In the small room, Shiniquia was surrounded by three scowling inmates, each gripping a shank. She didn’t understand what was happening. Why were they after her?
“Y’all bitches suicidal, stupid, or crazy? Which one?” Shiniquia shouted.
They had no time for words. They were there to do a job and do it swiftly.
Shiniquia soon felt the sharp tip of the shank plunged into the side of her neck, and blood gushed from the staggering jab. She then felt a second shank thrust into her chest, followed by the third sinking into her neck again. The stabbing was repetitive and violent until she collapsed on the floor, choking on her own blood, which pooled underneath her. She was dead.
The inmates discarded their weapons and retreated from the scene.
Max finally made it back from the visiting room and learned that Shiniquia had been stabbed to death near the dayroom. No witnesses. Layla had that far of a reach.
Max was beside herself with grief. Pangs of hatred resurfaced, and she needed to regroup. Her best friend had been viciously murdered, and Layla had sanctioned the hit. Money bought everything. Layla’s visit somehow was a ploy, maybe meant to be a distraction. Max didn’t know what or how much Layla knew. She knew she had to watch her back. She was still feared and respected, but who would dare kill her best friend?
34
2015
Layla stood in the center of her masterpiece, and she felt some content. The Florida compound was finally finished, and everything looked spectacular, just the way she predicted. It was a costly project, in the tens of millions, but well worth the cost and the time. There would be three homes set up as shrines to remember Gotti, Bonnie, and Clyde. Layla had all of their clothing, favorite toys, and belongings placed inside the houses they were supposed to live in. She wanted them to live on. Scott and everyone else thought it to be creepy and eerie, but they didn’t say too much to her about it. Layla wanted what she wanted.
Though there had been some grave and inevitable bumps in the road, things began to look up. The Wests had taken over Delaware with Deuce still missing in action. There was a bounty on his head, and Meyer and Luna were on the hunt. They’d lost a few soldiers during the takeover, but it was worth it. The money coming out of Delaware was more than they’d expected.
Lucky had made a recovery from her assault to some extent, but the beating caused her to look like a stroke victim. She had a droopy eye, some numbness on the right side of her face, and her speech was slurred. Her beauty wasn’t what it was before. The doctors proclaimed that she was lucky to be alive. Whenever Lucky saw her reflection, she would cringe with shame and hatred. Her attackers not only left her scarred physically but mentally. She felt ugly. She felt she had let her family down. She could never forget what they did to her in that van that night.
Meyer would try to bring his sister some comfort, telling her how many people he and Luna killed in her honor, but it hurt too much. She was still in the family business, but she felt unwanted, especially by Whistler, who had been ignoring her phone calls and avoiding her.
Initially, Whistler was there for her, taking care of her and trying to nurse her back to health. But Lucky had gotten clingier since being scarred, and she wanted to announce to her family she and Whistler were together. Whistler was against it.
Lucky showed up unannounced at Whistler’s apartment one night dressed in her finest outfit. Although she had the droopy eye and wasn’t herself completely, she still had a nice figure, and she still had needs. Whistler was the only man she wanted. She marched into the building and proceeded to his apartment door. She knocked loudly.
The knocking and bell ringing stirred Whistler from his sleep. He glanced at the time, and it was three in the morning. He removed himself from the bed, and away from his naked young beauty with long blonde hair and a perfect figure. The pussy was phenomenal.
He put on his designer robe, removed his pistol from the dresser, and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole he saw Lucky standing in his hallway and released an exaggerated sigh. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he whispered. He opened the door just a little, preventing her from marching into his place. “You know what time it is, Lucky?”
“I came to see you, Whistler. I missed you,” she said.
“Go home, Lucky.”
“No. Let me in!” she demanded.
“Go home, Lucky. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“Why won’t you let me in, Whistler? Huh? You got some bitch in there with you? That’s why? Who you fuckin’? Why are you fuckin’ avoiding me? Why don’t you answer my fuckin’ calls?”
Whistler was keeping his cool while Lucky was creating a scene. She was emotional, and emotions were a very dangerous thing, especially in the business they were in.
“Listen, we’ll talk later. I promise you. I have some early morning business to attend to, and I need some sleep,” he said coolly.
“Don’t lie to me, Whistler. Don’t play me or I’ll tell my father about us,” she threatened.
“You know what? We’ll tell him together,” he said out the blue.
The comment threw her off guard. “What? Are you serious?”
“I am. I can’t hide us from him anymore. He needs to know.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear from him, but it sounded so good. She smiled. Her attitude changed. Her eyes lit up with a smile. “When?”
“Let’s meet later this week and come up with a plan on how to tell him about us. Cool?”
She nodded.
“But for now, I need my rest, Lucky. I have a really busy day tomorrow.”
She nodded.
Whistler smiled, having calmed down the emotional beast. They kissed in the hallway.
Lucky didn’t want to let her man go. He meant everything to her. She believed him. She was nervous, but she figured everything would be okay. She left with a different mood, a more positive feeling.
