“Scamming money? Nigga, I’m tryin’a build a ‘millions of dollars’ empire, not some five grand and bullshit-ass change.”
“Father, trust me, the youth know him ting,” Gio said. “Di scamming ting is the big thing now. Why you think you see all these big houses and big foreign cars popping up? A nuh drug money. Mi ’ave a brethren that make over six million in one week. One week, Father, by just using his phone. A Mobay and St. James niggas dem a eat off of it. A just now town niggas catching on. I mean, we can push di coke and start fuckin’ wid di scamming ting too. A rich, we a try get rich.”
His words were spinning around in my head. Over six million in one week. That shit seemed a little suspicious, but I knew my nigga knew his math, and we’d been rolling so long that I trusted his judgment.
I nodded slowly. “A’ight, my niggas. Y’all have me interested in dis shit. I’m fresh to this shit, so how does it work?”
“Yo, the Africans started this shit many years ago,” Dee Lo informed me. “Is like you buy a spreadsheet from a connect in America or Canada. On it are names of people and their phone numbers. It’s mostly rich white people. You have somebody on di team that will make the calls, informing the person that they win thousands of dollars, maybe millions, and that they’ll have to send money first to process the amount they about to get. You can tell them the processing fee is anywhere from a hundred to five thousand US dollars.”
I frowned. “Yo, this sound like bloodclaat fuckery to me.”
“Yo, I’m a telling you, it’s the business now.”
“So you tellin’ mi, people in America are so fucking stupid that they willin’ to send money to a fucking stranger in hope that they’re going to get thousands and possibly millions?”
Dee Lo shook his head enthusiastically. “Hell yeah, my genna. That is exactly what we saying. Because of dem stupid asses, we can be rich young niggas.”
By the time the meeting was over, I was feeling optimistic. I had a few thousand US dollars that I had stashed away. It was time to hit the niggas up in Miami. I was ready to get shit started. They also had me sold on the scamming shit. So before I walked out of Gio’s back room, I called my sister in New York and told her that I needed four brand-new laptops shipped down to me. I also copped a few new phones, which I would use for the scamming thing. The only thing I needed now was a chick to pick up the money at Western Union. This was the hard part, because I didn’t know too many bitches down here and definitely none that I could trust....
After I got off the phone, I walked out to the bar area, and there was that sexy bitch Camille sitting down, pretending like she was so occupied on her phone.
“Yo, shawty, lemme get a shot of Patrón,” I said to her as I took a seat at the bar.
“My name is Camille,” she said with a slight attitude.
“My bad, Camille. Can I get a shot of Patrón?”
“You sure can.” She got up, poured a shot of Patrón, and placed it in front of me. “That will be a thousand.”
I handed her a five-thousand-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I said and winked at her.
She went back to doing what she was doing before I walked in. I took out my phone and texted my nigga in Miami, letting him know that we needed to link ASAP.
“Can I get you another drink?” Camille asked me a while later. Her sexy voice echoed in my head.
“Nah, gorgeous. But how ’bout yo’ number?”
“Excuse me?” She looked at me like she was shocked.
“Yo, B, stop playing games. I wan’ yo’ number.” I spoke with my raw Jamaican accent, which was still mixed with an American accent.
“No, I don’t want to give you my number. Sorry, baby,” she said and then walked off.
I wasn’t tripping. I knew her ass was just being careful. I took the last sip of my drink and got up from the bar. Walked out to join my niggas.
“Yo, my niggas, I’m out. I hit my nigga up, so soon as he link, things will start rolling. Also gonna check out some laptops,” I announced.
We exchanged daps. Then I jumped into my car and left out. As much as I liked being around the niggas, I didn’t feel too safe in the Gully. Niggas were just too grimy there, and I had learned the last time around that I couldn’t trust nobody....
Chapter Three
Camille
I’m so tired of living in this slum, I thought as I walked home from work. Even though it was evening time, Kingston, Jamaica, was still burning up from the hot sun.
