Flippin' the Hustle (18 page)

D
ominique Peters had vowed not to use her gender or her race in any way concerning her employment. At that very moment the exceptionally pretty recent graduate from the Academy was leaving Manhattan with enough Chanel, Dior, and Dolce & Gabbaña to open her own boutique on Fifth Avenue.

She pressed her foot down hard on the pedal of the CLK 500, turning the volume up on the radio and singing along with Jagged Edge as they so fittingly crooned “Hey! Where the party at!” Ironically, that was exactly what Dominique was in search of, a baller.

* * * * *

As the black van pulled into the parking lot, only one person in the Masjid knew of the eminent destruction the persons assembled in the vehicle came to inflict. Sefa. However, once each man stepped from the vehicle, only one was a trained assassin: Ishmah.

Sent to the Pakistani region as a baby, Ishmah was raised by Islamic extremist. By the time he was fifteen, the young boy was leading a band of guerrillas that could steal the life out of an entire village of non-believers. It wasn't until his surrogate parents moved east, in hopes of a better life, that Ishmah tamed his violent instincts and submitted to his religion. Still, whenever the calling came down, the short stocky man, donning the customary Sunni beard, delved into his dark past.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum!” Sefa bellowed as he approached the men.

“Wa Alaikum-As Salaam Rahman Allah!” the men crooned in unison.

Giving each man a brief hug, Hakeem stepped back and said, “I am glad you all made it safely.”

“Al hum du il'lah!” the men chanted.

To anyone who witnessed the interaction between the Imam and the five men, one thing was evidently clear—they were planning to work together to execute a master plan.

* * * * *

Two things had evidently become clear, Exotic Auto was definitely the place to buy a car, and the adjacent car wash/auto detailing business was the spot to get the car cleaned.

Even though the season was easing toward winter, RJ's detailing business, suitably named Fresh and Clean car wash, had luxury cars lined up and down Queens Boulevard.

Pulling into his own business, Derrick hopped out of his Porsche, dressed as if he was an Italian crime boss. Outfitted in an Armani suit and a pair of Brooks Brothers' shoes, Derrick rushed into his office. He slid the Gucci shades from his eyes and entered his office. His two o'clock appointment was already seated in the waiting area.

“Hi, you must be Tonya. I'm Derrick,” he announced, extending his hand to the pretty young woman.

“Yes. I'm Tonya Sears. Nice to meet you, Mr. Richards.”

While Derrick shook the young woman's hand, he wondered if the CLK parked in his lot was hers or someone else's.

Derrick led the woman into the confines of his office and she took a seat. “What college did you say you graduated from?” he asked.

“Um . . . I didn't say on the phone . . . but I . . . um graduated from HU.

“Oh really! Is that Hampton U or Howard U?” Derrick asked.

Dominique's mind raced frantically as she attempted to recall which college he had attended, according to the DEA's file.

“Um . . . I went to Hampton University,” she finally replied.

The two continued to chat like old friends, until Derrick said, “Well, it's evident that you're qualified for the position. In fact, you are overqualified for this position. But I'm going to give you a shot. You're hired,” he said, holding his hand out.

Dominique gripped his hand and smiled. She was in . . .

*****

Naria pumped her legs furiously, attempting to keep up with the treadmill. Sweat freely ran from her pecan brown skin as her heart rate fluttered. Peering to her left, the sight of her healthy baby boy playing on the comforter encouraged her to push herself harder.

It had been nearly three months since she'd given birth to Carl, and she'd been desperately trying to get back down to her normal size seven. Although Derrick gave her the utmost attention, he hadn't touched her sexually in what seemed like ages. In a quest not to lose the fire between her and Derrick, Naria vowed to turn her body back into its normal shape and size.

“That's right, Carl, smile for mommy!” Naria huffed, pushing her body to the limit.

* * * * *

Derrick peeked out of his office window as the thunderous bass rattled the pictures on his wall. Noticing a cream colored Bentley Arnage with Florida plates sitting in front of RJ's detailing business, Derrick slammed the blinds down and made a beeline for the door. He was absolutely fed up with RJ's careless attitude, who ran the car wash as if it was a who's who of drug dealers for the east coast.

He passed his secretary in a hurried manner, causing her to ask, “Mr. Richards, is everything all right?” only to be answered by the office door being slammed.

The closer Derrick got to RJ's establishment, the short figure standing with his back to him began to look familiar.

Once he was within earshot, the Jamaican accent could clearly be heard. It could only have been one person.

“Ya mon, Tree! What it tis, bredron?” Tony asked.

"Oh shit! What's up, son? I ain't even know it was you,” Derrick replied, quickly changing his attitude.

“You ah must of whips pun de lot,” Tony stated, motioning toward Derrick's car lot.

“Nah, you got the hot whips, B,” Derrick remarked, eyeing the Bentley closely.

