by King, Deja
Paris dropped her head. “Yeah, I know, but I just want you to send me back to the States with more shooters so I can get at them mu’fuckas—”
He cut her off mid-sentence. “We have to be more strategic when going after dem,” he told her. “Gio has equal power as me. So me must t’ink ‘head. Strike when dey are unaware.” A man who hardly spoke to others on his business, Ox felt that Paris was one of the few loyal ones. They had established a level of trust long ago.
Before Paris could respond, Ox’s cell phone rang. It was his son, Rude Boy and he had been waiting on that particular call. “What up, me son?”
He remained silent for a moment, getting details from the other end of the phone. He smiled and then ended the phone call. He looked up at Paris. “We just landed in London and our main focus has arrived in a whole ‘nother continent for unknown reasons,” Ox grinned. “I t’ink we’d be able ta get de Mafia’s princess sooner ‘dan me t’ought. Me hear she traveled alone. Meanwhile me have ta catch me scheduled private flight to the U.K. too and discuss other issues.”
I m coming.
“Me have her shipped down here ta you so they will discover her body on me turf. Me want de Dominicans ta know we posse work as fast as ‘dem squadron,” he explained. “Chu two a share a lot of time together soon doe. Me promise.”
Westminster, London Borough
As the black Benz truck came to a complete stop in front of the Greek restaurant, Quasim got out and stepped underneath the umbrella one of his goons held up for him. It was drizzling outside, and that was one thing about London that Quasim could never get used to. He had been there a little over a year, and he was already deep in the dope game. Unlike back home, he decided before he stepped back into the game hard he would be about his gunplay to instill fear in the streets. He learned that it was the only way niggas would respect him, and he would have it no other way.
Quasim knew there were ghettos across the world, and East London was just as rough as Yonkers and he took advantage of his surroundings. Where he was from, many people wouldn’t have thought about hustling in the U.K., but his back was against the wall after Block showed him shade. Quasim had lost everything, but it didn’t take long for him to start eating and getting a piece of England’s pie.
After a street doctor on his payroll nursed him back to health, Quasim jumped on the next departing flight to start anew in a city where royalty reigned, confident that eventually he’d reign again as king of the streets. Dead on paper, he left the States behind and had documents under an assumed name. He had all the makings of a new life, but even so, without the only woman he loved enjoying it with him it all meant nothing. He hustled tirelessly in the streets, only because it was the one thing that was a distraction from Semaj. In moments like this, meetings with his connect was the perfect interaction to keep his mind focused on the money.
Looking down at the chrome briefcases in his hands, Quasim refocused and briefly waited as his goon opened the door. He entered the restaurant escorted by two Black British henchmen who remained at the front entrance. As he made his way up the black porcelain wraparound stairs he was instantly hit with the smell of cannabis, widely known to people in the States as weed.
As he reached the second level of the empty establishment, Quasim noticed that the decor had changed. The well-lit, spacious room had an all white plush carpet equipped with black leather couches. A huge flat screen television hung on the wall and a soccer game was airing. Everyone except the bodyguards was tuned to England versus Spain. Soccer over there was like football to fellas in America. They even called it football.
“Are you niggas gon’ keep watching this game or handle this BI, family?” Quasim joked and walked over towards his people, ready to get down to business.
“Oh shit! If it isn’t me man, Quasim!” Ox stood to greet one of his largest customers. Neither of them knew that Ox had assisted with the hit on Quasim the night he was shot. With his affiliation with Block’s family, Ox didn’t need any names or ask any questions when sending Block some shooters. The only question that he wanted answered was how many soldiers were needed.
Both Quasim and Ox were veterans in the business and they lived by the golden rule: Mind your own business if it ain’t about business at hand. Everything else was irrelevant and they never discussed anything outside of their business dealings, but it would be a mistake that would cost them dearly.
“What up, me fuckin’ bredda?” Rude Boy said with a blunt in his mouth. He was the reason Quasim had made the connection with Ox.
