Mafioso

by Nisa Santiago

  Wacka sat on the couch and smoked a cigarette. He chose to sit in the dark and think about some things. He wanted complete silence.

  Parked and idling outside his home was a black Dodge Charger with tinted windows. Three men intently watched the place.

  “We gon’ hit that nigga tomorrow night, a’ight?” said the passenger up front.

  “Yeah-yeah, I’m ready to get this money,” said the driver.

  The wolves were right outside Wacka’s door, and he had no idea what was coming his way. He was slipping, not paying attention to his surroundings, and the stick-up kids were coming for him. The old Wacka would have seen them coming from a mile away—always alert, trigger finger on speed dial. But Wacka wasn’t as on point as he used to be.

  ***

  The following night, as Tarsha and Wacka slept in their bed and their son was sound asleep in his bedroom, three black men wearing ski-masks kicked in the back door and charged into the house carrying automatics and assault rifles. They came prepared for a battle, knowing Wacka’s reputation, and they weren’t about to take any chances with him.

  The three men rushed upstairs to give Wacka and his bitch a rude awakening. The master bedroom was dark, and they could see the silhouettes of two people lying in bed together undisturbed from the break in. The third man went into their son’s bedroom to take him hostage. Immediately, Wacka and Tarsha were awakened by violence. The masked gunman struck Wacka over the head with the butt of his pistol and he hollered from the blow.

  “Wake the fuck up, nigga!” one of the men shouted.

  Tarsha stared wide-eyed at the two men in her bedroom and screamed out for her son. As if on cue, the third man dragged Junior into the room with them and pushed him to the floor.

  Tarsha cursed, “Get your fuckin’ hands off my son!”

  She was ready to charge at them like a bull seeing red, but the assault rifle aimed at her face stopped her dead in her tracks. The men got an eyeful of Tarsha dressed in her panties and bra.

  “Chill, bitch, or we fuck him up right in front of you! And then we fuck you up!”

  “You know who the fuck I am?!” Wacka shouted.

  “A dead man if you don’t chill out and shut da fuck up, nigga!” the alpha male replied. “You think we fuckin’ playin’ wit’ you?”

  “Fuck you!” Wacka shouted.

  The man started to pistol whip Wacka, and he fell to his knees with his face covered with blood. Wacka was dazed and helpless with a small gash across his forehead. He scowled and growled at the masked men in spite of the beating he took. He refused to be intimated by them, but with his son in harm’s way, his hands were tied at the moment.

  “Chill, muthafucka, or I swear I’ll kill you and that bitch right now and rape ya fuckin’ son,” he said.

  His words were chilling to Tarsha—rape her son. She trembled with rage and fear and glared at the men with so much hatred that it felt like her head was going to implode with anger and wrath.

  “Please, don’t hurt him . . . don’t touch him!” she pleaded, having to humble herself and surrender her rage.

  She could feel them smiling wickedly from behind their masks—enjoying their suffering. She had no idea who they were. She didn’t recognize their weird, muffled voices. They made her get down on her knees next to Wacka. They restrained the couple and the child with duct tape around their wrists, feet, and mouths to keep them from screaming. Now the attackers were in absolute control.

  “Where it at?” they asked Wacka. They removed the duct tape from his mouth so he could speak.

  Wacka scowled at them. “Fuck you!”

  “You wanna go there, nigga? I’ll cut off your other fingers too, you crippled muthafucka! Where the money at, and the jewelry? We want it all, nigga! You think we playin?”

  They continued to be met with resistance from Wacka, but the men weren’t leaving empty-handed. They knew there was a fortune somewhere in the home. But Wacka and Tarsha didn’t have any intention of giving up the money. They still had nearly six hundred thousand left.

  It was then that the third gunman holding the young boy hostage came up with the ultimate idea. “Fuck it. You don’t wanna talk, nigga, then we cut off your son’s fingers too. Like father, like son, muthafucka.”

