by K Elliott
Ruff lived near the Piedmont Courts housing projects, a neighborhood notorious for drug dealing and murder. Young boys were huddled on street corners, drinking and rolling dice, while prostitutes and drug addicts paraded up and down the street. Ruff’s place was an enormous one-level home that stood out prominently in such a poverty-stricken neighborhood. A Lincoln Navigator and a Mercedes Benz were in the driveway. As soon as Jamal and Dawg reached the porch, a man opened the door. “I’m Ruff,” he said, his smile revealing gold teeth. “Come on in. Have a seat.”
Dawg sat beside Ruff on the sofa, and Jamal sat on an ottoman on the other side of the room. Ruff’s home was simply decorated with earth-tone furniture and plush beige carpeting. Prison photos on the coffee table taken while he was locked up made it obvious that Ruff was no stranger to law enforcement.
“Angelo said you were gonna have something for me,” Ruff said. “We do,” Dawg said
“Where is it?” Ruff asked.
“Now you wouldn’t expect us to come over here with it on us
before meeting you and feeling you out?” Jamal said. Ruff smiled again. “Yeah, I see what you mean, but if you trusted Angelo and he sent you to me, he evidently feels that I’m okay, wouldn’t you say?”
“He told us that you were cool but, you know, I still like to feel people out myself,” Jamal said.
“I understand. So how long is the feeling-out process gon’ take?” Ruff asked.
“As long as I need it to take,” Jamal said.
“Well, I ain’t got all year to be fuckin’ with you cats. The fuckin’ police just took $85,000 from me. I need to get back to work quickly. You know what I mean?”
Jamal and Dawg rose at the same time. “Have your money counted. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes,” Jamal said.
“I guess that means you boys trust me,” Ruff said.
“Naw, this means we trust Angelo,” Jamal said.
*** Three days later, TGI Friday’s parking lot on Independence Boulevard was empty, except for the black pickup truck in the back of the restaurant. Jamal and Dawg waited in the front with two kilos underneath the seat. A 9mm handgun rested at Dawg’s waist.
Jamal glanced at his watch. It was 3:15 P.M. and already his prospective customer was late. “Do you think we ought to get the hell out of here?” he asked.
“Let’s wait another fifteen minutes,” Dawg said, looking over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot.
“I don’t like waiting in no empty parking lot,” Jamal said. “If it wasn’t Rico we were waiting on, I would have gotten the hell out of here a long time ago.” Rico was a former associate whom Jamal had dealt with before going to prison.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Dawg said.
Jamal turned to Dawg. “Is Rico still cool? I mean, you haven’t heard anything about him robbing anybody, have you?”
“Naw, Rico is cool, as far as I know.” A blue Lexus with chrome rims pulled into the parking lot. Jamal and Dawg recognized Rico immediately.
Rico pulled up beside the Expedition and asked Jamal to follow him.
Nervously, Jamal and Dawg both looked the parking lot over before following the Lexus. About a half-mile later they reached an apartment complex. Rico sprang out of the Lexus and signaled for Jamal and Dawg to come in behind him. Dawg moved the gun from his waist to his pocket.
Once they were inside the apartment, they felt there was no immediate danger. A short Hispanic woman with a round ass was inside.
“Rosa, these are my friends, Dawg and Jamal,” Rico said.
The woman nodded and smiled.
“Now get the hell out of here and let me and my friends do business.”
After Rosa left, Rico hugged Jamal. “I’m glad you’re home, man, that’s real.”
“You ain’t the only one. Hell, I’m glad to be home,” Jamal said.
“So what do you have for me?” Rico asked.
“I got what you want. It’s some good shit.”
“Cool, because it’s been kind of hard to get the good shit lately, and I need to serve my people in the ’hood,” Rico said.
“Well it’s here. I got two bricks, and I’m going to need $50,000.”
“I got forty. I can pay you the rest in a couple of days.”
“Okay. I’ll let you deal with Dawg from now on because I got to make sure we keep getting what we need.”
