Chapter 4
Ante Up!
Four Days Later
Thursday
“You been to see Menage yet?” said Coonk.
“Nah . . . I don’t get along wit’ hospitals,” Dough-Low replied. The two sat at a hand car-wash on Seventy-first Avenue.
“Man, that’s some fucked up shit. ’Nage cool as fuck, yo!” Coonk said frowning.
“Yeah, he don’t be tryin’ to shine on folks. I been thinkin’ if he ever told me ’bout some cats he had beef wit’ or somethin’. But you know as well as me, all he do is bang some shorties and make that paper,” Dough-Low said. Coonk stood up and looked outside to see if his ride was ready. It wasn’t.
“You know that new cat that took Menage’s spot done raised the prices and everything, and the fool tried to get fly when I told him that me and Menage already had a deal. Word, Dough, I was ’bout to wet that bitch ass!” Dough-Low looked at Coonk to see if he was serious about what he had just said.
“What’s his name?” Dough-Low asked rubbing his bald head.
“Shit . . . uh . . . DJ, yeah, yeah.”
Dough-Low closed his eyes and tried to recall where he heard that name. “Damn, man, DJ . . . DJ,” Dough-Low said slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. Then he remembered. At the cookout, Menage had told him something about DJ bringing a fucked up ride to the chop shop. Keeping it to himself, he planned to find out what this DJ was all about.
Finally their rides were ready. Coonk pulled his BMW up next to Dough-Low’s Yukon Denali XL. “Hey, yo, man, I’ma go see Menage later on, so I’ll hit you on the two-way or something. Nine times outta ten, I’ma be on the block. What you ’bout to do?”
Dough-Low put on his shades and shrugged his shoulders. “Just hit me later on, partner. I’ma just chill.”
“Bet dat!” Coonk said as he came off the clutch, smoking the back tires of his Z8.
Dough-Low fanned the smell of rubber out of his face and cruised out of the parking lot with his system booming. He adjusted his gold plated. 380 in the small of his back at a stoplight. By his feet on the floorboard was his smooth action. 40 cal.
Dough-Low pulled up to the front of Kamesa’s apartment in Carol City. His truck was new and not as familiar as his Hummer H2, and he snuck up on two Cuban cats, Hector and Raul, who owed him several thousand dollars. They sat on the hood of a kitted-up Corvette. They’d been avoiding him for two whole months. One of them even had his girl tell Dough-Low that the law had sent him back to Cuba. The other one obviously didn’t give a fuck.
Dough-Low pulled up behind them as they chatted with three other men.
“Yeah, amigo, it’s true!” Dough-Low yelled with his .40 cal. pointed at the two Cubans. The other three started to back off. “Oh, no, move another step and it’s on!” His gold .380 in his right arm froze them in their tracks. “Get on the ground!” he yelled at the three standing to his right. Two of them did as they were told but one of them, being a brave ass, cursed him in Spanish. Dough-Low popped him in the kneecap with his .380. He fell to the ground holding his bleeding knee. “Oh, it’s true, amigo!” Ignoring the man’s cries, he turned to Hector and Raul. “So, you no gotta my money? You thinka you can play ol’ Dough-Low for a fool, huh? Oh, what, you don’t speak English no more!”
Hector spoke first. “H-hey man . . . we been looking f-for you, I swear,” he pleaded.
“Yeah, after I set your ass ablaze, your thoughts come back! Nah, this how it’s going down. You got two . . . no fuck it . . . tonight, I want my dough, understand? Now take your friend to the hospital—need ta get some fuckin’ manners.” Dough-Low took off before the police hit the set—if they were coming at all. He called Kamesa and told her what went down and that he’d meet her later on after he switched rides.
* * *
“Yes, I believe it was someone close to him but now I’m not sure,” Mr. Marchetti said sitting across from Dwight in the living room of his mansion on his private island.
“That can very well mean me or DJ, and we know Chandra wouldn’t do no shit like this. Really, Mr. Marchetti, I’m at a loss,” said Dwight.
“Yes, I understand, but things just don’t add up. Everyone in this city—this county—state—knows of my family and me. Yet someone had the balls to take a chance and put a hit—twice—on Menage who is like . . . like a son to me.”
Dwight pondered what he had said and remained silent.
“Look, Dwight. I brought you to my island because I don’t like this one bit. If this was done by a rival family it would have been nice and quiet and I hate to say it, but we would be mourning Menage’s death. But it was sloppy. Someone with money, but not enough—someone that knows my limit, your limit . . . and Menage’s as well did this.”
Dwight took a sip of his wine and leaned back against the Italian leather sofa. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Think, Dwight, think! Then he spoke aloud. “What about all of the women he slept with? Maybe he messed with the wrong one!” Dwight’s eyes were open now, and he waited for Mr. Marchetti’s reply.
“But all this, including four men dead . . . over a piece of pussy? I don’t think so.”
Dwight glanced over at a long staircase with an ivory rail behind where Marchetti sat. “Maybe that girl he took the bullet for . . . Benita . . . I think that’s her name,” Dwight said leaning forward, his elbows on his knees rubbing his temples. “So what do we do now?” he said.
Mr. Marchetti lit a Cuban cigar with a gold lighter. “We continue, Dwight. I hate to sound harsh like this, but we must go on,” he said after filling his lungs with the rich smoke. “As you know, DJ will keep things running for the time being. At first he didn’t want to take the position, but I talked him into it. Has he told you about how he stopped that guy?” he said looking off into the distance. “Maybe if that . . . piece of shit had lived I could have made him talk. I got my ways. I’m sure you’re aware of that, Dwight.”
“Yes, sir, but what about the DB-7? I’m sure you know it’s from L.A.”
Felix brushed ashes from his silk shirt. “I talked to DJ and he said it was an easy take, so he took it. But I advised him of the rules that Menage set and I asked him to follow them. For now it’s best you let it sit. It’s your call, Dwight . . . when will you be heading back to Miami? The helicopter will leave soon and I know how you get airsick,” Felix said with a grin.
“Well, if it’s not too much of a problem I’d like to stay here tonight—just to unwind. But I’ll need to call Tina. I’m having a problem with my cell and two-way.”
Felix smiled. “Not a problem.” He was about to tell Dwight about how he had a system that could block out all outgoing and incoming calls, but he figured he’d keep it to himself. Recording devices also monitored his phones twenty four/seven. “Dwight, I have rooms I haven’t even seen myself,” Felix chuckled. They both stood.
“I wonder how he’s doing,” Dwight said finishing his fourth glass of wine. He felt warm.
“No need to worry. I have a direct line with Dr. Wilson and his staff, so I’ll be the first to know of any change in his condition,” Felix said.
“I wonder ... I mean, I can’t believe that Chandra is having his child and he doesn’t even know it,” Dwight said softly. Felix told him not to worry again as he picked up the phone.
