Angel's Revenge

by Teri Woods

  But World couldn’t help but feel desperate. Everywhere he turned there was treachery, deceit, cross-dealings, and double-dealings. It was like Biggie said, the more money, the more problems. He had Ceylon threatening to cut him off, Roll gunning for his crown, and when he needed him the most, the man he looked up to like a father had turned his back, leaving him out in the cold.

  Things had moved too fast for Young World, going from a block lieutenant to a don damn near overnight, and he simply wasn’t cut out for the responsibilities. His ego wouldn’t let him accept it even though his heart was beginning to agree.

  He pulled his pearl-white Aston Martin convertible into the horseshoe driveway of his crib in West Orange. He turned off the car and sat back, taking in the landscape. The six-bedroom, eight-bathroom, ranch-style house was the type of house he’d always dreamed of owning ever since his block hustling days—chasing dimes and nickels, day and night, grinding hard, showering every two or three days and sleeping in hoopties on lookouts. His only goal was to get money. He would hustle all night then take the money to Lana’s mother’s house, catching her before she went to school. Sometimes he’d talk her into playing hooky. They would go downtown to buy clothes or look at jewelry. Then they’d sit on her porch and watch bigger hustlers drive by in their Benzes and BMWs.

  “I’m tellin’ you, girl. That’s gonna be us in a minute, word. We gonna have it all, baby,” he’d tell her, and she would reply, “I already got it all.”

  Now look at me, he thought. He had two homes, this being the larger of the two, complete with a swimming pool and full basketball court. His three-car garage held the $230,000 Aston Martin DB9, a $135,000 CL 55, and a $70,000 Cadillac Escalade, not to mention Lana’s $120,000 760Li series BMW.

  “You’ve come a long way, son,” he said to himself. But deep inside, he wondered if it was all worth it.

  So what if Ceylon cut him off? In his three-year run, he had stacked NBA-type paper. What else did he have to prove? And to whom? Roll? Duke? Lana? Himself? Young World leaned back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

  Maybe it was time to get out, take Lana somewhere quiet and exotic. Logic and reason pointed him in that direction, and he had almost convinced himself. Until he felt the weight on his chest.

  The dragon chain.

  His chest filled with foolish pride and impotent rage. He cursed himself for even thinking such thoughts.

  “Fuck that! I ain’t runnin’ from these bitch-ass niggas!”

  Dutch had left him the dragon to represent, and like a diehard gangster, he planned on repping his jeweled flag to the death.

  Young World entered the house with his mind set on his course of action. All he had to do was put Lana on point to his decision, because she’d have to relocate.

  “Lana!” he yelled loud enough to be heard all over the house.

  He got no reply.

  “Lana, you here?”

  Young World noticed the TV showing her favorite fitness channel. The leotard-clad women were jumping and stretching to a muted beat. He smiled to himself. Lana had an hourglass figure and flawless skin, which she attributed to her vegetarian diet and workout regime.

  He turned off the TV and looked out to the patio where he saw Lana sitting at the edge of the pool. He started toward her, then stopped in his tracks.

  Lana. Suppose something were to happen to her? he thought.

  The game he was playing wasn’t only with his life but with hers as well. It had always been in the back of his mind and with the decision he was about to implement, he knew shit could get real ugly, real fast. God forbid if they came for him through her. Young World would never rest until he avenged her death, but revenge wouldn’t bring her back. Again he questioned his stance, but his pride wouldn’t let him reconsider.

  He walked over poolside and heard Jaheem’s CD playing in the background.

  “Lana.”

  She jumped, slightly startled. “Oh, hey, World.” She smiled and stood up to hug him. She kissed him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “How could you with this bullshit blastin’ like you in the Projects or somethin’,” he snapped.

  “You know it ain’t that loud, boy. Quit trippin’.”

  “Did you hear me come in?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was that loud. I coulda been fuckin’ anybody. I warned you about slippin’,” he scolded.

