Black reign saga, p.25
Black Reign Saga, page 25
“Them hoes gonna find a way and call my long-distance number; I’m from Memphis, nigga—I was born a pimp.” Kev got in the Benz.
They pulled off toward Peachtree.
Dee leaned over to Strong. “How we livin’, son?”
“Real good, and my plans is for us to be millionaires in this fuckin’ game, son—within six months.”
“Get a room down here?”
“Get a suite down here, nigga.”
Dee and Strong were sitting in the room talking when the phone rang. It was about 4:00 A.M. Lo was on the couch ’sleep, and Kev was sprawled across the bed.
Lo jumped up and handed Dee the phone. “Yo, Dee, tell them hoes where we at.”
Half an hour later, four of the baddest young women walked in. Two was sniffing with Lo, and two was smoking with Dee and Strong. Kev had invited them over and they couldn’t wake him up. He was out.
Chapter Six
Poppa turned on to Lake Edward Drive. I hope they don’t have no roadblocks out here today, checking shit. Thank God. He turned on E. Hastings and stopped about fifty yards from where niggas was making their dough.
He took the paper bag that contained twelve grand. “It’s straight, right?” He looked over at Dundee.
“No doubt, baby.” Dundee, most of the time mistaken for having a look as if he was runnin’ game, spoke in his low, cool voice. “This shit is gone, man; we need more.” Dundee said it like he was complaining.
“In just a second, you’ll have all you need, then we’ll see what the fuck you gon’ do.”
“You already know I’m ready, son, or you wouldn’t be fuckin’ with me.” Dundee smiled, gave Poppa a pound, and jumped back in the truck with Tech who was already on E. Hastings.
Tech looked at the guys that crowded the corner. “Look at all these niggas, son. I gather it’s about thirty niggas out here, and three makin’ money—need to clear this shit out.”
“Let a couple bodies drop and we’ll see the difference in the morning.” Dundee palmed the gun that sat in his waist, a reflex action that came with the talk of murder. “But you drop a nigga who the shit, think he bad, and got mouth. Don’t kill Pee-Wee—he gettin’ it out here—or Scotty—he keeps Pee-Wee under control and keep his mind on money.”
“And that nigga Rome serve both of those niggas,” Tech said. “So it’s only one way to get them to come our way—ask ’em.”
They both started laughing as they drove off in the white Tahoe and threw up peace signs at the young cats on the corner hanging out. Some of the young boys hollered they name.
The rundown row houses, dirty sidewalks and parked cars made the road seem real narrow for two cars. As Tech and Dundee approached Lake Edward Drive, Rome, Ski, and Fat Joe were turning on E. Hastings in Rome’s new Ford Expedition. Rome’s eyes caught Tech’s; Ski’s eyes caught Dundee’s.
Dundee began quoting:
“Come with me, Hail Mary
Nigga, Run quick see, What do we have here
Now, do you wanna ride or die?”
“Hold tight,” Tech yelled. He tried to grab Dundee, but it was too late. He was already halfway out the truck. Tech then slid his hand under the armrest and gripped the chrome .45.
Rome slammed the truck in park and, in one swift motion, opened the door, and pulled his nine. He began shooting, shattering the Tahoe’s front windshield.
Dundee came from the right side of the truck and shot Rome in the shoulder. Rome’s gun fell.
Ski had positioned himself out the passenger side window and ended up catching two from Dundee, the bullets ripping through his head and neck.
Rome, meanwhile, had fallen on the truck, and two more shots from Dundee’s gun left him lying on the cold pavement.
Dundee looked down at Rome, never bothering to pay attention to the LX470 that was behind the big Expedition. He felt the bullet shoot through his arm as Bo let off shots from the two black nines he held tightly, one in each hand. One gun fired shots through the windshield of the Tahoe, the other in the direction Dundee ran, until he disappeared into the back alley.
Bo ran up to his brother. Blood covered his abdomen, thigh, and shoulder, but his eyes were still open. “Come on, baby. Please hold on.”
