Checkmate: The Baddest Chick (4 page)

“Ain’t nobody worried,” he corrected, Blythe. “Just carry your narrow ass downstairs quicker when I fuckin’ pull up. When I was with Apple she knew a nigga didn’t play that shit. She never kept me waiting!”

Blythe rolled her eyes. “Well, I ain’t Apple!”

Chico didn’t say anything back. He shifted the car in drive and sped out the parking spot, and made a sudden U-turn on Linden Boulevard, heading toward Harlem. The sooner he was out of Brooklyn, the better.

An hour later, Chico was back uptown where he belonged. He pulled up to Shannon’s, the popular Bronx club on Fordham Road, a few blocks from the Major Deegan Expressway.

Chico and Blythe strutted toward the front entrance of the place. There wasn’t a line outside, but security had a heavy presence. Shannon’s was a place known to have gang members and thugs around. The west side of the Bronx was a battleground for drugs, and on some nights, Shannon’s was a place where many gang members and drug dealers came to unwind, drink, and look for bitches to fuck with. But the majority of them didn’t leave their attitudes and beef on the block. In fact a few gunfights had ensued outside of the club because of tension between a few groups.

But Chico wasn’t worried about bringing his lady to a troubled spot. His authority and connection went everywhere with him. Tonight, it was personal and business.

Two-Face came in handy for Chico in more ways than one. And Chico was proud that he’d tracked him down in D.C. It didn’t take long to find out that Two-Face had a cocaine connection down in Mexico. His father was big time, and twice a year, Two-Face would travel down to Mexico to visit his family, especially his elderly mother, who he loved dearly. Two-Face had eight siblings, mostly brothers, and all of them had inducted themselves into the violence and drug trade that plagued Mexico.

Chico was barely hanging on to his corners with what the Haitians were providing him, and with Cross and Kola having that straight Colombian connect, he needed to upgrade. But what he lacked in potent product, he made up for heavily in muscle. Chico’s crew was deadly like a terrorist organization, striking fear wherever they went. And Two-Face held it down in places where some felt Chico was weak.

Chico and Blythe walked by security without acknowledging them. Security knew his name and reputation, and allowed Chico to slide through without any searches or cover charges.

Shannon’s was packed, and even Jim Jones and his fiancé Chrissy were in the crowd. The DJ had Dipset blaring and everyone was dressed in mostly jeans, Timberlands, sneakers, Yankees fitted caps, and tons of jewelry. It was a place and time to show off wealth and money. The ballers popped bottles in the corners and kept the young ladies entertained with their antics, and the dance floor was crammed with sweaty revelers and scantily clad hood rats.

Chico didn’t have time to mingle with any partygoers. He was recognized by a few goons he passed, and everyone admired Blythe. But they knew she was off limits. Chico looked around for Two-Face. It was his kind of atmosphere—lions within the den. Within his short time in New York, Two-Face had already put together a crew of young, reckless shooters with the same crazy mentality as himself. Instantly, everybody in the place knew not to fuck with them by their thuggish demeanor and through word of mouth on the streets.

Chico spotted Two-Face seated in one of the elevated VIP booths above the crowded dance floor. He was surrounded by women and young goons, and popping bottles like it was soda. Blythe followed behind Chico closely, not wanting to get lost and separated with the thick, growing crowd around them. She clinched onto his arm, and played Chico close.

Chico walked up to the booth and looked at his young enforcer.

“Chico!” Two-Face shouted with a twisted smile.

Chico looked around. It was too crazy. He only focused his attention on Two-Face, wanting to discuss brief business with him.

“Two-Face, let me holla at you for a moment,” Chico said.

“You wanna drink, homes?”

Chico waved him off. He knew Two-Face was tipsy. Two-Face removed himself from his crowd of friends and the ladies and walked up to Chico.

“What’s up, homes? What we need to talk about?”

Chico looked at Blythe and said, “Go have a drink and chill for a moment, baby. I’ll be right back.”