  Lana watched Young World go to the minibar and pour himself half a glass of Remy Martin.

  “What’s wrong, Sha?” Lana asked.

  “You! I tell you all the time, watch your…”

  His words were silenced when Lana pulled out a .25 caliber pistol concealed in her bikini bottom.

  “Happy now?” She smirked, then laid the gun on the bar.

  “You still ain’t hear me come in,” he grumbled, downing the Remy in one gulp.

  Lana studied her man. “What’s really wrong, Shahid? You can’t talk to me no more or somethin’?”

  World looked into her face and his heart melted.

  “Long trip,” he said before sitting down on a chaise longue.

  “And I see you still on it,” she quipped as she eased onto the edge of his chair.

  Young World didn’t reply. Instead, he stared into space for a few seconds, thinking.

  “You movin’.”

  “What do you mean I’m movin’? Moving where? For what?” Lana asked with a frown.

  “ATL.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  Lana chuckled to hide her annoyance. “Why don’t you just say how high when you want me to jump?” she remarked snidely.

  World knew he wasn’t playing fair with her, but he had already made his decision and he wouldn’t allow her to sway him.

  “Do you trust me, Lana?” he asked sincerely.

  “With my life,” she replied without hesitation.

  “Then don’t ask questions about this, okay?”

  Lana sighed hard and stood up. She had a lot to say but she held her tongue.

  “Whatever,” she said as she tossed her hair back nonchalantly and walked away.

  “Lana!” He called her just like she knew he would. She had been with World long enough to know how to manipulate him when she wanted something. And she really didn’t want him leaving her alone tonight.

  “What, Sha?” she answered without turning around, her arms folded across her breasts.

  Young World admired her delicious frame in the peach bikini she was wearing. It wasn’t a thong, but her ass was so round, it might as well have been.

  “These niggas want a war, so I’ma give it to ’em. I don’t want you nowhere around when it pops off.”

  He broke down and explained, not knowing it had already popped off and war had already been declared on him.

  “What about you? Where you gonna be when it pops off?” she turned and asked.

  “On the front line where I’m suppose to be,” he declared, like he was some kind of hero.

  “Like I said, whatever,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Look, baby. I ain’t running from nobody. I just can’t. As much as I love you, I can’t. If I did, then I’d be a target on every hungry nigga’s plate! I ain’t goin’ out like that, ma. Word. You can’t ask me to.”

  Lana loved him for his strength and confidence. But she was beginning to fear that those traits would become his weaknesses.

  “Please, World. Don’t…”

  He couldn’t explain his motives to her. It was what he felt he had to do. His hand was forced. There were no words. So he responded with a hard and passionate kiss, taking Lana’s breath away, replacing it with his own. He attempted to console her with his embrace, soothe her with his caress, and fulfill her needs with his manhood.

  In the background, Jaheem’s “Just in Case” was playing, and Young World indeed made love to her like it was the last time. The energy was so intense, Lan
a cried tears of passion as Young World filled her with his seed of life.

  “I love you, My World. Please don’t go, not tonight. Stay with me, okay?” With all his heart he wanted to, but he needed to act, and the sooner the better.

  “I won’t be gone long. As soon as I can, I’ll be home.”

  “Promise me?”

  “I promise.”

  Rahman lay on his back and looked at the bottom of the bunk over him. His celly was locked down in what everyone called the “bing” or the “hole.” In the hole you were locked down for twenty-three hours with one hour to take a shower and have recreation. So Rahman had the cell to himself. All he could think about was the Don Diva article and Angel. She said she had won her appeal. He figured she had probably already touched ground by now. The interview didn’t take place yesterday. Because his case was based on the same evidence as hers, it was certain that he’d go home soon, too. Or at least that’s what his lawyer told him. He knew he had the perfect plan, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was ready for the streets again.

