by Nikki Turner
Ginger and Simone had both taken showers. The exhausted pair was eager to get their mother’s and Lenny’s blood mixed with their own sweat washed off of them. It’d been the longest twenty-four-hour time span they’d ever lived through . . . robbing a bank, setting up Ghostman to get knocked, then ultimately murdered, having to subdue their greedy mother and her dim-witted man, watching Bunny slaughter their asses, then damn near breaking their backs dragging their heavy, chopped-up bodies out to the back porch. Simone also had to get Tallhya committed. And lastly, Ginger was extra tired having secured that Pastor Street wouldn’t be trying any gank moves on the house the Banks siblings called home.
“No shade, but I still can’t believe Bunny bugged out like that!”
“Who in the fuck is you telling?” Ginger replied, rubbing baby lotion on both his swollen feet. “And then got the nerve to play that fraud-ass crazy role.”
“Yeah, and then disappear, leaving us to clean her mess up.” Simone sat back on the couch chopping it up with Ginger as if they hadn’t just witnessed their mother take her last breath. “I keep calling her, and it’s going straight to voice mail.”
Ginger shook his head while shrugging his shoulders. “Oh well, unless you wanna take another trip out to the crazy house today where Tallhya’s at, let that bitch Bunny be. She’ll get over it sooner or later. That bullshit business with Spoe, Tariq, and that Ghostman motherfucker got her spooked. It got her in a place in her mind that ain’t right.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Before Simone could finish her sentence her cell phone rang. Instantly a gigantic smile graced her face.
“Oh my freaking God,” Ginger acted as if he was throwing up in his mouth. “Let me fucking guess . . . Detective Good Dick is calling!”
Simone threw up her middle finger at Ginger.
“Hey now, Chase.” Simone tried to block all her recent troubles out as she happily answered.
“Hey yourself, Miss Lady. How are you doing this evening? You good?”
“Yes, I’m good. I’m just sitting back handling a few things here at my grandmother’s house,” she answered, not thinking he could’ve asked to stop by.
Ginger sat straight up. Ear hustling, he shot Simone the serious side eye, then pointed toward the back porch where the bodies were waiting to be loaded into the borrowed van. Mouthing the words “What the fuck!” Ginger reminded the love struck Simone to not get that carried away with the conversation with this fool that she forgets he’s the police. Every single person in the hood they lived in knew, at the end of the day, it was fuck the police. They might’ve claimed to offer protection, but that was only to some. And Ginger knew that if Chase had the slightest bit of knowledge that Simone was involved in extortion, bank robbery, and the premeditated murder of her own mother, their fledgling love affair flight would be over before it really got off the ground.
“Wow, girl. First things first, I wanna tell you I really dig you. And I really enjoy spending time with you.”
“Excuse me, Chase,” Simone interrupted, eager for him to get to the point. “But I know you’re not breaking up with me, are you? I mean, trying to give me the brush-off?”
“Oh hell, naw, girl. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy. I was just gonna say I’ma be tied up just a few more days trying to close these robbery cases out, and I didn’t want you to think that I was ignoring you.”
Simone was torn. Part of her was elated her new beau was offering a reasonable explanation of why he would not be as accessible as he would like to be, while the other part of her was worried that the explanation he gave could bite her in the ass, costing her and her siblings their freedom. Not willing to just sit back and wait for the unknown to occur, Simone started to question him on the sly. “Okay, then, Chase, I was about to say . . . I mean, to be honest, I’m really feeling you too.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned his car seat farther back after turning the radio all the way down. “Simone, I swear I hope you understand. I don’t want you to feel some sort of way. It’s the job keeping me busy.”
“Yeah, of course, I do understand that business comes first. That goes without saying. It’s just that I’m so confused about the whole thing in general. I mean, I thought that god-awful man that’d robbed the bank was dead. So it’s over with now . . . right? I mean, what else is there to it?”