“Wit' out you amah mon ‘ere, Robert, none of dis would be possible, bredron,” Tony stated. “Tonight, I won't take no for no answer.” Without any further words being spoken, it was settled. They were going to DC.

* * * * *

Ishmah and the rest of the sheriff team were assembled in a small room inside the mosque. As if they were a military tactical team, they looked over maps, pictures, and even phone records. Although the persons responsible for spilling the blood of two Muslims hadn't been identified, it wouldn't be long before their identities were uncovered.

“Raheem, you and Sahih take the east side of the city,” Ishmah ordered. “Jabrill, you take the area within a three mile radius of the Masjid, and Tareek, you and I are going to take brother Hakeem and brother Biggs' old neighborhood.”

“I know in my heart that the men responsible will feel the wrath of Allah in its most powerful way . . . Insha Allah!” Ishmah said, and then rose to his feet.

* * * * *

Derrick and RJ were enjoying their evening at one of DC's most glamorous nightspots. Club Climax was within a rock's throw of the Capitol building, yet it attracted some of the area's most infamous crooks.

Looking around the exclusive club, Derrick noticed some of the most influential people he'd ever been in the company of. NBA players were scattered throughout the packed club, and even some Hollywood actors moved their bodies to the pounding bass of the District's signature Go-Go music. Glaring to his left, Derrick watched in bewilderment as Tony whispered into the ear of a woman standing nearly a foot taller than him, who closely resembled the R&B diva, Amerie.

Leading the way up to the club's third level, Tony settled onto a large couch overlooking the entire club. “Dis where me ah like to come an' get a piece of mind,” he announced, getting comfortable on the cushiony couch.

Derrick thought it ironic that he'd come to such a busy environment to get a piece of mind. But then again, he'd done strange things to get a piece of mind himself. But as he took in the atmosphere of the club in totality, Derrick began to wonder if he was slipping? Was he in the type of hotspot that the authorities kept their eyes on to get leads on hustlers? Derrick knew the answer to his questions before he posed them. But the reality was, he had slipped into this dangerous lifestyle so gradually that he was a fixture within it before he realized it. He had become consumed by the very culture that his brother had warned him about and he had warned RJ about.

* * * * *

Gold sat across from Dominique in the confines of her government rented condominium.

“I really feel that the guy Derrick stormed out of the office to meet with had some type of significance to both Robert and Derrick,” she said.

Gold was in a daze, hungry to take down Derrick.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Gold?” Dominique snapped.

“Um . . . yeah . . . yes,” he stammered. “I'm sorry, I was just brainstorming. But please, call me Douglas.”

“So . . . um . . . Do you want me to follow the leads I've gathered on the driver of the Bentley?” she asked.

“Certainly. I want you eyeballing everyone who comes in the establishment.”

J
ust as smoothly as Tony had appeared, he vanished, leaving behind millions of dollars worth of drugs. Derrick and RJ went about their normal routine of cutting and bagging heroin, and then distributing the drugs to their redistributors.

When Derrick wasn't at the shop or at the apartment in Queens, he was spending time with Naria and their newborn son. Fatherhood was a totally foreign experience to Derrick, being that he never knew his own father. Nonetheless, his instincts quickly picked up where experience left off.

Sitting in the middle of the floor of the large den, Derrick, Naria, and Carl had all the signs of a happy family. Derrick held his son high, yoo-hooed and gye-gyed like a newborn himself. Naria lay sprawled on the white-carpeted floor eyeing Derrick and Carl. The spectacle they presented caused her to beam proudly. At that moment she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

Derrick peeked at the woman responsible for bringing the reflection of him into the world. He felt a familiar tingling in his groin area. It had been at least two months since he'd touched Naria sexually. The pain he'd witnessed her endure during the delivery had caused him to retreat on every occasion that he'd even thought of entering her. However, the manner in which she lay smiling, with her shapely body spread across the floor became too much for Derrick to handle. Lying Carl on the comforter, he made his way over to Naria without breaking the intense eye contact they held. Once he was within reach, Naria opened her arms to welcome him.

* * * * *

Ishmah jumped behind the wheel of the car and turned to Tareek. “The young cats out here are saying that some drug crew called ‘The Black Tar Boyz' are responsible.”

Rubbing his beard in deep contemplation, Tareek looked to Ishmah and said, “Well okki, it looks like we got to find . . .” Tareek paused, twirling his hand urging Ishmah to repeat the crew's moniker.

“The Black Tar Boyz,” Ishmah chimed in. He turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

* * * * *

Wrapped in a deep kiss, both Naria and Derrick kept a watchful eye on Carl. Although it had been months since they'd had sex, the act of watching their son while enjoying the pleasures of the other's body became too much to bear.

“Honey!” Naria gasped, “Let me put him to sleep, then meet me upstairs.”

Bothered in more ways than one, Derrick reluctantly nodded and watched in frustration as Naria picked their son up and exited the room, swaying her hips sensuously.

