Flippin' the Hustle (16 page)

Daneek took off up the stairs.

* * * * *

Derrick stood waiting for his unsuspecting victim to present himself.

Suddenly the door was snatched open by a short overweight man wearing a kufi. “Yeah. How can I help you, officer?”

Derrick eyed the man from head to toe, instinctively second-guessing his intuition. “Uh . . . yes, are you the man of the house?”

“Yeah, I'm the man of the house,” Quis retorted, full of attitude.

Derrick slid his HK from its confines and aimed it at Quis' head.

Looking deep into Derrick's eyes, Quis said, “Allah U Akbar"—then closed his eyes, fully prepared to meet his maker.

Derrick pulled the trigger on the powerful handgun, sending the man into the hereafter.

S
louched in the passenger seat of RJ's Benz truck, Derrick's mind was far from where he was physically. They were passing the campus of North Carolina A & T State University en route to a planned meeting with Tony.

They made it to their destination on time and handled their business with the money. Next, Tony took them out for dinner at Florazines, one of Greensboro's most exclusive restaurants. Over the exquisite Italian meal, Tony mapped out the next few months of their business dealings. Derrick liked the way Tony planned ahead as if he was a Fortune 500 major CEO.

“Pun de next meeting, we'll link up in ah Miami,” Tony advised. “After that, we'll link up in ah New York. But every time I'll have de drug delivered.”

Derrick felt that it was the opportune time to reveal their adversities in the streets, just to see if the well-informed Jamaican had heard anything.

“Tony, the streets of New York are going through a power struggle right now. You think it will affect our future business dealings?” Derrick asked.

Slowly, a demonic grin appeared on the Jamaican's face. He rubbed his chin slyly. “Yeah, mi ah ‘ear ‘bout that. I put it dis way. You ‘aver any more problem, give me a call amah. I'll send a crew of murderers dear for yah disposal,” he said.

With that said, Derrick came to the prognosis that Tony was definitely on their side.

* * * * *

The following afternoon, Derrick and RJ eased back into the city. Since Quis' mysterious murder, their opposition in the streets had been check mated. In fact, they'd begun to bring in more money than they'd brought in since their problem began.

Pulling up to Derrick's elaborately designed home, RJ turned to Derrick and said, “I'll see you tonight at the shower, man.”

“Shower?”

“Yeah. Your baby's shower is tonight,” he replied in a cynical tone.

Slapping himself on his forehead with the palm of his hand, Derrick immediately remembered all that he needed to do.

Derrick hopped out of the truck, quickly making his way into his house.

* * * * *

After frantically working in the small room for an infinite amount of hours, Derrick finally had the baby blue room decorated to the specifics that he'd promised Naria it would be by the time of the baby shower.

He was now rinsing the blue paint from his body under the hot spray of water. Derrick's mind began to retrace the steps he had made in order to make it to where he was. His job with the most powerful drug agency was officially a thing of the past, while his new profession put him directly at odds with the entity. It was an ironic twist of events that made him question if the agency was now investigating RJ and himself.

Somehow, Derrick felt that his extensive training and subsequent knowledge would keep him from suffering the fate that so many before him suffered. His problem was getting RJ to fall in line with him.

He stepped from the large walk-in shower as his cell phone chimed. Slowly, he walked across the ivory colored plush carpeted floor and grabbed the ringing phone. He eyed the tiny screen. Noticing ‘RJ' on the colored screen, he placed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“We got a problem!” RJ revealed in a distressed voice. “Big problem.”

* * * * *

RJ paced back and forth in his luxury automobile-lined driveway. It wasn't until Derrick pulled into the driveway that he slowed his gait.

Hopping into Derrick's Cadillac, RJ threw his head against the headrest, and exclaimed, “They called my crib this morning, man! They got Eli somewhere torturing him!”

“Calm down, B! Tell me exactly what they said,” Derrick stated calmly.

“They said if I don't bring them $500 thousand by tonight, dude is dead.” RJ attempted to remain calm. “But I know them niggas trying to get Eli to tell ‘em where I lay my head,” he added in a defeated manner.

