The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  “Why should I do it? What makes you think that I need any money?”

  “We’ll go fifty-fifty on the royalties, too,” Red told him.

  Catfish raised an eyebrow. Everybody knew that Snitch Nigga, Bitch Nigga had been a bestseller and had made a killing. Getting in on that and refreshing his bank would be real nice, Catfish thought. But still, he didn’t know about getting into business with Dirty Red.

  “What about Bacon?” Catfish asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Why should I create unnecessary beef with that man?”

  “Won’t be no beef,” Red told him. “I’m Lisa Lennox, remember? This is my shit now. Bacon letting me run this.”

  “Did he send you here?”

  Red shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Why he ain’t write part two?” Catfish asked.

  “’Cause he don’t give a fuck about no writing no more,” Red explained. “He did that shit while he was locked down. Now that he out, he too busy hustling.”

  Catfish nodded. He had heard that Bacon was the man on the street now. “I don’t know, Red. It sounds suspicious to me. Like a setup, but I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know what angle you coming from, or what you plan on doing, ’cause you a scandalous bitch, but if you think that I’m gonna have somebody write a book, and then you not give me my half, you’re sadly mistaken. I’ll fuck you faster than you can fart.”

  Red nodded.

  “Sasha fucked me over, and you see where she at?” Catfish told her. “I’ll have you done just like I had that bitch done. You got me, Red?”

  Red nodded again and extended her hand. Catfish shook it.

  “Call off the bounty,” Red told him.

  Catfish agreed. “You just remember your little friend, and what happened to her,” he repeated.

  Red rose from her seat. “Nice seeing you.”

  She definitely would remember Sasha and what that bastard had done to her. Now she had her evidence, and she also had a new detective friend to put everything into place. She just needed to make a few more moves, and then she would get Catfish to do what she needed him to do; after that she’d take care of his ass.

  “Next time give me some notice,” Catfish told her.

  Red walked out of the visiting room and headed for the prison exit. She had gotten out of there just in time. The tiny recorder she had hidden in her bra was pinching her breasts.

  “I got your ass too, you bitch nigga, snitch nigga,” Red said to herself. She was going to fry Catfish’s ass to protect herself, and to get revenge for Sasha. Now that he would call off the hit, she had bought herself some time to finish taking care of her other business. Now it was a race to get Catfish before he could get her.

  Red walked through the parking lot with a sinister grin on her face. Everything was almost in place. She just needed to move one more major piece on the board and that was to get Detective Thomas completely on her side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Yo, baby, can I get those digits?”

  Laquisha Denny waved the stranger off as she climbed out of her straight-from-the-showroom-floor, Obsidian black BMW 760 Li sedan. Being a sinewy, six-foot, 140-pound, copper-skinned beauty, she was used to strangers trying to get her number. Catcalls, whistles, shouts; nothing fazed her anymore. She was beautiful, and she knew it. Family, friends and strangers, everyone had told her that her entire life. In fact it had reached the point that she now considered it a nuisance when someone tried to holler at her. She had a man anyway. A good man. Her brand-new $100,000-plus BMW was proof of that.

  Treagen had provided for her well. He was a straight hustler, in every sense of the word. He had been a baller since the age of sixteen, having bought his first bird at the age of fifteen. The streets had consumed him from the age of twelve. From there powder became crack, and rocks became packs, and packs became quarters; and eventually he worked his way up to ounces.

  Trap had set up trap houses in almost every project in the Motor City. He had them organized with lookers out front and cashiers to take the customer’s money and a separate house where the merchandise was picked up. He had everyone communicating by cheap walkie-talkies that he purchased from Radio Shack. Setting up trap houses was how he made his big break, his reputation and his name. He went from being Treagen, to Lil’ Trap, to just Trap in a matter of three years. It was during this time that he first met Laquisha.

