by Keon Smith
Whenever their names were mentioned, two things were likely involved—drugs and diamonds. They were the top diamond smugglers in the country. The head of the family was Hillary Agugbo. He was the brains and dealt with most of the financial issues. Hillary was a rather tall man with a nappy afro, strong jawline, and wide nose. He had brown eyes and wore prescription glasses to see better. The second was Simon, who was doing time in a federal prison. He was in charge of the heroin distribution. Then there was Tanetche, who was in charge of the diamond trade, accompanied by all the lieutenants. His only problem was sitting across the coffee table from him.
Tanetche almost matched his brother’s height. He was stockier and had strong facial features. His eyes were dark, angry, and convictive. His nose was shaped like a squash. He had thick lips and a narrow face. Being a man who relied on instincts instead of what was in his head, he was known for lashing out in a rage without regards for anyone else. Quite frankly, he didn’t give a damn about what everyone else thought of him. He would destroy himself before he let Diamond do it for him. After the death of his wife, Shelly, he lost touch with his soft side. With a hot-tempered man like him at a meeting, trouble was likely if words weren’t properly chosen.
Diamond looked over to her right where the priest stood nervously. From all the confessions he’d heard from her, he knew these men were extremely dangerous. He made the sign of a cross over his head and chest and said a silent prayer for her.
As both sides eyed each other, Hillary broke the ice. “Okay, we’re all here, Clyde. What is it you have to say?”
Clyde rubbed his sweaty palms together and extended his hands. “Hillary, Tanetche, how long has there been tension between us? Too long, right? This war between you and my sister is pointless. A lot of people have died behind it. A lot of senseless murders have occurred. For what? Neither one of you have been harmed behind it, only the people around you. Now, to avoid any more bloodshed, we’ve come up with a solution. Why not end this beef and collaborate? I guess what I’m trying to say is, why not have the Agugbo brothers and the Ape Gang share a spot at the table with us in the Underworld?”
The room remained silent for a while. The butler suddenly walked in, rattling a silver coffee pot. Seeing this, Hillary spoke with caution. “Clyde, let me be forward with you. We have no problem with you or your organization, but her…” he said, pointing at Diamond before continuing. “The poison that she brings threatens all of us. Now, you speak of a collaboration. I’m willing to consider this great honor… but the only way we accept… is if she is six-feet under.”
Diamond listened but wasn’t fazed by his threat. In fact, she smirked as if it were a compliment. She never wanted to collaborate with them and knew they wouldn’t collaborate with her. She just went along with it so that her brother could see for himself. Clyde looked at his sister then back at Hillary. “Come on, gentlemen. We’re all businessmen and women. Surely there’s some way we can resolve this.”
“Yes, there is a way,” Tanetche snarled. “You can cut off her damn head. Give it to me so that I can burn it while the rest of her poisonous body twitches. Isn’t that what you do to serpents?”
“Tanetc—” Clyde said.
“Spare me your speech, Clyde. I do not wish to hear it. You people think money can change the way we feel! You think money can bring back my wife! How many bodyguards must I replace from being used as a human shield? How many drivers must I lose from car bombs that were intended for me? How many houses must I repair because of her dirty work? How many, Clyde! Tell me!”
With fire in his eyes, Tanetche sat back. “You don’t know what it’s like to live in darkness. Where no one survives. I’ve come too far to let a bitch get one up on me, so no. There can never be peace between us until that bitch is dead. She killed my wife!”
Diamond tracked a devilish grin then said, “I can assure you, Mr. Agugbo, it wasn’t intentional.” Her gaze fell to her nails, which she examined, saying, “But look on the bright side. You should be proud of her. At least she took one for the team.”
On hearing that, Tanetche jumped out of his seat, but Hillary quickly grabbed him by the arm before he got to her. His hand was extremely close to her grasp. The others helped keep the angry South African at bay. Tanetche wanted so badly to strangle the life out of her. What burned him up the most was her arrogance. They began to pull him toward the exit. “You will meet your end soon enough,” Tanetche promised as his men escorted him out of the room, followed by his brother.
