Trapstar Double book (Parts 1 & 2 Boxed Set)

by Blake Karrington

  Hakeem looked his attorney directly in the eyes and spoke. “I’ve never left a crap game, and didn’t leave with the bank.” He smiled, then continued. “Put twelve muthafuckas in the box and let’s do it.”

  Twelve months later

  “The Aftermath”

  Hakeem sat alone inside his cell, and for the first time in months, he felt like smiling. After the judge sentenced him to life in prison, he was transported to USP Big Sandy, Kentucky. He was immediately met by a group of his homeboys from North Carolina. A few were even from his hometown of Charlotte. Behind the wall of prison, North Carolina was considered as one. People who usually beefed on the streets were forced to watch each other’s back 24/7.

  As soon as Hakeem got to the pound, he was hit with a few rules. The most important one was his paperwork. It had to be straight, or he would have to leave the compound. If he snitched on someone, he was subject to be killed on the spot, and that could easily be done by one of his own homies. The other rules were simple; no gambling, no drugs, and the most important rule of them all… the no B.B.B. rule! No faggots or what they were referred to on the compound as Big Butt Boys, nasty muthafuckas.

  Day after day, Hakeem would experience something new within the deadly prison walls. Fights, stabbings, and even murder were normal circumstances during everyday prison life, and it took the strongest of men to hold onto not only their sanity, but also their manhood.

  If you were weak, you would fall by the wayside. And once you fell, it was over. You immediately belonged to whoever wanted you. After only two months, Hakeem’s mental state was riding on the fringes of insanity. Throughout all his years of gangbanging in his neighborhood, he’d never seen as much blood as he’d witnessed there. Niggas were getting their heads split wide the fuck open. He’d witnessed some hardcore niggas having to be rolled out of the shower because they’d been gang raped by undercover faggots plotting in the showers at night. Life behind bars was definitely not for the average man.

  Unable to tolerate it anymore, Hakeem contacted his attorney in hopes of working out a deal with the district attorney. After many calls, debriefings, and sleepless nights, his attorney was able to convince the DA to allow his client to become a cooperating witness. Hakeem was so happy about the possibility of reducing his life sentence that he accidentally let his guard down. It nearly cost him his life.

  “Damn nigga, you playin’ that mail call close.” Hakeem’s cellmate said to him.

  “Yea I’m waitin’ on some legal mail playboy,” Hakeem answered.

  “Legal mail?”

  “Yeah legal mail, nigga.”

  “Muthafucka yo black ass got life, just like me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It mean that you gon die in here nigga. That’s what tha fuck it mean.”

  “Nah nigga, I’m bout to…” Hakeem cut his last statement off.

  “What was that Hakeem? What was you about to say?”

  “Never mind, nigga. Never mind.” he said again before walking out the small cell and heading towards the TV room.

  The next several days went by with Hakeem acting strangely to all his homies in his cellblock. Most of them had already been down for a decade or more, and they knew all the signs of someone who was about to crash and burn.

  A couple of days later, Hakeem had gotten caught up on the rec yard and was forced to miss legal mail call. After the rec yard was finally opened, he rushed to the unit in hopes of catching the officers in charge of the mail before they left.

  “Damn!” he mumbled when he walked in and realized the officer had already come and gone. He walked to his cell to prepare for a shower.

  As soon as he stepped onto his cellblock, he was met by a barrage of violent blows. Hakeem’s survival instincts immediately kicked in and he began swinging wildly in all directions. The blows he threw had little to no effect on his attackers. Then, one solid punch to his temple brought him down, and the last thing he remembered was the voice of his cellmate.

  “You fuckin’ bitch ass snitch nigga! Turn that muthafucka over on his stomach.”

  Hakeem didn’t even have time to panic before blackness veiled his eyes.

  The next day, Hakeem awoke in the prison infirmary. Lucky for him, it was time for the COs on duty to make their rounds. The CO was able to call for back up before Hakeem suffered too much damage or possibly death.

  “Damn that was close, “Hakeem said shaking himself from his thoughts.

  He stood up and walked over to the small mirror on the dingy wall. He began examining the bruises all over his face. The following day, he was in transit, on his way back to the Charlotte Mecklenburg County Jail. There, several agents involved in different cases around Charlotte and the surrounding counties would interview him.

  Chapter Seven

  Early on Saturday morning, Charrise sat on the chaise lounge in the media room catching up on VH1’s Basketball Wives. She’d gotten out of her bed and went immediately to the TV. Her sole goal on that day was to empty her DVR of all the shows she’d missed over the last few weeks. Her eyes were glued to the television as yet another girl fight was about to commence. As stupid as she thought those women were, arguing and fighting over gossip and men, she had to laugh at the fact that recently the things going on in her inner circle were beginning to look like the makings of a reality television show.

  She suddenly felt a familiar buzz on her thigh. Charrise looked down at her vibrating phone. An image of her mother smiling with her hair styled in a salt and pepper doobie appeared on the screen.

  “Hey Mama,” Charrise chimed as she answered the phone.

  “Hey baby,” Lorraine said in a murmur.

  “Why are you talking so low? I can barely hear you.”

