Mafioso [Part 1]
Page 9
The detectives were watching and hearing everything that was said. They allowed it to continue uninterrupted, thinking they could use it to their advantage, though it wasn’t much.
Scottie ended his discussion with Maxine, kissed her lips again, and stepped out of the interrogation room. He put on a show, hoping that Maxine could hear him speaking about her rights. He screamed out, “Yo, why is my girl still here? Y’all know she ain’t do nothing! She ain’t got nothing to say to y’all.”
The detectives cursed back, and he cursed back. They threatened him with arrest, but Scottie seemed unfazed by the threat. But he wasn’t a stupid man. He would not be arrested too. He eventually left.
Maxine was disturbed by the visit and the commotion with Scottie and the cops.
Moments later, one of the detectives entered the room and took a seat before her. “Are you ready to talk now?”
Maxine believed in Scott, knowing he would do everything in his power to get her free. “No.”
She finally invoked her right to have an attorney by her side, just as Scottie had always drilled his crew to do when arrested.
The detective huffed with frustration. She had been brainwashed by love and stupidity. “You’re making a terrible mistake,” he said. “We heard the conversation. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about you at all.”
She refused to listen. He knew nothing about her and Scottie’s love.
Before departing, the detective turned with an afterthought for Maxine. “We had cops sitting on the location where your precious BMW was parked. You know before he came to visit you, he went to move that car? Then two hours later, he comes here. And that’s a man who puts his woman first? It’s your life, not ours.”
It was all designed to provoke some rage out of Maxine, but she continued to sit there looking pitiful.
“You’re too smart to be this dumb. And a man like him—he’s probably fucking your best friend, Layla. The one he’s making you protect.”
Maxine shook her head vigorously, denying that either of them would ever hurt her in such a way. Maxine now didn’t believe a word they had said to her about helping her get off. She didn’t trust the police. She shut up and did as Scottie told her. Scottie had a lot of money, and he would pay for the best counsel. There was no way she could be convicted of a murder she didn’t commit, right?
14
2014
The moment Meyer stepped foot in Delaware, he despised the place, finding it desolate and boring. He wanted to blow it all up. He lit a cigarette and took a needed drag, feeling despondent about the position Scott put them in. It felt like their father was punishing them.
“What Pop sees in this place, I don’t know,” Meyer said to Bugsy.
“He sees opportunity—money to be made,” Bugsy replied.
Meyer chuckled.
“You find it funny?”
“He treats us like fuckin’ puppets, Bugsy. We had our own thing happenin’ in New York, and now he wants us to become New Jack City in fuckin’ Delaware. Look at this place. What the fuck! I’m ready to shoot somebody just to have some fun,” Meyer said loudly.
“You never have been a patient little brother—always the sound of thunder but never the lightning, not knowing when and how to strike.”
“Spare me your fuckin’ parables, Bugsy. And just because you were born ten minutes before me don’t make you older.”
Bugsy shook his head at his little brother. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m an idiot? You wearin’ a fuckin’ nine-thousand-dollar suit in this hot-ass weather—what, look the part, be the part. Yeah, ayyite, you wannabe Frank Lucas muthafucka!”
Meyer took a few more drags from his cigarette and flicked it away. He then said, “What is there to do for fun around here anyway?”
“We need to start taking care of business,” Bugsy mentioned.
“What? We just got into town. Fuck that! Pops sent us down here, but I ain’t rushin’ to do shit! Nigga, what I do need right now is a twenty sack and some fuckin’ pussy. I had the sweetest piece of pussy in New York, and Pops gonna drag me away from it to this lame-lookin’ fuckin’ place.”
The brothers stood next to Meyer’s black Escalade in front of Ray’s Market on North King Street in downtown Wilmington. The ninety-thousand-dollar truck was showroom-shiny on 26-inch chrome rims and fully loaded. They watched the activity around them. As late afternoon transitioned into early evening, the working crowd headed home, and the streets thickened with some traffic. Nothing like New York, though.
The brothers watched the fiends move about with the working crowd and civilians. They were like roaches in the kitchen, moving about freely even with the lights on.
“First thing we do is get with Lucky and talk to her,” Bugsy suggested.
“Yeah, let’s find her so I can personally thank her for the move down here. You know she gonna think she the boss of us, right? ’Cuz she mentioned this place to Pop and ’cuz she been down here with Whistler.”
“She does her thing, and we do ours,” Bugsy replied.
“And Pops calls us spoiled.” Meyer chuckled. “Daddy’s little girl, right?”
Bugsy didn’t respond.
“Nigga, you ain’t hungry?”
Bugsy shook his head. He was ready to leave. He had business on his mind and wanted to get their operation started in town.
“Well, I’m starving, nigga. I’m ’bout to get me some chicken. And don’t ask me for any, nigga,” Meyer said, approaching the chicken spot next door to Ray’s Market.
“Don’t take forever.”
***
“Fuck me, nigga! Yes! Just like that! Oooh! Like that!”
On all fours, Lucky hollered in pleasure as Whistler slammed his erection into her pussy. He clutched her hips and opened her up with roughness and lubrication as he squeezed her cheeks and danced inside of her.
