by Chunichi
Still determined to get in, I dug into my purse, bypassing my gun, and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. One thing I knew for sure is that money talks. This time I didn’t even bother calling out to him. I just walked toward the entrance as though I were part of the royal court.
The same bouncer said to me, “This is VIP, ma’am. Are you on the list?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, sliding the money into his hand. Moments later, I was walking through the door with no search and no hassle.
I stood in awe as I entered the club. I couldn’t believe the sight before me. Although I hated to admit it, Jewel and Touch were really on some celebrity shit. They had definitely taken things to the next level in VA. Well, at least Jewel will have a hell of a farewell party, I thought as I walked through the tight crowd, knowing I planned to make this night her last.
I watched the time as I made my way toward the VIP area. It was eleven-fifteen. I had forty-five minutes to make it to the back, where Touch and Jewel were partying. I wanted to be sure I was there to bring Jewel’s new year in with a bang—literally. The crowd was going crazy to Busta Rhymes’ “Arab Money” when I reached the bar. I purchased a glass of Nuvo and took it to the head to ease my nerves. Then, as an added prop, I bought a bottle of Ace of Spades, to look as though I belonged in the VIP area.
I knew it would be even harder getting past the security guard at the VIP section. There, niggas passed a hundred dollars all night to get in, so I wasn’t sure that was going to fly this go-’round. After fighting a crowd of groupies, I finally made it to the entrance of the VIP. The time was now thirty minutes to midnight, so I needed to get in fast.
“Excuse me, hon,” I said to the security guard to get his attention.
“Malibu?” He called me by my dance name, causing me to take a closer look at him.
This must be my lucky day. This gotta be a sign that the new year is gonna be my year. I let out a sigh of relief, realizing this guy was a bouncer at a club I used to dance at. I always felt dancing got me nowhere, and nothing but a few fast dollars, but this was one time it was an actual benefit.
“Hey, boo. How you been?” I gently caressed his arm as I spoke. “I’m trying to get back there and celebrate with my girl, Jewel. I just flew in from Atlanta, and I want to surprise her. I just bought this bottle, so we can pop it and bring in the new year together.” I put on my best game, all the while flaunting my breasts and putting on a few flirtatious gestures.
The security guard stepped back and unhooked the velvet rope, allowing me to go through.
I headed toward the back of the VIP area and found a quiet spot in the cut, where I could go unnoticed. There I spotted a sexy chocolate dude who screamed the signs of money. Everything, from his designer labels to his blinding diamonds, said, “I am that nigga.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off his blinding, iced-out watch. If for nothing else but the diamonds, I had to have that nigga. I could picture him naked with nothing but jewelry—chocolate and diamonds, two of my favorites. I also noticed he stood alone. Since I had a few minutes to spare, I used this as an opportunity to possibly get to know him better.
“Hey, sexy,” I said. “You look like you need some company.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked my body up and down like he had X-ray vision and could see right through my Betsey Johnson dress.
“Yeah,” I said with my sassiest attitude, rolling my neck.
“I’m kind of busy right now, but we can exchange numbers and get up a little later.” He pulled out his cell phone, and I did the same.
“What’s your name?”
“Calico,” he said, and then began to read off his number.
“Calico?” I took a deep swallow, hoping I’d heard him incorrectly.
He spelled his name out to me, “C-a-l-i-c-o,” confirming I’d heard him correctly.
His response floored me. My heart raced, and my breathing picked up. I tried all I could to keep my composure and to keep my shaking hand steady as I entered my number in his phone. I used the name Malibu to protect my true identity.
“Okay, baby, I’ll be hitting you up. Enjoy your night, and Happy New Year.” I tried to play it cool. I excused myself and rushed out of the VIP and headed to the bathroom. There I gathered myself. Oh my God. My brain was racing and I could see my chest moving up and down as I inhaled and exhaled. I didn’t have asthma, but I surely felt like I was about to have a damn asthma attack.
