This was music to Flame’s ears. He definitely couldn’t see himself putting $375,000 under a mattress. “I’m down, but I’m riding with J.D. and them tonight. They’re my transportation right now.”
“I thought about that,” Doe said, flashing a big smile.
Doe motioned for everyone to follow him. They all trekked down the back stairs to an exit. When Doe opened the door, parked in the alley was a brand-new BMW 645 convertible awaiting them. The metallic green paint sparkled beneath the streetlamp, and the snow-white interior glowed behind the frosted glass. The Bimmer was sitting on twenty-one-inch chrome Breyton rims.
Doe held the keys up to Flame. “Congratulations, Flame, welcome to A.B.P.” He tossed the keys to Flame. Flame kissed them, then ran to inspect his new fifty-thousand-dollar ride.
Satisfied, Qwess and the others returned to enjoy the party.
* * *
There were four people seated inside the 4Runner, two in front, two in back. The two in back caressed the triggers on their sawed-off shotguns, eagerly waiting to use them. The two in front held HK-433 assault rifles with collapsing stocks. They all wore black. The two in back were getting uneasy.
“Gotdamn, where this mu’fucka at?” Nino inquired, looking at his watch. “It’s two o’clock.” Nino was in the back, behind the passenger seat.
“Just be patient, man.” That was Murda. He was drinking. He was the unofficial leader of Blood Team. “We know he in there. It’s only one way in and one way out. When we see that little black Porsche roll out, we roll out.”
“What if he got a bitch with him?” That was Shooter. He sat on the passenger side. He asked this because they were parked at the top of the road that led to the club. They couldn’t see who got in the car; however, they knew every car leaving had to come this way.
“Nigga, I don’t give a fuck if Oprah Winfrey in the car wit’ him. She gotta die tonight!” That was T. Gunn, the resident hothead in the Blood Team. He sat behind Murda. “We follow this nigga ’til we got him isolated, and then we murk this nigga! End of story.”
T. Gunn passed the bag of cocaine he was using to Nino, who dipped his quill inside and picked up a clump of the white stuff. He hit both nostrils and passed it around. They were passing time waiting for their mark. They would wait until Christmas if need be.
They were professionals, and murder was their trade.
* * *
Reece was at the bar talking to Jersey Ali when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to find Destiny standing there with a smile on her face. When Reece looked her over from head to toe, he didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Destiny was wearing a red velvet cat suit with four-inch stilettos. “Dayum!” was what Reece muttered. Jersey Ali openly lusted as well. Destiny was flanked by a short, balding black guy, who looked clearly out of place. When Destiny saw Reece glance at him, she introduced him.
“Reece, this is Lieu . . . ah Lou Jenkins. He’s like my older uncle. He knew me before I was still a crush in my father’s mind,” she joked. “Lou, this is Reece.”
They shook hands. Reece noted the firm handshake. He also took note of how Lou observed his surroundings like a bird of prey. He didn’t miss much.
After the pleasantries, Reece dismissed Lou with a bottle of Moët and pulled Destiny into a corner where they were by themselves.
“Hey, you. I missed you,” Reece told Destiny.
“Yeah, right. With all the women you got, I’m surprised you noticed I’m gone.”
“Ah. Cut it out. I’m serious. I missed your conversation more than anything,” he said seriously. He grabbed both her hands in his and looked at her affectionately.
Destiny returned his stare before breaking his hold. “Quit gaming, Reece. I’m sure you have more than enough people to give you conversation.” She motioned to his crew at the bar.
“I don’t talk about much with them. Plus, they ain’t as cute as you.”
Destiny blushed.
DJ Mike Technique was taking the party to the islands. He was doing an old-school Buju Banton set. Destiny could barely keep still in her seat. Reece finally caught the hint and pulled her to the dance floor.
“Whatchu taken pon di river?” he teased, in a faux Jamaican accent, as they danced.
“Bwoy, chu not know nuttin’ ’bout dat,” Destiny teased back, winding her hips.
“Come on then, let’s see.” Reece gripped Destiny’s waist and rode her groove.
