Watch Out for the Big Girls

by J. M. Benjamin

  “Wassup, Gs?” Sparkle and Glitter sang in unison, joining the other Double Gs. They both took turns hugging Felicia, Bubbles, and Monica.

  “What y’all up to?” Felicia asked.

  “Tryin’a find a way to earn our keep and stay afloat at the same time since we ain’t at the club no more,” Sparkle replied.

  “Don’t worry about earning y’all keep. Y’all straight for now.” Felicia stuck her hand in her navy business suit pants front pocket and pulled out all the money she had in her pocket. “Give me a minute, I’ll have something lined up for y’all. Until then, y’all bust this down.” She handed Sparkle the stack of hundreds.

  “We appreciate it, big sis,” Glitter spoke on their behalf. She was sure the money her sister had just accepted was at least $4,000.

  Bubbles stood up out of her chair and shoved her hand into her pocket. “Here. Y’all gonna need more than that.” She handed all she had to Glitter. “A bitch gotta eat. After all, I know it takes a lot to keep this shit right.” Bubbles grabbed a handful of Glitter’s ass then released it and gave it a smack.

  “You know it.” Glitter smiled. They all joined each other in laughter at Bubbles’s comment and actions.

  Felicia’s ended abruptly. Her sudden frown caught the Double Gs’ attention immediately. They all followed the direction her eyes were focused on.

  “Ain’t that Prime’s young boy?” Bubbles asked, already knowing the answer to her question. She knew who the young goons were who had just entered the building.

  “Yeah, that’s that li’l clown-ass nigga,” Felicia snarled.

  Young Clips came ditty bopping through the door with his crew of young menaces to society. He scanned the tavern and the first face he noticed was Felicia’s. He flashed a schoolboy smile hoping she would return the gesture. Instead, all he received was a pair of rolled eyes.

  “Girl, let’s get up outta here ’fore I have to fuck this li’l stalker up,” she said. She could already feel her temperature rising. Lately, Young Clips had become a nuisance she was growing tired of.

  Monica recognized some of the faces from the night the two crews at the club were about to get into it.

  “What’s that all about?” Bubbles asked Felicia.

  “It really ain’t about nothin’, but he gonna wind up makin’ it something. I’ll tell you when we get to the spot,” was what Felicia offered.

  “We gonna hang here,” Glitter opted. “We’ll catch up with y’all later.”

  Felicia, Bubbles, and Monica nodded. “Lunch on y’all today, too.” Felicia flashed a smirk.

  The twins smiled. “Got you.” Glitter winked.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here.” Felicia waved them on.

  Both Bubbles and Monica rose and followed as she navigated her way toward the exit. Bubbles ignored Young Clips as they floated passed him. Monica, on the other hand, watched as Felicia and Young Clips made eye contact. Young Clips had on the same smile he had plastered across his face since he had entered the spot. Monica was sure Felicia was not smiling. Although she couldn’t stop thinking about Bubbles’s story, she couldn’t help but notice something odd between Felicia and Young Clips. She made a mental note of the incident.

  Chapter Twenty

  The warm, early morning sunshine spilled into the high-rise office of Special Agent McCarthy, who was asleep at his desk. His face was buried into his folded arms. There was a light knock before the wood grain door slowly swung ajar. He was in such a slumber he never bothered to look up to see who had just entered the room.

  Chief Andrews stuck his head in first, and then allowed his body to follow. “No sleeping on the job!” He tossed the joke into the air, startling Agent McCarthy who quickly sat up, forgetting where he was. And then it registered. The files on his desk jogged his memory.

  “Chief Andrews, what brings you here, and so early?” Agent McCarthy asked after catching a quick glimpse at his wall clock. It was barely 7:15 a.m.

  “This!” Chief Andrews waved the folded newspaper before tossing it onto McCarthy’s desk. The front page fell open flat. “I heard about it and then I read about it.”

  “Holy shit!” Agent McCarthy yelled. He sprang up and leaned over with both hands planted into the desk. “How? Who?”

