The night was coming to an end as bodies poured out of Treasures. Freeze and his crew made their way out of the club. They couldn’t help but notice Prime’s crew posted up in their VIP section surrounded by a dozen or more of some of Vegas’s finest.
“Look at them niggas over there frontin’. I’m ready to give it to them right now,” Esco barked, gripping the Glock in his waist. His speech was somewhat slurred. The liquor had long ago taken effect on him and was now doing the talking.
He had been in Freeze’s ear all night about Prime’s crew. Watching them ball out frustrated him. One would say he was actually hating on Prime and his crew, but Esco would beg to differ. Normally Freeze wouldn’t have been so easily influenced, but after what he endured, he was up for a good testosterone challenge. It was just what he needed to restore the feeling of manly power that he had lacked since his run-in with the twins.
“Word. Let’s go see how they actin’. Right here. Right now. They’re in our way. It’s time to move them,” Freeze declared.
That was exactly what Esco wanted to hear all night. He took one last swig of the bottle of Red Berry Cîroc he had been taking to the head the entire night and then slammed it down on the table. His nostrils flared and his facial expression transformed into a deadly one.
Freeze detoured and made a beeline in the direction of Prime’s crew. Esco, along with the rest of the wolves, followed.
Prime was still at the bar sealing the deal with Monica. He had been whispering in her ear, telling her everything that she had wanted to hear since he had met her. When the music abruptly stopped, Prime’s danger alarm immediately went off. He turned and looked and noticed the sudden commotion in the direction of his VIP section.
“Fuck,” Prime cursed.
Young Clips had been the first to jump up and pull out his twin .44s, aiming them directly at Esco, who had his own pistol aimed at Prince and C-Class.
C-Class remained sealed with a smile on his face as if everything was under control. Prince showed much more frustration but stayed calm. Young Clips wasn’t having it. He ignored the screaming and remained focused.
The bartender saw the potential altercation unfolding and got on the phone immediately. Prime watched her and assumed she was calling the police. That was the last thing he needed. Prime knew he had to react quickly. He wasted no time heading over to his crew.
Esco and Young Clips were locked in a standoff, neither about to lower their weapons. Instead, their fingers tightened around the triggers of their weapons, eager to squeeze. Security stood at bay. They were familiar with both crews and thought it best to stay out of the mix. It was they who had actually allowed the crews in with their guns in exchange for healthy tips.
Freeze played the background. His frustration grew from the distraction of the continuous vibration of his cell phone, which he sent straight to voicemail three times. The fourth time forced him to retrieve his phone from his hip clip. He became irritated when he glanced at the screen.
Surprisingly, the woman followed right behind Prime, showing no fear, although she was highly uncomfortable with what was taking place. She stayed by his side the whole time as he strolled over to the ruckus in a nonchalant manner. He walked directly in between Esco’s and Young Clips’s weapons. Esco’s barrel was aimed at his chest and Young Clips’s gun was pointed at his back. Prime locked eyes with Esco.
“Is there a problem here? I’m sure we can settle it elsewhere,” he calmly stated with an authoritative tone.
Just then, the owner of Treasures came running out of his back office with fear and infuriation mixed. He kept his distance, paying more attention to the frantic private dancers who were panicking as they ran to the back dressing room. Most of the customers were long gone after the music stopped and the first gun had been cocked.
Freeze hung up his phone as he sped up to the side of Esco. He placed his hand over the Glock and pushed it downward until it was pointing at the ground. He smiled at the woman in the red dress.
“Freeze, wassup?” Esco challenged.
Freeze ignored Esco. His eyes dimmed as he refocused them on Prime.
“You’re right. And this must be your lucky night. Another time, another place. Come on, fellas!” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a knot of cash. He peeled off thirty hundred-dollar bills, dropped them into the champagne bucket on the nearest table, and then stepped off.
His frustrated crew trailed behind him. They had never seen Freeze back down from a fight. Especially one that they felt was won before it started.
Prime and his crew watched as Freeze and his cronies made their exit. Prime’s crew spoke among themselves about what they could’ve and should’ve done. But they were used to Prime using intellect over emotions and more stealth and strategy than public outbursts and unnecessary gunplay.
As the last man left, the woman in the red dress was more than relieved. She grabbed a hold of Prime’s hand as if she had known him forever. Due to the fact that he respected her fearlessness, he embraced her.
Although C-Class and Prince knew that Prime had done the right thing by trying to defuse the situation, they still wanted revenge. They had never been publicly challenged in such a way. The beef was on.
As Prime and the woman stepped outside the club, she looked at the rest of his crew. She was disappointed that the night he had promised her had turned into a blown one. Better luck next time, she thought. She reached into her purse and handed him a card with her number on it.
Prime gently pushed it away. “I’ll get it from you in the morning,” he declared with a smile.
She blushed, knowing it was an indirect invitation for her to spend the night with him. Within minutes, she was in the passenger seat of Prime’s pearl white Aston Vanquish. He was outside talking to C-Class about what the next move should be. She had just ended her text and was powdering her nose when Prime hopped in the driver seat of his Aston.
