As Teflon listened she felt where he was coming from even though she had no idea what triggered him, but whatever the reason, she was down for whatever. She was following Treacherous as he spoke, but missed what he was getting at.
“So you wanna start hustling?” she asked
“Nah, boo, never that. You know we ain’t wit’ that shit. We strictly about takin’ these fools’ paper, but our shit is a hustle too, so we been hustling. Shit is deeper than the drug game, the shit I’m talkin’ about. I’m talkin’ about some shit that will take us up outta mu’fuckin’ VA. We’ll be able to go anywhere we want to and just cool the fuck out, probably bounce down to Florida or something after this shit, cop a nice spot just off the beach. When I was in the youth house I used to read about how nice it was out there and Atlanta too. That’s supposed to be the new black mecca of America for our people, like how New York supposed to be. We could chill out there; anywhere besides out here.”
Teflon never heard Treacherous talk this way before. To be so young, they had been together for a long time, but to hear Treacherous speak about their future together and leaving Virginia sounded real appealing to her, and she knew she would do whatever it took to assist him in making his plans for the two of them to become a reality.
“Babe, you know I’m wit’ you, a hundred percent on whatever you say, but what can we do besides what we already doin’ to make all of that possible?” she asked.
This was the moment Treacherous had been waiting for—the moment of truth. He had been mapping out his plan for quite some time without Teflon’s knowledge and felt he had it all figured out, and now it was time to share his plans with his better half.
“Straight up, we gonna knock off a bank,” he told her, letting his words marinate inside her head as he watched her taking in what he had just dropped on her.
It took a second for it to compute before she realized what her man had just sprung on her.
What Treacherous had stated so boldly was not like any other job they had knocked off together. Their robbing spree only consisted of minor-league dudes from the streets who acted like heavyweights, but what Treacherous was talking about was in a league of its own. He was talking about stepping into the major league of the game where the real heavy hitters dwelled. She recalled the time when Treach had told her how his father had gotten cased up for hitting a bank and how he started out robbing just like them, but became a certified bank robber and was good at what he did until he took down the wrong bank by himself. Her mind raced a mile a minute. She wasn’t afraid because to her a bank was no more dangerous than a street dude. Her thoughts were more focused on the bank plan itself. She knew it would take a great length of time to mastermind a plan to take down a spot as secure as a bank. Besides that, she was down for her man, so she wanted to hear the rest.
“Treach, you know that’s not easy, right?”
“Boo, I know that, which is why I did my research, and believe me when I tell you, I did my muthafuckin’ homework. I been casin’ this joint out for almost a month now; daytime, afternoon, and night; just watching their whole operation inside and out, who’s who and what’s what, the slow days, the busy days, the time they open, the time they shut down. I even followed a couple of workers home. I peeped how they operate inside the bank and all of that, and I know where the little white muthafucka live that got the key to open the vault after he punch in the security code. Boo, trust me. I got it all mapped out. Now you know where I was at when I wasn’t wit’ you all those times, that’s what I was doin’, handlin’ my business. You probably thought I was wit’ some other chick, but you know I don’t pump like that. It’s me and you against the world, babe; Bonnie and Clyde, Romeo and Juliet, all wrapped up into one, but harder than all of them put together. After this shit, mu’fuckas and their bitches gonna be comparing themselves to Treacherous and Teflon.”
Teflon smiled at Treacherous’s analogy. He always made her feel like they could accomplish anything they put their minds to, so after hearing how thoroughly he had sought out and broke down his plans to her, she acquired that same familiar feeling he had instilled in her years ago. To her, this would just be another easy-ass job for them, no major difference than the others besides the fact that it would be their biggest one ever, but either way Teflon was in.
“A’ight, let’s do this,” she said to Treacherous, becoming more hyped behind the thought.
“That’s my girl,” he yelled.
“We about to come the fuck up. Me and you, boo. Me and you against the world.”
