“I never want to see you again. You hear me? You better not be lying about Heavy, either, because if you are, I will find you. Look at you. You’re dying slowly anyway. You are not worth it,” Zya said as she released her grip on Vita. Zya stormed out of the house and saw Black Ty waiting on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
“I’m not cleaning that shit up. You better handle that, Zya,” Ty said as he puffed on the cigarette.
“She’s not dead. I’ll be sending over someone to give you your money for finding her,” Zya said as she walked off of the porch.
Black Ty eyes followed Zya’s ass as she strutted to her car. “Yo, Zya, when you gon’ give a nigga some play?” he asked.
Without even turning around, she yelled, “When yo’ ass can afford to cop more than two bricks a month. You can’t afford me.” She pushed her alarm and hopped in her car. With that comment, she belittled Black Ty, and he was so embarrassed, but he knew she was right. Zya put money in his pocket. How could he holla at his boss? That’s when he realized how big Zya had gotten, and her position—at the top of the game.
He just shook his head and re-opened shop. “That’s a boss bitch right there,” he said as she pulled off.
Zya called Snow as soon as she got in the car, letting him know that she knew how to get Heavy. She told him she killed Vita, only to spare her life and prevent Snow from going after her. She told him she would meet him at her spot. They had a birthday party to attend.
Heavy had a bottle of Cristal in each hand as he sat back and received a lap dance from a beautiful Puerto Rican stripper. “Move it, mami,” he said as he poured the champagne on her ass. He enjoyed his twenty-sixth birthday party with his crew. He wanted to throw a bash at a strip joint, but he had too many enemies to count. He didn’t want to get caught slipping, so the Marriott’s presidential suite became the private location. Three men were in the room with two strippers. The music was bumping loud, and everyone was having a good time. Heavy looked over at his friend, who was getting head from one of the strippers, and that instantly made him want to get in.
“Yo, what about the birthday boy?” Heavy asked as he got up and took a swig of the champagne.
One of Heavy’s henchmen stood up and announced, “Nah, nigga, we got something lined up for you. It should be here any minute now.” Just as he finished his sentence, they heard a knock at the door. Heavy quickly pulled out his pistol and grew paranoid. His boy motioned for Heavy to put his gun away, saying, “Chill out. Put the burner away. Damn, man, you never relax.”
Everyone began to laugh at Heavy’s paranoia, and even Heavy realized that he needed to relax and enjoy his birthday. He smiled and shook his head from side to side. He tossed his gun into one of the dresser drawers and focused on the door. One of Heavy’s friends opened the door and presented a gypsy belly dancer with a veil covering her face. She seductively danced while rolling the gigantic cake to the middle of the floor.
Heavy watched closely as the belly dancer seductively moved her body like a snake, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her ass. The dancer sexily pushed Heavy down into the chair and began her show. She turned her back toward him and lightly bounced on his crotch, arousing him.
All the men were talking shit and laughing at how Heavy was so into the lap dance. The belly dancer slowly began to take off her see-through blouse as she pranced around the room. The music was so loud that the only thing clearly heard was the ranting of men. Heavy took another swig of the bottle and watched the dancer’s snake-like movement.
The dancer made her way to the door, and Heavy yelled, “Where you going, baby girl? The party is over here,” he said as he pointed at himself. The last thing Heavy saw was the dancer’s hand move toward the light switch, and he grew excited.
“Hell yeah!” he said. He began to pull out his dick so that he could really get the party started. He continued, “Shit, turn the lights back on. I want to see that ass while I’m hitting it.” Heavy heard slurping noises all around the room, knowing his boys were getting head from the strippers. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was fully erect.
“Baby girl, where you at?” he asked. The lights came back on, and what he saw almost made him piss on himself. Snow was sticking halfway out of the cake, with two twin pistols pointing directly at him. He looked over at the belly dancer, and the veil was removed, exposing her face. It was Zya. She also had a gun pulled out.
