Black reign saga, p.7
Black Reign Saga, page 7
Damien was trying to make his way back home to get close to Angela, without ever letting her know his business. How was she going to handle it when she found out that he was a hustler? He was far from the corner-or around-the-way hustler; he was connected to some major players who reigned out of New York.
Damien met JB five years ago and his life took a totally different turn. He was young and working the corner, slinging hard from hand to hand, serving fiends making the local niggas money. He had scraped and fought for his position. After getting in and doing his dirt, he was recognized by one of the higher-ranking moneymakers who used him as a mule for a while. But it taught him everything about trafficking drugs from state to state with little risk. As a mule and corner lookout, he was doing okay; living much better than the life he was used to.
One day while on the corner in Brooklyn, JB pulled up in his S600 and motioned for Damien to take a ride. He had seen and heard about JB through people in the hood, but now he was face to face with this true hustler. JB, on the other hand, had heard and peeped some things about Damien. Word was, “the youngster had heart and determination to succeed in this street game.”
JB began to take a little time with Damien, showing him how to bring drugs in the country from the islands and then move weight state to state, not block to block. JB really never had anyone to put trust into except for his sister, Jacqueline. But in time Damien came to be not only an associate, but a trusted friend. JB brought Damien into his clique, completing his trio. These three young men worked under JB, who had schooled each of them slowly and carefully.
In just a short time Damien was going to Jamaica, making moves back to the States, with plenty of work to distribute. Damien had befriended two girls, China and Maria, two ladies who he trained well and used as mules. He would travel to the island from different locations under one of his many aliases, while China and Maria would smuggle the work through customs and usually fly into Memphis, Tennessee. The drugs were then transported to North Carolina and distributed.
JB introduced Damien to several of his associates, the ones that he was to supply. They lived and worked out of Charlotte, Fayetteville, and the Raleigh/Durham area. JB told him, “Never do business where you rest.” That’s when he moved to Virginia to play it safe.
Damien’s position was very important, and for this he received sixty thousand a month for his role in JB’s organization, a small fee for the weight Damien moved in the Carolinas. Damien began running for JB two years ago, and he made his trip twice a month. He had become contented with his life and never had any intentions of changing for anyone, not even Angela—as fine as she was.
Angela hurried home after work to shower and change before Mac picked her up for the movies. She went inside and was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw two dozen white roses sitting on each end table.
Monica told her, “Look at our new decoration.”
“Who sent you flowers?” Angela asked.
“Bitch, you the only one gettin’ flowers these days—don’t front.”
Angela’s response was all smiles. She picked up the card. It read:
ONE DOZEN IS FOR THE WOMAN IN YOU AND THE SECOND DOZEN IS FOR THE GOOD FEELING YOU GIVE ME.
YOURS TRULY,
MAC
Angela’s heart was deeply touched. This man, a real man, was so sensitive, and she felt she needed some sensitivity in her life. It would really make it complete.
Mac arrived at seven just as he’d said, coming straight to Angela’s from his office. (He was dressed for business.) Angela came out the room and, just as she had imagined, he was dressed to impress in his olive-colored Armani suit and shoes, Chanel shirt and tie, with glasses by Perry Ellis, prescription not fashion. She felt like he could take her anywhere and she would go without a fight.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Fine. And you?” He opened the door, allowing her to step out and lock it. He walked down the stairs and opened the passenger-side door.
Angela caught a glimpse of a different ring and gold Whitnauer. She liked the way Mac came across and wanted to be in his world.
They drove down Colley Avenue listening to Mary J’s CD. Angela was all into Mary. Mac could tell by the way her body and head slowly moved to the smooth, laid-back sounds.
She snapped back when they pulled in front of the Naro. “What type of theater is this?” she asked.
“It’s a regular theater, but they usually show documentaries that never make it to the other theaters. They’re playing Hoop Dreams. I hear it’s very inspirational.”
After the movie they went to one of the many outside cafés that lined the streets of Colley Avenue. Then they took the scenic route to Mac’s house, down Waterside drive along the water.
Once at Mac’s home, he poured them some Grand Marnier. The sweet, smooth taste excited her and it wasn’t long before she was feeling the effects of the sweet after-dinner drink.
Mac eased over, rested his hands on her shoulders, and removed her blazer. He leaned over and began massaging her shoulders as he kissed the back of her neck and allowed his hand to slowly slide across her breast. “Let’s go to my room.”
“I’m not quite ready for that, Mac.”
“I want to be with you, Angela,” he said with sincerity. “If I can’t be with you, at least stay the night and allow me to hold you.”
“Mac, it’s not easy tellin’ you no. I know if I lay down beside you I will give myself to you, and like I said, I’m not ready for that tonight.”
“Okay, I’m a patient man, but as long as you know I want you to be mine—all mine—and I will make you happier than any man possibly could. Bet on it!”
“I believe you, and I promise when I’m ready I’ll let you know. To be honest, I have unfinished business to deal with; it wouldn’t be fair bringin’ you into my shit.”
“Handle it then; I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Thank you for being understanding.”
