by Noire
Slick nodded. “That shit don’t surprise me.”
“Well, you also said you wanted to plant Goody’s daddy.”
Slick nodded.
“Sorry, boo. I hate to disappoint you but that old dirty bastard died a long time ago,” Jewelz said as she plopped down on a plush ivory ottoman directly across from him.
“Handgun and his brothers were raised by their mother,” she continued. “She’s a sanctified old church lady. She tried to bring them up right, but all six of them suckas was already crooks and criminals by the time they were ten years old.”
Slick shrugged. He still wasn’t surprised. That whole fuckin bloodline was foul. Them Goode Brothers wasn’t shit and had never been shit from the gate.
Jewelz smirked. “Like I said, they momma is a sanctified church mother and she still lives in the projects. Goody and them bought her a plush house but she won’t even step foot inside that devil’s playground. She won’t take none of their money neither because it ain’t holy. She’s one of those heavenly bound saints who ain’t no more earthly good.”
Slick nodded again. He knew the type. “Cool. We gonna put Momma right outta her misery and send her to her heavenly reward. I been tracking that nigga Razorblade. I’ma hit his ass first.”
Jewelz shrugged. “Why him?”
“’Cause he’s the baby,” Slick said simply. “Ere’body loves the baby. Matter fact, I think we should smash them muthafuckas with a double-header. Let’s send Razorblade and his momma both to hell at the same time.”
“Fine,” Jewelz said as she stood up and looked at the door like he needed to get up and step. “Let me know when you get the details worked out.”
Slick sat there and looked her up and down. He stared at her peach mini-skirt and teal high heels like he was just noticing how finely she was dressed and how different she was wearing her hair.
“You look real nice, Jewelz. Real nice.”
“Thanks.” She touched the wig on her head self-consciously, then eyeballed the door again and stared at him.
“You tryna tell me to bounce?” Slick asked with a half-smile.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“What? You having company?” he joked her. “You about to grill some bum-nigga a steak?”
Jewelz smirked. “Nigga, please. I don’t drag trashy shit home with me outta the gutter! And don’t get me confused with that low-budget bitch you be feeding neither. If I want a steak I can go buy me one or I can get me a real man to take me out to eat one.”
Slick nodded. “So you are having company tonight then, huh?”
Jewelz put her hand on her hip and strutted over to the door with her needle-thin high-heels stabbing the floor.
“For your information I’m on my way to the studio to hook up with Handgun,” she said coldly. “He’s laying down some tracks and he asked me to come by.”
“Damn!” Slick bucked hard. “You was just with him last night and you steppin out with that nigga again?”
“I’m on a job, remember? Some of us professionals know how to keep our business separate from our pleasure and still put in work.”
“Yo, I put in work too, Jewelz. Ere’ fuckin day.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “You wanted to know when I was gonna make another move on Goody. Okay, so I’m letting you know. I’m making a move.”
“A’ight, no doubt,” Slick said standing up. He walked over to the door and looked down at her quietly. “You be careful fuckin with that dirty nigga Mike though, Jewelz. Stay focused and keep ya head in the game. I know you still mad at me, but Goody ain’t no light-weight nigga. You go up in that studio smelling good and looking all fine like that and he’ll try to lull ya ass to sleep. And as soon as you close your eyes he’ll bite the shit outta you. Trust me, baby, you gone hafta be up on your toes at all times with that nigga. You gonna hafta—”
“Nigga chill I’m straight!” Jewelz snapped. “Goody is a monster but I ain’t no slouch neither! If we wasn’t tryna sweep up his whole damn family I would smoke his ass right there in that studio and take his whole click out with him tonight.”
“Jewelz—”
“Don’t worry.” She whirled around and snatched open the front door. Slick caught a nice whiff of her scent as her pretty skirt twirled in a cloud of perfume. His heart banged in his chest and his dick jumped on wood.
“I’ma stick to the script,” she said with a grin. “I’ll let you know what it’s hitting for when I get back. I’m about to mind-fuck this nigga to death and get him all strung out.”
“A’ight, do ya thing.” Slick threw his hands up reluctantly as he walked out with her. He couldn’t help feeling some kinda way about sending her off into the lion’s den all alone and he paused to give her a few more words of advice.
“Look, Jewelz. Just be careful and make sure you stay in contact with me. If he tries some foul shit on you I’ll come kill that pussy with my bare fuckin hands.”
“I’m good. Relax, nigga. I’m in my zone.”
“But Jewelz…yo maybe I oughtta go down there with you...” Slick opened and closed his mouth as he tried to find the words. The words to tell her how worried he was about her. The words to say that he would lay down and die if something ever happened to her.
Jewelz smirked. “Nigga you jelly or something? Just keep ya jack on,” she said, strutting her sexy ass down the hallway like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m out.”
CHAPTER 7
Remember the First Time
Slick left Jewelz’s crib feeling jealous all down in his gut. She wasn’t supposed to be looking so damn good or having so much damn fun slumming around with that slimy nigga Handgun Goody.
Deep in his feelings, Slick had gotten on the train and headed back to Brooklyn and now, an hour later, he was standing on the rooftop of building 430 reading and re-reading the message he’d just taken off his bird and trying to get that shit to make some sense.
