“If you keep your big mouth closed for just a second you’ll see where I’m going with this.” Syn took a sip from his glass. “Like I said, Nut said these niggas got a big shipment coming in tonight.” He took another sip just as his phone started to vibrate.
“What type of big shipment?” Bird knew from previous experiences that his definition of big and Syn’s definition could definitely differ.
“These niggas got five pounds of dog food,” Syn whispered. He didn’t need the neighbors overhearing their conversation about heroin. Again his phone vibrated. He looked down at the screen then rejected the call.
“Whew!” Bird blew out an audible breath. “Them Atlanta niggas moving weight like that?” He felt borderline disrespected that niggas from out of town could come to his city and get that type of money.
“You heard what I said, didn’t you?” On cue, his cell phone vibrated again. This time he answered. “What the fuck is the emergency?” While awaiting the reply, he downed the rest of the drink. “Listen, bitch, and I’m going to need you to listen well. Don’t call my fucking phone no more.” Click!
“You just need to get a new phone altogether.” Bird laughed. His boy had too much drama.
“I know I do, especially if Fly moving in.” Syn shook his head. “Anyway, I told Nut I wasn’t down for no meet and greets, and that’s when he suggested we rob their ass and steal the shipment,” Syn whispered. “He gave me the lay of the land and told me the house will be empty tonight. Supposedly these niggas hit the strip club every Friday like clockwork.”
“I don’t know about this.” Bird sighed. “Did your man do his homework? I mean, did he really look into these cats?” He had been in the game long enough to know if some shit looked too good to be true then it probably was.
“He’s been on these niggas since last year, my dog! The time to move is now!” Syn smacked the banister for emphases. “Opportunities like this don’t come that often.”
“That is a lot of money.” Bird rubbed a hand down his face. “But I still don’t know; let me think on it for a minute.”
“Time’s up, my dog. The shit has to go down tonight, remember? Their whole crew will be at the titty bar,” Syn reminded Bird. “You’re either in or you out.”
“Why are you just now coming to me with this shit?” Bird hated making split-second decisions. He was more of a calculated move maker. That was probably the reason they’d been in the game so long without taking any major losses.
“Li’l Nut just gave me the info today.” Syn shrugged, and his phone vibrated again. Without even looking at the caller ID he tossed the phone up in the air then watched it come down and crack all over the pavement.
“What’s in it for your man?” Nothing in the game was free; everything and everybody had a price.
“All the nigga asked for was a pound to keep for himself.” Syn paused to let his words sink in. “Do you know how much we can make from the other four pounds?”
“Yeah, I do.” Bird did a quick calculation and, if everything went according to plan, the men would stand to make nearly a quarter of a million dollars. “Fuck it, nigga, let’s do it,” he finally agreed. “This shit has to be airtight, though.”
“Trust and believe it’s going to be tight like virgin pussy.” Syn smiled and dapped his friend while dollar signs danced in his mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
JAMAICA
After pulling up to the large one-level brick building, Jamaica parked her champagne-colored 2009 Nissan Altima. She took one last puff of what was left of her kush blunt then put it out in the ashtray. “Not bad,” she said, then took a sip of the vodka she’d poured in the Everfresh juice bottle before leaving the house.
“Jamaica, what the hell are you doing up in here on your day off?” Dejuan, the bouncer, asked after tapping on her car window.
“I heard the money calling.” Jamaica laughed before exiting the car and giving the tall, muscular bouncer a tight hug. He had been her protector ever since she started dancing at the Upper Room two years ago.
“You came right on time. The place just got packed.” Dejuan licked his lips as Jamaica bent down to grab her purse off the tan passenger seat.
“Good! Have any of the good tippers gotten here yet?” She glanced around the parking lot trying to see what the niggas inside were driving.
“Now you know I don’t know shit about that.” Dejuan shook his head.
“Well, can you at least tell me if they are regs or newbies?” Jamaica pulled down the tight pink mini that was damn near cutting off her circulation.
