Angel's Revenge

by Teri Woods

  “Whatever you say, Ock. Whatever you say.”

  Young World turned up the system and Scarface’d his way back to Newark. He pulled up to Sammy’s Place off Broad Street where Duke had parked his Hummer.

  “On the real, Duke. I feel where you comin’ from, and I feel the same way. But I need you to trust me, aiight? Let me handle this my way,” Young World said, throwing his car in park.

  Duke shrugged and opened the door. “I got you, World.”

  “Duke, we been through too much together to fuck up now, yo.”

  Duke flashed a phony smile. “Fuck you need, a hug, nigga? I said I got you.” He chuckled and eased the tension between them. They shook hands.

  “I’ll call you later,” said World.

  “One,” replied Duke.

  “One.”

  World pulled off with ease, thinking everything was love, but it wasn’t. Duke watched the taillights of the Mercedes disappear, then turned toward the door of Sammy’s and went inside.

  It was a small, sleazy joint but out of the way enough that Duke felt that he would see no one he knew. He had another important meeting, one Young World knew nothing about. He had a meeting with the mob.

  Vinnie Z and his fat henchman sat in the rear of the bar at a secluded booth. Vinnie was all smiles the moment he saw Duke.

  Vinnie was the stereotypical young, cocky Italian, always grabbing his balls and using hand gestures with his syllables. They had met when Vinnie tried to convince Young World that he needed the mob in his corner, not against him, but Young World refused. Duke, on the other hand, saw his opportunity and seized it, sending word to Vinnie that they should talk, and this meeting was a result of that message.

  As Duke approached, Vinnie stood to greet him, giving him a firm and vigorous handshake.

  “Duke! Paisano! How you doin’, eh? You look good. Mikey, it’s Duke. Say hello to Duke,” Vinnie ranted like Duke was a war buddy.

  Jabbalike Mikey just grunted inaudibly. To Mikey, a nigger was a nigger, and he didn’t want to be bothered. Vinnie felt the same way. He was just a better actor. He knew young black guys loved the Mafioso persona, so Vinnie laid it on thick.

  “Sit down, Duke. What choo drinkin’?”

  Duke sat down and unbuttoned his coat. “Naw, I’m good.”

  Vinnie sat back, shaking the ice in his glass. “Okay. Duke’s good, so, ah, what’s good with Duke?” Vinnie inquired.

  Duke took out a cigarette, and Vinnie produced a lighter. “You tell me, Z.”

  “How’s Young World?”

  “He just left. You shoulda said something. I woulda told him to come on in,” Duke answered sarcastically.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, your friend is an ass-hole. I can’t talk to him. You, I can talk to. You know why? Because you’re a reasonable guy. You and I, we could have a good thing, eh?”

  Duke blew cigarette smoke out his mouth before speaking.

  “Maybe we can arrange a few things.”

  “Definitely, because a guy like you needs friends like me, eh? I give you a place to lay your hat. I talk to people, they talk to people, and we all sit down and eat, ba-da-bing?”

  “Ba-da-boom.” Duke smiled. “I just hope some of these people you talkin’ to is judges and DAs ’cause niggas catchin’ cases like snitches is sexually transmittin’ ’em.”

  “Forget about it,” Vinnie warned with a gesture of dismissal. “My guys are good guys, and we take care of our friends. You just gimme a call when it’s a go on your end, capisci?” Vinnie grinned greedily.

  He was itching to get his olive-oiled hands on Young World’s territory and Duke was just the monkey to bring it to him. Dutch had run the Italians out of the Newark drug game and now Duke was ready to bring them back in and play puppet in their tangled strings. All Vinnie needed was a chance to implement his plan, and Young World was unwittingly about to give it to him.

  Young World stood in the bedroom door and admired his sleeping beauty. She lay wrapped to the waist in peach-colored sheets that accentuated her ebony skin tone.

  He loved her.

  Lana was the perfect hustler’s wife. She had been with him every step of the way, stashing money, holding work, and tucking pistols when necessary. Although it took him two years, Lana gave him her virginity. They had been inseparable ever since. Lana was his first love; the game was his second.