“I’m sure I will. Too bad it won’t be by the hands of you,” Diamond replied, tossing her wavy, long hair over her right shoulder. She then looked at her brother and rose from her seat to fix her black Versace dress. “That certainly went well,” she said charismatically.
She walked off, leaving Clyde with his head in his hands. He badly needed to talk to Butler before the organization was plundered. He was convinced that before he let that happen, something had to be done about his sister.
That night, Shug lay on his California king-size bed with a sleeping dime-piece on each side of his large frame. He flicked through the channels of the fifty-two-inch plasma TV in search of something to watch. When he stopped on Action News 6, he saw the damage that Maniac had done to Tee-Tee’s house in Brickyard. He turned up the volume.
“A local row house was leveled last night in the Germantown section of Philadelphia. Police are on the lookout for a man driving a tan-colored Chevy Camaro. Although no one was able to get a positive ID of the suspect, neighbors said they heard a hissing sound followed by a loud explosion. The FBI Counter Terrorist Unit and other government officials have been brought out tonight to find out exactly what that hissing sound was. Police believe that the front of the house could have possibly been struck by a small, rocket-propelled grenade.”
“Goddamn!” Shug chuckled in amusement. “That Maniac is one crazy muthafucka.”
“Police found the body of a twenty-four-year-old woman, whose name is being withheld at this time. If you have any information about the tragic incident, you are encouraged to call the police hotline at 1-800-5…”
Shug frowned in confusion. “Wait a minute. What about the male that was supposed to be there too? What the fuck happened to Montega?” he spoke to the reporter as if she could hear him through the television. He immediately jumped on the phone and called Maniac.
“Yizzo,” Maniac answered on the second ring.
“Are you watchin’ the news?” Shug asked dryly.
Maniac turned on the TV. The incident was on every station. When the reporter only mentioned the female, he snapped. “What the fuck! Naw, man, that can’t be right. How the fuck did he survive that? I looked dead at him before I pulled the—”
“I don’t know, but I do know one thing… You better fix it,” Shug growled out before hanging up on him.
“This is where the real ballers play…”
RODNEY
Atlanta, Georgia
When Montega arrived in the beautiful city of Atlanta, it was like being in a different world. Atlanta was nothing like he had imagined. Unlike the mean streets of Philly, where all he heard in the ghetto were police sirens and gunshots, Atlanta was much more peaceful, and almost everyone showed that good old southern hospitality.
He spent his first week there with Tasha inside her sorority house. He had never seen so many pretty women all living under one roof. Every morning, while going to use the bathroom, he would run into Samorah, who played the shower at the same time. It got to the point Montega knew what time she got up and did her thing.
He made it part of his routine to see the mixed redbone with the nice, wet body. She was by far the best-looking female in the house. She had an exotic Spanish-White look to her. She had long hair that touched the small of her back. She was naturally dark haired but dyed it a golden blonde. It framed her beautiful, U-shaped features—dreamy, hazel eyes; a short, thin nose that remained small at the nostrils; puckered, red Jessica Rabbit lips; high
cheekbones; and soft, French-vanilla skin.
She was a few inches shorter than Tasha and was thick in all the right places.
As Montega took a piss, Samorah, as usual, got out of the shower butt-naked. She had no shame in her nudity. And why would she? Every part of her body was perfect, which was why she was the most envied in the house. Her vagina was bald like a swimsuit model’s, and her breasts bounced like two water balloons. Even her nipples were red with small areolas. She had a flat stomach that showed how much she exercised in the gym, wide hips, and a beautiful, round backside that made the others jealous enough to spread rumors that it wasn’t real.
When she looked at Montega, she gave him a sneaky smirk before grabbing her towel to dry off. She was pretty and even sexier when she smiled. Not a word was spoken. Each knew the other’s thoughts; they just never acted on them.
