by Saundra
“Damn, that nigga got a hard-ass head,” Secret mouthed.
“What took you so long to get here? I was worried about you.” Tears rushed down Secret’s face, and she started to sob. “Aye, what?” I asked.
“Man, Isis, Kirk is dead.”
“Naw, Secret. Naw.” My hands became weak; the gun in my hand almost dropped. I had to grip it. Secret reached for me, and we hugged for a minute, both crying. “What the hell happened?” Secret stepped back.
“I went over there to get the documents, and he was acting strange, something like how you said he was. We smoked a blunt. I asked him about it, and he admitted that he thought somebody was following him but then said it was all good.
“The doorbell rang. I went to use the bathroom. Next thing I hear is loud voices and a scuffle. I sneak out into the hallway to hear the guy say he was Rupp’s brother and he shot Kirk.... And, Isis, it was that same game that was here a few months back, and Kirk’s crew beat up and threw him out.”
“Are you sure?” I was stunned.
“Yes, it was him.”
“So then what?”
“He shot Kirk. He dead. I had to hide because he searched the house. I hid under some clothes in one of Kirk’s closets. He almost found me. But his phone rang and he left.”
“This can’t be happenin’.” I was in utter shock.
“What if he knows about me and Penny? What if he lookin’ for us?”
“If he was, he would have found y’all by now. More than likely it was Kirk he wanted.”
Secret gnawed on her fist. “You probably right.”
“What do we do now?”
“Ain’t shit to do but get ready for this shipment.”
“How? What about him?” I pointed to Bobbi’s lifeless body.
“We need to clean this shit up. It’s just like his ass to make a mess. All this fuckin’ blood for nothin’,” Secret complained. “We got to make this shit happen and quick. We’ll clean this up, wrap him up in a sheet, and dump the body. He a bitch, so nobody but his faggot friend Melvin will care.
Her idea seemed okay with me. I looked at the clock. “We have three hours before the small shipment. You got the file from Kirk’s house?”
“Hell, yeah. Let’s do this.”
We worked fast as we could to clean up the bloody mess. There was plenty of bleach in the back that the cleaner used to get the building clean. Secret found a sheet in Kirk’s office; who knew why he had a sheet in his office, but we couldn’t care less. We wrapped Bobbi up and dragged him to the back door, where Secret had driven the truck around to, then with all of our might lifted his heavy body up and dumped him in the closest gutter we could find.
By the time we made it back to Custom Hot Rides, we both were tired. Lifting Bobbi had been no joke; my arms were sore. And Secret claimed the same about her back. But business was on, as usual, and we fixed ourselves up and prepared. The final shipment was delivered, and it went off as planned. Afterward, Secret made the call to the big man and told him what was up with Kirk and that she and I would make the drops. And like true Kirk girls, we did it. He had taught us well; there was nothing about the business we didn’t know. There was no doubt in our minds that he would want us to rise to the occasion and boss up. And with heavy hearts, we did.
Chapter 43
Isis
What can I say? With Kirk being dead, we were at a crossroads. Nothing was certain, the streets were on check. And nobody was safe. You had to watch your back from all angles, because anybody could possibly sneak up on you, but Secret and I were on it. Custom Hot Rides was still in business for the moment; we hadn’t decided what to do with it just yet. But money was still coming in, and we had gone ahead with the orchestration of a few shipments. I mean somebody had to, or the streets would wild out. Fiends needed their fix, and the workers needed their cash. So it was simple. But this was not our job, and we knew that.
In the meantime, we were trying to get our personal lives back on track. I was focusing more on me—like having some free time—but it came at a bad time, when Secret and I were dang near at the top and becoming fill-in kingpins. Secret and Penny were still mourning Jackie and trying to move forward. Secret had started seeing Dr. Cesaley Wright for a few sessions, trying to come to grips with her emotions, her love-slash-hate for Jackie. Penny seemed to be healing fast, physically and mentally. Things were crazy but getting better.
