by King, Deja
“I know you like the outdoors and like to be out period. This is your treat, ma,” he said charmingly, and pointed as they walked arm- in-arm up to the blanket that sat atop the grass. It had a picnic basket filled with snacks, fruits and a bottle of her favorite wine.
Beaming from ear to ear, Semaj searched the park noticing they’d had it all to themselves. She loved the surprise and felt special, knowing she was getting her man out of character. She sat on the quilted blanket and laughed at the fact that Quasim couldn’t quite figure out how he wanted to kneel down into position. “You got it baby?” Semaj asked as she helped him. The young couple mouth-fed each other fruits while enjoying the sweetness as they made small talk about the beautiful cloudless sky and the birds that were flying above them.
Deciding to walk around to tour the massive park the couple sauntered through the many walkways when paradise all came to an abrupt end due to the disturbing phone call. It was Slim. “I need you to meet me somewhere. Some shit happened to Mitch. You know homie go out of town to see some stripper bitch he fuck with ev’ery now and then.”
“Yeah, I know. But why you think something happened with that situation?” He tried being discreet as possible so Semaj wouldn’t catch on. He didn’t want to cause her to fret for what could be nothing. “I haven’t talked to dude since he left two nights ago for Atlantic
City. You know he call at least once a day to let us know how the streets operating.”
“I’ll be there after I drop Maj off. Meet me at the club.”
Quasim hung up and by his facial expression Semaj knew they had to go quick.
“Is everything cool?”
“Should be. Just gotta go holla at this nigga and see what he talking ‘bout.”
“I was just getting comfortable, too. Dang! I don’t wanna go home.”
“I tell you what. Since I’m headed towards Midtown call Paris and see if she home. I can pick you back up from there once I get finish handling this shit.”
“Okay.” Semaj replied softly and he noticed that she was saddened that their date was ending early but he had no choice. Quasim hoped like hell that Semaj wouldn’t have another reason to be hurting all over again, but his gut told him that something dreadful had happened. For her sake, he prayed that he was bugging and paranoid.
Paris leaned forward towards the compact disc to scoop the cocaine with her French-manicured pinkie nail and ran it across her nose to feed her habit. Swiftly jerking her head back to deter her nostrils from running, she heard a knock at her door. “Come in,” she yelled and continued to concentrate on her high as she indulged the substance up her nose.
Walking in, Semaj stared at Paris and shook her head disgustingly. Before she started kicking it with Paris extra hard, she knew she was a blow head. But for her to continuously make usage of the drug was beyond her.
Not stopping once even after seeing Semaj, Paris powdered her nose snorting the last line, and leaned back with low watery eyes as she savored the feeling. Her euphoric high had caused her to feel some superwoman abilities. She had sniffed three grams.
“I didn’t know you still got down with that shit,” Semaj said as she retrieved the remote from the entertainment stand and plopped down on the oversized reclining chair. “That shit crazy. Fuck you be on, Paris, man?”
Adjusting her vision to the dimly lit room, Paris focused on Semaj and she was seeing double. “I’ve been stressing out here lately. I just started back up,” she lied. Paris had never stopped. “I really don’t have a choice if I wanna escape my problems.”
“What problems?” Semaj asked with an attitude wanting better for her friend. “You know that ain’t right, though, P. You better than that shit.”
“You know what? I’m getting sick and tired of your holier than thy, bullshit! Fo’real. Last time I checked I was grown as fuck and a bitch can’t tell me what’s better for me!” Paris snapped.
“Are you serious?” Semaj cocked her head back in astonishment. “Fuck outta here with that shit. You don’t know my mu’fuckin’
problems, girl!”
“Last I checked I was covering all of your problems.” By now she’d pissed Semaj completely off. “‘Cause if my memory serves me correctly, I paid your bills up for the next six months, including the note on that Range outside.”
“Girl, a four year old Range and you riding in a Benz that comes out next year. Please! Don’t go there with me, Semaj.”