  He pulled out a large knife and said, “Grab that little nigga’s hand. I’m ’bout to put some work on him right now.”

  Junior hollered and cried from beneath the duct tape. Tarsha frantically wriggled in her restraints, desperately trying to free herself, but to no avail. She screamed underneath the duct tape, but she was incoherent. Her tears started to trickle down her face as she stared in horror at the men attacking her son. She couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Talk, nigga! Before we starting cutting,” the man shouted

  Tarsha was ready to burst open with information before they could cut off her son’s fingers. It was too much for her to take. They pulled away her duct tape, and she submitted to their demands at the protest of Wacka. “It’s in the kitchen. Everything’s underneath a cutout under the kitchen sink. The money’s all there.”

  The alpha male nodded to one of his men and left the room to see if she was telling the truth. They continued to hold everyone at gunpoint. Tarsha was seething with rage. Her chest heaved up and down, and she refused to take her eyes off her baby. He was against the floor in his underwear and at the mercy of the gunmen. She wanted to shield him, but became sick with worry and regret.

  “It’s gonna be okay, baby. You gonna be all right. Mommy’s right here . . . I’m over here, baby,” Tarsha cried out to him.

  Wacka stood there on his knees, still bleeding, and his eyes cut furiously into the two men. The rage on his face was murderous. He doubted that they were going to leave them alive. How many victims had he put in the same predicament he was now in? He rarely left anyone alive during his stick-up days, and now it felt like karma was coming back on him.

  The third man came back into the bedroom with the bag of money and the jewelry. When the other two saw it, their eyes lit up.

  “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about,” said one of the masked men.

  Wacka felt his heart sink into his stomach. This was it—the moment his world would come to an end. They had what they’d come for, and he and his family were no longer needed.

  “I swear I’m gonna fuck y’all niggas up!” he shouted with pure rage dripping from his voice.

  But it felt like an idle threat. Wacka knew they had the advantage. They could kill him right now and that would be it—game over.

  “Nigga, fuck you! What you gonna do, muthafucka, huh?” The man thrust the barrel of the gun in his face and taunted him with death. “You ready to hear that bang, nigga? Huh, muthafucka?”

  Wacka glared up at the man. They locked eyes. Wacka wasn’t going to beg for his life. If he was going to die, then it’d be with dignity.

  “Let’s go! We got what we came for,” said the other man, moving toward the door and eager to depart the scene.

  “You lucky tonight, nigga—you and your bitch and that bastard child,” the man said.

  With the blink of an eye, all three men disappeared from the bedroom, leaving them all alive. It was a miracle that they hadn’t killed them, but it was still a tragedy. Tarsha immediately tried to free herself from the duct tape around her wrists. She needed to get to her son right away.

  Wacka simply remained there on his knees, bound with duct tape and looking cold and upset. He was going to remember their eyes—what they looked like and sounded like. They should have killed him, because he was personally going to hunt them down and destroy them.

  33

  Bugsy thrust his length and thickness inside Maxine, painting her pulsating pussy with pure gratification. Her eyes closed, and every inch of her body started to quiver. He drove deeper and harder into her in the missiona
ry position as her walls constricted around him. She pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around him tighter and breathed into his ear. She was on the threshold of a mighty orgasm.

  “Oh shit, I’m gonna come!” he yelled, huffing and puffing against her.

  “Come in me, baby! I’m gonna come too!” she cried out.

  Bugsy wanted his orgasm to sync with hers. Their mouths met passionately and their breath became one. It didn’t take long before they magically came together. It was satisfaction at its best. Bugsy removed himself from the sexual position and rolled on his back. He exhaled. Sex with Maxine was more mind-blowing and intense every time.

  Maxine had to catch her breath. Her entire body felt spent as she nestled against his chiseled frame, placing her head against his heaving chest and feeling secure in his arms. It was another great night of lovemaking, and one of many, many nights of wicked sex. They’d been sexing for nearly two weeks now, and Scott was none the wiser.

