The thugtress of harlem, p.1
The Thugtress of Harlem, page 1
The Thugtress of Harlem
-Nadir
The Thugtress of Harlem
Copyright © by Nadir Simmonds
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or person, living or dead, is coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at wordtovince@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Word to Vince Presents
Mailing List
Click link below and join my mailing list to stay up to date with new releases, sneak peeks, giveaways, and much more…
https://bit.ly/48m7Sm9
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Also by Nadir
Prologue
Positioned in the center of the Polo Grounds, a projects in Harlem, Drac stood with his arms folded across his chest. It was hot out. The steaming sun had no mercy on anyone with the audacity to set foot outside. It blazed down on the concrete jungle of New York City, flaming like a lit cigar. A wifebeater revealed Drac’s slim, chiseled frame. Moving a hand to a pocket of some shorts he had on, he gripped a tucked away pistol he had there. He was ready for war!
Drac’s fair complexion got him all the girls. His athletic physique complimented his swag. He walked with a Harlem bop. A bop the girls admired, and the males envied. He held no regard for the males, though. He could care less about how a nigga felt. Just as long as a nigga kept his thoughts to himself, everything was cool in his book. Niggas knew not to fuck with him, nonetheless. His family’s reputation, namely his father, Big Bear, spoke many words in the streets of Harlem. His old man laid it down in the streets for years to cement his name in the underworld. Polo Grounds was his leer; he controlled the entire projects.
Only a few people were out in a playground inside the projects, all of whom watched Drac with secret stares. He noticed all side eye looks but paid the spectators no mind. He was on a mission to cement his family’s name even more in the streets of Harlem, and nothing could stop him. He’d shot many people in the name of the DuPont’s, his family’s last name, and was willing to do it again if need be. And again. And again. Everyone knew the DuPont last name and should have known that murder and mayhem came behind fucking with their empire. However, a crew from Edgecombe Avenue, led by a notable Jamaican named Dexter, had the nerve to open a crack spot in Polo Grounds without permission from the DuPont’s. Drac was not having that. He was determined to bring it directly to Dexter, the bold man.
Waiting on Dexter or one of his soldiers to exit a building in Polo Grounds, Drac anticipated his next move. He was going to blow whoever away to a next dement ion and couldn’t wait. It didn’t take long for a man to exit the building Drac was targeting. Right away he could tell the man was a Jamaican, by the way he walked with a rude boy bop, a screwed face. Long dreadlocks covered his head. The signature Jamaican footwear, Clarks, graced his feet. Drac moved in for the kill. The man attempted to backtrack inside the building when noticing Drac approaching, hand in pocket, but Drac did not give him a chance to get away. He was good as dead. Taking out his gun, Drac instantly opened fire, flooring the man in seconds. Quickly moving to the grounded man, he aimed the gun at the wounded victim’s head, squeezing the trigger. A bullet slammed through the man’s cranium, knocking off a chunk of flesh. Brain matter splattered on the concrete beneath his still frame. Drac shot him some more before running off to his building, disappearing inside. He quickly shot upstairs to his apartment to get low.
“That was you, Drac?” Asked his mother, Cheryl, from the kitchen.
Drac ignored his mother. He went straight to his room where his older brother, Kevin, sat on a bed loading a pistol.
“You got that nigga?” Kevin asked, looking up from what he was doing.
Drac shook his head. “I ain’t catch Dexter, but I got one of his niggas for sure,” he said in a disappointed tone of voice. He really wanted to get to Dexter, the man who had invaded his family’s leer, setting up shop. If he got the Jamaican, his brother and father would be proud, so he hunted the man daily.
“We gotta get that nigga,” said Kevin, shaking his head. “Pops is on my neck about this shit. He said we got the family looking bad.”
Hearing that his father was disappointed made Drac feel a bit sad. His old man was locked away doing a bid for murder, unable to hold down the family like he was known to do. He pretty much ran things from behind bars, though, through Kevin. Drac doubted Dexter would have had the heart to come into Polo Grounds if his father was around. But because Kevin was in charge, the man was testing the waters, and had so far accomplished the feat of setting up a spot in the projects.
“Big bro, I’m on it, b. I’m not letting up until that nigga dead,” Drac promised, meaning every word.
Kevin waved a hand, brushing Drac off. “I hear you, nigga. But talk is cheap,” he said, going back to loading his pistol.
Letting out a sigh, Drac went back outside. A gang of cops was on the scene, surrounding the body of the man he’d laid to rest. Neighborhood residents looked out from windows, some from outside on foot. People gazed his way, their expressions showing every sign that they were aware of his involvement in the latest homicide to rock Polo Grounds. Holding his head high, he walked for W. 155th Street nearby, caring nothing about the stares. If anyone dared tell the police he was responsible for the death of the Jamaican, the lives of their families, and themselves, would be on the line. As a DuPont, Drac was pretty much invincible in Polo Grounds, along with many other places in Harlem. People knew better than to fuck with him or his family.
