Wifey, Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  “Don’t do it. He sounds grimy, and you’ll go down there and get robbed or killed. It ain’t worth it.”

  “Ain’t nobody scared of the nigga; it’s just about trusting him.”

  “It’s all the same thing. I wouldn’t go.”

  Nico blew air out his lungs and explained how shit was drying up ever since they lost their FedEx hook up. “We gotta get the best product on the street. That bitch-ass Prince got the best product right now. And I can’t be second best to nobody.”

  Jasmine kept quiet.

  “I can’t send BJ, and Lo is gone. And I don’t trust the young guns on something this big.”

  “How big is the deal?”

  “Low seven figures.”

  “Damn. How you gonna get that up to New York?”

  Nico explained that he had a private trucking company owner who would move it for him.

  “See, that’s different now. You have to do that deal yourself and be riding in that little sleep-away area that they got on them tractor trailers.” She laughed.

  “Nah. Once it’s on the truck, we good money.”

  “Well, I say find a new connect. But if you go through with it, don’t send nobody else but yourself. It’s like if Kobe is on the team and they need a last-minute shot to win the championship, only Kobe is taking that shot. They won’t have one of the bench players taking the shot.”

  Nico smiled; he liked that analogy. Nico had been around the block for years and knew the drug game the same way Kobe knew the basketball game, so before he had even asked Jasmine that question, he already knew what he was going to do about the major Miami drug deal.

  Forty-Nine

  When Nico left for Miami, the FBI and the DEA had a team of agents following his every move. Jasmine had supplied Agent Gosling with the information on the seven-figure drug deal going down in Miami, and all of the federal and local authorities were all on standby waiting to move in as soon as they got the notice from Agent Gosling, who was leading the task force to take down Nico.

  The day Nico left for Miami, Jasmine shot over to her Manhattan loft and called Homicide and told him to come meet her there. When Homicide showed up, he wanted to know if she had fucked Nico.

  “There was no way I couldn’t fuck him, baby. But it means nothing.” Jasmine assured Homicide that it would all be worth it in a just a few short weeks, and reminded him of how they were going to be able to make their come-up and retire and then go off into the sunset.

  Jasmine hadn’t told Homicide about the seven-figure drug deal getting ready to go down in Miami because she realized that, for a big deal like that, Homicide would be outnumbered and outgunned. He would have been on a suicide mission. Plus, she sincerely wanted the feds to bag Nico and then get out of the world of being a confidential informant. She wanted her life back and felt like she had other options that didn’t come with all the drama.

  So she kept things from Homicide, but she did let him fuck her as he pleased and when he wanted. Homicide had never fucked Jasmine in the ass before, but all of a sudden, he was telling her that he wanted to fuck her in the ass.

  Jasmine wasn’t a fan of anal. She didn’t want to do it, but she didn’t want any drama with Homicide, so she gave in to him.

  Homicide wasn’t gentle at all. Jasmine howled in pain during the ten-minute episode that felt like torture. She knew Homicide was purposely fucking her in the ass hard to send her a message that things could easily go from sweet to sour between them if she ever tried to play him.

  After Homicide came inside Jasmine’s asshole, he got up and put on his clothes. He told her he had to leave but would be back later that night or the next day. Jasmine laid on the bed in serious pain. Feeling a little bit delirious, she didn’t even acknowledge him.

  Homicide stopped at the entrance to the bedroom door just before leaving. “Hurry up and find out where that stash is at. And you don’t fuck that nigga again until you do! A’ight?”

  “Okay,” Jasmine replied meekly.

  “I’m not one of these pussy niggas that’s out here. Believe that!” Homicide walked out of her bedroom. He slammed the front door so hard the entire apartment shook.

  Jasmine gingerly rolled over from her stomach and lay on her back. She closed her eyes and swallowed real hard, a big lump in her throat. She was confident that the feds were going to nab Nico, but now she wasn’t optimistic at all that she would get her life back after Nico’s arrest.

  She knew that, even if Nico went to jail, Homicide would still be around. She wondered if she had made the biggest mistake in her life by letting herself act on her childhood crush instead of staying focused on helping the feds lock him up.

  Everywhere Jasmine turned, it seemed like there was always some form of new stress or drama coming her way. She stood up from the bed and saw blood on her bed sheets. She was horrified at the sight, but she knew she had no one to blame but herself for getting so caught up with Homicide the way she had.

  Fifty

  Nico sat on a street corner in the Liberty City section of Miami, blocks away from a public storage facility. The drugs were sitting inside a storage unit, ready to be fork-lifted on to a tractor-trailer in the parking lot.

  There were agents staking out the public storage facility and agents stalking out Nico, and they were going to take turns trailing him as soon as he decided to drive to the storage facility.

  Local undercover cops took turns trailing Patrick as he left his strip club and made his way to the public storage. They all figured Nico would start his engine and make his way to the facility at any moment, but everybody was shocked when they saw Mia pull into the facility in a car she had rented in New Jersey and driven all the way to Miami. Mia had a guy in the car with her—a face no one had seen before.

