Bankroll Squad

by David Weaver

  Baannkkrroollll Sqquuaad

  by David Weaver

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  LCCN:

  ISBN: 978-0-615-25055-7 Cover Design/ Graphics: Author: David Weaver

  Typesetting: Brian Holscher Consulting: Lakiesha Haven Editing: David Weaver

  Copyright 2008 by David Weaver. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

  dedication

  This novel is dedicated to my gorgeous daughter, Deja Weaver. Daddy loves you, now and forever. To my Queen, Lakiesha Weaver, who has had my back since day one. My grandmother, Rose Weaver, whom I will always love. Thank you Grandma, for everything you’ve done for me. To my mother, Dian King, look what your oldest son has became ... a published author! Thanks Mom, for everything. Thank God for blessing me with the gifts of wisdom and forgiveness ... and for being my comforter when nothing, nor no one else could comfort me.

  acknowledgements

  My two brothers, Cameron King and Trevor King. Stay focused and realizes that anything is possible. My cousin, Britteney Weaver ... thanks for being there for me throughout the length of my incarceration. It takes a real person to write a prisoner every week when the prisoner is facing 10 to life. I love you cuz. My family ... Uncle Robert, Aunt Sheila, Uncle Charles, Uncle Candy, Aunt Ree (Rose), Eugene King (that’s my Dad), the entire King family in Ellaville GA and beyond, the entire Haven family in Los Angeles and beyond (whassup Gary), my cousins Keisha Swanson and Akeen Harvey (fish), my cousin Dee Dee in Jacksonville, Florida (thanks for showing me Jville). To my cousin Deroderick, who has had my back and believed in me in the beginning. I love you all.

  A special thank you to Joann for keeping the guards screaming my name at mail call. It’s the small things that count.

  Shout outs to J.P. and Ivory P (even though that lifestyle is behind me, for ya’ll I pray and show my respect), Kendrick Slaughter (the drop top Bentley is now in my tax bracket ... thanks for all the advice), Antoine Royal ... oh, I’m really REALLY bout to stunt now! Nigel C., Smoke, Big O, Nakia B., Ceyanti C., Yo yo yo, Ice Cap! My homey Wade ... what’s poppin? Chris W., Taryl T., “Uncle Matt,” Derrick F., Derrick H., the whole town of Buena Vista, GA. The city of Houston, TX. Pittsburgh, PA (whassup Kennethia). Shout out to all the soldiers on lock (federal or state, it’s still a hell-hole). Trigger Boy (it’s a real treat when pimps and gangsta’s speak ... I’m looking you up when I touch down). Amba, Vegas, Pig, Leary, Rob, Gucci, ya’ll motivated me to keep pushing the pen. Marlandow Jeffries (hold ya’ head up playa’), Willie Sylvester a.k.a Smiley, and if I forgot someone’s name, blame it on my mind and not my heart. Smart, Black, and Rich on deck.

  one

  K

  yla eyed Malcolm’s dark skinned, muscular arms as he held the steering wheel at the red light.

  “Errrrrrck!” The lime green Lamborghini

  Gallardo went from zero to sixty when the light turned green; then slowed down to 53 to avoid a collision. It then switched from the left lane to the right lane, passed two vehicles and sped up to 72 mph in a matter of seconds.

  “Malcolm, why do you always drive like a mad man when I get in the car?”

  Malcolm swerved the wheel slightly to the right to avoid the potential damage from a pothole, then straightened the wheel. He slowed the $200,000 vehicle down so that he could safely make it onto the expressway. “Kyla. Don’t start with me, I was driving like this before you got in my car.”

  “Oh stop flexin’. You know you just tryna’ get home to your white bitch!”

  Malcolm immediately broke his speed and shifted to the emergency lane. He slowed to a halt, took a deep breath, then reached over and grabbed Kyla’s throat with his right hand, “I’m sick of you talking about my wife all the time Kyla. I’m sick of it!” Kyla fought back for a few seconds, but from experience she know that he was strong enough to have his way no matter what it was that she did. Malcolm let go of her neck upon seeing a police car ride past him on the way to combat crime. She wheezed briefly, then tried to breathe in as much oxygen as possible as fast as possible. Sobbing, she leaned downward and covered her face with her hands.