At W. 155th Street, Drac ran into his right-hand man, Shooter Sean, a slim built, dark-skinned trigger-happy maniac from Polo Grounds. The two were best friends since elementary school and had grown up tight into their early twenties.
“What up, b?” Greeted Drac, putting out a hand for a shake.
Shooter Sean quickly shook Drac’s hand.
“I know that was you that let the fireworks go on that coconut nigga,” he smiled a devilish grin.
“You know that’s right.”
“We gotta get more a them niggas. I know Big Bear is heated about them moving in on the projects.”
Hearing Shooter Sean make mention of his father’s name made Drac feel down. Just as Shooter Sean knew about the Jamaican’s moving in on their turf, it was obvious that everyone else in the neighborhood knew the same thing. In Drac’s eyes, this made his family look as if they were getting soft. He could not accept this. He would not accept this. He had to do what he had to do to carry on his family’s legacy. The DuPont name had to hold its ground as it had done for years.
“Word, b,” was all Drac said, unable to think of anything else to say. Shooter Sean was right about everything he mentioned. There was really no disputing the fact.
A car pulled to a stop on the street catching the boys attention. It was Drac’s brother Kevin inside. Rolling down the window, he called to the boys.
“Get in!” He shouted. “We gonna go drop a couple more of them niggas on Edgecombe.”
Shooter Sean looked over at Drac and smiled. They both then rushed for Kevin’s car.
Chapter 1
Lady lived in one of Polo Grounds’ four thirty-story buildings for most of her life. Born in Queens, New York, she left there at a very young age and could not even remember living in the borough. All she knew was Harlem. Home to the flyest people on earth, well, at least in her eyes. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be from.
Dark as night, Lady possessed smooth features that complimented her skin tone. A set of bright eyes, a pudgy nose, and healthy lips graced her pretty face. Long, natural hair reached the center of her back. She was thick. Sexy. Arguably the baddest chick in Polo Grounds.
Life in the projects was rough at times. With an absentee father, a drunk for a mother, Lady felt alone in the world. Since young, she was forced to fend for herself to see sure that she was well off. Thus, she kept a job. From working registers at local supermarkets to her current job as a law clerk at a firm, she made sure she stayed employed. Without a job, she would starve, literally. Even though she was an only child, it didn’t matter. Her old lady’s loyalty was to the bottle. Not her daughter. If Lady’s mother had to choose betw
Rising early in the morning, it was time to get to work. Lady was rarely late, but for some reason, she slept through the ringing of her alarm clock, getting up a half-hour later than her usual time. Rushing to the bathroom, she used the toilet, took a quick shower. Back inside her room, she put on a Donna Karen casual outfit with a pair of Gucci loafers. Not only was she a pretty bitch, but she kept herself fresh to death in the latest of everything. Most of her money went to staying dipped in dope clothes and her hygiene. It was a Harlem thing to stay fly. In that regard, she kept up with the joneses. Looking in the mirror once more to see make sure everything was in place, she shot outside to work.
Waiting on the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor, Lady observed the state of her building. The halls were filthy, filled with empty beer bottle; guts of cigars; cigarette butts; roaches of weed, among other debris. It was as if someone had a party and forgot to clean up after. However, she was used to this by now. This was life in Polo Grounds.
The elevator finally came; she got on. Instantly, her heart raced when seeing who her company during the short ride would be. Kevin. The man looked her way with a set of bloodshot, devilish eyes. Avoiding eye contact with the known gangster, Lady couldn’t help but notice the butt of a gun printing from behind his shirt. Getting as far away from Kevin as possible, she silently prayed for the elevator to reach its destination in a hurry. But as luck would have it, the shaft stopped on another floor and two more boys from the neighborhood got on the elevator. Fuck!
“What’s happening, big dog?” Greeted the boys together.
“Everything smooth. ‘Bout to go kill me a nigga,” replied Kevin.
Lady tried best to keep her composure. She knew about Kevin’s reputation, and that of his family, and knew he meant everything he said. He was a killer like his father and younger brother but surpassed them both in the art of murder. He was all over the news for multiple slayings in Harlem, on the run for them all. So, seeing him in the elevator made Lady extra nervous. Being in the presence of a serial killer, as he was described on news programs, rattled Lady’s nerves.
The elevator finally reached the lobby of the building. Lady got out in a hurry, wasting no time. Blowing by a group of men in the building, she made it outside in one piece. Letting out a long sigh, she was happy to be out the presence of Kevin and the rest of his soldiers. Shooting to W. 155th Street, she hailed a yellow cab that took her to the lower section of Manhattan where she worked.
Making it to her workplace, she got behind her desk and put in hours of answering phone calls and taking messages. Before she knew it, the workday was over, and she was out on the road hailing another cab to take her back uptown. However, she decided to stop by her best friend, Jamie, before going home. The cab took her to a building on 145th Street near Edgecombe Avenue in Harlem.
