Deidre listened intently as Kareem continued.
“R.J. and Chazz got sent to a foster home up in the Bronx. Some Spanish shit. You know they pops was mixed with some kind of Spanish, so them BCW people took that and ran with it. Yo, I missed my man, and we used to meet halfway on the 2 train during school time to hang out. R.J. started fucking up in school off the strength of that shit. He kept running away from the foster home, so they put his ass in a group home. One thing led to another, and me and that nigga started hustling for this cat from Harlem. Yo, we was caking off for two little niggas. R.J. always took care of his sister though. He was always there when she got out of school before she went back to the foster home. Our rise to the top of the game came quick man. We had shit on lock,” Reemo proclaimed with feeling, banging his fist on the table. “Then, all that shit blew up when jealous-ass niggas started hating. We got knocked on some ol’ setup shit.”
“Meanwhile, while R.J. was on the inside. He worried about his sister. She had got used to a certain lifestyle thanks to that nigga. R.J. didn’t want his sister in the life n’ shit. It really ain’t a game for women,” Reemo continued, looking from Deidre to Ferguson to gauge their reactions.
“How long did you do?” Deidre asked, wanting him to get on with the story.
“Five strong,” he said quickly. “Chazz got kicked out of foster home after foster home. When she got sent to the girls’ home, that’s where she met Loca and T-baby. All three of them became a crew. They kinda stuck together after that. Those chicks got into the street life even though R.J. forbid his sister from the game. Yo, we heard stories in the joint of how R.J.’s little sister was slanging them thangs crazy. Chazz took care of her brother, but not me. Me and
R.J. got separated at intake so it was hard for me. R.J. would make Chazz hit me off every now and then because my moms and my sisters were fucked up.” Reemo looked as if he were about to cry over the fact that he had no visitors or regular commissary deposits. “I’m sure you don’t know what life is like in the joint when you ain’t got no money, no visitors, no mail—yo, you ain’t got shit.”
“Anyway, R.J. got out before me. That nigga came home to a king’s welcome, ’hood style. When I got out, that nigga picked me up, took me shopping, got me a spot to chill, and told me I could work for his sister. See, he ain’t getting his hands dirty no more. He don’t have to, you feel me?” Reemo looked at Deidre over the rim of his shades. She was hanging onto his every word.
“Tell her what you know about the girl in the picture,” Ferguson instructed. Deidre had totally lost sight of that.
“Oh, yeah. Yo, that little white chick was a major asset to the F.A.B. When she first started coming to the Candy Shop to buy her stuff, she drove a Benz and rocked diamonds, but she was a major base head. That chick could sniff a mountain up her nose. Nobody knew she was a senator’s daughter. She put Chazz on to the crystal and penny candy game; said she had connections in high places.”
“Crystal and penny candy?” Deidre asked, not understanding the reference. She already knew the Candy Shop was a club owned by Chastity and her brother.
“Yeah, meth—street name crystal and all kinds of pills—blue ones, red ones, yellow ones—all those prescriptions shits that white people get high off of, we call them ‘penny candy’, because they are colorful, cheap, and make you feel good just like penny candies,” Reemo explained.
“Ok. I got it, now continue,” Deidre said.
“Yeah, so that girl got Chazz a connect and was taking care of the higher clientele, you know, them boys in Harvard, on Wall Street and Capitol Hill. That little white chick was moving major stuff. I’m talking twenty thousand dollars every coupla days. But she was using major, too. Yo, I remember seeing her like three weeks ago, and her Barbie Doll shape was gone. For real, the bitch looked like Skeletor.”
“Then one night, the Candy Shop was popping, asses bopping, titties flying, and we all was in the VIP section, chilling. Well, they was chilling. I was mooching, since a nigga ain’t worthy of the top,” Reemo griped, clearly jealous of R.J. and the F.A.B. Realizing he was starting to sound whiny, he continued, “Anyway, the white chick came stumbling in. She was all fucked up, screaming and yelling about some money, pointing at Chazz and T-Baby. I mean straight lunching. R.J. jumped up from the table and tried to break up the situation, but she kept on going on and on, making a big scene. All of a sudden, this crazy bitch swatted at Chazz. Security grabbed her and threw her ass straight out the door. That’s the last time anybody seen her.”
