“Fuck!” Cross shouted.
Once the doorway to the escape route had shut, Cross and his men didn’t know how to re-open it. He was fuming.
“Fuck them!” Edge shouted. “Let’s get this money.”
The team quickly ransacked the penthouse, taking whatever they could before the police showed up. They took money and drugs, and quickly made their exit, via elevator. Once they hit the lobby floor again, the men ran out with their guns exposed.
The young boy left behind to watch the doorman was smiling. “What y’all got?” he asked.
“We out!”
But before they made their complete exit, Edge glared at the doorman. He pushed the man to the floor and pumped four shots into his chest and stomach. “Now we out!” he said.
They bolted from the building and ran to their vehicles. The rain and thunder was still coming down, giving less visibility of Cross and his goons to any witnesses that happened to be around. Cross knew that they’d made off like bandits. It was the heist of all heists for them.
****
Eduardo made his escape via the service elevator on the other side of the building and rushed out the back door carrying the duffel bag. Andrea was seriously wounded. He grasped his gunshot wound and stumbled behind Eduardo toward a parked SUV. He barely could hold onto his gun. Andrea collapsed into the backseat, bleeding profusely.
Eduardo got behind the wheel and started the ignition. “I’m going to get you to a hospital. Just hold on, Andrea. Hold on,” Eduardo shouted.
Eduardo was fuming. He began wondering how his place was easily penetrated. What the fuck happened? he thought. He raced out of the alleyway and headed for the nearest hospital.
Eduardo halted the SUV in front of Christ Hospital. He jumped out and ran toward the emergency room screaming out, “My friend’s been shot!”
The staff immediately came rushing out pushing a gurney toward the truck. They speedily removed Eduardo’s bodyguard from the backseat and placed him onto the gurney and rushed him inside.
Eduardo didn’t follow. He stood outside the hospital with a scowl on his face. He was upset. His mind was spinning with revenge. He wouldn’t rest until he found out who was responsible for the invasion.
One emergency staff member lingered behind and wanted to ask Eduardo some questions. But Eduardo didn’t have time to answer silly questions about his business. He pulled out wads of hundred-dollar bills and subtly gave the man five thousand dollars in cash.
The man was shocked. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
“My business is hush. You just make sure he doesn’t die in your hospital,” Eduardo explained to him coolly.
The man was still shocked. He gripped the cash in his hand with a bewildered look. “I’m not a doctor.”
“Find him and make sure he lives!” Eduardo said and then walked away.
He got back into the truck and sped away. When he was a good distance from the hospital, it finally came to him. Eduardo uttered, “That fuckin’ bitch!”
Eduardo was parked by the waters overlooking downtown Manhattan and puffing on a cigar. His operation in Jersey City had been breached, and he wasn’t too happy about it. He pulled out his cell phone and decided to make an urgent call.
On the other end, Kola picked up. “Hey,” she answered excitedly. “What’s this about, Eduardo? You miss me?”
“You’re a dead bitch!” he spat and then hung up abruptly, leaving Kola stunned.
Chapter 7
Chico was to meet up with Two-Face’s connection in a small, remote town a few miles outside of Austin, Texas. It was a tiring trip for Chico and Two-Face, first by flight and then by car. Two-Face peoples didn’t feel comfortable traveling to New York, so they had requested that Chico meet with them in Texas, someplace near Mexico, where they had the advantage. Chico reluctantly agreed.
His beef with Cross and Edge was becoming costly, and being with a woman like Blythe cost money. So Chico was ready to take risks to solidify his presence in the streets, and conquer the domains of Harlem with pure force and power. Two-Face was his gateway to having that strong connection. The young killer turned out to be a better investment than Chico thought, in more ways than one.
Chico and Two-Face had landed in Austin-Bergstrom International Airport early that afternoon, and then the two rented a car and drove about eighty miles south-east into Bandera, population a little over 1,500; a boring, isolated white Christian town, where two individuals like Chico and Two-Face would stand out.
Chico wasn’t worried about being seen or judged. He wanted to be in and out of Texas as quickly as possible. But he felt vulnerable. He’d hardly known Two-Face a few months, though the young Mexican teen had boosted Chico’s fierce reputation in Harlem.
Chico drove around in the rented white Chevy Malibu. It was inconspicuous for him and cheap. He drove down Main Street, where he and Two-Face seemed to be the center of attention. They were new faces in town, and the locals quickly turned to get a look at the two minorities slowly creeping into their town.
Chico pulled up to a Silver Dollar on the dusty Main Street, where some of the stone buildings and old saloon-looking businesses recalled the set of a Western movie. Chico noticed the several dusty old pickup trucks that lined the streets, and the residents that walked Main Street were average-looking citizens in dusty Wrangler blue jeans, cowboy hats, cowboy boots, and simple T-shirts.
“Fuckin’ twilight zone, homes,” Two-Face uttered.
Chico didn’t respond to the joke. He shut off the engine, looked around his surroundings for a moment, and then stepped out of the car. Chico hated that he wasn’t carrying a gun on him. He felt naked, especially being miles away from home and in a strange town.
“You sure they said here?”
Two-Face nodded. “My uncle is always accurate.”
