Chico remained silent.
Blythe’s tears trickled down her face. She stared at Chico and tried to hold back her sudden contempt for him.
Chico finally spoke, “What you want from me?”
“I want this to end.”
“It ain’t gonna end until either me or that bitch is dead.”
“I can’t live like this.”
“Then fuckin’ leave, bitch!” he screamed madly. “Ain’t anyone asking you to stay. This is my fuckin’ fight, not yours!”
“I can’t believe you. I love you, baby, and I want us to be happy.”
“Fuck happy. You see this?” Chico raised the pistol and showed it off. “This is gonna keep us alive, keep us happy. Frank was just a casualty of war, that’s all. I just gotta get you a new bodyguard.”
“I don’t need anything else from you, Chico. I don’t need shit from you, if you’re gonna continue on with this insanity. You’re too fuckin’ blind to see what is happening with you. Look at you! That fuckin’ bitch got you sadistic and twisted. She got you chasin’ behind her like some damn fool! Who’s the fuckin’ bitch, you or her?”
Chico snapped. He rushed toward Blythe, wrapped his hand around her throat, and pushed her against the wall with tremendous force. A few pictures on the wall were abruptly rattled and fell against the floor, shattering.
Blythe’s eyes opened wide in fear. This wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with. He was choking her, draining life from her body. “I can’t breathe,” she managed to say, gasping for air.
“I’m no one’s bitch. You fuckin’ understand me? You dumb bitch! I’ma have that bitch’s head in my fuckin’ lap real soon. I’m gonna kill her, so stay the fuck out my way,” he growled. He released his strong grip from around her throat and took a few steps back, gun in hand.
Blythe was dumbfounded and upset. She was done. She couldn’t believe Chico had attacked her. She wanted to throw up. She ran off into the bedroom and began packing her things. Enough was enough. If Chico wanted to throw himself over the edge, fine then, but he wasn’t going to pull her over with him.
Chico took another swig of his Hennessy Black and gazed out the window, the .357 in his hand, down by his side. He heard Blythe in the bedroom crying as she packed but made no attempt to soothe her pain. He no longer cared about her needs or happiness. The only thing on his mind was bloodshed.
Twenty minutes later, Blythe came storming out the bedroom wheeling her suitcase.
Chico turned to glare at her. He remained silent.
Blythe took a deep breath and locked eyes with her man. “Goodbye, Chico,” she said matter-of-factly.
Chico didn’t reply. He only stared at her with contempt. She was weak. And he refused to be around anyone that was weak. There were bigger issues to deal with than to worry about some bitch.
Blythe lingered at the door for a moment. “You’re not going to say anything?” she asked.
“Fuck you!”
Blythe began to cry again. They’d been together for over a year, and now, everything came to an abrupt end. Frank’s body by the front door was proof enough that things were too dangerous for her to stay. And she no longer felt safe in her own home. She could have easily been the one he’d shot.
Blythe collected herself and made her exit. She had no more words for Chico. She loved him dearly, but she couldn’t tolerate it anymore. He’d become a monster, and she would rather leave and start over somewhere else than to feel unsafe and unloved in her own home. She stepped over Frank’s body and left the front door open.
She cried as she walked toward the cab. She looked back at her old home one last time and got into the idling cab. “Fuck you too, Chico,” she muttered under her breath.
She knew Chico wasn’t going to chase after her. He was too stubborn. He was fighting for everything else other than their love. Their relationship was a done deal. The cab pulled away from the curb with Blythe in the backseat shedding tears, and she refused to look back again.
Chico stood by the window. He saw the cab pulling off, and he didn’t give it a second thought. What was done was done. Now it was back to business. Blythe was a good woman, and he felt in order for her to stay alive, he had to let her go.
His heart ached for her, but there was no room for love and emotions. With his enemies on his heels, he had to become withdrawn.
The ringing cell phone snapped him from his thoughts. He went to answer the phone. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Listen carefully,” the unknown caller stated. “We both have a common enemy at the moment.”