Lucky clutched the bed sheets and bit down on her bottom lip, loving every minute of it. She couldn’t get enough of Whistler.
“You gonna make me fuckin’ come!” Lucky announced.
She loved the way Whistler gripped the back of her neck as he worked her. Her body was ready to shake with an orgasm. She could feel the rush. His pinches on her nipples fanned the flames.
Lucky groaned and moaned. Doggy-style was one of her favorite positions.
She could feel every inch of him digging into her. “Fuck me, nigga! Ooooh shit! That dick gonna make me fuckin’ come!” Just as she was about to explode and cream all over Whistler’s erection, his cell phone rang and vibrated against the table.
Whistler slowed his thrust inside of her.
She barked, “Nigga, don’t stop! Keep fuckin’ me.”
He let the call go to voice mail.
As they were about to get their rhythm going again, Lucky’s phone rang. She became even more incensed. She wanted to finish.
Whistler stopped grinding inside of her, pulled out, and went to answer her phone, his dick swinging. Lucky was against it, but he felt it might be important. “Who this?”
“Nigga, this is Meyer, that’s who. We on our way to y’all right now.”
“Okay,” Whistler replied.
Whistler didn’t look too worried. He turned to Lucky and said, “Your brothers are on their way here.”
“Shit!” Lucky removed herself from the bed. “They definitely got perfect timing—I was about to fuckin’ come.” Lucky scrambled to get dressed as she griped about the bedroom interruption. But she had to keep her affair with Whistler a secret. Her brothers would tell their father if they found out.
Whistler collected his things. He coolly got dressed and departed Lucky’s room.
An hour later, Meyer, Bugsy, Lucky, Whistler, Luna, and several other goons held court in a room at the DoubleTree hotel on the outskirts of town. On one
double bed was an assortment of weapons, from handguns to assault rifles and machine guns. Cigarette smoke filled the room.
Lucky sat at the edge of the second double bed, smoking a Newport. Whistler stood by the window, and the brothers were seated at the table.
“We already met with the detective and arranged something with him,” Lucky said.
“Like what?” Meyer asked.
“A compromise,” Lucky said.
“So you got things started without us. You the boss, huh?” Meyer said.
“We supposed to wait on you, Meyer? I don’t even know why Pop sent y’all down here; we don’t need any help with this.”
Meyer laughed. “Obviously, he feels y’all do. And if you would have just kept your damn mouth shut and been content with business in New York, then we wouldn’t be in this forsaken city.”
“You got something to say to me, Meyer?” Lucky stood up from the bed and readied herself for a confrontation with her brother. “You never know when to shut the fuck up!”
Meyer lifted himself from his seat too, glaring at his little sister. “You make me shut the fuck up, little sis!”
“Enough!” Whistler stepped between the siblings, showing his authority. “Both of y’all, sit down and shut up.”
Meyer and Lucky did what they were told, knowing not to go against their father’s second-in-command.
“We’re down here for a reason, and that reason is for expansion, nothing else. Now Scott sent you two boys down here for a reason, not to fight with your sister. We are an organization—a fuckin’ dynasty—not some ordinary street gang ready to have a civil war.”
Meyer frowned, not wanting to hear a speech from Whistler.
“Your father knows a good opportunity when he sees one. You think he would send his kids down here to set up shop if this wasn’t profitable? He and Lucky see something in this city.”
“So, what next then?” Meyer asked.
“I want you and your brother to sweat this fiend named Marty. Lucky will describe him to you. We subtly put the squeeze on DMC, hit them where it hurts, and they don’t see us coming. We made an agreement with Detective Jones—no unnecessary violence or bloodshed in the area.”
Meyer said, “What you mean, Whistler? We ain’t gonna kill these muthafuckas? So they just gonna hand everything over to us on a silver platter? If it’s gonna be that easy, why bring the muscle and the guns?”
Whistler stared at Meyer. The young boy was always mouthy and problematic. Locking eyes with Meyer, he said, “Before I was interrupted, and I’m saying this to everyone—our attack on DMC can’t be loud and messy. We can’t bring any negative attention to our organization. A small city like this . . . too many homicides will create public outcry, and the press will be all over it. Too many bodies will attract the feds, and that will be bad for business.”
“So what do you want us to do then?” Luna didn’t understand it. Murder and bloodshed were his forte. Why have him in Delaware if couldn’t kill people?
Whistler had a solution. “We make the bodies disappear, or we move them to a different area. Anyhow, it’s our arrangement with the detective, and it’s a smart play.”
Meyer shook his head from side to side. “That’s a lot of work, Whistler. I mean, we gotta kill a nigga and move the body to appease some small-town cop? I mean, since when do we listen to fuckin’ cops? C’mon, are they workin’ for us, or are we workin’ for them?”
“Meyer, just chill,” Bugsy said.
“I mean, I had a good thing going on in New York until this bullshit.”
“And if you want to continue that good thing in New York, youngblood, then I advise you do what your father and I tell you to do. Or, son or not, you’ll be out in the cold,” Whistler said.
“So we patsies now, huh? Last time I checked, I was a lieutenant in my father’s organization,” Meyer said.