“Nah, I ain’t ever seen these cats before. They sound like they’re from down South or something.” Dejuan yawned.
“Rappers?” Jamaica smiled widely.
“Maybe.” Dejuan shrugged. “Before I walked out I did see them throwing mad money. You know when Mr. Harry seen that shit he sent them niggas straight into the velvet room.”
“Who’s in there dancing?” Jamaica’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. Whenever Mr. Harry, the club owner, allowed customers to use the velvet room it meant money was flowing like a waterfall. “Anything goes,” was the motto when you worked in the special VIP room, and the two dancers who had the privilege to host were practically guaranteed to walk away with garbage bags full of money.
“Britain and Rayne,” Dejuan replied while shaking his head. He already knew what was about to happen. The strip club was a jungle; everybody was out for themselves. Over the years he’d broken up many fights, and the fighting came more often from the strippers and not the customers.
“Thanks, D. I’ll catch ya later.” With a smile, Jamaica sashayed through the parking lot and waltzed into the newly renovated club like she owned the joint.
For it to be a Thursday night the place was packed just like Dejuan said. Every seat in the club was taken, just the way Jamaica liked it.
“Hey, stranger. I thought you only worked weekends, superstar,” Kat hollered from her position behind the bar. She was a feisty, tattoo-covered redhead working to pay her way through veterinary school. “What the hell are you doing up in here, boo?”
“I’m about to fuck this club up! This shit is packed out tonight!” Jamaica laughed before walking over and giving her girl a hug. “How is school going?” Although she wasn’t into animals, Jamaica was happy to see a girl from the hood following her dream.
“I have one more semester, and then I can start my clinical rotations.” Kat smiled.
“That’s awesome. Keep up the good work.” Jamaica stepped away from the bar and headed down the stairs.
She entered the red dressing room, and several faces stared up at her and then the whispers started. Not one to beat around the bush, Jamaica cut right to the chase. “Yes, bitches, I’m here on my day off, and there is nothing y’all can do about it!” she stated with much attitude while walking over to her locker in the back of the room.
For a second the room fell silent, but then one ballsy bitch named Leesha spoke up. “I thought it was mentioned at the last meeting that we would respect each other’s shifts.”
“What are you saying?” Jamaica asked while rummaging through her locker.
“We don’t come in on your days and work, so why come in on ours?” Leesha continued.
“Exactly!” Tera added.
“Because I fucking can!” With that, Jamaica began to change into a see-through bodysuit trimmed with rhinestones.
She knew half of the girls she danced with were jealous of her. Although she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the group, nor did she have the best body, Jamaica made more money than all of them put together. Maybe it was her swag, the way she danced while she worked the pole, or her freaky reputation, but niggas stayed making it rain on her.
“Does anybody else got something to say, or can we move on so I can get to making some money?” she asked.
Although a few eyes rolled, and some lips smacked, everyone seemingly went on about their business. However, before she
could throw some baby oil on her ass and lace up her heels, Mr. Harry was standing behind her.
“I know one of you childish bitches didn’t go snitch on me, B.” Jamaica laughed, knowing good and well why Harry was there to see her.
“Nobody told me anything, sweetie.” He laughed, completely oblivious to the tension in the dressing room. “I saw you and that big ass come through the front door.” Harry was a sixty-something white man with gray hair and yellow teeth. He dressed like he was an extra in an old movie, and his body always smelled like mints. “What are you doing here, Jamaica?”
Harry really liked the young girl, especially because she was a moneymaker; but he couldn’t show favoritism in front of the other dancers. He knew a few of them despised her so much that they had threatened to quit. Although they had yet to actually do so, he couldn’t afford to lose employees on account of one dancer.
“I came to dance.” Jamaica finished lacing up her shoe with a smirk. “If you need me, Harry, I’ll be in the velvet room.” Without another word, she sashayed through the dressing room like she was that bitch and no one said a word because, in all honesty, she was!