Derrick allowed a sigh to escape his lips. He readjusted his manhood in his pants and stood to go upstairs. As he treaded lightly on the carpeted floor, he could hear Naria cooing to their son as he passed the nursery. Instead of holding her to their earlier plan, he quickly decided to take a shower and relax.

Quickly disrobing, he entered their immaculate decorated suite, and then went into the black marble bathroom and began to prepare to shower. Once the water settings were adjusted to his liking, he stepped into the walk-in shower and took a seat.

As the water rained down on his body, Derrick could feel the tension being lifted from him. While in the shower, his mind touched base on every issue of importance in his life. Thinking about the money he'd accumulated over such a short period, Derrick knew it was time to exit the game. His dealership was doing well as a legitimate business, and fate would not continue to shine in his favor. He had to get out soon.

Derrick turned the water off and stepped out of the shower totally rejuvenated. He knew what had to be done. As he exited the bathroom, the sweet smell of scented candles entered his nose. He adjusted his eyes to the flickering light, noticing Naria lying on their large bed dressed as if she were being sacrificed before a God.

Eyeing her hungrily, he couldn't believe that this was the normally sexually conservative woman who'd bore his child, lying before him in nothing more than a few strips of lace.

Dropping the towel that covered his nakedness to the floor, Derrick dove onto the bed and took what was rightfully his.

* * * * *

Derrick roamed his office whistling old love tunes as the night of passionate lovemaking replayed in his mind.

“Why, aren't we in good spirits,” a sultry voice remarked, instantly snapping Derrick from his thoughts.

Turning toward his office door, Derrick spotted Dominique's bright smile. Derrick returned the smile and said, “Oh, hi Tonya. How was your weekend?”

Throwing her hands up, she replied, “Probably not as good as yours, but I guess you could say I made the most of it.”

“Oh, well that's good, but I need you to go by the bank before noon and make a deposit,” he explained, reaching for a large moneybag.

Unable to hide her shock, Dominique nearly dropped the bag as he handed it to her.

“My fault,” Derrick said, kneeling to retrieve the bag.

“Oh, no, I . . . I'm sorry, it was my fault,” she stammered.

Derrick had never delegated any hands-on financial duties to her, and for him to abruptly toss a bag of money at her both scared and elated her. Nonetheless, Dominique knew it was a test. She just hoped it was a test that she could pass.

However, in Derrick's mind he was simply moving toward his goal of exiting the game. The act of depositing large sums of money wasn't such a bad idea. Derrick's second mistake was letting the undercover agent deposit the money.

* * * * *

RJ pulled off the lot with his brand new ESV Escalade, equipped with every gadget imaginable. Switching the in dash monitor onto rear camera view, RJ smiled. He was prepared for any unforeseen danger this go around as he cruised the streets of New York.

RJ pulled up onto his old block and exited his sparkling blue SUV dressed like a star. Young kids rushed RJ with chants of, “RJ! RJ! RJ!”

Basking in the attention briefly, he passed out bills from his overflowing pockets. It didn't take long for adults to shoo the kids away from the ghetto superstar in order for them to put their own bids in.

“RJ, what up, yo?” a man RJ had grown up with asked.

“Hey, RJ. How you doing, boo?” a woman who'd sexed nearly the entire neighborhood asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

RJ briefly acknowledged each person as he made his way to his childhood friend's mother's house. While he walked up the rickety stoop, Mrs. Jean appeared at the door.

“Robert, is that you, boy?” Damien's mother asked.

“Yeah, this me, Mrs. Jean.”

Pushing the door open, she said, “Boy, come on in here. I haven't seen you in ages, Robert. Seem like the last time I saw you was at Brenda's funeral.” Before she could stop herself, Damien's mother regretted mentioning Robert's deceased mother. “I'm sorry, baby,” she said.

Looking into the older woman's eyes, RJ wondered what his own mother would have looked like at Mrs. Jean's age. When he was just thirteen, his mother was brutally murdered in an abandoned apartment by her drug-crazed boyfriend. RJ never let the loss of his mother hinder him. Instead, he instantly became a man, raising himself and Naria.

“It's okay. I'm cool, Mrs. Jean,” he stated in a nonchalant manner. “I just dropped by to see if you'd heard from D?”

“Baby, Damien never was as smart as you. That boy went off and got himself busted, messing around in them streets.”

“I heard that he'd gotten locked up, but that's the last I heard.”

“He got himself locked up a'ight!” she retorted. “By them federal people.”

Trying to feign shock, RJ said, “I ain't know that.”

“Umm hmm. They got him in jail all the way out in Maryland.”

“So he ain't got no time or nothing yet?”

“Not that I know of, baby.”

“Oh, well that's good.” He knew good and well why Damien had not been sentenced yet. “Mrs. Jean, I'm a leave a message with you to pass on to D. The next time he calls please give him the message.”