Detective Rice stared at her face. He didn’t mean to stare so hard, but it was a shock to him to see how much her features had changed. Apple’s face was framed by dark shoulder-length hair, and her clear mask was highly visible. Detective Rice was mute for a short moment. He remembered how beautiful she was once, and looking at Apple now, he felt sorry for her.
Detective Rice peered at Apple with a deadpan expression. “You remember me?” he asked.
Apple nodded.
“Why don’t you shut the car off so we can talk?”
“I’m not going anywhere. You have me blocked in, Detective.”
Detective Rice turned and glanced at his car. He then focused his attention back on Apple. “Nice car. It definitely stands out around here. How much does something this flashy go for?”
“Look, Detective, what do you want with me? I’m a busy girl.”
“Well, first, I’m sorry for what happened to you. I know it’s a tragedy. And then with your sister, we’re still—”
“Look, Detective, er . . . ”
“Rice,” he reminded her.
“Detective Rice, am I under arrest?”
“No, not right now.”
“So what’s this about? Because I got somewhere to be.”
“It’s about you, Apple. I know you’re angry. A lot has happened to you within the year, but these murders going on around here point back to you.”
“Can you prove it?”
Detective Rice was quiet. Apple had her answer.
“How long do you think you’ll last out here? You’re still a little girl, Apple. People are out here to kill you. Is this the way you want to carry out the memory of your little sister, through sheer bloodshed and revenge? You’re just eighteen.”
Apple quickly snatched the mask from her face to give the detective a closer look at her wounds. “Do I look like a little girl to you right now?” she shouted. “Huh, nigga? And you think I give a fuck? Look at what the fuck they did to me! To my fuckin’ face! You see it, detective? This is my fuckin’ reality!” She angled herself closer to him so he could get a better look at the burns entrenched into her skin.
He didn’t cringe though. He had seen worse. Apple held his stare. Detective Rice knew it wouldn’t be long before the morgue was scraping her body off the pavement, or charges would be pending against her.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
Apple smirked and replied, “Harlem.”
“Here’s my card.”
Apple took his card and tossed it out the window. “Fuck ya card!”
“It doesn’t have to be like this. You need help.”
Apple put her mask back on, adjusted the straps, then turned to the detective and asked, “Can I fuckin’ go now? I ain’t got time to play this cat-and-mouse wit’ you.” She revved the engine, indicating her impatience.
Detective Rice slowly stepped away from the pricey vehicle, his eyes still on Apple. He shook his head knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the girl. She was too badly damaged, inside and out.
***
Meanwhile, a burgundy Tahoe parked across the street from the barbershop with keen eyes fixated on Apple and her high-end car. The three men in the truck were about to make their move on her when the detective suddenly pulled up. They were forced to hesitate on their plan to carjack Apple. They wanted her McLaren with a hard-on.
“This muthafuckin cop! Ooooh, this fuckin’ cop is in the way right now,” Hayden exclaimed. “I want that shit, yo. That bitch needs to come out that fuckin’ car.”
“Yo, we on it, Hayden. We definitely on it,” Mann said.
Hayden was a twenty-four-year-old ruffian who stood six feet even with a bald head and narrowing eyes that were always scheming on something or someone. He’d never known his parents, and the only thing he knew how to do well was steal and fight. Hayden had his eye on Apple’s McLaren for the longest. He had a wild crew under his wing that did stickups and stole cars, sometimes with the driver still behind the wheel. It didn’t matter to his crew if it was broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. If they wanted something, they took it brazenly.
Hayden had the .45 gripped in his hand and was waiting for the detective to leave. His attention was only on the McLaren. He knew the retail on the car would make his payday. He also knew about Apple and her sudden reputation in Harlem. He had already said to himself, if he had to shoot the bitch to get the car, he was ready to do so.
After Detective Rice pulled off in the Chevy, Hayden had made his exit from the truck and rushed over to do the deed, but Apple had sped out the parking spot before he could even get close to the car.
“Fuck!” he shouted. He ran back to his car and tried to cut a sharp U-turn in the street, but before he could complete it, an oncoming car approaching in the opposite direction abruptly cut off the Tahoe, halting Hayden’s chance to follow behind the McLaren.
Hayden had cursed, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would see Apple again. He was going to take that car away from her by any means necessary.
***
Apple heard the hard knocking at her front door. It boomed throughout the house like loud thunder, but she chose to ignore it. She already knew who was waiting for her outside. It was early morning. The nightmare had finally arrived. After countless letters and warnings about their mortgage and the lagging behind in payments, the bank finally decided to make their move and carry out an eviction. They were taking her home away from her. They had come to embarrass her. She no longer had any sanctuary in her home. It was being ripped away from her, just like everything else.
Apple had peered out her bedroom window and saw the sheriff and marshals standing outside with a team of men ready to barge into the house.
“This is the sheriff! Open up!” the voice roared with conviction. “We will come in!”
She didn’t want to believe it. The tears of anguish stained her face, and many worries were playing constantly in her head. Everything she owned was there, and even though she hadn’t been in the house long, it was her home. It was away from Harlem, and it gave her comfort.
