“And there’s a second problem—our Miami friend. Where’s the hidden money? I need it for the re-up with him next week. We can’t lose him, Ma. We worked too hard to get here,” Lucky explained coolly.
There was a shipment due the next Tuesday—two hundred kilos at $26,500 a ki, which came to a total of 5.3 million dollars.
Layla looked at Lucky like she was a moron. “Are you out of your damn mind? Do you think I’m stupid?” she barked.
Lucky wasn’t following. So Layla continued with, “There will be no business anywhere and no conducting deals with our Miami friend until I’m freed. Besides, our Miami friend won’t touch us right now, not with this pending case over my head and the FBI everywhere.”
Lucky replied, “So what am I supposed to do until then?”
“Like I said, when I’m out of here, then that’s when everything will go back to normal.”
It was a selfish statement. Dealers got arrested every day, but the suppliers didn’t ever close shop. The cartel was a well oiled machine that never stopped. Life moved on, and money was still out there. But Layla wasn’t hearing any of it. Nothing could be said to change her mind.
Lucky was in disbelief. “What am I supposed to do for money, huh? The feds are going to freeze everything. So how am I gonna live and eat, and pay my bills, and pay our men? Meyer’s in the hospital and I have nothing right now. I need this money, Ma,” Lucky griped in a low and angry tone.
“Right now, the only thing you should be concerned about is my freedom, Lucky. I want out of here. The attorney has been taken care of. And don’t ask me where my money is ever again. That’s my money, not yours or Meyer’s! I’ll be on my deathbed before I’ll give you the privilege to betray me.”
Layla felt that her kids would blow through the money in a heartbeat and she would end up broke, jailed, and completely alone. No, the money she’d stolen from Scott was her lifeline—her salvation for rainy days like this one.
The two argued in a low whisper, cursing at each other. Layla wanted to remind Lucky that she was still the boss bitch of the organization. She wasn’t about to relinquish control just like that.
Layla still had a bone to pick with a few folks, grudges that she needed to resolve, and a list of demands for Lucky. One, she wanted Maxine dead. Two, she needed to pause her deal with the cartel. Three, she wanted Lucky on top of everything, from her federal case to having all her needs met.
“If you’re worried about a place to live, you can move into my place. The lease is paid up for two years. But you and everyone else need to downsize and stay under the radar until I beat these charges and come home to resume my position,” said Layla.
Lucky swallowed hard. This bitch done lost her mind. Downsize and close up shop, and go into hiding? Lucky was a West, and she felt that one monkey don’t stop the show. Lucky was a spoiled brat, and she was used to getting her way, one way or another.
Her visit with her mother ended, and Lucky left with a sour taste in her mouth. Her parents were cut from the same dirty cloth. There was no way she was going to downsize her life and close up shop with the cartel. There was no fucking way she would fold.
11
Max bought a burner phone from Wal-Mart, set up a fake Facebook profile, and sent Skip a DM, letting her know who she really was. Within minutes she had Skip’s digits.
“Yo, bitch, how you be?” Skip asked.
“I be good, fam. And you?”
“Chillin’. Livin’. Eatin’. Fuckin’. Things are good but could always be better. What’s up though?”
“I need some help unloading some shit.”
“What kind of shit you talking ’bout? You know I only move merchandise. I don’t fuck with that powder.”
“Nah, we good. I ain’t in to all that. I got some high-end shit. You still got your clientele?”
“How high-end? What labels?”
“Christian Louboutins, Balmain, Prada, Chanel—all that good shit.”
“Damn bitch, you boosting now wit’ your old ass?” Skip joked. “How you got all that?”
“This nigga I used to fuck wit’ blessed me. I had to cut his ass off when he got this young bitch pregnant.”
“I woulda beat her ass.”
“I did beat her ass. And his!” Max lied.
“Max, I know you did. You were always nice wit’ ya hands.” Skip paused and took a deep pull from her cancer stick. “So, look, come through. But I get twenty percent off the top of whatever we move. You cool wit’ that?”
