Flippin' the Hustle (9 page)

“What's that for?” Derrick asked.

“I never knew you were a comedian.” He shook his head. “We put you undercover. You're eating, sleeping, and shitting with these sons of bitches, and you can't tell me anything different than a secretary pushing paper downstairs near the lobby.”

“I'm risking my ass everyday for you and the rest of the higher-ups in this building. I can tell you that.”

“So you don't know which of these guys tossed this scumbag over a bridge into the river?” Gold asked.

“No, I don't.”

Director Gold stared into Derrick's eyes without blinking. He was clearly sizing him up for any sign of a lie. “Okay.”

“Give me some time. I'm on it,” Derrick said.

“Hope so, Richards, because at this stage, there's no way we can use this murder against this organization. Now, what I'm counting on you to do is to get a full scope of these guys' operation. I'm talking business partners, connections, and so forth. Put this thing together for me, Richards. I'm counting on you.”

“I was picked for this job because I can handle it.” Derrick stood to leave. “And I will.” He walked out of the office with his heart beating faster than he could ever have remembered it beating. He had overestimated the implications of his actions. While Director Gold was upset and had expected more of Derrick, it was Derrick's guilty conscience that had him fearing being implicated in the misdeeds of the crew he was in charge of investigating. Derrick knew that this type of psychological game would be a regular occurrence as long as he failed to claim his allegiance to one of the two teams he was playing on. But worse was the probability that his actions could be the cause of not only psychological games, but his demise.

* * * * *

After the meeting with Director Gold, Derrick stopped by his house for a change of clothes. He exited the shower and got dressed, and then headed out in the direction of Naria's ritzy apartment complex. Even though Derrick had been in her presence a few hours before, he felt slightly nervous at just the thought of seeing her again. But he needed to see her to take his mind off his peculiar predicament. And he knew that ironically, being with her would cause him to also think of his position in life. Derrick could not escape the ambiguous loyalty that had been consuming his life since he began working the case against BTB.

The soft sounds of Genuine played at a moderate level. His cell phone vibrated on his hip. He snatched the gadget from its cradle. It was RJ. “What's up, son?” Derrick answered.

“Ain't shit, yo. I was just calling to let you know that tomorrow I'm gonna need you to take a ride to Jersey with me?”

“Oh, that's cool. About what time?”

“First thing in the morning meet me at my crib,” he advised. “Don't worry, it's only ten minutes from Naria's,” he remarked sarcastically with a laugh.

“What makes you think I'm gonna be at Naria's house?”

“I'm a man and I know how men think.”

“I hear that.”

“My sister's a grown woman and you're family. Just remember she's
my
sister. Not one of these clowns out here that's gonna tolerate some dude violating his sister.”

“I got you.”

“Cool.”

“Catch you later,” RJ said.

“All right.” Derrick reflected on another aspect of his rapidly changing lifestyle. Not only would the revelation of his true identity lead to his death, but his relationship with Naria going sour could also cause his life to end.

Derrick dialed her phone number.

Naria's raspy, but sexy voice came alive in Derrick's ear. “Hell-o.”

“Wassup, Naria? You sleep?”

“Not yet. Why? You can't make it back?” she asked, full of disappointment.

Unbeknownst to her, at that very moment Derrick was cruising her parking lot, searching for a suitable parking space. “Umm, nah, that's not why I called. I really called because I wanted to know how your brother knew where I'd be staying tonight?” Derrick asked, faking an attitude.

Naria clearly saw through his charade as she chuckled uncontrollably.

“For real, Naria! How'd he know?” he repeated firmly.

Once her laughter subsided, she blurted, “Boy! I had to tell somebody, so I told Trina! Her ass could never keep a secret. Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, don't sweat it.” Derrick made it to the door marked twenty-three. He slipped the key in, and then eased the apartment door open. He noticed that Naria's cackling had ceased. “You still there, Naria?”

“Mmm-hmm, but where are you?” she asked just above a whisper.

“I'm on the interstate. I should be there in a few. Why?”

“Well, it sounded like my door just opened,” she whispered in a worried tone.

“Maybe it's your ex-boyfriend coming back to claim what's rightfully his,” Derrick offered, easing the door shut.

“Yeah. Well, whoever it is better be wearing a bulletproof vest, because this Glock that I have in my hand is cocked, ready, and aimed.”

Quickly, Derrick blurted, “It's me, Naria! It's me!”

She rounded the corner gripping a black handgun, dressed in a black silk Kimono. It was open down the center, showcasing her perfect breasts clad in matching black silk and lace. As Derrick's eyes traveled south, he noticed her bushy mound was covered in an identical material.

“So you like what you see?” she teased.

Taking one giant step, Derrick covered the distance between them. He marveled at the beauty that stood before him. He observed her pretty feet in Fendi slippers. Derrick couldn't help but notice how she stood agape, showcasing her slightly bowed, world-class sprinter thighs. Her creamy thighs caused Derrick's mouth to water.

