Watch Out for the Big Girls (11 page)

She had been driving the Maserati Quattro Sport on the back roads for over an hour. She was almost at the specified location she was given. A few minutes later, she approached it slowly, with extreme caution. This was the biggest assignment given to her by the Double Gs since she had become a member, one that would earn trust and get her further ahead and deeper inside. She pulled into the long, dark sandlot. It was a construction site. The office building was far in the back. She parked behind it and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed another number that was already programmed in the untraceable phone strictly for Double G business affairs. It rang and a woman answered.

“I'm here,” she declared. Once that was established, she disconnected the call, then pulled out her own cell phone and punched in a different number. It too was untraceable. A male voice answered.

“It's me,” she announced herself and began reporting details about what had happened. She explained what she knew and heard all the way up to the time she switched her bike for Starr's car.

“Look, this shit is getting too deep. I got it from here,” he proclaimed.

“It's too late. I'm already on. I intend to finish what we started, so relax. I'm cool. For some reason, I feel even safer actually being on their side for the moment. I'll be safe until we bring them down.”

“What about Queen Fem?” he asked, hoping she had any clue of who she was and her whereabouts.

“Not even close. But trust me. I'm about to go hard and work my way up the ranks. I got the closest I'd ever been to Fields tonight. I just need opportunities like this to impress her. And by any means, I'll take it.”

“All right. Just remember, I'm never far. Nobody else knows about you but me. I'm keeping it that way, but if need be, under my order, I'll send the big guns to get you out.”

“That's it for now. I have to go.” She quickly hung up and rapidly began to delete the number as the other motorcycle pulled up behind her. In the rearview, she eyed her sidekick let the kickstand down, get off, and remove her helmet before shaking her long hair free, until she completed the deletion process. She then stepped out of the Maserati as the bike's headlights shined on both her and the car.

“Good job. Somebody will be here to take it from here,” she announced as she walked over toward the bike.

“I got it from here,” she told her new cohort. Darkness reclaimed the lot as the two straddled the bike. She took hold of her arms and wrapped them tightly around her waist before she sped away from the drop-off location.

Starr pulled the Ducati into the long half-circle driveway of the secret minimansion and waited for the four-car garage door to finish elevating. She eased the bike in and waited for the door to shut behind her. She removed the duffel bags from the back of the bike, then hiked them over her shoulders and carried them over to the locked door where she punched an access code into the digital lock pad and it opened. A light beeping sound chimed as she turned to the wall's alarm pad's glowing numbers and keyed in another code. The beeping stopped. She cut the lights off revealing the huge chrome-furnished kitchen with marble floors and a center island with a marble countertop. She set the helmet on the countertop and strutted around, then stared up at the eighteen-foot ceiling's chandelier as she retrieved a bottle of Avian spring water from the fridge. Twisting the top open, Starr took a refreshing sip in an attempt to drink away the migraine she adopted from the night's events. Her state-of-the-art kitchen illuminated as she walked through it to get to her luxurious onyx graphite-furnished dining room, until she finally reached the dark living room. It was also generously spacious. The ceiling was even higher. The temperature was cool due to the constant lack of body heat. It was usually empty, but this time it wasn't.

Starr tightened her grip on the heavy duffel bags. She made her way toward the long mahogany and cherry wood banister of the marble half-circle, wraparound, double-end staircase.

A voice spoke from the center of the darkness. “Sometimes solving one problem causes another or even more,” Queen Fem nonchalantly stated in her infamous articulate robotic tone. Her five foot, 160-pound frame sat seductively in the armless mink loveseat.

Queen Fem's voice caught Starr by surprise. She instantly dropped the duffel bags and drew her registered baby Glock 9 and pointed in Queen Fem's direction all in one swift motion.

Queen Fem seemed to be unfazed by her reaction. “Relax, darling,” she calmly stated. “You're going to hurt someone with that thing one of these days.” The lamp next to her illuminated, revealing her almond tone.

“That's the point,” Starr retorted as her nerves recovered.

