figure out or put her finger on. “Hey, girl, I have to make a short trip to your city. Do you want to roll with me so you can check on the house or visit some of your old neighbors or friends? For real, not trying to get off into your business, but you and Kenya should accept one of those offers and close that chapter in your life so you can start a new one.” Fatima, outta nothing but love, was always concerned about her roommate’s well-being.
“Naw, girl, I’m tight on all that travel. I think I’m gonna just try to fall back, get some rest, and study this weekend. Besides, I know how you like dumping me off somewhere in the city while you take care of your secret stuff you got going on.” London playfully pushed her roommate’s shoulder, teasing.
“Stop playing. You know I don’t have any secrets I’m hiding from you, soul s
ista. I’m just doing some volunteer work, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right, stop it! Way in Detroit?” Fatima and London giggled and talked about a lot of different stuff before the two went to sleep.
Morning came and Fatima was up, dressed, and ready to hit the highway early. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride?”
London was sitting on the side of her bed, rubbing her eyes. “Girl, go do you. I think I should read a few more of these letters from other schools and respond. There’s even a few from out on the West Coast trying to organize. This thing is a monster!”
With an exchange of hugs, Fatima hit the road while London started to read and reply to the letters by e-mail.
Storm
Storm was pissed the fuck off. He never really got upset but when money was involved he turned into a pure maniac. “Son of a bitch! When is this bullshit gonna cease? My pockets are starting to feel this shit. For real, for real I’m over it!”
Storm and Deacon were getting a lot of complaints from their workers on the block. It seemed as if a lot of do-right organizations were starting to form all along the West Coast hell-bent on slowing down if not attempting to stop altogether the sale of drugs in certain low-income areas.
Deacon was heated as well as he cracked his knuckles. “I know that nigga Royce is pissed off too. I saw him and his boys out at the mall and he was complaining about getting his hard.”
Storm and his brother O.T. were shooting pool and trying to come up with a new game plan as Deacon paced the floor, almost wearing a hole in the carpet. After about an hour or so, they decided to set up another meeting with Royce. They knew he got all his dope from the same connect as they did, an old man in the Islands named Javier. If both crews could hopefully arrange a sit-down with the “elusive of the law” kingpin, maybe they could slightly lower the ticket and be able to stay above board until the heat of whatever was taking place would slow down and it could be back to business as usual.
“Real talk, I’m gonna call his phone and see if he wants to bump heads on this shit.” Deacon went to get the number and make the call. “I know he sick right now just like we is!”
“Yeah, do that, while I finish tapping your boy’s ass on this table.” O.T. laughed as he put chalk on his cue. “Ain’t gonna be nothing nice, son, know that!”
Deacon soon came out of the office with a big smile on his grill. “I talked to Royce. We’re gonna meet at the football game two weeks from now. He said he got some tickets reserved for all of us.” Storm gave Deacon a stupid look and O.T. took over from there.
“It better not be any damn nosebleed seats up high. You know them old motherfuckers are broke as a fuck.”
“Man, shut your young-ass up!” Deacon was shaking his head, laughing at his comments.
O.T. continued to clown, having such an easy target to talk shit about. “I ain’t playing. That ancient Negro gonna make me catch a case up in that bitch if them seats is foul. That’s my word! Don’t nobody wanna be sitting damn near in heaven watching the game with the angels!”
By that time Storm was falling out too, holding his side. “Man, I’m out. I gotta get to the crib. Kenya is cooking dinner and I don’t want to be late.” Storm grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.
“Yo, give her a kiss for me.” Deacon gave Storm some love and went over to the pool table to give O.T. a much-needed lesson in losing.
Kenya
Storm and Kenya were sitting down at the table and finishing up the meal she’d prepared for them.
“Damn, baby, that shit was on point. You’ve got the total package, beauty, brains, and you can cook like a motherfucker. How did I get so lucky?”
Kenya cleared the table off and poured each of them another glass of wine. “I love you so much, Storm. I swear, you’re my entire world.” She went and sat on his lap, resting her head on his chest. “When you gonna marry me?” As soon as the words came out of Kenya’s mouth, she couldn’t believe that she had said that shit. She had a look of embarrassment on her face. They hadn’t been together a year, but it didn’t matter, she was all in.
“Baby, let me take care of a few projects and I plan on doing just that, make you my wife. I want to make sure that I can buy us a house first.”