The marshals continued to shout and bang at the front door.
Apple continued to ignore them. She wanted to take a pistol and shoot them dead, or put the pistol in her own mouth and squeeze, since it felt like she had nothing to live for. They were violating her. It looked like there was a drug raid at her home, with all the uniforms and commotion happening.
Apple sat in her bedroom butt naked, staring at the walls in the dark. She wanted to be consumed by it—the darkness. It was the story of her life. The mask was off and lying on the dresser. She wanted the marshals to see the scars on her face and the core of her skin.
The bedroom looked like it had been hit by a whirlwind. Her clothes were scattered everywhere. The plasma TV was smashed to the ground. The closet doors were kicked in and hanging from their hinges. The walls had holes the size of basketballs in them. The bedroom showed it had clearly been vandalized. It was a straight “fuck you” from Apple to the bank and the people forcing her out.
The knocking intensified, but Apple wasn’t getting up to let men trying to evict her into her home. If they wanted in, it would have to be by force. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.
The front door was forced open with a thump, and the men came rushing into her home. They searched the house looking for her. It didn’t take them long to find Apple in the bedroom. The bedroom door was forced open, and four men clad in flight vests and windbreakers that read U.S. Marshal and Sheriff came rushing in. They were quickly shocked by what they saw. Apple was seated Indian-style on her bed. She didn’t even acknowledge that they were in the room. She carried her deadpan demeanor and continued to sit there.
“Ma’am, you gotta get dressed and leave this residence immediately.”
It was evident that the men were disturbed by what they saw. They didn’t expect Apple to be so young, and the burns on her face, the mes
s to the bedroom, and her nakedness had them taken aback.
The alpha male of the four men approached Apple as she sat. “Ma’am, you got to get dressed and leave here now. I’m not going to tell you again,” he said harshly, his blue eyes shooting into her, showing his aggravation.
As Apple sat and continued ignoring them, the man turned to look at his fellow officers. They hated to carry out brute force, but Apple wasn’t giving them a choice. They had the writ of restitution, an official court document that directed them to immediately remove the occupants of the specific premises, inventory the property located therein, and turn the possession of the property over to the plaintiff, which was the bank. Everything was being videotaped for their well-being. If things got ugly, then the marshals would have video documentation that they did everything by the book.
The marshal sighed heavily. He glanced at his fellow officers again, his eyes indicating that they had to use force with her, which he seemed to be against. The silver-haired marshal approached Apple in a stern manner. She remained seated. He reached out to grab the young teen. He wrapped his thick, chubby fingers around her thin right arm, tightening his hold onto her.
Apple suddenly reacted. “Get the fuck off me!”
She tried to pull herself away from the marshal’s stern hold, but he was too strong. When he dragged Apple out of the bed, a loud thud was heard.
Apple continued to fight them off, but she was immediately overpowered by the three husky men, while the fourth videotaped the incident. She tussled and shouted but was instantly subdued and covered up.
“You can’t stay here!” the silver-haired man said to her roughly.
Apple looked up at him with a steely glare while still on the floor. She remained quiet.
“Now, take what you need to take. You have thirty minutes to pack it up and leave the premises,” he said. “If not, then you will be arrested and charged for trespassing. Do you understand me?”
Apple was still quiet.
“Do you understand me?”
She was in a no-win situation. Apple didn’t want to go to jail. She reluctantly nodded.
“OK. Please put some clothes on, and you have thirty minutes.”
Apple was lifted off the ground and handed a shirt and some jeans to put on. She got dressed while the men waited outside her bedroom. She looked around but didn’t know what to take. Teary-eyed, she grabbed a large trash bag and started throwing some clothing into it.
Fifteen minutes later, she had packed a few things, mostly clothing and some shoes. Apple just wanted to forget about everything. The marshals came in and escorted her out of her home like she was on her way to death row.
Apple tossed what she could into her McLaren. Trunk space was almost nonexistent in the stylish sports car, so Apple wasn’t able to take much. The marshals stood guard outside of the house like they were soldiers standing watch outside of a castle.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to go now?”
“It’s not our concern, but you can’t come back here,” the marshal said.
Her tears were dried, but she was crushed. She had it all once, but now everything was gone. She went from the gully projects to enjoying the picturesque view that the West Side had to offer, to living in an extravagant home upstate, and now she was homeless.
Notices of eviction were posted on her home along with a padlock on the front door. It was embarrassing for Apple. She didn’t know where to go or who to turn to.
Chico had suggested that she go live with her mother for the time being, but Apple was against it. She refused to go crawling back to her mother after the way she had treated her. Apple didn’t want to give Denise the satisfaction, and she knew her mother would rub the entire incident in her face.
Apple got behind the wheel of her car. It was the only thing she had left that reminded her of the wealth she once had. She glared over at the marshals and sheriff standing outside of her home and shouted, “Fuck y’all! Y’all some fuckin’ bastards!”
The men kept their composure. They had a job to do and didn’t allow their emotions to intervene with the task.
Apple sped out of the driveway like she was in the Indy 500 and hit the corners doing 40 mph. As she drove farther away from her home, her tears began to resurface. She was hurting. She was scared. She didn’t have anywhere to go. She only had a few hundred dollars on her, and that wouldn’t last but a week for her.
