Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick

by Nisa Santiago

  Her twin daughters and their problems were the farthest things from her mind. It was all about her and Robert. She loved the way the young hustler sexed her. Robert was a beast with his eight-inch erection, and she loved everything about him.

  “Ooooh!” she cooed.

  Robert inclined her legs at an angle where her knees were vertically pointed at her, and dug his face deeper into her throbbing pussy, his tongue sliding easily between her lips and making her legs quiver. Each stroke of his tongue and the movement of his fingers sliding in and out of her lit up her body with pleasure.

  “I want that dick in me.”

  Robert smiled. He lifted his face from her wet, throbbing pussy, ready to oblige his cougar.

  Denise gazed at his chiseled physique. Her eyes traveled down to his penis, which was hard and ready, and her pussy jumped. Their last encounter had her spent and mouthing, What the fuck! The dick was good. Really good. She couldn’t complain. The young boy knew how to work her body.

  He snatched the Magnum condom off the nightstand near the bed and tore it open with his teeth. Denise waited patiently with her legs spread for him to enter her. He slowly rolled back the Magnum onto his thick penis, and just as he was about to thrust himself inside her, the two suddenly heard a loud cannon-like explosion outside her doorway.

  Startled, Denise jumped up and hollered, “What the fuck was that?” Then she heard a woman screaming.

  She jumped out of the bed, grabbed her robe from off the chair, and rushed to her front door, and Robert followed her, stumbling over the carpet in the hallway as he tried to put on his jeans.

  Denise was barely covered in her robe when she opened her door and saw the body sprawled out right next to her apartment door, half his face gone, and blood and brain matter everywhere. She placed her hands over her mouth in shock, wanting to scream, but the pregnant young girl in the hallway with her was doing enough screaming for the both of them.

  More neighbors started to come out of their apartments, every one of them carrying the same horrified gaze, and the hallway quickly began to fill with people.

  One elderly woman wearing a long bathrobe and curlers in her hair screamed loudly, “Oh my God!”

  A mother grabbed her six-year-old and pulled him back into her apartment, not wanting him to view the scene, which made her skin crawl. A middle-aged couple had to restrain the pregnant girlfriend, who was crying hysterically.

  Robert’s face became ghostly white. “Yo, I know that ain’t my nigga Memo!” he shouted.

  Though the body was barely recognizable, Robert noticed the bloody chain around the neck and the pendant attached to it. Memo was the only one known to wear the distinctive gold piece—a pair of 14k gold boxing gloves with a small skull embossed into the gloves—a reminder of his time spent in the gym preparing for the Golden Gloves competition a few years earlier.

  Before long, the building and fifth floor were flooded with cops and detectives, another reminder to the residents of their dangerous, violent environment.

  Chapter 15

  Chico turned his high-priced BMW into the brick, hilltop driveway. He pulled up to his stylish home and remained seated in the car, not in a rush to get out. It had been a long day for him. He had so much going on, at times he would forget what day of the week it was. He had a few liens against him for debts he owed through construction and other companies filing against him. Then the bank had given him ninety days on paying his mortgage because he was behind by two months. His world was slowly falling apart. His investments had evaporated over the months, and it was beginning to look bleak for his legal investments.

  He and his cousin were making a strong statement throughout Harlem, completing Apple’s death list, which was a pleasure for him. And Memo’s murder in the projects had the hustlers and his enemies thinking twice about messing with him and his business.

  Chico had made his move on the chessboard and was ready to topple kings. But with the death toll rising in Harlem, people were becoming scared of him, and his clientele started backing out of deals with him, fearing the ramifications of such involvement. Also, his regular customers were complaining about his inferior product.

  Chico sighed heavily, staring out the windshield of his BMW. His birthday was approaching, but he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate or do anything, since his money was dwindling. He had ki’s of cocaine to get rid of, but they weren’t moving fast enough for him.

