Flippin' the Hustle (17 page)

Armed with a two-way radio and a barrage of weapons, Derrick and RJ were about to exit the stash apartment for separate destinations.

“Yo, RJ,” Derrick spouted from what seemed like nowhere.

“What's up?”

Derrick was silent.

“Fuck is up, son? You all right?”

“Yeah, man.” Derrick struggled with whether he could muster the strength to reveal his past to RJ. “Yo, I just wanted you to know that you a real dude.”

RJ nodded and chuckled. “Everybody know that.”

“On some real shit. I know we be bumping heads sometimes about strategies in the streets, but I got mad love for you.” The way RJ looked on in silence, Derrick didn't know how to finish. “I never been so close to somebody since my brother died.”

“That's real. Me too,” RJ added. “I put a lot of trust in you, and you ain't failed me yet.”

Fuck. I can't tell him the truth. Definitely not after that,
Derrick thought. “I'm gonna always have your back.” He gave RJ a pound and hug before RJ exited the vehicle. As he watched RJ walk off, he thought of his conversation with Naria and whether she would actually tell her brother the truth. Her sex deprivation told him she was serious about him leaving the game. Derrick wasn't sure what she would do, but he was certain he had to do something to appease her soon.

Right now, Derrick had to focus on the streets. He laid the duffle bag on the passenger seat, and then headed straight to his first and only stop. The contents in the bag would transform him into a vagabond.

After parking his car off Flatbush Avenue, a mile away from the Islamic Masjid, he went to work transforming himself into a bum. It didn't take long before his transformation was complete and he exited the car, veiled in his deceptive disguise.

* * * * *

Derrick's feet burned from the constant walking in the shabby shoes along the avenue. The pushcart full of miscellaneous junk wasn't making his plight any easier. He'd been strolling the avenue for nearly four hours, making sure he stayed within a quarter of a mile of the large Masjid on the busy strip. He pushed the ‘talk' button in the pocket of the dirty overall, “I got you son. Just keep your eye on ‘em,” he replied.

Gripping the handle of his Glock, Derrick made his way in the direction of the Masjid. He noticed the religious site come to life. Derrick eyed the kufi wearing men and veiled women as they entered the holy establishment.

“They're getting off the interstate right now! Get in position!” RJ blurted in his ear.

Eyeing the two men as they exited the black Mercedes, stylishly dressed, Derrick instantly shifted into attack mode. Casually pushing the shopping cart, he gripped the powerful handgun in preparation to kill.

Hakeem and Biggs approached Derrick, totally oblivious to the danger that the obvious bum presented to them. Nonchalantly, the pair made their way toward the entrance of the Masjid.

It wasn't until Derrick asked the duo in a raspy voice, “Young bloods, can I get some change?"—did they acknowledge him.

Casting a contemptuous glare at the beggar, Hakeem spoke, “You can't be begging in front of—”

Abruptly cutting his partner off, Kareem held his arm up. “Okay, come on, man. Zakat.” He began to dig into his pocket.

Before he could retrieve the money from his pocket, Derrick produced the Glock, which caused both men's eyes to become wide in shock. Hakeem yelped. “Man, take everything!”

Without a word, Derrick began to squeeze the trigger. “Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop!” Each shot caused traumatic damage to each man's torso. Their designer shirts became drenched in crimson blood.

As both men crumpled to the ground, Derrick stood over them and put a .357 slug in each man's head. He then casually strolled away.

“Ya, Allah! Oh, Allah! Ya Allah!” the Imam screamed, kneeling over the two bullet-riddled bodies.

Gradually, the entire congregation filed out onto the sidewalk in front of the Masjid.

Holding his head as if he was in terrible pain, the Imam yelled, “Takbir!”

Suddenly, the men assembled around the two dead men, leaving the women and children on the outside of their circle. “Allah u Akbar! Allah u Akbar! Allah u Akbar!” the men bellowed in unison, getting louder with each chant of the sacred declaration.

O
nce RJ and Derrick's adversaries were dealt with, they once again ruled the streets. With everything returning to normal, Naria, Trina, and Raven were summoned back to the city. Since then, Naria had eased up on Derrick about him leaving the streets. She had been trying unsuccessfully to get her brother to leave also, and realized that neither man was ready to make that move.