  “Your father is asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

  “Ok… what’s up?” Charrise could tell something was wrong.

  Herman was known for getting downright belligerent if anyone woke him out of his sleep. It didn’t make any sense that she’d be making the call with him asleep and only a few feet away.

  “I need your help. I mean we… we need your help.”

  “I can’t give ya’ll no more money than I been doing, Ma.”

  “It’s serious baby. He’s in the hospital again.”

  It was at that moment that Charrise noticed the steady beeping in the background.

  “Again?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you. But I think you should know that things aren’t looking good for him.”

  “What’s going on? He seemed fine the last time I saw him. Mean, but healthy.”

  “You didn’t notice how much weight he gained and how bad his skin looked?”

  Charrise felt guilty because she hadn’t. She hadn’t had a lot of interaction with him since she’d moved out. She generally met with her mom to give them money. When she spoke to him on the phone, she rushed him. When she saw him, he was almost always drunk, so she avoided him.

  Lorraine continued. “You kids get grown, and all but forget that you have parents. I’m not surprised that you didn’t notice.”

  “Ma…” Charrise started, remorse coating her words. “It’s not like that. I’ve just—”

  “Been busy. I know. I know. You tell me that all the time. I just want you to know what’s going on with your father. You should tell Brianna too.”

  “I don’t think she’ll really care, but ok.”

  “Herman’s the only father she’s ever known. She should know how bad things are getting, and that we’re damn near drowning in medical debt. I just don’t know how long I can keep this going.”

  Charrise could hear the stress and sorrow in her mother’s voice. Tears started to fill her eyes. She wiped one just before it spilled out. “Well you said you need some help. What do you want me to do?”

  Just as the words left her mouth, Brianna sashayed into the room wearing leggings and a tee shirt that clung to her skin, with fuzzy slippers on her feet. “Wh
o’s that,” she asked with a suspicious look on her face.

  Charrise cupped the phone. “It’s Mama.”

  Brianna shook her head. “What does she want now? She better not be asking for more money.”

  Charrise put her finger up to hush her sister and returned her attention to her mother’s voice.

  “He has cirrhosis of the liver. I think he’s going to end up needing a transplant.”

  “Well Ma, I only have one liver, so I can’t help you there.”

  Brianna scrunched up her face. “What? A liver? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Hold on a sec Mama,” Charrise cupped her hand over the phone for the second time. “So apparently, Daddy has cirrhosis of the liver.”

  Brianna was indifferent. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Look sis, I know you hate him, but he’s still my dad.”

  “You know I know that, and I wish I could be a bigger person and feel even a little bit bad for him. But …”

  “I know you don’t. I tried to tell Mama that. Let me finish up with her real quick.” Charrise put the phone back to her ear. “I’m back. So I can’t give him a liver, but what else can I do?”

  “Well it’s like what I was telling you earlier, I don’t know how long we can keep paying these hospital bills.”

  “What about your insurance?”

  “We had to cut back once things started going downhill at the restaurants. We don’t have decent coverage. Bills are starting to mount.”

  “Ma, I already give ya’ll a lot of money every month.”

  Lorraine exhaled loudly into the phone. “I know baby. And we really appreciate it. But if you could just do a little more …”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Ma.”

  “Maybe your sist —”

  “Don’t even go there. She’s not hearing it… AT ALL.”

  “Ok, well if nothing else, you could at least come check on him more often.”

  “I can do that for sure. Look, I gotta go. I’ma see what I can work out for you and I’ll give you a call back later, ok?”

  “Ok baby. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  When Charrise got off the phone, Brianna was sitting in a chair across the room in her standard mad stance. Arms and legs crossed. Her top leg bobbed up and down at a fast pace.

  “I’m not going to let you give them any more money, Charrise.”

  “B, I’m grown. I can do what I want with my money!”

  “This just don’t make no sense. You shouldn’t have to take care of him. Especially, not after the way he came at you the last time.”

  “But he’s really sick.”

  “Weren’t you the one telling me about how his drinking was getting out of control? Didn’t you even say he was drunk at Jonathan’s graduation cookout? That wasn’t that long ago Charrise. What would be the point of you giving extra money? He will get healthy just so he can keep drinking, and let it all go to waste anyway.”

  “So I’m just supposed to sit back and not do anything?”

  “Like you said, you’re grown. I can’t tell you what to do with your money, but you need to consider this. Why would you be doing more to benefit his health than he’s doing for himself? He’s still drinking, even though he knows he has this condition. I wouldn’t give him a damn thing.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hakeem sat alone in the holding cell just outside the main courtroom. His adrenaline was still pumping from the testimony he’d just given on his latest trial case.

  “Shit nigga, you could have won an Oscar wit dat one.” he said to himself. “Damn.”

  He smiled as he thought about the immediate release he’d been promised if the courts got a conviction with his testimony.

  Well they got that conviction, and even better for the D.A., all four defendants had received three life sentences each. Hakeem never thought twice about the fact that one of those defendants was a woman with four kids, who he once considered a friend.

  “Here I come muthafuckas! Yeah, here I fuckin’ come. That nigga bout to be back on the block!” he screamed, pumping his fist in the air.