  Federal agents were all in position, but they were told to stand down until the transaction took place. Mia walked up to Patrick’s car. He got out, and she gave him a hug. She was wearing high-heel shoes, tight jeans, and a thin short sleeve blouse that was perfect for the Miami weather.

  Mia and Patrick walked over to the car Mia had driven. Mia popped the trunk, showed Patrick the money, and then closed it and gave him the keys to the car. The guy in the car with Mia got out and called Nico on his cell phone and was giving him a play-by-play of everything happening.

  Patrick got on his cell phone, and within two minutes a young black kid who looked no older than seventeen came wheeling a forklift from inside the public storage facility and placed it on the dock right next to the tractor-trailer.

  Out of nowhere unmarked FBI and DEA cars swarmed on the scene, as did marked and unmarked local police cars. Within two minutes a helicopter was also hovering over the facility.

  Within seconds, Mia, her male accomplice, Patrick, the young forklift driver, and the tractor-trailer driver were all on the ground and in handcuffs.

  DEA agents locked down the public storage facility and searched every inch of it with drug-sniffing dogs.

  As soon as Nico heard the sirens, he knew they had been busted. But in the federal agents’ haste to get to the crime scene when Gosling gave the order, the agents who had been assigned to watch Nico forgot about him and raced to the crime scene.

  Nico had no idea that he had been followed, but he’d started up his car and got out of Dodge as quick as he could. He knew not to venture past the public storage facility.

  Once he made it to the interstate, he rolled down his window and tossed all the cell phones he had on him as he tried to figure out exactly where he was heading next.

  Fifty-One

  The raid in Liberty City was so big, it managed to make national news broadcasts. All of the lead FBI and DEA agents, local police, and federal and local prosecutors held a major press conference, where they had all of the drugs, guns, and cash they had confiscated on display on long tabl
es. The officials took turns coming to the microphone and explaining how grateful they were to have put such a dent into a drug distribution network that spanned the East Coast from Miami to New York City.

  Agent Gosling basked in his glory as he stood behind the microphone and spoke about the case. It was rare for agents who worked undercover in the field to show their face the way Gosling was doing, but as he explained to the cameras, he was going to be retiring from the bureau in a few short weeks, and this major drug bust was the perfect way for him to cap off his career.

  Homicide was in a Bally Total Fitness gym working out. He stopped and walked over to the flat-screen, tuned to CNN. He listened closely, and as he listened, he seethed with anger. He knew Agent Gosling was Jasmine’s case agent, from what Jasmine had told him.

  He stormed out of the gym and sped over to the Brooklyn Bridge and into Manhattan, where he weaved in and out of traffic until he got to Jasmine’s apartment. The doorman knew Homicide and waved to him as he walked to the elevators.

  Homicide banged on Jasmine’s apartment door, and after a few minutes she answered the door with her robe on.

  WHACK!

  Homicide punched Jasmine square in the face, and she saw stars and fell backwards and tripped on to the floor.

  Homicide stepped into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him. “You fuckin’ lied to me, bitch!”

  Jasmine didn’t know what was going on.

  “Were you fuckin’ Gosling?”

  Jasmine’s eyes got wide. She didn’t know where all of this was coming from because she hadn’t seen the news. “No!” she shot back.

  All Homicide could think about was how all the drugs and the cash that the feds got could have been his, had Jasmine tipped him off.

  Homicide picked Jasmine up from the ground and started to smack her around. “Tell me where Gosling lives! I know you were fuckin’ him!”

  “Baby, what is going on?” Jasmine screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “The feds got the stash, and the only way they knew was because you put them on to it. I know it, and don’t fuckin’ lie to me!” Homicide pulled out his gun and aimed it at Jasmine’s head. “Were you fuckin’ Gosling?”

  “No, he raped me!” she said, hoping Homicide would go for her lie.

  “Get the fuck on your knees right now and put your hands behind your back and face the wall!”

  “Why, baby? Why?” Jasmine pleaded, her trembling hands in the air.

  “Where does Gosling live?”

  “Floral Park!” Jasmine shouted. She had no choice but to tell him because she knew she was a dead woman otherwise.

  Homicide knew about the panic button on Jasmine’s phone and wouldn’t let her get near it. She had told him what he wanted to know, but because she had caused them to lose out on millions, she had to endure a beating that lasted all night.

  ***

  To prove her loyalty to Homicide, Jasmine drove him to Agent Gosling’s house once she was certain he was back from Miami. They went to the house when it was late at night and pitch-dark.

  Jasmine was dressed in a sexy silk robe with nothing underneath. She rang Gosling’s doorbell, and when he asked who was it, he was pleasantly surprised to hear Jasmine.

  As soon as Gosling opened the front door, Jasmine held open her robe. She had on a lot of makeup on her face and her body to cover up the bruises from the beating she had suffered at the hands of Homicide.

  “The case is over. You can fuck me the way you want to now.”

  Gosling didn’t even need a Viagra pill for his dick to get hard at the sight of Jasmine’s naked body standing on his front steps. “Come in.”

  Jasmine shook her head and told him she wasn’t coming in until he got naked right there in front of her. “Let me see that dick,” she cooed.