As a penalty for failing to complete two consecutive assignments your organization has been formally suspended from all business activities until further notice.
What the fuck? The BBU was putting his crew up on a shelf. They were fuckin suspended!
Slick read that shit again. As a penalty for failing to complete two consecutive assignments your organization has been formally suspended from all business activities until further notice.
“Yo, hold up. Two assignments?” Slick muttered under his breath as he racked his brain tryna figure that shit out. “What the fuck y’all bitches talking about we failed to complete two hits?”
Slick was so surprised that his voice had risen way up high.
“Hell, nah!” he paced back and forth on the grainy rooftop. “Y’all goofy niggas got it wrong! My gunslingers only fucked up once!”
Suspended. Slick knew what type of crucial shit this meant for his crew. It wasn’t just that the BBU was punishing his set for fucking up that last mission. And it wasn’t like them billionaire muthafuckas was gonna ask for their client’s money back neither.
Nah, what them bastards could do though, was cut the Zip ’em up Crew off at the knees and cripple them. They could put the word out on the underground wire that Slick’s crew was unreliable and couldn’t be trusted to complete a job no more. And if that happened it would fuck up any chance they had of getting on with another organization and picking up future assignments. Yeah, the BBU could use their power to fuck with their pockets in a major way, and if that shit happened then where would his click be?
Slick was furious as he paced around on the rooftop. Even though he had told his hittas to take a break he wasn’t talking about forever. The negative ratings from a suspension would kill their credibility quicker than shit and dry up their contract jobs damn near overnight.
Slick had worked too long and too fuckin hard picking the right crew and molding them into a solid team just to get pushed outta business like this. His plan was to stay in the hit game until he could amass and
stash at least ten million duckets and he wasn’t ready to retire just yet.
The only solution at hand was for the Zip ’em up Crew to redeem themselves. They had to get back out there and fix what they had fucked up. They had to restore the BBU’s trust and confidence in their organization.
But that shit was easier said than done. Nerves were already raggedy in the group and everybody was quick to get in their feelings these days. Slick had a major morale problem amongst his posse and he wasn’t feeling that shit one bit.
Because theirs was the type of business where one bad apple would fill a whole fuckin basket up with worms. Slick was gonna have to do an assessment of where the bad blood was coming from and determine which member of his family had become the problem child.
Deep in his heart he had his finger pointed in one specific direction, but Slick wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions or make decisions based on emotions. It was no secret that him and Wild Man went toe-to-toe at times, or that they had some past animosity that they had to iron out every now and then.
Wild Man was naturally off the cuff with his game, and him and Slick had butted heads ever since they were tykes. It was only natural. Two alpha muthafuckas was always gonna bump heads and clench up. It had happened to Slick over and over again when he was in the military because he was the type of nigga that cats envied.
Slick shrugged that haterade off. He knew he was the shit. And the shit attracted flies. That was part of the game.
Besides, when you cut through all the bullshit, Wild Man was always gonna be his dude, regardless. He had been there for Slick through some rough and hungry years, and Slick had been there for him too. There was no way he was gonna curb his partner. No fuckin way.
Slick’s head was heavy and he needed a distraction. He needed to be deep up in some sweet warm pussy. He needed to be held in some soft, female arms. He needed that beautiful chick that he just couldn’t get off his mind. The one that he couldn’t keep from getting in his heart. He needed him some Honore.
Sitting on the ledge of the roof, Slick placed a call and waited while her phone rang on the other end. He was tired as fuck with his nuts dragging down on the ground, and he couldn’t wait to hear his baby’s voice.
“Honore,” her name practically fell outta his mouth when she finally answered the phone. “Wus good, sweetheart? How you feeling tonight baby?”
“Who’s this?”
His stomach got tight.
“C’mon, French Fry. It’s ya dude Slick. You don’t know my voice by now? How you doing sweetie? Tell me something good.”
“I’m fine,” she answered, and those two words were so cold and sharp they smacked Slick across the grill like a corner bitch being pimp-slapped to the other side of the street.
“Yo, ’sup with that? What’s going on? Why you sound like that?”
“Why I sound like what?”
Slick slid down off the ledge. He forced a mental wall to rise up around him and he made damn sure Honore was standing on the other side of it.
“Why you sound like you got a problem, Miss Lady? Check it out,” he said in a voice that was just as cold as hers. He didn’t know what she was crackin for but two could play this bullshit game. “Something’s hittin on my other line. I’ll holla.”
Slick didn’t wait around to hear her response. He cut off the call and slid his phone down in his pocket. A moment later he pulled it back out and dialed another number.
“Jewelz,” he said, grateful to hear her voice when she answered on the other end.
“What?” she hissed, sounding all aggravated and annoyed. “What you calling me for, Slick? I told you I was getting with Goody at the studio tonight! That nigga went in the engineer’s booth but he’s coming back out now. I gotta go!” Click.
Slick stared down at his phone and then pushed that shit back down in his front pocket again.
Fuckin females, man.