“We peoples. We good.”
After Max set up a time to meet with Skip, she changed clothes for a trip to Chelsea Piers fitness center. There she could rent a locker for a year and pay in cash. She needed someplace to hide her money should things go left, and a safety deposit box was too risky. She would basically be handing over her ill gotten gains to the feds. Those boxes were traps for most drug dealers once they got on the government’s radar. This locker left no paper trail.
Walking to the gym, she had to hide from Mason and Avery. She saw the truck coming up Park Avenue. No doubt they were coming to check on her. She also kept her eyes peeled just in case the feds were following her.
Dressed in a workout sweat suit and Montclair goose coat and knapsack she headed to the gym. Once her bag was secured, she ran a few miles on the treadmill and then left. She had lots to do, schemes to plan, money to get, and lives to ruin—with so little time.
***
It became her routine—home, and the hospital. It had been a week now since the arrest, and her world felt compartmentalized. She was able to find a few jewelers in the Diamond District to buy the jewelry at fifty cents on the dollar. Max had appraisal papers for all the items, so they knew it wasn’t stolen. They just figured she had fallen on hard times. She was clever enough to not go to Scott’s jeweler, though he would have bought the jewelry back at eighty cents on the dollar. But he also would have told Scott should they ever speak again, and Max couldn’t take that chance for a larger amount of money.
Max sold everything except her engagement ring and her diamond earrings. She netted $990,000. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. She was still behind the eight ball. Had she not paid Wacka, she would also have had legal money safely tucked away in her bank account.
Maxine decided to not keep dwelling over spilled milk. She made the best decision she could with the information she had at that time. Had she known the feds would kick in the door, she would have done lots of things differently.
She hated to visit Scott in the hospital. Maxine’s visits with Scott were short and carefully watched. She couldn’t speak freely with agents inside the room, so their chitchat was minimal. He was healing from his gunshot wounds, and it wouldn’t be long before he was transferred to a federal prison and held there until his trial. It was the inevitable.
Scott could see that something was bothering Maxine, but he figured it was his pending doom with the federal government. He wasn’t even remotely correct. She was already over the whole scene. Been there done that. All Maxine wanted was Scott’s money and Wacka off her ass. She needed to either pay Wacka or kill him—and neither option was easy.
Lately, Bugsy was seeing to her needs. He had Scott’s men chauffer Maxine around to make sure that she was protected. But each time she got into the backseat of the tinted SUV and the doors locked, she worried if they were taking her to an undisclosed location to never be seen again. Maxine’s eyes were alert to her whereabouts and the guards’ movements. Easily, one could spin around and put a gun to her head, kill her right there in the backseat, and drive her body to an unmarked grave somewhere.
She hadn’t forgotten that Bugsy was Layla’s son too. Maxine felt he liked her, but blood was thicker than water. She stayed on pins and needles.
There were other issues Maxine had to deal with. She told Scott about the board pushing
for his eviction from the building.
“The negative press of your arrest and shooting has a lot of residents feeling uneasy. No one has approached me, but I can feel the shade when I walk into the building. The climate has changed. People glare at me now.”
“Fuck ’em. I paid a lot of money to be there and I haven’t been convicted of shit. Hold your fuckin’ head up high, baby.”
Maxine continued to push. “The newspapers have dubbed you a murderous drug kingpin with ties to a notorious Mexican cartel. Maybe it’s time that I relocate . . . for my safety.”
Scott coughed a little. His body ached and he was uncomfortable listening to Maxine whine about irrelevant shit.
“That building is one of the safest in New York. Please, just be patient and bear with me.”
Maxine took his hand into hers and kissed it. “You don’t understand because you’re in here, in a bubble away from it all. I am going through a lot on my own. I have no money to buy food or essentials. How will I pay the light bill?”
“What are you talking about, Maxine? What about your money from your parents’ home?”