As soon as Calico said his name, although I’d never seen him face to face, I knew exactly who he was. He was the same Calico that Jewel used to fuck with, the same Calico that I stole one hundred thousand dollars from months earlier. The most frightening part was, I didn’t know if he knew who I was, and if he knew I had stolen his money. I didn’t know if Jewel had put the blame on me, or exactly what she’d told him about his missing money.
I looked at my watch, and it was now five minutes to twelve. Regardless of what happened, I was at the club on a mission, and I planned to complete it. So, I pulled myself together. I took a moment to look into the mirror, applied some much-needed lip-gloss, fixed my hair then headed back to the VIP area.
Just as I got through the rope, the countdown to midnight began. I spotted Jewel and prepared to give her that long-awaited gift as I rushed in her direction.
The countdown ended, and the crowd yelled, “Happy New Year!” Everyone went wild, as money dropped from the ceiling.
I watched as Touch stood on his throne, throwing champagne over a crowd of groupies. They looked like scavengers as they dove for the dollars that fell around them. Others just looked on in envy.
No one even noticed me as I took my time inching closer and closer toward Jewel. When I came within a couple feet of her, I tiptoed my way directly behind her. With fire in my eyes, I took a deep breath then delivered. Bam! One to the back of her head and she was down.
Simultaneously, I heard a deafening boom. Frightened, I turned around to see a fearless Calico standing with a smoking gun in his hand and the same fire I had in my eyes moments earlier. People scattered in every direction, screaming.
“He’s got a gun!”
“Get down!”
“Where’s Kita Boo and Tynika?”
Within moments, the crowded VIP area was clear, and all I could see was two lifeless bodies on the floor. One belonged to Touch, and not far from him lay Jewel. I knew who was responsible for Jewel’s downfall, and the sight of her actually brought a proud smile across my face. Now, Touch was a different story. I didn’t see him get shot, but I damn sure saw the smoking gun.
Luckily for Jewel, I’d decided to deliver a bottle to her head, instead of a bullet. Her man wasn’t as lucky, though. Although I’d shared the same fire in my eyes as Calico, I didn’t have the same balls. Gunshots in a packed club on New Year’s Eve could only lead to jail. Too many eyewitnesses. Hell, I wasn’t no career murderer, but I at least knew that shit.
Frantic, I rushed out of VIP, nearly knocking over the security guard on my way. I ran out the side door of the club to get to my car and get the fuck out of dodge. Moments later, I was in my car, peeling out of the parking lot, running over the curb and nearly tearing out the whole bottom of my car.
I sped down Virginia Beach Boulevard toward the interstate, passing six cop cars headed in the opposite direction. I knew exactly where they were going, and I was relieved to know I’d broken out in just enough time.
It wasn’t until I reached my hotel room that I felt safe. I kicked off my heels and flopped across the bed. Thanks to Calico drawing so much attention to himself, I was confident that I’d gotten away with murder. He’d set things up perfectly. Any onlookers would be convinced that he was responsible for Jewel and Touch’s deaths.
“Damn! What a fucking night,” I said to myself as I got comfortable under the blanket and reflected on the multitude of events that had taken place in such a short period.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually witnessed Touch getting shot, or even wo
rse, that I’d run into Calico. I pulled out my phone and flipped to his number. Initially I’d planned to erase it. I wasn’t sure to what use I could put the number of a crazed murderer, but something in me said not quite yet. One thing was for sure: I had no plans on getting up with him. I had no intention of calling him and no intention of answering any of his calls. This was a dude that possibly killed a man by gunfire in front of an entire club and didn’t give a fuck. I could only imagine what he would do to me if he knew I stole his money. I knew I had to get out of Virginia and back to Atlanta ASAP, but not before I got some much-needed rest.
At first I had a little trouble falling asleep, not because I’d hit Jewel in the head with the bottle, but because I wasn’t quite sure if Calico would figure out who I was and come after me next. After an hour of tossing and turning, I finally dozed off to sleep.