“Well, kinda sorta. But it’s not just that one case I’m working on any more. We think it might be a link to the other one.” He offered her an insight on privileged police information. “So until we follow every possible lead, I’m might have to pull a few doubles. Like tonight.” He dared not say he was going to a strip club, so he just kept it simple. “It might be a long crazy night for me, but I’ll definitely text you later, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course, it is, Chase. Keep me posted.” Simone’s nerves were rattled, to say the least. Hearing what should’ve been a closed case was now being linked with the first bank robbery had her shook. A damn crime that had absolutely nothing to do with the one they’d committed.
After ending the conversation, he returned to the station and headed to the squad room. Questioning each one of his team members to see who wanted to tag along to Treat’s Gentlemen’s Club, Detective Dugan had a burning need to tip one stripper in particular: Tiffany. And if luck was on his side, the do-anything-strange-for-some-change dancer would be open to answer a few questions about both the deceased men that seemed so attached to her.
Meanwhile, Simone’s mouth grew dry, and she felt dizzy. Sadly, she filled Ginger in on the fact that even though Ghostman was dead and being deemed the mastermind behind the bank robbery they’d pulled off, they definitely weren’t out of the woods yet. She informed a now-also-concerned Ginger that Detective Dugan and his men were not gonna leave any stone unturned until they brought every single person that played a hand in both robberies to justice. Nervously, Simone once again called Bunny to give her the update on not just what Chase had told her but the Deidra situation as well. Just like earlier, she still only got her voice mail. She tried again just for good measure but got the same outcome.
* * *
It had gotten dark enough for Simone and Ginger to complete their final task for the evening. Dressed in all-dark clothing, they each put on sneakers, lacing them tight. After Ginger walked around the house making sure the coast was clear, he signaled for his sister to open up the rear door of the porch. On the count of three, Ginger and Simone lifted Lenny’s body first. Rigor mortis had set in, and he was as heavy as a sack of bricks and stiff as a board. Even though Ginger was born a man, the struggle was real. It was as if Lenny, even though semichopped up, was repaying them for his murder by being extra difficult to get down the stairs and into the back of the cargo van. Deidra, on the other hand, seemed to be a bit more cooperative. Her frame was much smaller in size, and maybe it was because Simone and Ginger were getting rid of a lifelong headache that made tossing their mother into the van a breeze.
With Ginger behind the wheel, Simone acted as the navigation system, instructing him which way to turn. Finally getting to the murky banks of the James River, Ginger backed the van up. Jumping out of the vehicle, the pair moved as quickly as possible dumping the bodies. Dousing the Home Depot plastic shroud Deidra and Lenny were wearing with lighter fluid, Ginger grabbed a few twigs and lit the ends. Using the twigs as small torches, he dropped them on top of the two. Not waiting to see the certain bonfire-like blaze burn, they rushed back to the van and hit the road. About one mile from the river, Simone set the Ziploc freezer bag containing four hands on fire. Knowing the police would think it was just some random bad-ass kids setting a Dumpster on fire, she tossed the bag in a school garbage can that was full of paper, making the hands burn even faster. In less than ninety minutes after they’d left the house, Simone and Ginger were back at home; no worries; no remorse; no regrets.
Focused on what would be their next move, they both headed upstairs for a much-needed nap to recharge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m done! I swear I’m so fucking done with the dumb bullshit! Ain’t no bitch or punk-ass nigga gonna take advantage of me any damn more. I let Spoe into my heart, and he left me. He let these fucking streets take him away from me; away from this house; this bed. I don’t even know how he took his last breath. What was he saying? What was he thinking? Did he suffer? I know that idiot Ghostman shot Tariq, but where was my baby? Where was Spoe? Oh my God! Shit! Now I’m fucked all the way up! And why? ’Cause some greedy sack-chasing trick-ass pole swinger was trickin’ on my man! This some real bullshit!