“Ah, señorita ... yes ... I’m fine. We’ll be having a guest for dinner tonight, and fix up a room also. Yes, thank you ... that will do.” He hung up the phone and drew hard on his cigar. His eyes met Dwight’s. “Dwight, we’ll find out who did this and they will pay—that I can promise you. But for now, we wait. Time will tell and the streets will talk, so just go along as usual and let me handle things, okay?”
“Mr. Marchetti, do you think that if... I mean when he comes back, he’ll stay in the game? I was just thinking ...”
Felix put out his cigar and spoke slowly. “Truth be told, Dwight, at times I try hard to put myself in the next man’s shoes to stay ahead in this game. But with ... it’s so different ... he’s in his own world ... and he’s playing the field.”
Dwight recalled the last night they had gone out and how Menage acted in the parking lot, as if he was on a stage. Menage thrived on attention.
“Well, I’m sorry, I have some business to take care of. But I’ll be seeing you at dinner tonight.”
“Yes, Mr. Marchetti.”
“Good. Miss Welton will tend to your needs . . . and Dwight, the last thing you need to do is feel guilty. I know how close the two of you are and I’m so sorry,” he said taking Dwight’s hand.
“Thank you.”
Felix walked out of the room, followed by an Afghan hound that had been curled up by the door. Convinced that all he could do was wait, Dwight poured his fifth glass of wine. Standing in front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, he looked out at the Miami skyline. He then watched Felix’s helicopter take off just a few yards from his luxurious yacht. He began to loosen his silk tie just as Miss Welton silently walked up behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. He was startled.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Macmillan. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. Dwight looked down at the small woman. She was old enough to be his grandmother.
He smiled. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m just stressed, that’s all. And you can call me Dwight.”
“Oh . . . well, Mr. Dwight, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room,” she said.
“Uh . . . Miss Welton . . . are you French? Your accent is strong.”
“Yes, I am, Mr. Dwight,” she said leading him upstairs.
“Did Mr. Marchetti mention to you that I need to use the phone?” Dwight spoke in flawless French, surprising her. She stopped and slowly turned back to look at him with a smile on her face. She spoke back to him in French.
“Your French is excellent, Mr. Dwight, and yes, there is a phone in your room and a change of clothes to suit your taste is laid out for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Dwight, who speaks good French.” They both laughed as she showed him to his room.
* * *
“Where can we meet?” Tina said standing in her bathroom taking off her make up.
“Come to my place ’bout nine thirty. Are you sure Dwight’ll be staying at the island with Mr. Felix?” DJ asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. And where are you anyway?” she asked, not really caring where he was.
“Getting the system fixed in my truck,” he lied.
“Oh . . . well, I’ll be there.”
“Hey, you gonna wear that see-through bra and thong set?”
“That’s just a waste, DJ,” Tina said laughing.
“So what are you doin’ right this second?”
“Mmm . . . rubbing some scented cream on my thighs. I just stepped out of the shower, so I’m naked.”
“You need to drop Dwight, girl,” DJ said glancing at the new Jacob on his wrist.
“Oh, really! I don’t think so, DJ. Your money ain’t long enough, so don’t go catchin’ feelings for me!”
“So my money ain’t long, huh? But how about my dick?”
“DJ, don’t start. I told you day one how it would be, so do you want to see me or not?” DJ said that he did and hung up his phone.
“Stupid bitch!” Erasing her from his mind, he went back to counting the money stacked up on his kitchen table. He stopped at seventy-two thousand and he still had a few stacks left. He lit a blunt and headed back out to distribute his coke and make a few sales. DJ now had a good deal of control at the chop shop and did his best to fill Menage’s shoes. He couldn’t believe how Tina had dissed him, but still she would be over his crib later on. As he pulled up to Lou’s mansion, he smiled to himself, thinking about his new rank. He now had money and power. The money was good and the power, a glock .40 was sitting on his lap. As far as respect was concerned, he’d make sure he got it if he had to. He now hung out with rappers, fucked model chicks and lived the life he’d always wanted—in the limelight.
* * *
Dwight looked at his watch. It was now almost half past seven. He sat at Felix’s large wet bar with its marble top and gold edges. He told the bartender he would pour his own drinks. He filled up his glass with Bacardi Limon. Resting his elbows on the bar, he let his mind wander. Tina . . . what would I do without her . . . my man is laid up in a coma . . . he thought to himself. He knew Felix was right; things had to move forward, but he knew it would be different without Menage around. He finished his drink in one swallow and refilled it. He lifted the glass to his lips and noticed that his hand was trembling. He closed his eyes and slowly placed the drink down. Slow down, man, don’t fucking over-do it. His mind was racing. Things would have to change. He now had the last word on how things would be run at the chop shop, but for now he would let DJ hold it down until he got everything in order. He sat alone in the dark. He desperately needed to hold Tina in his arms. Earlier on the phone she had told him to stay on the island to relax. He slowly stood, walked up the long staircase and made his way to bed. At first he thought sleep wouldn’t come, but as soon as he fell onto the king-sized bed his exhaustion overcame him.
* * *
Tina stood in front of the mirror naked. She cupped her breasts and thought of what DJ was going to do to her. She quickly got dressed and jumped into her two-door, deep shadow blue, pearl PT cruiser convertible. She didn’t see anything wrong with sexing—no—fucking DJ, because it was only to help out Dwight. DJ was fine and loved to please her, and he had no limitations on doing as she asked. She just hoped he wouldn’t fall in love with her . . . maybe this would be his last night inside of her . . . well, maybe. Tina knew things would be different now that Menage was out of the picture. And to think that he turned her down one night . . . must be a fag!
* * *
Detective Covington took another picture of the flashy truck parked in front of DJ’s apartment. He had taken several pictures of DJ going into hotels with two girls and then of him returning home. This was getting him nowhere. It was after ten now and he was about to call it a night when a PT cruiser with its top down appeared. It was too dark to make a correct call on the color. He quickly picked his camera back up again. “Nice . . . nice,” he said getting some good shots of a woman getting out of the vehicle. He also got a close-up of DJ holding the woman in his arms in the doorway, kissing her with his hand on her nicely shaped ass. “Lucky man,” he said as the door closed. All this action had him tired and horny . . . time to go home.
* * *
“You’re late,” DJ said locking the door.
“And!” Tina said as she led him to his bedroom. He couldn’t take his eyes off the tightfitting, Frankie B. jeans.
“Damn, you look good, Tina,” he said as she stood by his bed. “Come here.” She slowly walked toward him and into his arms, her breasts and nipples pressed tightly against the shirt she wore. Their lips met and their tongues danced back and forth. He brought her closer to his body, knowing she could feel his erection.
“Mmm . . . do me first, DJ,” Tina purred as he licked her neck. He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor. He playfully squeezed her left breast.
“No lingerie tonight?” DJ said as he undid her pants, rubbing her luscious set of hips.
“No, boy, just my birthday suit,” she replied, breathing heavily as he slid her pants down to her ankles.
“You are so fucking sexy, Tina,” DJ said running his fingers through her thick pubic hairs and finding his way easily inside of her.
“Wait!” she said pushing him away.