The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of a ringing phone.
“Hello,” I answered in a cracked morning voice.
“Sasha Williams?”
“Yes.”
“This is the front desk. It’s now twelve o’clock and past checkout. Will you be staying another day?”
“No. I’m leaving now.” I hung up before the lady on the other end could respond.
I grabbed the remote from the nightstand and turned on the television. My heart dropped to my feet, and I gasped for air at the sight before me. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes then turned up the volume to make sure what I was witnessing was real. And real it was. I panicked when I saw my face on the television screen.
“Police are investigating the shooting and felonious assault of a popular Virginia Beach couple. They are asking for your help in locating the whereabouts of Sasha Williams, the primary suspect in the crime.”
I rushed to gather my things so I could get out of the hotel and on the road to Atlanta.
Before I could finish packing, I heard a forceful knock on the door, followed by a gruff bellow. “Virginia Beach police!”
I knew exactly what they wanted. Knowing how they moved and fearing for my life, I didn’t even try anything crazy. One false move and they would swear I was reaching for a weapon, and my ass would be dead, twenty to thirty shots to the torso.
“I’m opening the door,” I yelled as I unlocked the door. “I’m not resisting.”
Several police officers rushed in, busting through the door with guns drawn. They threw me on the floor and slapped the cuffs on me in a single motion that seemed to take only one second.
“Sasha Williams, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney . . .” The officer read me my Miranda rights.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck you and Miranda! And that can go on record,” I snapped as they lifted me from the floor and directed me out the door.
The ride to the Virginia Beach jail was long and uncomfortable. I sat slumped sideways, with my hands still cuffed, in the crammed backseat of the police car. I actually was relieved when we reached the station. I was ready to just get this whole ordeal over with.
From the car, I was escorted straight to the interrogation room and left freezing like a piece of meat in a freezer. I sat alone for forty-five minutes, shivering in this small room with nothing but a table and three chairs. I never quite understood the purpose of having the room below zero or the purpose of leaving you in the room alone for so long.
Finally, a man walked in who introduced himself as Detective Tarver. Almost to the point of going stir crazy, I welcomed the tall, husky, bald-headed white man, who seemed like he should have been playing some sort of contact sport instead of being a detective.
“Sasha Williams, you’re being charged with two counts of attempted murder,” the detective said as my mind wandered elsewhere.
What the fuck? Attempted murder? You mean to tell me that bitch ain’t dead? My first reaction was one of disappointment, but then I really thought about what was being said to me. Two counts of attempted murder, Sasha. You going to jail, bitch, and you ain’t never getting out. My heart palpitated, and I felt dizzy as I registered exactly what this man was telling me. Okay, with respect to Jewel, of course, I knew I was guilty, and there was no way around it. But, Touch, oh, hell no. That wasn’t my charge, and I wasn’t wearing that shit for nobody.
“Do you understand your rights and the counts you are being charged with?” the detective asked.
I’d missed all the information he’d said in between, and although I was still in shock, I just answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, I know you’re not a bad person, Sasha. You’re a mother of two, and I know you would hate to lose your kids behind this. So I’m here to help you.”
I knew the detective was lying. He didn’t give a fuck about me or my kids. I’d seen this same scenario one too many times on the A&E series, The First 48. I knew what was coming next. He wanted me to help him, and he would help me.
I played along. “Please don’t take me away from my kids,” I pleaded.
“Well, here’s the thing. We know we have enough information to charge you. That’s no question. We have a security guard that identified you. He said you all had a conversation minutes before the incident, and you nearly knocked him over when you were fleeing the scene.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, knowing exactly who he was speaking about. I couldn’t believe that bitch-ass nigga from the strip club had turned me in. I guess he needed a good look in hopes of going from a nothing as a bouncer to a bitch-ass police officer.