Thinking fast, Derrick said, “Go get Trina and Naria. We gonna handle this shit, son.”

* * * * *

Eli's naked body jerked aimlessly as one of his captors placed a torch under the steel chair he was bound to.

One of the men announced, “Maybe you'll be willing to give up that address once that heat gets to your ass.”

Squirming helplessly, Eli felt the cold steel of the chair become hot. Gradually, the chair became unbearable for his bare cheeks. Attempting to balance his weight from side to side, Eli screamed into the dirty sock stuffed in his mouth.

Once the skin on his bottom began to sizzle, as meat being cooked would, Eli yelled incoherently while tears poured down his cheeks.

“You ready to talk now?” one of the men in the empty room asked, smiling defiantly.

Unable to withstand the gruesome pain of being cooked alive, Eli violently nodded his head.

Motioning to one of the men in the room, the leader of the torture said, “A'ight, you've got one more chance, then I am going to watch yo' ass cook like a roast.”

One of the men removed the torch from under Eli, while the other doused him with a bucket of ice water. Nearly losing consciousness, Eli struggled to stay alive.

* * * * *

As soon as RJ entered his home, two things were clear. Eli had been murdered, and just before he'd been murdered he disclosed RJ's whereabouts. Kicking through the rubble that littered the floors, RJ turned to Derrick with a demented glare in his eyes. “I got to murder these niggas, yo.”

Derrick replied, “Yeah. But it's got to be real, real smooth, son.”

D
amien entered the interrogation room inside of New York's DEA headquarters with a great deal of trepidation. His last sit-down with the same agents had won him a brain scattering, cross-country race that pitted him in every state west of his birthplace. As the sounds of his handcuffed and shackled limbs reverberated throughout the large room, Damien hesitantly took a seat opposite the trio of federal agents.

Standing, Director Douglas Gold said, “Mr. Gregory, I'm Director Gold, these two are Agent Collins and Agent Latham.” He motioned toward the two authorities seated on each side of him. “You may remember these two gentlemen from the day you were arrested,” Gold stated somberly. “Things really got mixed up since the last time you spoke with us. But Mr. Gregory, I'm here to promise you that if you continue cooperating, you won't spend six months in jail.”

Damien had been listening to the agent halfheartedly, until his final statement. Damien had so much as written himself off to serving a minimum of ten years in prison. However, the agent's offering shed an entire new light onto his situation.

* * * * *

In the weeks following Eli's kidnapping and murder, RJ and Derrick kept a very low profile. After an intense investigation by Hakeem and Biggs, the culprits were narrowed down to two individuals. RJ and Derrick wanted their plan of attack to be extracted in a smart manner. The longer they lay in wait, the more information they gathered.

* * * * *

Damien looked into the various shades of blue-eyed men sitting across from him. After a brief summary of his situation, Damien found their overture attractive. Besides, he had already cooperated to a degree by naming Tree. However, once Director Gold opened his mouth and began to speak, Damien sat astounded at what he revealed.

“Damien, the man you knew as Tree was actually one of our own.” Pausing to judge his reaction, Director Gold continued once shock registered on Damien's face. “Yeah, Tree, aka Derrick Richards, was an operative of the DEA. However, now he's turned on us and is running with your buddy, Robert Jordan.” Leaning in toward Damien, Gold added, “Now, all we need you to do is . . .”

* * * * *

After being shuttled off to the condominium, Naria and Trina knew there was a perfectly good excuse for the move. Nonetheless, they each prayed that whatever the outcome was, both their men came out on top.

Naria lay on the couch eyeing the television. At her waist her niece Raven lay rubbing her growing belly. Their vacation of sorts had not only given her and Trina time to reconnect, but also her and her niece.

“Auntie Naria, when we going home? I miss my dolls,” Raven whined.

Rubbing her niece's head affectionately, she replied, “I don't know, baby. It won't be long. Besides, your dolls will be all right until you get there.”

“I know, but I miss my daddy too.”