When Quasim first arrived in London he wasn’t too familiar with the pace of the city and how the drug market operated. It didn’t take long to find out that Rude Boy was one of the few go-to men though. The streets talked and Quasim learned that his father had a hand in London, Miami and Kingston’s drug trade, but Rude Boy was behind his operation in London. Like a man, Quasim approached him and the rest is history.
“Same shit fam,” Quasim replied in a light cockney accent as he set the briefcases on the table and popped them open. He had picked up a slight British accent. “Let’s get down to business. There is eight hundred and seventy-five thousand in each briefcase.” His cell phone began to vibrate and he pulled it off his hip. He ignored the call and set the phone on the arm of the couch. “Rude Boy tell you about me wanting to go up on my quantity?”
“A hunnid squares of raw, right?”
“Yup,” Quasim said. He was originally moving through fifty bricks a month, but business had picked up drastically ever since Rude Boy had forced the competition out. “I think since I upped the amount we could work out a deal for a lesser price. I’m getting ‘em for thirty-five a pop. What are you willing to give them to me for now?” He knew he was pushing it because he was already getting Afghan’s purest heroin for dirt-cheap prices, but Quasim knew it never hurt to negotiate a better deal.
“De price remains de same fo’ de first fifty, but each kilo after dat you can get ‘em fo’ thirty. Deal?” Ox extended his hand out for a shake. “You shipment is already in de car.”
Quasim shook his hand and perched up from his seat. “I’m finna get up outta here, Rude. I’ma catch up with you later so I can rap with you about expanding. Since you got all of Pelpa’s block lieutenants out the way we might as well expand now.”
“I’ma be wrapped up fo’ de next day or so, but us gon’ handle dat, family,” he said. “Matter fact, me finna get up outta here, too. I got some unfinished business to tend to on behalf of one of me peeps. Me man is watching she as we speak.”
“She? Nigga, you on settling scores with bitches? Damn, my man! I’d hate to see what you’d do over some American pussy!” Quasim joked, assuming he was referring to one of his British chicks.
“Dis is American pussy, me bredda.”
“You’s a fool nigga!” Quasim chuckled. “I’m up, fam.”
They slapped hands and Quasim gave his goons a head nod, indicating that it was time to go. When he emerged from the restaurant he unfastened a button on his Armani shirt and smiled once he saw the gray sedan parked in front of his truck. He nodded at the middle-aged female driver, knowing there were a hundred kilos of Saran-wrapped heroin in duffle bags in the trunk.
Darkness crept over the horizon as Quasim’s driver took leave. Raindrops pelted the windshield as he thought about how he had come to town and got right back at it. He was a strategic, intelligent man and moved like a businessman. He had already bought into the real estate market and invested in a nightclub in an attempt to get business back to usual.
The truck stopped at the light and Quasim watched as two females in maxi-length fashionable raincoats crossed the crosswalk. Thin fog made it almost hard to see clearly, but even through the mist Quasim distinguished the red bottom high heels stabbing the pavement with each confident tread. The hoods on the raincoats were pulled over their heads, and he wondered why the women were out in the middle of a rainstorm. The light turned green and he quickly brushed the o
ddness out of his mind as a peculiar feeling swept over him.
LuLu and Marcela walked in between the white strip as if they were regular pedestrians and watched as Rude Boy stepped out of the restaurant with several goons walking in front of him. Simultaneously their killer instincts kicked in and they both pulled out twin Desert Eagles. Gunshots were not a common occurrence around those parts, but the Milano Hitters didn’t care. With one gun in each hand the Hitters unloaded their semi-automatic pistols on the men.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
They caught each dude in their chest. They were extremely skilled and handled the guns with precision. Even with the downpour partially obstructing their sights the female shooters knew how to hit moving targets and aimed for the kill.
The melody of their gunshots harmonized as the girls popped off one shot after another, over and over again. Glass flew everywhere as bullets rained down on the unsuspecting men.