Whistler closed his door and made a phone call. “Yeah, it’s me. We need to talk. I have something for you.”
***
Lucky drove in her expensive Benz Wagon on the Belt Parkway, going from Queens to Brooklyn. It was twilight and a chilly night. She listened to some Alicia Keys and did the speed limit, being in no rush. Trying to get her life back on track was a grueling process. From the therapy to the medication, there were days when she didn’t know if she was coming or going. But one thing was for sure—she knew her family had her back. They had the money and the means to secure her with whatever she needed. She was seen by some of the finest doctors in the city, and her recovery treatment was costly, but Scott was doing everything he could for his daughter. But she still had a lot going on.
Listening to the song, “Un-Thinkable (I’m Ready)”, she thought about her lover Whistler. The song nearly made her emotional. Lucky always found herself gripped by the lyrics. Alicia Keys was one of her favorite singers. But soon her song was interrupted by the flashing police lights in her rearview mirror. She was being pulled over. Lucky didn’t understand why. She wasn’t speeding.
“What the fuck!” She steered the Benz off the highway and onto the shoulder.
She sat in the driver’s seat, watching the cop’s every move in her mirrors, from his marked car to her side door. He tapped on the glass.
Lucky rolled her window down and asked, “What’s the problem, officer?”
“License and registration please?”
Lucky had no problem delivering the material into his hands. Her car was legit, her license was clean, and everything was in order. She figured it to be a routine stop. But he still didn’t explain the reason for the impulsive traffic stop.
“Why did you pull me over, officer?”
Still, no reply from him. Instead, he got on his police radio and called it in. It didn’t take long for another cop to arrive on the scene.
Seeing this was
making Lucky nervous now. She didn’t understand what was going on. Soon, several officers surrounded her car and were telling her to step out of the car.
“For what? What the fuck did I do?” she barked at them.
“We need to do a search of the vehicle,” one said.
“What? Search my car for what?”
“Ma’am, we need for you to step out of the vehicle,” he said sternly.
The officers were adamant, but Lucky knew her rights. They had to have a reason.
Their reason was, “We’ve received a tip that this vehicle is transporting narcotics.”
Lucky knew it was bullshit. While angrily removing herself from the Benz, she said, “You’ll be hearing from my fuckin’ lawyer!”
Immediately, the traffic stop became a dance and show with police dogs on the scene. Lucky stood there in her faux suede belted jacket flabbergasted.
The police and the dogs went through her vehicle and discovered several kilos of cocaine. It was enough narcotics to put her away for life.
Lucky was floored. “That’s not mine!” she shouted. “Y’all are setting me up!”
“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance,” the cop said, pulling out his handcuffs. Then he read her the Miranda rights and handcuffed her.
Lucky wanted to resist. There was no way the drugs found in her vehicle belonged to her. Someone had planted them inside her trunk. But who?
She sulked as she was placed in the back seat of the marked police car. She watched the cops unload five kilos of cocaine from the trunk. There were two reasons she knew someone was out to get her—she didn’t move cocaine, and she never rode dirty. They had transporters and mules who did that. She would never put herself at risk. She needed to call her father, and she needed to get in contact with their high-priced attorney, Ross Gadberry. At eight hundred dollars an hour, he was one of the best attorneys in the city to have on retainer.
***
Lucky didn’t feel so lucky. Her life was turning into shit. She sat in the Brooklyn precinct moping while handcuffed to the long, hard bench. It was turning into a long night. She had been waiting to make her one phone call for nearly two hours. Cops and detectives busied themselves with paperwork and arrests, and she wasn’t a concern yet. It was like a waiting game.
Her one phone call finally available, she called Gadberry to inform him of her sudden arrest. She knew he could get in touch with her father. He told her to say nothing and that he’d be down to the precinct with her father shortly.
While she was processed into custody, the arresting officer noted that her real name was Lucky Luciana West. He was surprised that her parents would name their daughter Lucky Luciana.
“Lucky Luciana, as in Lucky Luciano?”
“Yes. Is there a problem with my name?”
He chuckled. “It’s a unique name for a girl.”
“I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.”
“Eighteen years old with five kilos in the trunk of your car . . . I guess you’re not,” the officer replied.
Lucky’s droopy eye and her sharp appearance and attitude intrigued the officer. “Funny,” he said, “have you ever seen a picture of Lucky Luciano?”
“No. I haven’t.”
For amusement, he googled the legendary gangster, and Lucky stared at his picture. He had the same droopy eye as her. What were the odds? The officer told her his history. She had never connected it.
“I wasn’t born like this,” she said. She explained to him she had been brutally beaten, and they’d never caught her attackers. She criticized the NYPD for not doing their jobs when she was beaten, but they had time to arrest and set up innocent people like her.
He chuckled at her story, enraging Lucky. “Don’t you think that you and your family are taking this obsession with gangsters too far? You want to be a kingpin like him? Well, you’re on your way, sweetheart. Five kilos is nothing to sneeze at.”
