Trust in No Man 2

by Cash

  Trust No Man 2

  Lock Down Publications

  & Ca$h Presents

  Trust No Man 2

  A Novel by Ca$h

  Lock Down Publications

  P.O. Box 1482

  Pine Lake, Ga 30072-1482

  Visit our website at www.lockdownpublications.com

  Copyright 2009 Ca$h Trust No Man 2

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition 2009

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design and layout by: Marion Designs

  Book interior design by: Shawn Walker

  Edited by: Shawn Walker

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  CHAPTER 1

  Mafuckaz better beware!

  That’s all I kept saying to myself as I drove to the car wash on Georgia Avenue to have my whip washed and detailed.

  If niggaz thought they could get away with bangin’ me up, putting me in the hospital with a busted head, a broken jaw and cracked ribs and not have to feel my heat, then they had the game twisted!

  I was out of the hospital now. Busted up, but alive and ready to turn the streets of ATL into a war zone.

  I still had the loot on me that had been in my pocket the night I was taken to the hospital. The emergency workers had given it to Inez. She had returned it to me as soon as I was awake and coherent.

  After my whip was spotless, shining and smelling brand new, I paid and tipped the boys. Then I drove to Decatur to my crib to check on Cheryl, my daughters and my bank.

  I knew Cheryl would be mad because I hadn’t told her I was banged up in the hospital, but that was the least of my concerns.

  I’ma find those niggaz that banged me up, and show ‘em how the fuck I get down! I thought as I pulled into my apartment complex, parked, got out of my ride and headed up to my apartment.

  As soon as I opened the door and stepped inside, I knew something wasn’t right. The only sound in the apartment was water dripping from the faucet in the kitchen sink. I followed the sound. When I reached the kitchen, the freezer door was ajar, leaving a puddle of water on the floor.

  The chicken boxes where I kept some of my stash were scattered about the kitchen counter, empty as fuck!

  My safes! My million-dollar stash!

  In a panic, I dashed to the bedroom to check the closet. The closet door stood wide open. I held my breath and peeked inside.

  Both safes were gone.

  Oh, hell naw!

  So was my cache of guns.

  My clothes were cut up and strewn all over the bedroom.

  That lowdown bitch! Some nigga put her up to this! My million-dollar stash was gone! I screamed like a madman through my wired mouth.

  The pain from my cracked ribs hit me so hard that I crumpled to the floor.

  After the pain lessened a bit, I was able to get to my feet. I stumbled back into the kitchen where I noticed a letter stuck on the refrigerator door. It was held in place with one of those small, plastic smiley faces. I snatched the letter off of the door and began reading.

  Youngblood,

  Don’t bother trying to find us, nigga, ‘cause you never will. You didn’t want me in your life, so now I’m out, me and your daughters! See, we’re a package deal. You can’t have them and not me! I give you credit for loving Chante and Eryka, but you treated me like shit!

  Nigga, you made me stop loving you after money made you stop loving me. Money changed you, nigga! That’s why I’m taking all of your dough. Maybe without riches, you’ll treat women nicer.

  Oh, just so you know, I have a man who loves me. He’s the Haitian nigga you caught knocking on the door that time. Yep, caught your ass slippin’, not up on your game. I may have gotten fat, but your ass got dumb!

  Again, don’t try to find us, we’re moving out of the country and never coming back. Dag, motherfucker I hate you! But who’s crying now? It sho’ ain’t me.

  Thanks to you, I’m a rich, fat bitch!

  Later nigga,

  Cheryl, Eryka and Chantè

  Cheryl’s letter smashed me!

  I fell to my knees in the puddle of water and cried like a baby. The bitch had run off with my two little princesses and all my bank.

  Bitch, you think stealing my dough is gonna make me nicer? Hell the fuck naw! It’s gonna make me even more of a killa. Startin’ with your fam’.

  Inez could tell something was wrong as soon as I walked in her house. My eyes were red and my body dragged. All of my swagger was gone.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.

  For a long time, I couldn’t answer. I just sat there, staring into space. She got up and sat on the floor at my feet and laid her head on my knee. My blankness must’ve warned her that whatever was the matter was serious.

  After a long silence, mumbling through my mouth wire, I told her what I had discovered at my apartment and showed her Cheryl’s letter, leaving out the exact dollar amount that was taken.

  “She shouldn’t have taken your money. All she had to do was leave,” Inez said, her voice was compassionate. “He probably put her up to it,” she added.