Queen Fem flashed a warm smile that lit up her face. She was beautiful as ever. She had just crossed over into a sixth decade, but appeared to be twenty years younger. She was a woman of class. She sat looking calm, nonchalant, sophisticated, and dangerous all in one. Her presence was profoundly demanding. Her attire was tasteful and complemented her voluptuous frame. She wore a silk purple-based multicolored Vera Wang minidress that fit very snug. Her huge diamond-encrusted belt buckle pulled the center of her dress in at her waistline. Both her breasts and hips protruded in the material. Her manicured, acrylic toes protruded perfectly out of the multicolored Jimmy Choo stilettos she wore. Her expensive Indian hair, imported straight from India, was pinned up in a wrap. A single four-carat diamond dangled from a tiny platinum chain attached to the lobe of each ear. Her skin was radiant. Her speech reflected extraordinary intellect. Her tongue and lips worked together for proper pronunciation of every single syllable of every word. She spoke clearly and always in the same tone with a steady pattern of an emotionless robot. There she sat with her left leg crossed over her right knee, allowing the heel of her shoe to hang as her foot swayed.

Starr tucked the gun back into the holster attached to her True Religion jeans. “I thought you were going back to bed.”

“That was my plan. Things changed. Please, have a seat. Don't be so rude,” she ordered more than asked.

Starr sat across from her on the other side of the rectangular aquarium coffee table that sat on the short marble stand. She was on the full-length matching couch. She and Queen Fem locked eyes before Queen Fem broke the silence.

“My insider informed me of the tragic outcome. I assure you that the FBI has no plans of taking this lightly. There's an agent by the name of Tom McCarthy with a real hard-on for us, so to speak. Our message has been sent. We can expect them to reply with force. Be very careful, Starr. My sources also say that there is one of them planted among your side of the organization. Find out who it is and get rid of her. I want her, whoever she may be, shipped back to them in pieces. Her head last,” Queen Fem said all in one breathe. Her tone never changed as she spoke.

Queen Fem's words confirmed what the anonymous caller had informed Starr of. She wondered if Queen Fem's source was the same person who had contacted her. She also wondered if Queen Fem had already known she had been contacted by the anonymous caller. Her train of thought was interrupted by Queen Fem's next words.

“I want to tell you a story.” Queen Fem extended her arm and gestured for Starr to sit closer. Starr rose and took the seat next to Queen Fem. “There was a father and son bull,” Queen Fem began. “They were sitting on top of a hill overlooking a pasture of female cows.”

Starr let out a light sigh as Queen Fem told her story. At that moment she felt like a pupil listening to her teacher. She had never respected anyone more or equal to the way she did Queen Fem and she had learned a lot from her throughout the years, but she despised feeling like she was being reprimanded by her mentor the way she knew she was about to be. Still, she gave Queen Fem her undivided attention.

“The son looks down and scans the pasture with excitement in his eyes. He then turns toward his father and says with even more excitement in his tone, ‘Dad, look at all those cows. Let's run down there and bed one of them.' The father looks over at the son and smiles, the way a proud parent does to his child. He understands his son's eagerness, his hunger and excitement. But he knows that his son does not know what he knows, just as he didn't when he and his own father sat on top of the very same hill. He reaches out and places his hand on his son's young shoulder and says”—Queen Fem turned to Starr, leaned over and, placing her well-manicured hand on top of Starr's, made eye contact with Starr before she continued—“he says, ‘No, son, let's walk down there and bed them all.'”

Starr couldn't help but chuckle a little. She actually enjoyed Queen Fem's story, which was surprising to her.

“Now do you understand why I keep stressing to you that our organization is about control and conquering, not money?” she stated rather than asked. “The money comes along with that.”

Starr nodded respectfully. She was appreciative of Queen Fem's wisdom.

“Good.” Queen smiled revealing her pearl white teeth, which resembled piano keys, for the first time that evening. “Moving right along,” she changed the subject. “Right now, we have their attention. They took us lightly because they thought we were after the streets. Now, they see that's not the case. They now realize who our primary targets are. The same way the Illuminati infiltrated the Masons, the House of Representatives, the U.S. Senate, the Judiciary Committee, and the presidency. It's all done in stages. We will do the same, but with a much more tactical approach. It took them centuries. It will not take us any more than another decade.”

“So, what now?” Starr asked as she crossed her own legs and folded her arms under her breasts as she reclined.

“Now, we finally benefit from keeping our hands clean. We will come out of hiding. We will show the world who we really are and what we are made of.”

Starr listened with a blank stare plastered across her face.

“Are you with me, my dear?” Queen Fem questioned.

Starr grinned. “Yes, Queen. I'm with you.” She made sure to maintain her eye contact with Queen Fem.

“Fabulous! That's my Starr.” Queen opened her arms. “Now come over here and give me a kiss.”

Once their meeting was done, a limousine escorted by two much older female motorcyclists and choppers pulled back into the half-circle driveway. Queen Fem could hear the familiar engines approaching from inside the minimansion. She looked at her watch. “Oh, my time's up. I will be seeing you soon. Do remember everything we've spoken about tonight,” she said to Starr.

