Dirty Work, Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  Eshon picked out a red and white form-fitting short-sleeve minidress for herself and Mina. It was classy and sexy. They picked out a red side-tie halter dress with red heels for Brandy and her decoy Mandy. The men would wear red T-shirts, white jeans, and white Air Force Ones. The event was three days away.

  ***

  Everything had been put into motion. Early morning on the day of the event, Eshon strutted into Jessica’s building and took the elevator to the traitor’s floor and knocked on her door with a counterfeit smile. Eshon had to put on a front for Jessica to make it appear that all was forgiven between them and there were no hard feelings. It was a hard task, knowing what Jessica had planned for all of them, but it was necessary for their survival. She held her evening dress in her hand, covered in plastic.

  The apartment door opened, and Jessica appeared wearing a long T-shirt and curlers in her hair.

  “Hey,” Eshon greeted and gave Jessica a hug that repulsed her.

  “Hey, what’s good? Why you here so early, homes?” Jessica asked, sounding slightly defensive. “The party’s tonight.”

  “I wanted to show you my new dress,” Eshon said.

  “Oh . . .”

  Eshon held it up for Jessica to see. It was a lovely piece of fabric—stylishly designed, it stood out.

  “We gonna wear all red tonight,” said Eshon.

  “Why red?”

  “It was Kip’s favorite color, and it’s a celebration for him, right?”

  Jessica nodded. “It is.”

  “And red is the color of love. We need to show our love for Kip tonight, so we all decided to become unified with red and white. Love and peace.”

  Jessica was listening, taking it all in.

  Eshon continued with, “I just wanted to thank you, Jessica. I needed this. I miss him so much.”

  “I do too.”

  Eshon sighed faintly. “Despite what happened wit’ us, I still got love for you, girl.”

  It was a vast lie.

  “Eshon, you know you my number-one bitch, homes. I always got love for you, too,” Jessica returned.

  Another lie told.

  The girls smiled in each other’s faces and expressed their forgiveness, but rooted deep inside both of them was unadulterated hatred for each other. Eshon wanted to scratch that bitch’s eyes out and throw her body off the rooftop and watch it fall apart. It took everything she had inside of her not to react violently. She needed to stick to the plan. Jessica would get hers.

  Jessica was thirsting for their demise. She saw Eshon and everyone else as a gaping hindrance that needed to be eradicated from her life. Maserati Meek was the only person she cared about. Greed and love had gotten the best of her. Her friendship with Kip’s crew had expired. Jessica felt that she had moved on to better things. And after tonight, there would be no more threats to her relationship with Maserati Meek. Her past would be behind her, her friends would be dead, and she would be free to concentrate on her future with Meek.

  Eshon pivoted and made her exit. She had done her part. Jessica believed the lie about the dress code being red and white. Eshon made it emotional and explainable. Her love for Kip was never-ending.

  Once the door closed and Eshon was out of sight, Jessica went into her bedroom and picked up her cell phone. She immediately called Maserati Meek. She had to tell him the news about the red and white outfits.

  His phone rang several times before he picked up. “Meek, it’s me, baby. I have something to tell you.”

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “They all will be wearing red and white tonight, in honor of Kip.”

  “Red and white, eh,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “Yes, this will make it easier for you to spot them out in the crowd. Right, homes?”

  “It will, but you have no need to worry. Relax, eh, because tonight everyone will die no matter what they wear. I can promise you that,” he said coolly.

  He hung up.

  Jessica felt left in the dark, but she knew whatever Maserati Meek had planned was something sinister. Everyone was going to die. It was guaranteed.

  4

  The Kid, Devon, and Papa John drove through the Holland Tunnel and entered New Jersey. A few miles away, nestled on the outskirts of Newark, was a Motel 6 where their doppelgangers waited for them. Time was winding down. The men were well groomed, fed, and treated fairly until the day of reckoning. So far, The Kid had made good on his promises to them. He put two hundred and fifty dollars into each of their hands. They’d get the other half when the night was over—though he didn’t expect them to live through tonight.