Everyone knew that he was Tasha’s, and no one tried anything. Nevertheless, they still did what they could to get his attention because they all loved a fine man from out-of-town. Montega watched as Samorah wrapped herself with a towel, folding it above her breasts before walking out. Damn, that is one bad bitch, he thought as he flushed the toilet and got ready to go out for the day.
After getting washed and dressed, he headed for his cousin’s house in Gwinnett County. Rodney was Montega’s cousin, originally from Chicago, but he moved to Atlanta with his grandparents because his mother abandoned him at an early age to be a hooker. When Rodney got old enough, he started his own escort service, and by the time he turned twenty-four, he purchased his first BMW. Now he was twenty-six and up in the game at a high level. He had a stable of bad bitches and a nice house with three expensive cars out front.
When Montega met up with him, the first thing they did was tour the city. Rodney introduced his younger cousin to everyone, mainly females. Montega couldn’t believe that mostly all southern girls had bodies like video dancers, and most of them were financially secure.
Later that night, Rodney took him to a club named 112, where Montega got to see Atlanta at its best. Usher and Lil’ Jon’s “Yeah” thundered from the speakers.
While men did their latest two-steps to a down-south beat, the women seductively clapped their asses and got down and dirty on the dancefloor.
“This is where the real ballers play, cousin. Remember when Biggie said Room 112 is where the players dwell? Well, this is it, shawty,” Rodney said over the music as the two made their way upstairs to the VIP.
Being from the mean streets of Philly, Montega was star-struck by the amount of entertainers, sports figures, video vixens, and ballers that flew in town for the weekend to pop bottles and fuck big-bootie women.
As soon as he and his cousin sat at their table, Rodney gave the bouncer a head nod. Within the wave of a hand, they were surrounded by Atlanta’s finest. A pretty, caramel waitress with blonde hair pushed through the mob of sack chasers to take their order.
Montega was mesmerized by the variety of sistas in the club. Their asses were unreal. It was like a candy store with all his favorite flavors. He didn’t know which one to pick.
“What would you like, baby?” the waitress asked.
“Lemme get a shot of Gray Goose and—”
“Let us get two bottles, shawty,” Rodney, said cutting in.
The girl smiled, looked at Montega, and asked, “You ain’t from ’round here, are ya?”
Montega shook his head. “Nah, I’m from Philly.”
“Oooh, a Philly boy,” she flirted as her face lit up.
She turned and went to get the bottles for them. Rodney put his arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “Ya see, shawty, ya cousin ain’t no small-time cat ’round here. We don’t buy no drinks from the bar. We pop bottles like y’all Northerners pop guns.”
The bartender placed the two bottles of Gray Goose on the table. “That’ll be five hundred even,” she said, still eyeing Montega.
Before Rodney could go into his pockets, Montega pulled out a huge rack of hundreds, peeled off six, then handed them to the woman. He then took a bottle, peeled off the cellophane, and popped it open. Rodney, who had no idea his cousin was getting it like that, said, “Aye, shawty, I thought you said you was just a small-time hustler?”
“I am. Don’t let this money fool you, dog. It’s just for show. I came up on a lick a little while ago. Almost cost me my life in the end. You see the little cuts on my face, don’t you? Anyway, I got a long way to go, and I’m far from where I need to be,” Montega explained.
“And where do you need to be?”
“On top. I need to be one of the top five gangstas in the country. I’m not just talking ’cause I have lips either. I don’t have the gift of gab like my brother. I have a drive that can’t be stopped. All I need is the line to get me started, and it’s on from there.”
Rodney nodded his head while deep in thought. “Okay, well, I might be able to assist you with that. I know somebody, a Colombian. Good dude too. He just moved to Atlanta on business. I gotta pull a few strings, but I’m sure everything will go smoothly. That’s crazy. The other day, he was just asking if I knew anyone that I could vouch for. If you ask me, you couldn’t have come to the “A” at a better time.”