* * *
Qwess had just come out of VIP with Shauntay, who wasn’t feeling well, when he ran into his sister, Fatima, at the bottom of the stairs. She smiled broadly and stepped aside. Qwess ran right into a roadblock. It was Hope, looking him dead in the face.
“Congratulations!” Hope said.
“Thank you,” Qwess returned. He tried to push past, but Hope stopped him.
“Unh-uh, Qwess. Not tonight. We need to talk. There’s some things I need to get off my chest, and I’m not leaving ’til I do.”
Qwess heard her and tried to push on past, but Hope grabbed his arm tighter. She would not be denied.
“Look, either you talk to me, Qwess, or I will make a scene!”
Qwess didn’t know what type of shit Hope was on. He hadn’t seen her since he had come home from prison. Although he knew she kept close ties with Fatima, he hadn’t spoken to her. Now she wanted to crash his party? This was some bullshit.
Qwess wanted to tell Hope to go fuck herself, but after some prodding by Fatima, Qwess relented and gave her a few minutes. He and Hope slid into a booth so he could hear her sob story.
“Listen, Qwess. Don’t say nothing. Just listen,” Hope said, holding his arm down. “You owe me that.”
“Owe you? Owe you!” Qwess flipped. “What do I owe you? I don’t owe you shit! You the one who left me in that sweatbox by myself with nothing but time and the feelings I had for you eating me. You the one who left me! I’m the one who had to hear about you dealing with fuck-ass niggas while I’m in the joint. But guess what? I learned to deal with it! You chose, and I had to deal with it. All you ever lent me was time, so I don’t owe you shit!”
Hope calmly sat and accepted her rebuke. She could tell he really needed to get that out.
“Qwess, all I ever did was love you. I thought me leaving would give you time to focus. Give you time to realize what you had in me, so you could straighten up, because your previous lifestyle I didn’t approve of.”
Qwess interjected, “Funny, that lifestyle wasn’t so bad when it funded your lifestyle. You didn’t care when I was lacing you with shit.” This was true. Hope definitely reaped the benefits of his criminal lifestyle.
“No! Don’t do that. It was never about money with you and me. It was just so real. I mean, of course, I enjoyed the gifts and things, but I didn’t know what you did. In fact, I didn’t know until I left you. Only then did I know. I used to hear girls at my school talking about a Qwess. I only knew you as Salim, so it didn’t dawn on me.”
Hope was on the verge of tears. Qwess wanted to console her, but his anger and pride got the best of him.
Hope continued, “Qwess, I always loved you. I just couldn’t deal with what you did. I mean, the stories I heard about you! Please just understand, I never meant to hurt you. I just had to make a stand. You understand, don’t you? Qwess, look at me.” He did. “You understand, right?
For the first time in three years, Qwess allowed himself to look at her, the woman who had stolen his heart like a very skilled cat burglar. She hadn’t changed a bit, either. Her chocolate skin was smooth as ever. Her petite size-six frame was still intact, as was her curvy, beautiful booty. Qwess could see it spreading in the chair, falling over like soft clay. Hope wore a green satin dress with a plunging neckline. Her shoulder-length hair was coiled under into a china bob. Obviously, she intended to gain Qwess’s favor. When Qwess didn’t say anything, Hope continued.
“Look, I don’t want anything from you,” Hope claimed. “I just want my friend
back. You bring out the best in me.” Hope reached over and stroked Qwess’s beard lovingly. When he didn’t flinch, she thought he was giving in.
Qwess finally spoke. “Look, I don’t hate you, Hope. I just gotta look out for me now. Love is an emotion I can’t deal with right now. Love weakens a man, and I can’t be weak again. Ever!”
“So what are you saying, you don’t love your little girlfriend? You buying her Benzes and shit,” Hope asked, unable to pass up the potshot.
“First of all, that was supposed to be your Benz, but you couldn’t weather the storm.” Qwess looked at Hope sternly. “Secondly, I repeat, love weakens a man. I can’t be weak. Ever.”
Hope sized up the answer before speaking. “Point taken. Can we at least be friends again?”
Qwess shrugged. “Okay. I guess we can try it.”