“Me and you against the world,” Teflon repeated.
“Okay. We gonna tie up a few loose ends, then as soon as we do this last move we gonna take down this bank.”
“Whatever you wanna do, boo.” No matter what, Teflon would ride with her lover. That’s how it was and that’s how it would always be, she believed.
Chapter Seventeen
For the next two weeks Treacherous and Teflon went on a massive robbery spree, accumulating as much valuables as they could in order to perfect their future plan, which they had been discussing intently each night before they took it down. During that time, all the hustlers and ballers alike were on full alert throughout the whole state of Virginia, because word had traveled at a rapid speed that Treacherous and Teflon were on a rampage. They went through the roughest hoods like they had license, and any and everybody who was out when they came through at the time felt their wrath. They were becoming such a nuisance in the Tidewater Park area that hustlers who had known Treacherous all of his life and had a great deal of respect for both him and his father were plotting to kill him and Teflon on sight wherever they caught the duo. Some were even taking it a step further by going out in search of Treacherous and Teflon in hopes of finding them. They knew if they succeeded, their street creditability would skyrocket.
Treacherous and Teflon went underground, patiently waiting to resurface for what would be their last petty street caper before they took down their big score.
Chapter Eighteen
The strip of Norfolk’s Waterside Drive was body infested Memorial Day weekend. Some of the hottest whips and motorcycles in existence owned by the biggest hustlers from state to state flooded the side streets of Main and Martin Avenues, unable to get onto the strip due to it being blocked off for the festivities. Police were posted everywhere to ensure the Afram Festival kicked off. Snipers were even posted on roofs of buildings, anticipating the worst due to the masses of young black men and women dominating the crowd.
Like every year, many from the Virginia area traveled to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina for Bike Week to have a good time, but judging by the atmosphere of the Afram Fest crowd, many others felt this was the place for them to be, including Bricks and his motorcycle club, who drove all the way from Jersey to attend, lugging their bikes on trailers. Normally, Bricks would have been one of the first bikes on the scene at Myrtle Beach, but last year’s event left a bad taste in his mouth, causing him to choose another part of the south to have a good time in. He had caught two homicides and could have nearly gone to jail behind an altercation he had on the strip with another hustler from New York who thought Bricks was trying to talk to his girl, not knowing it had been the other way around. Bricks despised New Yorkers because he felt they thought they were better than the hustlers where he was from, so rather than trying to explain that he had no interest in the New Yorker’s girl, Bricks pretended to bow down, letting the hustler from New York blatantly and verbally disrespect him.
Unbeknown to the New York hustler, Bricks had been trailing him the entire night. When the timing was right, Bricks rolled up on the New Yorker and shot him twice in the face with his silencer-equipped Glock. Just as he was about to make his exit, Bricks noticed out of the corner of his eye that someone had spotted him. Before the young pretty girl who had seen too much could flee into seclusion, Bricks had planted two to the back of her head. Bricks was from Newark, New Jersey, aka the Bricks, but that wasn’t where
he had coined his street moniker from.
Bricks, whose real name was Tyrone Jenkins, earned his name in the streets from being known for the large masses of bricks of heroin he distributed throughout the tristate area, as well as the south. Not to mention the bricks of cash he was known for carrying in his pockets whenever he stepped out.
Bricks had a reputation for shutting a club down whenever he entered, buying out the bar. In strip clubs worldwide, women who had heard of him or had the pleasure of dancing for him or giving themselves to him for a generous fee, rushed to his presence when he and his entourage entered the building, knowing it would be beneficial at the end of the night. Rumor had it that in a strip club in South Plainfield, New Jersey, Bricks was so impressed and turned on by the dancers’ performance on stage that he made it rain with ten grand, tossing a hundred 100-dollar bills onto the stage at the eight exotic dancers, taking five of them out the club with him for him and his four-man crew.