The DJ threw on Lil’ Jon with the Ying Yang Twins called “Salt Shaker.” The atmosphere got electrical, and so did the woman. As Montega took a sip of his Goose, Rodney tapped him and pointed to someone just a table away.
Montega turned to see a fat Mexican draped in diamond-studded platinum chains with a watch so iced out it was impossible to tell the time. He too was surrounded by beautiful half-dressed women. He gestured to Montega with two bottles of Patrón Platinum as if to say, ‘game recognize game.’ Montega responded by raising his bottle of Gray Goose, acknowledging the fat Mexican, which received a puzzled look.
“No, no de lincuete!” he shouted over the music at him.
Montega frowned. “What you say?”
“You big time like me!” He directed his hand at the women, bottles, and jewels he had on. “You drink like me! Come! Sit with me!”
Montega was feeling the fat Mexican’s style. He looked back at Rodney with a grin. “I’ll be right back, cuz. Let me rap with this guy for a sec.”
“You sure about dude?” Rodney asked.
Montega looked back at the fat guy. “Yeah, he looks official. Probably works with the cartels. I’ll be back. Just keep my seat warm.”
“Shit. All these women around us. I’ll get one of them to do that for you.”
Montega scooted out the booth as the girls sitting next to him made way. He got up and walked to the fat guy’s table. His women got up to let him sit beside him. The two shook hands.
“I’m Montega.”
The fat man nodded and said, “Sergio, but call me Meat Ball. You from ATL, amigo?”
“Nah, Philly.”
“Philly, huh? What Philly Montega drink?”
“Gray Goose,” Montega replied.
The Mexican snapped his finger for the waitress and had her get them more bottles. While they waited, the two men began feeling each other out. Montega had pegged him wrong, assuming he was a high-ranking drug cartel member. He was surprised to find out Meat Ball made his fortune in human trafficking. He went on to tell him he smuggled women, children, fugitives, and prostitutes in and out of the United States at $10,000 a head. The only people he wouldn’t deal with were terrorist.
“Why?” Montega asked.
“Because they will blow up all this beautiful cha-cha!” He bursted into a loud laughter while grabbing the asses of the two nearest females.
Meat Ball schooled Montega on the ins and outs of human trafficking. He sensed the Mexican was trying to recruit him. Although it sounded lucrative, Montega let it be known it wasn’t his twist. Even still, before the night was over, they exchanged numbers. Meat Ball let him know that his number never changed.
Moments later, Montega excused himself to go take a piss. On his way back, someone grabbed his
hand and said, “Hey, handsome.”
He turned to see the goddess with hazel eyes standing in front of him.
Samorah was dressed in a skimpy, red Chanel dress with gold Joan & David pumps. “You wanna dance?” she asked, whispering in his ear before stepping back to do a little twist of her hips and drop down a bit.
“I don’t dance,” Montega stated, but she took his hand anyway and led him over to the vacant corner so he could lean on the wall while she did her thing. “What are you doing?” he asked as she turned her back to him and brushed her ass against his crotch. She wiggled her hips and bounced her butt up and down in perfect rhythm, throwing her golden hair over her shoulder so she could see what she was doing. Montega kept the bottle to his lips, tilting it back every now and then, watching Samorah give him all ass while dancing to the beat. She jiggled her ass until her dress rose above her ass cheeks. She then grabbed the hem and pulled it back down while continuing to bounce to the beat.
♫ Shake it like a salt shaker. Shake it like a salt shaker…
Her rhythm reminded him of Tee-Tee back at the nightclub. He put one hand on her slim waist with the other cocking the bottle of Goose. He nearly choked when Samorah dropped it low, bent over, and twerked like a video vixen. An erotic feeling overcame him. He was aroused but not aroused. It felt weird.
After the song, Nelly’s “Flap Your Wings,” Montega took the dancefloor by surprise and did a mean two-step. Before they knew it, they had a little audience.
After the song was over, Montega held her hand and pulled her close. He was a little out of breath, but was enjoying himself. Life had been so serious for him at times that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun.
“I thought you couldn’t dance,” she said.