  Maxine lay quietly against him for a moment. Things felt great with Bugsy, but that black cloud was still lingering over her head. She sighed with unease and removed herself from his snug embrace and the bed and donned a robe.

  Bugsy stared at her. “You good?”

  “I need a cigarette,” she said.

  Maxine lit a Newport and started to pace around her bedroom. Bugsy propped himself up against the headboard and watched her. He knew something was bothering her.

  “My father doesn’t know anything about us. I saw him the other day.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about,” she replied.

  “What is it then?”

  She stopped pacing and looked at him. She had to tell him. She couldn’t go on another day without finding a solution to her problem.

  “I have a serious problem, Bugsy, and I don’t know who to turn to for help,” she said to him, perfectly portraying the damsel in distress.

  She had Bugsy’s undivided attention. He got out of bed to come closer to her. He cared not to cover up, his flaccid dick swinging away.

  “Talk to me. What’s going on? Who or what do you need help with?” he asked her with concern.

  She looked at him and puffed out. “His name is Wacka, and he’s been threatening to kill me.”

  “That same fool that kidnapped you a while back?”

  She nodded. “He’s back in town. And I don’t feel safe with him around, even with the security you provide me. He’s still dangerous.”

  “I wanna know everything about this fool. How did you get involved with him in the first place?”

  Maxine understood that if she wanted his help, then she would have to tell him the entire story but leave out critical details. He could never know about Max.

  “When I got convicted for murder it didn’t take the inmates long to see that I was no murderer. I was bullied, beaten, and I constantly feared for my life.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be,” Maxine said and touched his hand softly. “I’ve moved on and Layla was there for me. For years your mother was paying the family of an inmate named Shiniquia for my protection.”

  “Layla?”

  “Yes. Your mother does have a heart.”

  Bugsy was surprised that his mother would do such a humane thing, but then again, nothing surprised him anymore. She’d paid people to protect Maxine while incarcerated. It was the least she could do for Maxine not snitching on her.

  She continued on with her story.

  “For years this arrangement worked out until Shiniquia got greedy and wanted Layla to send additional money. This is around the time someone was targeting your little brothers and sister. Your mom was grieving and here I was asking her to save my life when she had just lost three children.”

  Maxine took a deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes as if this was too much to take. “Layla came to visit me and on the visit she explained that as I sat there with her, Shiniquia was being murdered. And just in case that news wasn’t ground shattering enough, your mother also arranged to have Shiniquia’s family killed. Just like that.”

  Bugsy whistled. “Everybody?”

  “That was the plan, but Shiniquia’s brother Wacka survived.”

  Bugsy shook his head. That was more like his mother, cold-hearted and ruthless. He chuckled at the thought.

  Maxine feigned disgust. “She killed his entire family,” she said in a meek tone. “Were you a part of that?”

  Maxine showed hurt and sadness over the death of an entire family, but it was all a ruse to lure Bugsy into feeling sorry for her and making it all go away once and for all.

  “Nah, I had nothing to do with that. Most likely, that has Meyer’s fingerprints all over it. He did all of our mother’s dirty work,” he said.

  “Well, Wacka blames me for it. He wants to avenge his family’s death and I’m the scapegoat. And with Scott locked up, I feel alone out here. A few weeks ago he pointed a gun in my face and nearly broke my finger ripping off my engagement ring. Your father noticed immediately that I wasn’t wearing it, but I can’t worry him about this man. Scott has enough on his plate to deal with. And this is Layla’s mess, not Scott’s.”

  “That clown got that close to you! Where was your security? I don’t want you to be alone ever again. You hear me?”

  “I do. I realize now that my life’s in constant danger. Another time when I wasn’t with my security detail he took a shot at me. I have no idea where he is. He’s coming for me and he wants me dead.”