“I never knew anybody to complain about a new body Range.” Shocked, Semaj stared at Paris and searched for the seriousness of her statement. She just knew she was going to admit that it was a joke… but got nothing. That really made her vexed, but because she was under the influence Semaj decided to leave it alone. “You know what. You high right now so I’m not even going to take it there with you!”
“Oh, but you can take it there though. High or sober, I’m still
Paris,” she said with an attitude as she leaned forward and glared at Semaj, ready to flip totally out at this point. “‘Cause it’s just like a bougie Hollywood bitch to say what they’ve done for the next mu’fucka. Bitch, it was never that before when you was robbing cats like the next mu’fucka trying to keep your head above water. Now bitches wanna change and shit,” Paris said as her face frowned in irritation.
“I’m not even going to comment on this shit okay, Paris?” Semaj replied. “You buggin’ right now and I’m not gonna entertain you.”
“You an entertainer now, right?” Paris laughed with sarcasm in her voice. “So I don’t see why not. But oh, I forgot you a different person now, huh? But let me put somethin’ in ya ear, ma. Everybody can’t change, Semaj. Everyone can’t become something else when the streets is all they know. I’ve had to take care of myself since I was a young head, and survived without you thus far! So you can have all that shit back!”
Semaj heard her story and the same line many times, and to her it was nothing but pathetic excuses. But in all honesty, Semaj didn’t want this small issue to bloom into bigger problems. “Paris, I ain’t mean it like that. I didn’t say it to make you feel low or anything. I’m just saying I don’t understand why you using the drugs ‘cause you stressing with problems. What problems are you referring to?”
“It don’t matter what problems. They’re not your problems,” she piped. “Bitch think they somethin’ ‘cause they been in a movie. Beat it, bitch!” She began laughing like a madwoman. “Fuck outta here with that commercial shit. You think you something ‘cause you gotta boyfriend and a career now! Bet if that nigga knew you murdered…I mean, your Pops murked his Pops you wouldn’t be sitting here like shit gully. Would you?” she said harshly.
“I can’t believe you taking it there!” Her words almost got stuck in her dried throat.
“Fuck you mean! You took me there and now that we’re here might as well take it all the way. How would Qua feel if I told him that you’re not who you portray to be? You just another grimy bitch from the ‘hood with a cute face. You ain’t shit. ‘Cause if you were you would’ve never left me once you got into the business or put on. You and your daddy act like we never used to get this money together. I don’t know when you forgot where you came from and how we got down.”
“When my dreams became a reality. That’s when.” Semaj jerked her head back and furrowed her face with a glare that implied, “Girl is you crazy?” “But I ain’t ever forgotten where I came from.”
“So when shit presents itself in a better form, y’all just leave a bitch for dead?”
“Leave you for dead?” Semaj spewed, beyond exasperated. More than anything, she was hurt. “Them drugs really got your head fucked up, yo. You a clown. ‘Cause when I’m out shopping, you getting everything I’m getting and the shit going on my tab! When I’m catching flights out, you right there tagging along right beside me! Everything I got, you got. I’m eating and you eating too. Fuck you talkin’ about something better and we leaving you for dead? Clown, if anything we keeping you alive.
You ain’t gotta do a mu’fuckin’ thang and still live the high life. Popping bottles in the club and rocking the latest Gucci bag don’t come easy, my nigga. A bitch a be happy to wear your shoes not having to do shit and live this life. But yo’ ass complaining about it! Ungrateful ass muthafucka. Throwing shit up in my face like that. Shit’s fucked up, Paris. I swear that’s some played shit.” Semaj was damn near in tears.
“Fuck you!” Paris was expressing the way she really felt about her since the very beginning. “Just write me a check for fifty Gs and we can end this fake ass friendship now. You ain’t gon’ have to lavish me no more!”
“Bitch, you got me fucked up!” Semaj barked, popping up from the chair.
“But if you knew what was good for you, you’d write it!” she stated as if this was nonnegotiable.
“You wouldn’t!”
