Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4

by Nisa Santiago

  “And so you will have it that way.”

  “How long?”

  “Depends on how far we track him. I’ll send out the bloodhounds, try to get his scent, and then we’ll work our skill from there.”

  “Oh, and I want him to suffer. I want this muthafucka to be tortured, and I want it on film. I want him to cry out so bad, he’ll be yearning for death.”

  “Possible, but that will cost you another fifty thousand.”

  “Done.”

  Jet nodded. He saw Apple as a vicious and strong woman. He loved her. She was about her business and obviously had much of it, from what she was paying him.

  When they were done talking, Apple stood up, Jet did also. They shook hands. And Apple turned to leave the room.

  Jet said, “You know, we could use a woman like you on our team.”

  “Oh, really?” Apple was somewhat flattered. “And why’s that? From what I heard, you don’t view women as reliable soldiers.”

  Jet chuckled. “From what I’ve seen and heard of you so far, you’re a cold and smart female. You’ve done your homework on me, and I’ve done my homework on you.”

  “I see. Well, Jet, I’m about my business. I’m a businesswoman, and I’ll leave getting dirty in the trenches to you and your men. I’m a Park Avenue bitch right now—love makin’ money and having the finer things in life.”

  “As do I,” Jet replied with a smug grin. “And killing is one of the finer things to do in life.”

  “Just get me what I asked for, and we’ll continue a good business relationship in the future. I have a feelin’ that you won’t disappoint me.”

  “I never do.”

  Apple left the room. Terri was still waiting for her at the bottom of the stairway in the foyer.

  “Everything okay?” Terri asked.

  Apple nodded.

  Terri opened the door for Apple, and she walked out. Before Terri made his exit, he looked up and noticed Jet watching them leave from the top of the stairway, his eyes lingering on Apple as he pulled on a cigar.

  For a moment, the two locked eyes. Terri grimaced at the man. But Jet only smiled and then turned and disappeared into the next room.

  Seven

  The Women’s Detention Center in Miami was no place for Kola to be locked up in. She stared out of her cellwindow at the beautiful, warm spring day with the traffic on 395 flowing freely like the wind. But there was nothing beautiful about her day. She missed her lifestyle greatly. She found herself consumed in regret and anger. Life was moving slow for her on the inside, and she was forced to wear the tacky bright orange jumpsuit that swallowed up her petite, curvy frame day after day.

  But Kola had no reason to show off for any of the other girls in the detention center. Some of the girls were like predators in the wild, sodomizing other inmates after dark. Some had connections with the prison guards, and were able to receive smuggled goods from the outside—cell phones, cigarettes, iPods, and even drugs.

  Kola was new to this world, but she wasn’t afraid of it. Her name rang out from her connections with OMG and Nikki. Everyone knew who she was and what she was about. She walked around fearlessly, knowing if any bitch tried her or attempted to put their hands on her, then they would have a problem. Being linked to a vicious drug organization had its benefits. She moved around the jail with ease and was able to make her phone calls without being extorted or harassed.

  Two weeks into lockup, Kola hadn’t had one incident with any of the female inmates yet. They gave her hard, foul looks, but slick remarks about her were kept to themselves. They didn’t like that she was from New York. In fact, the detainees had a sour attitude toward anyone outside of Miami getting money; especially the way Kola was getting money. But Kola made it known throughout Miami that she wasn’t the bitch to be fucked with.

  In the Miami jail, the Haitians hated the Cubans, and the Cubans hated the Haitians. The females were like cats, steadily scratching at each other, and fighting all the time. The guards had to constantly tear them off each other.

  The day was passing slowly like always. Kola exited her pod and walked down the grated walkway toward the phones, her mind filled with so many worries. In the past two weeks, she hadn’t been able to contact Nikki. She needed to get the rundown on what was going on the streets, find out what was being said, or who was snitching. She needed her own lawyer, and she needed to get out, on bond or whatever. The judge in her second court hearing was more lenient this time and set her bail at $250,000. It was high, but Kola was confident that she could get it paid.