Jarring him from his assessment of her, she asked, “Are you just going to stand there and look at me all night, or are you going to take what's rightfully—” was all she managed to say before Derrick converged on her.

While interlocked in a sensuous kiss, Derrick snatched her from her feet and carried her into her bedroom. There, he laid her down on the soft king-sized bed and worshipped her body from head to toe.

J
ust as the bustle of the city's earliest commuters began to embark on their journeys to work, a brown United Postal Service truck pulled up to an address in a quiet subdivision. The middle class neighborhood was quite used to such occurrences in the early morning hours.

The driver, dressed in the customary brown uniform, grabbed a medium-sized box and a clipboard, and then exited the truck. Once he reached the front porch of the residence, he pressed the doorbell and patiently waited as a succession of chimes rang throughout the house. After a brief wait, a young girl around the age of ten snatched the door open, prompting the deliveryman to ask, “Is your father home?”

Switching her hand from hip to hip as if she was a grown woman, she yelled over her shoulder, “Daddy! Some man's at the door!”

Patiently, the deliveryman waited as the little girl disappeared into the house.

Once Lil' Roy was aroused from his slumber, he made his way to the door, groggily mumbling obscenities the entire way.

“Mr. Bradley, I have a delivery for you. If you'd just sign here,” Animal stated like a professional, handing Lil' Roy the clipboard.

Lil' Roy continued casting obscenities as he took the clipboard. Animal had smoothly retrieved his silencer-equipped Beretta from his waist. Once Lil' Roy finished signing his name on the board, he handed the board back to Big Animal, only to be met with the vision of a 9-millimeter handgun.

Animal grinned. “Tell God I said hi.” He pulled the trigger twice, causing two dime-sized holes to instantly appear on the side of Lil' Roy's head. Before his body could crumble to the floor in the entranceway, Animal was already casually making his way back to the big brown delivery truck for a smooth get away.

* * * * *

Derrick and Naria were sprawled out on the bed. Their bodies still entangled from their night of mind-blowing lovemaking. The blaring sound of the bedside phone jarred both Derrick and Naria from their sleep.

Naria grabbed the telephone and sleepily slurred into the receiver, “Hello?”

Not wanting to seem nosy, Derrick lay there with his eyes closed, faking sleep.

However, once Naria gasped, “What!"—he attentively jerked his body to her side.

She passed him the phone. She was in a zone, a distant gaze on her face. “It is Robert. He wants to talk to you.”

Derrick grabbed the phone and hesitantly put it to his ear. “Hello.”

“Ay, yo! Nigga murdered Lil' Roy this morning,” RJ said in a gloomy tone.

“What!” Derrick asked.

“Yeah. Right at his crib in front of his daughter, yo.”

Holding the phone in silence, Derrick was trying to allow the information to sink in. “But, who?” he managed to ask.

“I don't know, but the shit sound real professional.”

“Look, man, I'm on my way over there right now. Don't go—” Before Derrick could finish, the line went dead. Turning toward a visibly shaken Naria, he said, “Get dressed!”

* * * * *

Dressed in their finest garbs, Quis, Biggs, and Kareem stepped from a Range Rover and began the short trek to the Masjid. They were en route to the weekly Jumah service held at the Mosque on Fridays. Earlier that morning, Quis had received the call signaling that the hit on Lil' Roy had been carried out. Now, all they would do was sit back and see if BTB wanted to retaliate. As far as Quis, Hakeem, and Biggs were concerned, the score was even. A life for a life. But they knew that their murder of Lil' Roy would come with some repercussions if they were discovered as the guilty culprits. But the Gucci Crew was not new to beef. They lived for the blood and bodies that came with life on the streets of Brooklyn.

* * * * *

When Derrick and Naria pulled into the driveway of RJ's sprawling home, they noticed RJ sitting on the trunk of his Mercedes with his head buried deep in his palms. Only the sound of Derrick's approaching car caused him to raise his head.

Derrick knew from the bags under RJ's eyes, that the death of his long time comrade had hit him hard. It was not only a loss to BTB, but a reminder to their living members that they could be touched. That was something that was beginning to weigh on Derrick's mind, because on the streets he had become known as a member of BTB. Now beef with Lil' Roy's killers was another thing Derrick could add to the list of potential causes of his death.

As Derrick and Naria exited the car, Naria rushed to her brother's side in an attempt to comfort him. “Everything's going to be all right, Robert.”

Shaking his head in a show of defeat, he replied, “Nah, sis, my lil' man's gone.”

Derrick noticed a lone tear roll down the grieving man's cheek.

“RJ, do you have any idea who did this?” Derrick asked sternly. He wanted to know for himself and the agency.

“Nah. But I've got some people working on that as we speak,” he explained. “I'm supposed to be in Jersey in twenty minutes to meet my connect.”

Immediately, Derrick's mind shifted deeper into investigative mode, as the word ‘connect' entered his brain. Nevertheless, he maintained his composure. “Man, we can't make it to Jersey in twenty minutes. And besides, we don't know if these dudes is coming for you or what,” Derrick said.