“Aye, so what’s up? Did you book the tickets for Jamaica last night or what?” Secret was really bugging me about the trip. We had made up our minds that the trip was happening. Regardless of what was going on, we refused to put it off any longer. Life was much too short and the way things were set up around us, we had better not take it for granted. So all of us, Penny, Secret, Erica, and I, were catching a flight and would be lying on the beach in Jamaica in less than twenty-four hours, for an entire week.
“No, I . . .”
“What the hell you mean, no?” Secret cut me off before I could finish. “Did you not tell me you would take care of this? I got my Louis bags out; this ain’t no game.” She snapped her neck. I laughed. “Ain’t shit funny.” She rolled her neck in my direction.
“If you would let me talk, I could have said, no, I didn’t book it. I called a travel agent this morning, one of the best. She is getting everything set up. And she will call me when she is done.”
“Oh, my bad, girl. You know I got bad nerves.”
“Whatever. You need to just pipe down. I told you I got this. Just go home, pack your bags, and wait on my call.”
“Shi’d, not a problem I can do that. Penny and Erica already packed; they did it last night. After they called me and got ten stacks and hit up the mall.”
“I hope you told them they can’t take all that with them.” I grinned.
“At least I tried. But for real, me and you need to hit up Macy’s real quick for some beach wear.”
“Aye, now I can get wit’ that,” I agreed. “So are we good while we gone?”
“Yep, ain’t no shipments coming in. And everybody stacked, all corners are covered.”
“Good. I need peace of mind while we’re away. I set up the appointments for us to look at a few spots for the store when we get back.” We were in the process of opening up the shoe store. We just needed to find a spot. We had a few good options; all we had to do was choose.
“Good. I been talking to some good vendors for shoes. We ’bout to fit some feet up in Miami.”
“I can’t wait.” My cell phone rang. “Hello. Yes, I’ll be by in a couple of hours. Thank you.” I ended the call. I couldn’t hide the grin on my face.
“Who was that? Got you showing all your gums,” Secret teased.
“That was the travel agent. Our flight leaves in less than twelve hours.”
“Yeah, baby. Jamaica, here we come.” Secret stood up and danced. “Lock this bitch up and let’s go.” She referred to the store.
“I’m wit’ it. But first let’s hit Macy’s.”
We started to walk out of the office. Secret’s cell rang. She had a strange look on her face as she surveyed the number. “Who is it?” I mouthed quietly, only moving my lips.
“Kirk’s connect.” Her eyes were apprehensive.
“Answer,” I mouthed. We had been dealing with his people for the past few weeks since Kirk’s death. I wondered if we had made the wrong move on something. All the shipments had been good. Nothing was tampered with or pulled over. So what else could it be? Secret had only called his direct number when Kirk had first died so she didn’t have it saved. Other than that, his people got in touch with us here. Something had to be up. I was nervous. The last thing I needed was a bullet between the eyes because something wasn’t right.
“Secret here,” she answered her phone. I literally held my breath waiting to see what she would say next. “Yep, she right here.” My heart really sank when she said that. Why was he asking about me? What had I done? Or who had put my name in their mouth? �
��Yeah, let me put my phone on speaker.”
“What?” I mouthed, stepping backward as if I would take off running.
“He wants to talk to both of us,” she answered, moving her lips only. She moved the phone away from her mouth.
“He yo’ friend, remember. You met him and kicked, not me,” I reminded her.
“We didn’t kick. Now come on,” she begged.
“I don’t want to,” I mouthed in a whisper.
“Come on here.” Secret yanked my arm, pulling me close to her. “A’ight, we here.”
“Isis, right?” I was surprised at how well he said my name. The man ran Miami and many more states. I was almost honored that he knew of me.
“Yes,” I said in a clear, steady tone. The last thing I wanted to do was sound weak. Why I cared what he thought, I had no idea. But I did.