The two women stood up, hugged, kissed both sides of each other's cheeks, and parted. Queen Fem's heels echoed with every tap on the marble floor until she was back out through the huge foyer. She opened the large, thick oak wood double doors, shut them, and then locked them behind her. She greeted two of the original Double G members, who sat on Harleys, with the wave of her hand as she stepped into the stretch Maybach. The suited female chauffeur gently closed the door after her and then returned to the driver's seat before driving off.

Starr shook her head and smiled as she stared out of the ten-foot window.
She thinks she's the damn queen of England.
She chuckled to herself. She then shut the vertical wall-length thick drapes and went to continue conducting her business. She picked the duffel bag back off the floor and headed upstairs. She entered the master suite and made her way to the safe. She typed in the access code and a tiny bulb switched colors from red to green. Starr swung the door open and transferred the money from the bag to the vault. When she was done, she locked it back up and exited the hidden room. Only two people knew about the storage room: she and Queen Fem.

Starr made her way back downstairs. It had been a long day and an even longer night. All she wanted now was to climb in her bed and rest her mind. With those being her thoughts, she made her way back in which she had come. Just as she exited the house her text message alert vibrated against her hip. She smiled when she saw who the text was from. In an instant, she changed her plans. There was no doubt in her mind now that she wouldn't be getting any rest tonight. And she was fine with that because she knew she had some making up to do.

Salty's Bar & Grill was at the corner of the same block as Club Panties. It was open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Although it was a tavern, the setting was very classy. Bubbles and Monica sat in the back section at a secluded table, drinking liquor and eating while getting to know each other better.

“So, tell me. How did you get in?” Monica asked as she nibbled away at her cheeseburger and large order of potato wedges. She took a sip of her rum and Coke to wash it down.

Bubbles cracked a wide smile, blushing as she lowered her voice. “Well, you know we're not supposed to tell, but, it's just us here, right?” She flashed Monica a trusting smile. “So anyway, I'm originally from North Las Vegas, but went away to school after I graduated to California. I moved back out here after I dropped out of LSU thinking this guy, who I had a crush on since I was a young girl wet behind the ears, would be interested in kickin' it with me. It didn't work out that way though. By the time I came back he was even deeper in the streets than when I left and became an even bigger asshole, at least to me anyway.”

“Have you ever, you know, with a guy, since you been a Double G?” Monica shyly asked.

Bubbles's face wrinkled up with apparent disgust. “A loooong time ago, and I do mean long time,” she emphasized. “Actually he was my first and last,” Bubbles confessed. “That's like the first commandment of the Double Gs.” She lowered her tone back into a quiet whisper while leaning forward as if she was about to tell a ghost story. “They say that once you're in, if Queen Fem or Starr even suspects that you've been with a man or even heard the rumor, you get sent to the OBGYN to get checked out. You get one pass during your initiation because they know you may have to seal the deal to convince the target. After that, if it ain't tight down there, you get terminated for the violation,” Bubbles revealed.

Monica tried her hardest not to make any reaction to Bubbles's last statement, but she was sure she had done a poor job. Bubbles had noticed the change in her facial expression.

“Oh God. I hope you haven't.”

“Who? Never,” Monica lied, defending her cover.

“Oh, I was about to say,” Bubbles continued, “So, anyway, I was bored one day and I'm out just club hoppin'. I was tore up from the floor up, you hear me.” Bubbles laughed as she reminisced. “So, I don't know if I did or not, but the taxi driver said I told him to take me to a strip club. The MF assumed I was gay and took me to Club Panties. I'm not sure if it was the liquor or what, but I had a ball. There were women all shapes, sizes, and colors in there, a lot who looked like me.” Bubbles used her hands to demonstrate she referred to her weight size.

“That night women were hittin' on me left and right and it felt good and different and it excited me. After a while I kept hearing stuff about a crew called the Double Gs. I became real interested, so eventually I started doing research there on my own. Rumors were circulating that they screened everyone who regularly attended, so I began auditioning. I was doing whatever it took to get noticed. And then one day I was approached by a mysterious woman who slipped me a card and told me to go over to Treasures and tend bar. Felicia was my trainer. She was very patient with me. I was so overanxious that I kept fuckin' it up for weeks until one night I finally got it right, and then I got my assignment.” Bubbles paused. “Well, my real assignment, anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bubbles had lost her.

