When It All Falls Down 4 - It Just Ain't Over Yet: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady)

by Tamicka Higgins

  It Just Ain’t Over Yet

  A Chicago Hood Drama

  Hustler’s Lady Book 4

  Tamicka Higgins

  © 2015

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

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  Hustler’s Lady Series

  When It All Falls Down (free)

  Strapped Up

  Somebody is Gonna Die

  Content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Author’s Note

  Books by Tamicka

  Chapter 1

  If there was one place in the United States that Ayana thought she would never travel to, she would definitely say it was Nebraska, more specifically, Omaha, Nebraska. However, as they drove west out of the Chicago Police Department and headed west in Byron’s black Bugatti, Jackson was on the phone making calls. Since his phone wasn’t on a contract, they were the most confident with him making calls and not having to worry about the authorities tracking his conversations and whereabouts.

  “Nigga, so what?” Tramar asked, getting a little frustrated. Tramar had been behind the wheel of the Bugatti for nearly seven hours, most of the distance between Chicago and Omaha. They’d thought about stopping sooner, particularly when they passed through Des Moines, Iowa, the capital. But with his nerves still on edge from putting a bullet in Byron’s head, Tramar wanted to get as far away as he possibly could before feeling exhausted. When Jackson had mentioned that he had a buddy who was laying low in Omaha, Tramar decided that he could keep pushing until they got to Omaha. The plan was still to get to Los Angeles, but doing such a drive in one stretch would practically be impossible. For today, though, he needed for Chicago to be as far behind him as possible. “Nigga, I don’t want to have been drivin’ this far and shit and the nigga can’t help us out or nothin’,” Tramar said. “If that was gon’ be the case, we coulda stopped our black asses in Des Moines and shit, and I coulda went to sleep.”

  Jackson looked over the console at his boy Tramar. “Nigga, calm down,” Jackson told him. “I told you I texted the nigga earlier, and he said that when he got done with some shit, he was gon’ hit me back. Trust me, Tramar. I been knowin’ this nigga for fuckin’ ever. You met him, Durrell. He came to Chicago a couple times, and we chilled and shit, remember?”

  “Yeah, but what that got to do with right now?” Tramar asked. “I’m tired of being out on this road. And it ain’t even like we got a real plan or nothin’, or any connects. We hit the road sayin’ we was goin’ to L.A. and that’s it.”

  “Nigga, shut the fuck up with all that,” Jackson said. “You know we gotta get as far away from Chicago as fuckin’ possible, especially your ass, nigga. You know they really gon’ be lookin’ for you since you killed that security guard at that bank.”

  Tramar looked over at Jackson with scolding eyes. “Nigga, fuck you,” he said.

  “Naw, nigga, fuck you,” Jackson said, chuckling. “You already fucked and you know it. We gon’ have to really lay low. I told you the nigga text me sayin’ that he could help us out until we figured out what we was gon’ do.”

  “And how he gon’ do that?” Tramar asked. “What he got? A ranch or some shit out in the country where we can hide in barns and shit off the road and shit where nobody see our asses?” Tramar shook his head, snickering. “Man, if this shit gets us caught, I swear I’mma hate your ass for the rest of our fuckin’ lives, nigga.”

  “Nigga, if we get caught,” Jackson said. “We gon’ hate ourselves for the rest of our lives. That’s why we gotta be smart about this shit. Look at what we already doin’ now.” He looked around at Byron’s Bugatti. “The police ain’t gon' be lookin’ for Byron’s Bugatti, and they can’t track my cell phone because it’s prepaid. Your cell phone and car is gone, so they don’t even know where the fuck you are.”

  “And I’m a suspect now too,” Ayana chimed in, joining the conversation.

  Ayana had been asleep off and on in the backseat. Once they’d gotten out of the city, the land quickly became very flat and farm-like. Ayana hated it. She never realized how much she’d miss Chicago – how much she’d miss the comfort of being surrounded by buildings; the comfort of not being alone in what could only be described as the middle of nowhere – until they’d begun to roll through rural Illinois then Iowa. Iowa, made her cringe. It simply looked devoid of life or anything interesting.

  “Baby, I ain’t know you was awake,” Tramar said. He looked back in the mirror then at the time, thinking back to the last time they’d stopped to get gas and use the restrooms. “You ain’t gotta go to the restroom, do you?” he asked. “I mean, if you do, that’s cool. I’m gettin’ hungry and shit, and we gotta wait on this nigga, who betta be about his word, to hit us back.”

  “Nigga, would you shut the fuck up about that shit?” Jackson asked, clearly annoyed. “You actin’ like Durrell is just supposed to be free for us and shit when we roll out of Chicago after robbin’ some banks and killin’ somebody. I don’t think he had this shit on his calendar last week or anything.”

  “Actually,” Ayana said, rising up. She looked out at the road, waiting until they rolled up on the next sign. Within seconds, they’d passed a sign that indicated the next interstate exit had restaurants, gas stations, and hotels. “Get off up here,” she said. “I do gotta pee.” She felt her stomach. “And I’m a little hungry too.”