“The drugs aren’t mine!” she exclaimed.
“It’s your life.”
Lucky frowned.
The cop explained Lucky Luciano’s history. He too, had been kidnapped and severely beaten, and left for dead somewhere in Staten Island, but he didn’t die, hence the name “Lucky” Luciano. He had been arrested many times, then indicted and sentenced to 30 to 50 years in the state penitentiary.
“You know, your life is somewhat mirroring his,” the cop said.
Hearing the similarities left Lucky speechless. She had seen old movies about the gangsters from that era, but she’d never read the true histories about her parents’ idols. She felt that her family was in grave danger.
35
Max sat in the prison cafeteria with her cronies eating a stale lunch and half-listening to them converse about frivolous things. Max’s attention was fixed on a new inmate across the room. Nadia was doing a few years for check fraud and identity theft, and Max found her the perfect target to help her carry out her revenge against Layla. It had taken some time, but Max had another plan set up. Max couldn’t forget or forgive Layla for what she’d done to her and now her friend Shiniquia. Layla thought she could always get away with murder, acting like she ran the world. She had to pay for her sins, and Max was ready to be the Grim Reaper.
Nadia had a boyfriend named Miguel, who Max would have carry out the next half of her plan.
Max got up from her table and went and sat across from Nadia. “You think about my proposal?”
Nadia was hesitating to answer. She had thought about it. Max had status, from the inmates to the guards, so Nadia knew that she was nothing to play with. She wanted no problems inside the prison.
“You and your boyfriend Miguel do this favor for me, and I can guarantee you protection in here,” Max said.
Nadia was young, curvy, and cute. The dykes and the butches inside LCIW were ready to have their turn with her. They wanted her badly, enticed by the girl’s full lips and long, black hair. The inmates wanted Nadia to become their baby doll, or personal Barbie Doll. It was easy to tell that Nadia was a scared first-timer. Nadia’s fear would become useful for Max. She reminded Max of herself over twenty years ago—pretty, scared, and swallowed up by fear.
“I can protect you in here, Nadia. A favor for a favor,” Max said.
“He’ll do it,” Nadia murmured.
Max was pleased to hear the good news.
***
Max heard more good news about Lucky’s arrest. Max had originally planned to have Lucky set up on a gun charge. Miguel would plant the weapon, call in on the snitch line, and knock Lucky. Max had already arranged for her to be murdered while on Rikers Island awaiting trial. Then it would be on to the next one. Lucky’s story would not end like Luciano’s.
So imagine the shock and delight when Max heard from Layla that Lucky was knocked for possession of five kilos of that pure white.
Max had been sending her commissary home in a money order to her aging, ailing mother. It totaled ten grand. It was time-consuming, but she was ready to implement her scheme against the West family.
Miguel was ex-military and ex-con. He’d done some time in Attica for a gun charge. His background was shady enough for Max to trust him with murder for hire. He needed the money, and she needed closure.
Max’s mother was reluctant to go with her daughter’s plan at first, but she eventually left the ten grand in Miguel’s mailbox. He had a simple task, and he was determined to pull it off and aid his girlfriend. He knew her life depended on it.
Epilogue
2016
Max entered the large room feeling anxious. She was up for parole. She couldn’t believe that she would be released if the parole hearing went her way. So much time had passed that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be free and what the outside world looked like. Everything had to have changed dramatically after twenty-two yea
rs.
Looking her best in front of the parole committee, her hair styled in a long ponytail, she sat in the folding chair and looked at the several men and women seated a distance from of her. She had to convince these people she was a changed woman.
Max became Maxine in front of the parole committee. She smiled, took a deep breath, and relaxed. They were reviewing her files, and some controversial incidents were on her record. But this was her time to tell her side of the story and to communicate her argument for parole.
Each man and woman stared at Maxine, judging her and trying to read if she was worthy of parole.
“You’ve done over twenty years in prison. Do you feel that you’ve been rehabilitated?” one of them asked her.
Did she feel that she’d been rehabilitated? Yes, she’d been transformed all right, becoming a predator inside rather than prey. Prison had changed her in ways she couldn’t imagine. She was definitely a different person from twenty-two years earlier. So, yes, she believed that she had been rehabilitated.
“I do, sir.”
The committee’s job was to know about the parolee—in the interest of public safety—and the needs of the individual inmate. The parole board evaluated the seriousness of Maxine’s crime. The fact that she had beaten a pregnant girl to death, killing the baby too, left a bad taste in people’s mouths, even twenty-two years later.
Another board member asked, “If released, what are your plans?”
Her plans were about revenge, but she couldn’t tell them that.
With a straight face, Maxine looked at them and replied, “I always wanted to become a lawyer. I still feel that dream is attainable for me. But I would have to start over from the beginning—relearn and reevaluate my life. But I’m willing to work hard and make up for so much lost time.”
The board wrote notes about her response in their books.
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