“Okay,” was all LaTanza said as she gave the paperwork another look over then she handed it back to Styles.
“She probably met a new nigga since that ballplayer dipped after she got caught up,” Styles commented.
“I don’t give a shit about some fucking athlete,” she hissed.
“I know it’s Slim you want. But hell, not even the Feds been able to catch up with him.”
“I’m not the Feds.”
Styles cell rang. He checked the number. “Hold on for a sec,” he told LaTanza. “Yeah, what’s up?”
It was Rivera on the other end wanting to know why they had to give the money up. Styles told him that he was with someone and couldn’t talk but to do it and he’d explain later. LaTanza reached into her Louie, took out an envelope and tossed it into Style’s lap. It slid to the floorboard. The car chimed as LaTanza opened the door. She walked the short distance to her car. Styles watched as her tight ass switched from side to side. He opened the envelope and thumbed the cash, all fifteen thousand of it. He thought about how fine LaTanza was and how he’d love to tap that ass but knew that under all the beauty and smarts—was the devil her damn self.
Three Crews—One City
“My bad about being late, G.”
“No thang playa,” Greg told Noonie even though he hated meeting Noonie early in the morning to pick up more product and to drop off loot that was made on the corners. Greg was a straight hustler who had visions of being big time but loved being in the street. The two didn’t mix so he stayed in the middle, running the houses for the crew reporting to Slim’s and Lucky’s lieutenants, Noonie and DC. With running the houses came the responsibility of making sure the money was right and enforcing shit. He liked doing that so that’s why he never became a lieutenant because he liked to get grimy at times, fucking with the hood rats, kicking ass to get points across and dumping round after round after round every now and then.
The two were at a low-key family type restaurant in Evergreen Park. Noonie ate at the spot a couple of times a week when he was holding down a job at the Footlocker in the mall, back when he was on probation for stealing a car. He didn’t steal the car but was caught riding with the person who did. He had to maintain a job while he was on probation and as soon as he was done, he quit the twenty-two hour a week bullshit seeing as how he was making money hustling. “How much we pull in?” Noonie asked as he gazed at the menu.
“Man, you do that shit every time,” Greg laughed.
“What?”
“Look at the fuckin’ menu as if you gonna try somethin’ new. Two eggs, two slices of bacon, grits, wheat toast and orange juice. I bet the bill that the waitress already wrote out your order on her pad,” he said as the woman walked toward them.
“Bet.”
“Hey fellas, what will it be?” the older thin black woman asked.
Greg told her, “A cup of coffee to start with and I’ll have the French toast, four sausage links and orange juice.”
“Noonie,” she asked.
He placed his order and she didn’t even bother to write. They noticed and when she walked away, Greg smirked, saying, “Told ya. This one’s on your dollar, homie.”
They received their coffee and while they sipped, Greg told Noonie that the corners had made close to fifteen grand Friday night and that they should do the same or even more tonight since the police had locked up Sammy, the other major hustler in the area. Sammy wasn’t on the same level as Slim, but was a close second and had been expanding his corners fast—a bit too fast. Most of Sammy’s lieutenants and soldiers were gang bangers, and that brought a lot of attention to him and he eventually got caught up. Word on the street was Carlos Fuentes had a woman get close to Sammy and set him up, but that was street talk. The truth was that the killings and all out flashiness that Sammy and his young gangsters he employed had going on was the downfall of him. Now he was sitting in MCC waiting to see what the U.S. Attorney had on him.
“Shit, that nigga Sammy getting locked up was a good thing,” Noonie said.
Greg sipped his coffee then set the cup back on its saucer. “Yeah, I hate when anybody gets locked down but it sure makes for more money out there. Whoever he gets his shit from doesn’t trust any of his crew to front them. So it has been getting dry in his areas. You think Lucky would trip if I moved in on a couple of Sammy’s spots?”