The element of surprise made Heavy and his crew vulnerable. They didn’t reach for their weapons, in fear of getting shot. Heavy’s facial expression said a thousand words. He was totally caught off guard, with his dick in his hand.
Zya had a chrome handgun pointed at Heavy’s boys. Snow began to bark out instructions while waving his gun in the direction of the corner where Heavy was at. “Yo, y’all move over there in the corner. Y’all hoes get the fuck out if you want your life. If any of you call the police, I will find you and kill the people closest to you. After that, I’ll blast both of you.”
Zya started to pick up the women’s clothes, and she threw them toward the door, “Y’all heard what he said. Get the fuck out!” The women didn’t even grab their clothes off the ground. The two girls ran out butt naked while they still had their lives.
All of the men stood in the corner with their hands in front of them, hoping Snow and Zya didn’t pop off. Snow had his twin Desert Eagles pointed at the crew, while Zya searched them and took off all their pistols. Zya pulled her old gun off of one of the men and said, “This looks familiar. Where did you get it?” Before the man even answered, Zya struck him across the face with the gun. Zya returned to Snow’s side after letting out her frustration on the man.
Zya pointed her gun at Heavy and asked him, “Where is the money you took from me?”
“I don’t know,” Heavy replied with both of his hands up.
“Oh, you don’t know?” Zya walked over to the man standing next to Heavy and without hesitation, put a bullet through his skull, causing his blood to splatter on everybody. The man’s blood was all over Zya’s face, and it was the first time Zya had actually killed anyone. But it wasn’t like she expected. She didn’t feel bad. She was ready to put another bullet through someone else’s head.
She pressed the barrel of her gun to the next man’s head and looked at Heavy. “Where is my money?” she asked coldly.
Heavy was noticeably scared out of his mind, and his hands began to shake. “Yo, I don’t have it. It’s at one of my stash houses.”
Snow walked over to him, not believing a word that he was saying. He hit him in the mouth with the butt of the gun, and there was a loud crack as Heavy’s jawbone shattered.
“That’s what a broken jaw feels like,” Snow said as he hovered over Heavy’s body. “Where is the stash spot?” Snow asked. Snow wanted to kill Heavy right then and there, but he knew that he needed him alive to take Zya to her money.
The sound of Snow’s cell phone rang. He had programmed his phone to make a certain ring tone when the pilot called. It was him. Snow stepped back and answered his phone.
“Hello ... I’ll meet you at the parking garage tomorrow at five.” Snow hung up the phone and looked at Zya. “It’s done.”
“So, does that mean what I think it means?” Zya said as she slightly grinned.
Snow smiled back and nodded his head. Since the pilot agreed to fly the drugs overseas, they had a million dollars waiting for them in Cuba. The measly $100,000 that Heavy had stashed wasn’t important.
At that moment, Zya and Snow pointed their guns at Heavy at the same time. The loud shrill of Heavy’s voice echoed through the room just before they loaded his body up with bullets all at once. The bullets from their guns caused Heavy’s body to jerk from left to right, ripping his flesh one bullet at a time. Heavy lay there dead, with sixteen bullets lodged into his body.
The one man remaining was in shock. He just stood there twitching and staring at the dead bodies in front of him. Snow raised his gun and pointed over to the m
an, prepared to end his life too. Zya looked in the man’s eyes and saw pure fear. She didn’t feel the need to kill him, and wanted him to be the one to deliver a message to the streets: Don’t fuck with Zya Miller.
“Let him live,” Zya said as she began to walk away.
Snow knew it was a mistake, but he followed suit, and they both headed out of the door. Just as they reached the door, they heard movement. It was the man reaching for his gun and aiming it at them. Before the man could let off a single shot, Snow turned around with his gun in his palm and fired hollow tips through his body, reuniting him with his crew.
The next day, they met the pilot at the parking garage and made him follow them to the nearest hotel to plan the transport. Zya had paid for the room earlier that morning, so that there would be privacy and no distractions when going over the plan to move the dope. They entered the room, and the pilot began to give them his perception on how the transport should go. He had a whole different outlook on the situation than he did the last time they had met, and seemed way more comfortable. He had a couple days to think about the financial opportunity this job provided for him. The pilot had done his homework, and found the safest flight route to Havana, Cuba.