Blythe didn’t look too comfortable being alone, but she knew being Chico’s woman, no one would dare disrespect her. She nodded.

Chico and Two-Face walked away to speak in private. They entered the men’s bathroom. Chico made sure that there weren’t any listening ears inside any of the stalls. He then looked at Two-Face and asked, “You got word on your peoples about that thing across the borders?”

Two-Face smiled. “Yeah, spoke to my old man, and he’s interested, homes. I told him good things about you.”

Chico nodded. “Cool.”

“We meet though—”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“A’ight.”

“Like I said, you take care of me, and I’ll take care of you, homes.
¿Comprende?
”

“
Comprende,
” Chico replied. “But I need another thing taken care of, ASAP.”

“What’s that?”

Chico walked out the bathroom, and Two-Face followed. They went back into the club area. Two-Face stood next to Chico. Chico looked around and then subtly pointed out to someone across the room, who was seated in another VIP section opposite of Two-Face’s. The man was tall and slender, sporting heavy jewelry and a silk shirt. He was flanked by women, and was very boisterous.

“Who he, homes?” Two-Face asked.

“A problem.”

Two-Face locked his attention on the man, as Chico continued to talk.

“I need him taken care of.”

Two-Face nodded. He didn’t need to know why or what was the problem with him and Chico. The only thing Two-Face understood was that Chico had pointed him out and he needed to be killed. Two-Face didn’t care for questions; he only craved for murder, money, and bitches–in that order.

“Consider it already done, homes,” Two-Face assured him.

Chico nodded and headed over back to Blythe, who was seated by the bar, nursing a drink. Chico walked over to her, placed his arm around her waist and said, “We’re leaving.”

Blythe was pleased. The crowd wasn’t her scene anymore. She was used to industry parties and more classy events, not a room full of thugs, hood rats and killers. She had been there and done that.

The couple made their quick exit, while Two-Face was left behind to ponder and scheme on the man Chico wanted taken out.

****

It wasn’t until three in the morning that the crowd from Shannon’s began to dissipate slowly into the street. The one-way street was flooded with cars blaring their loud systems and people mingling about, walking to their cars or some other location. The horde of people just about made it look like a block party.

Trevor was flanked by two scantily clad ladies in tight, booty-hugging shorts and low, revealing tops. He was the attention-grabber, with his long, bulky chain, extravagant diamond cross pendant, the pinky rings, the loud talk and looking like a rap mogul. He had his arms around both women as they walked toward his big-body Benz sitting on 22-inch chrome rims.

It was obvious what Trevor was—a drug dealer/pimp. He flaunted his lifestyle and riches like it was legal. He made it known all over town that he was a playboy and womanizer, and some of his raunchy ways with the ladies had gotten him into hot water with some of the men around town. Boyfriends, brothers, and fathers to some of the women he’d used and abused weren’t happy with him after he got their loved ones hooked on drugs or pregnant. But Trevor denied being a father to any child.

Trevor walked around the hood like he was untouchable. He had guns and he had a reputation, being connected to “the Juice crew,” a powerful and deadly organization coming out of Yonkers, New York.

“I’m sayin’, though,” Trevor said to his lady companions, “I love ya both. Y’all both would die for me, right?”

Both ladies chuckled.

Trevor hugged them close, his smile wide. He was ready to share a night of pleasure at his Harlem apartment on 155th Street. They were a few steps away from the car. Trevor reached for his keys and pressed the button to deactivate his alarm system.

“There goes my chariot. Nice, right, I paid eighty grand for it. Came fully loaded. Niggas ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me out here. This is how I always roll, so y’all bitches better get used to it.”

“I see. I like, I like,” one of the girls said, smiling.

As Trevor continued his approach to his car, he wasn’t aware of the young hooded teenager slowly creeping up behind him with a loaded .45 gripped in his hand, and down by his side. He had his eyes on Trevor like a hawk, watching everything he did.