  It was easy to be righteous in prison. But once freed, it was another story. Like a crackhead in jail, he could easily believe he had conquered his addiction. However, when faced again with the powerful substance, the sound of the sizzle, the sweet smell of its burn, and its mind-numbing effects, could any addict resist taking that welcome-back hit? It was just like that with the streets, and Rahman knew the game was just as addictive. It was like stealing. Half the niggas he knew didn’t steal because they needed to. They stole because they liked the rush they got from stealing, the sneakiness in the take, and the thrill of getting away. Money is a high of its own. The art of the deal, the brrrap of the money counter flinging bills as it counts, the intoxicating effect of being “that nigga”—rims spinning, jewels gleaming, the VIP status everywhere he goes, and oh my God, the chicks on his dick!

  Addiction. It’s what Rahman feared. Not just the streets but him on the streets. Freedom was the ultimate test for a recovering addict of the game. But even worse was a nigga with options. And Rahman had plenty of them.

  He heard a cart squeaking along the corridor and looked out of his cell. It was Donald from the library, collecting books.

  “As-Salaamu Alaikum, Rahman.”

  “Alaikum As-Salaamu,” Rahman replied.

  “Here you go, brother,” Donald said as he passed Huckleberry Finn through the steel bars to Rahman.

  “What I want that for?” asked Rahman, annoyed.

  “Page 137 contains a valuable message, my brother,” Donald said as Rahman relieved him of the book.

  “Shakron.”

  “Afwan,” Donald replied as he rolled his cart away.

  Rahman opened the book to page 137 and found a folded piece of paper tucked in along the spine. He opened the slim piece of paper and read to himself:

  How you? I heard our young friend came to check you. You don’t have to tell me how it went because I know the mind of a young gangsta. Remember, we already wore those shoes. Now you see firsthand what you’re up against. Your freedom is near and the moment of truth is upon us. Everything is in your hands. Move wisely. You know I’m here for you. Everything I have is at your disposal if need be. Stay focused and keep Allah first.

  As for our friend, he chose… now you must choose as well.

  Salaam Alaikum, Akbar.

  Young World guided the pearl-white Aston Martin through traffic like a missile. His theme music pumped out of the surround sound system, banging like a war drum.

  What you think the game is for? he reminded himself.

  World’s destination was a strip club on Sixteenth Avenue. He was part owner of the Eleganza. His many businesses included other strip clubs, but the Eleganza was Newark’s player’s club of choice. The girls were top notch, no stretch marks, sagging bellies, or droopy titties allowed. You had to be a dime to even walk through the door. The girls were hand-picked after being interviewed, usually by one of the other partners. The interview was to strip naked and give a lap dance along with a sample of the goodies. World had interviewed some of the girls himself. He had sampled the goodies from most of them but hadn’t gotten around to knocking off the rest. It was like being a jockey and walking into a barn full of stallions in every flavor and every shade of the rainbow. Only the biggest ballers, athletes, and entertainers could afford a table at the Eleganza.

  Downstairs, ballers gambled for pots that easily exceeded fifty grand, game after game, night after night. It was always the same—alcohol, gambling, and pussy. What more could a man ask for?

  Young World placed his cell phone back in his pocket. It was the sixth time he had tried to phone Duke with no success. Why this nigga not answering his phone? He figured Duke was at the El, his home away from home. That’s why he made it his first stop.

  He entered the club and approached the bar, greeting the bartender.

  “What up, Tank? What’s good?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’, Young. What up wit’ you?” the big bartender asked back.

  Young World glanced around the club. Five of the girls were working the floor. One of them, Tania, saw Young World and her heart leaped with lust. Not for him, but for the five thousand dollars Roll had offered her if she called him the moment he came into the club. Tania was Roll’s cousin, and she knew Roll was looking for him. She knew Roll had ordered a hit.

  She watched World at the bar. Where’s his army? He just walkin’ around like it ain’t nothing, Tania thought to herself as she slipped away from her lap dance and placed a call to Roll. It rang twice.

  “Who this?” Roll’s gruff voice rumbled through the phone.

  “It’s Tania.”