  If Maserati Meek executed his plan, then Kid and his crew would be believed dead and out of harm’s way from the crime boss. The Kid needed tonight’s plan to work. It was a cruel thing, using innocent men as pawns for death so that he and his men could live. But in this world, there were no such things as half-measures. You went all the way—kill or be killed. You moved your queen fearlessly around the board and took what you wanted, or you didn’t survive the game. In Kid’s eyes, the decoys were simple pawns, meant to be sacrificed so the king could live on and rule.

  He wheeled himself into the motel room and greeted the men with a smile and a hello. Papa John and Devon stood behind him; each showed friendliness, too. The three men were happy to be there—in a simple room with a bed and bathroom. They were being fed, they had cable TV, and they looked like decent human beings again. The bartender and starving artist had grand visions of making it to the big time, perhaps getting a movie deal. The homeless man was just grateful to have a good meal, warm bed, new clothes, and money to blow on drugs once these shenanigans were over.

  “It’s time to get dressed. Tonight is the night,” The Kid said to them. “Y’all excited?”

  “Yes,” Henry replied. “After years of being hungry on the streets, this is like paradise to me. Thank you for this.”

  “That’s good to know. I’m happy for you,” The Kid replied.

  The look in his eyes didn’t change. He still felt nothing after the man’s kind words. As they say in Hollywood, the show must go on. The Kid had changed overnight, becoming something that Kip desperately wanted to keep him away from. As the streets would say—he was ’bout that life. It was a life where one couldn’t look weak. It was a life where your claws had to be the sharpest. And it was a life where you hoped for the best but prepared for the worst.

  Devon lit a cigarette and smirked. These fools think something good is coming their way, he thought. He couldn’t believe that The Kid’s plan was coming to life. In a few hours, hopefully, these morons would be dead. Then they would have ample time to plot their revenge against Maserati Meek. It would be a sweet revenge because Meek wouldn’t see it coming.

  “We got one hour. I don’t wanna be late there,” The Kid said.

  Each man got dressed in tonight’s gear: red T-shirts, white denim jeans, and white Nikes. They were groomed to look exactly like The Kid and his men. The Kid nodded toward Devon, and he exited the room. Moments later, he brought in a wheelchair that was similar to Kid’s. Everything had to be perfect—in uniform.

  Before the men left the Motel 6, The Kid pulled out his cell phone and instructed Devon to dial Eshon. Once again, he couldn’t look like he was in charge. Everything had to go through Devon. Eshon was across the river in a Brooklyn motel with the girls.

  “Yo, what’s it lookin’ like on your end?” Devon asked.

  “Copacetic, so far,” she replied.

  “A’ight. We gonna meet up around ten,” he said.

  The decoys were ready and looked right for tonight. From a distance, Jessica wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. The timing had to be right. Until the plan was to be executed, the decoys had to stay out of sight. Like the game of chess, each piece had a purpose.

  ***

  Th
e VIP area at club Sane was decorated in floating red balloons, expensive champagne in ice buckets, and a black and silver banner with Kip’s name etched into it. The place was decorated as a memorial for the late Kip. Jessica had gone all out for the bash, knowing it was going to be her friends’ last night alive—like Custer’s last stand.

  Sane was the place to be tonight: large dance floor, circular bar, popular DJ, and classy VIP. The revelers danced to hip-hop music as Jessica waited for the victims to show up wearing a sexy black and gold Chanel dress. The event had cost a pretty penny, but secretly Meek had paid for it all.

  Everyone showed up at different times—within ten minutes apart. Devon, Papa John, Eshon, Brandy, and The Kid all made their grand entrances, and all seemed normal. They were escorted to their private area inside the club where champagne bottles were burst open and bubbly was poured into short-stemmed wine glasses.

  “Yo, yo, I gotta give a shout out to Harlem’s E&J Brandy Bitches in the house,” the DJ announced through the microphone. “They are looking stunning tonight, and representing Kip Kane tonight. Rest in peace, Kip. You are missed.”