“What . . . what is it?” DJ said, hoping she wouldn’t change her mind. He looked at her firm tits and eraser-sized brown nipples.
“Let’s make it last tonight, DJ,” she said smiling. “And leave the lights on!”
“Don’t I always?” he said slipping out of his pants. At six foot three, he stood in front of her in a pair of silk boxers. She chuckled as they rolled on his bed play fighting. “Lay on your back, boy—now, DJ.” He did as he was told. Tina sat down next to him and smiled when she pulled his boxers down; his penis went past his navel. DJ moaned as she gripped it and slowly started to pump him with her hand.
“Oh, DJ, don’t it feel good, baby?” she purred picking up the pace. DJ looked at her hanging breasts, the thickness of her hips and the hairy bush between her legs. “I’m talking to you,” she said still pumping.
“Y-yeah . . . it feels so g-good,” he said, his chest rising and falling with his quick breathing. Her hand was now a blur as DJ lost control and called out her name. He thought it couldn’t get any better, but when she slowed down and started flicking her tongue back and forth across the tip of his head, he arched his back. Suddenly she stopped and DJ watched her roll onto her stomach. She looked back at him and wiggled her ass. DJ moaned with lust at the sight. His head was spinning as he started to rub her ass. Squeezing and softly smacking her cheeks, he glanced down at himself and saw that he was dripping pre-cum on the bed. She’s something else, he thought. She closed her eyes and bit her lip when she felt DJ pry her cheeks apart.
“Lick it, DJ . . . lick it, baby . . . then fuck me!” That’s just what he did after he ate her ass and sex for close to twenty minutes. Putting on a condom, he got on top of her and deeply entered her wet opening. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck as he drilled her just the way she wanted him to. They definitely weren’t making love; they were fucking. Later that night, Tina brought DJ to the Promised Land. He didn’t get the pleasure of cumming in her mouth, but he coated her breasts and chin and he was satisfied. She lay next to him as he rubbed the back of her neck.
“Do you think Menage will make it?” she asked.
“Hope not . . . but if he do, he won’t be himself—a retard or something. Hell, God can’t even help that nigga!” They both laughed.
“So how are things at the shop?” she said pinching his left nipple.
“Well, a few cats got mad ’cause of the changes, but they’ll be okay. Money talks. I can pay them more by doing more cars. You gotta take chances in this game, you feel me?”
“I’ve been feeling you all night,” she said moving her hand toward his crotch to fondle his now-flaccid penis. She worked him with her hands, bringing him back to life and he started to suck on her breast. “Do me, boy! Do me some more, DJ, please.” He got on his back and had her squat down on top of his face. “Mmmm, boy, that’s nice,” she said running her fingers through his soft curly hair.
Maybe Tina really did love Dwight, but yet she lay naked with another man. She knew she would just about kill Dwight if he cheated on her. She knew this was her last night with DJ, but she didn’t tell him yet. Why spoil the fun? She got a kick out of doing it behind Dwight’s back. She felt in control, plus DJ would do anything for her when it came to getting between her legs. Tina understood the power of the pussy all too well.
After playing with DJ, she would focus on Dwight and marriage. Dwight was such a faithful, loving man and she would be his faithful, loving wife ... Well ... what he don’t know won’t hurt him, she thought as DJ made her cum with his talented tongue. He had turned her onto her back and she put her legs up on his shoulders. He pumped her with fast and powerful strokes. She knew it would be hard to stop seeing him and he made it difficult for her to even think about it when he hit her G-spot. The rhythmic sound of their bodies slapping up against each other filled the room. DJ gritted his teeth and added more power to his thrust. This shocked Tina; she never experienced him in this way before. It was pure bliss. Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came forth. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe and it was getting darker.
“DJ!” she cried. Ignoring her, he pinned her legs behind her head, knowing she was double-jointed. Faster, harder, deeper, he drove himself inside of her. Tina’s breasts bounced wildly about from all the pounding. “Mmmm ... I’m ... I’m ... gonna cum ... D ... DJ, don’t stop,” she moaned rolling her hips as he continued to pound her. His face was drenched with sweat as he fucked her like he never had before. It was feeling so damn good ... too damn good. Her sex gripped him like a suction cup and he began to stroke her deep and fast.
“Tina . . . Tina . . . Tina . . . Tina!”
“Yes, DJ, yes!”
Their cries were simultaneous. DJ grunted when he felt Tina’s wetness and heat all over his penis, still thrusting between her legs. Caught up in lust and pleasure, he buried his head in her neck. Tina reached down and stroked DJ’s balls and he lost all control. He screamed out her name as his body rocked involuntarily and he came inside of her. Tina felt the hot juice running down her inner thigh as he jerked back and forth. Her mind went blank. Breathing hard, he rolled off of her. Tina slowly moved her hand down between her legs and felt what DJ had put inside of her, along with a piece of the torn rubber.
“N-o-o-o-o ... please, God, n-o-o-o-o!” she wailed. DJ tried to comfort her, but she freaked out, yelling and crying at the same time, asking him to explain.
“Stupid bitch, it felt too damn good to stop!” he wanted to tell her, but he just sat on the edge of the bed with his head down.
She could only hope that he didn’t have any STDs, but more than that, she didn’t want to get pregnant. She quickly got dressed, muttering something that DJ couldn’t understand. She left without saying a word.
DJ went into the kitchen and tried to calm himself. He didn’t know what the fuck Tina was going to do. Maybe she’ll tell Dwight I raped her . . . nah . . . but that’s one silly bitch, he thought. He could only wait now. He picked up a bottle of Martell and threw it against the wall. “This is bullshit!” he yelled. Looking at his clock he saw that it was almost four in the morning. He had to get himself together and he knew just how. He snuck across the street and tapped on the front door of a large, brick house. “C’mon, girl, get up,” he mumbled.
The door opened a few seconds later. Standing in front of DJ was a short, white girl, a little on the chubby side with rollers in her hair. She wasn’t something to walk in the park with, but she had what he needed—a nice hot mouth and a body that was always down for sex. And DJ had what she needed as well—a big penis to make her happy while her husband was at work. Quickly letting him in, she stepped out of her nightgown and dropped to her knees to unfasten his pants. He knew she could taste and smell the scent of Tina on his penis, but she paid it no mind and didn’t spill a single drop when he blasted in her mouth.
“Swallow it, bitch,” he muttered through clenched teeth, gripping her head in the dark living room.
* * *
That night, Benita and Lisa returned from North Carolina after visiting family for a few days. Benita didn’t want to go, but Lisa insisted that she come along to get things off her mind. Lisa unpacked her bags as Benita checked the answering machine. The two calls from DJ surprised Lisa. Dwight also called Benita, telling her to call him as soon as possible but the call was now two days old. She thought it was odd for him to be calling and thought that maybe he was calling about Menage. She was unable to stop thinking of him since their date. On her way to bed, she checked the DVR to make sure it had recorded her favorite program that aired every Sunday. Then she called it a night. She planned to ask Dwight what was going on with Menage and why he hadn’t phoned when she returned his call. Lisa went right to bed; she had to work the next day and she wanted to make DJ sweat a little bit.