  He removed the pistol from under his seat and stuffed it into his jeans. Then he stepped out of the car into the brisk wintry air, the cold wind nipping at his skin. The chilled air was blowing just hard enough to cut through his heavy clothing, even though the sun was shining brightly. He zipped up his coat and walked to the front entrance of his mini-mansion with the sprawling green lawn, wraparound deck, large glass-enclosed patio, walkouts from both the wine cellar and the basement, and expensive furnishings and top-of-the-line appliances, all for Apple’s well-being and happiness.

  Chico walked into his quiet home, turned on the lights in the living room, and placed his pistol on the coffee table. He didn’t call out for Apple, assuming she was asleep. He looked around his home and then headed to the stairway. When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw the light on in the bathroom and heard the shower running. He gently walked toward the bathroom door and peered inside. Apple was in the shower, her clear mask resting on the bathroom sink.

  He lingered near the doorway for a moment. The steam from the hot shower was fogging up the room. He saw Apple’s shapely silhouette behind the glass shower door. He continued to watch.

  The shower stopped running, and the glass door opened up. Apple stepped out of the stone standup shower dripping wet. Though half her face was badly damaged, she still had the body of a goddess. She reached for a towel hanging over the rack and started to dry herself off, peering in the mirror. Her look still troubled her.

  The fog in the bathroom began to clear. She’s a strong woman, he thought to himself. He smiled at her side view. The bodies piling up in Harlem was because he loved her so much and would do anything for her, despite what anybody said.

  Apple thought she was alone, until she turned and noticed Chico staring at her from the doorway. She quickly wrapped herself in the towel and reached for her mask. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

  Chico entered the bathroom. “Didn’t know you were still up.”

  Apple turned the damaged side of her face away from him and attempted to put on the mask, but Chico stopped her. He grabbed her wrist and said, “Nah, you don’t need that.”

  She stared at him, unable to hide the sadness in her eyes. Chico pulled her into his arms. Apple tried to resist, but Chico was relentless. They hadn’t been intimate with each other since the incident. Chico was always out with his whores—fucking and drinking, trying to escape his reality with Apple.

  At first, it was hard for him to look at her, when her wounds were fresh. Tonight, though, he saw her in a totally different light. He saw the woman he fell in love with. She looked enticing, like fresh fruit to a hungry animal.

  Chico pressed her into his arms, but she tried to move away from him. He pulled her back, reached down, and slid his hand beneath her towel.

  “Chico, no,” she protested.

  “Why not?”

  “Look at me.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. It’s been a while.”

  Apple squirmed in his grip. She hadn’t been feeling sexual lately. In fact, sex had been the farthest thing from her mind, but his touch and his kisses were making her blush.

  Chico had her pushed against the sink, his right arm wrapped around her upper torso, while the other arm was feeling in between her legs. He quickly unwrapped the towel and allowed it to drop around her feet. He cupped her breasts and kissed the back of her neck, causing her to moan.

  Chico unbuckled his jeans and dropped his pants. He bent her over the bathroom sink, spread her ass cheeks, gripped his hard-on, and thrust himself into h
er. She groaned from the sudden entry. He leaned forward, placing a hold around her slim neck and gripping her ripe hips, and kept his rhythm going as he stared at himself in the mirror. Her pussy was still good.

  “Ooooh! Ah shit! Ooooh!” she groaned.

  Chico’s deep thrusts became more rapid. His heated breath alone tickled her every nerve ending. He reached around her to pinch her nipples and do some soft breast-cupping.

  Apple pressed one palm flat against the mirror, while her other hand clutched the sink for stability. Chico was fucking her so hard, she had to grab onto something to keep herself from smashing into the mirror. The dick was good. She lowered her face over the sink and bit down on her bottom lip.

  “I love you, baby.” Chico focused on his image as he said it. He was intense in the pussy, almost possessed. Apple’s pussy was tight and feeling too good. “I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”

  She moaned. “Ugggh!”

  Chico was hunched over Apple’s back and breathing hard. “I’m comin’, baby,” he hollered.