On the way home all she could think of was Ray. She had to let him know that her heart wasn’t in the same place. She didn’t want to tell him while he was in boot camp, but the way he acted when he got upset before, this was the best way. It would give him time to deal with the situation before he came back home. She felt so funny inside, but this was something that had to be done. He had to know the truth.
“Will we talk tomorrow?” she asked as he pulled in front of her building.
“Of course, we will. Don’t think otherwise.” He stared into her eyes. He knew she didn’t know because she didn’t fuck, but he wasn’t pressed—his time was coming.
“I want to say thank you for the movie and dinner . . . not to mention the beautiful roses.”
“You’re beautiful, Angela, and very special. You definitely deserve to be treated like the woman you are.” He got out the car and came around to open her door. She stepped out and into his arms. They embraced, and he kissed her gently on her cheek and stood back and watched as she walked up the stairs and into her condo.
Once inside she instantly pulled off her clothes and got comfortable. She rolled a blunt, sat down with a pen and pad, and began putting her thoughts on paper.
Dear Ray,
I hope you are doing well and this letter finds you in good spirits, even though you’re in boot camp. I received your letter and almost cried at the way you said you were being treated. You’ve always been a strong-hearted person, so I know you will make it. I wanted to write you because I’m dealing with a tough situation. You’ve been the love of my life for a long time, but these days I’m feeling the need to get out and experience different things. I didn’t want to send you a long drawn-out letter because I feel it would make things difficult. Everything seems to be going fine in my life. School is exciting and it’s bringing new experiences. I want to be able to explore my options without hurting you. Things are changing and I don’t want to go into detail, but I don’t want you coming home to any surprises. Never feel that I don’t care or that you weren’t special, because you could never be so wrong. Please know that you will always hold a special place in my heart. You will always be a friend, but you have to allow me to become a woman, learn to be a woman, and the only way is through life experiences that I feel I’m ready for now. I hope you can understand, because it means a lot to me that you do. I wish you the best of luck in your training and much success in life. Our paths will cross again and I hope to see a greater man, much greater than the one who left Bayside. I will always have love for you and you will always have a friend in me.
As Always, Angie
Angela sat there with tears in her eyes. He was her first real love, but she needed more excitement, the excitement of being introduced to new things that Mac was capable of showing her. She wanted a confident, take-charge-ass nigga like Damien, someone who possessed the capability of changing her life around. Mac was wonderful and she enjoyed him. She could relax, but trying to be a lady at all times was when the pressure began. She didn’t want to embarrass herself or him and found herself watching her every action while trying to adjust to the new things in Mac’s world.
Monica and Angela had the same schedule on Thursday, so they rode together. Monica was dragging, but Angela was hyped up. Damien was coming back today, and she hadn’t been this excited over anything or anybody in a long time. She thought, How could I get so excited over a nigga that wasn’t even my man?
“Come on, Monica, I have to drop this letter in the mail.”
“I don’t believe you goin’ to do it.”
“I have to; I don’t have a choice. He’ll just to have to understand.”
“He’s going to come back home in a rage and fuck up you and your men.” Monica laughed.
“I don’t have a muthafuckin’ man, bitch, and he ain’t gonna do shit.” Angela climbed in the car. “I’m going to see my dad this weekend. You goin’?”
“I’m not sure. I promised to help my grandmother with some things. If she sticks with her plans, then I’m out of circulation all weekend.”
“Girl, I’m going to end up taking this trip by myself.”
“You do know that Dirt-Dirt funeral tomorrow,” Monica reminded her.
“You goin’?”
“Yeah. Rome and I supposed to be meeting at Fat Joe house at twelve, and all of us are going to ride together.”
“I can’t make it; funerals aren’t me. I’m going to two funerals in this lifetime—my moms and my pops. I might go to my little brother’s, but nobody else’s, I’m sorry.”
“When we stopped through the other day, his moms was so sad, she couldn’t stop crying. I had never seen his brother before, but he was there losing it. Damn near brought tears to my eyes. I felt for them.”
“Death is always hard to handle, but everybody gets through it with the help of God. I been in church all my life and I know with God’s help you can deal with anything that comes your way. All you have to do is pray about it.” Angela’s tone was very serious.
“You right, but reachin’ the point of dealin’ with it is just hard. I know firsthand.”
Angela reached out and took Monica’s hand. She knew that besides Monica’s grandmother and brother, she was the closest thing to her. Monica was like her sister, and she couldn’t love her any more if they were blood.
Angela’s schoolwork was starting to build up and she was either going to cut back on her hours at work or give up some of her extra activities. She had a test Friday and hadn’t studied at all. She wanted to see Damien, but tonight it was going to be brief. She had to put first things, first.
She left work and went straight home. Damien had left a message to give him a call when she got in. She paged him and it was taking him a minute. She was getting ready to page him again but remembered what he’d said. She didn’t want him getting upset. He finally called back to let her know he would be through about seven thirty and to be ready. He didn’t want to miss the beginning of Martin. (Martin, Living Single, and New York Undercover—those were his shows.) She let him know she wasn’t going to be out long.
He told her, “Bring your books . . . just in case.”