“Yep, and right now, both of the victims are in critical condition. If they die, you could be looking at murder, and you will never see your kids again. I don’t want that to happen to you, so I’m willing to help you, if you’re willing to help me.”
The detective gave almost the same spiel I’d hear on The First 48 time and time again. It was almost comical. I had to wonder if that was a speech all cops learned in the academy.
“So what do I have to do?” I asked, continuing to play along.
Detective Tarver laid out the deal. “There’s a major drug ring in Virginia Beach that revolves around Jewel, Touch, and Calico, and we know you were longtime friends with Jewel. So, what information can you give us to bring down their operation? Your cooperation in helping us bring them down can determine the outcome of your charges.”
Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone—getting rid of Jewel and Calico—I readily agreed. I hated Jewel and wanted her out of the picture, and I didn’t know just how safe I was with Calico, seeing that I’d stolen his one hundred grand.
“Okay. I’ll tell you what I know,” I told him. “Calico was the main supplier. He brought cocaine from California and flooded the entire seven cities. Touch was his right-hand man, and together they were killing the drug game. But when Jewel got hooked up with the True Mafia Family, better known as TMF, Touch ended up using them as a new link, cutting Calico out.
“Jewel met the head guys in TMF through ghostwriting. They were coming out with a first-time album, and they hired her to ghostwrite a few songs on it. She used the power of brains and beauty to get in good with them. Then when she got her advance money, she purchased some weight from them and gave it to Touch to get rid of. She had it all planned out from the beginning.
“From that point on, money been constantly flowing. But Touch’s big come-up brought beef between him and Calico. He ultimately stabbed Calico in the back and stole all his customers.”
The detective continued to fish for information. “Do you have any phone numbers, addresses, or can you give us any other people that may be involved in this ring?”
Careful to tell the detective just enough to ease his hunger, but not enough to incriminate myself, we had a deal. By the end of our interrogation session, I had told Detective Tarver that Calico was Touch’s shooter and submitted a written statement describing the events from that night.
When it was all said and
done, I’d given Detective Tarver what he wanted, and we had a deal. I ended up being charged with only felony assault, but in turn, I would have to testify against Calico as an eyewitness to the shooting. I can’t lie, that shit made me nervous as hell, but a bitch had to do what she had to do to save her ass.
Initially, my thoughts had been that Jewel was lucky I hadn’t shot her ass, but in the end, it was lucky for me. Although everything in me wanted to see her in a casket, I knew shooting her in the club would have been too risky. Calico, on the other hand, wasn’t as smart.
Chapter 2
“Home Sweet Home”
Calico
It never felt so good to be back in Cali. A nigga was dead broke, and every dime I owned was on the streets, waiting to be collected. I was really starting to feel the effects of Touch’s little business taking the rise. I had plenty of product I’d bought from across the border, but no one to push that shit. The Mexicans were loading up cats on the West Coast with cocaine, so they could get my same shit for equal or better, making it impossible to move any weight on my side. It was those niggas on the East Coast that would pay top dollar, but that snake-ass Touch had swiped each and every one of my customers. It was hard to even get rid of my shit on the East Coast at this point.
I thought back to when everything was gravy. I would get the shit from the Mexicans and then hook up with my niggas on the East Coast. In only a matter of days I could get rid of everything. Back then, Touch would take half of the work off my hands off the buck. But then that nigga fucked up the business, had to go and get all pussy-whipped and shit. That put me in a hell of a predicament with the Mexican Mafia. I knew those niggas didn’t play when it came to their money, so I used every dime to pay them back. A true soldier always knows it’s money before bitches.
I was slowly building my money back up though. I can’t lie, shit was real, and I ain’t even have a hundred dollars to my name, but a nigga felt good to know he was about to be back on top. Putting Touch to rest was one definite way to assure my rise. After I put those hot balls in his ass, I broke out of Virginia the next morning. I hit up one of my little soldiers back in VA to give me the word on the streets.