“Yeah, he’d have your ass for some shit like that. It could cause beef between Sammy and us, and a war ain’t what we need right now. Even though he’s locked up we shouldn’t step on his toes. You know that crazy ass nigga, Bone, is in charge, let’s wait and see if Sammy’s sentenced to a long bid then we’ll know how to play this shit. Besides, his customers only have to travel a couple of blocks to get to one of our corners. As a-matter-of fact, I’m gonna send an extra half bird over to the spot on 67th since his spot is about to dry up. Them fiends will be comin’ our way pretty soon.”
The waitress arrived with their food, and they waited until she left to continue talking.
Greg had slathered a ton of butter and was now pouring a lot of maple syrup on his French toast. Noonie’s brow furrowed and now he realized why his partner had gone from a fit and trim football star at Morgan Park high school to a chubby, always-sporting Sean John and Roca Wear, hustler. As he poured he told Noonie, “That’s cool fam. We gonna make our paper regardless.”
“All good, and another thing, I need you to kick DC that money you made off John John.”
“What?” Greg asked and the syrup pouring immediately stopped as he wondered if he’d heard his man right. He leaned back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Shiiiit, I made them ends straight up. I hit your boy up three times, three times too many to come make that loot. That square John John was on the clock with his job and time is money.”
“I know. You did the right thing, homie. But Lucky got us testing that nigga, John, and a lot of that money goes to him. Also, he ain’t a square.”
Greg’s fork clinked on his plate, and he wiped his mouth with his napkin as he leaned back in his chair. He was obviously pissed for having to give up the unexpected thousands that he’d made. But Noonie and DC were his boys, and if it wasn’t for them putting him on and welcoming him into the crew, he wouldn’t be living plush now.
His attitude changed and he smiled saying, “You niggas know you owe me, right? Y’all got money to pay him back but it’s cool, I understand. And ya boy is a square. Making money off them birds and still punchin’ a clock.”
“That’s called being smart. He’s stackin’ his loot. Anyway we thinkin’ about putting his ass on in the crew, we just gotta get it blessed by Lucky first.”
They pounded fists then continued to eat. Once they were done they got into the other car and drove off. Noonie took the money to Frank who would pay all the ranking officers their cut and then take Lucky his share, and he’d put away Slim’s cut.
Night had fallen, and it had been a long day for Noonie, and he’d been away from Chantel for too long. With all that was going on in the streets, Noonie needed the one thing that soothed him, his Chantel.
He walked into his Gold Coast condo, locked the door behind him and took off his shoes. He walked toward the kitchen and his feet sank in the plush white carpet that felt as if it was two inches thick. He was young and had it going on, cars, condos, jewelry and money, which brought power, which in turn brought respect. He also had what all ballers of his status needed, a fine ass woman. Chantel was a thing of beauty, hour glass figure, flawless pecan skin and shoulder length hair that she’d wear naturally or in braids. She also had a head on her shoulders. Blessed with book, common and street sense. Noonie loved her more than anything and felt blessed that she’d come into his life.
He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of Beck’s. He loved the imported German beer. He uncapped the brew and sipped as he stood in front of his picture window and watched a lit up yacht cruise Lake Michigan. It was almost midnight and the light
from the full moon reflected off the calm waters of the lake, and the cruising boat made for a beautiful calming scene. He thought about how just a few years ago he was broke, an eighteen-year-old stealing cars for his mentor, Vince. Noonie finally got his break by avenging his mentor’s death by killing Myte when she crossed Slim then fled Puerto Rico with hundreds of thousands in cash. Slim handpicked Noonie to avenge their boy’s death. After a few months, Noonie caught up with the conniving woman—befriended then killed her.
Noonie walked towards the bedroom and could see the dim light escaping the cracked bedroom door. He pushed it open and saw his beautiful lady lying under the expensive high thread count sheets and comforter. She was reading like she always did to pass time. Noonie took a swig of his beer. “You need to be careful. I could have been some hating ass nigga comin’ up in here to do you…harm that is,” he smiled devilishly.
“I heard you when you came in, besides,” she pulled an expensive foreign made silver Walther PPK .380 automatic from under one of the many pillows that covered the head of the king sized bed. “I’ll never get caught slipping.”
He smiled, “My boo. I’m going to hop in the shower right quick and then I’ll be out to…I ain’t even got to say.”