  “A leak maybe?” Chief Andrews suggested.

  The headline read, FEDERAL AGENTS SLAIN BY FEMALE GANG. There was a full picture beneath it, showing a perfect view of the tragic crime scene. Agent McCarthy took a closer look.

  “Wait. This isn’t an inside leak. They must’ve photographed what happened and sent it to the papers. Look.” Agent McCarthy spun the newspaper upside down and into Chief Andrews’s direction while pointing. “Think about it. How was such a clear photo taken? The press wasn’t anywhere near there. The entire incident was to be kept under wraps until we knew exactly what happened.”

  “So, they did it. Bold,” Chief Andrews smoothly stated.

  “It’s a damn slap in the face. That’s what it is. Two agents under the age of thirty are dead. Don’t you dare give ’em any credit. They’ll burn in hell when I catch ’em!”

  “Hey, I’m on your side, big guy. I stopped by to let you know I’m here to help. This is spreading news through all law enforcement. Everyone’s paying full attention now. No more jokes. It’s war. That could’ve been any one of us out there dead.”

  The last statement deflated Agent McCarthy. He flopped back down into his chair and buried his face into the palms of his hands. “No, that’s the problem. It couldn’t have been. It was them under my command. I forced them to go by taking advantage of their low ranks, forgetting that this isn’t about that. I was supposed to send the most skillful and tactical agents out into the field. This isn’t the local authorities. We leave our weak back in the office. Only our strong go out in the field of hunting.”

  The conversation was interrupted by Agent McCarthy’s secretary peeking her head into the door with a stack of folders pressed against her breast. “Agent McCarthy, they have the tape cued up and ready. They’re waiting for you in the situation room.”

  “Great, Mandy. Thank you. Let them know I’m on my way.” Agent McCarthy looked back up at his wall clock in amazement. It shocked him that people were in so early. He stood up, grabbed the suit jacket off the back of his chair, and swung his arms into it while footing his way around the desk. “You’re free to join us,” he stated to Chief Andrews.

  The situation room was packed. It was a large, comfortable room with a long, oval cherry wood table that seated twenty agents on high-quality leather chairs. Glasses of water or cups of coffee sat in front of them next to their folders. Some were open. Some were still closed. Each agent had a look on their face that showed they meant business. They were up early, suited and, most of all, serious. Especially Agent Snyder, who was sitting up front.

  A large screen mechanically lowered from the ceiling as the high-tech electrical blinds closed by remote, darkening the room just as Agent McCarthy walked in. Not a single sound was made. All of the seats were taken. Chief Andrews stood next to a few of the remaining agents in the back. On Agent McCarthy’s signal, the dashboard’s digital footage began to play both video and audio.

  The scene started from when Starr had originally left Club Panties and loaded the duffel bag into her car. Agent McCarthy aimed the remote at the CD reader and fast-forwarded to the highway scene. At first, it all seemed so calm. It was as if there wasn’t any way Starr should’ve made the tail on her. Agent Mullin had kept it textbook. Agent McCarthy noticed the trucks closing in on the agents. Not much could be seen from the dashboard camera’s view but, between that and the audio, it all told a story that came together, leaving the imagination to handle the rest.

  Glass could be heard shattering. Flesh being ripped, screams being yelled, it all happened so fast. The agents viewing the footage were in shock as they watched five trucks of different kinds with no license plates flee, leaving the slightest glimpse of Starr’s taillights up ahe
ad right before the screen seemed to start tumbling after a loud bang. The car was flipping and then it stopped. The dash cam occasionally caught shots of the motorcycles slowing down as the screen froze.

  Agent McCarthy caught his best shot at the two motorcycles with armed passengers on the back heading to the Impala to daringly finish the job. He pressed the save button on the remote control and then continued the video. All that could be seen was smoke rising through the headlights that reflected off the rusty gray guardrail the Impala smashed into when it landed upright.