Bunny used her feet to kick off the thin but expensive comforter that’d been surrounding her since she stepped foot back inside her condo. The condo that once belonged to her and her man . . . her best friend and confidant. Spoe was supposed to be her hustle partner for life, and now she was forced to be out here flying solo. That ho Tiffany gonna pay for settin’ my man and Tariq up. She thinks it’s over? Like Ghostman gonna be dead, and it’s all good? Bunny’s mind had been spinning all afternoon. From the point she snapped and sent her mother and Lenny on their way, she’d been harping on the night Spoe left her arms until the moment Ghostman callously announced he was dead. Since that moment, Bunny felt as if she never had a second to slow down and take in what’d truly taken place. Then just like that, when she heard Ginger and Simone talking, she snapped. It was too much yakking and not enough action. She’d killed two people without the smallest bit of remorse. And now, it was the stripper’s time to pay. When Bunny got down to Treat’s Gentlemen’s Club, she was gonna be hell-bent on damn near wrapping that pole Tiffany swung from around her neck—twice.
* * *
“Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go. Everybody hating, we just call them fans though. In love with the money, I ain’t never letting go . . .”
“All right, y’all get your hands out your pants and make it rain on some of these hot-box pretty young things running around this motherfucker tonight. Money in the air makes them legs open wide! Let’s see some legs and cash in the air!” The DJ was earning every bit of his salary trying to coax some of the tighter fist pussy-gawkers to cough up some of the dough they were sitting on.
“Girl, I don’t know what in the hell is wrong with some of these crab-ass niggas tonight. They acting like the world coming to an end, and they need to hold onto every dollar they can get their hands on,” Tiffany remarked, hesitant to even get undressed and hit the stage. “Shiddd, I might as well go back to the crib and chill for the rest of the evening. Watch some damn cable or something. You know what I mean? This may not be worth it.”
Sable sat across from the tall top table agreeing with everything her homegirl was saying. Nursing the same glass of cheap wine she’d paid for herself since stepping foot in the club, she wanted to do the same as Tiffany. “I swear, I’m telling you, I was about five minutes away from bouncing outta this dried-up spot my damn self. But you know Cash Dreams having her party tonight.”
“Oh yeah. I freaking forgot. Especially considering it’s so whack in here.” Tiffany turned up her lip, then rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, I know, right?” Sable giggled out loud snapping her fingers to the music blasting out of the built-in speakers. “But the dumb bitch did support my party and yours, so you know how that bullshit goes. Even if she can’t pack the house, we gonna show the skank some love. You already know.”
“Yeah, I do. Shit!”
“Well, sis, stop fucking complaining. At least your ass had a few days off relaxing and ain’t been posted in this bitch! It’s been crazy mad slow, for real, for real.”
Tiffany walked away from the dressing area and headed to the bar and ordered a double shot of top-shelf Hennessey from the waitress. Quickly downing the throat-smooth liquor, she tried to get her mind right and get back into the hustle and flow of the club life. Sable was correct. She did indeed have a few days off, but she definitely wasn’t relaxing; far from it. Even though Tiffany tried to play the tough role, she was still a female and still had emotions. In between the haunting image of watching Tariq get murked and Ghostman getting his dumb self killed by the damn police, the gorgeous, conniving go-getter was ass out with two of her main sponsors now gone. Trying to be nickel slick and come up, now with both her moneymaking dudes fallen on their backs, Tiffany needed to mess around now and find some new tits to suck off of. Those revenue wells had permanently run dry, and it was only God that she believed help her dodge the bullets of getting caught up behind each one’s sudden demise.
True, Tiffany had money saved, but the lavish lifestyle she wanted to live had to be maintained. She had tried repeatedly to get with her other homeboy Dino, who was head of the infamous Bloody Lions Posse. But unfortunately for her, the seasoned criminal moneymaker Dino wasn’t returning her calls. She prayed he didn’t have a clue she’d low-key sent Spoe and Tariq to break into his mansion and relieve him of all his drugs and cash. Tiffany knew his crew were the ones who really killed Spoe and not Ghostman, but either way it went, she felt it was none of her business. Both the stickup niggas were gonna be dead at the end of that night anyway, so it really didn’t matter by whose hand. Their fate just came a little earlier than expected. Now she was back at the strip club seeking her next sponsor. A true hustler is only as good as their next mark; and Tiffany was back on the hunt.