“I see you’re playing the big-man role already,” Rico said, laughing.
“I don’t want to be the big man. The big man is the one who gets all the prison time. I want to be the one who gets all the money.”
Jamal showed Rico two brick-like packages. They reminisced for a few minutes before counting the $40,000.
*** Dream was still upset by the way DeVon had treated her in the visiting room. He’d acted like an adolescent about some pictures she’d taken years ago. She blamed society for the double standard between men and women. It was acceptable for a man to engage in any kind of undesirable act, and society would forgive him. Bill Clinton, Jesse Jackson, and Jimmy Swaggart had all been involved in sex-related scandals. Initially the media was in a frenzy, but after a couple of months, the hype died down; the country forgave them, but the poor women involved were scorned.
She wondered why men always dwelt on the past. She had never tried to investigate DeVon’s previous relationships. She was certain that she could easily dig into his past and come up with some skeletons, but she had no desire to. She wasn’t concerned about his past love life. She didn’t know whether she still loved DeVon. She missed him terribly though, and she needed to talk to someone. She decided to call her best friend, Keisha Ferguson.
Keisha picked up the phone on the first ring. “What’s up, girl?” she screamed, which meant she must have looked at the Caller ID.
“Nothing much here. Just needed someone to talk to,” Dream said.
“You sound down. What happened?”
For the next twenty minutes, Dream told her all the details of her visit with DeVon. Keisha listened without interruption, and when Dream finished talking, Keisha commented, “He’s so damn childish.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” Dream replied, but she wasn’t exactly surprised that Keisha had taken her side, after all, they were best friends, and they did think alike.
“You know what? You need a vacation, girl. You haven’t been anywhere but to that damn prison, to work, and to your parents’ house. Why don’t you come with me to South Beach this Fourth of July weekend?”
“A vacation like that must be expensive,” Dream said.
“Well, I already have a room reserved. All you need to do is get an airline ticket.”
Keisha was right. Dream hadn’t been anywhere all summer, and a trip could be soothing. Dream thought about it for a couple of minutes before deciding she would go. “I’ll search the Internet for a deal.”
“Call me back and let me know what you come up with,” Keisha said.
*** Jamal had dealt with Ruff for about three weeks, and had made nearly $50,000 in profits. Not bad money for less than a month of work. When he was in prison, he had heard that high-tech was the wave of the future, with some jobs making as much as $150,000 a year. He preferred pharmaceutical sales. There was no money like drug money, he thought. He had made enough to get the new E-Class Benz if he wanted. He had enough to buy some cheap real estate. He could even buy into a fast-food franchise. He decided to wait before he spent his money foolishly.
Fourth of July weekend was coming up, and since this was his first summer of freedom in five years, Jamal decided he and Dawg would fly to South Beach for the weekend. Rappers, hustlers, and women from all over the United States would be down in Miami, and Jamal knew it would be live. I have to be there, he told himself. He had Dawg call Oceanside Car Rentals and reserve two convertible Porsches.
*** Mark Pratt had been following Ruff since the day the $85,000 was seized. Ruff hadn’t tried to contact the D.A.’s office to reclaim the money. Traili
ng Ruff had been a very arduous task. He was a very busy man who was into all sorts of things—most undesirable. A typical day for Ruff usually included a few gambling houses and a strip club. Ruff had even gotten locked up a couple of times for other petty charges while Mark had him under surveillance. Two things were certain: Ruff was definitely a womanizer with at least three different girlfriends who were much too beautiful to be involved with a character like him. Secondly, Ruff was definitely involved in illegal drugs. Mark had observed Ruff accepting money from at least three people a day. He could have busted Ruff a long time ago, but he didn’t want to go for a small amount. He wanted to catch him on the day he picked up from his suppliers. The more drugs, the more leverage Mark would have to make Ruff break down and inform on his connection.