“I miss him too, pumpkin,” Naria said, feeling a sense of anxiety. It had been nearly a month since Derrick and RJ whisked them out of the city. Even though either RJ or Derrick gave them a call daily, Naria couldn't help but worry about the two most important men in her life. It was forcing her to stress to both men even more about the importance of leaving the streets behind. Naria wanted so desperately to call Derrick, yet she knew that she had to portray the strong one for Trina.

Had it been up to Trina, they would've been back in New York weeks before. However, Naria thwarted any such efforts by simply being the leader she was. Cradling her cell phone in her hand, she toyed with the numbers getting close to pushing SEND. Nevertheless, every time she'd tapped Derrick's number into her phone, she pushed CLEAR. After doing this several times, Naria pressed SEND.

With the phone pressed against her cheek, Naria struggled to listen to every ring intently as her heart beat loudly against her chest.

Suddenly, there was a noise at the front door of the condo, and then the knob slowly turned and there stood Derrick and RJ, hands full of grocery bags.

Naria covered the space between them in haste, hurdling the coffee table effortlessly. She gripped Derrick as if she never wanted to let go. She still held the phone in her hand.

“Hold on, baby! Let me see who this is calling me like crazy or something,” Derrick, said, struggling to sit the bags down and balance Naria simultaneously.

Realizing that she still held the ringing phone in her hand, she retorted, “I am crazy. Crazy for you.”

“Ain't that special,” Derrick joked.

“We need to talk.” Naria pulled Derrick onto the balcony of the condo.

“What's up? Everything all right?” he asked.

“You can't be serious. Of course everything ain't all right.”

“So what's the problem?”

“You can't see?” Naria asked. “Look in the mirror.”

“Where's all this coming from?”

Naria shook her head and sucked her teeth. “I love you, but I didn't sign up for this. Drifting around the city because you and my brother are into some shit y'all have no business in.”

“Oh, I get it. Is this the ‘leave the game behind speech' again?”

“Yeah, the same one you were giving my brother until you left the DEA and dove headfirst in the game with him.” She paused, tears coming from her eyes. “Do something before I do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I'm not bringing my child into the world as the son of a drug dealer.”

“I know you not talking no abortion shit?” Derrick blurted.

“You'll be the only one getting aborted.” Naria stormed off the balcony before Derrick could respond.

* * * * *

After preparing an exquisite meal of crustaceans and pan fish, both couples retired to their respective suites.

Derrick snuggled up to a pregnant Naria and attentively massaged her shoulders and neck. Totally losing herself in bliss, Naria tossed her head back and enjoyed the sensations that Derrick's hands were bestowing upon her. “Mmmm, Daddy, I missed you soooooo much.” She paused before overthrowing her lower desires. “But you can forget this until you get yourself together.” Naria moved Derrick's hands and got out of bed.

Derrick couldn't believe it. “Where you going?”

“Be happy I'm playing the couch and not you.”

“This shit is getting out of control.”

“That's what I say every time you walk out this door and hit those streets.”

“Come here.” Derrick got up. “Take the bed. My pregnant girl ain't sleeping on no couch.”

Naria doubled back, walking silently past Derrick and brushing off the kiss he tried to plant on her. She flopped down on the bed and looked at him. “Oh yeah, you need to be honest with my brother since you hang with him so much.”

“What?”

“Tell him about the DEA instructing you to bring him down.”

“Don't start this.”

“Just tell him before I do. Good night.” She turned off the lights. “Or either leave those damn streets alone and I'll keep my mouth closed.”

This chick is buggin',
Derrick thought. She was giving a dangerous ultimatum that he had been contemplating, but was fearful of revealing. He looked at Naria's silhouette in the dark room, wondering if she was just threatening him. It was hard to tell, because he thought he knew her well, but she had totally transformed. Her tone of voice, the words she chose, her line of thinking—everything. Derrick hated himself for sparking something within Naria that may have been beyond his ability to extinguish. The woman he loved who was bearing his child had given him a proposition that put millions of dollars, death and friendship, and a relationship in jeopardy.