“So, you haven’t heard anymore about her since that incident?” Deidre asked. It all didn’t make any sense to her. Why would the F.A.B. sever ties with someone making them a lot of money? How could a senator’s daughter be a major drug dealer and no one notice?
“Nah, I’m telling you she vanished. After that, her pictures started showing up on TV as the senator’s daughter,” Reemo said.
“Who is the supplier for the F.A.B.?” Deidre asked.
“Yo, that shit is top secret. Only Chazz and R.J. know that. They never take anybody to those top secret meetings,” Reemo said bitterly.
“So, how can I get in?” Deidre asked.
“I’ma introduce you as a business partner,” Reemo explained. “Tomorrow night they’re throwing a welcome home party for Loca at the Candy Shop. You know, the bitch just got out of the joint . . . some bullshit weed charge, not no real time. And that dyke bitch gets a party. When I got out, I got nothing,” Reemo complained.
“Okay,” Deidre said, eager to leave.
“Meet me there tomorrow afternoon before the party. The Candy Shop is where the old Brooklyn Café used to be,” Reemo said.
Ferguson slid a manila envelope across the table. Reemo placed his hand on top of it, and covering it from view, he slid it off the edge of the table and into his jeans
“Yo, I just want ya’ll to know that no matter what, R.J. is my nigga from the womb to the tomb. His sister and those other hoes I could do without,” Reemo said resentfully before he stood up and walked away from the table.
Deidre didn’t trust him. Something in her gut told her he was bad news, but she didn’t have much of a choice. He was her way inside the F.A.B. Find the supplier, and you’ll find out what happened to the girl, she reminded herself.
VOLUME 5: THE GIRL
The girl could hear her captors moving around upstairs as dust fell through the cracks of the old wooden floor onto her bed. “Ahem! Ahem!” she let out a weak cough as the powdery substance danced in her nostrils and throat. She didn’t have enough strength to release a strong cough, nor could she scratch her nose. After she’d tried to escape, they bound her hands. The drug withdrawal had almost killed her when she first arrived. She had been so desperate for drugs that on one of the man’s solo visits, she tried to seduce him. When he got close enough to her, she kicked him in the balls and ran. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast or strong enough. He grabbed her by her dusty brown hair and beat her senseless. Before he left, he took what she had offered and tied her securely to the bed.
The girl kept track of the days by making a mark on the wall each time someone came to visit, signifying the number of days that had passed. Maybe they didn’t come every day anymore . . . she couldn’t tell.
“Dear God,” she said a silent prayer that today they’d bring her some food and water. Her captors were a male and female, but sometimes two men came to look in on her. The lady treated her worse than the men. She had no human compassion whatsoever.
The girl squeezed her eyes shut as the footsteps grew louder and louder. She wished herself dead. “Daddy, where are you?” she whispered. She’d long stopped thinking about her mother and father, because the memories drove her insane. Her father was always a loving, compassionate man, and she was the apple of his eye, his Ambie Baby, that’s what he used to call her. Tears flooded her dirt-covered face as she listened to her father’s voice in her head. She had gone against everything she was raised to be. H
er family was the new generation of Kennedy’s. The Reeves were starting their own 21st century Camelot. Her grandfather, Governor William Reeves, started the tradition, and her father, the current senator for New York, continued it. Wealthy democrats like the Kennedy’s, the Reeves family also had their share of skeletons. She was one of them. Addicted to drugs since the age of thirteen, she had entered into a dark, dangerous world just for the thrill of it.
The sound of the feet ceased; the girl listened intently. Loud moaning ensued. Whenever the man and lady came to visit, they would have sex right before they came to see her.