  World loved being the man his position made him. And it wasn’t just the money. It was the power and respect, a respect he knew he had to rep to maintain.

  He walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture of him and Dutch at a Roy Jones fight. World admired Dutch’s finesse. The smirk that framed his chocolate face told the world he knew he was that nigga. When Young World first met Dutch, he knew he was destined to be a legend and he wanted to be just like him, the way he bopped, his sharp Newark accent, his smooth style. But when Dutch peeped it, he checked him quick.

  “I like you, lil’ nigga, word up. You a thoroughbred. You just been misled. I see you wanna be like me, but if you really wanna be like me, don’t be like me. That’s why I am who I am because ain’t another muthafucka like Dutch.”

  Dutch wasn’t his mentor. One-eyed Roc was. It was Roc who put him on, but Dutch would often come scoop him off the block and sharpen his game. World knew if Roc and Angel hadn’t been locked up, he would’ve never had the opportunity he had now. So he looked at it as a fate he was destined to fulfill. But he needed answers, and he knew who had them.

  Roc.

  He needed to go see Roc.

  World cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner, but things were so damned hectic. It was hard enough to catch some sleep, let alone think straight.

  Young World slid open the drawer and gazed at its contents. Dutch’s dragon chain.

  He lifted the heavy piece from the drawer and cradled it in his hand. The diamonds and rubies glistened and sparkled on the twenty-four-karat gold nugget barrel link. Before Dutch, Kazami had worn the chain. Kazami, the wild African who everyone feared until Dutch murdered him and took the chain. Afterward, Dutch locked down the streets. Ever since World had the chain, he had worn it only occasionally. Now it was time to rep it to the fullest.

  World kicked off his shoes, lay on the bed fully clothed behind Lana, and cradled her body to his. His touch instantly awoke her.

  “Hey, baby. I missed you,” she cooed sleepily.

  “Go back to sleep, boo. It’s late,” World softly replied, his mind a million miles away.

  “You hungry?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “Naw, I’m good.”

  They had been together too long for her not to recognize the troubled tone in his voice. She turned over and faced Young World, tucking her right hand under her head.

  “Everything okay?” she questioned with concern.

  He shrugged, “It is what it is.”

  “So, what is it?” She smiled, still probing.

  World looked his love in the eyes, their faces only inches apart, and asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”

  “Changed?” Lana echoed with a wrinkled brow. “Changed how?”

  “I don’t know, just…”

  “Is this about earlier? If it is, you were right. I trust you,” she assured him, cutting him off from what he was about to say.

  “Not like that,” he began. “You think I’m gettin’ soft?”

  “Soft? Baby, you know I keep it all the way gangsta with you, but it’s been so long since I’ve been around you like that to know,” Lana replied, then added, “You locked me out of that part of your life.”

  “But you lay with me, therefore you know my weakness,” World answered.

  “Remember before Jazz died, y’all was beefin’ with Chancellor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard you say to him that a gun may get you power but a gun can’t keep you in power,” Lana explained, using the jewel against him. He had heard it from Roc and now he better understoo
d the difference between a gangsta and a goon. He had the goon part down. He just needed to learn the ways of a true gangsta. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead.

  “I’m sayin’, you my wifey or my godfather?” he joked.

  Lana giggled and replied with the godfather rasp in her voice, “Just call me Vito Corleone.”

  They both laughed. Lana caressed his face.

  “Just do what you have to do to come home to me every night. Shahid, promise me you’ll never let them take you away from me.”

  “I promise, baby. I love you, Lana.”

  “I love you, my World.”

  Duke slipped out of bed, stretched his arms wide, and embraced the morning sun. He had always been an early bird, a habit he acquired from his days on the block. Duke was the type of hustler who worked harder, not smarter. His strength lay in his endurance, not in his swiftness. A good trait for a soldier, but Duke wanted to be the general.

  His mind went back to his conversation the night before with Young World. It had been a week since their meeting with Ceylon, and Young World had been on his grind trying to meet the deadline. World had told Duke that he was going to see Roc, and of course, he was in charge during his absence.