“Good, can I give a friend a birthday hug?” She reached over and gave Qwess a hug. All kinds of feelings washed over him. Memories of their good times flooded across his mind. He closed his eyes to savor the moment. When he opened them, he was looking right at Shauntay.
Shauntay narrowed her eyes into malicious slits, then turned and stormed off. Hope never even saw her.
Qwess broke the embrace and went after Shauntay. He found her in the back of the club, near the bathroom.
“Yo, what’s wrong, baby?” Qwess asked, tugging Shauntay’s arm to turn her around.
Shauntay palmed her forehead. “I-I don’t feel well. My stomach has been hurting all day.”
Qwess looked into her eyes. “Are you okay? You’ve been feeling bad a lot lately.”
“Who was that woman? Is that Hope?”
Qwess dropped his head. “Yeah, that’s her, but trust me, it’s not what you think.”
Shauntay frowned. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
Qwess was, in fact, telling the truth. While it was true he would never love a woman like he loved Hope, it was also true that he would never love Hope the same, either. She had abandoned him when he needed her most. That was an unforgivable sin in his book of life. Regardless of how fine a woman was, or what she had going on, if she couldn’t be loyal, she was useless to Qwess. Loyalty was its own aphrodisiac, and Hope didn’t turn him on.
Shauntay searched his eyes for the truth. “Qwess, I don’t feel well. I . . . I just want to go home. How much longer are we going to be here?”
Qwess frowned. “Ahh, I got a few loose ends to tie up, but I tell you what, you can take Reece’s car, and he can ride with me.”
Another pain zipped through Shauntay’s stomach. She grimaced. “Okay. Hurry, please?”
Qwess searched the club for Reece. He found him by the bar talking to Destiny.
“Yo, what you getting into tonight?” Qwess asked.
“Nuttin’ really. Me and Samson gotta go see this dude about my cake later on. Why?”
Qwess was hesitant before speaking. “Ahh, ’cause Shauntay ain’t feeling too good, so she ready to go. But I can’t leave because I still gotta handle some business with Technique and some more stuff.”
Reece frowned at Qwess. “Nigga, don’t tell me you done fucked up. I saw you and ole girl Hope over there reminiscing like lost lovebirds and shit. Did Shauntay catch you?” Reece asked.
“Something like that,” Qwess admitted. “But she was already feeling sick.”
“So anyway, what you want from me?” Reece asked, confused.
“I want Shauntay to take your car and go on home, and you ride with Samson,” Qwess proposed.
“Oh, that ain’t no thang. She can get it,” Reece said. He nodded his head at Qwess. “Playa, playa. You trying to hit something strange tonight, huh? You gone tear Hope back out. Ahh, I knew you still had it in you.”
“Nah, go ahead with that shit, man.” Qwess blushed. Hope did have some of the best pussy in the world in his eyes, but it took more than good sex to lock a boss down. Besides, he had already crossed that bridge. He was ready to settle down and be with Shauntay, maybe even make her his wife. She had earned that spot.
Reece glanced at Destiny and imagined what he was hoping to get into later. He quickly passed Qwess the key to his Porsche. “Here’s the keys. I’m neglecting my date. Just bring it to me sometime tomorrow.”
“All right, cool. Thanks, bro.” Qwess and Reece dapped up and parted company.
* * *
Inside the 4Runner, Murda and the others couldn’t believe their luck. They were prepared to wait until the club closed so they could follow Reece home and get him on the country road. They were monitoring the party via the live simulcast on the radio, and knew by the numerous Crescent Crew shout outs that Reece’s crew was still inside real thick. They knew it would be a task to get him isolated from the other members long enough to make their move. They knew from the bevy of luxury cars that it was highly unlikely they’d catch him by himself tonight. They were already kicking around contingency plans to get him at a later date when the heavens opened up and shined favor upon them. At least, that’s how they saw it.
Like a godsend, they observed the little black Porsche roll out of the club all alone. They couldn’t believe their luck. Initially, they thought their cover had been blown, and they were being set up. No way would the leader of the Crescent Crew roll out all alone and at this time of night knowing there was still a bounty on his head. Then again, they thought, that’s exactly what King Reece would do. His arrogance preceded him. Riding the high from the murder he had committed last night that once again had the streets talking, he would roll solo to flex his muscle.