  A few seconds later, the motorcycles could be heard ripping away. The lights in the situation room came back on. All of the agents were blown away. Emotions ran high within the room. Everyone felt it. As silence tried to set in, ties were being loosened, throats were being cleared, tears were restrained; most of all, jokes were deeply regretted. Agent McCarthy was choked up the most. He lightly coughed into his balled fist before he spoke.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that we’ve just caught two of the biggest breaks ever. Sadly, it was at the expense of the lives of two young agents. If we fail now, we fail them. Their sacrifice would be for nothing. We’ve just witnessed their devout bravery, all the way down to the end. Let’s never forget that. Now, we have a good shot here.” The still photos he had saved appeared on the screen. Each of the girls’ bodacious bodies were draped in all black.

  “Our mission is to get a lead on them damn trucks!” Agent McCarthy screamed with emotion.

  Just then a skinny, middle-aged white agent raised his hand high into the air. An ink pen was pinched between his thumb and index finger as he held it high. He bore red freckles that were partially covered by his thin glasses. A tiny red light was blinking from the side of the Bluetooth headset in his left ear. A small laptop was flipped open in front of him.

  Agent McCarthy snapped at him for his rude interruption. “What?”

  Agent Homer began to speak in a nervous tone. All eyes were on him as he responded. “Actually, sir, I tracked the route they were on and cross-referenced it with the time that was at the bottom of the video’s screen along with all gas station surveillance near all exits and tollbooths in the direction they were headed.”

  “Good work. Now, get to the point!” Agent McCarthy demanded in a firm but calm tone. Even as a law enforcement agent, he hated mystery. Especially being so close to the edge of it.

  “Well, just up ahead, at that speed and direction, I figured they would’ve run into a tollbooth at some point, which they did.”

  “And?”

  “And, sir, while I was sitting here, I took the liberty of calling the nearest tollbooths and requested the footage from their surveillance cameras around that time.”

  “And?” Agent McCarthy was visibly frustrated beyond belief. “Get to the point, Agent!” he snapped.

  “Oh, sir. They have footage of all five trucks coming through around that time. It seemed to be all women drivers in disguises. At first, they wanted a warrant, but in light of the public mockery of the agents’ murders, they were willing to help. They’re faxing the photos as we speak.”

  At that point, the fax machine in the upfront corner of the room beeped as five photos came through. Agent McCarthy retrieved them quickly and looked over at Agent Homer.

  “You’re getting one hell of a raise!” he yelled. He reviewed the still frames. Only one picture was clear as day. One of the women was paying the toll without her disguise. Agent McCarthy smacked the paper with the back of his hand.

  “Gotcha,” he uttered, as he passed the photo around the room.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Young Clips was determined to come up in the world. He was only nineteen years old, but he had been under Prime’s wing since he was barely thirteen and during those six years he had accomplished a lot, more than anyone expected, but still not enough for him. He felt he was still looked at as a kid, especially by Felicia. Whenever he would purposely just happen to run into her out of the blue, she would brush him off, claiming that he was still in diapers. Even worse, she would remind him of her sexual preference and declare that he wasn’t making enough money to make her even think about changing her mind. Felicia may have been on the other side of the fence, but Young Clips was not convinced that’s where she wanted to be. He was in love with her at first sight, denying it to himself that it was stalking. He followed her every chance he got, especially from work, just to be able to make it look like they happened to bump into each other. He had familiarized himself with her patterns and routines.

  Young Clips always suspected Felicia to be an elite Double G member with status. But after following her around for a few weeks, he had learned more than he was looking to know. What he knew thus far was powerful. He kept it all to himself though. There were times when he was ready to fill Prime and the rest of the crew in on the details; but, for one, they would clown him for stalking and, two, they would never take him seriously. So, he was just waiting for the right time to see which way he would tip the scale to his advantage. The leverage was certainly there and timing was everything, he knew.