  “Yo, Duke, stay sucka-free,” he added because he knew Duke’s love for drama.

  Duke was a live wire for gunplay, which was the main reason Young World had cliqued up with him back in the day. Once World’s man Jazz had been murdered, it was only right that Duke fill the position. But Duke wasn’t content being the man next to the man. He wanted to be that nigga.

  He glanced down at the two naked white girls in his bed and his mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he remembered the lusty episode from last night. Duke had a thing for young girls and he found out that white women were real loose with black dick. The two sleeping seventeen-year-olds were no exception. He had pumped them full of “E,” then pumped them full of his “D,” and with his adrenaline pumping for what lay ahead, his bone hardened on the spot.

  Both girls were blondes from their heads down to their pubic hairs, which turned Duke on. He slipped his fingers between the legs of the shorter of the two, who had been sleeping on her stomach, and slid inside her forcefully, waking her up with one pounding thrust.

  “Arrrrgghhh!” she groaned in shock, trying to squirm from under Duke’s thug fuck. He pinned her wrists to the bed and spread her legs wider until she was spread-eagled on her belly. All the moaning and shouting woke her friend from her slumber. She opened her eyes and caught sight of Duke’s long black dick sliding in and out of her friend and it made her horny.

  “Oh, Duke! Duuuuuke!” the first girl groaned, loving the muscle Duke was running up in her.

  He felt the buildup in his balls and pulled out just in time to gag her friend’s throat with his load.

  “Good morning to you, too, daddy,” the shorter blonde cooed, rolling off her stomach, sore and satisfied.

  Duke used her shirt to clean himself off.

  “Y’all gotta get goin’, yo. I got shit to do.”

  Duke headed for the bathroom to clean up. After his shower, he dressed in his favorite Carolina blue Roccawear velour suit and Carolina blue Jordans. He headed for the kitchen and found that the girls were gone. He fixed himself breakfast like they usually did. They were at his beck and call, and because they lived in the same condominium complex, he had easy access to their favors.

  Duke sat down to his omelette and turkey sausage and mentally planned his day. For him, it was the most important day of his life. His idea had been on the back burner for quite a while. So as soon as World said he was going out of town, Duke knew the time had come. He figured if he pulled it off as he planned, they could easily double distribution in one day.

  He was going to have Roll killed.

  Roll controlled major spots in New Jersey, and Duke believed if you killed the head the body would die. Besides, if Young World was afraid of an all-out war, this was the perfect solution.

  If he could pull off the murder.

  Roll wasn’t someone to fuck with. He had been in the game for years, so he was sharp and always on point. He kept no pattern that could be used fatally against him, so he wasn’t an easy target. But Duke felt confident in his plan. His greed told him that if he killed Roll, then all that was Roll’s would be his. Then World would be dependent on him for the new spots. It would be leverage Duke could use in getting World to agree to the mob backing he finally had in his corner. From there, it was just a matter of time before he would push Young World aside and take his spot.

  Everybody wants to be boss.

  Duke checked his watch then picked up his cell phone and dialed his shooters. The phone rang several times before he heard the aggravated voice of an awakened killer.

  “Who this?”

  “Get yo’ ass up, nigga! We got work to do,” Duke barked into the phone, flipping his plasma to ESPN to check the scores. Ty snapped up and rubbed his eyes, trying to revive himself.

  “Oh, what up, Duke, my bad son? I ain’t—”

  “Yo, is you ready?” asked Duke, cutting him off.

  “No doubt.”

  “How the fuck is you ready and you asleep?” Duke fired back, catching Ty’s dumb ass in a trick question.

  “I meant I’m getting ready, yo. Gimme like thirty minutes, aiight?” Ty said, standing up with the phone cradled to his cheek while he put his pants on.

  Duke didn’t even bother to reply. He simply hung up the phone and grabbed his keys to meet Ty at the rendezvous spot.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Free at last!