  Gosling almost came on himself. He quickly took off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt, and took off his pants. He had no idea that Homicide was crouched down on the side of the house in the dark and right next to the front steps.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Stroke that dick for me, baby.”

  Gosling did just as Jasmine said. He didn’t care if his neighbors could see him standing naked at his front door jacking his dick.

  Jasmine gave Homicide the cue that Gosling didn’t have a gun on him or in his hands when she’d told Gosling to stroke his dick. Homicide, in one swoop, jumped onto the stairs with his gun drawn and forced Gosling to go into his living.

  Gosling held his hands up in surrender. He knew he should never have trusted a slut-ass confidential informant.

  Jasmine closed the front door, and Homicide handed her the duct tape and told her to duct-tape Gosling’s mouth and ankles, and his hands behind his back, and Jasmine did just as he said.

  “So you raped my girl? Once in your car and once on this couch right here?”

  Gosling’s eyes got wide, as he shook his head no.

  “Yes, you did, bitch!” Homicide kicked Gosling in the jaw as hard as he could. “You know I have to kill for that, right?”

  Gosling was in pain from the kick to the face. He violently shook his head to try and get Homicide not to take his life.

  “You knew they called her Suicide Pussy, and you still took the pussy. You gotta die. You knew her pussy was suicide,” Homicide said.

  Gosling was breathing very hard as his life passed in front of his eyes.

  “How much money you put in your own pocket from that raid? Enough to retire off, right?”

  The room was quiet.

  “Jasmine, this nigga don’t wanna talk now, but when he was taking your pussy, he had a lot to say then, right?”

  Jasmine nodded.

  Homicide turned back toward Gosling and then asked him again, “You did know that she has suicide pussy, right? So that means you gotta die.” He cocked his gun.

  Then suddenly a shot rang out. BANG! And Homicide’s body collapsed to the floor.

  Jasmine had a small .22-caliber handgun hidden in the pocket of her robe that she always kept with her since the night Bebo almost killed her. When Homicide came up with the plan to go kill Gosling, she hid her gun in the robe.

  “That’s right, muthafucka! This is Suicide Pussy!” Jasmine said, and then she pumped another bullet into Homicide’s head to make sure he was dead.

  Fifty-Two

  Two weeks after Jasmine had killed Homicide, Gosling officially retired from the FBI. On the day he retired, Agent Battle officially thanked Jasmine for all of her efforts as a confidential informant.

  And as she handed Jasmine her last check, she told her that her services as a confidential informant were no longer needed. “That’s assuming, of course, that you don’t want to stay on and help us.” Agent Battle laughed.

  “Ehhh, no!” Jasmine laughed and replied.

  “Open up the envelope and make sure everything is right.”

  Jasmine opened up the envelope saw the amount of the check. It was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “This is my money?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Your money,” Agent Battle smiled and said.

  Agent Battle reminded her that, as a C.I., she was entitled to a percentage of what the FBI confiscated with a cap of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

  Jasmine, smiling her ass off, couldn’t believe it.

  “Now,” Agent Battle said, pointing her index finger at Jasmine, “you have a clean slate, but stay your ass out of trouble, because if you fuck up, I will come down on you like a pit bull in a skirt.”

  “Oh, I like that—pit bull in a skirt.” Jasmine smiled. “But, trust me, you won’t hear a peep from me. I’m done with that life.”

  “Okay, that’s what I want to hear.”

  Jasmine shook Agent Battle’s hand, and then she
and Agent Gosling walked out of the office together. Agent Gosling told Jasmine that he would walk her down to the lobby.

  As they made their way to the lobby, Jasmine was certain that Gosling was going to start putting the screws to her since they both now had no FBI hold on them. And, strange enough, she started to think that Gosling might not be such a bad catch. Yeah, he was older than her, but at the same time, he was still young enough to do something different with his life. And he wasn’t that bad-looking.

  When they made their way to the lobby, Agent Gosling held out his hand for a handshake. Jasmine shook his hand and held on to it.

  “You know what, Jasmine? I would have loved to wife you. And I never would have guessed in a million years that I would even be saying this. But when we depart from each other now, we’ll never speak again and I think that will be for the best.”

  “Why is that?” Jasmine’s ego made her ask.

  “We come from two different worlds. And my circle wouldn’t approve of you, and I doubt your circle would approve of me.”

  It pained Gosling to say that, but he was being honest.

  “Oh, but I was good enough for you to fuck, right? You didn’t check with your circle of friends on that, right? I was also good enough to save your life. On the real, you ain’t no better than Nico or Homicide, or any of these get-money dudes on the street. But at least they know who they are. You sound like a confused, weak man. Yeah, you fucked me, but that was because I was vulnerable. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had a chance at this pussy. I know who I am. You need to find out who you are. All you had to do was wish me well and then go off on to your retirement. But it’s all good. Hopefully retirement will teach you how to appreciate people and how to say thank you, because you know nothing about that.” Jasmine turned and walked out of the building.

  Gosling called Jasmine’s name, but she was determined to keep walking and never once looked back at him.

  Fifty-THREE