“Kat, I need a bottle of Hennessy,” Jamaica hollered over the music as she walked behind the bar. “Put it on my tab.”
“Coming right up.” Kat grabbed the bottle, filled a bucket with ice, and put a few cups in it.
“Thanks, girl.” Jamaica took her purchase and headed to the velvet room. This was her game. She often treated her customers to a bottle of alcohol to get them drunk and loosen the grip on their wallets. While other dancers kept their hands out, Jamaica understood that sometimes you had to give a little to get a lot.
“Somebody told me to come in here and turn this party up,” she said upon entering the small room covered wall to wall with mirrors.
“This here ain’t for you.” Britain bucked. She was standing barefoot, giving one of the four customers a lap dance on a leather recliner.
“Bitch, you better stay in your lane. I’m not playing with you tonight,” Rayne hollered while holding steady her position on the burgundy metallic pole. Her legs were wide open, giving everyone in the room the money shot. Jamaica wanted to tell that bitch to get her pussy a face-lift because it looked nasty the way it hung out, but instead, she ignored her.
“Who’s the boss?” she asked the men, turning away from Britain and Rayne.
“Who wants to know?” a yellow dude with deep brown waves replied. He was sitting in the chair closest to the small stage. A bag full of money rested at his feet.
“This is for you.” Jamaica extended the bottle she’d placed in the ice bucket. “I’m Jamaica, and you are?”
“You can call me Dre.” He took the bottle and wasted no time pouring a drink.
“Well, Dre, Harry sent me up here to take care of you personally.” She casually straddled his lap and started grinding. Jamaica knew Rayne and Britain were pissed, but she didn’t give a fuck. She was leaving with Dre’s bag.
“Take care of me how, baby girl?” he said while licking his pink lips. He’d seen a lot of ass tonight, but shorty definitely had his full attention.
“I can take care of you however you like.” She unzipped his distressed Robin jeans and watched as his erect dick popped out of his boxers on demand. Silently she wondered why most light-skinned men had dark penises. “You want some pussy now, or would you like some head first to get you in the mood?” She cut right to the chase.
“Damn, baby girl, it’s like that?” Dre heard how dancers got down at the Upper Room but seeing it in person made him a believer.
“Let’s start with some head.” In one swift motion, Jamaica flipped her body upside down until they were in a sixty-nine position.
“Damn, you got a pretty pussy,” Dre whispered before placing his tongue right on her clitoris.
Jamaica didn’t expect to get a little mouth service in return, but she dared not complain. Dre went to work nibbling on her vagina through the sheer lining in her body suit, and she loved every minute. “Ohh,” she moaned while forcing his dick into her wet mouth. It smelled like a combination of must and cologne, but still, Jamaica sucked and licked that shit like it was fresh out of the shower.
“Shit!” Dre squirmed. He’d received head from plenty of bitches in his day, but the tricks this girl was doing made him lose his mind.
“Yo, Dre, it’s almost midnight, man. We need to bounce,” Scooter said while shooing the dancer off his lap.
“Nah, man, I need this.” Dre’s eyes were rolled in the back of his head.
“The sergeant is going to call us in the next thirty minutes,” Scooter reminded him. “If we aren’t at the trap house where we should be, that’s our ass, man.”
“Fuck Sergeant Boyd!” Dre spat. “This has been my case for the last twelve months, and it’s going to stay my case until it’s over. Just relax. We’ll make it on time.”
“Man, Dre, if we aren’t there when the YF boys come through for the stick-up then the whole operation is a failure.” Scooter stood from his chair, and the other two men followed suit. “Come on, nigga,” he barked.
Yet and still, Dre remained seated. “Relax, we got time.” He was on the verge of coming and just needed a few more minutes.
“I didn’t leave my wife and two-year-old daughter back in Atlanta to come all the way to the cold-ass D for nothing,” said Scooter. Until now their mission to apprehend the YF boys had been nothing but a clusterfuck of failure.