  Born Christian Reeves, Young Clips was quite tall for his age, but was always thin and lanky. He wore all of his clothes twice his size. His wardrobe never differed. It was fitting for his lifestyle: a thick black Champion hoodie, no matter what the weather was, baggy black jeans that sagged low up under his ass, and two twin .45s on his waist. The only thing that varied was the either black or tan construction Timberlands on his feet. He had a pure baby face with a slightly oversized nose. He kept the same cornrows in for months at a time. Still, his personal hygiene stayed on point. Living such a filthy lifestyle influenced him to shower at least twice a day.

  After meeting Prime, Young Clip’s future definitely became brighter than his past. From the age of six, Young Clips was raised in a foster home after being a ward of the state. His mother was a drug addict who couldn’t even take care of herself, and his father, who he had never gotten a chance to meet, was serving a life sentence in state prison for several murders. By the time Young Clips was thirteen, he left and turned to the streets, where he ran with other kids slightly older than him. He shuffled houses among them all. Some had to sneak him in, but with an untrusting eye. It was because he always looked like he was up to something devious. Most of the time he was, but only in the streets. He prided himself on being loyal, and stayed true to anyone who genuinely considered him as a friend. Back then, he and his snot-nosed, ashy-face bandits formed a mischievous gang called the Alley Cats. They were extremely young, but lawless. They hung out in front of a Laundromat, which was a heavy drug strip owned by Prime.

  Prince was the silent enforcer. It was well known that whenever Prince was called on to get involved, it was too late for the opposition. Yet and still, these young teens were in their own world, not caring about what was going on up the street. They stayed down on their end, terrorizing everyone who came through, eventually running the drug money away to the other side of town, which was looking more organized. C-Class had been watching what was going on for a few weeks before he, along with Prince, decided to step to them.

  The Alley Cats were in front of the Laundromat, slap boxing, smoking, drinking, and playing music on a portable boom box, just having a good time. The radio was sitting high on top of the payphone stand. Young Clips was sitting next to it on a milk crate with his arms folded across his chest and his hoodie drowning his head. A mix CD had them all amped up. It was seven at night. The sun was just setting, but it was still light outside. Young Clips was staring down at the filth-stained, chipped-up pavement while mentally rapping along with the words. He was in his own zone. Then it happened, right next to him. The most adrenaline-rushing sound he had ever heard. The sweetness of it ran through his veins as he just sat there without flinching absorbing the aftermath of the echo. The shell casing tapping the ground was pleasing.

  The music had stopped, violently disrupted. The Panasonic boom box had been blown to pieces.
Shattered hard plastic splattered all over the young teens like bomb shrapnel on a group of soldiers. There was a slight pause of silence and shock and then everybody ran except for Young Clips. He stayed in the same exact position, but slowly lifted his head up and leaned back against the brick wall behind him, still rapping the remaining words under his breath.

  C-Class smiled at Prince, whose face was pure stone with the smoking gun still in his hand.

  “Oh, so you got heart, huh? You ain’t gonna scatter away with the rest of them?”

  Young Clips slowly turned to C-Class’s direction while using his right hand to swipe the hoodie away from obstructing his view. “For what? The captain goes down with the ship. I ain’t scared. I ain’t do nothin’ wrong. Oh, by the way, that’s forty-six dollars for the radio, four dollars for the batteries, ten dollars for the CD, and a hundred dollars for wasting my time.” He nonchalantly stuck his left hand out while using his right hand to swipe his hoodie back down over his head as he closed his eyes, relaxed, and waited for payment. He was dead serious.

  C-Class turned to face Prince, still smiling. “You heard him. Pay the young man.”

  On demand, Prince removed a thick knot of money from his pocket and flicked his thumb before slowly peeling off two hundred-dollar bills. He folded them the long way and then extended them out to touch Young Clips’s fingertips. As soon as he did, he swiftly kicked the crate out from under Young Clips’s ass while trying to jerk the money back. But it was too late. Not only did Young Clips snatch the money, he was still in the sitting position even with the crate gone. He was prepared. He spoke in a low, steady tone as he stood up straight, tucking the money into his pocket.