  The announcement made Eshon smile, and it touched her heart that the DJ had recognized Kip tonight. She tried her best to hold back the tears. Eshon looked Jessica’s way and raised her glass, saying thank you. Although the party was a scam for their demise, for that split second, it felt special and real.

  The Kid felt the moment too, missing his brother a great deal. But regardless of how special tonight felt, it was still all a lie. Kid made Devon strategically place four triggermen outside the venue, lying in wait for the big bang. How and when it would come, no one knew; that was why the decoys were placed secretly in reserve, waiting to play their roles. Devon and Papa John were carrying pistols, an extra precaution inside just in case Maserati Meek was crazy enough to try something inside the club. Club security turned a blind eye for a few hundred dollars.

  The mood was upbeat, and the dance floor was crowded as the DJ blared hip-hop and R&B. The Kid had his eyes on Jessica, watching her every movement. She was constantly on her phone, talking and texting someone. He had an idea who. She was shuffling her deck, trying to play her cards right. The duration of the night went smoothly—drinks and music, women and dancing. The Kid refused to drink. He had to stay focused, watching everyone and everything from his wheelchair.

  The 2 a.m. hour approached, and the party was still going strong. The DJ continued to shout out Kip’s and the girls’ names. He was being paid handsomely to do so by Jessica. Devon threw back a bottle of champagne and ground his body against a big-booty woman in a short black dress, enjoying the scenery with pussy on the brain. The Kid was somewhat displeased by his behavior. He couldn’t be the only one sharp tonight; their lives were on the line.

  But Devon was going to be Devon—a horny thug. He wasn’t looking like leadership at the moment.

  Papa John, too, was into the moment, throwing back shots and flirting with beautiful women. Had they forgotten that tonight was a setup—that their lives were on the line?

  The Kid couldn’t expose himself by lifting himself from the wheelchair. A cripple he was, and a cripple he would remain as far as everyone knew.

  The text from Jessica came to his phone out of the blue.

  Not feeling too well, I need to leave. Catch you later.

  She stood up. He looked her way and nodded. She strutted away coolly from the VIP area in her red bottoms. The Kid watched her walk away. This was it—something was going down, and she was removing herself from the line of fire.

  The Kid had plans of his own. He got Devon’s attention; the man wasn’t too distracted from his duties.

  Jessica gave the girls a hug goodbye, thinking it was going to be their final hug, and Devon was right behind her. Before she took her steps from the area, Devon was on her like white on rice. He grabbed that bitch from behind and jerked her arm back, skillfully thrusting his gun into her lower back. Through a tightened jaw he growled, “Bitch, you move wrong, and I’m gonna blow ya fuckin’ spine out.”

  She had no choice but to comply.

  Devon was itching to kill her. His blood boiled with rage as he escorted her down the long, narrow hallway leading to the back exit. Papa John went and snatched up Eshon and Brandy; it was time to leave. They knew it was going down. The Kid wheeled himself away too. No one around was any wiser to what was going on. The music played, the club moved, and enough money had been spread around to the right people to make it look like they owned the place.

  The decoys had been waiting in a nearby room. There was food for them, but they were separated from the club. The girls were sitting impatiently; the men were becoming anxious. Everyone was eager for their payday and to get things started. The girls wanted to join the party. The DJ was getting busy, playing everything from “Bodak Yellow” to Rihanna’s “Wild Thoughts.”

  The Kid entered the room. It was time. The decoys’ instructions were to mingle with the crowd, dance, and then start leaving between 4 a.m. and 5 a.m. They believed the cameras would be rolling for a new reality show. They were dressed for success, and the VIP area was theirs tonight, including the free champagne. Things were pushing forward as planned.

  Papa John drove Eshon and Brandy to the hotel room in Jersey City they had reserved earlier. They’d made their exit covertly out the back door of the club. At the hotel, everyone was to lie low until The Kid and Devon arrived. No sudden moves; whatever Maserati Meek had planned for them, they would soon find out with the decoys planted inside the club.