  Malcolm maneuvered the Lamborghini back onto the expressway, occasionally glancing at Kyla. “I’m sorry Ky. It’s just that . . . you know how I get when-” “Malcolm! Stop apologizing to me. No amount of apologies in the world can justify everything that you put me through and continue putting me through, you heartless bastard! You left me for a white woman!” “Ky, why is it always about race with you?” “Because you left me!”

  “Well, if I’m so damn heartless, why do you still deal with me? Why are you wit me right now?”

  Kyla was in tears. Malcolm hated when Kyla started crying because he knew that he was wrong for what he did. He hurt her beyond repair. He made her a criminal. He destroyed her innocence, her dreams, their engagement. He knew that she loved him. It had been two years since he left her and she still did everything he asked her to do. She still had not moved on, he was the first and last lover she had. He reached over and tried to caress her shoulder, but upon contact she jumped. She is scared of me, Malcolm thought to himself. He reached out to hold her hand with his free hand and she reluctantly allowed him to do so. After a few moments, he again placed his hand on her shoulder and attempted to caress her. This time she allowed it. She had her guard down. Malcolm just felt right to her, he was her comforter.

  “I love you Malcolm.”

  Malcolm glanced in Kyla’s direction and noticed that she was gazing at him intensely. He regarded her for a moment. Kyla was gorgeous. She was of black and Puerto Rican descent, had long, curly hair, and perfect bronze skin. She was 5’5 and weighed 128 pounds. Kyla was everything that anyone could ask for from a woman. At times, though, her negative traits would override her positive traits. She could be cool one minute, and the next minute she could be a jealous, crazed maniac. The moment that she felt insecure about something; no matter how minute, she never let go of the subject, and most of the times, these moments led to violence.

  $ $ $ $ $

  2 years ago, Malcolm’s best friend Catfish was planning a proposal to his girlfriend, Tricia. He had shelled out $50,000 on a splendid 5 carat diamond engagement ring. Catfish couldn’t make it to the jewelry store to pick up the custom ring when it was done because he was in Miami on official business. It was December 19th and he wouldn’t be back in town until the 21st. The jewelry store, however, closed for the holidays on the 20th. Catfish called and left a brief message on Malcolm’s home answering machine. The message said: “The ring is finished. Pick it up Mal. Or, if you want you can send somebody. J.K. knows. Holla.”’

  At the time, Malcolm was sleeping and Kyla didn’t want to disturb him so she took it upon her self to retrieve the ring. When she arrived at the store, J.K., the owner, was not present. Instead the salesperson gave her the ring gift-wrapped and said, “You must be Tricia. You are a lucky girl.” Kyla gave the salesperson a forced smile and left the jewelry store with a rage building up. She climb into her new Range Rover and called Malcolm right away. She didn’t even take the time to ask legitimate questions before she started firing off her rampant accusations.

  “Malcolm! You bastard, you dirty snake in the grass, you sick trick-”

  “Hey man, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  At the time, Kyla’s temper had flared up like a campfire and could not be controlled. “You mothball son
of a bitch! Who the hell is Tricia?”

  Malcolm sighed. “Is this another one of your pathetic accusations Kyla? If so then you-” The phone clicked off on the other end. “Hello? Kyla? Son of a bitch!”

  And that was the last time Malcolm heard from Kyla for at least a month and a half. 45 days later, when she finally realized who Tricia was, Malcolm had moved on. Kyla tried desperately to reconcile and reconnect with Malcolm, but to no avail. After she remained persistent about it for close to three weeks, Malcolm told her that the only way she could be with him is to become a part of the Bankroll Squad. Eager to show him that she loved him, she ditched medical school and hung onto his every word and command. Even after he married someone else, she remained the Bonni to his Clyde. After a while she soon became fascinated with the lifestyle. On her right breast, the tattoo said ‘Bankroll’ and her left breast had the word ‘Squad’. Even though Malcolm was the leader of The Squad, Kyla quickly became the most prized member. Partly because of her ability to go to Colombia and negotiate prices for bulk kilo shipments of pure cocaine. On one deal in particular, she negotiated a price of $6,000 per kilo and sold all 1,000 kilos for $14,000 a piece before Malcolm even knew she had them to begin with. He sent her on a private jet with 6 million in cash and she came back with 14 million dollars. She was also coveted because of the 100 girl international and cross country prostitution ring that she controlled. She came up with the idea and worked out all the kinks, including recruiting 100 girls, then she tested it without Malcolm’s knowledge. After a week of “testing,” she brought the idea to Malcolm along with about $500,000 in pure profit. The girls made between $1,500 and $3,000 a day. A piece. She brings Malcolm about $800 per girl per day. With that addition, it makes Bankroll Squad the #9 ranked crime ring in the country. Before the addition of prostitution, the Squad wasn’t even in the top 10.