She didn’t expect that. “I would use that money, but I told you I invested it with a broker. I wanted to be like you and grow my assets.”
Scott’s mind was sharp as a razorblade. He knew they’d never had that discussion. But her pennies were the last thing on his mind. Suddenly he was aggravated and wanted her to leave. She was supposed to be encouraging him and showing support at this critical time in his life, but it seemed that he was doing all the comforting. Scott understood his situation better than anyone. He knew that it was easier for everyone to disassociate themselves from him. They didn’t want that kind of heat and trouble knocking on their front door. He also knew that the arrest was still fresh on everyone’s mind, nerves were frayed, and people were paranoid, but in time things would slowly get back to normal.
“Get in contact with my lawyer, Arnold Meade. He’ll handle the legal issues. You can trust Arnold. He’s been with me for a very long time. I don’t want you to worry,” he said. “No one is kicking us out of our home. And I will send Bugsy to drop off some cash for our overhead. Everything will be taken care of. I have more than enough to last you three lifetimes.”
He could see in her eyes that she was still worried. She managed a weak smile. “Why do I have to be spoon-fed by your son, Scott? I’m a grown woman, your fiancée. When are you going to give me access to your situation?” she said, talking in code. Scott understood that to mean his drug money.
He heaved a long sigh. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again. He told her what she wanted to hear. “Soon.”
Maxine starred deeply into his eyes and knew that he was bullshitting her. “Okay, soon. I guess now is a good time to tell you that the feds stole all our jewelry during the raid.”
“What the fuck you say?”
“It’s gone, Scott. All your Rolexes, diamonds, and pearls are gone. And with the lock broken on the door most of my expensive clothing, handbags, and shoes are gone too.”
Max wanted to irritate him, and she had.
Scott roared at the two agents sitting across the room. “Y’all muthafuckas steal from me? You come in my home and violate my shit!”
“Calm the fuck down! No one stole shit,” Agent Devonsky spewed. “If anything is missing, it wasn’t our agency.”
Scott was seething at the repeated disrespect. “My lawyer will hear about this shit!”
“You’re doing life, Scott. Why care about stolen items you’ll never get to see again anyway?” Devonsky mocked.
“Fuck you! I’m gonna beat this case. No jury will ever convict Scott West. You’ll see.”
Devonsky chuckled and walked out the room to get coffee.
Maxine continued her line of questioning. “I can’t see you locked away for the rest of your life.”
“Didn’t you just hear me!”
“Baby, I know what you said. You said those same words to me years ago and look what happened. Don’t get mad, but I think if the feds offer a plea deal you should take it. Doing twenty or twenty-five years is better than life. And you know I’ll still be here for you when you get out. You’re still young, Scott. We could still have a beautiful life together.”
Maxine watched as Scott’s face went from shock to anger. His eyes turned so dark she could hardly see his pupils. Inwardly, Maxine was cracking up. She had planted a seed. Something for him to consider if the feds ever broached the subject.
“Maxine, I’m going to need you to leave right now before I say or do something that I might regret.”
“Baby, I was only–”
“Now!”
“Okay, get some rest, baby. I love you.” She kissed Scott on his lips quickly before the agent could shout to her, “No close contact!”
She walked out the room no closer to getting her hands on his money, but she had accomplished something. Maxine wouldn’t let up on Scott treating her as an equal when it pertained to his money. And, she wanted to continue to plant the seed in his mind that copping out was better than going to trial.
Quickly, her dark thoughts were halted by the shock of her life. There he was, in a suit and tie under a wool pea coat. He looked like he’d just come from church. It was Wacka, right there in the hallway, locking eyes with her and smirking. She knew he was there to intimidate her. He wanted his money. Maxine stood there frozen, knowing that this Wacka situation had to be handled.