“Well hurry up then, I’m almost finished.” She held up her book.
Noonie squinted trying to make out the name on the cover.
Chantel rolled on her back holding the book in the air. “It’s called Lies, Lust, Consequences. Some of these women and men remind me of someone we know.”
“Be ready.” He took off his wife beater then playfully threw the tee at her not really caring about the book.
* * *
The three young men were standing on Langley Street near 79th Street. They had been hustling all evening and were ready to pack it in and leave the rest of the night hustling to the young men trying to make their bones in the crew. Jamel and two shorties he was responsible for had been grinding most of the night selling everything from crack and heroin to marijuana. Everybody was jumping on their shit and they’d made about eight grand in this one spot alone. Scotty, who was in charge of two youngsters that got out of a Ford Taurus with him, was talking to Jamel when he noticed a minivan cruising up the block.
Scotty looked over at his protégés telling them, “Now ya’ll lil’ niggas, watch how I do this. If these fools want a rock I’m gonna get them to buy some weed also. A hustla baby. I’ll show y’all how to do it.” He stepped closer to the curb. “You niggaz ain’t making what y’all should cause ya’ll slippin’ and missin’ customers. Missin’ money.” He scolded the youngsters while looking back at them as he stepped toward the van as it got closer. That’s when the rounds started flying. The first was a blast from the passenger’s side window. The blast from the shotgun knocked Scotty’s short muscular build to the ground.
Instantly Jamel jumped behind a parked car and it was good that he did. The door to the minivan slid open and two men wielding AK-47s cut loose. The two shorties who were with Scotty got it first. They didn’t even get a chance to pull their pistols. They were hit in their backs—they had tried to run instead of pulling their pistols bucking. Either way, they had no chance.
Without looking Jamel pointed his nine over the top of the car and let loose, emptying his clip while pulling another one from his pocket. He watched as his two soldiers were pinned down on the porch of the stash house as assault rifle rounds riddled the place. A car was speeding up the block, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that they were another hit team by the way they were speeding toward the action. Jamel had to make a decision and when four men jumped from the vehicle he knew what he had to do—survive to fight another day. He reloaded his Glock with another magazine and glanced at his boy, Scotty, to make sure he wasn’t leaving his boy if he was still breathing. There were no signs of life. His chest was still and his South Pole t-shirt was bloody and torn from the buckshots. Blood oozed from his mouth and there was no doubt that the soldier was dead, so Jamel made a dash for the alley. No one was on his tail as he dipped quickly away from the action. He could hear the rounds going off and for a moment felt like he should have stayed, but he saw how the youngsters had damn near balled up so he knew he had to save himself and not some cowards who didn’t fight back.
Jamel stopped in the back of a house that was four blocks away. He couldn’t hear any shots being fired, only the sirens of police cars. He hoped that the gunmen didn’t make it inside the house and get the money and drugs. He already had to explain how his men had been killed, but definitely didn’t want to add the sting of letting his boss know that their stash had been jacked. He opened his cell and was breathing heavily. He dialed Greg’s number and hoped for the best.
* * *
The blue light of the cell phone lit up the top of the nightstand as it vibrated. Noonie didn’t pay it any attention as he stood at the edge of the bed holding Chantel. Her back was on the bed and her legs were around his waist. He held on to her hips as he thrust in and out of her enjoying the warmth of her velvety love. She licked her lips and moaned as his rhythm caught hers. Pecan colored skin mixing with a lighter shade of tan. Noonie inhaled the exotic smells of the oils that were burning in oil burners and the flames from the tea candle that heated the oils flickered, casting a romantic glow in the room.
Chantel clutched the satin sheets and bit her pillow. She was now on her knees and forearms as Noonie was hitting her from the back. He leaned forward, reached under her and massaged her clit with his forefinger as he drove deeper and deeper. Noonie rose up and continued his thrusting as he massaged and slapped the heart-shaped ass. He liked to watch himself slide in and out of her. Just the sight of that shit made him want to come but he contained himself for he wanted to savor the moment. Chantel’s shit was so good that it could make a man nut quickly but Noonie learned to master her shit managing to give her more than just one orgasm an encounter.