  $ $ $ $ $

  “You passed the exit Malcolm! Damn baby, something must be on your mind.”

  Malcolm sharply snatched his hand away from Kyla’s shoulder and placed it on the 200 grand steering wheel. Kyla reached over and started pulling down Malcolm’s zipper.

  “Ky, what are you doing, tryna’ make me wreck?”

  She knew Malcolm never wore boxers or underwear and wrapped her hand around his suddenly erect shaft.

  “Stop Ky.”

  Kyla pulled it out his pants and went down on him.

  “Move Ky, I mean it. Stop!”

  Kyla sucked, then made a catlike purring noise.

  “What if I don’t wanna’ stop?”

  As she went down again, Malcolm suddenly exited off of the expressway.

  “Ky, get out. Now.”

  The car came to a screeching halt. Kyla came up looking confused and disappointed. She looked around the area.

  “Where the hell am I Malcolm?”

  Malcolm unlocked her door and picked up his Iphone.

  “Who you callin’? Why you act so funny?” She tapped her finger against her knee.

  “Catfish? Yeah, this Malcolm man. Aye, I’m right outside of your condo and I need you to take Ky to get her truck. Huh? Nall, she called me and asked me to pick her up from the mall earlier, she had taken a cab there but I think she was really just setting me up. She’s in one of her little moods Cat. Aight. Peace.”

  Kyla was bouncing her knee up and down nervously, her hands in her lap clasped together. “Is that how it is, Boss?”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes

  “Kyla Brent you know I’m married! I don’t know why you’re in denial.”

  Kyla sighed loudly.

  “So what if I’m in denial. I love you Malcolm. I’m not just here because of money like your damn trophy wife! She doesn’t even do anything for you. Why can’t you see this, damnit! I don’t need Catfish to take me anywhere.”

  She climbed out of the Lamborghini and proceeded to walk. Malcolm pulled off staring at Kyla on the rearview camera. She was giving him the deluxe middle finger. He gave the machine gas and it almost ripped the pavement apart. Zero to sixty in the duration of a sneeze, a “bless you,” and a “thanks.”

  $ $ $ $ $

  Malcolm arrived at his lavish estate about twenty-five minutes later. To even gain entrance onto the premises he had to scan his thumbprint and index finger at the primary control center. After making it past that gate, he had another gate that was operated with actual people. Actually, they were trained snipers converted to bodyguards.

  “Good evening Mr. Powers.”

  Malcolm Powers simply waved and kept moving forward. The Lambo moved swiftly down the 2-mile paved driveway on route to his mansion. It was midspring and the pine trees lining the pathway were a rich shade of green and gave the pathway a mystic effect due to the shade. The Power mansion, equipped with some 27 rooms, had an indoor pool and studio. Malcolm was so avid of a car collector, that instead of building a garage to house the vehicles, he had an underground closed quarters parking lot. He pulled up to his home and cursed for having to wait on his butler to come out and park the car. He blew the horn and watched the door to the mansion open up as a nervous acting bookworm ran out so that he could park the vehicle.

  “Jeffrey, I’ve told you over and over to keep alert and pay attention to what’s going on around here. You didn’t see me coming with all of this surveillance posted?”

  Jeffrey wiped the sweat off of his face with a white handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Powers. I was helping to move your library from the right wing to the left wing as you requested sir. I may park your car now sir.”