  Hakeem’s lawyer filed two separate motions on his behalf. A motion for reduction in sentence, because he gave the government substantial assistance, and he also filed a S.K.I. motion asking for immediate release. For the next three weeks, Hakeem paced the floor of his cell day and night. Whenever he did decide to sleep, visions of Brianna flooded his thoughts like never before.

  That’s why the bitch was acting the way she was, he mused. Hakeem had finally figured out why those three extra kilos were placed in his package. Brianna had planned it. “She knew I would take the bait. Damn that was stupid!” Hakeem shouted, mad at himself.

  Then he gave a grim smile.

  “But bitch I’ma hit you where it really hurts.” He mumbled with thoughts of Brianna and her little sister Charrise running through his head.

  Hakeem didn’t sleep a wink that night. He just kept walking around in circles in his tiny cell. His lawyer had assured him that he would be out shortly after shift change. He was watching the clock, waiting on 7:00am.

  “Mr. Johnson, are you ready?” Hakeem’s lawyer asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

  “What kinda motherfucking question is that? Hell yeah I’m ready!”

  “Well you just have to go through the standard release procedures and I will meet you downstairs.”

  It was a Tuesday morning, so processing went quickly. He shook Mr. Randolph’s hand and walked outside into the fresh Charlotte morning air, a free man.

  He was immediately greeted with a hug and kiss from Tiffany. “I missed you so much babe. It’s about to be on and popping now that you back. I got a big welcome home party lined up for you tonight at Club Nikki’s. The whole city coming out!”

  “That’s what’s up. Where you parked at? I’m trying to get as far away from this place as fast as possible.” Hakeem responded, while walking towards the parking deck.

  When they arrived at the car, Hakeem instructed Tameka to give him the keys.

  “Let me drive, while you take care of a nigga.”

  “What you mean Hakeem?” Tiffany asked, while entering the passenger side of the car and fastening her seatbelt.

  “Go ahead and handle the situation for a nigga,” he responded, looking at his already erect dick, pulsating through his pants.

  “Hakeem, its broad daylight out here, and we’re in a public place. You can’t wait till we get home? I can really take care of you then, Daddy!” she said, trying to sound convincing.

  “Look, that’s all good, but just take care of this for me right now.”

  Hakeem didn’t wait for her to agree. Instead, he grabbed the back of Tiffany’s head and pushed it into his crotch while pulling his rock hard penis out at the same time.

  Tiffany sucked her teeth in disapproval, but did as she was told and began sucking and slurping like she had a double dipped cone from Dairy Queen. Hakeem sat back and enjoyed the whole scene. He had visualized this sight in his mind, repeatedly while locked up, and now here he was. It didn’t take long for Hakeem to bust off. He held Tiffany’s head tightly against his mid-section, while his dick filled her mouth with cum. His head fell back against the headrest.

  “Damn, I really did miss you. That was some good shit!” he spoke between gasps.

  “Not half as good as it’s going to be when I get you home.” Tiffany responded after swallowing a mouth full semen.

  That night, Hakeem sat inside Club Nikki’s. Tameka didn’t lie. Everyone in the city was at the hottest strip club in Charlotte. He glanced at his Rolex watch, then silently cursed under his breath.

  “Can I get you another drink?” asked an almost nude waitress, interrupting his thoughts.

  Hakeem didn’t answer right away. Instead, he checked out her skimpy attire, which consisted of a thin black wife beater, cut off barely below the bottom of her breast. Stretched across the thin material were the wo
rds Nikki’s.

  “Nice shirt,” he said, forgetting her question and eyeing her two beautifully erect nipples. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard?”

  “Nah I haven’t.”

  “Damn nigga where you been, under a rock or sum’en?” she spat, then rolled her eyes towards the ceiling before continuing. “Well anyway, this is a homecoming.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Alright cool—I’ll take that drink,” he requested, then dug into his pocket, only to be stopped by her.

  “Oh no suga, all drinks are on the house, compliments of Havok.”

  “That’s whasup shawty. This for you, then.” he said, and gave her a twenty dollar bill.

  “I’ll be at the bar if you need anything, and I do mean A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G,” she stressed before turning to leave.

  “What’s yo’ name shawty?” Hakeem asked.

  “I’m sorry, call me Stormy.”

  “Stormy?” he asked, wondering where she got a name like that from.

  Like she had just read his mind, she responded. “Yes Stormy, because I can definitely make a cloud, all you have to do is make it rain, nigga.”

  “What’s yo name anyway?”

  “Hakeem… but you can just call me Havok.” he said with a sly smile.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were the man of the hour.” She grinned, then turned and strutted towards the bar.

  After getting his drink, Hakeem focused his attention on the many posters, fliers, and photos hanging throughout the club. Tiffany had really out done herself. But right now, he had other things on his mind.

  “Damn,” Hakeem mumbled.

  Everything was going according to his plan, except for the fact that his nigga was late! Hakeem turned to the door, just as Tank, also known around the city as Biggie, because of his resemblance to the late rapper, walked in. Tank really made one understand the big, black and ugly, the famous rapper had spoken about.