“Your father’s organization, youngblood—remember that,” Whistler replied. “Meyer, you keep making this an issue, and soon you will become an issue.”
Whistler had a look in his eyes that said Meyer was pushing his buttons and testing his patience. Son or no son of Scott, Whistler had no time to deal with his absurdity. His hard look toward the young prince was enough to intimidate Meyer into silence.
Whistler gave out commands to each man in the room, while Lucky played the background. It was Whistler’s show. He had the experience and intelligence to know how to activate a hostile takeover and obliterate another drug crew from their territory.
Meyer and Bugsy were in charge of surveillance on the opposing crew. They would connect with their inside snitch, Marty, and work on gathering as much information possible to make their move covert. Luna was their muscle and clean-up man for the bodies that would fall once they moved into the territory and set up stash houses.
Lucky and Whistler would deal with Detective Jones and the political end of things.
Everything was set. They were ready to flood the streets of Wilmington with their superior heroin, cocaine, and meth. It was time to implement the hostile takeover before the DMC saw it coming. By the time they figured it out, it would be too late. Deuce and his crew didn’t stand a chance.
15
Layla lounged on the balcony of her lovely Florida home. The sun shined brightly down on her tanned body, creating a glistening effect on her light brown skin. She had a strong margarita nearby, and a burning blunt of potent Kush made her day even brighter. She took a few sips from her drink then took a few pulls of Kush as she relaxed. The house was quiet. Bonnie and Clyde were away doing their own thing, and Gotti was playing video games as usual.
Layla had fallen in love with the Sunshine State. The weather was fantastic, the ocean was picturesque, and the real estate was breathtaking. There was money in Florida. They called it the retirement state for a reason. Layla had plans to build something there. Something legitimate and large. The private complex she was building for her family was only the beginning. Real estate was gold, and she was ready to dig.
She took another puff and closed her eyes. The sun’s heat beamed down on her. She lounged back on the convertible chaise and exhaled. Going from Brooklyn to Florida took a lot of hard work, climbing, sex, deceit, and death, but she did it. She felt she was that rose growing out of concrete. She was smirking down at those who’d doubted her—middle finger up at her enemies, and they could kiss her black ass. They hated on Layla in Brooklyn. Many felt that her position with Scott was unjust—that Maxine had gotten a raw deal, and Layla was to blame. But she was feared too, so not many people challenged her.
Layla had recently sent the fifteen thousand dollars for Maxine’s benefit. It was the least she could do for a friend, though she hardly thought about Maxine until the inmate contacted or wrote her. It was a case of out of sight, out of mind. Layla had things to do, money to make, and her fabulous life to live.
She heard the weed-whacker start up below her. Fabian was performing his daily duties. He had been her gardener for several months. Having Fabian around was a quick distraction. He was a good worker, dedicated to his job, and, most of all, he was eye-candy.
Layla took a few sips of her margarita, lifted her body from the chaise, and walked toward the railing of her balcony. She gazed below and watched Fabian tend to her sprawling green lawn. He ran a successful landscaping company with over a dozen workers. Tall and broad, he had rock-hard arms and a mane of dreads that almost made him look animalistic. Her eyes were fixed on the beads of sweat on his shimmering dark skin as he worked on her lawn.
She breathed out with unrest, thinking about the things he could do to her and what she could do to him. She pictured him and his long dreads buried between her open legs, tasting her every nook and cranny like ice cream on a hot day. She wondered how it would feel to have him inside of her, his large hands cupping her ass and his mouth latched onto her nipples.
***
Layla remembered Antonio from Crown Heights, Brooklyn. He was a tall, smooth, handsome, dark-skinned hustler with a thing for her. She was with Scott at the time, and they were the “it couple” in Brooklyn. Antonio was a dealer on the come-up, not afraid to fight for his respect and his business. Antonio went after what he wanted, including Layla. He didn’t fear Scott. Though Scott was her man, Layla was fond of Antonio. He said all the right things, and there was something so attractive about him.
Layla just wanted to enjoy his company. She didn’t expect things to go so far with him. She was playing with fire, enjoying the attention from both men, and she didn’t expect to get burned so severely.
After months of sexual tension between her and Antonio, she finally gave in and gave him some pussy. The sex with Antonio was better than she expected it to be. It damn near blew her mind. Just like that, she was fucking two rivals.
Two months passed before Scott found out. A little birdie told him. He confronted Layla and beat her severely. Then he took her to a secret location where he had Antonio tied to a chair, butt naked and bleeding.
Scott made Layla watch as he viciously tortured Antonio. He and his goons did every horrific thing imaginable to him, including mutilate his genitals. Then they dismembered him.
“Look at him!” Scott instructed her.
Layla was in tears, afraid for her own life.
“This is what happens when you cross me. You’re my woman, and don’t you ever forget that!”
That incident became forever etched in her memory. Scott was crazy and dangerous. It was her one and only warning.
But Scott was a hypocrite. He was a womanizer, but he wanted Layla to behave herself. She gave him six kids, and he gave her the lifestyle of the rich and fabulous. She couldn’t complain, although it was a troubled relationship.