The Final Play

by Shelly Ellis

  Shit, Derrick thought. So Cole had been right about his suspicions that he was being spied on by Dolla Dolla’s men at the prison. But what had they heard? What did they know?

  “So this is about Cole?”

  “Nah, we got that handled. It’s about your school. My boss likes what you got goin’ on up here. He likes what you’re doin’ for the community and shit. He wanna help you out.”

  Derrick hadn’t been expecting that answer. But it made him even more troubled. “Help me out how?”

  “By donating to your establishment. In exchange, he wanna rent your facilities every now and then. He wouldn’t need it all the time. Just to move stuff through once in a while. You’d get a monthly fee.”

  Now that his middle man was in jail, Dolla Dolla was going straight to the source; he was asking Derrick to take Cole’s place and help him ferry his “product” through the Institute.

  Goddamn, he’s bold, Derrick thought. But he guessed Dolla Dolla didn’t become a powerhouse in these streets from being timid.

  “So what you think?” the young man persisted. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

  A good deal?

  The idea was unthinkable. Derrick wanted nothing to do with Dolla Dolla’s criminal empire. It had already put Ricky in a tight spot, got Jamal shot, and dragged down Cole, but still, Derrick knew the risks that came with rejecting Dolla Dolla outright. He would not only put his life, but the lives of his students, at risk.

  Derrick cleared his throat. “I gotta think about this. I can’t . . . I can’t say yes or no right away.”

  The young man’s face changed. His smile disappeared. “Don’t play games, nigga. It wastes time and my boss don’t like to have his time wasted.”

  “I’m not playing games. I just . . . I just need time to think about this.”

  He really did. He didn’t want to say yes because it would compromise everything he believed and professed to be, but he wasn’t sure of the price he would pay if he said no.

  The young man eyed Derrick a few seconds longer, then slowly nodded. “Fine. You think about that shit. But don’t keep him waitin’ too long.” He then turned to the two large men who had been waiting patiently the whole time they were talking. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The trio swung open the SUV’s doors and hopped inside. The young man climbed into the front passenger seat and lowered the tinted window to stare at Derrick.

  “We’ll come back! Make sure you have your answer when we do,” he called to Derrick.

  As soon as he did, the SUV pulled off with screeching tires.

  Chapter 16

  Jamal

  Jamal heard the knock at his front door and paused from stirring the pan of Bolognese sauce. He felt a slight tightening in his chest at the noise, at the arrival of an unexpected visitor. It happened less and less nowadays—the panic attacks. But like his issues with Mayor Johnson, they still hadn’t disappeared completely. He told himself the person at the door could be anybody. He reminded himself not to spiral. He took a few quick deep breaths to calm himself.

  Jamal heard another knock. It was louder this time. He turned off the burner, lowered his spatula to the counter, and walked to the front door. When he stared through the peephole, he was shocked to see who was waiting for him on his welcome mat. Jamal whipped the door open and stared in disbelief.

  “Ricky? What’re you doing here, man?” he asked, smiling. He held out his hand for a dap.

  He hadn’t seen his boy in months, not since last year, in fact. They used to talk regularly and meet up once a week. Seeing Ricky standing in front of him now reminded him how much he missed their friendship, the bond he, Ricky, and Derrick used to have. It made him once again regret that he had tossed it away so casually.

  Ricky didn’t answer him. He only glanced down at Jamal’s extended hand, stepped around him, and stalked into his living room.

  Jamal’s smile disappeared. He frowned and closed his front door, now confused by Ricky’s attitude.

  “What’s up? You pissed about somethin’?” Jamal asked him.

  Rather than answer his question, Ricky asked his own. “You know you dead-ass wrong, right?”

  “Dead-ass wrong about what?”

  “You know what! Why would you start fuckin’ Melissa, nigga? How could you do something like that to Dee? I knew you had changed, but I didn’t know you changed that much.”

  Jamal loudly grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Really? We haven’t spoken to each other in damn near a year and you came all the way here just to tell me that? You could’ve done it over the phone, or did you come here to punch me in the face like Dee did?”

