Flippin' the Hustle (14 page)

N
aria and Trina were busy decorating the humongous 7500 square foot mini mansion she and Derrick had recently acquired. The two-story rancher was surrounded by six-foot tall shrubbery.

Naria hadn't been this happy in her entire life. No man had ever come close to making her feel the way Derrick made her feel. Even though their relationship started out based on untruths, she had no insecurities about him. She now totally trusted him.

“Naria, what's going to go over here?” Trina asked, pointing to an empty area on the wall.

“Derrick says that's where his flat screen is going,” she replied, steadily unpacking bags.

“Derrick!” Trina yelled. “I thought you told me Tree's real name was Trez or something?”

Allowing a slight sigh to escape her lips, Naria said, “Girl, you know how niggas is when they don't trust nobody. Especially them crazy ones.”

“Mmm hmm, I bet his ass came clean about everything since he put your signature on this banging ass house,” Trina joked, holding her hand out in preparation for some sisterly dap.

Raising her hand up to meet Trina's, a sharp pain shot through Naria's core, instantly paralyzing her.

Once the horror of being abruptly halted from freely moving showed on her face, Trina yelled, “Naria, you a'ight?”

Unable to answer, Naria clutched her stomach and doubled over in pain.

Trina dialed 911, and then called RJ's cell phone.

* * * * *

Derrick raced through the streets of New York. He gave the nearly 400 horsepower Cadillac all it had. Screeching tires as he hung a sharp right in the direction of the hospital, he was focused on one thing. Getting to Naria.

His mind raced frantically with thoughts of her. What? How? Why? At that moment he couldn't bear the thought of losing the person who had willed him to love.

Slamming into the closest parking space, he and RJ bailed from the car in a full sprint. It wasn't until they reached the information desk that they stopped.

“Naria Jordan!” Derrick bellowed breathlessly.

Looking at the two men calmly, the receptionist replied, “Could you please repeat the name slowly.”

“Nar-ia Jor-dan. She was rushed here with stomach pains of some sort,” Derrick explained.

Coolly tapping the keys on the computer, the receptionist said, “Naria Jordan. Fifth floor, room 532.”

Derrick and RJ were out of the starting blocks before the woman finished.

* * * *

Naria lay bundled in the narrow hospital bed with Trina at her side.

“Naria, I can't believe your ass is pregnant,” Trina stated.

“Me neither. I'm just glad I'm okay,” Naria replied, turning onto her side.

“Yeah, I'm glad you're fine too, but what are you going to do about the baby?”

Casting an awkward glance in Trina's direction, Naria retorted, “Have it!”

“Have what!” Derrick blurted inquisitively, nearly out of breath as he and RJ entered the room.

Naria and Trina looked at one another conspiratorially, and then to their respective men.

“Um . . . um, we was um . . .” Trina stammered, eyeing RJ.

“I'm pregnant!” Naria announced.

“Pregnant!” RJ yelled.

“Yeah, pregnant, Robert,” Trina added in a sarcastic voice.

Derrick was astonished, unable to say a word.

Once the chatter between Trina and RJ ceased, everyone in the room focused their attention on Derrick, who was still engulfed by a brief paralysis.

“Well?” Naria stated, eyeing Derrick.

“I . . . I um, I don't . . . I can't . . .” Derrick stuttered, unable to extract the correct sentence.

“You can't, you don't what, Derrick!” Naria inquired in an aggressive manner.

Unable to find the right words, Derrick took two long strides and was at Naria's side. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he hugged her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

*****

After the brief scare with Naria's pregnancy, things quickly returned to normal. RJ and Derrick continued to spend countless hours cutting and bagging dope at the apartment in Queens, while their two-man street team continued to rise in power. All along, Derrick's plans were to use the two men personas as the faces and names behind the drugs, while he and RJ played the background and reaped the real financial benefits.

Since the news of Naria's pregnancy, Derrick's entire view on life had abruptly changed. Whereas before he had a goal, now he was vigorously working toward attaining that goal before the child he'd helped create came into the world.

He began to treat Naria like a helpless princess, not allowing her to lift a finger. He had gone as far as hiring a full time nurse to ensure the safe arrival of his child.