  Malcolm exited the vehicle and went into his home.

  two

  J

  ennifer was 5’9 and 122 pounds. She had glowing white skin, deep dimples, voluptuous breast, long brunette/blond hair, and no job. Not only was she

  exit of an occupation but she was also exit of a hustle. She was without goals, but was filled to the rim with constant requests of material items. Malcolm was first attracted to her because of her beauty. He launched his Crispy Frisbee potato chip line around the time that Kyla left him, and needed a model for his debut TV commercial for the brand. He was launching the brand in 5 states and planned to expand to at least 25 states if the brand proved successful regionally on the small market. He held open call auditions, but found women more suitable to be in music videos than a potato chip commercial. He had originally planned for Kyla to be the face of the brand but her sudden disappearance saw him on a sudden search. One morning Malcolm was leaving the Galleria mall in Houston, TX and while opening the door to his baby blue Bentley, he exchanged flirtatious looks with a beautiful white lady headed to her black BMW 650 convertible. She had on a plaid Versace skirt and had long brunette hair with golden blond streaks. She had Versace bags in her hand and she gave off the aura of a celebrity actress. That day they exchanged numbers and that night they went out to have dinner.

  He found out that she wasn’t a celebrity, but nevertheless fell in love with her personality. It was the first time that he had ever met a woman who was just as fashion savvy as he was. She expressed her love and desire to live the good life openly; something that Kyla expressed no interest in whatsoever. Jennifer knew all about cars, rims, clothes, upscale clubs, restaurants, and even private hotels. She never knew that Malcolm did anything illegal, she just took his word that he was a successful entrepreneur. Jennifer trusted Malcolm and did what was told of her. Catfish had even noticed that Malcolm was in a happier mood with Jennifer than with Kyla. Jenny always tried to cook breakfast and dinner at home when they weren’t eating out and always put a smile on Malcolm’s face when he was in the worst of moods. She cleaned, trusted, and entertained as if it was the end of the world if it didn’t happen. Whenever the two of them went shopping or attended any place together, onlookers gawked at the couple in amazement and envy. Black women were sick to their stomachs upon watching them go out on the town and be carefree and happy. White men simply turned their heads in disgust and hoped that the image wou
ld soon fade from their memory. On the contrary, black men and white women simply wished that they could live so elegantly; if just for a day. In the beginning it didn’t matter that Jenny had no job, it just mattered that she had his heart. He asked her how she got her car and how she was surviving and she expressed that her father had passed away and left her with $250,000 of insurance money. She asked him if he needed some investment money for his potato chip brand. Malcolm thought the gesture to be cute. He smiled at her, politely declined, and dropped down to one knee. That was one of her happiest moments. She accepted the engagement and they were married four months later.

  $ $ $ $ $

  “Jen, what the fuck is wrong with you? You look like shit and smell like a liquor barrel. What the hell?”

  Jennifer’s face was red, both of anger and of exhaustion. Malcolm knew that the look on her face meant trouble.

  “Malcolm,” She screamed.

  “You lied to me!” She slung a Vodka bottle in his direction and missed.

  The bottle shattered against the marble floor. Another bottle came at him, it was half full of liquor. He tried to catch it so that it wouldn’t fall but it slipped out of his grasp and shattered, spilling Vodka on his shoes and his creased khakis.

  “Jen- Jen, get a hold of yourself!”

  He went toward her, arms stretched out in an effort to hold and comfort her, no matter what the reason was that she was in distress.

  “Don’t come anywhere near me Malcolm! You lied!”

  Damn this is the second distraught women in one day, Malcolm thought.

  “What did I lie about baby? What’s wrong? Talk to me please.”

  Stumbling, she walked promptly into the kitchen and made her way to the sink. Without speaking, she continued coating the chicken in flour. But something was wrong with the scenario. One of his business briefcases was open on the counter. Damn, he thought, she found my cellar. Malcolm kept a hidden underground cellar underneath the library that was formally on the right wing of the mansion. There were a few rare wines, but the main idea was to keep what he called “fallback,” extra kilos in case a shipment went horribly wrong or in case of a drought. Since he now dealt directly with Colombia via airplane, a drought would only happen if Hell froze over.