* * *
Friday Morning
“Tina, I’m home,” Dwight yelled as he closed the door of their condo. He dropped his jacket onto the couch and walked to the bedroom to find Tina asleep wearing a purple Victoria’s Secret teddy. He stood at the edge of the bed, gazing at the woman he loved. He gently moved the hair from her face. He didn’t know what he would do without her. Just as he sat on the edge of the bed, she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hey, Boo,” she said in a tired voice. She sat up and placed her head on his shoulder. “I missed you last night and I hope you don’t plan on staying with Felix overnight anymore. I was so alone without you,” she added sweetly.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve just had a lot on my mind, Tina. I guess I’m still in shock, and I’m sorry if I haven’t been acting like myself,” he said placing a hand on her thigh.
“Baby, don’t be ridiculous. I fully understand, okay? So have you heard anything about Menage?”
“No,” he said looking into her eyes. “But I’m going to see him today. Chandra is taking it really hard. Tina, I swear, if I find out who did this . . .” Dwight balled up his fist.
“Baby, calm down,” she said kissing his cheek.
“Look, I’m not going in today. Can you handle it alone?” he said stroking her waist.
“Yes, but I’d rather go with you to see Menage—plus I need to talk to Chandra.” Dwight was about to get up, but Tina grabbed his arm. “No, Dwight, I need you now . . . make love to me,” she said as she slipped out of the teddy. Dwight bit his lip as her hand moved between his legs, caressing his bulge. Tina laid her on her back and Dwight sucked her breasts as he felt her hands fumble with his zipper. Moments later, he was burying his face in her cleavage as she rode him. “I love you so much, baby,” she said with tears rolling down her face.
* * *
DJ sat behind Menage’s desk at MD Body Works. He looked out the window as a sporty Toyota Celica GT pulled into the garage. He made a deal with the kid who brought it in for four thousand. At first he said no, so DJ offered him five thousand. The deal was made shortly afterward. DJ already had a body for the Celica to switch the numbers. He’d found a match at a junkyard in Carol City. Once the numbers were switched from the wrecked vehicle to the stolen one, all that was left to do was register it with the DMV as a restored vehicle, making it a rebirth, and then he could sell it for its base price and make a nice profit, having only paid five thousand for it. DJ knew how to make deals, but he was breaking a major rule—transporting drugs.
About an hour later, the kid left out the back in a black Honda Accord coupe and two thousand dollars cash. The Honda was a rebirth with full papers and tags that were filed with the DMV. Just minutes after the kid left, a Ford Excursion pulled in with a dented fender. It was all about the profit, which would be lovely; the Excursion would sell for over fifteen thousand.
Most of the rebirths were actually placed back on legit car lots and sold. MD Body Works was airtight and it did actual repair work. DJ was making a power move that would net him close to seventy-five thousand in one day. For the last two days, he had some of his runners test drive high-end vehicles with fake IDs. Their credit, as well as their appearance, was perfect. DJ even cleaned up a crackhead and sent him to a car lot to test drive the cars he had targeted.
It seemed that DJ could do no wrong and his scheme was flawless. The deed was carried out without a hitch. The runners would convince the salesperson to allow them to make the test drive alone. Leaving a rebirth at the dealership, they’d immediately proceed to a parked van nearby where they’d hand the keys over to the car being test-driven and have them copied by a key-copying machine hidden inside the vehicle. When the copied key was tested, the driver would hand it back and return to the car lot. In broad daylight, DJ had things set to hit five car lots in one day. As payment, he would give his runners five thousand dollars worth of drugs and twenty-five hundred in cash making the total seventy-five hundred.
Everyone had to admit that DJ’s operation was running smoothly. Tonight some of his workers would simply walk onto the lot and place a dealer tag on a car, then use the copy key to drive off. This was Menage’s idea but he would never do so many cars in one night.
DJ looked at his Movado watch. He leaned back in the chair and looked around the office. A picture of Menage and Chandra sat on the desk. He picked up the picture and tossed it into the trashcan. His thoughts drifted back to the night before with Tina. It was a mess, but he smiled when he recalled the sensational feeling of being inside of her with nothing between them. He wondered what the outcome would be—if she would get pregnant . . . he hoped not. But he knew that Tina was able to overcome any problem, and she’d be able to overcome this one if the need to arose. Damn, he wanted her again—her flawless body. He tried to push her from his mind and he was about to leave when a customer appeared. DJ motioned him into the office.
“Welcome to MD Body Works. How can we help you today?” DJ said extending his hand across the desk.
“Uh . . . I’m looking for some air bags to put on my truck,” the man said ignoring DJ’s hand. DJ leaned back in his seat, enjoying the feeling of being on top. “What kind of truck do you have?” he asked.
“Yukon,” the man said staring at the picture in the trashcan.
“I’m sure we can do that. Do you know what size you want?”
“Nah, not really,” the man said looking around the office. “But I called a few weeks ago and talked to the owner. I forgot his name but he said it would take about a week to order everything.”
“We’re under new management now and I kinda run the place. But I’m sure we can still take care of your needs,” DJ said.
The man smiled. “I see. Well is there a time that you can let me know when I can bring my truck in . . . and why were y’all closed a few days ago?”
“We just had to take a few days off . . . you know, since I took over I had to change a few things.”
The man folded his hands across his chest.
“Will there be anything else?” DJ asked. The man said there wasn’t and he left after ordering the air bags he wanted. DJ made sure things were in place before stepping outside into the warm air. He walked to his flashy SUV and thought of how to spend the rest of the day. It was now after two in the afternoon.
* * *
Dough-Low thought about DJ as he turned at an intersection. He was heated after seeing the picture in the trashcan and wanted to smoke DJ on the spot. “So that’s DJ,” he said. “How grimy can a nigga get?”
* * *
“What the hell do you mean I can’t see him!” Dwight yelled at the nurse behind the front desk at the hospital.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but your name is not on the family’s list. I’m really sorry, but those are the rules,” the nurse said.
“Baby, please calm down,” Tina said rubbing his shoulder. “Call Dr. Wilson. He’ll clear all this shit up,” Dwight said slamming his fist down on the desk.
“Dwight,” Tina pleaded.
“Not now, Tina!” he said, cutting his eyes at her.
“Is there a problem?” someone said in a calm voice, coming from behind where Dwight and Tina stood. It was Dr. Wilson. Dwight turned around and let out a deep breath.
“Dr. Wilson, am I glad to see you. This ... woman here,” he said waving his hand toward the nurse, “said I’m not ... permitted to see Menage. Can you please clear this up right now?”
“I’m sorry to inform you, but she’s correct. Beg my pardon, how are you, Tina?” he said acknowledging her then brought his attention back to Dwight. “These rules have been set by his mother and we have to fully comply with her request. Furthermore, Mr. McMillan, yelling and carrying on like this will change nothing. And with all due respect, try placing yourself in his mother’s shoes. She has no clue who tried to kill her son, nor does she know you, so how can you expect her to trust anyone around him?
