Luxe (28 page)

“We just smoked, we smoked, and then he asked me to help him with a setup … please let's just go,” Bleu said. “I'll explain it all after we leave.”

“We aren't going anywhere until we hit this nigga safe,” China said, interrupting.

“What? No, no … I just want to go,” Bleu cried.

“We will,” Bree said. “After we hit the safe.” He walked her over to the car and opened the back door. “You can stay inside. You don't even have to come back in. Just stay put. We'll be right back. If you see anybody coming, blow the horn.”

The fact that she didn't have to go back inside the house made her feel slightly better. Bree tucked her inside and closed the door, then started toward the house. “You're so fucking soft on her,” China spat as she followed him.

“And you're so hard on her,” Bree returned. “Just ease up on her. He fucked her really bad. Anyway, don't worry about Bleu. Get your head right. If this nigga laying like I think he laying, we're about to get filthy rich.”

“Yeah, whatever, nigga. Don't let me find out you got a thing for Bleu. Cuz it won't be nice for you or her,” China said slyly.

“Shut the fuck up. You talk too fucking much,” Bree said sternly as he pulled a pistol out of his waistline and reached for the door. As soon as he opened it the dogs were on him. He quickly snapped the door back shut.

Bree cracked the door and stuck his pistol through it.

BOOM! BOOM!

The sounds of whimpers let him know he hit his targets. He opened the door and China clung to his jacket as they entered slowly. “Damn, Bree,” China said.

He ignored her and they eased into the house. Blood trailed from the kitchen to the living room. The room looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Overturned furniture, blood, and glass pieces were everywhere.

“I thought she said she killed him. Where is he?” China whispered.

“Right here, muthafuckas!”

BOOM!

A gunshot erupted as Cinco fired in their direction. He was seated on the floor in the hallway, clinging to life. He was badly injured, the back of his skull was bashed in, and his aim was off due to the pipe that still protruded from his eye. He had been trying to make it to his bedroom for his phone when he had heard them enter.

Bree pushed China to the floor and she cowered behind the coffee table as Bree popped back.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

He fired relentlessly, tearing away the plaster from the walls, barely missing Cinco. Bree pulled China to her feet and shoved her out into the open. Cinco fell for the bait and rounded the corner with his gun locked and loaded.

Before Cinco's finger could even curl around the trigger, Bree fired.

BOOM!

He caught Cinco in the abdomen, folding him like a lawn chair.

“What the fuck?!” China screamed. “He could have killed me!”

“But he didn't,” Bree said.

Cinco clutched his gunshot wound as he slumped against the wall, trying his hardest just to breathe. “You're fucking dead. All of you are dead.” He struggled to speak as he spat blood from his mouth.

“Shut your bitch ass up. Get the fuck up,” Bree said as he grabbed Cinco under the arms and forced him to his feet.

“Aghh!” Cinco hollered.

“Damn, she really fucked you up,” Bree said with a chuckle as he observed Cinco's condition. “Where's the safe?” Bree wasted no time getting down to business.

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” Cinco said boldly. “I'm cartel! Does it look like I'm going to get on my knees and beg for my life? Huh,
puta
? You might as well kill me, because the longer you stay trying to get me to open my safe the less time you have to run away from the men that my family is going to send after you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bree asked. He turned around as if he flicked his nose, then suddenly spun back and socked the shit out of Cinco. Cinco was too weak to stay on his feet. The blow sent him to his knees. “I've wanted to do that for years, my nigga. Next move I make is going to end you, so just come up off the location of the safe so I can clean you out and go about my business.”

Cinco had to laugh. The irony of it all was hilarious. He had just plotted to rob and kill Iman, only to have someone suddenly do it to him. “Suck my dick,” Cinco said.

Tired of the gangster bravado, Bree aimed his gun. Just as he was about to curl his finger around the trigger he heard a voice behind him.

“Don't,” Bleu said as she snuck back into the room.

Cinco looked up at her as he groaned while adjusting his back against the wall. He squinted at her through his one good eye, blood leaking down his face, his head bludgeoned from her beating. “Better listen to her,” he grunted.