“I’m trying to figure out why we got sent on this dummy mission to begin with,” Ken added with disdain.
After a murderous strain of heroin hit the streets of Georgia, people began dying and overdosing left and right. The news channels had a field day with the story and, before long, the mayor personally challenged his old colleague Sergeant Boyd and his intelligence department to get to the bottom of the deadly source. On cue, they hit the ground running and reexamined every statement, crime scene, and piece of evidence.
Upon further investigation, they found the common thread among all the ODs was empty Baggies stamped YF. Their team spent weeks on the streets until they eventually apprehended the guy they believed to be behind the deadly doses of heroin. However, after hours of interrogation, they quickly learned he was merely a midlevel dealer. The mayor wasn’t satisfied, and he offered the man full immunity in exchange for the head of YF on a platter. Without hesitation, the dealer led the intelligence team to Detroit. Needless to say, Sergeant Boyd sent Dre and his team to the murder city!
Immediately they went hard to build their street reputation enough to play in the big-boy league. Month after month they worked their way up the chain, until they had finally reached the top. Initially, the plan was to meet the YF boys, build their trust, and create a business relationship that would provide airtight evidence of their street dealings. However, time was almost up, and the APD was out of options. As a last-ditch effort, they devised a plan with the informant to make the YF rob their spot. Once they were in possession of the heroin, they would be arrested and be put away for a very long time.
“Come on, man! This is our last opportunity to fix this shit.” Scooter was getting more irritated by the second.
“Yeah, man, let’s get this shit over with,” Dewayne added. “We need to put these little niggas in jail so I can get back to the A.” They’d been away from home for way too long. Although he’d come to love Detroit, Atlanta was home.
“Just ten more minutes, man,” Dre almost begged. “Let shorty top me off, and then we’ll head back over to the spot. Sergeant Boyd will call at midnight, and the rest is history.” He spoke while jerking his pelvis up and down. The men were finding it hard to take him seriously as he sat there talking to them while getting his dick sucked. “We will have Bernard and Syris in handcuffs before breakfast, believe me.”
At the mention of familiar names, Jamaica sucked Dre’s dick so hard he climaxed all over her face within seconds. Without even bothering to wipe the whit
e cream off her face she flew from the velvet room, through the club, and down into the dressing room without so much as a second thought. Hell, she didn’t even stay long enough to get her money.
“Hello,” Fly answered on the second ring.
“Fly, where is Syn and Bird?” Jamaica’s heart raced while waiting impatiently for the answer.
“They went to make a run. Why? What’s up?” Fly liked Jamaica, but she didn’t like the way she was asking about her man.
“Girl, get them niggas on the horn and tell them to cancel that shit pronto! They’ve been set up!”
CHAPTER SIX
FLY
“What’s wrong? Why is your face all twisted up?” Kali asked when she returned from the bathroom.
“Jamaica just called and told me to call Syn and Bird.”
“For what?” Kali smacked her lips, instantly on the defensive.
“She told me to tell them they’ve been set up.” Fly tried to dial Syn, but there was no answer.
“Are you serious?” Simultaneously, Kali grabbed the cordless phone off the arm of the couch and called Bird.
“Hello,” he answered on the second ring.
“Baby, come home now.” She exhaled.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
“It’s a setup,” she mumbled.
For a moment Bird was silent. “What you mean?”
“Fly’s friend just called and told her to let y’all know it was a setup.” Kali looked nervously at Fly, who was still trying to get Syn on the phone.
“All right, we’re headed home now.” Bird paused. “Tell Fly to call her girl back and have her meet us at the crib.” Without another word, he ended the call.
“What he say?” Fly was on the edge of her seat.
“He said call Jamaica and tell her to come over.” Kali didn’t know how she felt about Jamaica being at her house, but she wanted to know what was up, so she obliged.
“Oh my God, girl! Do you think everything is okay?” Fly asked before dialing J.
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