  Laquisha had always been the good girl in school. She was the spoiled little Ms. Perfect that all the dudes wanted to holler at, but were scared to. Trap didn’t muster up the nerve to holler until after he had started balling and could hide behind his clothes, jewelry and cars. But once he did step to her, he found that she had been peeping at him for years. Their elementary school crush had blossomed into a high school love and spawned a forever love. She was his woman, and he was her man, and neither one of them could envision life without the other.

  Laquisha closed the door to her Beemer and scanned around the parking lot. Trap had taught her to be aware of her environment. She wore too much expensive jewelry not to pay attention to her surroundings. Detroit was a hardscrabble town, with people always on the lookout for a quick come-up. Between her earrings, tennis bracelet, Piaget watch and the rings on her petite, manicured fingers, she was wearing a good hundred grand. And a hundred grand lick was too good for most people to pass up.

  Today Laquisha was headed into the city for a hair appointment. She’d heard about a hot new stylist at a hot new shop called Divas, and she wanted to check things out for herself. Her usual stylist was out of town on vacation, so she decided it would be the perfect time to cheat on her and check out a new beautician. That’s why she called and set an appointment with Donna, the red-hot Dominican from New York, to see what all the fuss was about.

  Laquisha ran her hands over the legs of her crème-colored Ferragamo pantsuit, and double-timed it across the street to the shop. She was already impressed with the establishment. The parking lot was filled with all high-end vehicles, from Navigators to Beemers. There was even a Bentley and a Maserati parked near the front. This told her that the clientele was high-dollar, and high-dollar clientele didn’t put up with bullshit. One little chemical burn, or slip of that curling iron, and all of your customers were gone.

  Laquisha stepped inside, signed in and scanned the shop. A small waiting area was just off to the right. She took a seat and searched the coffee table for a current magazine.

  Immediately Red’s antennae went up. They said game recognized game—well, beauty recognized another beauty that day.

  “Girl, your hair looks like you just got it done!” Red told her, making small talk.

  “This mess?” Laquisha asked, lifting a strand of her hair. “Girl, I got this done last week.”

  “It’s still cute.”

  “Thank you.” Laquisha smiled. “And you talking about me? What about you? You working that hairstyle.”

  “Who did your hair? That feathered bob looks really good on you. It accentuates the shape of your face.”

  “Thank you,” Laquisha repeated. She extended her hand. “My name is Laquisha. Everybody just calls me Quisha.”

  “Raven,” Red said, shaking her hand. “But everybody calls me Red.”

  Laquisha laughed and nodded. “That name fits you. Your reddish-bronze skin, your reddish-bronze hair and you even have this reddish glow about you.”

  “Like the devil?” Red joked.

  “No, girl, like a fiery personality. I’ll bet you’re feisty just like me.”

  Red nodded. “You bet your ass I am.”

  Laquisha smiled and turned toward the row of stylists. “So what’s up with Ms. Donna?”

  “Is that who you’re here to see?”

  Laquisha nodded.

  Red leaned back and adjusted herself in her seat. “Girl, she is the bomb! The best stylist in Motown!”

  “Did she do your hair?”

  Red ran her fingers throu
gh her hair. “I’ve been coming to her for a few weeks now. And she got my shit soft, silky and looking good!”

  “I see!”

  “Your first time here?”

  “Yep. I been going to this girl name Penny. She’s been doing it for a while but I’m ready to try something different.”

  “Different? Like what?”

  “I think I want a Mohawk. You seen Monica’s hair on the BET Awards?”

  “Ohhh, Monica was looking so fly!” Red snapped her fingers in the air. “I was like, go Monica, you looking good, girl!”

  “I want something like that, but more of a Mohawk, and I want some blond in mines.”

  “Oh, I bet that would look so pretty on you.”

  “Thank you. I think it’ll look good, too. I can go out and get my club on!”

  “Hey!” Red said, laughing. “I ain’t been clubbing in so long.”

  “Oh, girl, there’s this new bar, it’s called Bar Eleven. Have you heard of it?”

  Red shook her head. “No, I haven’t. How is it?”

  “It is nice, with a nice atmosphere. It’s a mixed crowd, and it’s a twenty-five and older crowd, so ain’t no kids up in there. They have an upstairs VIP section where you can look down on the dance floor.”