“My initial initiation was personal not business,” Bubbles confessed, as she thought about how long ago that had been since Chase and how far she had come. She had grown so much as a woman and a Double G.

“I'm confused.” A peculiar look appeared on Monica's face.

“Let's just say that my childhood crush is over.” Bubbles winked. “But, anyway,” she then continued, “my first business assignment was a white crooked cop.” A sinister smile popped up out of nowhere as Bubbles took a trip down memory lane. “His name was Officer Blake and he had a real weakness for young black hookers, particularly voluptuous ones.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Every chance he got, he picked one up. He would take them to the same old run-down motel. Most of the dancers who moonlighted outside the club already knew him. He would always go after the new ones.

“So, I dressed up and played the part. I'll never forget I had on a white halter top that was cut to stop at the underside of my breasts while my cleavage burst out above.” Bubbles chuckled at the memory. “And I had on a black and red checker-print miniskirt that stopped at the under cuff of my ass cheeks. I wore a pair of multicolored Christian Dior leggings underneath and knee-high boots. My hair was in two pigtails, one on each side, and I was sucking on a lollipop, looking like a young schoolgirl. The phone they gave me was in my Prada purse. That was it. I didn't have a weapon or anything. I just stayed out there, waiting for him while I blended in with the other girls who were working the boulevard.

“It didn't take long,” she remembered. “A couple of hours after his shift was over, he finally rolled up in his Dodge Charger. Without hesitation, he pointed straight at me. I pretended not to notice him. I was bending over, talking to some old white pervert in another car, giving Officer Blake the full back view of all this ass. He was wide open. He waited for me to finish flirting before he called me over. I leaned in his window with my cleavage in his face, sucking the Blow Pop, and introduced myself as Candy. He instructed me to get in and immediately handed me a hundred and a fifty dollar bill and then he whipped out his li'l pecker before even pulling off. He reached for my Blow Pop and snatched it out of my mouth. After he threw it out of the window he grabbed the back of my head with the same hand and informed me that now I had something new to suck on with a li'l mo' flava.” Bubbles shook her head and snickered.

“But anyway, I did it nice an' slow, all the way to the raggedy-ass motel, but I made sure he didn't cum. He already had a set of keys for this hole-in-the-wall room. I followed him in there. He had his police uniform folded up on his chair with all of the normal accessories sitting on top. I pretended to be excited and told him that I wanted to play a game. I played the li'l schoolgirl act real well. He wasn't up to it at first, but I stepped into him and began massaging his little pink balls. And then I dropped to my knees and began sucking his li'l dick again until he agreed. I nearly threw up. He had all this pubic hair that smelled like a fuckin' wet dog.” Bubbles frowned as she relived the scene.

“I jumped back up to my feet, but I kept his pants down. Everything in there was made out of some old-ass wood. I sat him down in this piece of shit chair. The seat was made out of some type of straw. It scratched his skin up at first, but he seemed to like it. I told him to stay right there and I seductively stripped down and put on his uniform. Needless to say, it turned him on. I told him that he was the robber I just caught and I would have to interrogate him to get all the information I needed to make an arrest. He started smiling and getting even more aroused and erect. I knew I had him. I took the two little nylon ribbons from my pigtails and used them to tie up each of his feet to the front legs of the chair real tight. And then I handcuffed both of his wrists to the pegs in the back of the chair. He couldn't move for shit.” She giggled.

“Then came the big surprise. I kicked the chair over on its side. It took him down along with it. He was lying flat on his side, still in the sitting position. He started cursing up a storm so much that I had to use my panties to gag his mouth. I took the small pocket knife from his keychain and used it to cut the bottom of the chair out. And being that his pants was still down, there it was, his whole little red asshole. Gurrrl.” Bubbles dragged her word and doubled over with laughter. “He started sweatin' so hard on that rusty-ass carpet. I took his nightstick and got on my knees. A sudden rush of adrenaline came over me. I started plunging the shit out his ass. Remember what happened to that African in Harlem back in the day? What was his name?” she rhetorically asked, not really expecting Monica to answer.

“Luima,” Monica clarified, paying full attention.

“Yeah, him. So, anyway, I began fuckin' the shit outta him with that damn billy club and then I pulled it out. It had feces and blood all over it. He had been screaming for his life. I crawled around the front of his red, sweaty face, ungagged him and shoved the nightstick in his mouth while reminding him that I wasn't the only one with somethin' new to suck on that had a li'l mo' flava. He threw up all over me. That made me really mad. Then it hit me. Just when I thought I was finished with my mission, I realized I forgot somethin'. Gurrrl.” You could literally see all thirty-two teeth in Bubbles's mouth as she smiled from ear to ear, thinking about the ordeal.