The two walked toward The Silver Dollar. They stepped into the business and suddenly got stares from a few patrons minding their afternoon beverages. Then they just went back to drinking. The jukebox was playing some really dated country music that the men knew nothing about. The place smelled of history, where you could see a few bullet holes in the ceiling. Chico and Two-Face looked around; the place was decorated with old posters on the walls, with its ample dance floor and good sound system. And plenty of ice cold beers were scattered throughout the place.
“Where is he?” Chico asked.
“They be here soon, homes.”
Chico and Two-Face took a seat at one of the round wooden tables. They both ordered two beers and quickly quenched their thirst after coming out of the Texas heat.
A half-hour later, a well-established-looking man walked into The Silver Dollar wearing a dark, three-piece suit in the Texas heat. Dark shakes covered his eyes, and he sported a thick goatee with a diamond pinky ring. He was average height with brown skin and had dark black hair. He was flanked by a tattooed, muscular man in loose khakis and a wife-beater.
The two men instantly caught the attention of the patrons when they walked into the bar. Chico knew it was Two-Face’s peoples.
Two-Face stood and smiled. “Cholo, over here,” he greeted loudly, waving them over.
Chico remained seated.
The men walked over, and Two-Face greeted his uncle in Spanish. It was a brief family reunion, with Two-Face giving his uncle a hug, and then everyone took a seat at the table.
“Chico, this is my uncle, Roman, a serious vato in my old town, homes,” Two-Face stated excitedly.
They ordered a few more beers.
Chico locked eyes with Roman across the table, as Roman removed his dark shades and nodded at him.
“I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about you,” Roman said.
“Likewise,” Chico returned with an expressionless gaze.
“My nephew speak
s highly of you, and knowing Two-Face, he doesn’t speak highly about anyone. You left an impression on him, so you a man about your shit.”
“I’m a businessman first.”
“So, what do you have in mind with us?” Roman didn’t have an accent or speak in slang like Two-Face. His posture and power might have been intimidating to many, but not to Chico.
“I came to talk business, you know, expand my horizon.”
“The sun doesn’t rise here,” replied Roman.
“So, where can I see it rise?”
Roman looked at his bodyguard and nodded. The man in the wife-beater slid a piece of paper across the table to Chico.
Chico picked it up and looked at it. It had an address and directions on it.
Roman put back on his shades and said to Chico, “There is where the sun rises. You come tomorrow morning, nine o’clock sharp.”
Chico agreed. He placed the paper in his pocket.
Roman stood up. “If you like what you see, then we can be in business. But you remember this, the only reason you were able to meet with me today is because of this boy right here.” He nodded toward Two-Face. “You look out for him, and then we look out for you.”
“It’s not a problem,” Chico returned calmly.
Roman exited The Silver Dollar.
Two-Face smiled. “You in, homes. My uncle likes you.”
Chico just held his nonchalant attitude. But he had confidence in doing business with the Mexicans. He knew that their product would be superior to the Haitians’. Chico wanted to make the business transaction and get back to Harlem. He didn’t like Texas at all.
****
Early the next morning, Chico and Two-Face met with Roman at a small, shabby log home right off Route 173, Ranch Road. The home was sheathed with thick shrubbery, trees, and uncut grass. It looked abandoned and run-down, but it was one of many stash houses for the Mexican cartels.
Chico pulled the Chevy into the dirt driveway and got out. He looked around. It was definitely the perfect place to do business. It was far out in the boondocks; no neighbors, so nobody in your business.
Chico and Two-Face walked toward the cabin and was greeted by one of Roman’s goons standing outside the front door carrying an M-16. He nodded at the two men and allowed them entry. Chico walked into a full-blown drug operation. Every drug imaginable was being processed, from black tar heroin, ecstasy, to pure uncut cocaine. The home was well furnished, with half a dozen men processing hundreds of kilos on the inside. There were money-counting machines, scales, drug paraphernalia, and many guns displayed.
Chico was impressed. He wanted to get straight to business.
Roman stepped out of a backroom flanked by his bodyguard. He looked more relaxed in a red and white velour sweatsuit. He acknowledged Chico and Two-Face and gestured for them to follow him into the next room.
Chico walked into a smaller room, and displayed on a small table was an open kilo of cocaine, a few white lines spread out, a razor, and a rolled-up banknote.
Roman took a seat at the table and quickly did a line. His nose was like a vacuum, with the banknote shoved into his nose on one end and inhaling the quick line on the other. The line he snorted was exhilarating.
He looked up at Chico. “You care to try the product?”
Chico wasn’t a big coke user. He rarely got high on his own supply. But this time, it was reasonable. If he was to get into business with the Mexicans, he had to know how potent their product was.
Roman held out the banknote for him to use. Chico took it from Roman’s hand, leaned closer to the table with the banknote slightly pushed into his nostrils, and quickly inhaled a white line. He soon experienced a high like he’d never experienced. He felt his body suddenly becoming numb. His pupils then became large, and his heart started to beat rapidly. Chico had to take a seat.
Roman smiled. “I assume that you like the product,” he said.
It was exactly what Chico was looking for. He loved it.