  “That sounds cool. I’ma have to go and check it out.”

  Laquisha pulled out her BlackBerry. “Girl, I’ma take you out and we’re gonna party.”

  Red gave Laquisha her number. “My man is probably gonna want to go.”

  Laquisha shrugged. “Bring him. I’ll bring Trap and we can introduce them.”

  “Well girl, Bacon is a little rough around the edges.” Red laughed. “Be forewarned.”

  Laquisha laughed and waved her off. “Don’t trip. Trap is the same way.

  “Bacon . . . well, he’s . . .”

  “I already know what the deal is. Girl, my man is the same exact way. He’s in the game, and judging by the shit you flossin’, your man is, too. I already know. I ain’t judging. Trap takes care of this. That black BMW outside is what he got Mama rolling in.”

  Red laughed. She felt relieved. She felt like she could relax and be herself around her new friend. Laquisha seemed like a real bitch and they had so much in common. She was down to earth, and she had found her a baller to take care of her. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Laquisha was from the projects just like she was.

  “Girl, that black Range Rover is mines.”

  “See, Bacon takes care of his, just like Trap takes care of his. Girl, don’t be embarrassed or ashamed. We ain’t got nothing to apologize for or be ashamed of. Many bitches wish that they could be in our shoes.”

  “And look this good!” Red added.

  “Amen!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Bar Eleven was the Motor City’s newest hot spot. It was the type of establishment that attracted a nice mixed crowd. The atmosphere was yuppie, with a little bit of grad school and old school thrown into the mix. It had a nice mid-twenties to mid-thirties crowd, with a few early-forties patrons thrown in for good measure. It was definitely not a place that attracted dope boys and ballers and it was the perfect place for Bacon and Red to get away from it all.

  The bar was nestled inside an old two-story redbrick building near the city. The building had been an old factory of sorts, and the owner had renovated it thoroughly and installed a $30,000 sound system. The seating was burgundy leather sectionals arranged in seating groups, with small four-person tables and high chairs scattered throughout. The bar was against the far left side of the room, and a nice-size stage sat in the back of the bar for when they had poetry slam nights. The dance floor was in the center of the bar, and upstairs was the VIP section.

  “I love this place!” Red shouted over the sound system.

  “This is nice,” Bacon concurred.

  Red rushed to where Laquisha was standing and hugged her. Bacon followed close behind.

  “Bacon, I want you to meet my girlfriend Laquisha,” Red said, introducing them. “Quisha, this is Bacon.”

  Laquisha and Bacon exchanged handshakes, then Laquisha turned toward her guy. “This is my man Trap.”

  Trap and Red exchanged handshakes, followed by the two men shaking hands and hugging. The four of them gathered around one of the tall four-person pub tables scattered throughout. Even though there were seats available, the four of them remained standing. Red was hyped.

  “This is the shit!” Red said excitedly. “I love the atmosphere and the music . . . that DJ has been jamming since we walked up in here.”

  “Girl, this is my song!” Laquisha lifted her hand and grooved to Guy’s “Piece of My Love.”

  Red eyeballed Trap. He reminded her of Treach from Naughty by Nature. Not the Treach with the long braids, but the muscular, chocolate, bald-headed Treach with all the tats. Trap had a dangerous roughneck look about him but it was combined with the look of a sexy chocolate-skinned model. His Ed Hardy polo shirt and jeans made him look like a thug whose girl made him dress up. The two-inch-thick, diamond-filled platinum bracelet and diamond bezel Patek Philippe on his wrist and the long, thick platinum chain around his neck revealed his baller status. He looked like he came up hard on the streets and would kill a nigga in a heartbeat. He was a real dope boy and gangsta. Even though he belonged to her girl, Trap still made Red’s pussy wet. All fine-ass ballers had that effect on her.

  “So what up, my dude?” Bacon asked.

  “Man, you know how it is,” Trap answered. “Just creeping and crawling and trying not to get noticed.”