The Milano Hitters didn’t know much about the Londoners, but they wanted to leave a bloodbath behind and send a clear message to Rude Boy’s crew. Although outnumbered in people, the Milano Hitters were well aware that a lot of London cats knife- toted, but with ease they continued to fire hollow points while walking in their direction until all of their extended clips were empty.
On cue, Emilia pulled up beside her sisters and they quickly hopped into the car and pulled away smoothly as they disappeared down the road before anyone could witness them.
Westminster House Hotel, London
Wrapped in an oversized bathrobe, Semaj sat on the windowsill and stared across the River Themes as nighttime fell over the city. She couldn’t believe the direction life was taking her. If anyone had told her a year ago that her life would have shifted to this she wouldn’t have believed them, but as she looked around she felt exalted. After speaking with her uncle, she knew that hustling was in her blood and her involvement in the family business was inevitable.
Semaj called room service and ordered a bottle of champagne. She figured this was the last night that she’d be considered regular.
Besides, she wanted to toast to beginning a new chapter in her life. For the first time since the loss of her son there was a twinge of joy instead of complete sorrow. London had actually put her in a good mood. It was something in her soul that felt so right.
What she didn’t know was that God had connected her and Quasim spiritually, and she was feeling exactly what he felt as the truck he rode in passed by. Semaj began to think about love, but had no idea that Quasim was the reason for her emotions.
“Knock! Knock!”
“Room service!” a butler announced with a heavy British accent.
She heard the sound at the door and walked barefoot across the cold floor. That was quick, she thought as she opened the door. Her eyes bugged wide in shock as she scrambled backward, away from the huge broad-shouldered masked knifeman. Before she could snap out of her daze, the assailant came barreling into her, causing her head to crash into the floor. She grimaced and closed her eyes. The impact was enough to make her dizzy. She was so disoriented that she barely felt the man grab her up by her hair and fling her violently across the room as if she were the size of a ragdoll. “Hmm!” she moaned.
Like a giant, the goon stormed over to Semaj and wrapped his hand around her throat. He straddled her and choked her out. He was squeezing the life out of her and Semaj tried clawing at his hand in a desperate attempt to gasp for air. He gave a sinister smirk at her effort as he poked her in the face with the tip of the knife, tracing her cheek with it as blood trickled down her face and he lapped up her blood as if it was juice. The goon had been sent there by the Jamaicans, and although he had specific instructions to simply be a lookout, he had taken it upon himself to rape her first and then kill her himself. “I’m going to have fun fucking you before I kill you, bitch!” He released his grip on her, letting her fall to the floor, panting for air.
“Cough! Cough!”
Semaj held her neck and her lungs burned with desperation.
Who sent him? She thought as he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. He quickly pulled his pants down, exposing himself as he parted her naked legs roughly. Semaj couldn’t believe what was about to go down. She couldn’t let him take her out so easily, not after everything that she had been through. This mufucka got me fucked up! Think, Semaj! Think! she thought as her eyes focused on her purse. The gun!
Her heartbeat quickened as she tried to form a plan in her head. All I have to do is get to my gun! She knew she only had one opportunity for a potential escape, and as the large man focused in on her ripe body, she noticed the excited look in his eyes, and in the split second that he took to look at her body the lamp that once sat on the nightstand had been slammed against his head. She jumped up and scrambled across the room and pulled the gun from her purse. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the trigger, she turned around and fired twice:
“Pow! Pow!”
She didn’t bother checking to see if the dude was dead as she raced out of the suite and into the hallway, bumping right into, Sosa, gun already in her hand.
Fuck I leave my phone? Quasim questioned himself after patting his pants pocket again as old school Marvin Gaye bumped through the speakers. He had the wits of an OG and the soul of an old head and often listened to the legendary musician. He took a deep breath in slight annoyance as they headed back to the restaurant. As they pulled onto the block, he noticed flashing red, white and blue lights flashing everywhere as policemen blocked off the murder scene.
Fuck happened that damn fast? I was just here, he thought in pure disbelief as he peered out at several paramedic vehicles and a few coroner’s wagons. More than fifty number markers were put down as evidence for each bullet shell casing. Sheets had been placed over dead bodies and black bags were being zipped and loaded onto the back of the wagons.