“What?”
“I want a meeting wit’ you,” the caller said.
Chico didn’t recognize the voice. He barked through the phone, “Why the fuck would I want to meet wit’ you, nigga? Who the fuck is you?”
“Once again, listen carefully. A friend of yours has something to say to you.”
“Yo, Chico, I’m sorry, man. I fucked up,” Bad said.
Chico was outraged. Someone had kidnapped one of his prime lieutenants. Bad was a beast in the game and was always careful with his movements in the streets. Who had caught him slipping?
The unknown caller got back on the phone and said to Chico, “Do I have your attention now?”
“I’m listening, muthafucka! Speak ya damn business.”
“Come to this warehouse in an hour. It’s in the Bronx,” the caller said. He gave Chico the location and some instructions.
Chico hung up, furious. He was ready to add more bodies to his growing body count. But he knew the unknown caller was smart and savvy in the streets. How this unknown caller had captured Bad had Chico in bewilderment. Would his lieutenant still be alive once he showed up? It was a sticky situation, and Chico was ready to make it even stickier.
He got on the phone with Rome and Torrez, and they quickly headed out to the Bronx, heavily armed and ready for the unthinkable . . . if it came.
***
Chico stopped his ride in front of the industrial warehouse on Chesbrough Avenue in the Bronx. It was a three-story corner commercial building consisting of two loading docks, one garage door, and a freight elevator. The block was dark and quiet, and there weren’t any residential neighbors around for blocks, since it was an industrial area.
Chico was hesitant to proceed as he sat behind the wheel of the Durango. It probably was a setup. Apple was a sneaky, conniving little bitch who he had truly underestimated in the past three months. She always seemed to be one step ahead of him. He had to find a way to become one step ahead of her.
“You trust this shit, Chico?” Torrez asked.
“Not one bit.”
But Chico didn’t have a choice. Good soldiers like Bad came rare in today’s game. And losing Bad in a time of war would be crucial to his crew.
Rome suggested heatedly, “I say fuck it. We go in shootin’. Let muthafuckas know not to fuck wit’ us.”
“Nah, we go in and talk, but just us two,” Chico said, referring to him and Torrez. “And, Rome, if we ain’t out that bitch within fifteen minutes, you know what to do.”
Rome nodded.
Chico stuffed his pistol into his waistband and stepped out the truck. Torrez did the same, and the two walked toward the rolling gates out front. The area was lifeless. It felt like he was in a bad low-budget horror movie. Anything was possible. This caller maybe wanted to talk, or maybe he wanted Chico dead. It was a risk coming into unknown territory with little muscle. Chico knew one thing for sure though—if it was a setup, then he wasn’t going out without a fight.
Torrez knocked on the side door. The two men took a step back and braced themselves for the worst. Anything could be behind this door—business or war.
The steel side door opened, and a slim soldier wearing a red bandanna, red beads, and sagging jeans emerged. He scowled at the two men. He was a Blood member.
Chico locked eyes with him. “You know what the fuck we here for. Don’t act stupid.”
“Yo, fam
, don’t come up in here wit’ that. I ain’t the one,” the young soldier said.
But Chico was far from intimidated.
The young soldier stepped aside and allowed them entry into the warehouse. Chico and Torrez walked into the 8,750-square-feet space with the 20-foot ceiling. The place was filled with boxes and junk and hadn’t been used in months.
The Blood soldier showed that he was carrying a pistol. He continued to glare at Chico and Torrez.
“Who we here to see, yo? ’Cause I ain’t got no fuckin’ time to waste,” Chico said.
“Just follow me.” He led the way, and Chico and Torrez followed behind him.
They walked into an empty office, and there was Bad, tied to a chair, surrounded by a half dozen other Blood members, flaunting their red bandannas, beads, and tattoos. One soldier held a gun to Bad’s head, and he looked like he could easily kill a man in a heartbeat.