“Yeah, I know, but I can't keep my connect waiting. Once we make plans to hook up, only jail or death can stop the meeting. And until now, we've always held our appointments as planned.” RJ looked toward Naria. “I don't want to just leave like this. I . . .” Frustrated, his voice trailed off.

As RJ struggled with his thoughts, Derrick's mind was working in overdrive. Turning to Naria, he pulled his Heckler and Koch from his waist and shoved it toward her. “Naria, take this and go inside with Trina. Make sure to lock all the doors and don't answer the door for nobody. We will be back in a couple of hours.” He turned back to RJ, who handed him some keys and pointed at a midnight blue Aston Martin.

“You want me to drive?”

“You might as well, it's yours.”

“Come again?” Derrick said, turning from RJ to the $100,000 car.

“It's a gift.”

“For what?”

“Loyalty is rare in the streets. It deserves to be rewarded.”

Derrick was lost. No one had ever given him a gift remotely as expensive and for such a genuine purpose. But the foreign car just heaped on another layer of guilt Derrick felt about his objective to take down the man who had treated him like the brother Derrick had lost to the streets. One moment, Derrick was ready to reel in one of the biggest criminal fish of his career, and the next he was ready to devote his life to the heartless killer and drug kingpin. Life for him was getting harder and better at the same time.

“Let's roll. We're gonna handle this BI, and then we're gonna handle whoever killed Lil' Roy!”

Damn,
Derrick thought. He didn't know whether to try and avert RJ's plan, or update the agency on the latest BTB conspiracy to commit murder. But as he chirped the alarm on the Aston Martin and prepared to drive his new ride, he felt obligated to ride for the man who would be riding in his passenger seat.

*****

On the drive to Jersey, Derrick's mind worked nonstop. He knew that once he made contact with RJ's heroin connection, he could soon put an end to the case. Yet, he dreaded bringing the man to justice. Even with all the evil things RJ had done, Derrick felt a brotherly love from the thug. And Derrick's untamed attraction to Naria wasn't making things easier.

“You a'ight?” Derrick asked as he glanced at the stress in RJ's eyes.

“Yeah, I'm good,” he replied, releasing a sigh. “Take the next exit, yo.”

Derrick steered the car into the right lane and prepared to exit the interstate. Once they'd exited the interstate, and RJ had begun to direct him, Derrick began to get edgy.

“When you pass that Mickey D's, bust a ‘U' and park behind that Range,” RJ instructed.

Derrick knew exactly where they were headed. The Jamaican restaurant that he had eaten in a number of times was their destination. “Jamaican Cuisine,” Derrick read as they pulled in front of the restaurant.

As soon as Derrick shut the engine off, RJ reached in the back and retrieved a large knapsack. “Come on, yo. I want to introduce you to Tony.”

Hesitant, Derrick followed him inside of the eatery, instantly painting a mental picture of this Tony character. However, once they'd entered the quaint restaurant, there wasn't anyone present fitting Derrick's mental portrait.

RJ led the way to the rear of the restaurant, where two men sat devouring plates of food.

“What's up, Tony!” RJ announced, garnering both men's attention.

Derrick immediately recognized one of the men who'd made the drop off on Grand Avenue. However, the other man was unknown to him.

“Ras! Wha dem say, bredron!' ‘Ow ya ah sneak pun me like dat!” the man RJ addressed as Tony exuberantly stated, sliding from the booth. Derrick watched closely as the man standing nearly a foot shorter than him embraced RJ in the customary hustler's greeting.

Catching Derrick's glance locked onto him, Tony asked, “Ah ooh da mon dear?”

RJ said, “Oh. Yo, this my man Tree.”

The short Jamaican looked Derrick from head to toe, scrutinizing and then extended his hand. “What make dem call yah Tree?” he asked.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Derrick gripped the man's hand and replied, “Just something kids around my way started calling me.”

Tony turned his attention back to RJ. “RJ, where da bredron Fickle Roy?”

RJ's demeanor became dispirited. “Man . . . shorty got killed, yo,” he said in a voice filled with emotion. “Shit's real fucked up.”

“Bomba! When da-mon-ah-get murdered!” Tony asked.

RJ sighed in frustration. “This morning,” he said.

“You don't have any idea ooh do it?”

“I've got an idea, but as soon as I get back to New York, I'ma make shit too hot,” RJ stated.

“Before you hurry up and go do some madness, I think you may need to get away. You need ah time to think,” he advised. “Come to me country. I'll show you some wicked flex.”

As if he'd thought the offer over thoroughly, RJ quickly declined. “Nah, I've got too much shit to handle right now.”

Tony stepped over to the counter and scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to RJ. Think about me offer,” he stated, relieving RJ of the large knapsack. Tony headed for the door, closely followed by the other Jamaican.

Just before he exited the restaurant, he turned and said, “Bring yah gal. Also yah bredron and ‘is gal also.” He smoothly exited the establishment.