  Jackson agreed, saying that he was a little hungry. When Tramar came up on the exit, he switched lanes and got off. An uneasy feeling came over all of them. Whatever town they were in did not look to be the kind of place that had too many black people. Tramar had turned left and headed toward what looked like commercial development in the distance. Once they drove into it, they found themselves not only surrounded by restaurants and gas stations with subdivisions in the background, but also a friendly reminder that everybody around them was white.

  “Damn, ain’t no niggas out here,” Jackson said, looking out the window. “What town is this?”

  “I don’t fuckin’ know,” Tramar said. “All I know is that we in Iowa between Des Moines and Omaha. Let’s just hurry up and get something to eat and get the fuck outta here before the fuckin’ KKK or somebody like that come runnin’ out of the shadows and shit.”

  Ayana laughed as the three of them looked around to see what options they had for this time of day on a Sunday afternoon. When they spotted a Ponderosa up ahead,
they all agreed that an inexpensive buffet wouldn’t be a bad choice. Tramar drove up and pulled into the parking lot. Inside, they were seated at a booth in the back of the restaurant by an older white hostess. She smiled, took their drink orders then returned moments later to set the glasses on the table. After telling them to help themselves to the buffet, Ayana went to the bathroom.

  As the three of them ate, they were somewhat comforted with the fact that the restaurant wasn’t full of people. Rather, it was nice to be sitting in a place where they could talk without having to worry about people around them listening, as there were no people around them. Despite this, they kept their eyes aware and on full alert. If a police or sheriff car rolled by the restaurant on the main road, all three of them would look out and watch its taillights until it disappeared into the distance.

  “Man, have you heard from that nigga or what?” Tramar asked. “I know we ain’t that far from Omaha and shit, and we need to be figuring out now what we gon’ do and if that nigga is really even gonna be able to help us or not.”

  “Nigga, calm down,” Jackson said, making the calming hand gesture. “Chill out, my dude.”

  Within moments, Jackson’s phone was vibrating against the surface of the Ponderosa table. Tramar and Ayana stopped talking to look at it, each putting their food down as the tension at the table rose. When Jackson picked his phone up, he announced that it was a text from Durrell. Durrell had asked if the two of them could talk on the phone. Jackson obliged, telling Tramar and Ayana to be quiet as they looked around to make sure that nobody was close enough to hear his conversation.

  “Wassup, my nigga?” Durrell asked when Jackson answered the phone.

  “Man, like I said,” Jackson said, his voicing clearly having an undertone of desperation, “we need your fuckin’ help and shit, man. I ain’t know nobody else that we could ask.”

  “Where y’all at now?” Durrell asked, thinking about what information he’d been given so far. “Y’all niggas ain’t stop and sleep or nothin’ on the way?”

  “Naw,” Jackson said, shaking his head and looking at Tramar and Ayana. “And we tired as fuck. Been up all night and shit. But, bruh, listen. Do you think you can help us and shit or what? All we need is somewhere to lay low for a couple days until we figure out what we gon’ do and how we gon’ do it.”

  “Damn,” Durrell said. “Y’all niggas really got somebody after y’all, don’t you?”

  “Not just somebody,” Jackson said. “The fuck police and shit, my nigga. We try’na get the fuck outta sight for as long as we can. And right now, we in this little ass, white town somewhere between Des Moines and Omaha, I guess. I don’t know what the fuck the name of this place is. We eatin’ and shit and I hit you up because I knew you was a real dude that would help a nigga out if he really needed it.”

  “Shit, that’s coo,” Durrell said. “I mean, I got the bracelet and shit on right now, but y’all can come and chill here for a sec if you want. I got an extra bedroom and a basement and shit. Y’all just can’t tell nobody that you here ‘cause I definitely don’t need the fuckin’ cops bustin’ down my door and shit.”

  “We feel you on that,” Jackson said. “But, bruh, trust me. We gon’ be as quiet as church mice and shit. All we need is somewhere to figure out what the fuck we gon’ do. We not even gon be there prolly no more than a couple days. Fuck them fuckin’ racist ass police. They not gon’ just catch us like that.”

  “A’ight,” Durrell said. “How you gon’ write down where I live and shit so you can find it without no problem? Google the shit or somethin’.”

  Jackson held his phone away from his head and suggested that Ayana use her phone to save this information. Once she’d gotten her phone out, seeing that she had missed calls and text messages from more than one person, she opened the notepad and typed out the address as Durrell gave it through the phone to Jackson. Once Jackson hung up, he grabbed Ayana’s phone and googled the address to see what part of Omaha they’d be venturing into within the next few hours.

  “We gon’ have to get rid of that,” Tramar said, pointing at Ayana’s phone. “It’s only a matter of time before they go as far as trackin’ your shit and shit, if you say that they done already come knockin’ at your mama’s door and shit askin’ about you.”