Quasim made sure he tucked his pistol underneath the seat before he got out of the car with two goons in tow. “I’m good, fam.” He stopped them and grabbed the umbrella from his goon. “I see my people right over there. Y’all niggas can just pull the car back around,” he instructed and walked towards the small crowd of henchmen surrounding Ox. It surprised him to see Ox on the set of a homicide, but when he noticed the mixture of distraught and rage on his face, he assumed the worst.
“I blow de bumbaclots skulls open and scatter dey brains like popcorn!” Quasim heard his threats as he approached Ox.
When Ox saw Quasim approaching him he stopped talking and met him halfway. “Me know who put the hit out on me son. It was de Abbott Family. Rude tell me out of nowhere pussyclots come out and start blasting right when you leave.”
“It was them bitches. That nigga, Pelpa sent some bitches at Rude,” Quasim figured, immediately thinking about the two chicks that he saw earlier. “Where is he?”
“Him managed ta rush back inside without being hit. Since him da only one who survived de police is questioning him,” Ox answered. “But him be free in a minute. What me need chu to do is set somet’ing up and get Pelpa taken care of. If not, these will cause chu both problems and chu don’t want that. Get him out de way and you problems disappear.” Ox handed him his cell phone.
“Say no more.” Quasim walked away and got into the car. He pulled out his BlackBerry and put in the order to have Pelpa hit. He was tired of bullshitting with cats and wouldn’t make the same mistakes he had made in the States. He wasn’t sure if the British drug family was hipped to him or not, but Quasim wasn’t willing to chance it. Pelpa had to go and the rest of his crew that was left if need be.
Sosa ran out of the elevator, her feet barely touching the floor as she raced down the long hallway and collided into Semaj with full force. She had heard the gunshots on the elevator and had a feeling that something was horribly wrong. She had been left behind to keep an eye on Semaj, but in the second that it took her to get something to eat from the diner, Semaj had been attacked and the devastated expression on her face r
evealed guilt.
“Oh my God!” Sosa shouted as she examined Semaj, trying to figure out why blood was seeping from her face. “That’s why it’s mandatory that you always travel with some sort of security. What happened?”
“This guy… I… I don’t know. I thought it was room service, but the guy rushed me. He was about to rape me.” Semaj was out of breath and her face throbbed in pain.
“Ox’s son was watching you, Semaj, but I immediately noticed who he was when he boarded the plane right behind you. Luckily we decided to follow you over here, but he still must’ve had someone else on you after we landed,” Sosa concluded. “We were so busy concentrating on watching you and plotting to catch Rude Boy slipping that we didn’t know he had put someone else on you. I’ve been on this hallway all evening guarding it and wished I would have never left. Where’s the guy?”
“I shot him, but I’m not sure ifhe’ dead or not,” Semaj whispered.
“If he’s not dead he’s gonna be!”
Just then the rest of the girls had stepped off the elevator laughing as if they hadn’t just committed murders.
Sosa looked down the hall and then back at Semaj. She’s definitely Kasey’s daughter, she thought. Although she hadn’t said it, she was glad that Semaj could handle herself when danger showed up at her doorstep. “Tell Emilia to call Pelpa’s clean-up crew, and get you some rest, ma. You have a big meeting to attend in the morning.”
Chapter 7
European Union Conference, 2011
The wind blew wildly as Semaj stood nervously beside her uncle as she watched the limousines arrive. They were at a secret location, and for miles and miles all Semaj saw was desert land and mountainous valleys below. The intense breeze made her white silk trousers flutter, giving them a rippling effect of tidal waves.
The drivers got out and opened the doors for their passengers, and each family was escorted by a bodyguard or two. As they approached Ortiz, he introduced Semaj to each family. The associates stood aside making small talk with the others while waiting for their introductions, and finally the two-members of all the families entered the exhibition tent, leaving their henchmen standing on the outside.