Bricks never left the house without at least 25 grand in his pockets, which is why his motorcycle club brothers, who were also a part of his drug team, stayed strapped at all times, just in case someone wanted to try Bricks.
It had been a long and eventful day and overall Bricks had enjoyed himself, especially the performance by old school rappers Slick Rick and Doug E. Fresh. The evening had wound down and now it was time to switch into chill mode. All Bricks wanted to do was take a shower to wash away the residue from today’s heat, smoke a stick of the goodness he and his crew had brought with them, sip on some cognac, hit a club, and find a female or two he could jump off with for the rest of the night, if not the rest of the weekend. His suite with the adjoining room at the Sheraton was just right for him and his crew. Bricks was already contemplating sexing something young and tender on one of the two balconies the suite possessed. The suite’s fridge was stocked with Coronas, and between the half pound of sour diesel weed they had, the four-gallon bottles of Hennessy, two fifths of Rémy, and the Smirnoff and Alizé they had for the ladies, it was guaranteed the after-party would be going down up in suite 774.
“Yo, pass me that stick, my dude,” Bricks said to his man.
Once the professionally rolled blunt was in his possession, Bricks took deep and long pulls of the potent weed. “Yeah, this what I needed right here,” he said, looking at the blunt as if he were admiring it. “Yo, y’all got everything? We gonna hit this club called Reign right up the street and around the corner.”
They all knew what Bricks was asking. Everybody nodded, indicating they were strapped.
“Yo, we walkin’ or ridin’?” Bricks’s man, who had passed him the blunt, asked.
“Nah, I’m takin my baby with me, she too pretty to leave sittin’ downstairs. I’m takin’ her out,” Bricks replied, making reference to his brand-new R1 motorcycle as it were a woman.
“You think we gonna be able to get in with the heat?” another of his manz questioned.
“Money talk, daddy, we good. When haven’t we ever been able to?”
What Bricks said was gospel. They had never gone anywhere, regardless to what state, and had a problem getting in with their weapons. Even if Bricks had to slip the bouncer or doorman a thousand dollars, they always made it in a spot strapped.
“We out.”
The line for Club Reign was wrapped around the corner when Bricks and his crew pulled up in front on their bikes. The sign read, WITH SNEAKERS 150 DOLLARS, WITHOUT 50 DOLLARS. None of them had on sneakers but knew their boots qualified them to pay the 150. Heads turned, seeing the expensive rides. Each bike had been tricked and piped out with the most expensive chrome and tires. Each body had a design that read Brick City Ryders, with their respective names on the side, but it was Bricks’s bike that stood out among the five riders. His name was emblazoned in a wall of bricks with bricks of money stacked on top of the wall. Everywhere he went he saw to it he represented his street handle and made sure everyone knew who he was. He had been getting money in the dirty south off and on for a decade and a half, trafficking and transporting ounces and eventually kilos of cocaine throughout the Carolinas, but it wasn’t until he cut into the heroin market in Virginia that Bricks started seeing major paper. Between Richmond and the seven cities of the Tidewater Park area, Bricks was stacking his paper by the bricks, distributing ounces of dope and thousands of bundles daily. Bricks couldn’t help but grin as he scanned the club’s waiting line, noticing a quick five females he had sexed a time or two. Each one tried to get his attention, hoping they would be able to enter the club with him, avoiding standing in the lengthy line, but Bricks pretended not to notice the women. Tonight, he wanted something new and fresh with a sexy face and the body to match.
“What up, Bricks?” one of the bouncers at the entrance greeted. Bricks recognized him from another club out in Virginia Beach he frequented whenever he came down to the dirty. He recalled how cool the bouncer was, and the fact that he was from his home state of Jersey, originally from Plainfield, made him remember the dude, not to mention the 500 he had slipped him to get inside with his twins and his crew and their hardware. Bricks knew it was too easy now to enter with their weapons. He slid his right hand into his front pocket and smoothly peeled off the first thirteen bills his hand came in contact with. Not that it mattered, because he only traveled with hundreds in his pockets. “Biggs, what’s good, my dude? What it is?” Bricks returned, remembering the bouncer’s nickname. As the two men embraced, Bricks slapped the thirteen crisp 100-dollar bills into Biggs’s monstrous palms. The two men hugged as if they were old friends to make the scene seem genuine. The actual transaction had gone unnoticed.