BANG!

Bree pulled the trigger.

“Agh!” Cinco screamed in pure agony.

“That's one hand,” Bree stated. China and Bleu stood back, fear filled. They weren't killers. They didn't know how far Bree was going to take it. Bleu closed her eyes, crying silently as she regretted ever getting in the game. She had only seen the good side. The lifestyle. The money. The clothes. The status. This was the flip side. This was the grit. With money came murder and mayhem. This part terrified her. She had gotten lost in the game, and now that she stood in a situation that she no longer controlled she realized things had gone too far.

“Okay! Okay!” Cinco shouted as he struggled to stand.

Bree pulled him up and pushed him down the hall. “Where's the safe?”

Cinco held on to the wall as he limped toward the back of the house.

Bree followed, persistently threatening him the entire way with a gun to the back of the head. They all knew that Cinco wouldn't make it out of there alive. There was no way they could let him live. He was too powerful, too connected. They would have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives if they didn't finish this tonight. This evening had to be one that they never mentioned again.

Cinco went to his closet and knelt down on the floor. As he heaved, his breath erratic, he lowered his head in despair. He felt weak and could barely focus as he pulled up the four floorboards that covered his safe. There wasn't much in it. He didn't shit where he ate. His real stash was nowhere in the house, but what lay inside the safe was his last chance. A black .45 was inside, safety off, ready to be fired. If he could just get to it and draw on Bree fast enough, Cinco just might make it through the night with his life.

“Hurry up, homeboy,” Bree ordered impatiently.

Cinco put the combination in and reached inside, gripping the pistol in his palm. He gripped the rosary that he wore faithfully around his neck and said a brief prayer to Mary. In one swift motion he turned around, finger curled around the trigger, but he wasn't fast enough.

Boom!

Bree caught him in the back, causing Cinco to shoot wildly into the air before hitting the floor face-first.

Bree rushed over to the safe and his face twisted in rage. “The fuck? This muthafucka is empty!” he shouted.

“Let's go; let's just go now. Please!” Bleu shouted. Terror gripped her so tightly that it felt like a fist was clenching her heart. She was in over her head. Never in a million years did she think that things would take such a deadly turn for the worst.

“Shut up with all that crying! You're freaking me the fuck out!” China shot back. “We didn't do all this for nothing. We can't leave empty-handed.”

Bree grimaced as he said, “We don't have a choice.”

They rushed out of Cinco's home and drove away into the night. “This didn't happen tonight. Y'all hear me? We were never here,” Bree coached. Neither China nor Bleu responded. They were too consumed with their own thoughts … their own fears of the repercussions of their actions. Each of them had contributed to the downfall of a boss, and although they didn't know how yet, they both knew that they would pay.

 

23

The hustle was simple. Noah had turned his stay behind bars into a lucrative opportunity. With Naomi on the outside, accepting payments from the loved ones of his fellow inmates, his system was flawless. He got paid in cash—fuck cigarettes and toiletries—Noah wanted real paper, and in return he kept heroin flowing through the prison effortlessly. With a prison guard on Noah's payroll, he never worried about his bunk getting tossed and his stash getting discovered. He had all his bases covered, and since no one wanted their connection to a good high at risk, everyone protected him. He was king inside. He was the only one with a secure link to the outside and his peers respected him for that. Everyone had their vices … their needs … their wants. Prison stripped people of these wants and Noah had found a way to give them back. He was the king and he couldn't wait to convert his newfound respect to the streets. When he touched down he had a plan to take the city over … all he had to do was bide his time. Until then he had a good thing going with Naomi.

As he sat in the class he found it hard to stay focused. His eyes kept diverting to the beauty at the front. They never spoke, but each time his eyes met hers they shared a silent connection. She was one of those slick chicks. Fancy, with quick wit and street smarts to match. She was arrogant in her thinking. She knew she was the shit. He did too, and he smirked as she sashayed by his desk, passing out the reading assignment that the teacher was announcing. As Naomi walked behind him she leaned down and whispered, “Stop staring, papa. If you see something you like just say something.” She moved on from him without looking back, but he was definitely looking at her. She was the type of chick who held her own so well that, when paired with a king, she made the perfect accessory. She was different from Bleu. She wasn't fragile or square. Naomi was cut from a cloth that was no longer made. She was a thoroughbred, and he told himself that when he got out he would step to her. He couldn't do anything for her at the moment, but when he was free and on his feet he would check for her. He had a feeling that she wouldn't say no.