Derrick's conscience bothered him, since his liberation from the DEA, he had avoided contacting his mother since he had retired. He didn't know whether the agency had contacted her or not. Derrick chose to simply ignore that part of his life. However, with the impending birth of his first child, he couldn't keep such a joyous miracle away from his mother.

After much thought, Derrick decided that it would be better to face the situation sooner than later. Nonetheless, he would still have to aggressively hide his newfound profession. This was the profession that took his brother's life.

* * * * *

Quis, Biggs, and Hakeem stepped out into the sunny afternoon. With various colored kufis covering the crown of their heads, the trio made their way to a Mercedes Benz. The service at the Masjid had been both enlightening and admonishing. That is what Quis truly loved about the Khutba sessions of Jumah.

Hopping behind the wheel, Quis pulled out into traffic. Turning toward Biggs, who sat beside him in the passenger seat, he asked, “Big, you dropped that paper off in the Zakat offering?”

“Yeah . . . But um, it was definitely a lot less than our last offering,” Biggs replied.

Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, Quis immediately picked up on Biggs negative undertone. “Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“Shit's getting tight in them streets, okay?” Hakeem blurted from the backseat.

Biggs shot Hakeem an evil glare. “Yeah, something like that. But the truth of the matter is that these dudes are flooding the streets.”

“What dudes!” Quis asked in a tone filled with aggression.

“Niggas is saying that it's Eli from BTB and some dude named Lil' John,” Hakeem said. “But we all know Eli is under RJ.”

“RJ, huh?” Quis replied slyly. “Well, we'll just have to see about him,” he threatened.

* * * * *

RJ was never the type of person who could simply play the back. He needed a certain level of attention in order to survive. Instead of following Derrick's lead of lying low and stacking paper, RJ had to shine.

Cruising the streets in his newly acquired G-55 Mercedes, RJ felt all eyes on him. This was the only time when he felt truly at ease. Bopping his head lightly, he pulled to the stoplight and eyed the many hustlers and dope fiends that littered the streets.

Unbeknownst to RJ, two cars back, a late model Buick contained two men that had been contracted to take his life. Only a miracle would save him from the heavily armed murderers.

* * * * *

Derrick lay across the humongous bed gently caressing Naria's growing stomach. Just the thought of his child inside of her filled Derrick with a strong sense of attachment.

Reciprocating Derrick's loving touch, Naria rubbed his freshly shaved head tenderly. “What are you thinking about, boo?” she asked, noticing the intense look on his face.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” he replied.

“I can't tell. I could see your brain jumping,” she joked, slapping his head playfully.

“Nah! For real, ma, I was just thinking about us. You, the baby, and me.”

“What about us?”

“Just how things are going to be. I mean, when—” He abruptly stopped when his phone blared to life.

Slowly, Naria retrieved the ringing phone. “Hello,” she answered.

As she passed the phone to Derrick, he frantically waved his hands to no avail. “It's Robert!” she announced.

Reluctantly, Derrick placed the receiver to his ear. “Yo, what up, playboy?” he announced jovially. After a brief exchange, Derrick said, “Give me about thirty minutes.” Then he hung up.

* * * * *

Standing just inside the doorway of The Soul Cafe on Ninth Avenue, RJ eyed the traffic. In front of the neighborhood restaurant, his silver Cadillac wagon sparkled flawlessly. Sitting on 23-inch Veloche's, the nearly one hundred thousand dollar vehicle caused a spectacle in the otherwise downtrodden section of the city. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Derrick's number.

* * * * *

Derrick placed his cell phone onto his hip and sighed. Just the thought of RJ purchasing a one hundred thousand dollar SUV vexed him. The exorbitant purchase wasn't enough for RJ. He had to showcase his illicit wealth in the hood.

Pressing his foot down on the gas pedal, his STS leaped into the evening traffic.

* * * * *

Two heavily armed men sat slouched in the seat of the inconspicuous vehicle. Eyeing the entrance of the local restaurant, both men patiently waited for the opportune time to pounce on their victim.