“All right, here is the shortest and safest path to Cuba. I will first fly to Miami and gas up at this private airplane strip my father owns. After I finish there, I will hit the air around four o’ clock, because that is the busiest part of the day for air patrol. On a daily basis, they have a lot of imports and exports from the port of Miami. I won’t log in my flight, so there will be no record of the flight. See, if I fly below air patrol radar, they won’t detect the plane,” the pilot explained as he scrolled his finger from Miami to Cuba.
The pilot looked at Zya and then at Snow, waiting for their approval. They were definitely impressed by the pilot’s groundwork, and knew that they had the right man for the job.
Zya leaned over to Snow and whispered in his ear, “I like him.” Snow shook his head in agreement, and then told the pilot he was hired. After going over all of the logistics, the rendezvous was over, and Zya and Snow shook the pilot’s hand as they prepared to leave.
That’s when Snow asked for insurance. “You say your name was Sam, right?” Snow said as he still held a firm grip with the man.
“Yeah, my friends call me Sammy.”
“Okay, Sammy, I will need a picture of your kids and your ID. If anything goes wrong on your part, your family will be receiving a visit from me personally.”
Sammy’s face went blank, and he was shocked at the remark, but he knew that they were only covering their own asses. He respected the game, and pulled out his wallet and gave Snow what he had asked for. Sammy exited the room, leaving Snow and Zya there alone.
“This time next week, we will be able to leave the game for good,” Snow said as he began to roll up the map.
“You’re right. We could leave this game alone. Can you leave the game for good, Snow?” she asked as she looked at his piercing gray eyes.
“I don’t know. Could you?”
“Nah, I don’t think I could. This is the only thing in my life I have ever been good at. I live to hustle. It’s like it’s the only way that I find satisfaction. It’s in me,” Zya answered.
“I guess Jules created a monster, huh?”
“No, Snow, he discovered one.”
Chapter 11
Supreme Clientele
Snow drove to Stello’s and parked outside while Zya went in to pick up the money.
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she got out and knocked on the restaurant door. It was 5 A.M., and the restaurant was dark on the inside. Meechi finally answered the door.
“Are they here?” Zya asked.
Meechi shook his head and replied, “Only Anari. She is the one who handles the connect transactions.”
Zya nodded and made her way to the kitchen and got into the elevator. When she got to the entrance of the meeting room, she took a deep breath before walking in.
Anari sat at the head of the table with a champagne glass in her hand. The room looked odd without all of the members sitting around the table.
“Is the money ready?” Zya asked Anari as she stared down at her.
Anari’s face was expressionless, and she sat down with her legs crossed, staring up at Zya. “Are you done with the petty street beef?” Anari asked, her voice filled with annoyance.
Zya frowned and replied, “What are you talking about?’
“This beef that you have with your best friend and her boyfriend . . . is it over?” Anari asked sternly. She wasn’t the type of person who got involved with bullshit. She was too big for it, and wasn’t trying to deal with anybody who wasn’t on her same level.
Zya grew a look of confusion on her face. How the hell did she know about Vita and Heavy? she thought.
“I know everything,” Anari said as if she had read Zya’s mind. “How much did they take?”
“A hundred thou,” Zya admitted.
Anari chuckled lightly and shook her head in annoyance. “Let me explain one thing to you,” she said as she tapped her finger on the table. “What can you do with a hundred thousand dollars? That is not big money. You are stepping into the big leagues now, Zya. All the little shit doesn’t matter. That is the stuff that will get you caught up, believe me. Now you have a body on your hands that didn’t need to be. I make so much money that I pay people to do my dirty work. That is how you have to be.