“What?” Monica wanted to know. She was all ears.

“I ain't record shit that had happened!” she exclaimed. She looked around making sure no one was paying them any mind. Her voice had carried a little bit too much for her taste.

“Are you serious?” Monica's eyes widened.

“As a heart attack.” Bubbles chuckled.

“So, what did you do?” Monica asked the obvious question.

“What do you think?” Bubbles shot her a distorted look. “I had to do it to him all over again.” She said it matter-of-factly, right before they both burst out laughing until tears filled their eyes.

“Gurrrl, yo' ass is crazy!” Monica proclaimed while the hysteria filled her gut.

Bubbles continued, “Shit. That ain't the half. I left him that damn memo. Come ta find out, I pulled off a two for one. By us blackmailing him and sending him on missions, we got his partner, too. And they both crooked as a lightning bolt. So, his partner was forced to ride it out with him or they were both goin' down. Damn.”

“So, anyway, how'd yours go? I saw who you left with. It was about to go down that night. Freeze was straight trippin'. He probably felt he had something to prove since the twins got his ass. Prime is much more smarter than he is though. But don't let that smooth, pretty boy diplomatic act fool you. He's a dangerous dude. How'd you get him?”

Monica paused for a long second, trying to mentally recall the footage of the rehearsed video they made. But she highly doubted she could explain the fake story as vividly as Bubbles had just done. She decided to buy herself some time to get her story together.

“It's boring as fuck, compared to yours. But I'll tell you all about mine after you tell me about the personal one.”

Bubbles's mood suddenly changed. “Nothing to talk about.” She brushed Monica's request off. Even when she had first mentioned it, it made her feel some type of way.

Monica picked up on it. It made her want to know. Still she trod lightly. “It's okay. I understand if it's too personal for you to talk about.”

“He was my first love,” Bubbles blurted out. “Hell, my only love.” She added a light chuckle.

“Aww.” Monica lit up.

“Don't aww. He was a fucking dick,” Bubbles informed her.

Monica wiped the dreamy look off of her face. “My bad,” she apologized.

“Naw, it's cool. You didn't know,” Bubbles accepted. “But, yeah, he used to treat me like shit, when we were kids.” She looked around the semi-crowded room as she spoke.

Monica listened attentively.

“We grew up together in Carey Arms apartments.”

The mentioning of the housing projects caught Monica's attention. Her older half brother was from there. The two had the same father but her mother was cool most of the time with him coming around to visit occasionally. She was twelve years old when she had received the news that he was found dead in an apartment on the outskirts of the city limits. He was nineteen. Although they didn't see one another much, when they did it was nothing but love. The two were close. Some of her fondest childhood memories were of when he would come and visit her. There was never a time she could recall that he came to see her without bearing gifts. She loved how he used to always stay long enough to help her with her homework and always made sure no one was picking on her in or out of school. She took his death hard. In her eyes, he was the best brother a little sister could have. It wasn't until later that she found out about his dark side. Because there was cocaine found in the apartment he was found in, police ruled it as a drug deal gone bad. But the way it was said he was found and killed raised eyebrows among her family. His death was the reason why she had chosen her career path. She was so impacted by the death of her older brother that she made a vow when she was a senior in high school that she would seek justice for him. Bubbles's story made her think about him as she listened.

“As kids, we did everything together and he used to always have my back. At least, until he started feelin' his self.” Bubbles scowled. “I remember this one particular time, I was just coming home from school and I guess he had just bought his new car.” Bubbles stared off at nothing in particular. “Shit, it was so long ago, I don't even remember what kind it was. I think it was a BMW.”

Monica could feel her heart rate increasing.
It can't be,
she thought. At the time of her brother's death, he too had a BMW. The last time she had seen him, he had taken her for a ride to the corner store in his candy apple red 325i. She could hear his voice in her head as he explained the difference between his 325i and the 318is. Back then at the young age of twelve, she couldn't care less. All she knew was that her big brother had a fly ride and she was riding in it. Now, knowing the make meant everything to her. Her muscles tensed as she shifted her weight from left to right. That was the side where her gun was tucked.
I swear to God this bitch better not say it was a 325i,
Monica thought. She sat on pins and needles as Bubbles seemed to struggle with remembering the make of the car. Then, all of a sudden, a look of remembrance appeared on her face.