“Dwight, I ask that you please try to understand. I know this is a difficult time for you and Tina, but please lower your voice and calm down. I wish I could allow you to see him or at least tell you more, but I can’t. Please believe that. The best you can do is ... well, to be honest, I don’t know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do . . . and Dwight, I really am very sorry.” He nodded at Tina once more and then turned and walked down the hall.
“Dwight, let’s go home . . . please,” Tina said gently. They slowly walked out of the hospital hand in hand.
* * *
“Benita, I just talked to Dwight and he said Menage has been shot.”
“Oh, no! Not again! I need to go and see him!” Benita said hysterically.
“Calm down, girl. They said he couldn’t have visitors or something. And who’s Dwight?”
“Lisa, just give me the number, girl! Dwight, he the one who brought me from the hospital!” Benita said as Lisa handed her the number. Benita walked around in circles as she dialed Jackson Memorial. She couldn’t believe Menage was back in the hospital. Maybe Dwight had made a mistake and meant to say that he never left the hospital. But something was wrong. Why didn’t Menage call while she was away?
“Jackson Memorial . . .” said the female voice on the other end of the line.
“I need to find out Menage Unique Legend’s room number,” Benita said.
“Can you please repeat that name?”
“Menage . . . Unique . . . Legend!”
“One minute, please. Please hold.”
Benita was now pacing back and forth in front of the TV as Lisa watched her, just wishing she would at least sit down so she could see the screen.
“Benita!”
“What!”
“Can you keep your ass still so I can see the TV!”
“Huh? This guy saved my life. He may still be up in the hospital and all you can think about is a show!”
“Hello . . . hello? May I ask who’s calling?”
“I’m sorry,” Benita said glaring at Lisa. “Yes, my name is Benita P. Alston and I would also like to see him. How is he?” She had to sit down as she waited for the reply.
“I . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information, and there are no visitors allowed at this time.”
“What!” Benita said. She took the phone from her ear and stared at it for a second.
“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” Lisa said, wishing she would leave the room to talk. Benita held up her hand to silence her. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I’m really sorry, Miss—”
“Yes, it’s Miss!” Benita snapped.
“Miss Alston, that’s all I can say and I’m sorry . . . really,” the woman said in a professional tone. “But maybe you can leave a number and I’ll be more than happy to pass it to a family member.”
“Uh . . . yes, but hold on for a second please,” Benita said pressing the mute button. Quickly she told Lisa what the problem was. Since she worked there, maybe she could cut through the red tape. Lisa took the phone.
“Girl, give me that. You don’t know how to talk to my people,” she said smiling. “Hi, this is Nurse Lisa Alston. I work in the Cardiovascular Unit and if you wish to check, I’ll be glad to hold. I’d appreciate it if you could then pass me through to Dr. Wilson . . . thank you.” Lisa looked at Benita and winked her eye.
“Yes . . . Nurse Alston, please hold while I direct your call to Dr. Wilson,” the woman said after returning to the phone a few seconds later.
“Thank you,” Lisa said turning down the TV.
“Dr. Wilson here, how may I help you?” He sat in a red leather chair with his feet up on his desk.
“Dr. Wilson, how are you? This is Nurse Alston from Cardio.”
“Ah, yes, Nurse Alston . . . you still on vacation?”
“No, sir, but I need a favor.”
“Hmmm, a favor . . . okay, and what might that be, Nurse Alston?”
“Well, my cousin has a friend that she wants to visit, but I’m getting the run-around trying to get his room number. Can you help me?”
“That’s odd. What’s the patients name?” he asked taking out his pen.
“Uh . . . Mak . . . Mer . . . Menage Unique Legend.”
Dr. Wilson dropped his pen and swung his feet off the desk and onto the floor. He quickly and specifically recalled what Mr. Marchetti had instructed him to say. “Nurse Alston . . . that’s not possible.”
“Huh!”
“His family has set some firm rules—no visitors, and we can’t reveal his condition. I’m sorry, Nurse Alston, but that’s all I can say.”
“What is he saying?” Benita asked impatiently with her hands on her hips.
Lisa waved at her to be quiet. “Okay, Dr. Wilson, I understand. Thank you.” She smiled and hung up the phone. “Wait!” she said holding up her hands. “He wouldn’t tell me anything, but I’ll just wait till my shift starts tonight. Then I’ll call back. It’s no big deal. There’s nothing more we can do . . . and don’t stress me either!” She was listed in the books as being on vacation until the following evening. Benita knew Lisa was right, and all she could do was wait. She sat down on the couch and turned on the DVR to check out any possible programs that Lisa might have recorded while they were away. She pressed play as the phone rang again. It was DJ, and Lisa walked out of the living room and into her bedroom to talk to him. Benita was about to pop in a different tape when she saw that a special news bulletin had obviously interrupted one of Lisa’s favorite shows. She decided to lie back on the couch and watch the bulletin.
“This is Elaine Woods, interrupting your regular programming to bring you footage from Sky Five,” said the anchorwoman. The scene switched to a woman with short, blonde hair, reporting from a helicopter.
“This is Stacey Marks, and we are here at a quiet section of South Miami Beach, but this rainy Sunday evening, it’s been turned into a war zone. Our ground crew has not yet arrived on the scene, but what we have learned is that . . .” she looked down at her pad, “several shots have been fired at the location below and there have been several injuries. Just a little while ago a Med-Vac helicopter left the scene with one black male. We’ll now show you what’s going on down below . . .”
The camera zoomed in on Menage’s house. The gate was torn off its hinges. Two cars sat in the driveway surrounded by the flashing lights of police cruisers and several rescue squads. The camera zoomed in on a damaged Lexus and Benita paused the tape. She remembered seeing the Lexus at Club Limelight. She also remembered that the woman who did her hair was in that car . . . at least she thought so. And then Benita recognized Dwight’s Dodge Viper. But what made her get up and step closer to the TV was what she saw sitting in the opened garage—Menage’s Escalade ESV. Benita yelled for Lisa to come into the living room.
“What, girl?” Lisa said walking into the living room, no longer on the phone with DJ. Benita, not able to speak, pointed at the TV.
“What the hell . . .” Lisa said. “That’s DJ’s Lex . . . and the . . . whatever that is, it’s the same car you rode home in from the hospital.”
“Are you sure that’s DJ’s Lexus?” Benita asked Lisa.
“Yeah, but what happened to it?” Benita said noticing the obvious damage. So what is this anyway—police everywhere . . . rewind the tape.”
“It’s Menage’s house. Are you sure that DJ’s car?”
“Yeah, his rims are one of a kind. Damn, what the hell happened!”
“Did he tell you he was at Menage’s house on Sunday?” Benita said pressing play.
“Nope,” Lisa said sitting down. “Heck, I might not go in tomorrow,” she added.
“Remember at the club that night, seeing DJ’s car coming through? Anyway, I think the girl that did my hair was with him.”