Chico looked around. He took in the atmosphere and situation instantly. “The man in charge, where the fuck is he?”
No one said anything. They kept mute and acted like he didn’t speak English.
“Y’all niggas deaf? Who the nigga I spoke to on the phone?” Chico demanded to know.
“That would be me,” a voice boomed from the shadows.
Chico and Torrez turned to see a figure approaching. Chico couldn’t make out who it was immediately, but as the man and the voice loomed closer, Chico flared up.
“What the fuck do you want, nigga? Is this a fuckin’ joke?”
“No joke, Chico. You and I now share a common enemy, and we both want her dead,” Shaun said coolly.
The air in the room became a lot tenser. Chico was taken aback. Is the enemy of my enemy now my friend? It was an age-old question.
Shaun, clad in a wifebeater and jeans, approached Chico. He looked really fit. His head was shaved, and he had some serious muscle behind him.
“I’m a hunted man, Chico. I know Apple wants me dead like yesterday, and she’s come close on a few occasions. I got a heavy bounty on my head. And I’m being hunted by this man who calls himself Jet. His team cornered me in Brazil, there was a shootout, and Jet took a couple slugs. I barely got out alive. I know you and I once had our differences. I know you loved that bitch once, but she’s a threat to both of us now.”
“Nigga, what you did to her in Mexico is what caused this shit wit’ her,” Chico said. “You fucked her head up.”
“And that’s the past, and we both won’t live to see the future if we let that bitch continue to rage on.”
Chico continued to frown upon Shaun. He didn’t trust him, but he was desperate to end this war. “And I’m supposed to trust you after this shit with Bad, and wit’ one of your men holdin’ a gun to my lieutenant’s head?”
“I had to get your attention. So do I have it?”
“And how are you supposed to get at this bitch? I’ve been tryin’ for months. She’s hard to fuckin’ kill. And what’s your fuckin’ way of handling this bitch?”
“Simple—I have somethin’ she craves and might want back.”
“And that would be what?”
“She’s has a daughter.”
“A daughter?”
“Yes. And I know where she is.”
Chico’s mind was spinning. Was the child his?
Twenty-two
Denise stared out the living room window from her friend’s apartment on South Munn Avenue, an elegant pre-WWII apartment in East Orange, New Jersey. She had a perfect view of the street from the fifth-floor window.
Denise had known Yandy for years now, and she was one of the few friends she could trust. Yandy was from Harlem, and the two of them had grown up together, and were once thick as thieves. Yandy had moved from Harlem years ago. When Denise needed a place to escape to or hide out, Yandy welcomed her friend with open arms into her home.
It was dark, and after midnight, but Denise was up and nervous. Denise was chain-smoking by the window and waiting for Apple to show up. She knew Apple was coming. Her daughter had been craving to find out who was behind the acid attack. Yandy thought Denise was insane for snitching on herself, but she did have a conscience. And it was hard to look at Apple’s disfigurement, knowing she’d paid someone to make her daughter ugly.
She couldn’t relax because Apple was unpredictable. What would she do once the truth came out? she thought.
“Shit!” Denise muttered when she saw Apple’s over-the-top trucks pull up in front of the building. She took one last pull from the Newport and flicked it out the window. She watched Apple and her goons trickle out of the two vehicles, a Range Rover and a Tahoe. What have I gotten myself into?
***
Apple instructed Crunch and Chicano to wait by the truck, while she went into the building with Terri and Kori. She turned to Terri and said, “This bitch better not be wasting my fuckin’ time.”
Terri only shrugged. On his hip was a holstered and concealed Desert Eagle. He was Apple’s shadow. He was observant and adept at protecting her from any dangers, and Apple trusted him with her life. Terri immediately didn’t like the idea of driving out to East Orange so hastily. They didn’t know the area or what they were walking into. In his mind, everything was a potential setup.