*** U.S. Air Flight 341 departing from Charlotte for Miami boarded at Concourse C, Gate 18. There was a long line. Most of the patrons were African-Americans in their twenties and early thirties. Jamal and Dawg stood at the very back of the line, each wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts from the Sean John summer line, and a new Cartier watch. Their row was close to the back of the plane. A young lady sat in the seat next to the window. Jamal took the middle seat and Dawg sat on the aisle. The woman turned and greeted Jamal. “Hello, I’m Keisha,” she said.
“I’m Jamal.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. They shook hands.
“Same here,” Jamal smiled. He noticed she was looking at his
Cartier. A booming voice filled the plane, directing passengers to turn off all electronics and to make sure their seat belts were fastened and seats were upright. Five minutes later they were in the air. Jamal and Keisha talked nonstop during the fifty-five-minute flight. She told him all about her trip to Cancun the year before, and they discovered they had even attended the same high school, but he was a couple of years ahead. She even told him she was an accountant.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “Yeah, I just passed the CPA exam last month,” she said, pulling a card from her purse. “Take one of my cards.” The card read: KEISHA A. FERGUSON, CERTIFIED PUBLIC ACCOUNTANT SPECIALIZING IN PAYROLL AND BOOKEEPING.
Jamal found Keisha very attractive but thought she might be a gold digger. He felt she would be better as a friend.
“So, Keisha, are you down here by yourself?” Jamal asked. “Well, my girlfriend, Dream, is flying in later this evening.” Jamal came to the conclusion that her girlfriend was probably
attractive as well because good-looking women usually hung around one another. “So what are you girls doing tonight?” “I don’t know. I got the itinerary from the Internet. There are so many parties going on. We haven’t decided where we’re going yet.”
“Maybe we can hang out tonight,” Jamal said.
“Well, give me the card back, and I’ll write down the number to the hotel for you.”
*** Hector, the young Hispanic man at the counter of Oceanside Car Rentals looked afraid when Dawg stared coldly at him. Dawg and Jamal were told that there was only one Porsche left.
“I can g-give you a Grand-Am for half price,” the man said, while staring at Dawg’s huge hands.
“I don’t want no damn Grand-Am. I want what the fuck I reserved!” Dawg yelled.
A crowd of people looked on curiously and the man began to sweat profusely before loosening his tie. “Sir, I don’t know what else to do to accommodate you,” Hector said.
“Go get your damn manager,” Jamal demanded.
The manager was also Hispanic. His nametag read Pedro. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked politely.
“The problem is, I reserved two Porsches and your man is telling me you’ve only got one,” Jamal said.
Pedro told Hector to step aside as he scrolled through several screens on his computer. “Mr. Stewart, I can give you a black convertible Jag for half price.”
Jamal decided he would take the Jaguar, though he would rather have the Porsche. He knew the Jaguar would be better than getting stuck driving some low-budget Grand-Am while all the athletes and rappers ruled the strip in exotic toys. “I guess we’ll take it,” Jamal said, “but I want you to know that I know you got that damn Porsche, and you probably gonna give it to some white mu’fucka.”
Hector gave Jamal a tight-lipped nod. His facial expression indicated that he really didn’t want any trouble from the two black men. Hector made a phone call and had the two vehicles brought to the front door.
Jamal and Dawg left the airport racing until they were about ten miles away from the beach where a long line of cars was at a standstill. Forty-five minutes later, they were pulling up to the Doubletree Hotel on Collins Avenue.
CHAPTER 4
K EISHA WAS DRIVING A blood-red convertible when she arrived at ground transportation. Her hair was down, and she wore expensive Versace sunglasses. She jumped out of the car and hugged Dream as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.
“You are playing your part,” Dream teased.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keisha said as they loaded Dream’s bags into the car and sped off. When they reached the beach, it overwhelmed Dream. She couldn’t believe how many people were actually on the strip. The crowd was predominately African-American and there was an excess of police officers—crowds and police seemed to go hand in hand.
People from all over the country were there. Rappers were promoting their albums and movies. Every other person was passing out a flyer, announcing a party, fashion show, or another social gathering. The strip was breathtaking. Palm trees and the ocean on one side of the road, shops and restaurants on the other. Expensive cars like Bentleys and Ferraris filled the streets. Scanty clad model-types walked the strip as guys with camcorders recorded their every movement. Dream had been on the strip for ten minutes and she absolutely loved it.