She drove around aimlessly for a moment and tried to pass the day away by just driving. But gas wasn’t cheap, and it would be costly to fill up her gas tank. She parked on a tree-lined block in a secluded section in the neighborhood, the sun slowly setting behind the horizon.
Apple wanted to disappear like the sun. She nestled in the driver’s seat, trying to find some comfort in the McLaren. But the car was for show, not for living in.
It got cramped after a few hours, and her joints started to hurt from the constant fidgeting. She ended up falling asleep in the parked car in tears, suicide not far from her mind.
Chapter 22
The meeting with the Johnson brothers was in an hour. Tatiana had done her part and had gotten her brothers to meet with Chico, and it didn’t surprise him that they’d agreed. North Carolina was going through a drought, and there was desperation among the hustlers to get their hands on something right away. Chico wanted to become their pipeline. He could monopolize the South if he made the right moves. He probably could start fresh in Charlotte; there wasn’t any Chico or Kola down there. He was a new face. He wasn’t warring with anybody. Yet, Chico’s pride prevented him from staying away from home for too long. He was ready to travel back to Harlem after the deal and finish off what he had started. He vowed revenge, and he was a man who kept his word. His gun was ready to do the talking for him.
Chico wanted to let the Johnson brothers know that he was the real thing and definitely serious about doing business with them. One way to solidify his name among the brothers was to have something tangible at their reach. Showing would make them believe him.
He removed a kilo from the duffel bag that was locked in his trunk, placed it inside of a smaller bag, and got into Tatiana’s truck. Everything Chico was doing was a risk, so he was trying to stay two steps ahead of any troubling situations.
Tatiana turned her cocaine-colored Yukon into the parking lot of a strip club on West Woodlawn Road. Chico was in the passenger seat, the small bag resting on the floor between his legs. It was a Thursday evening, and the parking lot was crowded. The Champagne Room was a huge one-story building that looked like a large warehouse and had its name lit up in bold neon lettering over the front entrance.
Tatiana parked her truck directly outside the front entrance, where there was valet parking. One of the parking attendants recognized her vehicle right away and came rushing over to assist her. Chico stepped out of the truck clutching the bag, and Tatiana walked around the vehicle to hand her keys over to a short Mexican man wearing a bright red vest, a black shirt, and black pants. He nodded and greeted Tatiana with a smile then jumped behind the wheel to park the vehicle.
Chico followed behind Tatiana toward the front entrance. The three-man security detail out front all stood over six feet tall, weighed over two hundred pounds, and every one of the men was clad in tight black T-shirts that highlighted their strapping physiques. Tatiana gave them a head nod and briskly moved past them with Chico right behind her, knowing she was exempt from the searches or the cover charge. It was her brothers’ club, and she was a well-known figure throughout the establishment.
They walked through the short foyer where there was a man in black clutching a handheld security detector wand and a small booth with a young girl seated behind it that took the cover charge for the door. Smiling, the man waved them through with ease. Tatiana and Chico walked into the adult entertainment establishment and were greeted with the blaring music of Piles and Jeezy’s “Lose My Mind.”
The thunderous bass ripped through the vibrant, dimmed club, cau
sing the walls to rattle. Naked women moved around dancing with the ballers, who were popping bottles and tipping the girls spread in every corner of the room. The place had attitude with an upscale décor. It had a full bar and a large, luxurious upstairs VIP area overlooking the main floor, and titillating tableside dancing. The customers were able to enjoy different selections of champagne and fine imported cigars with the lovely girls, along with catching major sporting events on wide-screen televisions.
The stage had dual gold poles centered on each end with blue illuminated lights trimmed around it. Two voluptuously endowed strippers were on stage twirling around the poles and making their booties clap. There were a total of thirty young, beautiful, and scantily clad women of all flavors circling the club and providing private dances with bottle services being offered.
Chico followed behind Tatiana. The place was thick with male patrons. The Champagne Room was a very popular spot in Charlotte. It was only one of the few businesses that the brothers owned. They also had a mechanic shop on Old Pineville Road, a moving service, a dry cleaner, and a grocery store. They were about their business, legal and illicit. Chico understood that the brothers were a force to be reckoned with. They came from Richmond and took over a different city, which took skills, heart, and pure muscle.
Meeting with the Johnson brothers didn’t scare Chico. He was far from intimidated by them. He was only cautious. He understood he was in their world now, and not his own. With Tatiana being his only connection and the only woman who could vouch for him in the city, it was like moving through a land mine. He had to be careful with every step, because one wrong move, and it was his ass. He wouldn’t leave Charlotte alive.
Tatiana moved through the crowd with authority. They stared at Chico like he had the plague, but because he was with Tatiana, they gave him a pass and didn’t bother or question him.
Tatiana headed toward the back of the club, to a narrow hallway. On the left were the stairs that went up into the VIP area, and on the right were two doorways with black doors. A stout man guarded the entrance. He wore the same close-fitting black shirt the other bouncers wore, “The Champagne Room,” written across the front of the shirt.
Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick Page 18