  Angel stepped onto the Boeing 747 bound for San Francisco, California. She had been out twenty-four hours, and anyone who’s been locked up knows the first twenty-four hours are always the sweetest. The air smelled fresh, not stale like the recycled air inside the prison. The sun shone brighter and seemed to embrace her with welcoming warmth. Even the mundane sounds of car horns and the hustle and bustle of everyday life was music to the ears of a person who hadn’t heard anything but the slamming of steel and the gravelly shuffle on concrete. All that was behind her, and her lover, Goldilocks, had made sure that Angel stepped out in style.

  Goldilocks had a stretch Benz limo waiting outside the federal women’s prison in Alderson, West Virginia. But she didn’t stop there. She had an outfit, shoes, and everything Angel needed waiting for her. Goldilocks knew Angel’s taste for men’s clothing and dressed her to look the part. When the female CO escorted Angel to the front door and took one look at Angel in the outfit, her face turned green with hate.

  Angel smirked.

  “Take a picture for Trina and Lil’ Kim and let ’em know who the baddest bitch really is!” Angel remarked, rubbing her wealth in the face of the heavyset low-wage earner.

  “Hmph, you’ll be back,” said the CO.

  But going back wasn’t the plan for Angel. It was time for the jump off. She wasn’t only going to take back what was hers. She was about to elevate the game to the next level. All who couldn’t hang had best bow out.

  “Welcome to Continental flight 1707 from Atlanta, Georgia, to San Francisco, California. Enjoy your flight and don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything,” the shapely stewardess announced with a friendly smile.

  Angel eyed the woman, from her long sexy legs to her small, slim waist and perky breasts, and couldn’t help but smile. The flight attendant couldn’t help but notice and returned Angel’s smile with a grin of her own.

  “Believe me, sweetie, you’ll be the first to know if I need anything,” Angel said, stressing anything.

  “You do that,” the flight attendant flirted back as she walked down the aisle. Angel watched her from behind.

  Angel was exotically gorgeous. Her time in prison had only served to enhance her already voluptuous figure. She and Goldilocks had worked out religiously and had succeeded in sculpting Angel’s five-seven frame into a Beyoncé-type figure. Her panther-slant, light-brown eyes gave her the look
of a dangerous beauty.

  She relaxed as the plane taxied and took flight. The takeoff was always the worst. She had only been on a plane twice in her life and both times had been with Dutch. Her heart ached for him as she imagined him sitting next to her instead of the elderly white woman in pearls.

  Relax, mami. We where we ’posed to be ’cause stars belong in the sky. That’s what Dutch had said to her the last time they were on a plane. The whole crew had flown to St. Tropez, back when shit was sweet, when they were on top of the world, untouchable and together. Now he was gone, but her heart refused to accept it.

  Dondé es, papi? her palpitating heart asked, and it was as if she could hear his reply. Wherever you are, I am. They can’t stop what they can’t see. Never forget that. Now it’s your turn. Rep the bloodline and show these muthafuckas real niggas don’t die.

  Te quiero, her mind replied, because she thought only in Spanish.

  The flight to California took forever. The only thing that kept Angel amused was the cat-and-mouse game she played with the stewardess. Angel flirted and the stewardess blushed, so Angel flirted some more.

  The flight attendant brought Angel a drink, which for Angel was the perfect opportunity to make a move. When the flight attendant handed her the plastic cup, Angel caught her hand and held it in hers. She looked at her nails.

  “You need a manicure, boo.”

  The stewardess giggled nervously. “I plan on taking care of that when I get some time off.”

  “I got some things you can take care of when you get some time,” said Angel, throwing it out there.

  “I guess it depends on what types of things,” the flight attendant replied as she slowly withdrew her hand.

  Angel knew she had made her point. Before she got off the plane, she had the stewardess’s number tucked away in her pocket.

  Once she arrived in San Francisco, Angel cut through the terminal in a confident stride and headed for the baggage claim area. Goldilocks was supposed to be waiting for her, and just as she promised, she was.

  Goldilocks was leaning on the hood of a jet-black 760i with a charcoal-gray interior. She was casually dressed in a Juicy jogging suit, Nike sneakers, and Fred sunglasses. With no makeup, she radiated beauty. Goldilocks was shorter than Angel and more petite. She was half-German and half-black. German in her smoke-gray eyes and high yellow skin, but black in her fat ass and sassy attitude.