“A’ight, fellas, there the nigga go right there. It’s showtime,” T. Gunn informed his crew. “Mount up.”
While Murda waited for the Porsche to pull out from the side road, everyone readied their weapons. The 4Runner crept out and maintained a safe little distance behind him. Everyone already had their assignments and was prepared to execute their orders. As they neared the car, Shooter and Nino pulled down their masks, as did T. Gunn.
The Porsche stopped at the red light and idled. Seconds later, the black truck eased up beside it on the driver’s side. As they pulled beside the car, they peered through the dark tint and made out only one silhouette. Good, he was alone.
The windows on the 4Runner slowly glided down. Shooter and Nino simultaneously stretched their bodies out the windows, aimed their weapons, and let them rip!
The night lit up hotter than the Fourth of July, as huge blasts from the double-aught buckshot rocked the small Porsche, almost turning it over. Shooter sprayed the car with the high-powered assault rifle in a sweeping motion, left to right. The rounds were so fast and furious it sounded like a chopper was landing on the street. The balls of fire seared through the metal of the Porsche sending smoke streams up into the air, as the Blood Team fulfilled their mission. The cacophony of sounds was deafening in the early-morning hours. The assault seemed as if it went on for minutes, though it was only a few seconds. Only when the hammers clicked against the metal did the team let up.
Before Murda could make a hasty retreat, T. Gunn exited the truck and walked around to inspect what was left of the six-figure sports car. In his hand, he held the shotgun. As he raised the weapon toward what was left of the door and attempted to see into the car through one of the craters, something strange caught his eye. He struggled to pull the driver’s door open and peek inside. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
A huge hole gaped where an eye used to be, and blood gushed from three holes in the neck. All along the chest were entry wounds from the assault rifle. He saw another hole where a bullet had ripped through the side of the face.
Under normal circumstances, this would be the part where T. Gunn and the Blood Team rejoiced. Unfortunately, they had fucked up. Oh, they had carried out a hit. But it wasn’t Reece at all in the car.
It was a woman.
* * *
Back at the club, someone heard shots and went to alert security. When one of the security guards went
to investigate further, he immediately recognized Reece’s Porsche. What was left of it, anyway. There was a woman present already. She informed the security guard that an ambulance was on the way. The victim was still alive.
The security guard went to alert the rest of the crew at the club to what had transpired. When Qwess and everyone arrived, the ambulance had come and gone. They all rushed to the hospital.
By the time Qwess and company arrived, it was total pandemonium. News crews were there, as well as what looked like the entire police force. They were questioning the woman who had called the ambulance, and mean-mugging the whole Crescent Crew, who mean-mugged right back. Qwess, Reece, and Doe led the way straight into the emergency room. The doctors tried in vain to stop them, but Qwess would not be denied. When one of the doctors brushed against Hulk, he felt his pistol through his shirt and went ballistic. He immediately alerted the police. When the police came to apprehend Hulk, they were met by a solid wall of muscle, steel, and pure, unadulterated aggression. When the police reached for their guns, so did the entire Crescent Crew . . . right in the emergency room. The police, seeing they were outgunned, hesitated in confusion. One of the doctors, possibly the head doctor, came to defuse the situation.
“Gentlemen, please. This is not the place or time. We have a young lady valiantly fighting for her life. Please let’s not have any more senseless bloodshed,” the doctor reasoned.
The police sergeant in charge took the opportunity to save face and regain control of the situation. He boldly stepped into the middle of the fracas.
“Everyone calm down. Calm down,” he began authoritatively. “Now if we can just retain some order. If you gentlemen will please take all your firearms outside and please just retain control, I promise no charges will be filed. I understand this is a trying time, but this is getting no one anywhere.”
The officers and the crew continued to grit on one another until Reece spoke up. He calmed everyone and told them to walk outside. Once outside, he instructed them to put away their weapons, then go to his funeral home and wait on him. He instructed them that Samson was in charge until he got there. Then, he rejoined Qwess, Doe, and Hulk back in the emergency room.
Street Rap Page 10