  I didn’t respond. What was there to say? I had already considered that, but what difference did it make? Either way, my money was still gone. My two lil’ princesses were stolen away from me. I couldn’t blame the Haitian nigga. He couldn’t have known about the money unless Cheryl told him. Cheryl was to blame, although I’d kill ‘em both if I ever found them. But with my million dollars in their grip, they’d definitely be hard to find.

  “I still have most of that fifty thousand dollars you gave me. Plus, I have some money put up,” Inez said. “Do you want that?”

  “Just hold on to it, shawdy. Shit gon’ be a’ight.” But I wasn’t sure it would be. Still, Inez earned major props for offering me all that she had.

  I was in a trance, a deep state of denial. I mumbled through my wired mouth for Inez to roll up a blunt and blow me a shotgun.

>   “You sure you can smoke?” Her concern for me was genuine.

  Inhaling the smoke from the ‘dro set my lungs on fire. My whole insides felt aflame but then the pain mellowed and the weed high mixed with the pain pills I’d taken earlier had me drifting off to sleep.

  I dreamt I still had a million dollars but when I woke up a few hours later, reality smacked me back to the present.

  I then gathered up some of my gear, the medical supplies I’d needed and one of the guns I kept under Inez’s couch.

  Before I left, I told her I wouldn’t feel comfortable staying at her crib until I knew who was responsible for putting me in the hospital. She was probably safe ‘cause if my enemies wanted to harm her, they would’ve done it already, but I needed to be sure.

  She told me she’d probably go stay at her mother’s or with a girlfriend until I was sure she’d be safe at home. “Where will you stay?” she asked.

  “With Lonnie, probably.”

  “Or with Juanita?”

  “Maybe, “I admitted. “But if I do, it’ll just be a safe place to lay my head until I can figure out my next move. It won’t be about sex. Real talk, I never slept with her. That was the last thing on my mind.”

  I trust you, boo. Just don’t forget about us.” She looked down at her belly. My seed inside hadn’t grown enough to make it poke out yet.

  I mumbled through the wire. “I’ll have everything back in order soon. In the meantime, I’ll call you every day.”

  “She scribbled her Ma Duke’s and girlfriend’s numbers on a piece of paper and pushed it in my palm.

  When I left, I called Juanita. She didn’t answer her cell phone, so I left a message on her voicemail. Ten minutes later, she called back. I answered the ringing payphone and told her I decided to accept part of her offer. I needed a place to stay while I recovered from my injuries.

  She immediately left work and met me at her house. After helping me put my things in the guest room, she ran a tub full of hot water and suggested I get in and relax.

  The bathtub had power jet sprays that did my sore ribs a world of therapy. While I soaked in the hot, soothing water, Juanita put fresh Epsom salt in her palm and sprinkled it around in the water.

  “That’ll help with the soreness,” Juanita said. Then she put a fresh bandage on the wound in the back of my head.

  A while later, she cooked boneless fried fish, potatoes, green beans and put it all in a blender until it was fine enough for me to suck through a straw.

  After dinner, I told her what Cheryl had done and showed her the letter. As with Inez, I didn’t reveal to Juanita the amount of money Cheryl had ran off with. The shit hurt to even think about.

  Juanita read the letter. When she was done, she asked if I thought Cheryl would ever come back.

  “I doubt it.”

  “So, you’ll never see your daughters again?”

  “Probably not,” I mumbled, too hurt to say more.

  Juanita said that it didn’t matter if I didn’t have a dime, she still wanted me to move away with her, start a new life and leave the streets behind. She suggested I sell all but one of my cars while she was put her Viper up for sale, allowing us to bank the money with the other she had saved.

  We would only need one car, at least for a while. And if I didn’t find a decent job right away, she said, she would get a part-time job to help out, something other than exotic dancing.

  “We can rent a cheap one-bedroom apartment,” Juanita said. “It won’t be what we’ve gotten used to, but we both grew up in the projects. We’ll adapt. And we’ll have each other.”

  She said at least I wouldn’t have to worry about being killed or sent to prison. In a few years, we’d be doing better and it would be worth all the sacrifices once she got her degree and started practicing medicine. In the meantime, I could go back to school or maybe build up my own business.

  With what? I wondered.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to be anything besides a hustler?” she asked.

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Well,” Juanita said, not giving up, “I still have a few more weeks to change your mind.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Lonnie was back in town and riding shotgun with me. I’d told him everything that had gone down while he and Delina were in NY, keeping my words to a minimum since my shit was wired.

  We rapped about Blue and how he killed the Ribs Lady adopted daughter. Blue was facing the death penalty for it. Lonnie said he wished he could’ve gotten to Blue before the police did. He would’ve killed the nigga himself, to save Delina and the kids the drama.