I had been busting my ass lately, working long hours at the bar and going to various parties on the weekend and doing dance competitions. I competed against other area dancers. Lately, I’d been killing the game and winning most of the competitions, which had earned me the privilege of saving over fifty grand. However, that was a far cry from what I needed to get a nice place somewhere uptown. While the Gully would always be my home, things were starting to get out of hand. With area dons beefing with other areas, people barely wanted to be out and about after dark in the Gully. Many nights when I left the bar and walked down to my lane on Robert Avenue, I prayed to God.
Shit didn’t seem like it would get any better anytime soon, ’cause it seemed like even the police were scared of coming down here. I often heard the police commissioner talking ’bout how he goin’ to clean up the area, but that was just a bag of shit. Crimes had been going on down here even before I was born. Plus, the way the police were lately, they were more criminal than the dudes.
I held tight to my little purse as I walked down the street now. I had a little knife in it that couldn’t do much damage, but I planned to stick it as far as I could if one of these boys ever tried to attack me. I was dead-ass tired; feet was hurting and everything. I was not goin’ to complain, though, ’cause Gio had given me the job, even though a lot of other bitches had been lined up to get it. I knew Gio from when we were growing up. He moved to America but came back a few years ago, when they dipped him.
I was almost at my gate when I heard a vehicle coming up behind me. I heard the car horn honk, but I kept walking. In Jamaica, most times it was best to just hold your head straight and just mind your own business. The car pulled right in front of me and stopped.
“Yo, what the bumboclaat you doing?” I yelled, not giving a fuck who the driver was or what the repercussions were going to be for me cussing at him.
The driver’s door opened, and I quickly dug into my purse and grabbed my ratchet knife. I was ready to fight for my life or die fighting.
The tall, dark, dreadlocked dude that was in the bar earlier stepped out of the car and asked, “Yo, you good?”
“Yo, what is wrong wit’ yo? Why you cut me off like that?”
He was smiling like this shit was a joke, but my ass was angry as fuck. My heart was racing because I hadn’t been sure if I was about to be raped, robbed, or shot.
“Yo, chill out, shawty. Get in. I’ll take you home.”
“You pull in front of me, and now you thinking I’m foolish enough to get into a car with a stranger? This gyal is no fool. I’ll walk home. Matter of fact, my house is two houses down, so I don’t need a ride.”
“Yo, Camille. That’s yo’ name, right? Why you playing hard to get? Yo, I see you and I like you, so what’s the problem?”
I stood there looking at him. I knew who he was. I remembered us growing up together. He was, like, three or four years older than me, but I remembered him. I didn’t when I first saw him, but while he was back in the office area, I asked Jimmy, the bar boy, and he gladly let me know that this was the nigga that was making big moves in America and who had got torn off by the Feds. After his time in America, they had deported him to Jamaica. So yes, he looked good and all, but he had just got deported, so I knew his ass ain’t got shit, and I barely got anything, so what the fuck would I want with him?
“Listen, Donavan, or Gaza, as they call you. I’m not looking for no man, and you is wasting my time. Mi tired and need to go home, so no disrespect. You l
ook good and everything, but I’m not interested.” I started walking off on him. This nigga was obviously wasting my time, and I was hungry and about to be angry.
“All right, shawty. Remember, though, I’m not giving up. I’ma make you my woman.” Without saying another word, he jumped in his car and pulled off.
Who the fuck this nigga think he is, telling me he is not going to stop until he gets me? I thought. Shit. He really got me fucked up if he thinks I’m one of these licky-licky Jamaican bitches that is frightened for a Yankee bwoy. Shit, he better ask his niggas. Camille is the real deal. . . .
When I reached my house, I noticed my best friend and partner in crime, Sophia, was sitting on my verandah, waiting. Oh shit. I had forgotten I told her to meet me at my place.
“Yo, my girl, you too wicked. Why you tell me say, you walking down the lane. You ’ave me sitting out here with all these mosquitos tearing my ass up.”
“My girl, I’m so sorry. I was almost at the gate when a bwoy pull him car in front a mi. Trust mi, you don’t know how mi vex.”