She went in her room to shower and change. She slipped on her tights and a T-shirt and her old faithful Reebok Classics, since they weren’t going out.
Chapter Nine
“There’s Damien, Angela.”
“How you know?”
“Don’t you hear the bass comin’ through the walls?” Monica laughed. “Give me some trees, Angela.”
“I’m broke. Better call your man.”
“Who? Quinn?”
“Naw, fat-ass Joe,” she said laughing, going to the door. She opened it and Damien came in. He stepped to her and gave her a hug. She didn’t want to seem too eager because then he would know she missed him, so she just held him for a second longer.
Damien felt it anyway. “Heah, baby, what the fuck is up?”
“Nothin’ at all.” Angel smiled.
“Heah, Monica, what the deal?”
“Nothin’ much, Damien. How you? Got a blunt?”
“Monica,” Angela said loudly.
“She all right. I had this for us to spark on the way to the crib, but I got more at the house.”
He pulled out a fat-ass blunt and passed it to her. “Watch yourself—that shit straight killer.” Damien noticed the flowers in the condo. “Somebody got mad love around here.”
“You don’t know,” Monica said on the comeback, knowing Damien wanted to know who the flowers were for. “Now we need to find somebody to love my girl like that.”
“I’m trying, baby. I’m trying. Let’s go; I left my truck running.” He headed out the door.
Angela looked at Monica and they just smiled. Then she looked at Damien as he walked around the truck, not even attempting to open her door. He looks so thuggish at times, not like Mac.
Rocking his navy blue-and-white Jordans that complemented the navy blue Nautica sweats, white Nautica T-shirt, and Nautica hat that came down so low over his forehead, you really couldn’t see his eyes without him looking directly at you.
They climbed in the truck and started moving to the sounds of Lil’ Kim banging in the truck. “Don’t act like you scared to move the way you was throwing that ass around the floor the night I met you.”
“No, I won’t. I didn’t even dance,” she said with a slight smirk.
“I thought you didn’t lie, Angela.” She just smiled and pumped up the sounds.
As she moved to the music in a nonchalant manner, Damien kept glancing at her beautiful face and her body. She is so fuckin’ sexy. Every time he’d seen her, she was looking like a doll. A doll that wasn’t his. It was time he had tried to control his feelings, but she made it hard and tonight she was making it damn near impossible.
He turned the music down a little. “Why the fuck I couldn’t keep you off my mind, girl? The whole time I was out, I thought of you. That’s not good, Angela.”
“Why not, Damien?” She stared into his eyes.
“Here I am thinking about you everyday and you’re not even my girl. I’ve never been in a situation like that. How do I handle it?”
“I can’t tell you how to handle your feelings. I’m too busy trying to deal with my own.”
She started to tell him about the letter, but she figured, just like Mac, he was going to have to give her time to work things out in her heart and head. The things he was saying was what she needed to hear—that he cared and that she was on his mind as much as he was on hers.
They got to the house and she thought about him opening her door like Mac, but just as quick as the thought came, it disappeared. He was already at the front door. “Why the fuck you moving so slow. Are you sick or something?”
“No, I’m fine, but I ain’t in no hurry.”
“Damn, something smells good. What’s that?”
“My brother made some jerk chicken with beans and rice.” He uncovered the pots and pan in the kitchen. “Have some?”
“I’ve never had jerk chicken and I hate to waste your food.”
“Bring your ass in here and taste it then.”
She got up thinking that he was so rude, but she realized that he spoke quickly and didn’t think first. That was just the way he came across. Even when he referred to girls as bitches. She noticed at his cookout that he used it in his everyday vocabulary while talking to Rhonda and other girls, and wasn’t out to offend anyone. That was just Damien, he was a real nigga, like Rome and Fat Joe wanted to be, like Rome brother Bo was, and what Mac would never be.
He pulled a piece of chicken off the bone and held it out for her. “Here,” he said.
“I don’t know where your nasty hands been.” She opened her mouth.
He placed it in her mouth and held out his fingers. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s real good.”
He laughed. “Then lick my fingers.”
“Fool, you crazy,” she said, turning and walking back into the family room and turning on the television.
“Turn that shit to Martin. Let’s see what ‘Marty Mar’ doin’.” She started laughing.
“I’ll get us a plate in a minute.” He went over to the drawer and pulled out an ounce of weed and threw it on the table. He reached for the Backwoods on top of the TV and sat down beside her.
She had never seen weed rolled in Backwoods. She was used to blunts and White Owls. “Damn, that shit strong.”
“This that real shit—hundred fifty an O, girl.”
He rolled three and lit one.
“Know what, you said on the phone that you missed me and you haven’t gave me a fuckin’ hug, kiss, or nothin’.”
She leaned over and kissed him real slow. While he was rolling the weed, he’d taken off his shirt off and his tattoos were screaming at her to touch them. “Did they hurt?”
“Hell yeah, but I’m a man.” His accent came through hard, making him hard to understand. He passed her the weed and got up to put their plates in the microwave. Then he poured two glasses of fruit punch and put them on the table by her.