  “Tania who?” Roll barked, wondering how the ho had gotten his private number.

  “Your cousin, nigga! And guess who here?”

  “Who?” Roll asked, not interested in playing twenty questions.

  “World.”

  Roll sat straight up. “Where?” he asked with murderous anticipation.

  “The Eleganza. He just walked in and he by himself,” Tania said, ready to get her five thousand.

  “Hold him! Whatever you gotta do, hold him. If you got to put that nigga’s dick in your mouth and hold him with your teeth, do it!” he ordered and hung up.

  “That nigga really think shit’s sweet! He at the El right now, alone!” Roll said as he turned to his main man, Nitti.

  That’s all Nitti needed to hear. He and his driver, Jay, were out the door.

  At the Eleganza, Tania sashayed across the floor and rubbed her bare breasts up against Young World from behind. Young World turned around, annoyed.

  “Bitch, get your titties off of me. Do I look like a trick to you? Ain’t your ass supposed to be working?” he arrogantly spewed, turning away from her, back to Tank.

  “But I need to talk to you, World. It’s important,” she insisted. That’s why you about to get fucked up, muthafucka. See how you like it then, she thought to herself.

  “Talk to me for what?”

  “Just let me holla at you before you leave, aiight?” she said, sucking her teeth.

  “Yeah, whatever, if I remember.”

  “Shit, you won’t never forget,” she mumbled to herself as she walked away.

  “Anyway, yo. What was you sayin’, Tank?”

  “Oh yeah, they tried to murder that nigga, Roll,” gossiped Tank.

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Tank said as he shrugged his shoulders. “All I heard was Roll was comin’ out of Branch Brook and some guys caught him at the light. Lit his shit up and completely missed,” Tank explained, cleaning a glass.

  Young World shook his head.

  “Musta been some lame-ass stick-up kids. Fuck was they shootin’, slingshots?”

  They both laughed.

  “Must’ve been,” Tank agreed.

  Young World looked at his watch. “Where is this nigga at? Yo, Tank. Call Duke again. Fuck is this nigga doin’?”


  Tank slid over to the phone and dialed Duke’s cell as World had asked him to. He handed the phone to World, who let it ring until the machine picked up and confirmed that the mailbox was full.

  “He still not answerin’,” said World before hanging up.

  “Nigga probably laid up with them nasty-ass white girls he be fuckin’,” Tank said, and they both laughed.

  World got up from his seat and started for the rear of the club just as Nitti was parking his car outside. World entered the bathroom and went inside a stall. The toilet wasn’t sparkling clean, but it wasn’t bus-station filthy either. He made a mental note to cuss Tank out for not keeping it cleaner.

  He rolled the toilet paper across the toilet seat, lowered his pants, laid his gun on the floor, then sat carefully on the seat, making sure he didn’t knock any paper into the toilet. Young World searched his pants for a match so he could light a blunt while taking a shit.

  World thought again about his plans and began organizing his mental notes. Whoever tried to knock off Roll fucked up his plans. Roll was probably taking extra precautions and would be harder to get at. At least that’s what World thought. Regardless, as soon as Duke arrived, he planned on getting the ball rolling. The way he figured, he had the element of surprise on his side. But, in fact, he was the element about to be surprised.

  Jay walked into the club, trying to focus in the smoky, cloudy room. He spotted Tania and took a seat at a secluded table. She quickly made her way over to him and straddled him for a lap dance.

  “Where he at?” Jay asked with Tania’s tits jiggling in his face.

  “In the bathroom,” she said, grinding and bouncing on top of him.

  “Aiight. Nitti’s at the back door. Let him in,” Jay instructed, wondering if it was true what he heard she could do with a Corona bottle.

  “Y’all gonna take care of me, right?” Tania inquired, her green contacts looking like dangling money signs in her pupils.

  “Just go let him in and we’ll talk later,” he said, meaning it. She slid off his lap and headed for the back door. Tania looked around before she cracked it and allowed Nitti to step in.