* * *
Watching the news, Dino lit a blunt and frowned. It had been well over a week since he’d doubled back home and caught two crooks violating his domain. After having an in-house shoot-out with the guys, Dino’s dedicated crew forced both of them to jump from one of the bedroom windows. Suffering bone injuries from the rough landing, the brazen thieves fled into the woods. Swiftly realizing they had not only a huge portion of his money, but some of his drugs as well, Dino let his trained dogs go in pursuit. Luckily for Dino, the two men weren’t as quick as they hoped to be. In between the darkness of the night, the many trees, fallen limbs, and holes in the uneven ground, the thieving duo never had a chance. It was like taking candy from a baby. The attack dogs were on their trail immediately and never let up until they earned the fresh porterhouse steaks they were blessed with later that evening. After shooting one of them from afar, Dino ran up, finally getting satisfaction. Firing a fatal shot directly between the eyes, he’d sent one of them home to meet his Maker. Much to his dismay, the other unknown man got away, taking the bag of their ill-gotten gain. Dino’s loyal team searched high and low for Spoe’s accomplice but sadly, came up empty-handed.
After running the deceased stickup man’s pockets, they saw he had not one piece of identification on him, making the task of linking him up with another person or enemy drug-dealing crew practically impossible. There was only one way to positively identify the guy, and that was to let the trained professionals earn their paychecks: the police. Having his men toss Spoe’s headshot-wounded body into the James River, Dino swore he’d find not only the person who had his property, but the disloyal motherfucker who’d set him up in the first place. As he focused on news report after news report, he soon saw that his archrival, Marky aka Ghostman had been caught up in a bank robbery and killed by the police. If I only had that package that was stolen, broken down and circulating in the streets, I’d been on triple-boss status right about now! Now I gotsta make a trip and make this bullshit right. I swear to God if that bum duck that rob me wasn’t already floating facedown in the river, I’d shoot him in his head ten more times!
Interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing, Dino looked down at the screen, annoyed when he saw yet another call from Tiffany’s good gold-digging ass. Ain’t this about nothing. No wonder this hungry ho keeps calling me back-to-back like she crazy or like I owe her something. That bitch think she’s superslick. I see her other meal ticket Ghostman’s fag ass is deader than a motherfucker, and now she wanna come back over here and suck on daddy’s chocolate pole. Like I’m some sort of fool. These bitches these days be doing the fuc
king most; like niggas stupid.
Not thinking she’d have enough nerve to set him up to get robbed, Dino knew anything was possible but chose to not see the writing on the wall. Tiffany, although a do-anything-for-a-dollar type of female, was not on Dino’s short list radar of who was guilty. She’d seen him and his Bloody Lions Posse deal with slum-ass dudes that crossed them on more than one occasion and couldn’t fathom the thought she’d risk her life going against him, no matter who she was giving her pussy to. Dino swore on everything he loved he had Tiffany pegged. He knew she wanted some good stiff dick every so often when she wasn’t into females, a few dollars to put in those overpriced handbags she liked to brag about, and get her car note paid on a monthly basis; nothing more, nothing less. He never thought she would be able to pull off something like that. Besides, she was just another gold-digging hood rat.
CHAPTER NINE
Detective Dugan and Officer Jakes pulled up in front of the semicrowded strip club. Opting not to get valet, they found a parking space on the other side of the block. Even though it was against department policy, Detective Dugan encouraged Jakes to do as he was and leave their pistols and badges hidden in the vehicle. Not wanting to be immediately marked as the police, he felt it’d be better to try to gain more information on the sly. If the bouncers knew they were 5-0, then the DJ would know. If the DJ knew, then the waitress would soon find out; then down the line until every single dancer and even the house mother would know they were cops. Of course, no one wanted to be seen gossiping with the police. Giving a lap dance and getting tipped for it was acceptable. A bitch was being about her paper. But sitting around shooting the breeze about this, that, and the other thing was out of the question. That was . . . unless you wanted to be labeled a snitch. There was already enough dead bodies washing up in the river, so to keep things tight, they were going as regular Joes.