“Ohh! Ahhh! Yes, yes . . . arggghhhh!” were the usual sounds. The girl knew they were fucking right above her head. The sounds used to arouse her at first, but in her current half-dead state, even if she had a naked man right in front of her right now, she wouldn’t be aroused. It seemed like a lifetime before the couple finished. Laughter filtered through the cellar door, as loud footsteps pounded down the stairs. The door creaked open and she opened her gray eyes wide. She wanted to see them, even if they kept their faces covered.
“Your daddy is really worried about you,” the man said callously, getting close to the girl’s face.
She began to sob loudly. Just thinking about her life—the life she’d thrown away for drugs, her father, the mansion she grew up in—made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to die.
“Here’s something for you to eat,” the lady said gruffly, placing a ham sandwich, a slice of cheese, and a cup of water on the floor.
“I’m gonna untie one hand so you can eat,” the man said. Both covered their faces with masks and wore gloves.
The girl wanted so badly to see a human face. She scanned them up and down, trying to make a mental note of what they wore. Black shirt, blue jeans, black military style boots. Leaning over the side of the bed, with one hand still tied, she weakly grabbed for the food. The lady stepped on her fingers just as she reached her sandwich. “Oww!,” the girl screamed in agony.
“How does it feel to have someone step on you? You should know, Miss Rich Bitch!” the lady growled.
“Let her eat. I have to go,” the man barked.
“Fuck her!” the lady screamed as she lifted her foot from the girl’s hand.
The girl quickly picked up the sandwich and gobbled it down. Her throat was so sore from screaming that the water and food burned going down.
“Good girl!” the man said in an eerily low whisper, his breath burning against her cheek.
“Please, let me go!” the girl sobbed as she looked into his icy blue eyes through his mask. The cold eyes seemed to pierce through her soul.
“I can’t do that until your daddy behaves,” he informed her.
“You talk too much. Lets go!” the lady interjected.
“Please, wait!” the girl screamed as loud as her sore throat allowed. Her screams were for naught. They slammed the door, leaving her in darkness.
Sandra Reeves peeked down the long hallway of the high-rise apartment she shared with her husband and Amber. The agents on duty were sitting down, probably asleep since they’d been holding post for days. She inhaled deeply and walked into Amber’s bedroom. Entering, she could still smell the girl’s strawberry shampoo. The scent seemed fresh like Amber had just washed her hair. Sandra walked over to the closet and pulled back the doors. Everything was the same. Her heart jerked in her chest. She didn’t mean what she’d said when she told her stepdaughter, “You’d be better off dead than living like you do now.” Sandra was never able to conceive any children of her own, and admitted that she was jealous of how Richard doted on Amber. She rubbed her arms, as the hairs began to stand up.
When Sandra made the telephone call, all she wanted was to scare Amber and get a break maybe. She couldn’t help but to think that this might all be her fault. The plan had backfired because her husband was even more withdrawn from her now. Watching him in pain hurt Sandra even more than having the spoiled ass brat around.
She picked up Amber’s diary and skimmed the pages. She set her jaw and pursed her lips at what she read: Drugs, sex, running away. Amber was a fucking embarrassment and would surely ruin Richard’s reputation, Sandra reasoned with herself. It made her feel better, if nothing else.
VOLUME 6: THE CANDY SHOP
Deidre’s stomach did flip-flops. She tied a pink satin scarf to the side of her purse as a signal for her team. After a short walk up to the club’s red doors, she looked up at the huge neon sign that read, “THE CANDY SHOP”, yanked on the long copper door handles and stepped through the doorway. A burly, six-foot seven-inch, Andre the Giant-looking bouncer stepped out of a small office with a dingy Plexiglas window. Inside the dimly lit foyer, Deidre craned her neck to look up at him.
“The tryout is straight in the back, past the bar!” the bouncer grumbled. Before Deidre could open her mouth, he shoved her in the back with his gorilla hands to move her along.