  Ayana looked down and away. At various points on their ride out of Chicago, different kinds of feelings came over her. At times, she was confident and brave. She looked at the situation as one that probably was unavoidable because Tramar had to get his father and stepmother back from Byron. However, there were other moments when Ayana felt guilty. She was leaving her entire world behind when, in reality, she hadn’t committed any violent crime. She was well aware that she could probably get herself out of this situation with the help of Tramar and Jackson saying that she had nothing to do with any of the robberies. But when Ayana looked at Tramar, she knew she wouldn’t be able to simply live her life without him. Her goal was to be loyal, just like he’d been toward her. For that reason, she never took any of her chances to get up and run.

  “I know,” Ayana said, shaking her head. “I was thinkin’ the same thing earlier. If they comin’ to my mama’s door and bustin’ in a hotel room registered to me, they gon’ be on this phone as soon as they get the number.”

  “Right,” Tramar said, biting his lip. He then had a thought. “We gon’ have to throw them off the trail, somehow.” He looked toward the back parking lot. He noticed that there were several semi trucks parked there. He pointed at them and explained his idea to Jackson and Ayana.

  They finished eating, tipped the waitress, and walked back outside. Out on the sidewalk between the restaurant entrance and the parking lot, Tramar held his hand out toward Ayana. Hesitantly, Ayana handed her phone over to Tramar. It was a hard thing to do, but they knew it was necessary. They were due to be in Omaha in probably less than a few hours, and Durrell would be waiting on them. On top of that, they needed to do whatever they could to throw the police off of their trail.

  Tramar, cautious of any police cars riding by, walked around to the back of the restaurant. After making sure that Ayana’s phone was on and fully operating, he found a semi truck with an opened window and tossed the phone inside. It disappeared into the dimly lit and cluttered area behind the seats, falling into a pile of papers and restaurant trash. Quickly, Tramar walked back around to the front of the building where they all climbed back into the car.

  The next few hours to Omaha seemed long and drawn out. Not only was the rural scenery of Iowa so drab and depressing, but the sun was setting, reminding them that they’d been up and on the road for more than twenty-four hours. Each of them could feel the tiredness in their eyes. Tramar, in particular, felt heavy. He knew that he was fine driving the rest of the way, but as soon as he got to a bed, he was going to sleep as if he were in a coma.

  Tramar saw the sign coming up that welcomed the interstate travelers to Nebraska. They crossed over the Missouri River, coming from Council Bluffs, and going into downtown Omaha. Once they’d gotten off of the highway and began to make their way through downtown to get to what was known as North Omaha, Ayana couldn’t help but look around at the high rises. She knew she was no longer in Chicago. Everything was so quiet. Sirens didn’t blare in the background. The sidewalks running along the sides of the streets were bare and the shops were closed.

  “This place looks boring as hell,” Ayana said, not directly talking to anybody.

  “Good,” Tramar said. “Let’s just hope that it stay boring and shit, so we ain’t gotta worry about nobody lookin’ here to find our asses.”

  “I meant to ask you, Tramar,” Ayana said. “Did you throw my phone in some bushes or some shit back there or did you throw it under a truck?”

  “Naw,” Tramar said, shaking his head. “I found this truck with his window open and tossed the shit in there. Now, whenever whoever drivin’ that shit take off and if the police decide to track the phone, they gon’ be followin’ that ph
one wherever that trucker go.”

  Jackson looked over at Tramar, telling him to be looking for Bedford Avenue in about a mile and a half. “Yeah, well,” he said. “Let’s just hope that driver ain’t comin’ over here to Omaha.”

  “Well, if he is,” Tramar said, “it ain’t gon’ be that big of a deal. We gon’ have to figure out where we goin’ and probably head in a different direction after here, anyway.”

  For the next several minutes, the three of them soaked in the hood parts of Omaha. While they were certainly nothing compared to the high rise low-income housing projects that plagued the Chicago skyline, Tramar could still see that a much smaller city had its element of crime as well.

  “Turn up there,” Jackson said, pointing at a side street a block ahead.

  Tramar switched lanes and turned right as Jackson said. Seconds passed and he was pulling the car up outside of Durrell’s address. The three of them looked at the small white house, which was on a block that didn’t even have sidewalks. In the next block, they could see people walking down the gravel sides of the inner city street, and this reminded them of scenes in movies that were set in rural areas.

  “This place is country as fuck,” Tramar said. “I mean, it’s kind of a big city, but not really.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why that nigga moved here,” Jackson said, seeing that Durrell had just pulled his door open and had waved out to them to come inside. “Snap, I remember. Something about some chick he got pregnant or somethin’. They was try’na work it out and be together and do the family thing, but you know how that go when you get a crazy bitch pregnant.”

  Ayana snickered, causing Tramar to look back at her in the rearview. He knew she was smiling because Jackson’s comment had made her think of Precious. “Stop it,” Tramar said, playfully.”