  “Fuck me! Get yours, baby.” Apple body was quivering as she came, her back arched and her face down into the sink.

  Sweaty from the workout, Chico massaged her tits soothingly. He then rose up and turned her over to face him. He hoisted her up onto the sink and kissed her. He held her face in his hand. He wanted to show her the affection she deserved. He didn’t care about her scars.

  The couple ended up in the bedroom, where Apple donned her long silk robe and placed the clear, plastic mask over her face.

  Chico walked over to the window and looked outside, his back turned to her and his arms behind him. He was staring at his parked BMW. “Pick another name from the hat, Apple,” he said.

  There was one name that Apple didn’t place in the hat—Guy Tony. She didn’t forget about him; she’d left his name out deliberately.

  Guy Tony was Apple’s main suspect, but the last thing she wanted was Chico to catch up with him and have him spill everything about Supreme and how she’d manipulated Guy into killing his former boss and mentor. She wanted to erase that from her mind and would deal with Guy in her own time and in her own way.

  All the same, she felt it in her bones that she hadn’t seen the last of Guy, that he was probably lurking out there, plotting against her.

  Apple reached for the baseball cap. Chico turned to look at her and observed her picking out a name. She unfolded the small piece of paper to see who she had picked. It was her mother, Denise.

  “Who you got for me, baby?” Chico asked with some pleasure in his tone.

  Apple swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure if she could make that decision about her mother yet. As Chico turned and looked out the window again, she slipped the name back into the hat and pulled out the only one left. “Kola,” she announced.

  Chico removed himself from the window and walked over to her, seated on the bed, the wrinkled white strip of paper and cap in her hands. She looked up at him.

  “That bitch, huh?”

  Apple noticed the strange look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “We at war with Cross right now, and getting at Kola is going to be hard. Business is tight, baby, and niggas ain’t tryin’ to cop this work from me because they think I’m a threat to them. Before we truly get at that bitch, we gonna need to settle up first. That shit is gonna really heat things up, and I’m gonna need the cash to finance certain things right now.”

  “So what you saying?”

  “I’ma murder that bitch and her man, but right now, we need to settle up wit’ these bills we owe on this house and other things, baby. I’ma take care of us, I promise.

  “Then I’ma hit the streets wit’ these ki’s and get my money right. Niggas ain’t gonna have a choice but to cop from me,” he said gruffly. “’Cause we gonna be the ones left standing after this smoke clears.”

  Apple crushed the paper with Kola’s name. She held Chico’s stare. She stood up from the bed and walked out the bedroom, uttering, “My sister doesn’t get to win.”

  Chico remained standing in the center of the bedroom, his eyes following her as she left the room. He understood her frustration.

  ***

  It was a chilly evening when Dante pulled Chico’s BMW in front of the two jacked up cars in front of Moe’s Tire Repair Shop on Amsterdam Avenue, Chico in the passenger seat. Moe’s, a front company for a drug distribution operation, had been operating on the Upper West Side for years, and Chico was one of his main suppliers. Until Kola negotiated a deal with him that he couldn’t refuse. Chico wanted to have a word with him, change his mind about that.

  Dante and Chico stepped out of the BMW. As usual, both men were armed, but they came to talk business with Moe first. Employees in greasy overalls, working on customers’ cars in front of the tire shop, glanced over at the two men entering the place and continued on with their work.

  “We just talk first,” Chico said to Dante.

  Dante nodded.

  The tire shop was noisy with the loosening and tightening of nuts and bolts from tire rims, and it smelled of labor. In the back of the shop was Moe’s makeshift office, which was really four walls of sheetrock and a rickety door barely on its hinges, and no covering overhead, just the roof to the tire shop. And mountains of tires and rims clogged the doorway, making entry and exit difficult.

  Dante and Chico walked in to find Moe seated in a chair behind his desk, on his cell phone. Inside the office there was paper scattered everywhere. The walls were stained with grime and plastered with dusty posters of naked women of every race. And his stained desk was overrun with old fast-food wrappings, old and discolored newspapers, and miscellaneous junk. And the office reeked, as did Moe.