  “Answer the question!”

  “Why?” Jamal yelled back before walking into his living room. “I don’t have to justify myself to you, and I damn sure don’t have to justify myself to Dee. He cheated on her! What he did broke her heart and humiliated her!”

  “And that makes what you’re doin’ right? We were tight, Jay. We were like brothers!”

  “Yeah, we were,” Jamal said with a nod, “and that’s why I kept my mouth shut and I didn’t try anything with her for twenty goddamn years. Even though it ate me up inside every time he’d kiss her in front of me, or he’d complain about how fucking annoying she could be when he should’ve been happy just to have her! He got twenty years with Lissa, and he still fucked it up. That’s on him, not me, Ricky.”

  “You’re lyin’ to yourself, bruh.”

  “No, I’m not! He’s a selfish asshole. He did her wrong. You know he did!”

  Ricky slowly shook his head. “He ain’t the only selfish one.”

  “Oh, this is good.” Jamal sucked his teeth in annoyance. “The self-proclaimed fuckboy is gonna give me a lecture on relationships and selfless behavior. Thanks but no thanks! I think I’ll skip this one.”

  “Hey! Watch your mouth,” Ricky said menacingly, pointing a finger at him. “I didn’t come here to whup your ass, but I can still do it.”

  “Then whup my ass! Threaten me all you want. I’m not gonna apologize for hooking up with Lissa. So if that’s what you came for, you might as well leave now.”

  Ricky let out a cold laugh. “You don’t feel bad at all, do you? You’re just standing there like you’re the good guy . . . like you haven’t done some really shady shit! You got some big-ass balls, man!”

  “You don’t know what really happened. You just know his side,” Jamal insisted. “When Lissa told me she wasn’t interested in me, I pulled back. We were just friends, just cool with each other. But you didn’t see how bad off she was after they broke up, Ricky. She wasn’t the same Lissa. She could burst into tears at the drop of a hat. She needed love and affection and she came to me for it. I didn’t force myself on her. She said she needed me. I’m just giving her what she needs!”

  “What she needs?” Ricky snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, okay, Jay. So that’s what you’re telling yourself. You trying to heal her with your dick?”

  “Did you hear anything I said?” Jamal exploded, now beyond frustrated. “It’s not just about giving her dick! I told you I love her. I’m in love with her, Ricky!”

  Ricky went silent.

  Jamal took a calming breath. “Look, I’m sorry that you feel I betrayed our clique. I guess I did.” He shook his head. “No, I know I did. But I can’t lie and tell you that I’m sorry for going after her, ’cuz I’m not. I love her, Ricky. I wanna . . . wanna make her happy.”

  Ricky was eyeing him now. “So you’re not just tryin’ to smash? This isn’t just some petty shit to get back at Dee?”

  “For the hundredth time—no! This has nothing to do with him!”

  “So y’all are serious? Melissa’s your girl now?”

  “I didn’t . . . didn’t say that.”

  Ricky took a step toward him. He cocked an eyebrow. “Then what’s all this talk about love and shit? If you two are together then—”

  “We’re not together,” Jamal said t
ersely. “I feel that way about her but . . . but I don’t know if she feels the same about . . . about me.”

  To his surprise, Ricky began to laugh again. Hearty and loud. It sounded like booming thunder in his quiet living room, making his frown deepen.

  “What the fuck is so funny?”

  Ricky finally stopped laughing. “I’m sorry but . . . let me get this straight . . . it’s not just about ass for you because you love her, but you don’t know if she’s using you just for dick?”

  “I didn’t say she was using me for dick,” he argued, feeling his insecurities flare up. “We have a . . . a bond now. We’re friends—close friends. I confide in her; she confides in me.”

  “Yeah, close friends who fuck.” Ricky uncrossed his arms. “Does she come to you, or you go to her?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Just answer the question, Jay! Who usually initiates? You or her?”

  “She does, I guess. I can’t always feel her mood, so I usually wait for her to . . . to make the first move.”