Reaching Jamie’s building, Lady shook her head. Damn, man. There were men out hustling in the open, clearly not giving a fuck about who saw them doing their thing. At the end of the day, this was Sugar Hill, a name given onto the area, and it was known to be one of the busiest areas with drug activity in the entire Harlem. So, it didn’t matter how Lady felt about the current scene. Things would remain the same on Edgecombe Avenue whether she liked it or not.
Just as she was about to enter Jamie’s building, a man standing near the entrance grabbed Lady’s hand.
“Pretty girl,” said the man in a thick Jamaican accent. “I would love to marry you.”
Pulling her hand away, Lady gave the man a mean look before walking off into the building to Jamie’s apartment.
“I don’t know how you could live out here,” she said to Jamie once in the latter’s apartment.
Jamie, a thick Puerto Rican girl, gave Lady the once over. “I know you not talking,” she said, rolling her bright, green eyes. “You live in the grimiest projects in Harlem, and you got the nerve to say something about Sugar Hill.”
Lady let out a loud laugh. Jamie was right, her projects was definitely something to talk about. Polo Grounds was not a pleasant place to visit if you did not know someone from there. The murderous housing development was talked about by everyone. Killings happened almost every day there; shootings; robberies; all sorts of crime. Polo Grounds was the real deal when it came to violence, a projects that kept Harlem on the map when it came down to the streets.
“You got it. You’re right about that,” she submitted.
Taking a seat in Jamie’s living room, Lady rocked to house music playing from somewhere in the apartment. The music genre was loved by Latino’s throughout the city and could be heard on any Spanish block. Though Lady’s first choice of music was R&B, she loved to listen to other types of music.
“That’s that new Suzie shit playing,” smiled Jamie, shaking her thick ass all about.
Lady laughed. “You crazy, girl,” she said.
“Let’s go outside.”
“Let’s go.”
145th was a wide street that ran from the Henry Hudson Parkway through Harlem all the way to a 145th Street bridge that led into the Bronx borough. The popular strip was aligned with mainly buildings, as was with the rest of Manhattan. Families made up of mostly African Americans, occupied most of the street. It was a strong black community, especially at 145th Street between Edgecombe and St Nicholas Avenues.
Heading out onto 145th, Lady noticed the man who pulled at her earlier on in the building.
“You know that nigga,” she asked Jamie beneath her breath, trying to not let the man know she was asking about him.
“Yeah. That’s Dexter. He’s one of the top dogs around here,” answered Jamie.
Focusing in on the man, Lady realized she knew who he was. He was one of the Jamaicans that had occupied a building in her projects and was at war with the DuPont family. Oh shit! She’d been coming to see Jamie for years on 145th and had never seen the man on the block before. Where he come from, she wondered.
“I don’t remember seeing him out here before,” she said to Jamie.
“Yeah, I know. He only recently started coming around, and it’s obvious that he is some sort of boss back in Jamaica. These guys praise him like he’s God,” explained Jamie.
Stealing a glimpse at Dexter, Lady noticed his innocent features. By the look of him, she doubted he was a boss. He looks too simple. There was no way Dexter could be what Jamie thought he was.
“He’s the dude that’s going to war with the DuPont’s from over in your projects,” continued Jamie.
“Word?” Asked Lady in disbelief.
Familiar with the DuPont-Jamaican war rocking her projects, Lady could not believe Dexter was at the head of it. She’d never witnessed anyone challenge the DuPont family. There was an unwritten rule in Polo Grounds to never violate the ground the DuPont’s walked on. The brutal family, that possessed a strong army of troops in Polo Grounds and around Harlem, ruled the projects with an iron-fist. Big Bear, the leader of the clan, had once had a relationship with Lady’s mother. She would see him by the house all the time during her coming of age. The huge, chubby man was scary. His mean face, deep voice, big body frightened Lady every time, even though he really meant no harm. Big Bear couldn’t control his aggressive demeanor. It was just who he was, and Lady eventually realized that and accepted him for who he was. Nevertheless, Big Bear’s clan of killers rocked the neighborhood consistently, which eventually led to his capture by the authorities. When he and his gang was put away for good, Lady thought that was the end of his reign, but then came the arrival of his son, Kevin, a force maybe two times more brutal than his father. Keeping the DuPont name alive, Kevin picked up where his father left off, but taking it up a notch. The younger DuPont had become a ruthless killer, murdering anyone he thought was trying to eliminate his father’s status as the boss of Harlem. His murderous ways put him under investigation with the authorities. There were news bulletins on every night about law enforcement’s earnest hunt for the savage, Kevin. Lady had been watching these news flashes for a couple years now and doubted they would ever capture Kevin. He’d evaded the police for some time. It didn’t seem like he would ever be caught. Though he’d been on the low for some time, Lady noticed he began to show his face more when a few Jamaicans entered the projects, setting up shop in DuPont territory.