  We both shook our heads, not knowing what else to say about it.

  As for Cheryl, he said the bitch needed to be put in a body bag. I hadn’t told him how much was in the safes, but he still doubted she would ever return to Atlanta. He said that if the bitch wasn’t in Haiti, she was probably on some island in Jamaica or the West Indies.

  “If she hasn’t left the United States, you can track her down with her social security number,” Lonnie said. “That dumb ho won’t think to establish a false identity.” But I was never going to underestimate any woman again. Cheryl had to be some kind of smart to get ghost with my bank.

  Lonnie believed Blondie and Little Gotti were probably responsible for my kidnapping. But how would they have known where Inez lived, unless they had us followed from The Player’s Ball that night.

  It then dawned on me that I’d told Blondie my name was Youngblood when she’d called me Popeye at The Player’s Ball. Yet, at the sports bar, I’d told her man my name was Terrence. Both were the truth if Little Gotti had the means of checking it out. But had that small discrepancy caused him to believe I was lying to cover my ass?

  But how would he have known I was in Englewood the day I was abducted? Who could’ve known that and had time enough to plan the abduction?

  Fuck it! I’d ride on all my enemies, that way I was sure to get the guilty one. But first things first. I rang the doorbell.

  “Who is it?” the woman asked.

  “Terrence,” I answered as clearly as my wired mouth allowed.

  I heard the lock turn, and the door opened just a crack. Lonnie’s foot kicked it loose from the security chain and knocked the woman backwards, but she didn’t fall. Nor did she scream. She just stood there, petrified, like a deer caught in headlights.

  I pointed the gun at Cheryl’s mother.

  “Tell me where Cheryl is!” My voice was low, demanding.

  Lonnie closed the front door, grabbed her by the throat and pushed her toward the stairs, damn near lifting her clear off her feet. His gloved hand dug into her throat as he forced her up the stairs and into the bathroom. When he released her from his grip, Cheryl’s mother coughed violently. As soon as the bitch caught her breath, I nodded to Lonnie. My partner grabbed her by the back of her hair, forced her over the commode and pushed her face down in the toilet water.

  I nodded again and he yanked her head up.

  The bitch was coughing, crying and gasping for breath all at the same time. “Tell me where Cheryl’s at!” I said for the second time.

  “I—don’t—know,” she cried.

  I nodded to Lonnie and he dunked her head in the toilet again. This time for thirty seconds. When he brought her up, she was choking brutally, desperate for air.

  “Where’s Cheryl?” I asked again.

  “I swear—I—don’t—know!”

  I punched her in the eye.

  “Drown this bitch!” I said to Lonnie. And he would’ve if I hadn’t told him to bring her back up when her body started twitching aggressively and her legs kicked at the air.

  She lay on the bathroom tile gasping for air, spitting up toilet water.

  Her blouse was soaked. Her hair was wild and stringy. Her left eye was swollen halfway shut already.

  I put my size ten in the center of her back and pointed the gun down at her.

  “Last time,” I said. “Where’s Cheryl?”<
br />
  “Wait! Don’t—kill—me,” she cried. She begged me to let her show me a letter Cheryl had left under her front door. I led her to her bedroom, pulling her by the hair.

  Cheryl’s letter to her mother read:

  Dear Mama,

  This is the last time you’ll ever hear from me. I’ve taken the children and moved far away. I’m sure you won’t miss me or your grandbabies, being that you never loved us or wanted us around anyway.

  I remember how mean you used to be to me when Daddy was at work. When he died, I missed him. You couldn’t wait for me to grow up so you could be rid of me! I don’t hate you, though. It takes too much energy to hate more than one person at a time, and right now all my energy goes into hating Youngblood.

  Speaking of him, he’ll probably try to hurt you because I took a lot of money from him, as well as taking Eryka and Chantè away. Be sure to let someone know that if something happens to you, Terrence did it! I threw away all his guns so he couldn’t come over there and shoot you for thinking you know where I’ve gone, but he can easily get more guns.

  Anyway, I’ve met someone who loves me and my girls. I’ll be a good mother to my children, unlike you were to me! Well, I’ll bring this letter to a close. You always told me I talked too much!

  Cheryl,

  (Daddy’s little girl)

  P.S.

  I’m never coming back!

  I folded up the letter and put it in my pocket. I stared Cheryl’s mother in her swollen eye and said, “If I get arrested, he’ll come back and kill you!” I gestured toward Lonnie, who smiled menacingly. “I’m gonna find your daughter one of these days.” It was a threat more than a promise. “You can bet on that!”