Pretty Kings 3

by T. Styles

  ****

  My husband was home and all I wanted to do was be up under him despite his weirdness. Instead, I was sitting on the edge of my mother’s tub looking down at her naked body. As she sat in murky water, I couldn’t understand why at this age she had a busted lip. When you’re as old as her, what are you fighting for? Dry blood rested on her right shoulder and when I first saw her, I thought I would pass out.

  Ever since Grainger went missing, she tumbled downhill. Even harder. My mother was never good at housekeeping but now her place was atrocious. Dead mice were scattered throughout the living room due to the spoiled food she left everywhere and all of her clothes were so filthy they smelled like steamed shit. When I asked what she wore daily, she said she would pick the least dirty outfit.

  “What about panties, ma? How do you find anything here?”

  “I had the same ones on three weeks in a row. I just wash them out in the sink.” She pointed at the floor.

  When I looked down at the ones she took off, a brown stain ran in the middle of the cream panties that were once white. I could feel my stomach rolling in disgust.

  “Ma, what are you doing with yourself?” I asked as tears streamed down my face. “Look at how you’re living!” I paused. “Why haven’t you called me?”

  “Because I was angry!”

  “At me?” I asked touching her shoulder. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged before sighing. “With Grainger missing and my granddaughter dead, I just…I guess I just wanted to be alone.”

  There she goes making everything about her. Jasmine was my baby, not hers.

  I wiped my hand down my face. “Who hit you?” I asked changing the subject.

  “My boyfriend Chris.”

  “But I thought you were dealing with some nigga name Edwin?”

  “No, Denim. You don’t remember anything I say. I was dating Edwin but then I got with his cousin Chris. Remember?”

  I didn’t.

  She leaned back in the tub and grabbed a washcloth. “Chris thought I was back with Edwin again and he beat me ‘cause he was jealous.” She smiled. “I don’t know why men always fight over me.”

  She sounded dumb.

  “You talking about Chris the drunk who be hanging out front of Handles liquor store?” I frowned.

  “Yeah.”

  When I thought about how stank that man was, I wanted to vomit again. My mother let anybody with a dick run up in her. She didn’t give a fuck if it was clean, dirty or had sores. She had zero standards. “Forget all that shit. Ma, why does this house look like this?”

  “Because I haven’t had a chance to clean it.” She pointed to some wrinkled white papers with my sister’s face on them that were sitting on the top of the toilet. “I’ve been trying to find my baby,” she sobbed. “I just gotta find her, Denim. Just thinking about Grainger being out there without me drives me mad. I know something happened to her. I can feel it!”

  My heart was broken because although my mother could be annoying at times, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. I bought her the house that she ruined. I hired a maid to come over weekly even though she was never home to let her inside. I paid for her gastric bypass surgery and she even lost a lot of her excess weight, only to put most of it back on.

  Still, she never gave a fuck about me.

  It was always about Grainger.

  I knew she was close to Grainger. Closer than she was to me. It was evident when I married Bradley, who my sister used to date. My mother blamed me for hurting Grainger’s feelings even though their relationship was over way before we got together. But now I really knew that she loved Grainger more than me. She never asked me how I was doing now that my daughter was dead or while my husband was in jail. It was always about my sister even with her being gone.

  “Mama, I hired some boys to put the posters up around the city. Why aren’t you letting them do it? You don’t have to worry about this type of shit.”

  “Because I don’t trust them,” she wept harder. “They probably just take the posters and put them in the trash.”

  “But I saw them around the city, ma. They are doing it.”

  “I still don’t trust them!” she yelled. “And where were you, Denim? I was calling you all day and you didn’t answer the phone.”

  “Bradley’s home from jail,” I sighed. “I went to get him today. I left you a message telling you that.”

  Instead of being happy for me, she lowered her head. Her face spread into a frown and I felt as if she was about to hit me. “I don’t like that mothafucka, Denim. I been telling you that any man who would lay up with your sister and then you is not a man. I wish you would listen to me.”

  She sounded ridiculous. “Ma, how can you say some shit like that when you live in squalor?” I yelled. “I mean look at this fucking house! I couldn’t even get to the bathroom without tripping three times. And the smell in this bitch makes my stomach turn, ma. So please don’t tell me about laying up with a man because at least mine is clean!”

  “That may be true,” she said nodding her head. “But I know a bum when I see one. And that man of yours has something to do with Grainger being missing. I don’t care what he says.”

  “Ma, please stop the weak shit,” I responded trying not to hate my mother for disrespecting my husband. “He was really concerned when he found out she was missing and still is. He asks me every day if I heard anything about where she may be.”

  “Is that why he raped her?”

  “Mama, I’m not about to sit in this filth and talk about my husband.” The only thing on my mind was getting out of that house and rolling up a blunt once I got in my car. “You can have your opinions but at the end of the day I’m gonna always be a Kennedy and it’s time for you to get used to it.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t have Grainger anymore, Denim,” she whispered. “And I need you. I’m all alone.” She placed her hand on her left breast. “Don’t forget about that while you’re living in paradise with the husband you would give up everything for.”