The cell vibrated again and this time Noonie noticed, but he was in the middle of switching positions. Chantel wanted to ride him. Besides, Greg was to take care of any business tonight so Noonie could get some rest, so he figured that the call couldn’t be important.
Chantel had been riding Noonie like she was the last cowgirl in the world. She would lean over and lick his nipples and nibble on his chest while she used pussy control to send him to Chantel’s world—a world where pleasure was the only option. She loved how toned Noonie was. At six one, one-eighty he was slim but very muscular with a six-pack that the women loved to rub and kiss on.
The cell continued to dance on the nightstand.
Noonie began to grunt and Chantel moaned. She was tweaking and licking her nipples something she did to heighten her orgasm. Noonie’s grunts became a roar as he let out a load and Chantel screamed as she sat still on him and clawed his chest as she came.
The cell danced then fell off the nightstand.
The two lovers caught their breath. Chantel told Noonie how she loved him and he told her the same and in his mind he reminded himself that he had a good woman and that his player days were over. Chantel went to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth to clean her man with. Noonie decided to check the phone that tried to cock block. When he read the incoming calls he noticed that Greg had called many times. He checked the messages.
Hit me up it’s an emergency. It’s bad, nigga. It’s bad. Noonie ended the messages then called his boy.
“What’s up, homie? Shit’s straight?” Noonie asked Greg. He knew that something had happened on the block seeing as how Greg was in charge of them. He assumed that five-o had rolled up and took some cash and or arrested some of the shorties working the corners. Little did he know that their crew had become five men short.
“I need to meet with you, like yesterday,” Greg told Noonie. He sounded pissed and rightfully so. One of the young boys that had gotten killed was his little cousin.
“Tell me what happened,” Noonie told him as Chantel came walking into the roo
m. She attempted to wash him with the warm washcloth, but he waved her off. She assumed that it was serious business so she went to the bathroom to take a shower while her man handled his.
Chantel had just begun to lather her body when Noonie pulled the curtain back. She continued to wash still feeling the effects of the hella orgasms, as she asked, “Is everything okay?” Even though she could tell that it wasn’t. Noonie hadn’t even taken a shower and was dressed in his jeans and wife beater with his t-shirt clutched in his hand. His pistol was in his waistband, so she knew he was ready to head out into the streets to take care of business.
“I gotta go take care of some shit.”
Chantel could hear it in his voice that it was something serious. “What happened?”
“Some of our soldiers got killed—“
“Damn, anybody I know?” she asked.
“Nah, just some shorties on the block. Some fools rolled up and started blastin’. I gotta go holla at Greg and see what’s really goin’ on.”
She leaned her soapy body toward her man and told him to be careful. He fanned the steam then looked into her eyes and told her that he loved her. They kissed and then he was on his way. He called DC while he was on the elevator heading down from the twentieth floor. DC told him that he’d be at the spot when he arrived. Noonie closed his cell and clipped it on its clip just as the elevator was opening. He was on the ground level to the parking garage. He stepped into his Expedition and was on his way. He drove out from the underground parking garage heading for Lake Shore Drive. The black Durango that had followed him to this condo waited a moment before it turned on its light. The two Spanish men in the truck didn’t bother following Noonie; they were done for the night. They now knew where he laid his head—a spot that no one knew of. They’d caught him slipping.
* * *
Carlos was in his plush suburban home standing in front of the large picture window gazing out at the lawn. It was after midnight, but several garden and floodlights illuminated the plush landscape for beauty and security. He had met with his father earlier in the night, and the meeting hadn’t set well with him. His father, who had been slightly ill as of late wanted to go out on top, wanted to make sure that when he left this earth, his family was left in good hands and in control of the drug trade in Chicago. One of their rivals, Sammy, was sitting in MCC looking at serious fed time, and with Sammy gone he didn’t think that the gang banging South Side crew stood a chance without his brains. They were too caught up in the gang thing. So without a leader with his head on like Sammy, it was only a matter of time until they would fall, and the Godfather, Freddy Fuentes, wanted his crew to be there to take over.
The Corner II Page 10