  Kola picked up the phone in the circular room, where a total of five working phones were in use. She glanced around her and noticed another woman, a Haitian, also in the room with her. Dark-skinned with tight cornrows and very young in the face, almost the same age as Kola, she barely spoke English. She began speaking Creole into the phone receiver, and then Kola noticed the tears streaming down the girl’s cheeks as she spoke.

  This place was breaking the young Haitian woman down. It was almost heart wrenching to watch. Kola watched the girl speak for a moment, not understanding what she was saying, but knowing it was family she was speaking to, from her manner.

  Kola shrugged off the feeling and decided to mind her business, like she’d been doing from the first day she’d arrived. Now wasn’t the time or place for her to start feeling sympathetic toward anyone. She dialed Nikki’s number again collect, praying she would reach her cousin this go-around.

  “Damn, bitch! Where the fuck was you this whole time?”

  “Shit is bad out here, Kola.”

  “Well, fuck that! You know I’m jammed up.”

  “I heard.”

  “I need to get the fuck outta here, Nikki, like ASAP. I need you to get my bond paid. I need for you to put up that money, and I need to get a lawyer. I wanna see the outside again.”

  Nikki didn’t respond right away.

  “Nikki, you still there?”

  “Wit’ what, Kola?”

  “What the fuck you mean, wit’ what? I’m talkin’ ’bout puttin’ up some cash to get me the fuck outta here, Nikki. I mean, I ain’t scared up in here, I’m holdin’ shit down, but I can’t fuck wit’ these bitches in this fuckin’ place.”

  “Kola, I don’t know what to do. Since you been locked down, shit done got tight out here.”

  “Nikki, we both got enough cash to pay this bail. Shit, bitch! If you don’t wanna tie-up that much paper, then put ya house up as collateral or somethin’. I don’t give a fuck, I’ll buy you a new house. Once I touch ground again, you know I’m gonna hit you off. But I’m dead in the water sittin’ in this fuckin’ bitch.”

  “Kola, you don’t fuckin’ get it—The feds raided the crib too and took everything.”

  “What?”

  “They had a warrant and ran into our shit and snatched up the cash, book statements, and guns. It’s lookin’ bad right now, cousin.”

  “And where the fuck was you?”

  “I wasn’t around. I drove by and seen them comin’ out my place wit’ boxes of evidence.”

  Kola sighed heavily. This wasn’t happening. It had to be a nightmare. How was she caught up like this?

  “Well, we got peoples in this city, Nikki. Reach out to someone and make it happen. Since I been down in Miami, we helped out a lot of muthafuckas—a lot of important people. Shit, now it’s time for them to return the favor.”

  “They scared, Kola. Ain’t no one tryin’ to fuck wit’ you right now because the feds are on you heavily, and they don’t wanna get dragged into that web.”

  “What the fuck ya mean, they scared? As much money we put out there, as many fuckin’ favors as I done for muthafuckas, and you tryin’ to say they ready to have me take the weight of all this, and abandoned me like I ain’t shit?”

  Nikki was silent.

  “Fuck ’em! I swear to you, they better not do me like this. And you mean to tell me that our crib was the only crib they raided?”

  “I
don’t know the details of—”

  “Well, fuckin’ find out then, Nikki!” Kola screamed.

  “A’ight, Kola.”

  “I can’t be sittin’ in here like some ass and feelin’ vulnerable out there. What about OMG? Have you been in touch wit’ him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Yo, reach out to him and have him put up the money for my bail. He knows I’m good for it.”

  “I don’t think that’s gonna be a good idea.”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, Nikki?”

  “Look, word is you might be on ya own on this one. And if I was you, keep ya mouth shut ’bout everything ’cuz you know if niggas have the slightest inkling that you might be snitchin’, then they gonna come for you, and they can get you touched inside too, Kola.”

  Kola shouted, “Bitch, what? I’m being threatened? I ain’t a fuckin’ snitch!”