  “What does that mean, mama?”

  “That I need to move with you. Or I might kill myself.”

  ****

  I was sitting in the car smoking a blunt outside of my mother’s house. I couldn’t see letting her live with me but what else was I going to do? I believed her wholeheartedly when she said she would kill herself and I couldn’t let that happen.

  After taking a deep pull, I tapped my blunt into the ashtray and called Race. The moment she picked up the phone, I could hear cheering in the background. I guess the family was celebrating already. “What up, sis?” she said. “Where you at? We trying to party with Bradley, and all he keep talking about is you.”

  I smiled. At least he was thinking of me. “I’ll be there in a second. You know funky Chris?”

  “The nigga who be hanging on our most profitable block in D.C.?” she giggled. “Who tried to rob Jamaican Wayne and got his face fractured in 21 places with his fake gun?” she giggled.

  “Yeah,” I said pulling on my blunt before releasing clouds of smoke into the ceiling.

  “I know his dusty ass. Why? What’s up?”

  “I want you to find someone to make him comfortable,” I said, which was code for kill that nigga.

  “Say no more. You already know what it is.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE RUSSIANS

  Iakov and Arkadi Lenin sat at the ends of the table where three other bosses were also seated. The painted red bricks on the wall appeared to be on fire as the sun shined through the huge oval windows of one of the Lenins’ many hideouts. Every last one of the men invited was powerful in his own right and they ruled the most lucrative drug businesses around the country.

  A large glass jug of thick red liquid sat in the middle of the table. Each attendee, with the exception of the Russians, wondered what it was.

  In the corner sat Mellvue, Arkadi’s devoted fiancé. Most of her heart
shaped face was covered by large brown Tom Ford glasses to disguise the blackened eye her fiancé blessed her with earlier in the week. Although scarred, Mellvue, a full-bred Russian, was both beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

  Seated at the table was Vito Gambino of the Gambino Family, an Italian mob syndicate out of New York. Most of his facial features were unassuming except for his eyes. They were large and cold—the folds of wrinkles on his dark skin acted like open curtains surrounding them. He and his family killed many and they often broke code to seal their seat at the multimillion-dollar operation.

  Next to him was Derrick Reaper from New Jersey. Although his money came from the drug business, his value lay in his access to soldiers. Under his command he possessed one hundred armed hoodlums who were affectionately called the Reapers. Although they were all cold-blooded, his biggest threat was Larry who had a reputation for killing his enemies and their loved ones no matter where they were, even in church.

  A thug from birth, you’d never know it to look at Derrick’s features. His dark chocolate skin was smooth and flawless. In fact, the only distinguishing mark on his face was a black mole that sat ever so slightly under his left eye. It was said that he loved to kill with his hands so much that he kept them clasped in front of him, even at the moment, to prevent the urge to snuff out life.

  Across from Derrick was Jim Rabiu, an African from California. He dominated the west coast in both muscle and cocaine. He was a womanizer who often used females for sexual gratification before putting them in servitude. In his personal life, he was a monster but in business, he made many hopeful dealers millionaires. So he was respected and revered by the vilest on the streets.

  Unlike most Africans, his light skin, courtesy of his white father and black mother, was scarred from all of the knives taken to his face as a teenager by jealous villagers in the hopes of dismantling his looks. They were successful in their attempt because at the moment, he was a horrid sight to behold.

  “I guess I’ll ask first,” Vito said as he ran a toothpick through the meat in his teeth. “What’s up with the red jar?”

  Arkadi grinned. “It contains drop of blood from every man we’ve ever killed and soon it will contain blood of our latest enemy.”

  Vito shook his head and tossed the soiled toothpick on the table. He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his large belly. “Well, let’s get on with it. Why are we here?”

  “You’re here because I make you very rich men,” Arkadi responded as his piercing blue eyes stared at him across the table. His Russian accent both thick and strong. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “First off, I’m already rich,” he clarified. “And what I want and what it will cost me is another thing entirely.”

  Iakov, the youngest of the Russian brothers, took a sip of his favorite vodka, which he never left home without. “We know whereabouts of powerful man,” he said. “A man with purest cocaine you ever come in contact with in life.”

  “So what’s your dilemma?” Derrick asked.

  “We can’t get to him alone,” Iakov said plainly. “And that’s problem.”

  “So if you get this man, how does that benefit us?” Jim responded.

  “If we have access to him, that means you do, too,” Arkadi replied. “This is win-win situation for everybody.”

  Vito laughed. “Stop the games, Arkadi. You and I both know that there’s no such thing as something for nothing.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “In order to bring this man in, we need your help. At moment, he is in the custody of a very powerful family. But the streets don’t know he’s been kidnapped because he’s still able to run business. Now if we can bring him in it means we’ll have access to his cocaine.”

  “So basically he’s a golden goose,” Derrick responded.