“I just wanted to let you two know that I ain’t been sleepin’ on the work y’all down there puttin’ in. But I ain’t surprised. Kirk told me that y’all could fill his shoes if anything ever went down.” Secret and I both looked at each other. Kirk really had made us sound good. I was stunned he thought that much of us. I mean, all we did was the paperwork. “And he was right. Shit been tight with no hiccups since y’all been in charge. That goes a long way in this industry. There are niggas that’s been in the game for years that can step up and do the shit y’all been doing.”
Secret and I again looked at each other; we didn’t know what to say. All we had been trying to do was keep the streets calm and continue that bread until we figured out the next step. And follow our main rule.
“This is our city. We got to be sure shit legit around here. And no matter what, we hustle hard,” Secret added.
“Well, take a bow. With that I got to be straight up. The area need some permanent bosses. Basically Kirk’s job needs to be filled. And I think you two are perfect for the job.”
I nearly choked on my spit. Had we just been asked to become female kingpins? Again Secret and I stared at each other.
“Well, we kinda—” I started to say something, but he cut me off.
“Tell you what. I got a meeting with a few of the bosses tomorrow. It’ll be in Miami. I’ll have my people hit you up with the address.”
“But . . .” I started again, but he ended the call. “What about our flights?”
“Good question.” Secret looked clueless. “Fuck that, we leaving here headed for Jamaica tonight.” Secret sounded confident. “Besides, what the hell would we do being female kingpins?”
* * *
Secret and I both looked up as we heard a plane fly over our head, and we climbed into an unknown Cadillac Escalade. We were being whisked off to the spot for the meeting. I wondered if it would go well when I turned him down. I was prepared.
“Welcome, first female kingpins.” Secret and I stopped in our tracks as we were greeted with what I guessed were our new titles. Problem was we had not even confirmed that we were taking them. Hell, we had our fights re-booked for today, and we were scheduled to leave in six hours. So we had to make this fast. Shit was probably about to get ugly.
No one betrays better than family . . .
No Loyalty
Enjoy the following excerpt of “Dangerous Liasons”
from No Loyalty
By De’nesha Diamond and A’zayler
Chapter 1
After weeks of a record rainfall, the sun returned to southern California in time for the funeral for Javid Ramsey. It was good turnout of family and friends. Even Javid’s estranged parents made an appearance. Of course, they sobbed on one another’s shoulders and occasionally cornered the widow for details of their son’s tragic end and why there was such a hurry to cremate the body.
Stone-faced and dry-eyed, Klaudya Ramsey gave no fucks about their fat tears and had no interest in assuaging their guilt for having financially cut their son off years ago—and for never welcoming her into the family when she married Javid.
Truth be told, Klaudya didn’t even give a fuck about the man lying in the casket. In life, and especially in love, Klaudya had only asked for one thing: loyalty. Muthafuckas act like it’s the hardest thing to give to their loved ones when it should be the easiest.
Lieutenant Erik Armstrong and his partner Lieutenant Joe Schneider, late to the service, blended in with the attending guests.
Armstrong kept his gaze centered on the dry-eyed widow while her eight-year-old twins Mya and Mykell looked like their beautiful mother’s opposites, especially the boy. His small body trembled and shook with racking, silent sobs before the bronze urn.
Across from the grieving Ramseys stood another stone-faced observer, Nichelle Mathis—Klaudya’s young mother. For over a year, the mother and daughter kept the Calabasas’ grapevine buzzing. To Armstrong’s chagrin, he’d played a part in it all. Only he believed he was helping an estranged mother and daughter heal their relationship, not setting up a death match between the two of them. If only he could have put two and two together much sooner—like the night of the first murder . . .
* * *
The house looked like a war zone.
Veteran first responders mumbled to each other that they had never seen this level of carnage in their entire careers. In the center of the living room, a black male, wearing only a pair of silk boxers, lay sprawled across the floor with half of his skull splattered on the ceiling and walls. A bloody bat was clenched in his left hand.