“A which bwoy that, and what he wanted?”
“Gyal, is a bwoy from foreign name Gaza. Him grow up round here, but he went to America since he’s young. He just get dip, and now he’s back in the place with Gio and him crew. ”
“Really? How I don’t know ’im?”
“He left ling time before you move round here.”
“So what he want with you?”
“The bwoy is looking me,” I muttered through my teeth.
“So nothing is wrong wit’ that. It’s not like you ’ave a man. Shit, it’s been a while since you get any dick.”
I whipped my neck around and looked at this bitch. How the fuck she just going to say that shit?
“Gyal, you really serious right now?” I said.
“Like a heart attack. Bitch, it’s time you start fucking again. Omar gone fi ’bout a year now. He’s not coming back, boo boo.”
I hated that she would bring up my ex, Omar. He was the one that had taken my virginity, and we’d gone steady for ’bout six years. I had thought everything was going good between us. That was until I saw posted on his WhatsApp a picture of him and a girl and someone congratulating him on his marriage. I’d never forget that Saturday. It was like my world had stopped at that moment. I remembered running from my house to Sophia’s house. When she’d come to the gate, I couldn’t even speak. I had just stood there and had started crying and had shown her the picture. Being that she was my bestie, she’d led me inside her house and had me lie down. I’d stayed in that position until the next day. Just the memory of that shit hurt my soul. Up to this day I hadn’t laid my eyes on Omar to ask him how he could do me like that....
“Hello, bitch. Back to earth,” Sophia said.
“Yo, sorry. Was caught up thinking ’bout Omar and the shit he pulled.”
“Bitch, let Omar go suck his stinking pussy mother. I hate that bwoy with a passion.”
Sophia was not joking when she said that. After the shit went down, she’d gone to war with him on WhatsApp, IG, and Facebook. I think Omar had ended up blocking her, and since he had never made it back to the area, he didn’t have much to worry about.
“I hear you, my girl, but after all di shit I went through wit’ Omar, I’m not sure I’m ready to date another man so soon.”
“Bitch, you know who you are? You is Camille, the rassclaat best dancer in town and country. When gyal see you, they salute you. You better boss up and take what’s rightfully yours. Stop worry ’bout a dirty, no-good-ass bwoy. Omar fi dead long time.”
I looked at her and smiled. I swore I didn’t know what I would do without her. Some people in the community said she was messy and stayed in drama, but I saw it differently. Sophia was originally from Tivoli Gardens, and she was just real. She didn’t bite her tongue and would tell you exactly what was on her mind. Trust, this bitch was not scared.
“Anyway, I’m dying of hunger. Do you want to walk out on the scheme and let us see if di chicken man is out there?” Sophia said.
“Yeah, let me change my clothes real quick.”
“All right, Muma. Hurry up. Dem mosquito are deadly bad.”
I opened the door to my little one-bedroom apartment and rushed inside. I grabbed a pair of little shorts and a small tank top and quickly got dressed. Within minutes, me and my bestie was walking up the road, gossiping about everything that went on in the Gully.
After we got the chicken, we walked back to my house, where we sat down on the verandah and ate. The entire time we were eating, my mind was thinking about what Sophia had said. I mean, I’d been trying not to date anyone, because I was still hoping and praying that Omar would come back to me. But my friend was right. That nigga had dissed me and now belonged to another bitch. What the fuck was I waiting for? It might be too late, though, ’cause I did blow Gaza off twice. A nigga like him could get any bitch he wanted, so what the fuck this nigga wanted with little old me . . . ?
When we were done eating, Sophia stood up. “Yo, bitch, it’s getting late, so I’m going to my yard. You know how Oneil get brindle when he come in before me, and true, I’m not in the mood to fight him tonight. Plus, tomorrow night your show, and I need mi money from him to do my hair and my nails tomorrow.”
“A’ight, goody. Text me when you reach inside the house. I’m going to have a bath right now.”
“All right, boo.”