He sat down on the roof and leaned his back against the ledge. Then he shoved his hand down in his drawers and gripped his meaty dick. He stared up at the moonlight and the stars for a minute, and then he closed his eyes and thought about how a nigga like him had gotten in the murder game in the first damn place.
$$$$$
As the childhood survivor of an extremely bloody massacre, Slick had developed an appetite for slaughter and his first kill had been his tastiest.
The heat had been real hot that summer in Brownsville. It was the time of year when everybody in the hood was outside enjoying the city flow. Ladies walked around half-naked and hustlers flashed their jewelry and rode around in shiny new cars trying to bag the pretty young thots.
On this particular day the block parties and cookouts were jumping while the kids played in the open spray of fire hydrants and everyone enjoyed the good food and good drank.
Slick was not too long out of high school and he had just passed the test to get into the military. He had completed all the necessary paperwork and physicals and he was ready to go.
His outlook on the future was hopeful because he was young, strong, and in the best shape of his life. Yeah, it was gonna be hard for him to leave the wonders of New York City behind, but too many bad memories had stained his soul and he was ready to venture away from the projects in search of some new experiences.
But he still had some unfinished business to settle before he left.
Hassan “Haz” Williams, the man who had murdered Slick’s family and left him to die in pool of his own blood, had recently been released from prison. After all the anguish he had caused, that big pyscho nigga was still out there walking the streets of New York City alive and free. Over the years Slick had figured that somebody had already planted that bogus bastard, but fortunately that wasn’t the case.
It was a little after eleven p.m. on a hot-ass night and the local drug crews were going about their usual games of cee-low in Nehemiah Park on Livonia and Watkins. The games were held every Friday night, and five or six games would be going on at one time.
It was a regularly held event and the cops stayed away. Rival gangstas from Brownsville and East New York came together to flex on each other and to try to win as much money as they could just for bragging rights. Most of these gatherings usually ended in gunfire, so each crew had their goons waiting on the sidelines just in case some static popped off.
Slick had recently heard through the nigga-network that his uncle was outta the joint, and he had studied and tracked Haz’s moves so he could line his ass up properly. Occasionally he had spotted Haz from a distance on the streets and struggled with the urge to kill him on sight, but Haz was a dangerous felon and Slick was trying to survive the encounter.
Slick was young and he had never slumped anybody before, but at the same time he had never wanted somebody dead so badly. Haz represented the destruction of Slick’s childhood. He was responsible for the nightmares and the cold sweats that Slick had woken up to almost every night for over ten long years.
Haz Williams was the reason that Slick would never see his mother’s beautiful smile or hear her sweet voice again. He was the reason Big Slick hadn’t been around to teach his son how to navigate the world and be a man. His uncle Haz represented the boogeyman under Slick’s bed, and he was the monster in all his dreams. The next couple of days would find Slick in a military uniform with his whole future stretched out in front of him, and he’d vowed that this was the night he would slay that fuckin boogeyman or die trying.
After a few minutes of careful watching, a chance to catch Haz slipping presented itself and Slick jumped on it.
“Nigga I ain’t paying you shit, son!” a fat dude named Oink blasted on Haz, who had just rolled a triple fever.
Haz growled. “You already know what time it is, bitch. Pay me minez or I’ma moon-walk your wig back! I don’t give a fuck if it rolled in ya baby momma’s mouth, nigga! It’s trip five’s so pay me!”
Everybody out there tossing dice knew Oink was a pussy and he was gonna pay Haz, even thou
gh Haz was supposed to shoot it back.
“Man, whatever! Here, take this shit! I’ma get it back anyway nigga! That was a lucky-ass roll,” Oink stated trying to save face after getting bitched for his money.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Whatever, stop bitching nigga! You mad aggy. If you rolled trips in a crack I woulda paid you,” Haz said with a smirk. He was lying through his damn teeth and everybody knew it.
Over the years Haz had let his physique go, and after getting locked up he was even flabbier than he used to be. If these niggas out here called themselves goons, then one would have to call Haz a goblin. He was considered a bonafied psychopath both in the penitentiary and on the city streets. And even though he was fat and sloppy he continued to command a high level of respect and fear. He was still a boss, but most of the time he moved like he was doing now. Like a reckless stick-up kid who had something to prove. Bottom line, the nigga was wild and unpredictable.
“Yeah right, it sounds good mothafucka,” Oink said under his breath as he handed over the bread to Haz.
“Yo,” Haz said as he snatched all the money from the pot and started walking off, “winning this cheese from y’all bum-ass niggas got my stomach hurting. I’ll be right back.”
The other dice games were still jumping. Niggas were laughing and joking and talking shit as money was getting made and lost. But even though it looked all good, the tension and excitement was always high. All it took was for somebody to lose too much doe or hear one joke too fuckin many, and that’s when the bullets would start flying.
“Yo Haz, you want me to walk with you bro?” one of Haz’s young soldiers called out to him.
Haz glared over his shoulder like that nigga was crazy. “Fuck you mean walk with me? Nigga you ain’t my bitch! This my house! I wish a mothafucka would! Matter fact, com’mere right quick.” Haz waved the young’un over to him.