“My God,” Detective Erik Armstrong whispered, shaking his head. “The whole damn world has gone crazy.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” his partner, Detective Hugh Schneider, grumbled back, taking it all in.
The police and emergency responders held a brief debate on whether they need to take the lone survivor, eight-year-old Klaudya Ramsey, to the hospital or straight to the police station. Soon after an ambulance arrived, she was told she needed to see a doctor.
Detective Armstrong cocked his head and smiled at the wide-eyed child. “Did you hear me, sweetheart?”
Klaudya couldn’t unglue her lips to respond or stop the tears from streaming down her blood-splattered face.
The cop’s concern dissolved into pity. “Poor thing. You’re still in shock.” He comforted the child. “Is there anyone we can call? A family member?”
Klaudya bunched her shoulders and sidestepped the cop’s touch.
Armstrong took the hint and backed off.
It took forever for an extra ambulance to arrive. More people drifted in and out of the girl’s face, asking questions. She stared, her bottom lip trembling, while the bodies of her family were carried out on stretchers.
At long last, her mother, Nichelle Mathis, was escorted out of the house. She held her head down. Her hands were cuffed behind her back.
Detective Armstrong pulled the child closer as they both watched her blood-covered mother marched toward a patrol car. At its back door, Nichelle locked gazes with her daughter.
Klaudya shivered. The ride to the hospital passed by in a blur. When a doctor and nurse came to see her behind a curtain, they wore matching plastic smiles and launched the same questions. Frustration wrung more water out of her near-empty tear ducts.
The questions slowed to a trickle.
“Nod or shake your head if you feel any pain,” the doctor instructed before checking out her bruises. It was stupid because she was already in pain. Everywhere. But she refused to nod or shake her head.
By the time the doctor and nurse left her alone behind the curtain, their smiles were thin and flat. Later, she was taken to a strange place and led into a kid’s room filled with toys. She was told to wait and that someone would be in in a minute to talk to her.
“Feel free to play with anything you want,” a woman, whose name she’d already forgotten, said. Once the door closed, Klaudya sat trembling in the small room, covered in her father’s blood. The bright toys clashed with slate gray walls, giving her conflicting vibes on how she was supposed to feel. She wished she could stop
crying. How many times had her mother said that she wasn’t a baby anymore? But it was hard, and she was scared.
Each tick on the clock matched the rhythm of her pounding eardrums. After two solid hours of it, Klaudya’s head ached, and her eyelids were impossible to keep open. She’d nod off and jerk herself awake every other minute. Her next wave of tears was of frustration instead of anger. She wanted to go home and crawl into her bed.
Outside the door, she heard the police officers shuffle back and forth in the hallway. Maybe they forgot she was in there. It was possible, she reasoned. Adults always got busy and ignored her all the time. Klaudya wrestled with the decision whether she should leave on her own. She knew where she lived. She’d taken the city bus home plenty of times. Only . . . she didn’t have any money. You can’t do anything without money.
Her eyelids were like bricks again. She caved and laid her head on the table. Tonight’s horror sped behind her closed lids. She could still see her father lunging.
Bang!
Klaudya woke with a jump.
A strange woman smiled at her. “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” She closed the metal door behind her.
Lips zipped, Klaudya eyed the woman crossing over to the table.
When the woman settled into the chair across from her, she made her introduction. “I’m Mrs. Durham. You’re Klaudya, right?”
Silence.
“Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?”
Silence.
“Oookay.” The woman held onto her smile. “You’re in shock and a bit confused about all the things going on right now—that’s understandable. You’re probably even scared and that’s okay too.” She stretched a hand out, but Klaudya jerked away from her icy touch.
“Can I ask whether you remember what happened tonight?”
Silence.
“Do you remember anything at all?”
The image of her father’s gun firing flashed in her head, but she said instead, “Can I go home?”
Mrs. Durham’s ridiculous smile vanished, and her thin lips flat-lined. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It may be a while before you can do that. But we’re working on getting you placed somewhere safe. Everything is going to be all right.”