  Ricky winced. “Bruh, from all that you’re saying . . . it sounds like you’re just her side piece.”

  Jamal gritted his teeth.

  He hated that Ricky was saying out loud the thought that had been lingering in the back of his mind for weeks now. It had been there a week ago when Melissa came to his place. He’d thought they’d have a romantic dinner, make love, and she’d spend the night. Instead, they had a quickie, she put on her clothes, promised she’d check in on him later, kissed him goodbye, and just left, leaving him thinking, So that’s it?

  He hated this feeling like he was in limbo, but whenever he was with her that was what he felt.

  “Fuck you, Ricky,” he said sullenly.

  Ricky held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not saying that to mess with you! I’m just tryin’ to keep it one hundred. I know how you get with women, Jay. You never take shit casually. But if you’re all in with Melissa, just make sure you ain’t all in by yourself. I hate to see you get your feelings hurt.”

  Jamal inwardly winced but took a deep breath, plastering on a casual façade.

  “Well, I’m sure Dee will be happy to hear that last bit. Maybe it’ll make him feel better about all of this.” He then gestured toward his front door. “It was nice seeing you, but now that you chewed my ass out, I guess you wanna—”

  “I didn’t just come here to talk about that, nigga. I came to talk to you about other shit, too, but I wanted to get that out the way first.”

  “What other shit?”

  “I’ve been out of town for a while. Got back a few weeks ago. I heard a lot of mess went down while I was gone. I heard you went full 50 Cent and got shot.”

  “Of course, you would make a joke about me getting shot.” Jamal pursed his lips in exasperation. “How’d you find out?”

  “Dee told me. He knows the kid who did it. He said the kid used to work for Dolla.”

  “Yeah, Dolla did it as a favor for the mayor, I bet. That son of a bitch wanted me dead. I bet he still does. I told the cops as much, but they didn’t believe me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the kid is an easy person to blame, and dragging in Mayor Johnson makes it too messy. I even gave them proof, a recorded conversation where he threatened me again, but the cops said it wasn’t enough. They need something more concrete. Whatever the fuck that means,” Jamal grumbled. “Short of Johnson putting another bullet in my ass, I don’t know what else to give them as proof that he’s involved in this.”

  Ricky inclined his head. “Maybe I can help you with that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Get him in a convo with Dolla. Get the proof you need. Proof so good the cops couldn’t deny it.”

  Jamal was touched by Ricky’s offer. It reminded him of how Ricky had always had his back in the old days. Whether they were mad at each other was irrelevant; his boys would always hold him down when things went bad. But he couldn’t let Ricky do it this time. Ricky would be risking too much.

  Jamal shook his head. “I can’t do that to you, man. If I got shot, I can only imagine what could happen to you if you got involved in this. I just have to—”

  “Nigga, I’m already involved in it. I’m knee-deep in this shit. Me sinking in another few inches ain’t gonna make much of a damn difference, especially if it can help you.”

  “But you’d be working with cops. You’d be handing over info to them and—”

  “Yeah, I’m on a first-name basis with some of those motherfuckas.” Ricky shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Trust me. The Metro PD knows me well. I’m practically on their payroll.”

  Jamal stared at him in shock. “Since when?”

  “Since last year when I got arrested during the raids.”

  “So what are you saying? You work for the cops now?”

  “I’m saying I could help you. It’s not that complicated. Just tell me what you need.”

  Jamal stared at Ricky for a long time, not saying anything. “You said I’ve changed, but you’ve changed, too. There’s something different about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Jamal looked him up and down, taking in his stance and facial expression. Ricky looked the same on the surface—same clothes, same beard, same devil-may-care attitude, but a new subtext was there.

  “I can’t figure it out,” Jamal muttered. “But it’s like . . . it’s like your bullshit shield is gone.”

  “Bullshit shield?” Ricky barked out a laugh.

  “You carry yourself differently. It’s like . . . It’s like . . . the Pretty Ricky persona isn’t there anymore.” He shook his head again. “What the hell’s been going on with you? What did I miss this past year?”