“Shit, I want a taste too, homes,” Two-Face said, stepping up to the table and grabbing the banknote from Chico. He didn’t hesitate to do a line or two. He snorted the lines like a professional user and then stood tall with a large smile. He stared at his uncle and stated, “Some good shit.”
Roman looked at Chico and asked, “So, are we in business together or what?”
Chico quickly got his mind right. “Yeah, we definitely are.”
“Then we’ll arrange for a transaction. We want eighteen a ki,” Roman stated. “And for a man of your status, that price shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Chico wasn’t too sure about the asking price, but business was business and he knew that everything could be negotiated.
The two men talked everything out, and a few hours later, Chico and Two-Face were on a plane back to New York with a new connect.
As they sat in their first-class seats, Chico couldn’t help but ask a few questions that were nagging him.
He leaned in and asked, “Yo, so you never wanted more for yourself?”
“What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, homes?”
“More, nigga. Paper. Bread.”
Two-Face looked puzzled. “If you got a way I could come up on some paper, holla at ya boy.”
Chico shook his head. “You got the pot of gold in your family tree, muthafucka.”
Two-Face finally understood where Chico was trying to go with the conversation.
“I ain’t never been wit’ huggin’ the block, selling hand-to-hand. Roman wanted me to start at the bottom and work my way up.” Two-Face shook his head. “And I ain’t never been no chef in the kitchen cookin’ up rock. I’m a triggerman. I kill people. That’s all I’m good at. My uncle gave me plenty of product on consignment throughout the years and I’d fuck it up every time. It came down to either I step off and find my own way to make money or force my uncle’s hand to put me six feet deep.”
Chico understood, but still shook his head at the kid’s naiveté. For the rest of the flight the two men remained silent, both deep in their own thoughts.
Chapter 8
Apple woke up in the early hours of the morning and felt a sudden gush of fluid between her legs. The thin mattress she slept on was wet.
“Oh my God!” she uttered with panic.
The fluid was clear and odorless. Apple knew she was about to go into labor very soon. She picked herself up out of the bed and clutched her stomach. She needed to call for help. She moved to the door, swung it open and shouted, “Somebody help me!”
A moment later, Mary came running into the room. She grabbed Apple into her arms and led her back toward the bed to lie her down. She told Apple to try to relax and breathe easy. Mary knew there weren’t going to be any doctors coming to aid with her birth. The only one Apple could count on for help was Mary and hopefully a few of the girls who’d warmed up to her.
Mary rushed out into the hallway to wake some of the whores up that were still asleep. She needed quick assistance. Moments later, a few of the women came rushing into the room to assist her. She instructed some of the girls to get a wet rag and warm bucket of water. Everybody went into action.
Apple quickly went into labor. She was into her first stage—with the shortening and dilation of her cervix. The contractions were intense and prolonged; her loud screams pierced the halls, and had Shaun rushing into the room.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” he yelled.
“She gonna have the baby!” Mary shouted.
“Now?”
“Sí.”
A few whores held Apple down onto the mattress as she squirmed and screamed. Apple was scared. It was her first time giving birth, so she didn’t know what to expect without the assistance of proper medical care. Mary had to become the midwife. She was the only experience
d woman in the room. She looked at Apple’s condition and knew that she was only dilated by 3 cm. Mary remained at Apple’s side and tried to comfort her, and also watching her cervix progressively dilate.
Shaun couldn’t stay in the room to watch the birth. The whole thing disgusted him. The situation made him cringe. He left the room to make a phone call.
Mary glanced at him leaving while Apple was having her contractions, and she was relieved.
Hours passed, and each contraction grew stronger and stronger. Apple had nothing to take for the pain. Her first birth would come naturally in a whorehouse on Mexican soil. Her legs were spread far apart, her head was propped up against a few pillows, and she clutched two whores’ hands, squeezing tight with every strong contraction.
Apple finally reached her second stage of the birth, and the pain grew worse. Her cervix had fully dilated.
Mary shouted, “You gotta push, Apple! Push!”
“Aaaahhh, it hurts! Oh my God! Fuck! Fuck!” Apple screamed out. She was exhausted, sweaty, and disoriented.
“Push, Apple! Push!”
The pressure on Apple’s cervix increased. Apple twisted her face in a scowl of agony, squeezing the girls’ hands.
“It hurts! Aaaahhh! It fuckin’ hurts!”
After hours of intense labor and continuing pushing, the baby’s head was finally visible. Apple started to feel a burning and tingling sensation below. She was almost done.
“I see it! I see it! Keep pushing, Apple, keep pushing!” Mary shouted.
Apple continued to do so.
Shaun suddenly re-entered the room after his absence for hours. He stared at Apple with no words. He hated that she had gone into labor already. He still had many willing customers to pay for sex with her. He had never imagined that a pregnant American woman could bring in the type of profit that she had.
Apple was his goldmine. But with her pregnancy about to be done with, he thought of other ways to profit. Then it hit him. Just get her pregnant again. He thought of the idea with a cunning smile.
Soon, there was the sound of a crying infant filling the room. The miracle of birth had everyone smiling and in awe.
Checkmate Page 7