Naria was seven months pregnant, and looked as if she was ready to go into labor any day. Derrick loved the way she wobbled around the house. In fact, Naria's stomach had gotten so big it was impossible for her to drive her BMW. This prompted Derrick to stray away from his normal non-gaudy self and purchase her an X5 BMW. Once he shelled out sixty thousand for her SUV, he visited a neighboring Mercedes lot and spent another 100 grand for his own G-Class Mercedes truck, closely resembling RJ's.

Cruising down Church Avenue, Derrick was en route to meet his number one distributor, Lil' John.

The black paint on the luxury truck garnered stares from everyone who laid eyes on it. To set himself apart from his partner, Derrick outfitted his SUV with a set of black 24-inch Stingers, making the boxy truck seem menacing.

Somehow, the purchase of the truck caused a domino effect in Derrick' flamboyancy. He'd also purchased a nearly twenty thousand-dollar motorcycle, and was waiting on a Porsche 911 to be delivered.

RJ loved his partner's newfound ornateness, and even encouraged some of his senseless purchases.

Pulling up on Lil' John's block in Brooklyn, Derrick hopped out of his truck freshly dressed in a bright colored leather Bapes jacket and matching sneakers. He gathered the attention of every set of eyes on the packed block.

* * * * *

After reestablishing himself in the streets of New York, RJ once again sat on the throne of the infamous BTB Crew. However, now with Derrick's keen business sense and his own pharmaceutical skills, their crew's notoriety was even greater.

Pulling his own G-Class beside Derrick's in the crowded parking lot of a newly opened nightclub, RJ noticed his partner surrounded by beautiful women dressed provocatively.

Derrick's outfit was casually blended with a short hooded mink coat, Cavalli jeans, and a pair of Timberland boots. That is until one laid eyes on the extravagant piece of jewelry dangling from his neck.

RJ quickly exited his truck just as lavish, diamond chain swinging recklessly, blinding those who dared to look.

Catching up with a visibly jubilant Derrick, the pair embraced. “What up, son?” Derrick asked, showcasing his southern accent.

“I see you got everything under control, yo,” RJ stated, eyeing the various women hanging on to Derrick. “Don't forget about my sister.”

“Oh,” Derrick replied, holding his arms open wide. “These are my lil' mami's from Morgan State. They are just going to roll for tonight.”

With that said, the entourage headed into the crowded club. They made their way into the VIP lounge. RJ, if only for one second, felt a pang of guilt shoot through him, seeing the young women pulling at his sister's boyfriend in such a manner. Not to mention the fact that she was at home pregnant with his child.

* * * * *

Naria sat in bed spooning scoops of cookie dough Häagen Daz ice cream into her mouth and chasing them down with barbecue corn chips. Engulfed in the movie
Love Jones
playing on the 42-inch flat screen, she felt a flutter of emotion run through her as the passionate scene played out before her.

Reaching for the large glass of Pepsi on the nightstand, a sudden gush of warm water exited her vagina. Instantly freezing in shock, Naria stared down at her center, aghast. Sitting there as if she were paralyzed, a sharp pain rocked her small frame, nearly causing her to pass out. Struggling, she reached for the bedside telephone.

* * * * *

Derrick and RJ were deep in VIP, surrounded by beautiful young women and an endless supply of champagne.

With his arm raised high above his head, Derrick pumped his fist to the pulsating bass line of Mobb Deep's “Blood Money.” He rocked to the music. “This my shit!” he exclaimed. Suddenly, the vibration of his cell phone caused him to retake his seat between the two lovely college girls. Eyeing the number conspicuously, he quickly answered once he noticed his home number. “Hello!”

“Derr . . . Derrick . . . My water broke.” Naria gasped.

“What!” Derrick yelled, jumping to his feet.

RJ immediately looked to his partner and asked, “What up?”

“It's Naria. Her water broke!” he answered, hastily making his way to the exit and leaving the college girls behind.