  Moe acknowledged Chico with a head nod then gestured for them to have a seat. Both men chose to stand. Moe’s chairs were as dusty as him and his office.

  Moe was a stout black man with nappy hair and a shaggy beard, and he looked like he was born in stained, greasy overalls. He had inherited the tire shop from his father ten years earlier, after his father passed.

  One time Moe had fallen behind in payments with creditors. He then got down with Chico in the drug business, and business picked up for him. Soon he was hooked on the money coming in from both sides—his shop and the four ki’s a week he was moving.

  Chico didn’t have time for Moe to finish up with his conversation. He walked closer to Moe. “Get the fuck off the phone,” he said, glaring at him, “you fat fuck!”

  Moe became silent over the phone. He looked up at Chico in confusion.

  “We ain’t got time to wait for you,” Chico told him.

  Dante closed the door to the office, giving them some privacy.

  “Let me call you back,” Moe said to the caller on the other end. He hung up and leaned back in his chair. “Chico, what’s up?” he asked calmly, raising his hands. “Why you gotta be disrespectful?”

  “Nigga, what’s this I hear about you gettin’ into bed with that bitch Kola and her man?”

  Moe knew getting into bed with Cross and Kola would have come back to bite him, but he didn’t think it would’ve happened that soon.

  “Chico, look, it’s just business, man. Kola came to me the other day and said she had an offer for me that I would like. The bitch knows how to talk, Chico. She’s about her business. I mean, her shit is pure, man. My peoples couldn’t get enough of her shit. It sells.”

  Moe’s eyes darted back and forth between Chico and Dante. He didn’t know Dante, but Dante’s presence alone made him uneasy. Dante’s cold eyes rested on Moe like a target pointed at center mass, and Moe began to sweat, even though the room was cold.

  “So you cut me out to fuck wit’ that triflin’ bitch,” Chico said.

  “It’s only business, man. It ain’t anything personal with you, Chico. I swear.”

  Chico paced around Moe like a therapist in a session. “Business, huh?” he replied nonchalantly.

  Moe’s eyes stayed glu
ed to Chico. He fidgeted with his hands while remaining seated in his chair, trying to calm his nerves.

  “I gotta eat too, Moe. You fuckin’ wit’ that bitch is taking food outta my mouth.”

  “Chico, I mean, what am I supposed to do? You hot right now. You bringin’ too much attention on yourself. I don’t need the heat right now, man. I don’t! I’m running a good thing here.”

  “You are, huh?” Chico stopped pacing around Moe and stood close to him, towering over him as he leaned back in his chair. “You remember when your fat, bitch ass was behind in your payments for this shop? You remember a few years ago, when ya bitch ass came crying to me about how the bank was threatening you wit’ foreclosure because ya dumb ass wanted to take out a second mortgage on this place to support that ugly bitch you was fucking? Huh, Moe, you remember that? You wanted to live big, nigga! You wanted to show off! And who helped you out?”

  Moe remained quiet, his silence and meek demeanor already speaking the truth.

  “Yeah, nigga, I’m the nigga that put you on and got you out of debt,” Chico said, his voice becoming louder and sterner. “Now you sit ya fat ass in front of me and have the audacity to say you’re running a good thing here?”

  “Chico, I ain’t mean—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Chico shouted, cutting Moe off.

  Moe continued to fidget with his hands, rubbing them together and popping his knuckles, an indication of his fear. He couldn’t look Dante in his eyes. He knew he was strictly muscle—Chico’s shooter. Whenever their eyes locked, he would avert them and look at Chico.

  “You betrayed me, Moe.”

  “Chico, I’ll make it up. I’m sorry, man. I ain’t mean no disrespect.”

  “Like hell, you didn’t.”

  “I fucked up. What you want me to do?”

  “First, you stay away from that bitch—You only eat off of me—and, second, I need a favor from you.”