  Ricky smiled. “A lot. I’ll fill you in after you go in that fridge of yours,” he said, pointing to the kitchen, “and get me a beer. I know you got one.”

  Jamal laughed and nodded. “Beer coming up.”

  Chapter 17

  Ricky

  “So why’d you call us?” Ramsey asked as he pressed the accelerator and the unmarked Ford sedan lurched forward into busy afternoon traffic.

  “That’s all I get?” Ricky snapped, slumping into the back seat. “Why’d you call us? No ‘Hello, Ricky!’? No ‘How you been?’”

  “Stop fuckin’ around and just answer the question! Did you finally get us what we need or not?” Dominguez said over his shoulder from the front passenger seat. “We don’t got all day!”

  Ricky was accustomed to Detective Dominguez’s rudeness now. It no longer annoyed or infuriated him. He could dismiss Dominguez like a guard dog that snapped and growled from behind a chain-link fence, because he knew Dominguez was all bark and snarl, but as long as that fence was up, he was no bite. The detective could do nothing to him—at least, for now. So Ricky laughed again and took his sweet time in answering their questions.

  He’d called them after his meeting with Dolla Dolla two days ago and told them he had news. This time he was the one summoning them to some random street corner to meet up to talk. This time they were the ones who had no clue what was going on.

  “I met up with Dolla. He was talking about getting into the pimp game again. He has a partner he wants to start up with. He asked me for my help,” Ricky said.

  “Why the hell would he want your help with that?” Dominguez asked. “He knows something about you that we don’t know? When were you pimping out girls?”

  “Don’t even joke about that shit,” Ricky said with a curl in his lip. “What he did to those girls, I would never, ever do. I don’t care what the fuck he thinks.”

  “So why does he want your help, Ricky?” Ramsey persisted.

  “Because I used to manage Club Majesty. He knows the girls there who used to work for me still trust me, and I might be able to talk them into doing some shady shit.”

  “And he wants you to meet his partner?” Ramsey repeated. “The guy who’ll act
ually handle this escort service?”

  “Yeah, I was waiting for y’all to catch on to that part.”

  “Shit! Finally! It took you long enough to net one of his contacts.” Dominguez turned completely around in the passenger seat, looking more eager than a kid on Christmas morning. “So who is he? What’s his name?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’m supposed to meet him in about a week when I dig up some girls.”

  “So get to crackin’! Bring him some of your hoes so we can find out who the hell his partner is!” Dominguez ordered.

  Ricky told himself not to let his anger flare up at Dominguez. The man’s default was to be as irritating as jock itch, but he couldn’t let a comment like that slide. He had to set him straight.

  “First of all,” he began through clenched teeth, “the women who worked for me were dancers, not hoes. I ran a strip club, not a goddamn brothel. I told you more than once—I’m not a fuckin’ pimp, so stop acting like I am!”

  “Okay. Okay, calm down, Ricky,” Ramsey said, holding up a hand from the steering wheel. “He didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “And secondly,” Ricky continued, “I’m not handing over another woman I know to that motherfucka, even if I’m just faking it. I’ve seen what he does to women. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror again if I did.”

  “Well, if you aren’t gonna bring him girls from your club, then how are you supposed to meet his partner? I thought that’s what you told him you’d do. I thought that was the deal,” Ramsey said, leaning over to glance at him in the rearview mirror as he drove. “I’m confused.”

  “Oh, I’ll bring him girls—just not the ones he thinks I’m bringin’ him.” He adjusted his seat belt. “That’s where you two come in.”

  Now both Ramsey and Dominguez were squinting in confusion. They exchanged a look.

  “We don’t look too convincing in wigs, Ricky,” Ramsey deadpanned.

  “Funny. No, I need cops . . . two female cops who could pass for dancers. And they gotta look good. I mean nice faces . . . bomb bodies . . . At Club Majesty, we were very particular about our dancers. These can’t be average chicks. I mean some bad bitches, you understand? They can pretend to be my girls, but they can’t wear any recording devices. Dolla’s men will find whatever mikes they’re wearing if they do.”