“I wouldn’t what? Blackmail that ass? I guess you really don’t know me then, fo’ real, huh?” she smiled wickedly.
Semaj knew where this was going and at that moment was the first time that she realized she’d broken her number one rule: trust no one, which was her only rule. “What you saying? You trying to extort me or some shit?” Semaj asked, staring her dead in her eyes.
“Trying? No! Its extortion, bitch! So write my check and get the fuck up outta my house!”
Semaj shot daggers through her, but knew what she had to do. Digging inside her purse, she retrieved her checkbook and ballpoint pen and wrote her a check out for fifty thousand. After ripping the check out, she tossed it on the table. “You foul, Paris. After everything we’ve been through, you foul. But you need that shit so I ain’t trippin’.” She opened the door and slammed it hard.
“Fuck you! You made it this way! Wannabe Hollywood Bitch!”
she shouted behind her.
Semaj walked the streets until she finally flagged down a yellow cab to take her home. It was like the world was matching her every mood, because when she was recently elated the sky was blue as cotton candy with sunny conditions, but now that her mood was dreary, the sky was too. Tears of hurt streamed down her cheeks as the rain began to pour down heavily. The falling water hit the pavement forcefully with raindrops the size of golf balls. She dialed her father’s number because she knew he was the only one to fix this situation. He wasn’t answering. But she continued to try and reach him her entire ride home.
Chapter 14
In a windowless Jersey City warehouse, Block sat at the head of a limestone slab table in an oversized, swivel chair. To the left of him was his right-hand man, Drakey, maintaining his usual stony silence. The table that seated twelve was now down to only three. The empty chairs represented his members that were now deceased. One of the three men was his cousin, D-Boy, and the other occupants were the head street lieutenants. The tension in the building was thick. It would be hard for a scalpel to cut through it. It was an uneasiness surrounding the room that Block hadn’t witnessed since the assassination of his late uncle.
“D-Boy, you know ever since you told me that Quasim is bagging Mitch’s daughter I haven’t been able to sleep. The thought of them being on the same team never ran across my mind, but you’ve connected the dots family. Now it all makes sense. He been plotting against me,” he assumed. “Now niggas see ain’t no action happening on my blocks so they gettin’ bold, feeling they can push their own products.” Block shook his head at the thought of his current situation. “My workers that are still living is shook and afraid to ride for the team. I be damn if a bunch of New York niggas run me out my own city and scare me off the streets ‘cause it’s beef. My peoples worked too hard for me to allow their organization to go into shambles over some niggas with no respect.”
“Fuck outta here, B,” D-Boy said as he searched his cousin’s eyes for the truth, which was revealed from his facial expression. “Damn, fam! I ain’t know business was that fucked up.”
“Not only has it been a drought and the feds hot on a niggas ass, but mu’fuckas got the audacity to send some niggas to get at my people… a… an… and… my wife.” His words got stuck in his throat as he thought of his late wife. “I wanna personally murder Santana and Mitch, but I know I gotta be much smarter than that. I gotta get at those niggas when they least expect it. I been letting it die down and lying low. Gotta be strategic.”
“Feel that, fam. Think we should recruit some thoroughbreds and put ‘im down though. Build a strong team with some wild ass hungry cats. Hollered at this plug out of DC my man’s put me on. So we can get the money back flowing. And then have a solid squad of soldiers that’s ready to go to war when the time is right,” one of the lieutenants suggested.
“I got an even better idea. I’ve been chatting with my man Ox since the shit happened. He said whenever I give him the go ahead, he gon’ send some of his ruthless shootas down here so we can reign again. Y’all know Ox been connected to my family a very long time. My man very upset. Said it’s some fucked up shit that went down. With the loyalty that he has had to my family, he feels that it’s his obligation to my uncle that he sends some of his most dominant members up here.” Ox was a ruthless Jamaican crime boss out of Kingston and had been running the city for over twenty years. He was connected to many dangerous cartels in different regions all over the world, and his empire was the sister empire to many solidified drug and gang organizations in Jamaica. Having the artillery, this was a great army to have behind him.