Fat Joe jumped out the back. He’d been down on the floor from the time he saw Dundee. He looked at Rome on the ground gasping for air, then over at Tech sitting up in the driver side of the Tahoe. Even after nine shots to the head and chest, he never slumped over. Niggas say he loved that Tahoe.
Bo yelled, “Fuck you doin’, Fat Boy?”
Fat Joe looked at Ski and grabbed his stomach, throwing up.
The police sirens drew closer.
“Fat Boy, go get some help, muthafucka!” Bo kicked the truck hysterically.
“Somebody already called 911. I’m out—I just came home last week.” Fat Boy went to stand on the sidewalk, his body trembling.
Dundee ran inside, holding his arm. “Goddamn, this shit burnin’.” He grabbed the phone and dialed Poppa. “Yo, shit just popped off out the Lakes. Don’t go out there. I’m headed over to Bayside.”
Poppa heard the doorbell ringing and knocks banging in the background. “What happened?”
“Hold on.” Dundee reached under his couch and pulled out his shotgun. He pulled his curtains back and saw Teisha, his baby momma.
“You drivin’?”
“Yeah. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s go to Bayside.”
“Poppa!” Dundee climbed in the Honda Civic.
“Yeah. Talk, nigga!” Poppa said impatiently.
“Me and Tech was out the Lakes after you dropped me off. Rome, his clique, and Bo blocked us in and jumped out. I got a couple of them, and I think Tech, Rome, Ski, and Fat Boy dead. I don’t know. Bo had two burners blastin’ on me and I barely got away.”
“Fat Boy and—” was all Teisha could get out her mouth before Dundee signaled for her to shut up.
“A’ight,” Poppa said. “I’ll holla back.” Poppa knew he would catch the real story later out the Lakes.
“Now what was you gettin’ ready to say?”
“I was tryin’ to tell you that Rome ain’t dead and Fat Joe was in the back on the floor. He didn’t get touched. Ski dead, Tech dead, and the house next to the end, on the right, the lady’s son got hit while playin’ PlayStation. One of y’all niggas shot through the window. His momma was out there screamin’ until the paramedics had to calm her down. They out there saying that the lady saw you and know you, and was talking to the police.”
“I didn’t shoot through no windows, and I didn’t jump out first—fuck her! That was Rome punk ass.”
“Don’t matter. I just want you to know what Poppa gonna hear out the Lakes, so get your shit straight.” Tiesha was young, but she knew guys died everyday. And she didn’t want her baby daddy ending up dead.
She reached the emergency room.
“Why you didn’t park?”
“I got to get home—my moms babysittin’.”
“Park the fuckin’ car. You goin’ with me; yo’ momma will be a’ight. I’ll give her something later, shittt!”
“You gonna stop talkin’ to me like you fuckin’ crazy. You coulda got one of your other bitches to bring you up here.” She got out the car.
“Keep talkin’. You in the right place to be runnin’ your mouth—they can admit your ass real quick.”
“You can call me later with all that bullshit you talkin’ . . . ’cause I’m goin’ home—you ain’t admittin’ me nowhere, muthafucka.”
He put his good arm around her neck. “Shut the hell up. When I’m done, I’m gonna call you to come get me, so stay by the fuckin’ phone.”
Chapter Seven
Dee woke up to Tricia pushing her ass against his dick. Damn, he thought. He had just fucked when he came in. He knew them niggas had a good time with them shorties after he’d left them at the hotel and took the drive back to Tricia’s crib. He felt like chilling, but he knew he’d be leaving for VA soon and wanted to give her some time.
After taking that Ecstasy he wasn’t only ready to get freaked, but he was ready to suck titties, eat pussy, suck toes, lick ass. He smiled and put his arms around her. He was glad he had her to come home to. Vianna would’ve woke up, fucked, but no freakin’. And the thought of going to Chantel’s house at three in the morning tryin’ to fuck was out of the question.
Tricia was different. She appeared to be ready all the time—maybe not all the time, but he couldn’t remember her ever telling him no.
The movement of her full, soft ass on his now-hard dick had him starting to move himself. He reached down and rubbed her thigh and ran his hand to the back of her left knee, and the left leg came up, giving him the perfect position to slide into a world that felt like a fantasy. He’d never felt a woman so soft, her body melted into his while he squeezed her in his arms.