*   *   *

Noah heard the burner cell come to life. He was wide awake, watching the roaches as they crawled on the ceiling. He never slept. He couldn't, not peacefully at least. He only allowed his eyes to close when he could no longer take it. He didn't trust these niggas. Bookie was the only person on the inside Noah was sure of; everyone else was suspect. They only had love for him because of what he could do for them. He served a purpose and his customers served theirs. He didn't confuse that for friendship or loyalty; it was business … supply and demand. He reached beneath the flimsy mattress and retrieved the phone. He knew who it was. Naomi was the only person who even had the number. His antennae went up, however, because she never called him. It was he who did the communicating. He reached out to her every time. Now that she had suddenly initiated it alarmed him. He sat up and opened up the text message.

His eyes widened when an image of her chocolate skin appeared on his screen. She was flawless in her nakedness. The pinkness of her center was wet and plump, enticing him as he felt his pulse speed up. The look of mischief in her eyes was appealing, naughty. She was good at being bad and he loved it. The message read:
Maybe now that you've seen it, you can stop acting like you got a schoolboy crush and stay focused. Good night.

He smirked as he typed back:
The crush just got bigger.

She replied:
I've been known to break hearts. Be warned.…

He smirked as he climbed out of his bunk and positioned himself on the floor. He began his nightly routine as he lowered his body to the floor, performing push-ups. He would double his count tonight. Thanks to Naomi, he had a lot of pent-up energy that needed to be worked out. He was feeling Naomi and he was putting a plan in his mind to step to her the next time he saw her.

“That young girl got you going, huh, youngblood?” Bookie asked with a chuckle, his face buried in
Moby-Dick
.

“Nah, I'm good, just putting in some light work O.G.,” Noah replied vaguely.

“Yeah, whatever you say, playboy. You got one running product up in here for you, another one writing you every chance she get,” Bookie said, referring to Bleu. “It's easy to manage two while you in here. Just make sure you ain't baking two cakes. You can only eat one when you get out, you hear me?”

Noah tried to keep Bleu in the back of his mind, but she filled his thoughts often. He didn't want to be the one to pull her back to Flint, so he kept his distance, remaining silent and never responding to her letters. She was too good for him, or so he thought.
She's worth more than this street shit,
he thought. He had no idea how drastically Bleu had changed or the dangerous downward spiral that she was on. Naomi was attainable. She fit him and he was about to lock away any sentiments he had for Bleu in order to pursue a new chick … a bad chick. The thought of Naomi was a perfect distraction to keep his mind off the best friend he wished could be more.

*   *   *

Bleu awoke to an ominous feeling … a dark cloud hung over her head, raining down misery over her as she slowly pulled herself out of the bed. Flashes of the night before invaded her mind like a bad dream.
That's what that was … a dream. It couldn't have been real,
she thought groggily as she shook her head. She felt heavy, weighed down by the overwhelming emotions that filled her, but in the pit of her stomach there was that tickle … that wanting … that urge. She closed her eyes and visions of her pulling on the crack pipe attacked her mind. She gasped. That's when it hit her. Everything that she wished was one horrible dream was actually reality. It had happened. She had let Cinco coax her into sucking on the glass dick. He had attacked her. She had called her friends to help her and they ended up killing him. It had all happened and there was no taking it back. She placed a hand over her mouth in horror. She hopped out of the bed, suddenly feeling pain as she looked down at the deep wounds that covered her legs. She ignored them as she ran out of the motel room and rushed to China and Bree's room. Knots filled her stomach and a lump of regret clogged her throat as she banged incessantly on their door. “Open up!” she shouted. When they didn't answer she rushed to the window, framing her face with her hands as she peered inside. The room was empty, bedsheets messy, and no bags were in sight.