Their hotel was on James Avenue, fifteen minutes away from the main strip, but with the massive crowd cluttering the street, it took them almost an hour to get there. The Crest Hotel was an ordinary stucco building with three levels. Their room was very spacious, equipped with two full-size beds and hardwood floors. The bathroom was tidy with a huge oval tub in the center, contemporary meets classic decor.
The plane ride and the heat had worn the girls down. They sat on the bed and talked for a few minutes and before they knew it, they both were snoozing.
The phone rang at 9:30 P.M. Dream answered it, still half asleep, “Hello.”
“Hello, can I speak to Keisha?”
“She’s asleep. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Jamal. She met me on the plane. Would you let her know that Steve Francis, the NBA nigga, is having a white linen party at Club Onyx? It’s supposed to be happening.”
“I will. What did you say your name was?”
“Jamal, and what’s yours?”
“Dream.”
“Hope to meet you at the party,” he said before hanging up.
*** Dream dozed for a few more minutes before finally getting out of bed. She decided that it was time for them to get ready if they were going to go out. She reached over to Keisha’s bed and nudged her. “Girl, wake up. I know you didn’t come all the way down here just to sleep.”
Keisha sat up on the edge of the bed and refocused. “Hell, it’s so many different parties going on, I don’t know where to go,” she finally said.
“While you were asleep, some guy named Jamal called. He said you met him on the plane. He asked me to tell you about a whitelinen party some NBA player is having.”
“Oh yeah, I met Jamal and his friend. They were real cool. We should hang out with them since they’re from Charlotte.”
“Sounds like that party might be worth looking into. I brought some linen, what about you?” Dream asked.
“Yeah, I brought some linen pants.”
“Good, because that’s the party I want to go to.”
“Me, too,” Keisha replied, “because I know it’s going to be a lot of brothers there with serious money
.”
Dream rolled her eyes teasingly. “Girl, you know our mamas ain’t raise no gold diggers. Besides, you just became a CPA; you’re about to be rolling in money.”
“You’re right. Our mamas didn’t raise no gold diggers, but we didn’t grow up struggling either, and I’m not about to start at this stage of my life.”
“You know you got a lot of competition out there?”
Keisha rose from the bed and sashayed across the room. “Yeah, it’s always like this, but honestly, do you think I give a damn about the competition with a body like this?” she said as she traced her silhouette.
“You’re a ho,” Dream said, giggling.
“No, I keep it real.” Keisha winked.
*** Keisha called Jamal and they met in front of Club Onyx. Jamal’s eyes met Dream’s and they held the stare for a long time before she extended her hand. “Hey, I think we spoke on the phone,” Dream said.
“Yeah, we did.” Jamal tried to answer her as calmly as possible but he was lost in thought. He wanted her to be his wife. She was stunning. Her eyes were radiant and her skin was dark and smooth. She wore a tight white linen skirt, and it contrasted with her skin artistically.
The line for the party had extended all the way to the middle of street. Jamal decided immediately he wasn’t going to be waiting in anybody’s line for hours. He had come to South Beach to have a good time and that’s exactly what he was going to do. He pulled one of the bouncers to the side. “Listen, man, how much is it going to cost for me and my friends to cut the line?”
“Two hundred dollars apiece, three hundred for VIP,” the bouncer answered.
Jamal pulled out a handful of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, peeled off twelve, and handed them to the bouncer. “Take us to VIP,” he ordered.
The huge bald-headed man grinned while quickly stuffing the money in his pocket. He then shoved several people out of his way to make room for the group.
The club was crowded with people, almost on top of one another. Jamal asked Dawg to take Keisha to the dance floor so he could be alone with Dream. Jamal led Dream to the outside patio, and they sat facing the crowded South Beach streets. He was so taken by her beauty that he wanted to leave for Charlotte with her tonight. “You know I really dig your name.”