Noticing the silver Cadillac pass them and pull behind RJ's G-Wagon, both men instantly began to reevaluate the situation.

As the tall, brown-skinned man exited the Cadillac and entered the restaurant, the two assailants quickly devised a new plan of attack.

* * * * *

When Derrick entered the eatery, he strolled toward a smiling RJ, who sat on a stool at the counter licking his fingers.

“You like the G Wagon, yo?” RJ asked proudly.

“Yeah, I like it, and so does every state, local, and federal agent within a fifty mile radius,” Derrick retorted.

“Stop that shit!” RJ warned.

“What?”

“You know exactly what the fuck I'm talkin' about. You always gotta make it a point to try and school me on some shit like I'm a little kid or something.”

“You paranoid. Stop bugging.” Derrick shook his head.

RJ stood and pointed his finger in Derrick's face. “I'm telling you, man. Watch your fucking mouth.”

This dude really frontin' on me. Okay,
Derrick thought. “I got your best interest at heart. Remember that. You need to worry about the two cat's scheming up the block in the brown hoopty.”

With a confused look covering his face, RJ asked, “What you talking ‘bout, yo?” He threw his hand up dismissively. “Shit, we in the hood. You might see anything.”

“Oh yeah. So them grillin' your ‘new' truck with masks covering half their faces is normal too?”

RJ shot Derrick a wide-eyed look. “What!”

“Look, son, hurry up and finish that shit. Then holler at the owner of this spot and see if they've got a back way out. I've got an idea.”

* * * * *

Glaring at the entrance of the restaurant, the two murderers bolted to attention once RJ exited the restaurant. RJ milled about on the sidewalk with his phone plastered to his ear. He acted oblivious to the two gunmen who lurked in the opposite direction, but rapidly made their way toward him.

*****

Derrick reverted to his law enforcement training as he methodically stalked the two gunmen while they stalked RJ. He had instructed RJ to exit the restaurant and pretend he didn't notice the two men, making him an easy target. However, once Derrick saw the two men extract the powerful assault rifles and insert the clips, he knew he had to act fast, or RJ was dead. “Now!” he yelled into his cell phone, and immediately placed two well placed shots from his Heckler and Koch into the back of one of the gunmen.

RJ dropped his phone and fired a barrage of shots from his .357 Glock into the other man's torso.

Quickly converging on the two spasmodic men, Derrick noticed that one of them was dead while the other gurgled helplessly.

RJ aimed his pistol on the dying man, prepared to assist the man in a quick death, until Derrick yelled, “Nah, chill!”

Looking to Derrick as if he'd lost his mind, RJ watched as he kneeled beside the helpless man, and said, “Tell me who sent you and I'll call an ambulance right now!”

Gurgling frantically, the dying man babbled something incoherently, causing Derrick to yell, “Who!”

Nervously, RJ blurted, “Come on, man! Off that nigga and let's roll, yo!”

Ignoring him, Derrick intently listened to the struggling man. “Who!” he replied more firmly.

“Qu-Qu . . .” The dying man gurgled his words.

“Quis!” Derrick announced loud enough for RJ to hear. Turning toward a visibly uneasy RJ, he repeated, “Quis!”

“A'ight, yo! Let's bounce!” RJ yelled.

Aiming his Heckler and Koch at the helpless man's head, Derrick squeezed off one shot, sending brain matter splattering the sidewalk. He nonchalantly strolled to his car and departed the scene.

* * * * *

Pacing the carpeted floor of their Queens apartment, RJ continuously hammered his point home. “I told you, yo! I told you! You don't know dudes like me! We should've been handled them bean pie slangin' motherfuckers!” he ranted.

“A'ight, son! You may have been right, but now we've got the advantage because they don't know how, when, or where we may strike. Only we know. Feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you, but if we would've put that gun game down before, this would've never happened,” RJ retorted. “You don't fuckin' listen, man. You think you know every fucking thing.”

Derrick looked RJ in the eyes for a few moments. Then he let out the venom he had been holding for some time. “Man, fuck you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, man. Fuck you. You always on my back with this insecure bullshit, like somebody trying to take your spot or something or treat you like a lil nigga.”