“I don’t recall all that. But so what, it ain’t like he’s my man or something. What are you trying to get at anyway? And what makes you think you know the girl he was with?”
“I saw her bracelet.”
“Girl, please, you had a buzz from them coolers!” They watched the rest of the bulletin and Lisa wondered why DJ hadn’t said anything about what happened. Maybe someone else was driving his car that day. She found it odd that DJ and Benita knew Menage but DJ didn’t know Benita, since everyone seemed to be in such a close circle. After they watched the clip twice more, Lisa got up from the couch.
“Majestic ain’t he?” she said.
“Who?”
“Your hero—Menage. Look, I’ma carry my black ass to sleep. And if DJ calls again, wake me up and don’t ask him shit. If he wants me to know anything he’ll tell me, and you need to stop stressing about everything. And yes, I’ma call back to the hospital tonight.”
Benita never felt more helpless in her life.
* * *
Chandra sat in the waiting room waiting for Menage’s mother to return from his bedside. She left his room out of respect so she could be alone with her son. To cheer herself up, she thought about all the fun times she shared with Menage. She remembered how he always treated her with respect, never pressuring her for sex. One day when she was in class he paid her a surprise visit. He pulled up in the parking lot by a promiscuous female that no man on campus would turn down. When Chandra left class she found him sitting in the rec area watching TV. They had a big laugh after the horny girl stated that Menage must be gay. He took her to Walt Disney World for the weekend and the subject of sex was never brought up—not even once.
Menage called her every day throughout their relationship. She knew about his fast and flashy life down in Miami, but she was happy with him. She didn’t care at all about his money, and she didn’t find out how much he was worth until after they had sex. From a million to a penny she would stay with him, and she hoped he fully understood how deep her feelings were for him. She loved him more than anything, but she knew he was afraid of love. He ran from it, yet he wanted it. She showed him that everything in life was a chance. She needed him and he needed her. Chandra didn’t just lay with any man and since he came into her life, there was no other but him. Maybe the child will change him, she thought.
Menage slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, his mouth was dry, and he felt dizzy. He was weak and didn’t even have the strength to look around the room to see if he had a visitor. His mother had left only seconds before to go get Chandra. He closed his eyes as a chill swept through his body. He was scared. He knew he had been shot, but he remembered so little. Was it Vapor or Vigor that ran out the door when he went for his Mp5? He couldn’t recall what happened after that. He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling. He thought of the life he was leading—money, power, and sex. To him it was the key to life . . . and a big body Benz on dubs. Suddenly, darkness overcame him. He tried to fight it, afraid of going back into the cold, desolate world that pulled at his soul.
The door opened and Chandra walked into the room. She sat in the chair next to his bed.
“Baby, I love you. I don’t know why this has happened, but I know you can fight it.” She looked at the ceiling to regain her strength. She hated to see him suffer and not be able to help him, but she knew she had to stay strong. She looked at him and gently grasped his hand. “Menage, I need you. Baby, you have to wake up ... please don’t leave me like this. I’m ... I’m gonna have your child and I need you to be here with me.” She began to sob. “Menage, maybe you don’t really know how much I love you, but my love goes deep, you hear me? I’m not perfect—no one is, so don’t leave because I don’t wanna go on without you in my life.” She broke down crying, and several minutes later she regained her composure. After breaking down again she felt him squeeze her hand. “Baby?” she whispered. She didn’t have to press the call button because his vital signs were being monitored by a computer down the hall. Seconds later the door swung open, slightly startling Chandra.
“Clear out,” a doctor followed by two nurses said. Things moved fast as the doctor checked Menage’s eyes to make sure that he was out of the coma and there wasn’t just a glitch in the machines. Hours later Menage woke up on his own, with no respirator or tubes down his throat.
“Ma,” he called out weakly. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper.
“I’m right here,” his mother said standing by his bedside. He tried to reach for her but failed.
“Mama . . . I can’t move my—”
“Shhh. You had to have surgery on your arm.” She couldn’t bear to speak on the other life-threatening operations. “It will be okay. You just need to rest. And thank God, you hear me, son? You need to look at your life, you hear me? God has a reason for saving you and you better take the time out to look at what’s going on around you. You know right from wrong, so you just rest up and I’ll send Chandra back in a minute. I love you, son.” She kissed his forehead and left.
Menage looked out the window located adjacent to his bed on the far left side of the room. He was shocked after the doctor told him he had been in a coma for five days. He remembered the bullet ripping through his left shoulder, but he couldn’t recall being hit in the chest. However, he felt how sore it was and the thick bandage that covered it felt tight. He realized how lucky he was. He closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.
Chandra walked back into the room. “Baby, you up?” she whispered. He opened his eyes and managed to smile. She sat down next to him with tears running freely down her face. “I love you so much,” she said. “Try not to talk and just listen,” she added when he tried to speak. He nodded slowly. She rubbed his arm and saw a tear running down his cheek. She caught it with her fingertip and placed it to her lips. She sat down on the bed and told him the details of what had happened. She carefully broke the news about Vigor and how Vapor was still missing. Vigor saved his life and had spared his own. Now he was gone. Menage squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of his dogs.
Dr. Wilson knocked on the door and entered after Chandra answered.
“Mr. Legend, you have a call on line two.” Chandra thanked him, hit line two on the keypad on the phone next to the bed and held it to Menage’s ear. It was Felix.
“Menage, if you think I’m going to feel sorry for you forget it! You’re coming to my island and that’s an order—okay? I also have a plan.” Before hanging up, he told Menage how the police had gone back to the house to find Vapor asleep in his bedroom with a fifty-pound bag of dog food ripped open in the middle of the floor. Apparently, Vapor had dragged the bag from the shed and made himself at home. He was now with Felix.
“Who was that?”
“C-crazy Felix . . . he . . . got Vapor,” Menage managed to say.
His mom was back in the room now. Mr. Marchetti had already spoken to her earlier and they agreed on not spreading the word that Menage had come out of his coma. The preparations were soon made for Menage to be secretly moved to Marchetti’s island.
“It’s gonna be fine, baby,” Chandra said.
* * *
“Damn!” Dwight said slamming down the phone. He rolled away from the desk.
“What’s wrong?” Tina asked. She was sitting on a bearskin rug doing her toenails.
All she wore was a silk see-through blouse by Dolce and Gabana.
“I can’t find out a damn thing about when or if I can see Menage. This don’t make no damn sense and Dr. Wilson’s not around.”
“Have you called Mr. Marchetti yet?”
“No, I’ll call him later I guess.”
“Baby, come here,” Tina said in a husky voice before lying back and parting her legs. “What will you do if he don’t come out of the coma?” Dwight didn’t want to think of his best friend leaving him.
“Don’t talk like that.” He got up from his chair, went to the bar in the living room and poured himself a glass of Hennessey. “Well, if he don’t make it we have to keep going. It’ll be hard, but it’s what we’ll have to do,” he said over his shoulder, loud enough for Tina to hear him in the den.