* * * * *

Racing through the halls of the hospital's pediatric ward, Derrick and RJ frantically searched for the room where Naria was located. After finding her whereabouts inside of the delivery room, Derrick was accosted by a nurse and quickly outfitted in customary green scrubs and led into the brightly lit room.

As soon as his eyes focused on the spectacle before him, he nearly fainted. There, in all her glory, Naria lay spread eagle with her ankles fastened in steel stirrups. Derrick eyed her stretched vagina in awe.

It wasn't until a masked man called out to him that he moved. “You must be the proud father of this big fellow.”

Slowly, Derrick made his way to the bedside. There, Naria instantly latched on to his arm and didn't let go.

* * * * *

Before the sun rose over the city, Naria had given birth to an eight pound, eight ounce baby boy who they promptly named, Carl Richards.

Derrick eyed the radiance on Naria's face. He felt a strong sense of love for her, even shedding a lone tear. Witnessing the miracle of his child being born also filled him with a newfound respect for Naria, in addition to God.

* * * * *

Just as Sefa finished leading the congregation in the evening prayer, he rose to his feet and quickly walked off in the direction of his office.

As the chosen leader of the Masjid, it was also his responsibility to enforce all the laws of the Islamic community.

The act of murdering a Muslim on sacred grounds was a sure fire death sentence for a believer or non-believer. Sefa had made it a priority to bring those responsible for the murders of Hakeem and Biggs to justice. Islamic justice.

Flopping in his overstuffed office chair, he picked up the receiver. “As-Salaam-Alaikum,” he answered.

“Wa Alaikum-as-Salaam. This is Ishmah from Devine Life in The Bronx. I've been directed to lead a team to you immediately. Insha Allah.”

“Kazak-Allah. Wa Alaikum as Salaam.”

* * * * *

Derrick cradled the tiny bundle of life in his arms tenderly. Staring down into his son's bright eyes, he quickly recapped the last few months of his life. Things had definitely taken a drastic turn, but Derrick was experiencing happiness as he'd never known. Everything that he had ever dreamt of was now at his disposal. From money to cars, nothing was unattainable.

The drug operation that Derrick was initially brought in to investigate had taken the shape of a multimillion-dollar corporation with him at the helm. As he directed most of the operations, his prior livelihood came as an asset to the criminal organization, inspiring its growth.

Although he began to recklessly spend a small percentage of his proceeds from his illicit activities, he still used all of the training he'd received to thwart any type of government investigation, or at least so he thought.

* * * * *

Director Gold sat behind his desk, tapping away furiously on the desktop keyboard. Operation ‘Used To Be My Girl' as it had been dubbed, had taken an abrupt turn onto a dead end street. Gold had taken a personal stake in the case. Had it been any other situation, besides an ex DEA agent's involvement, the case would have been scrapped.

Pressing the button on his phone, alerting his secretary, he spoke, “Tracy, can you get agent Peters in here!” His voice resembled more of a command than a question.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Gold, I'll give her a call right now.”

Less than ten minutes later, a strikingly beautiful black woman walked in looking no more than twenty-one years old.

“Yes sir, Mr. Gold. What can I do for you?” the woman asked.

“Have a seat, Dominique.” Gold motioned. Once she was seated, Gold said, “Yes Dominique, you know this case, operation ‘Used To Be My Girl' has been giving us a few problems,” he said, pausing to judge the young woman's response.

Everybody in the agency had heard about their own who had gone bad. But no one wanted any parts of the investigation. By the wide-eyed look of dissatisfaction he received from Dominique Peters, Gold knew the young woman shared the same sentiment.

Taking a deep, exasperated sigh, Gold decided to be totally up front with the woman. “Dominique, I need you on this one like I've never needed anyone before.”

* * * * *

Derrick had insisted to RJ that they run their drug operations like a business, allowing those beneath them on the hierarchy of hustlers to increase their earning potential, just as his and RJ's earnings rose. This would in turn push them further and further away from the actual illegalities.

To set things in motion for their smooth transition into the legitimate business world, Derrick purchased a financially strained car lot out in Queens. Within weeks of his purchasing the business, the property was littered with luxury automobiles. Exotic Motors became a hit with all the hustlers in New York. This would prove to be Derrick's first mistake.