  She was pouring it on thick. She gave Bugsy some good pussy followed by a heartbreaking story that ended with her life being in danger. He seemed to be falling for it. As smart as he was, it seemed like he was no match for the damsel in distress routine. Maxine put on an award winning performance.

  Bugsy stared at Maxine with his eyebrows furrowed in anger. There was a glimmer of fury in his eyes, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. He was ready to kill someone.

  “Do you know where he stays?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “I’ll find out and I’m going to take care of him. I promise you that,” he assured her.

  “He’s dangerous, Bugsy, and I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

  “Believe me, you have nothing to worry about. I’m gonna handle this,” he said.

  Maxine was smiling inwardly. She had him exactly where she wanted him, doing her dirty work and solving a serious problem for her. Bugsy was somewhat whipped—or had very strong feelings for her. It was easy for him to fall for Maxine because he was still broken up over Alicia. He didn’t realize that he had redirected his feelings to Maxine. She reminded him of Alicia.

  Maxine didn’t want to say anything else. She didn’t want to complicate things. Bugsy believed Wacka was trying to kill Maxine, and Maxine wanted him dead quickly, no questions asked. It had to go down swiftly. The last thing she needed was for Wacka to start talking and exposing everything to Bugsy.

  Maxine gave Bugsy Wacka’s number and told him that’s all she had. Bugsy knew that there was a lot he could do with a number. He started to get dressed. Their intimate time together had ended. Bugsy had business to take care of and people to kill. When he was done dressing, he looked at Maxine and said, “You’re not going to have to worry about this nigga for too much longer. I’m going to handle this.”

  He kissed her lips and Maxine felt in high spirits. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you, baby. I really do appreciate this.”

  “I got your back, so go to bed and sleep well tonight.” He planted another kiss on her lips.

  He left the apartment, and Maxine closed the door behind him and sighed with relief. It had actually worked. She’d actually persuaded Bugsy to kill Wacka for her. She threw a smile and some pussy his way, along with some charm and innocence, and she had Scott’s son eating out of th
e palm of her hand. Now, she needed the results.

  ***

  The next morning Maxine was back up and scheming. Bugsy had planted a seed when he confided to her that Layla wanted Lucky to take the stand. It was a clever play, and it was bugging Maxine that it might just work. Maxine lived for the day that her nemesis was either dead or doing life behind bars. Retribution was just a trial away, and she’d do whatever she could to sway the scales of justice in her favor. She thought about the dead-eye diva with the slick mouth and knew that the jury would automatically dislike her. If Layla’s defense attorney could get the jury to hate someone more than the defendant, then it could create the reasonable doubt that Layla needed. Maxine didn’t think Lucky would agree to take the stand, but she needed reassurance.

  It was time to help pit mother against daughter.

  She called Skip. Before she could speak, Skip said, “Bitch, you gonna live a long time! I was just thinking about you.”

  Maxine snorted. “Me? Last time we spoke you said to never call you again. Were you thinking ’bout how foul that was?”

  “You don’t ever let shit go, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well I don’t wanna be on your bad side because you’ve helped me more than you know. I really want to apologize for acting ungrateful. I took that money and bought myself a house in South Carolina for me and my kids. They got big houses there with land for forty or fifty stacks. And I’ma get myself a good job too.”

  Maxine didn’t care to hear about her happy ending. “I called for a reason. We need to meet.”

  “Meet?”

  “Yes, meet.”

  “I can’t, Max. We in the middle of packing—”

  “Now, Skip! Same spot in an hour and this time don’t keep me waiting!”

  This time when Maxine arrived Skip was already there waiting in a pink Adidas jacket with a foul look on her face. Any other bitch and Skip would have gone HAM. She knew she had to bite her tongue until she was safely out of town, in her new house raising her children. They deserved the new start. She was going to give them what she had neglected to give going in and out of prison. They deserved love and stability.