  “Not only that, this man has access to worldwide distribution methods,” Iakov said. “Due to a charity organization he runs, he owns planes and can fly across world without being inspected by government. We need this man for both his cocaine and his power.”

  “If you get him, what makes you think he’ll work for you?” Derrick asked.

  “We’ll put him in position where he has no choice,” Arkadi responded.

  “So which family has him?” Derrick questioned.

  Iakov hit the edge of a cigarette pack on the side of his finger. Removing one, he lit it with the gold lighter in his pocket. “Kennedy Kings have him,” he responded before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

  Upon hearing Kennedy, the men moved around uneasily in their seats. As with all powerful drug empires of the time, they were fully aware of the clout the Kennedy Kings possessed. Although murder didn’t follow the Kennedy brand during the earlier years of their business, when their wives took over the operation during a period when the men were missing, all that changed.

  “I’m sixty-two years old,” Vito explained. “And I have more money than I know what to do with. On top of that, murder within my organization has decreased one percent a year due to the understanding I have with people in and out of my operation.” He pointed a stiff finger into the table. “If I get into a war with the Kennedy Kings, that will change.” He unbuttoned the collared white shirt he was wearing under his blue blazer, exposing vines of thick black hair. “Now I’m not opposed to going to war but it has to be worth the risks. And I don’t hear the benefits yet.”

  “I feel the same,” Jim responded. “Things are going smooth and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “If you help, I’ll offer you a thirty percent reduction per kilo,” Arkadi said. “Much better than what you’re getting from your current suppliers, yes?”

  “Is that good enough reason?” Iakov asked arrogantly.

  Vito and Jim were definitely impressed but drugs were not Derrick’s specialty. Judging by their expressions they were pleased but he needed more convincing. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t sell coke,” Derrick advised. “My first question is what do you need from me?”

  “We need men,” Iakov paused, “from all of you, which is why you’re here. There is going to be war and we need available soldiers who can help us infiltrate Kennedy King operation. Your Reapers could do that for us, yes?”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “For the use of your men, we will pay you one million dollars,” Arkadi responded. “Plus expenses.”

  Derrick slammed his hands together and ran his tongue over his lips. “Me and my crew can work with that.”

  “So what is your plan?” Vito asked.

  “First, we combine forces, take down the Kennedy King organization and smoke Mitch out,” Iakov responded. “Once we have him, we give him ultimatum he can’t refuse. Work with us directly or die a harsh death.” He touched the top of the bloody jar.

  “Derrick, do you have anyone who can move with precision?”

  Derrick rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “I have a killer with zero compassion. He would kill me if I failed to pay him enough.”

  Iakov smiled. “Who is this man?”

  “His name is Larry.”

  Iakov laughed. “A simple name for such ruthless killer.”

  Derrick nodded in agreement and asked, “So when do you want to start?”

  “Why put murder off a day when you can do it tonight?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  BAMBI

  Our bedroom seemed chilly and I wasn’t sure if it was the temperature or the fact that Kevin and I were still beefing.

  I lay on my side of the bed with my back faced my husband. He was on the other side looking away from me. Since our beef, this was how we slept every night.

  A pillow was stuffed between my legs and I was so horny I was about to rub one out on the edge of it. As bad as I wanted some dick, I was not about to kiss his ass either. At least that’s what I told myself.

  There was a reason for our beef.

  A few years back, I thought Kevin, Bradley, Camp and Ramirez wer
e dead after being on a video call with Kevin, only to see gunfire break out behind him. The screen went black and he was gone. Kevin and his brothers went missing for months and although I was going to kill my husband, due to him cheating on me prior to the serial killer coming into the establishment, when I realized how it felt for him to be out of my life I was devastated.

  But things still needed to be taken care of on the home front with them gone so I had to step up. My husband and his brothers were bosses and a big drug deal with the Russians needed to take place despite their absence, or we wouldn’t be able to take care of ourselves.

  We needed the money. So I convinced my sisters to pose as our husbands to meet the Russians and make the cocaine drop.

  Even though the Russians knew that we were not our husbands and nicknamed us Pretty Kings, the deal went through. But it almost didn’t. All because Kevin’s aunt Bunny was trying to steal the cocaine needed for the delivery. If she had been successful in her attempt, it would’ve set my family back financially.

  So I killed her.

  I almost got away with it but Kevin’s cousin Cloud found something I left at Bunny’s house during the murder. It was a Band-Aid that fell off the scar I had it on. My DNA was all over it. I was so careless when normally I wasn’t. If the cops would’ve found it they would’ve arrested me for her murder.

  Instead of keeping my secret, Cloud, who always wanted to fuck me, blackmailed me into a sexual relationship. But I couldn’t take it anymore. His touch, his kisses all made me want to throw up. So I told my husband everything, including the fact that I killed Bunny. Kevin was devastated.

  First, he instructed me to kill Cloud for his betrayal and he vowed to kill me the moment our twin sons turned 21.

  Although that was a few years away, I always wondered if he would make good on that threat.