  “I hear you!” Bacon laughed. “Keep Uncle Johnny off ya ass.”

  “Shit!” Trap rubbed his face. “They out to get a nigga, huh?”

  “It’s all good, though. They got they role to play, we got ours.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “We just gotta keep it gangsta,” Bacon told him. “These niggas out here gotta stop snitching.”

  “Man, I’ma buy you a drink on that one!” Trap laughed. He turned and headed for the bar.

  “Cool people, Red!” Bacon laughed and nudged Red.

  “Girl, you working that Mohawk!” Red exclaimed, examining Laquisha’s hair.

  “I wanted her to shave my hair shorter in the back though.”

  “Why? It looks good.”

  Bacon took in Laquisha. He liked them tall and slender, and Laquisha was just that, except for her ass. It had a ridiculous shape, Bacon thought. She had the kind of shape that niggas only dream about. She had an ass that you could sit a glass on top of, and virtually no stomach. It looked like she was carrying two pumpkins in her back pockets. Bacon smiled at the thought of getting a shot of Laquisha. He definitely wanted some of that.

  Trap came back to the table with two drinks. He was followed by the barmaid, who was carrying two more. She set the drinks down and quickly disappeared. Trap handed Bacon his drink, and then raised his own in a toast.

  “To new friends, and no snitches.”

  Red, Bacon and Laquisha lifted their drinks.

  “No snitches,” Bacon said. “Man, me and you are gonna have to get together.”

  Trap nodded. “No doubt, no doubt.”

  “Come to the club and we gonna kick it.”

  “What club is that?”

  “I just opened up a new club called Club 313,” Bacon said.

  “No shit?” Laquisha asked. “I heard about that club. We been saying that we were going to go and check that place out.”

  “Oh, it’s banging, baby!” Bacon bragged. He had opened it to help him wash some of his dope money, but the club turned out to be a phenomenal moneymaker itself. He didn’t know what to do with all the money he was making, legal and illegal. Red was overjoyed.

  “I’ma stop by there,” Trap told him.

  “Come by on Wednesday and let’s talk some business.”

  “Okay, no business talk tonight.” Red smiled. “We’re here to have a good time.”

  “Let’s dance, girl!�
� Laquisha grabbed Red’s hand and the two of them trotted off to the dance floor. The DJ was bumping Jamie Foxx. “Girl, that’s my song!”

  Treagen nodded at Bacon’s offer. He realized that Bacon was higher up on the food chain than he was, and that he was about to get put on. Maybe fucking with Bacon would be his way to come up and finally jump out of the game, he thought. He had some ideas that he wanted to push, and all he needed was a partner to get behind him. Maybe Bacon is the one, he thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Club 313 occupied an entire building by itself. The building was enormous, as it had been a former Walmart. The discount chain had abandoned the building and built a glitzier, even more enormous building down the road, calling it a Super Walmart. No one in the city had use for the old building. It was too big for most other businesses to use. Bacon had come up with the idea of creating a super club inside.

  Because the building had been abandoned for so long, Bacon had been able to get it for little more than a song and a dance. He poured massive amounts of money into it, in order to transform it into one of the largest clubs in the Midwest. The club had a $200,000 sound system, four dance floors, two massive bars, a 3,000-square-foot VIP section with its own bar, a game room filled with pool tables, a restaurant and even a small gift shop so that patrons could purchase shirts, caps, mugs and other club memorabilia. Bacon had created a first-class clubbing experience.

  The first thing Trap noticed while walking up to the front door was the massive red neon sign on top of the club. The cursive script could be seen for miles. The club’s front boasted dark tinted glass so the patrons couldn’t be seen inside, and a rope guided the quickly forming line of partygoers inside. Several well-dressed security guards were standing outside keeping things orderly. Trap walked to the front of the line.

  “May I help you, sir?” one of the guards asked.

  “I’m on the VIP list,” Trap replied.

  “Name please?”

  “Treagen . . . Trap, I mean. The name is Trap.”