“They’re all with you?” Biggs asked.
“No doubt.”
“That’s what’s up.”
“Bricks,” a female voice called from the crowded line, but Bricks ignored it.
The bouncer just smiled. “What’s going on up top? I ain’t been up there in a while.”
“Same ol’ shit, my dude. Young cats killin’ off young cats. Nobody wanna eat anymore, smell me.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yo, Biggs, you want me to let the ladies in?” one of the other bouncers asked.
“Yeah, they good.”
Bricks and his team admired the four young females wearing next to nothing as the bouncer held the entrance of the club’s door open for them to strut on in.
“That’s what it is,” one of Bricks’s boys was the first to say as he too made his way to the door. The others followed.
“Yo, I’ll holla at you, my dude. Stay up and good lookin’,” Bricks said.
“You too daddy.” The two of them shook hands and embraced for a second time before parting. The doorman opened the door for Bricks to enter the hot spot. The sounds of T.I.’s latest cut poured out of the establishment and into the streets. Despite the loud music, as Bricks walked toward the entrance, his attention was drawn behind him by another familiar sound. Bricks stopped in his tracks and turned to see who had pulled up across the street on the Ducati. Surprisingly, although he could only see the eyes through the helmet shield, judging by the physical shape, Bricks knew the rider was a female. Instantly he was turned on. He possessed a Ducati, but what turned him on the most was not the bike but who was on it. “Yo, you know who that is?” Bricks doubled back and asked Biggs.
“Nah baby, never seen that bike up here before, but whoever it is, she stacked. I don’t know what the face lookin’ like but the body sure tight,” Biggs answered, making the same observation Bricks had.
“Definitely,” Bricks replied as he attempted to slide over to where the female rider was parked.
“Yo, B, what’s really hood my dude?” one of Bricks’s crew members called out to him from the doorway of the club. He had doubled back once they all had noticed that Bricks wasn’t among them. They were all overprotective of him and at some point had to prove just how much love and loyalty they had for him, each man laying their life on the line, risking their freedom in
the process, to show they had his back.
“I’m good, homie. I think I might be onto something. Let the homies know I’m good,” Bricks called.
“You sure?”
Bricks didn’t answer. Instead he shot him a look that told it all.
“That’s what’s up.” The crew member knew not to take it any further. Everyone in their camp knew what the look meant. Bricks had a way of checking you without uttering a word.
Bricks continued to make his way across the street to where the mystery woman with the powerful bike sat. He had reached her just in time to take in her beauty as she lifted up her helmet and rested it on top of her head. He could see traces of blond hair spilling out of the sides of the helmet while he admired her baby-soft skin. Just what the doctor ordered, he thought. “Damn, sweetheart. No disrespect, but you gots to be the hottest chick in Virginia right now,” Bricks complimented.
“Is that right?” she replied.
“True story, ma. You’re serious.”
She smiled.
“Nice bike too. I got one of these. This ya manz?”
“No. It’s mine. And I don’t have a man.”
“Oh, okay. That’s what’s up. What’s ya name, ma?”
“It ain’t ma,” she shot back with a slight attitude.
“No need to get hostile,” joked Bricks. He had been through it a million times. He had a habit of calling females ma and always ran into some who had a problem with it.
“I’m not getting hostile.” She smiled. “My name is Candy.”
“Like caramel candy,” Bricks slyly remarked, making reference to her skin tone.
Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 1: The Story of Treacherous and Teflon Page 13