I watched as she walked down the street. When she was no longer in sight, I unlocked the grill and walked into my apartment. I was tired as hell, and I needed to shower and rest up because tomorrow night was a big night for me. I had a dance contest, and I would receive fifty grand if I won. I knew that one of the girls I was competing against was a big-time dancer who used to roll with the Spice dance crew, so the pressure was on. I knew I had to practice my moves and also come up with some new moves that nobody had ever seen before. I looked in the mirror. Was I ready for this?
Hell yeah, bitch, you ready, a voice echoed in my head.
* * *
My freshly done weave was in a bun, and my body was looking good dressed in a bodycon. I planned to perform tonight in a white jumpsuit from Victoria’s Secret. This was my night, and I was shining like the diamond I knew I was. Some of these bitches in the dance contest did this shit to pass the time, but this was my way of getting out of the ghetto. The more battles I won, the more my name would circulate. I was hoping that one day one of these entertainers would come looking for me to be in their videos or go on tour with them. Yeah, I was only a girl from the ghetto, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming big.
I watched as bitches pointed fingers and whispered among themselves in the club’s lobby. I didn’t even acknowledge them. Instead, I swung the little ass and hips that God had blessed me with and made my way to the dressing room. Then I dialed Sophia.
“Bitch, where you at?” I asked when she answered the phone.
“Yo, I’m two minutes from the club. Are you there?”
“Yes. I’m in the changing room. Hurry up and come on.”
I hung the phone up and changed my clothes. I was almost finished dressing when this one bitch that I had beaten numerous times walked in. I could smell trouble from a mile away. This bitch, Anika, had been salty the last time I beat her, and she had kept yelling at the judges that they were cheating for me. The bitch had gone as far as threatening me. I hurried and put my legs into the pants part of the jumpsuit and pulled it up. I pretended like I was stunning the bitch, but all along I was reaching for my razor in my wallet. I placed it under my tongue. This was a trick that I had learned early on. See, when you grew up in the ghetto, you had to learn how to defend yourself.
“Yo, Marie, see the dutty gyal here that steal my spot last time?” Anika yelled to a bitch that had walked into the dressing room behind her.
“Eh, is that her? Look on the old parasite. They stole yo spot, goody. After this gyal don’t even look like she can dance,” her big, bad
friend commented.
“Yo, bitch, I win that fair and square,” I told Marie. “I beat your friend three time, and tonight I’m going to beat her for the fourth time. I’m a good dancer. I don’t have to steal anything.”
Marie glared at me. “Is it me this underprivileged gyal talking to?”
This bitch Anika stepped to my face. I didn’t think twice. I pulled the razor out of my mouth and just went in.
“Oh my God! This gyal cut you, goody!” was all I heard.
I opened my eyes and saw that I had blood all over my dance clothes. I looked over, and I saw the bitch holding her face. She was screaming.
I grabbed my bag and stuffed my things in there.
“She a try to leave. Hold the gyal and beat her,” someone said, pointing at me.
“Nobody better not put a bloodclaat hand on her. Yo, come on.” Sophia grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd that had gathered in the dressing room.
We raced to the lobby and then out the front door of the club. The people in front of the building were not aware of what was going on, because they had been standing around, talking and drinking. The second we were outside, Sophia started flagging down a taxi. The taxis that went by zoomed past us, so more than likely they were filled with customers. I happened to look back and saw security running into the building. I knew that by now everybody was aware of what had gone down in there.
“Come on! We have to get away from here,” I told Sophia.
We decide to run across the street in front of the club, but that meant we would have to dodge all these speeding cars. We waited for a gap in the flow of traffic and then ran as fast as we could. We had made it to the other side of the street when I noticed the BMW. It was the car that Gaza drove. I walked over to the car and looked inside. He was sitting in there. I guessed he had just pulled up. I didn’t know he frequented this scene.
He climbed out of the car when he saw me. “Whaddup, shawty? I see we meet again.” He smiled at me.
“Listen, I need a ride out of here,” I told him.
Carl Weber's Kingpins: Jamaica Page 3