Storm asked Kenya if she would go in the floor safe in the guest bedroom and bring all the money down. He wanted to get an accurate count and see just what he was working with as far as cash on hand. Kenya had been putting his money in the safe both from the streets and his cut from the club almost nightly. He let her handle the cash because she was good at balancing shit.
“Baby, this money is our future.” Storm spread all the money on the floor and started to count.
While he was doing that, Kenya decided to check her messages from her cell phone. It said that she had seventeen new calls. After checking each one, she went upstairs to call London. It had been months and Storm still didn’t know that she had an identical twin sister living back in Detroit. Maybe it was London’s strong opposition to drugs: the one main thing that paid her and Storm’s bills and would ultimately pay for their new house. Whatever her reason was, Kenya felt the strong need not to tell him—at least, not yet.
“Hey, girl, I missed you.” Kenya shut the door behind her for some added privacy.
“I missed you too. I’ve been trying to call you ever since last week. We got a good offer on the house and I want to take it.” London was ready to let go and move on just as Fatima had suggested. “What do you think? Unless there’s a chance you might move back home!”
“All right, London, you set up the meeting with the real estate agent and I’ll catch a flight out there. Just give me a couple of weeks. I seriously don’t think I’ll be moving back and if I do, I wouldn’t want to stay in that neighborhood.”
Sad to hear Kenya’s final verdict about relocating back to Detroit, the twins chatted a little bit more about all the hell that London was causing on the entire East Coast and of course how Kenya’s new life was going in Dallas. When they hung up the phone Kenya made her way back downstairs. Storm was almost done counting all the cash and asked Kenya to run him some bathwater. When the water was just right, they both got in the tub and before even five minutes had past, they were making love. Storm’s strong hands were firmly gripping Kenya’s waist as her body took on a total sense of relaxation and pleasure. He pulled her wet hair as he slowly eased in and out of her. After repeating the calculated stroke motions over and over, Storm and Kenya both moaned out in passion as they started to climax together.
The two of them remained embraced in the water, talking until the water grew cold. Storm got out first and brought his woman a huge white fluffy towel. He picked her up out the tub and wrapped her up like a baby. Storm then carried her back to their bed and slowly started drying her off.
“Do you know how much I love you? You’re my queen!” Storm kissed her hands and started sucking her fingers one by one.
Kenya was on cloud nine and confused. Anytime Storm touched her, she still trembled. She closed her eyes trying to stay focused. Kenya had to think of a lie and fast. She finally told him that she had to fly back east in a few weeks for her godson’s birthday. Anytime she mentioned him, Storm would melt just as she did. He truly loved Kenya for her loyalty to the little boy despite not being blood related. She hated lying to her man, but what else could she do? Tell him her twin dope-dealer-hating sister and her had business to tend to?
Chapter Nineteen
Storm
As always, time flew by and Storm, Deacon, and O.T. went to meet with Royce at the football game. Just as O.T. feared the seats were terrible. Also, just as equally as they were feeling the pain of the new antidrug movements being formed on the West Coast, so was Royce. Most of the conversation was filled with different angles that they could use to push their products and gain more revenue. All parties involved felt that selling dope was a game to be run and operated like a Wall Street firm. They had strict rules to follow and someti
mes a guy had to check his ego at the door if he planned on being profitable.
Although the two crews were rivals in Dallas, they both understood that it would be advisable for them to join forces with one another, cooperate, and try to set up a face-to-face with Javier. Both of the crews’ pockets were suffering and at that present point in time neither wanted to relocate their business dealings in an attempt to start all over again, possibly ending up with the same headache. The two rivals joining forces could be the final deal-breaker in coming up or the final nail in their coffins, much depending on Javier’s answer.
Royce and Deacon jointly made the conference call to Mexico, making the travel arrangements with a reserved but open-minded Javier. If things went as planned, all the parties involved could get back to business as usual—making money.
Kenya
“Baby, you know that I’m gonna miss you while you’re gone. I wish that I could fly out east with you and meet your godson.” Storm was covering Kenya’s face with kisses. He loved her with all his inner being. It was the first time that he truly opened his heart up to a woman. She was the one he’d waited for his whole life. He felt like the sun would rise and set on Kenya.
“I love you, daddy! You know I’m gonna miss you too, you and this dick.” Kenya started to rub on his pants and his manhood instantly jumped to attention.