“So when is we gon’ get the ball rolling, so the beef is dead and we can get back to this money?” the other lieutenant inquired.
Little did they know things were about to be back on. Ox had informed him that business was in motion, and this time they were private jet-setting bricks. But Block had to get this situation dealt with first. This was his personal vendetta. “It’s just a matter of time before we get this fool, Santana. We just gotta wait because like they say, revenge is best served cold and it’s still warm, baby. Besides, I got somethin’
special in store for that nigga. Believe that.”
D-Boy nodded, agreeing. “No doubt, baby. I feel you. Get that boy when and where they least expect it.”
“Fam, though,” Block paused to rub his chin and a wicked grin crossed his face. “Mitch ride solo. It ain’t nearly as hard to get at him. He feel he untouchable, but I know where he be. I’ma show this pussy what callous and psychotic really is. Got this li’l shorty at this strip joint in Atlantic City that he frequents willing to set him up. We got this nigga, yo. Let’s make it happen, baby.”
Ciara treaded sensuously across the stage as the rapper crooned from the state of the art speakers, “You wanna see some ass I wanna see cash. Keep them dollars coming and that’s gon’ make me dance,” the crowd went bananas as she turned around and made her ass clap to Travis Porter. Her five foot eight frame was that of a goddess. She held the patrons captivated as they stared lustfully at her nude body, and the men kept their eyes fixated. Climbing the poll, she performed like she had a degree in stripping. Niggas flooded the stage with dollar bills. Hoisting her body to the top, she slowly pressed her ass cheeks into the cold metal while making sexual facial expressions. Sliding down at a leisurely pace, in a swift gesture she flipped over, and dropped into the splits allowing her voluptuous ass to bounce to the hip-hop tunes. She was a pro at knowing how to make the crowd go crazy and niggas loved when she hit the stage because she would always give them their money’s worth. She was by far the baddest at the club and some of the club patrons came from all over the New Jersey area just to see her stage-show performance.
Scooping up all of her money from the floor, she smiled at
Murder Mitch and motioned for him to go to the private room.
Murder Mitch made his way through the red curtains and walked into the dimly lit red room. Sitting down on the red sofa, he poured himself a drink of Patrón and sat his gun next to the bucket of ice. He’d paid an extra two hundred to come inside with his ratchet and it was worth it, along with the hour he had rented o
ut the private room.
As he placed the five hundred dollars on the armrest, Ciara emerged. “What‘s up, daddy?” she whispered seductively as she treaded near him. Murder Mitch was one of Ciara’s moneymen and every time he came to town she made sure to show him a good time. For proper compensation, Ciara was down for whatever and had no limitations to what she would do for her customers. Murder Mitch was a club regular and had frequented the place for the past three years she’d been working there. Dude always had a fat daddy knot and came to town at least twice a month.
Turning the lighting down a tad bit more, Ciara went for what she knew and began unbuckling his pants as she dropped to her knees enticingly. Positioning herself, she tugged out his penis and just the sight of his tool made her want to give him the best head of his life. Popping out of its confinement, Ciara began to fondle him and admired the thickness of his long curved dick. Taking him inside her month, she was giving him some great neck.
He had gotten comfortable and threw his head back in ecstasy. As he closed his eyes and curled his toes unintentionally, he palmed the back of her head for leverage. Bobbing her head, with no hands, Ciara inconspicuously grabbed his gun and placed it under the couch.
“Caught cha slippin’ bumbaclot, rude boy!” the voice said in a Jamaican accent. Two shottas had guns pointed at Murder Mitch’s head.
The voice startled him and instinctively he reached for his gun;
it wasn’t there.
“You scandalous, bitch!” Murder Mitch immediately realized that he’d been set up. He shook his head at his own stupidity, knowing to never feel comfortable in any environment. He’d used females to get at niggas all the time. What made him assume that his own dish wouldn’t come back in the same form? Karma was a bitch and though he knew she’d catch up to him one day, he never thought it would be under these circumstances.