  Devon had also left with Jessica at gunpoint. Devon smacked her repeatedly and threatened her life. She was in tears. He threw her into the back of the van around the corner from the club and thrust the gun into her face. “You fuckin’ rat bitch! You fuckin’ traitor! You gonna die tonight!”

  The Kid knocked on the back door and made his way inside via the small ramp. Jessica was in tears, but she didn’t panic. Everything had suddenly backfired on her. How did they know? What did they have planned for her? The Kid didn’t say a word to her. He snatched away her cell phone and went scrolling through her call list and her text messages. The last one read: Did you leave yet?

  No doubt it was from Maserati Meek, though the contact read: Heart. He was securing his woman’s safety. The Kid frowned and gritted his teeth. The man had Jessica’s heart. She loved him—was in love with him.

  Out of the blue, The Kid smacked Jessica so hard his hand stung. She sat there blank and took the hit from him. She didn’t cry out or show any emotions. She did nothing. However, her eyes told them everything—especially Kid. She hated him with a passion.

  “So, he moves you better than me, huh?” The Kid said.

  “He does everything better than you! Fuck you!” she coldly replied.

  He started to type on her phone, replying to Maserati Meek: Yea, homes, I’m already gone. You can do ya thang. See u soon.

  A reply came back to her cell phone immediately: July 4th came early, eh? Boom!

  The Kid was confused by the text. July 4th was two weeks away. Boom? What did it mean? He figured it meant their deaths. They would be riddled with bullets from many guns. The Kid felt that he was one up on Maserati Meek. Soon, it would be checkmate.

  Devon called one of his triggermen positioned outside the club. He wanted to know the 411.

  “Yo, what y’all niggas see out there?” he asked him.

  “Nothing. It’s quiet,” the gunman replied.

  “When you see that bitch-ass nigga Maserati Meek or anyone connected to him, y’all niggas lay them muthafuckas out.”

  “A’ight, we on—”

  Before the man could finish his sentence, there was a sudden explosion, and the sky was lit up with fire and billowing smoke. The sound was deafening, and the van felt like it had been caught up in an earthquake. It rattled from side to side like a giant had the v
ehicle in its grip.

  “What the fuck!” The Kid cursed.

  Instantaneously, pandemonium broke out on the streets of New York. People ran from the club in different directions—some were severely injured, bleeding and distraught. There was frantic screaming and yelling, and cars were speeding away from the scene, flying through red lights with horns blowing and phones frantically dialing 911. It was too early to say what had happened, but it felt like 9/11 all over again. The club had been blown up. The entire structure was in shambles. Whatever had been used, it brought the foundation down—there was nothing but rubble.

  The realization finally sank in for Kid. He turned toward Jessica and punched her in the face. Her nose bled. He hit her again.

  “You were going to blow us up!”

  Jessica had no idea what just happened. She was as clueless as everyone else. The blood trickled from her face onto the floor of the van. She was in pain. Devon too was angry—hyped and amped. He glared at Jessica and hollered, “Yo, we should just kill this bitch right here, right fuckin’ now!”

  “I didn’t know,” she exclaimed.

  “Bullshit!” Devon hollered.

  “I swear to you, I didn’t know what he was goin’ to do,” she said.

  The Kid scowled. He hadn’t seen it coming. He’d been thinking guns, but obviously Maserati Meek was a bit more extreme. A bomb—a fuckin’ terrorist attack. He was flabbergasted.

  “Kid, what we gonna do wit’ this bitch?” Devon asked, hoping The Kid would say death.

  “Drive to the hotel,” The Kid said. “We gonna take care of her in New Jersey. It’s too hot out here right now.”

  Devon nodded, climbed into the driver’s seat, and floored the gas pedal.

  Jessica was thrown to the floor. Her body was wracked with pain. She knew it was the end for her. There was no way she would survive this ordeal. The Kid and Devon were pissed. Maserati Meek had tried to blow them up, but it had failed. Now she was going to suffer the aftermath of that failure.