The bartender couldn’t believe the close call that she had previously witnessed. She nervously wondered how the rest of the night would play out. As she stood behind the bar, wiping it down, preparing to get off work, her hip vibrated. It had to be the call she was waiting for. She cautiously looked both ways before unclipping her phone and opening it up. She anxiously read the text that came through. It was from the phone that she had given Monica earlier when she first entered the bar and ordered the secret code drink.
The bartender sighed from relief as she forwarded the text message to Starr.
Chapter Seven
Meanwhile, less than a quarter of a mile up the street, Club Panties was jumping. Beautiful women spilled in and out nonstop. While they were enjoying themselves, below them more important things were taking place; the members of the Double Gs held their monthly meeting in the secret sublevel, in what was called the Ovary Office. This was the office that usually only the four of them were privy to. It was located one floor up from the general Double G meeting room. Starr was the only one standing. The rest of the Double Gs were all sitting. Tonight was different from the random and regular meetings they had. This was the meeting where all members reported monthly earnings, progress on any missions, introduction of any new Double Gs and whatever else Starr wanted to discuss. It was a mandatory requirement of Starr’s for them all to wear their club’s colors during monthly meetings. Each vest possessed a number on it that represented when they had become a Double G. Some of the vests also displayed unique patches that acknowledged skills such as sharpshooting or represented bravery. Starr ran the operation like a military camp by using ranking and special skills. It was a way of instilling discipline, responsibility, structure, and pride within her comrades.
Looking at Starr, you couldn’t tell that she was in her early thirties, nor would you think she was as ruthless as she had proven to be in the past. Her soft-spoken voice and appearance made her seem somewhat timid, but that was far from being the case. Starr was a beautiful beast at five foot eleven and 220 pounds. She had a light ca
ramel complexion, with long jet-black silky hair that dangled down to the middle of her back. She had deep, chinky eyes, with long lashes. Her eyebrows looked as if they were drawn on with a pencil. At a young age, she was aware of her big-boned physique. She learned the power of the female body early and worked vigorously on her full figure to get it where it was today. Over the years it had paid off and then some. Starr’s curvy body sat perfectly inside of her black cat suit that fit like a glove. She stood in front of the organization she had helped shape into what it was today.
The Double Gs. Diamond, who was half Philippine and half Ethiopian, sat beside Starr. Her face was emotionless. Her deep chocolate face was nearly covered by the True Religion cap she sported low, with the exception of her petite Asian nose and glossy, full African lips. All the other Double Gs sat awaiting the monthly meeting to start. Although there was someone over her, as far as they were all concerned Starr was their boss.
One of the things that made Starr the face of the organization was the fact that she was the only one who was ever in direct contact with the infamous, yet anonymous, Queen Fem.
From what was told to her by Queen Fem, the Double Gs had originally started the organization as a means of revenge, but it grew to become so much more. According to her, she managed to recruit a group of women who were done with men, and set out against any one of them in power, position, or both. Over the early years, it evolved into a secret infiltration group that conned men out of whatever assets the original Double Gs needed for forward progress and expansion. Then Starr came along. With her at the helm, the Double Gs became a franchised criminal dynasty. Her love and passion for motorcycles added a new flavor to their rough persona, and a valuable tool to their already dangerous reputation. On many occasions, the machines had been used to execute strategic instructions given by Starr.
After a while, learning how to ride became a mandatory requirement if you were chosen to be a Double G. Although she wasn’t the founder, hands down it was no secret who the boss was. Starr’s methods of handling things and the way she ran the crew had put her in harm’s way on many occasions, but everyone knew that it was her knowledge of the original founder that was the leverage that was keeping her alive and two sometimes three steps ahead of the authorities.
Queen Fem was a mysterious person, whose arms reached further than any of them knew. Everyone wanted to know who she was and how to get to her. She was like an old folktale. A ghost. A myth. No one from the newer generation had ever dealt with her directly or met her personally. Queen Fem had long ago passed on the torch of running the organization to Starr. Outside of conference calls and memos she sent out to the Double Gs and targeted victims, and the fact that she was the one in possession of all of the G-Files, as they called them, none of the Double Gs in attendance would even know that Queen Fem really existed. Everything that went on was stored and sent directly to her. The Double Gs learned their history about Queen Fem through Starr. Everyone had a picture of a sophisticated but ruthless woman. Whoever tried to search for her got dealt with. It was said that you didn’t look for Queen Fem; she found you. That went for both sexes. There was a lot of speculation and it was rumored that Starr and Queen Fem were one and the same, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They were indeed two totally different individuals.
“We got a lot to discuss tonight,” Starr opened up with as she looked around at the organization’s members. On the table in front of her sat an electronic device.