Tricia didn’t have the schooling and degrees that Chantel and Vianna had, but she had common sense and could relate to a man’s struggle and mistakes. She also knew that the small things mattered, like cooking, bringing a glass of water, keeping a clean house—everything to make a man feel like a man. And she worked full-time and raised her daughter, never missing a beat when it came to him.
He pulled her tighter as his body began to let loose.
She pressed her ass against him and squeezed her pussy to drain him of every drop, then turned to him and kissed him. “I love you.”
For Dee it was hard. He loved Tricia and Vianna, but his feelings for Chantel went much deeper—you could say borderline unconditional.
Tricia walked to the bathroom and returned with a wet, warm bathcloth. She wiped his dick thoroughly as he laid back happier than life.
His brother was back, he had a show tonight, and he had the support and an abundance of love from three strong, black women that made him feel like a king; women that any man in his right mind would kill for.
He leaned over and pulled his phone off his pants to call the hotel.
Kev answered the phone. “What the deal?”
“Nothin’, fam. Where Strong?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Tell him I’m headed back that way.”
“A’ight.” Kev walked to the bathroom. “He said drive the Beamer.”
“A’ight, one!” Why the fuck he got me driving that old-ass, raggedy shit? Got a new Benz and I still got to fuck with that shit. Dee complained, but nothing had changed—when Black said do something he had his reason and meant what he said.
Dee showered and got dressed. Tricia had to be to work at nine, so they left out together.
When Dee arrived at the hotel, Black was in the restaurant eating breakfast.
“So how much we need down for a new Beamer? And how much a month?—I know you checked.”
Dee smiled and said quickly, “Eight thousand down and trade-in worth twenty-five thousand, leaves us financing fifty thousand.”
“Don’t smile, nigga. We ain’t got no real dough yet, but let’s ride and look at one.”
After eating they climbed in the car and shot up to Sandy Springs.
Dee had already checked out a new one with the dreams of getting two shows back-to-back and making the ten gees. Then the next move, without hesitation—put it all on the whip. Dee learned early that the status you put out there for self could put you where you needed to be; the rest was up to the hustle in your ass.
They pulled up to the BMW lot on the corner of Roswell and Abernathy. “Check that shit out, second from the left.” Dee pointed and smiled.
They walked over to the BMW.
“What up, my brother?” the car salesman said, walking out with keys to the deep-burgundy 750iL, V-12. See you made it back.”
Dee asked, “Same deal still on paper?”
“Ready! Pass me some dough and the title and we’re in business.”
Dee got the title out the car, and they walked into the office for Mike, the car salesman, to do the paperwork.
After about half an hour, Mike returned. “All I need is to call your job and get verification and some recent pay stubs.”
Strong looked at Dee, hoping his brother was still on point.
Dee picked up the phone and called Vianna at work.
“Hello.”
“Yes, Ms. Gonzalez, this is Arthur DeAndre Brooks. I’m trying to purchase a vehicle, and they need job verification and a copy of my last paycheck voucher. I have a fax number.”
“Dee, I’m tied up right now,” Vianna said. “I’ll do it in a little bit.”
“Yes, I need that done ASAP, thank you.”
“Dee, I can’t, right now.”
Dee got up and stepped outside of Mike’s office. “What the fuck! I can’t really talk in the office. I’m up here now gettin’ ready to get my shit and you jivin’. Goddamn! Take twenty minutes and do this please.”
“All right.” Vianna slammed the phone down.
Selfish-ass nigga. When he need me I’m suppose to jump, but when I ask him, he always too busy or broke. And he know this shit takes more than twenty fuckin’ minutes.
Dee and Strong were outside sitting in the four-door burgundy whip, sitting on aluminum rims, with a slight tint.
“So where you find out about dude?” Strong asked.
“Through you, nigga. You remember that nigga Ant from Portsmouth you use to fuck with back in the day?”
“Ant? The only Ant I know fuck with that diesel.”