12
Bugsy sat in the visiting room of the MCC building waiting for Layla. He was dressed in Armani with his cool persona and looked more like a high-powered lawyer than a gangster. He spotted his mother being shepherded into the room by a CO. He kept his eyes on her from the moment she entered the room, walking his way with her contentious frown and ugly brown prison garb. She sat across from him and quickly started with her demands.
“I need you to put your goons on Maxine, ASAP! I want that bitch dead by nightfall. Your damn sister, that little dead-eye bitch, has been ignoring me, talkin’ ’bout now is not the time. It’s always the right time to see that bitch dead. Especially wit’ me in here. I know that bitch is gloating! And don’t tell me shit about your father. He can’t do shit. How do I know? Because we’re in the same situation.”
Bugsy listened to her go on and on about being wronged by everyone, griping about Lucky’s bullshit, hating Maxine, how trifling his father was, and how much she’d sacrificed. He wondered why he’d come to see her at all. Layla was too consumed with hatred and revenge to even notice he was sitting there. Not once did she ask about Meyer’s condition.
Bugsy shook his head at his mother’s demands. She was unbelievable. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to rile her up even more.
“First off, I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “I came to visit and talk, not be belittled and bossed. And Maxine is no threat to anyone.”
Layla was taken aback by the comment. Her frown tightened and her cheeks got hot with anger. How dare he?
Bugsy then continued with, “And your son—you remember him? Meyer? He’s still alive, in case you were wondering.”
The callous comment set her off. “You muthafucka! You defy your mother like this? I gave birth to you and raised your ungrateful ass. I gave you everything and now you come against me? You rotten-ass nigga! I’m in jail and you allow that bitch to still breathe? Why? If I wasn’t in this position, I would slap the shit outta you.”
Bugsy had never disrespected Layla the way Meyer and Lucky did. The both of them would have cursed her back, but he continued to sit there coolly and allow the venom to spew from her mouth. His visit with his mother wasn’t turning out the way he’d hoped. She was difficult, but she always was a difficult woman—a bitch who was used to getting her way. Jail wasn’t going to change that.
Bugsy smiled, which an
gered her more.
“Why the fuck are you smiling when your mother is in fuckin’ jail?” she rebuked. “You find my predicament funny?”
“No! But I love you, Ma,” he replied.
He stood up to indicate that their visit was over. She didn’t control him, and he hadn’t come to argue with her. His kissed his mother on the forehead and left the table.
Layla sat there in silence and in bitterness. She could only watch her son leave the room, knowing she was losing her hold over him and the others. She feared that the longer she was behind bars, the more distant and independent they would become.
Bugsy wasn’t killing Maxine. Scott would never sanction it.
***
Bugsy sat in the backseat of the black Range Rover and watched in silence. His goons were seated up front, and they were quiet too. Bugsy just wanted to sit and reminisce—no radio and no conversation. The SUV was parked on the suburban block at night, across the street from a beautiful three-bedroom home with a manicured lawn and a floral arrangement near the front steps. She loved her flowers. Her blue BMW was parked in the driveway, and the lights were on in the living room.
He watched Alicia move around her home. She was still beautiful—breathtaking. She didn’t walk but glide, it appeared in Bugsy’s eyes. His missed her so much. What he would do to be with Alicia right now. He sat in the dark vehicle stone-faced, but his heart was fluttering with sadness and regret. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, and now she was gone—dismissed from his life because of who he was and what he represented, and who his family was—gangsters. It could never be her world—the drugs, the killings, the authorities kicking in her front door with a warrant at any time. Alicia was the purest thing in Bugsy’s life, and he had no right to corrupt her. But he loved her dearly. He was lonely without her, but she was untouchable.
Bugsy watched her petite silhouette move back and forth from the living room window. The good news was, she appeared to be single. She didn’t have company and there were no other cars in the driveway. There was a for-sale sign on the front lawn. She was selling the place. He had paid cash for it and it was hers, his gift to her—her name was on the deed. She would be leaving and he didn’t know how soon. Maybe she wanted a fresh start somewhere, and the house was only a reminder of their love.
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