“I feel the same, and I feel sorry for Chandra.” Dwight returned to the den and sat back down at his desk. Tina was now playing with herself.
“You love me, girl?” he said looking between her parted thighs.
“Yesss, baby, you know I do,” she said fingering herself. She closed her eyes as he knelt between her legs, waiting for his hand or mouth to take the place of her fingers. She felt him caress her inner thigh. Thankful that DJ didn’t get her pregnant, she now gave her all to Dwight. Everything was perfect and all she needed to do now was become his wife. He was about to remove his shirt when his two-way chimed. He pulled it off his waist and looked at the message. It read:
KEVIN IN JAIL BOND 20G—8:49p.m.
“What is it?” Tina said. She was propped up on her elbows, her breasts swinging freely.
“I guess one of the runners got caught with a hot car or something. Kevin works for Menage... I mean DJ, but anyway I have to go bail him out,” Dwight said reaching for his shirt.
“Now?” Tina said. “Why can’t DJ do it?”
“Baby, ain’t no telling where he is! Besides, I know Kevin, so it’s no big deal. I’ll hurry back, okay?” He kissed her and rushed toward the door. Tina didn’t complain because Dwight was now handling both the beauty salon and the chop shop.
Dwight’s BMW 745Li moved gracefully down Biscayne Blvd. as it headed toward the county jail. Maybe Tina had been right about him running the show. DJ was making more money but taking bigger risks. That was part of the game . . . wasn’t it?
* * *
Detective Covington looked at his new rookie partner, Steve Hamilton. Covington wasn’t irritated because Hamilton was white; he’d just rather work alone. Covington leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. On the wall were pictures of he and his wife and a few pictures from when he was a street cop in Broward County. His office was small and behind him was a view of mostly buildings and the busy street below. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Covington. On his desk sat a box of Dunkin’ Donuts and a new gray coffee cup with Detective Covington written in black letters on the handle. Detective Hamilton sat at the desk directly in front of Covington’s, his six foot two frame hunched over, a doughnut in one hand and a file in the other. He spoke with his mouth half full.
“So, now, lemme get this straight. We got four guys dead and two were shot by . . . uh . . . how do you say his name?” he said looking up from the file.
“Meh-nage,” Covington replied rubbing his chin. He dropped his jaw on the second syllable of Menage’s name.
“Okay, that’s one out back and the headless one in the house. The third man was killed by the dog—fucking Cujo. The man in the driveway was shot by Roderick Hopkins, aka, DJ. So is that the story?” He looked up to see Covington leaning on his desk with his chin in the palm of his hands.
“Yeah, but check this out: The guy we found in the driveway wasn’t armed, but his weapon was found in the living room in the house. We got his prints all over the Uzi and they all carried one, so it’s odd, too, I mean for it not to be with him, and he had a full clip for it in a cargo pocket. But how does this sound to you? He ditches his empty Uzi with a clip in his pocket and runs out front right into Roderick, or DJ, as he rams through the front gate. He gets shot at close range . . . maybe two feet,” Covington said. Hamilton ran his fingers through his spiked blond hair. He read the report again.
“Maybe the car just came in too fast . . . or maybe he thought he could trick DJ since he had on the lawn service uniform. But there was no sign of struggle and he was shot in the back of the head. He was weaponless, defenseless, and helpless.” Hamilton took a deep breath and rubbed his tired eyes. “This may sound crazy, but I think the guy might have known DJ . . . rushed up to talk to him, then bang!” he said forming his left hand into the shape of a gun and putting it to his head.
Detective Covington stood up to stretch and turned toward the window. “You’re right. Well, at least I think so.”
Detective Hamilton shot up from his chair. “Then why don’t we haul his ass in—at least for questioning? What are we waiting for?”
Detective Covington turned back around. “On what grounds? All we have are assumptions, and that silly-ass DA won’t do anything but laugh in our faces. Hell, right now Hopkins is a damn hero,” he said and sat back down.
“How’s that?” Detective Hamilton said.
“The slugs they pulled out of Menage came from the Uzi that was used by the guy Hopkins killed in the driveway.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait and watch. I got some pictures of him last night—nothing but a late-night booty call. That means he had a woman over.” He knew Detective Hamilton didn’t know much slang.
“Funny!” Detective Hamilton said before returning to the subject at hand. “It’s still going to be hard to prove why he killed an unarmed man . . . and now the hero is our number one suspect?” he added before sitting back down.
“Hard to say.”
Detective Hamilton reached for the last doughnut. “Oh, never mind,” he said grinning and sinking his teeth into the soft pastry. It took a second for him to realize he’d been played. He slapped the empty box off the desk and stormed out of the office. Detective Covington burst out laughing. He was about to call his wife but his phone rang.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Hey, Detective Covington. This is Walter down in the lab. The slugs from the dog match the ones taken out of Mr. Legend, so I guess our friend on the front pavement shot the dog also. Maybe you can—”
“Walter.”
“Yes?”
“Thanks, but I can take it from here. Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much? If I recall correctly, I think I told you that yesterday!”
Walter winced when the phone crashed down in his ear.
Detective Covington used the next hour to catch up on his work and ended up going over the hit at Bayside to see if there was a connection to the shooting at Menage’s house. One was a sloppy hit in broad daylight, while the other was done with a professional touch. Still the hits weren’t successful. He wouldn’t call being in a coma beating the odds, but the four men wanted to finish Menage off completely that day in his home. Calling it a night, he lit up his last Newport and headed home with a lot on his mind.
* * *
Lisa finally awoke. She rolled over in bed and looked at the clock on the night table. It was after ten o’clock. “Damn,” she said, upset that she had slept all day. She got up and went to the living room. Benita was still up watching TV. She was curled up on the couch watching Comic View on BET.
“Anybody call me?” Lisa said digging in her ear and making a scratching sound with her throat.
“Nah,” Benita said.
“Benita, it ain’t shit in here to eat!” she yelled from the kitchen. “Ain’t it your turn to go shopping? I’m ’bout to starve up in here.” Benita stood up and turned off the TV. “Let’s go to IHOP,” she said.
Since Benita was paying, Lisa quickly got dressed and afterward she called the hospital. She had the same problem as earlier. Lisa thought Benita was going to have a fit, but she took the bad news with ease.
“Let’s go before I change my mind.”
* * *
An important phone call was being made from a hotel in Broward county. It was an hourly rate hotel with a run-down look, firm beds, and thin walls. The man making the call contacted the FBI in Washington D.C. After a series of beeps and a short static tone, he knew the line was clear.
“Things are going as planned, sir,” he said.
“Good, good ... now, how soon can we bring Felix down?” the official on the other end said.
“One week or two, and I found out why our people in L.A. are so uptight.”
“You mean the case on the Mayor’s son . . . was that you who tipped them off?”
“Yes, sir. And I will need more men to take our Mr. Machetti down.”
“No problem. I’ll take it to the big wigs first thing in the morning, but consider it done. I’m thinking a small military operations unit or something,” the official from D.C. said.
“Thank you, sir.”