“Run with that nigga Lou from Tidewater Park. Well, I seen him at the strip joint. Kicked it a minute and the nigga was pushing a new 745il, and those shits ain’t even hit the fuckin’ streets. Got him a mini-mansion down here and everything. I got the nigga number.”
“Gotta holla at him before I get out of here. He mighta came up. Really came up. Shit . . . I use to serve his peoples. He always been a hustler. Run hard. Last I heard he was sniffin’ boy and robbin’ niggas.”
“Shit!” Dee said. “He must be robbin’ a lot of niggas, because dude livin’ well.”
By this time Mike came out and let them know everything was a go.
Dee and Strong pulled off the lot in the new ’99 BMW. When Dee pulled onto GA400 and punched it. “Hell yeah, nigga! Love you, man.”
“I know, nigga. Let’s get Lo and Kev. Go get the 500 and get to the mall. I can tell you need some new shit.” Black handed Dee two stacks of hundreds and fifties equaling up to about five gees. He knew his brother had been through hell; scrambling around just like he was in New York. “Take care of your business here, man, so we can get outta here tomorrow. Find Ant number too.”
“You got gear? That shit tonight at 201 Courtland is dress, son.”
“I’ll get something, but if Lo and Kev can’t get in with Timbs and jeans, you know they ain’t fuckin’ with it.”
After leaving Lennox Mall, Lo and Kev wanted to check the Underground that they’d heard so much about. Dee had to go handle business for the show, and Strong strolled along.
“Slow down, son. I got proper ID, but I ain’t tryin’ to use it.”
“Bet. Just enjoyin’ this shit. Damn near forgot how this feel. I got to pick dude up at the airport at seven, and this traffic gettin’ ready to get fucked up.”
Dee got on the phone and called Tricia. “Can you get off early today? Look, go home and I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
When he arrived Tricia was pulling up in her ’88 Dodge Aries, with smoke coming from under the car like she needed to be stopped. She saw Dee driving the new 750 BMW, and a wide smile came across her face. She climbed in and poked her lips out for Dee to kiss her.
Strong and Dee both knew public affection was a no-no, but Dee kissed her anyway.
Strong knew this bitch had his brother. Why not? He seemed happy with her.
Dee turned into the Jeep lot.
Strong shook his head smiling. “Dude said with your credit and job, you could get that blue joint with a G down, right?”
“Yeah.” Tricia smiled from ear to ear.
They got out and walked inside.
Thirty minutes later, Tricia was leaving the lot with thirty-day tags, looking fly as hell in her new, little four-door truck.
“I got the show tonight; I want you there. Here’s five hundred. Get you something nice. Real nice. Show niggas who this VA nigga really is. Oh, and get some shit for the crib so I know y’all all right while I’m gone. I’m out tomorrow.”
The wide smile disappeared. She knew her man was on his way back up and there was no way she could stop the hustle. She knew from past experiences, when you fuckin’ with a street nigga, it’s dough, the streets, and you—in that order.
Dee and Black headed toward the airport to pick up the night’s featured artist.
“Yeah, on paper this nigga cost fifteen gees, but he used to hustle in VA back in the day with Dre. You know dude in the wheelchair from Up Top? So you know I hollered, got in contact with his manager. Half that.
“One day I want a phat-ass crib here. Then I can take niggas by the house. Real niggas we know. Most niggas in this lifetime don’t even know I got a brother.”
“I’m about that paper, Dee. It’s always been ‘get this money and have a good time,’ but now it’s ‘get this money carefully and smart, then live good.’ I know Ant got that diesel.”
Dee told him, “We don’t fuck with that shit—goddamn heroin!”
“Yeah, I know. I just want to holla.”
“I hear yah. I already made that call. He’ll be at the club tonight.”
Strong gave Dee a pound. As always they were on the same page. “This ain’t a bad city; it’s relaxin’, and it feels mad peaceful.”
“Man, I thought I was the only muthafucka that felt that shit. This shit is relaxin’ as hell. Like you ain’t got a worry in the fuckin’ world.”
They arrived at the airport and picked up the artist and his manager. Dee had reserved them a suite at the same hotel they were in.