Stone faces filled the room. Felicia, Diamond, and Bubbles, who were her closest allies, sat around the table, while the others lined the walls and occupied the available chairs scattered throughout the room. As Starr continued to take in all the faces in the room, her eyes zeroed in on Glitter and Sparkle, who sat beside each other by the entrance of the meeting room. She had a strong feeling recruiting the twins would prove to be a major move from the organization. She had big plans and tonight she intended to play chess with her crew. She had to make sure everybody on her team was rock solid before she could move forward. It had been over a week since she had received the anonymous call and she was still bothered by it. She couldn’t afford any slipups or mishaps. There was a lot at stake, not only for her but for everyone. She believed it was her responsibility to see to it that nothing or no one could come and infiltrate the Double G organization. Tonight she intended to observe all the pieces in attendance to see if pawns had to be sacrificed and removed.
“I need everybody in this room to take this polygraph,” she announced, pointing down at the lie detector as she monitored the rest of the Double Gs’ faces.
Chapter Eight
Although Freeze was only twenty-seven, he had already made a dent in the streets. He relentlessly lived up to his notorious handle, “Freeze.” His cold demeanor and heart showed time and time again whenever a situation arose. Aside from the Double Gs getting to him, he seemed virtually untouchable. He thrived on being exposed, out in the open. He was well known for putting in work himself. Most of the time he preferred it that way and his team was just as relentless. Some members of his crew were older than him, but a lot were younger, wilder, upcoming gangsters with smoking guns trying to prove themselves and make a name in the process. Still, at all times, it remained quite lucid that Freeze was the general.
Not only did Freeze have the muscle, but he also had the brains. Besides being street literate, he also took self-education to a whole other level. He never got a fair chance at finishing school. His main focus was providing for him and his younger sister. Aside from hitting the streets, he still looked over his old textbooks and deciphered the lessons in them. He loved figuring things out, especially math. Algebra was his favorite. He could answer any question right off the top of his head. He was intrigued by mental challenges, such as puzzles and riddles. He was quite a serious kid, but he was a pure mentalist. It was a side of him that he kept to himself. The rest of the world only saw him one way: maliciously sinister. Let him tell it, his rough childhood rightfully allowed him to claim to be a product of his environment.
Unlike most of his peers, Freeze started out his life with both of his parents in the picture. Freeze was the product of Marlon Frost, an infamous gangster known throughout the entire West Coast, and Monique Frost, a stay-at-home wife from North Las Vegas, who knew nothing about the streets other than the fact that her husband loved them. His father was known for making lots of money in the underworld and having a asshole full of women at his disposal. He ran a clockwork operation out of two public housing developments on opposite sides of the city, using females on welfare apartments. He strategically kept two different types of heroin grades in each one, so that the two buildings constantly competed against each other. He would masterfully maneuver the clientele back and forth across town. The steady competition between both sides drew unbelievable income. Most of the time, his father stayed out in the streets, laid up with other women, while Freeze’s mother was at home raising him and his baby sister. He and Freeze never bonded. When he was home, Freeze mostly stayed in his room as a means to avoid him. When their paths did cross in the hallway or in passing, there was always an awkward silence between them.
Freeze just never really liked him too much. His mother always said it was because they were so much alike in so many ways. Freeze used to listen to his mother and father fight nearly every night about his father staying out and traveling so much. Freeze hated the way his father treated his mother. He had wished on many occasions that his father never returned home once he walked out of the front door. One day, his wish became a harsh reality. Freeze was barely nine years old, but the day was so vivid. He and his six-year-old sister were sitting at the dinner table with their mother. The phone had rung. Their mother excused herself and leaned over the kitchen counter to answer the call. She picked up, listened, and didn’t utter a word. Freeze noticed his mother’s jaw dropped.
Both Freeze and his sister watched as their mother covered her open mouth with her hands, letting
the phone drop to the floor. Shortly after, her body collapsed right beside it. She was unable to take the news that she had just received from their father’s top gunman. According to Freeze’s father’s partner, he had been kidnapped and brutally tortured. Strangely, no one knew where it came from or why it had happened. There was no ransom and he hadn’t been robbed. No one tried to take over any of his spots, or territory. Nobody even bragged about it on the streets. It came and it went. After that, things took a drastic change for the worse.
Life as Freeze knew it began to rapidly fall apart as everybody who once professed to love his father and have his family’s back stood back and watched. It seemed like every day his mother was selling a piece of jewelry, a car, or a property they once owned to keep food on the table, clothes on their backs, and a roof over their heads. Eventually they were forced to downsize from the extravagant home in the suburbs they were accustomed to, to a one-bedroom apartment in the hood. Ironically, they ended up in one of the same buildings that his father ran his operation out of. It was both the last resort and only choice. The transition wasn’t easy at all. Now they had become exposed to the ghetto, overnight, with front-row seats. Freeze and his sister did their best to adjust quickly, but his mother struggled with coping with the sudden change. Freeze noticed the change in his mother’s appearance after their relocation. Just like her fairy tale life she lived, her beauty queen features soon began to evaporate. Although his mother never experimented with drugs, she needed something to ease the pain she had endured in the recent months.
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