  “I’m just sayin’, Kola, ya hot right now. OMG ain’t gonna want to have shit to do wit’ you right now. Everything we do, every move we make, might tie into a conspiracy case against us all.”

  “So I’m left out there to fend for myself—That’s what you tellin’ me?”

  “Look, I’m gonna work on finding you a good lawyer to represent you and get you outta there. I got ya back, cousin.”

  “You got my back?” Kola returned dryly. “It sure don’t feel like it. All I keep hearing from you is fuckin’ excuses.”

  “Kola, don’t even—”

  The phone line suddenly went dead. There was no warning, just the rude shutdown while in the middle of their conversation.

  Kola sighed heavily and hung up. She was left out in the cold to freeze. She lingered by the phones for a moment, and the cold look on her face made it known she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She felt that something was not right at all. How was it that she was the only one caught up and the only person sitting behind bars with a pending fed case against her? There had to be a snitch involved somewhere.

  How was her cousin a free woman if the feds kicked in her door and they found cash and guns in the place? Why wasn’t she locked down too? They were partners in a lucrative drug organization in Miami, and like sisters they went everywhere together and did everything together. It wasn’t adding up.

  The female guard came into the room to escort Kola back into her pod once her phone privileges were over. The day was fading fast, and the loud shouts and rants from other incarcerated females confined in their pods could be heard throughout as Kola was guided to her cell. Some were acting like animals behind the thick steel doors.

  She walked up the grated walkway in a foul mood, but she kept her head up and tried not to show any emotions. She would beat this minor setback. She was from Harlem, and Miami was just the suburbs to her. She wasn’t a snitch, and this wasn’t going to break her.

  But she felt mistrust around the people she had once associated herself with. She realized that in this business, there was no such thing as friends, or trust.

  The pod door slid shut to her cell, confining Kola to her small world—a small cot, steel walls, and the furnishing and fixtures being anchored to the walls and the floors. The only access Kola had to the outside world was looking through her narrow, rectangular shaped window that gave her a view of the highway.

  Kola took a seat on the thin cot and slouched against the wall. She propped one leg up on the cot, while stretching out the other, and stared aimlessly at the wall in front of her. A few tears streamed down her soft, light brown cheeks. She remained that way for hours, tuning out everything around her. For the first time, she felt vulnerable. The young girl in her had surfaced, and she couldn’t help but be afraid.

  She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. Her next move was reaching out to New York and getting in contact with her mother, and if she had to put her pride aside, maybe even Apple. Kola didn’t want to revert to relying on family. Nikki was family too, and look where it got her.

  But desperation started to settle in with Kola, and she needed a way out. She still had great animosity toward her sister, whom she hadn’t seen or heard from in a long while. But Kola still felt unforgiving toward that bitch. It made her cringe to think that she might have to reach out to her for help.

  ***

  Kola, dressed in the unzipped orange jumpsuit, the arms tied around her waist, sat at the metal table with four other women in the three-sided concrete room. The other girls were gossiping about their lifestyle, telling the horrors they’d been through—the drug use, prostitution, gangs, fights, and what landed them behind bars. Other inmates talked about the glitz and glamour of their lives in Miami—the partying, the money, the sex, and the cars. Two separate accounts being told by two different groups of ladies—glitter and prominence versus sorrow and heartache—but they all ended in the same situation. No matter what side of the tracks they came from, each account finished with them being locked down at the Women’s Detention Center in the heart of Miami.

  Kola didn’t want to share her tale, so she remained quiet. Everyone was trying to outdo the other with their stories, but Kola didn’t like to run her mouth. She didn’t want anyone to know her situation, even though her reputation had preceded her.

  “What’s up wit’ you, Kola?” Danielle asked. “Why you so quiet?”

  “I’m good,” Kola replied evenly.

  “You sure?”

  Kola nodded.