He quickly lurched closer, and was ready to strike, not caring about the crowd around him. When Two-Face was within arm’s distance of Trevor, he swiftly raised the gun, had it aimed at the back of Trevor’s head and fired without an ounce of hesitation.

Bak! Bak! Bak!

Trevor suddenly dropped to the pavement, sprawled out face down against the concrete pavement, blood pooling around his shattered skull. The ladies he was with started to scream out in sheer horror. Panic erupted everywhere, as the crowd around started to scamper on hearing the gunshots.

Two-Face wasn’t finished with his victim yet. He stood over the body and fired three more rounds into his head. After the shooting, he casually walked away and got into the backseat of an idling truck, which sped away, leaving the carnage behind for the cops to pick up and the locals to talk about another deadly shooting at the club.

“Damn! I fuckin’ love what I do!” Two-Face exclaimed.

CHAPTER 3

C
ross sat in the Yonkers strip club looking detached from the activities going on around him. He was nursing a beer and looked spaced out. The thunderous sound of a Plies’ track blared throughout the underground club, as swarms of naked and scantily clad strippers moved throughout the place, grinding, giving out lap dances, and even a little something extra if the price was right. The dim, erotic atmosphere with the curves, tits and ass exposed was a haven for the male customers, but Cross sat there, his mind elsewhere. He caught a few of the ladies’ attention with his mysterious demeanor and handsome look, but he didn’t even give them a second thought.

“What’s on ya mind, playa?” Edge asked, taking a seat next to his long-time friend at the table. “You got all this ass around you and you actin’ like you in an empty room right now.”

“I just got a lot on my mind, that’s all,” Cross replied.

“You thinkin’ about Kola?”

“Thinkin’ about everything, my nigga—her, this gun charge, Cynthia. What the fuck is goin’ on? This bitch ain’t even tryin’ to accept my apology. Sent her a fortune in flowers the other day, and she had the nerve to toss them to the curb. You fuckin’ believe that shit?”

“I’ll tell you what’s goin’ on. You lettin’ these bitches and all this dumb shit get in your head. You slippin’, nigga. That’s what’s the fuck up! You need to wake the fuck up, Cross, and see what the fuck is really goin’ on.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about, Edge?”

“I’m talkin’ about, Kola. You givin’ her too much slack. I know she ya shorty and all, but get ya head out ya ass and really see what the fuck is goin’ on.”

Cross was listening intently. He wanted to know where Edge was going with the conversation. But Edge looked a little hesitant in continuing with the conversation about Kola. He saw in Cross’ eyes that he was uneasy.

“Nigga, stop fuckin’ double-talking, and just fuckin’ come out with what you gotta say to me.”

Edge moved in closer to Cross. “Yo, she tryin’ to take over and move us the fuck out.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about, Edge?”

“What I’m sayin’ to you is, I don’t trust her! No disrespect to you, my nigga, but look at the way she fuckin’ moves, and how she’s suddenly treating you. You don’t see it, nigga? She already got ya connect, and you the nigga under her wing, running her fuckin’ errands. It’s like she’s the boss and you’re now her second in command. The streets aren’t calling out your name, man. All I fuckin’ hear is
Cocà Kola
. When did you suddenly become her bitch?”

“I ain’t anybody’s bitch,” Cross retorted.

“Yeah. Where you stayin’ at now? With me. Who ya sudden supplier been for the past few months? Kola. Look how fast and dramatic shit done changed with us since that bitch came in the picture. She is playin’ you, my nigga. And Eduardo, funny how all of a sudden he wants you out of the picture and her in. He so easily don’t want nothin’ to do wit’ you, after you been doin’ business with him for how long now?”

Cross was forced to think about how things had changed rapidly between him and Kola. After the incident with Cynthia—Kola finding out about his son—she kicked him out and he’d been staying at Edge’s crib ever since. Although he tried to give her space to get over his cheating, he felt she was taking too long to completely forgive him. Kola still hit them off with work she got through Eduardo, but for the most part, Edge was speaking truth. He was giving Kola too much slack because he loved her.