Deidre wove her way slowly through the club, lost as a puppy. She touched her waist to make sure her cell phone was clipped to her belt; it was her tracking device. She hoped Denald and Buckwalter—her back up—were getting the right signal to track her moves. She observed a small stage in the center of the club. There were mirrors everywhere, and the beautiful hardwood floors looked like no one had ever danced on them. She passed the maze of black marble-topped tables and high-backed chocolate brown suede chairs, and headed towards the bar.
The bartender was a tall, slender man who reminded her of the actor, Omar Epps. His skin was the color of chocolate chips, and his hair was cut military style. She made eye contact with the bartender. Feeling a quick pang of nervousness, she averted her eyes to the black door at the left of the bar. The bartender gave her a quick nod and jerked his head slightly towards the door. Deidre took that as her cue and picked up her pace, not wanting to attract the attention of the surveillance cameras that she noticed in several places above the bar. Where the fuck is Reemo? she screamed inside of her head.
Opening the shiny black door, Deidre was immediately assailed by the smell of smoke, sweat, and strong perfume—both cheap and expensive. There was a line of scantily clad women of various ethnicities, body types, and ages. Deidre had no idea what the line was for, but she pushed her way through the door, forcing the line of women to move up so that she could fit at the end. She looked up and down the line. She had never seen so many ass cheeks, thighs and tit-ties in her life.
Deidre’s entrance had caused some of the women to turn and glare at her; they did not need any more competition. She, with her beautiful almond shaped eyes, long eyelashes, flawless caramel skin, and athletic body, posed a threat to these women. A few even voiced their disdain, saying things like, “Look at this bitch! Think she’s too cute to wear a costume!” and “Who do this outsider think she is, coming up in here?”
Deidre ignored the derogatory comments. She was not there for the same reason as them. She did, however, listen in to try to find out what was going on. She thought she was coming to the club for her first meeting with the F.A.B., but Reemo was nowhere in sight. She listened intently to the jibber-jabber exchanged between some of the women. A tall blonde with small breasts and a very slim frame complained, “This is crazy that we have to try out for the party when we fucking work our asses off here!”
A strip club? Deidre screamed inside of her head. Reemo and her surveillance team had failed to mention that the Candy Shop was a strip club, and the files just said it was a club. It was too late. There was no turning back now. She needed to get inside.
“Next!” Deidre heard a man scream, and the line began to move forward.
The next four girls on the line sauntered through a doorway. Deidre moved up and continued to do so until she was part of the next four to be called. Seething with anger, her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Reemo had set her up! Just when she was about to turn around and leave, she felt pushing and shoving, and then heard Reemo’s loud and obnoxious voice.
“Ladies! Oh
damn, ladies!” he screamed, grabbing handfuls of ass and tits. Loud groans of disapproval floated down the line. Finally, Reemo noticed Deidre. “DeeDee, I’m sorry I’m late. C’mon, you ain’t gotta stand on this ho’ stroll,” he belted out, garnering more disapproving grumbles.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Deidre whispered angrily.
“Just follow my lead,” Reemo said as he pushed through the door.
Sitting on the other side of the door was the alleged leader of the F.A.B. If Deidre remembered correctly, the beautiful girl in the expensive off-white fur vest was Chastity Smith. Chastity didn’t catch Deidre off guard as much as the man sitting on Chastity’s right. He was the possessor of those familiar eyes from the picture she couldn’t stop staring at the night she got the assignment. It was R.J. Smith, Chastity’s brother. Deidre immediately felt sick. Fine beads of sweat lined up at her hairline and she couldn’t concentrate. She was fighting what felt like huge bats flitting around in her stomach.
“What up, son?!” Reemo yelled, rushing towards R.J.
“Yo, nigga, what’s good?” R.J. replied, never once taking his eyes off of Reemo’s company.
Deidre gulped the lump lodged at the back of her throat. She could feel the heat from his eyes on her, and it made her uncomfortable, but in a good way.
Hush Page 7