Apple peered up at the building, and then she, along with Terri and Kori attempted to cross the street. But they were unaware they were being watched and targeted from afar.
***
As Apple strutted across the quiet four-lane street, she was in perfect sight of a high-powered rifle. The scope of the rifle followed her vigilantly as she crossed the blacktop. Ion was perched on a nearby rooftop and waiting for the right moment to fire.
Dressed in black and nestled in the cover of night, he was suspended on the edge of a five-story building. He gripped the high-powered rifle with his finger on the trigger, poised like a trained sniper. His military pedigree had taught him how to become invisible and use high-end technology.
Tracking Apple down was easy, since he had the best toys. He had been on Apple for one week. He’d tapped into her phone lines and had access to all her conversations. He had pictures of her doing various things.
Within a week, he’d learned about her family, Guy Tony, her twin sister, Denise, and a few other details. He’d listened in on her conversation with Denise, which had led him here, ready to strike. It was only a matter of time before he devoured her with his umpteenth kill and introduced her brains to the moonlight.
***
Apple walked with a scowl, gliding in her high heels toward the front entrance, but before she had the chance to step into the building, she lost her footing and stumbled on the curb. One of her high heels had gotten caught in the jagged concrete, and she nearly tumbled over.
“Shit,” she muttered, trying to break her fall, her arms outstretched.
Then it happened. A split-second shot, and Kori’s head exploded, spraying Apple with his blood. He dropped to the concrete.
“What the fuck!” Apple shouted. The shot had been quiet and seemed to come out of nowhere.
Terri quickly went into action. He snatched out his .50 and moved toward Apple. “It’s a hit!” he shouted. “Get down! Get down!”
Crunch and Chicano started to run over with their guns drawn. Another shot was fired at Apple, who came out her heels and tried to run for cover. A third shot was fired, and the bullet ripped through her back and dropped her near the building entrance hall. Then she was shot again, and a slug tore through her side.
Apple managed to escape into the building to find cover. She was howling from her injuries. She felt like she was burning up, like her insides had been set on fire. She stumbled against the lobby walls, smearing her blood all over. She felt herself becoming dizzy, and when she tried to walk, she stumbled and collapsed on her side, her body numb and weak.
Apple was disoriented. She buckled near the elevators, all her strength suddenly drained from her. Where was Terri? Was he hit too? Who had attacked them? She lay again
st the tiled floor bleeding profusely. She knew she was dying.
She remained wilted against the lobby walls, her blood pooling around her. She could barely keep her eyes open. She grunted from the pain that throbbed all through her, and her breathing was becoming erratic.
She looked around crazily, and she couldn’t help but to feel fear. Then, suddenly, she noticed a familiar face approaching, a face with features that matched her own.
“Fuck you, Kola!” Apple hissed weakly.
Kola, clutching a .45 in her hand and fueled with resentment, stood over her sister’s bullet-riddled body. She ached for this day. She blamed Apple for everything, and this was karma coming back on her. She aimed the .45 at Apple’s head and asked, “Did you do it?”
“Do what?” Apple managed to say, coughing afterwards.
“Did you try to have me killed in Miami?”
With blood discharging from her mouth, Apple released another nasty cough. She faintly replied through hard breaths, “I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ’bout.”
Kola cocked the gun back.
“Just fuckin’ kill me, bitch!”
Kola started to tear up. Just do it.
“Do it, you fuckin’ bitch!” Apple coughed again.
Terri abruptly charged into the building, and Kola spun around and pointed her pistol at him. He emulated the action, and now the two were in a tense standoff.
“I’ll drop you, bitch!” Terri shouted, his gun trained at her head.
“Don’t do this,” Kola replied. “This ain’t your beef.”
“Like hell it ain’t!”
“I don’t have a problem with you, but we can mix it up if you don’t back the fuck down.”
“Bitch, I will kill you where you stand.”
They soon heard police sirens blaring in the distance, as they continued to eye each other intensely.
Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4 Page 16