“I’m not trying to get involved with someone who does not fully understand the game. I fuck with hundreds of millions of dollars. I don’t sweat the small stuff. You will make ten times the amount that was taken from you if you stick with me, but I have to know that you understand exactly what I am saying. The ghetto street shit has to go, because I do not leave loose ends. I cut them quickly. If your involvement with little stuff brings any attention to my organization, I will clip my loose ends, starting with you. Is that understood?”
If Anari had been any other chick talking slick to Zya, she would have beat that ass, but she knew that Anari was not to be tested. She also knew that there was a lot of money at stake. “I understand,” Zya replied.
Anari pulled out two large suitcases full of money and handed them to Zya. They locked eyes, and their stare was almost hostile. Zya didn’t appreciate the way that Anari had checked her, but she knew that there was nothing she could say about it. Just make this money, Zya, she told herself.
“There is a plane waiting on a private landing strip Upstate. Your pilot can fly it across seas.”
Zya nodded and turned around to exit the room.
“Be careful,” Anari advised.
Zya carried the money to the car, and when she was safely inside, popped the latches to open them up.
“Damn!” Zya exclaimed as she laid her eyes on the most money she had ever seen in her life.
If the roundtable wasn’t so connected, I would take this shit and be ghost. Zya turned around in her seat, and Snow pulled away from the curb. They were headed for Cuba. They had the money in their possession, and there was no turning back.
“I thought you said you knew how to fly this mu’fucka!” Snow yelled as he strapped his seatbelt. The sky had been flashing, and the heavy clouds had turned dark, causing the sky to look like it was pitch black. Zya gripped Snow’s hand and closed her eyes as she felt the plane dip wildly as they flew threw the storm.
“It’s not me. It’s the storm,” the pilot said as he struggled to control the plane.
“God, please let this plane land safely. Please let us land safely. If you get us there, I swear I will be in church every Sunday,” Zya prayed, trying to calm herself. She wasn’t religious or nothing like that. In fact, she hadn’t been to church since she was a child, but she knew that God was the only thing keeping their plane in the air.
The flight to Cuba was a long ten hours, and the storm didn’t let up until they were on the ground. When they finally stepped down on solid ground
, she was relieved, and her worries were quickly replaced with the thoughts of money. Ernesto had arranged to meet them at his associate’s landing strip, and he was waiting for their arrival.
“Snow, Zya, how was your flight?” Ernesto asked as he grabbed Zya’s hand and kissed it.
“It was good,” Zya lied, trying to cut out the chitchat. She was there for one reason and one reason only: to get the product.
Snow knew that there was no need for small talk. He simply popped one of the briefcases open and held the money out for Ernesto to see. “That look right?” Snow asked.
Ernesto rubbed his hands together and replied, “That looks very right.” He snapped his fingers at the group of Cuban men who were standing near the dirt road, waiting by a big rig. The men opened up the back of the truck and began to transport three large crates from the truck to the plane.
A smile formed on Zya’s face. I can’t believe that I’m transporting two hundred keys into the border. This shit is bananas. If we get caught, I’m doing Fed time for real. Zya felt a surge of adrenaline rush her body. She was scared and nervous, but most of all, she was excited. She had just been drafted into the major leagues, and her signing bonus was $500,000.
“Why don’t the two of you join me at my villa for drinks?” Ernesto said.
Zya looked up at the sky and noticed that it was clear. “We better get going while the sky is good. Can we take a rain check?”
“Of course, Zya,” Ernesto said.
“I’ll be in contact,” Snow said as he shook hands with Ernesto.
“Zya,” Ernesto called out. She turned around and watched as he approached her. “A neck pillow for your flight,” Ernesto said as he handed her the U-shaped pillow.
Zya smiled and replied, “Thanks.” Ernesto waved goodbye as they boarded the plane and headed back for the States.
The plane finally landed, and now that they were home, they were both eager to make the transaction with Supreme Clientele. Snow had a couple of his henchmen waiting for their arrival at the landing strip. Snow looked out his window and saw the small private airport and smiled. He looked at Zya and said, “We did it.”
Supreme Clientele Page 18