  Danielle stared at Kola. There wasn’t any tension between them. Danielle just cared about a few of the girls in the jail, and sometimes acted like a surrogate mother for some of the younger ladies. She was in her late twenties and was a prostitute on the streets of Miami, working underneath a gorilla pimp named Ice. She made hundreds of thousands of dollars while working for her pimp and lived a life of luxury by spreading her legs on a regular, or working on her knees and widening her jaw.

  Danielle was from Houston and had come to Miami wanting to live a better life. She was nineteen when she’d left Houston, and the minute she touched down in Miami, she met Ice.

  At first, Ice showed her love and the finer things in the glitzy city. He even gave her a place to stay. Danielle fell in love with Ice. He was tall, handsome, charming and established, having his own home, two nice vehicles, and money that seemed limitless.

  But the fairytale only lasted a few weeks. Once Danielle became comfortable, Ice turned violent and ugly. Knowing she had no one in Miami, neither family nor friends, Ice gave her a cruel choice—to either pay him back for his kindness or become homeless. Danielle, being scared and alone, chose to pay him back, which meant turning tricks in Miami, escorting, and doing anything and everything he asked or demanded of her. When she became reluctant, the beatings followed—either with his fist, a gun, or any inanimate object he picked up in his hands.

  Ice had other girls under his control and turning tricks for him. He made a fortune in the city, raking in tens of thousands of dollars a day. But Ice was selfish, cruel, and treated his hoes like property. If a ho didn’t make her quota, talked back, or broke any of his rules on the streets, she was beaten, and sometimes gang raped for hours by a few of his friends.

  Danielle decided that she’d had enough of the beatings, the rapes, and the humiliation. Even though she wore the best clothes, rode around in luxuriant cars, and lived in a nice home, she still felt a dog had a better life than her. Her freedom was gone, and her dignity swallowed up by the mistreatment. Her face would remain beautiful, but her body suffered bruises and burns from Ice’s hands.

  Late one night, while Ice slept, Danielle and her young companion stabbed him multiple times in the throat and face and then burned his body, in the process causing the whole house to catch afire and burn down. They were later caught and both took a plea from the prosecution, receiving the maximum twenty-five to life in a state prison.

  Funny thing for Danielle, even though she would spend the rest of her life behind bars, she’d never felt freer. She was never afraid to te
ll her story, and when she told it, the female inmates would always listen. She was a very beautiful woman with hazel eyes, caramel skin, and long hair that she styled into two long braided pigtails that fell down to her shoulders. Men would pay handsomely just to be with her, but now the women in the prison were willing to be with her too. She was like Helen of Troy.

  Kola and Danielle developed a friendship somewhat. They’d both come from a different city to escape something. They both were beautiful women, motivated by wealth, but caught up in the system. And they both were killers.

  Danielle was one of the few ladies Kola would actually talk to, and share her story with. She tried to school Kola on the way things worked inside the jail, and the way things worked in Miami. Kola had called it home for only a few weeks, but Danielle had called it home for ten years.

  “Kola, you better put that pride to the side. Go speak to your family, and let them know you need help down here with your bail and a lawyer,” Danielle advised.

  “Fuck my family!”

  “Your sister can’t be that cold-blooded.”

  “You don’t know that bitch.”

  “And your moms?”

  Kola fell silent. The memory of her little sister Nichols was always so painful to share with anyone. Nichols was the best thing in their family. She was such a sweetheart, a wonderful person, and smart.

  Kola surprisingly shared the memories of her murdered sister with Danielle. In fact, Danielle was the only person Kola talked to about Nichols. That part of Kola’s life had died years ago, but now, it was starting to resurface. When Nichols died, so many other things died in the family too—sisterhood, trust, loyalty.

  “I feel you can have a second chance, Kola. I mean, just reach out and try somethin’. You would rather be stuck in here and die than to reconcile with your peoples in New York?”

  Kola sighed.

  “Zip up!” the male guard yelled as the door opened.

  The ladies pulled their jumpers over their shoulders and followed the guard outside for their recreation time in an enclosed gravel yard. The ladies lined up single file as they streamed leisurely into the yard.