They ended their call. The man in the hotel room stood in the darkness and then walked to the window. Looking through the torn blinds and rusty bars, he adjusted his holster, which held a black Beretta. He worked to get this mission and he knew he would see it to the end with Felix Marchetti dead. He focused on a street lamp with a busted light and watched a bum stagger into a nearby phone booth. He answered his cell phone on the first ring. The bum spoke French in a clear and sober voice.
“Once the job is done, four million will be placed in two Swiss accounts—two million in each, and we must have undeniable proof.” The man in the hotel said nothing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hi-tech penlight. He pointed it at the bum and flashed it twice. He then looked for the silent code. The bum hung up and went back into his flawless act, staggering along the sidewalk. He bumped into a black couple and asked for some change but was only pushed to the side. By that time, the man in the hotel had disappeared into the night, letting the darkness hide his face and movements.
* * *
Dwight dropped Kevin off at his apartment in Northern Miami. Kevin was only nineteen and he had worked with Menage off and on as the middleman, bringing in cars when he ran across kids in the hood that wanted to sell a hot ride. Dwight smiled as he headed back home, thinking of what Kevin had told him about the interrogation.
“Yo, check it, D,” Kevin had said sitting next to Dwight as they sped down I-95 North in his BMW. “These dumb-ass DTs come with that lame, old-ass game talkin’ ’bout, ‘Hey, son, you facing ten to twenty years and we got some of your friends who will turn on you’ and all that bullshit, right? And they wanna know where I’m taking the car, so I like lower my head, right, and I make him think I’m about ta cop out and shit. They say, ‘Okay, so you wanna tell us and help yourself out?’ I say yeah, real sad and shit, right? And they say, ‘Where . . . ’and I look up and say . . . ‘your Momma!’ They both cracked up during the entire ride to Kevin’s apartment. Dwight gave him twenty-two hundred just on GP because he knew Kevin had two mouths to feed.
Dwight’s mind drifted back to Tina and then Menage. It was a quarter to midnight when he pulled into his garage. If his best friend wasn’t up in the hospital, he knew that nine times out of ten they’d be at some club or party. Tonight he was going to relax and spend time with his woman.
* * *
Kevin was about to go upstairs to his apartment when a white male dressed in an all black jumpsuit stepped in front of him and flashed a badge. Since it was dark, he couldn’t tell what kind of badge it was. Kevin guessed he was there to ask him about the stolen car or some other bullshit. He didn’t see a gun and thought that maybe the man was a narc or something.
“Yo, man, what the fuck you want?” Kevin said with his long arms spread, looking down at the shorter man. The man didn’t move.
“Do you work for Felix Marchetti?” the man said with no emotion, looking Kevin square in the eye.
Kevin responded quickly. “Look, yo, if you ain’t got no warrant, you need to get the fuck up outta here.” Kevin knew not to make a physical approach, and he stood his ground.
The man spoke again slowly. “Do . . . you . . . work . . . for Felix Marchetti?” Kevin didn’t feel like playing his game. He also sensed that something was wrong with this guy.
“Man, fuck you. Ain’t got time to be playin’ games, yo. Go get a warrant if you wanna ask some questions.” He stepped past him to go upstairs. Kevin took just two steps when suddenly the man reached up and grabbed him. In less than a few seconds, Kevin had a gun pressed firmly against his temple.
“On your damn knees,” the man hissed. Kevin knelt slowly to his knees. He was scared; police didn’t use silencers. He had to keep this man from going upstairs to his family, but he had no gun. He knew he was in a tough spot. “Now let’s try this again. Do you work for Felix Marchetti?” Kevin was still on his knees with the gun to his head. His heart was beating in overdrive. He knew of Mr. Marchetti, but he didn’t know him personally. He never actually even saw the man. But worst of all, he didn’t know how to answer the question and he became nervous when the man repeated himself.
“N-no . . . I don’t even know him . . . I mean not personally. I swear, man . . . do it look like I work for him? Come on, please.” He opened his eyes when he felt the gun removed from his head. Kevin quickly jumped to his feet and rushed toward the stairs. From about twenty feet away, the man spun around and aimed the Beretta at Kevin’s head. He pulled the trigger. The gun coughed. The slug was a black talon shell, made to go through the flesh and expand on impact. Kevin’s head exploded like an eggshell as the slug hit his skull. He lay face down, halfway up the steps as blood flowed down the iron stairwell.
The man reached into his pocket and tossed out a few grams of rock cocaine in plastic bags a few inches from Kevin’s body. Now it would look like a drug deal gone bad. He then fired two shots through an apartment window, then turned and ran to his SUV. He smiled, knowing that he didn’t have to kill the kid, but he didn’t have a reason to let him live either. He tossed the Beretta out the window as he crossed a bridge. He decided to relieve some stress before taking a rest. He drove to Overtown and picked up a petite brunette after handing her a twenty-dollar bill. He sat on a hotel couch shortly afterward as the girl gave him a hand job in the darkness. Little did she know that this would be her last trick.
* * *
Federal agent Lydia Nansteel arrived in Miami quicker than she had planned. She was fully briefed on Menage’s shooting and was trying to get answers. The case had her full attention and she was sent to work on it even though he was still in a coma. She sat in the government Lear jet going over the file and her contacts in Miami. Her new name would be Latosha Mandrick. If anyone did a background check, the record would say she was a saleswoman for Luster Hair Care and a single female graduate of North Carolina Central University with a degree in Sales and Marketing.
She was thinking of ways to get a lead on the DB-7 with Menage in a coma. No one knew the caller who gave the tip. At least that’s what Myers had told her. If she could find that person it would make things a lot simpler. The FBI had given her a two bedroom apartment near the University of Miami and the car of her choice. She picked a blue Lexus RX330, an SUV taken from an imprisoned drug dealer. She looked at the picture of Menage that was in her file. It showed him stepping out of a yellow Escalade ESV. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Attractive, she thought.
Nansteel was tired, but she made it from the airport in the RX330, which was parked where Myers said it would be. Now known as Latosha Mandrick, she opened the door to her assigned apartment. Turning on the lights, she glanced at the black and white flower print furniture she picked out and let out a sigh. “Perfect,” she said. Her temporary dwelling was cozy and spacious.
In the corner sat a large TV and DVD system. She walked into the master bedroom and looked at the queen-sized bed with a mirrored headboard. “Someone trying to be funny,” she thought. She put her briefcase on the bed and placed her cell phone on the dresser. As she unpacked, she pulled out her black government-issued. 45. She placed it on the bed and began to undress. She removed her blouse, revealing her perky breasts. She looked at herself in the mirror, thinking that she could still be a Jet Beauty. Maybe I should have stuck with it, she thought.
After taking a shower, she put on a halter-top and boxers and went to bed. Saturday would be a busy day. The first stop would be the hospital and then . . . she didn’t even know. It would be all work as usual. She had no problem sleeping solo; after her divorce from Paul she often went to bed alone. She briefly thought about him. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive him, but she manged to move on, like any other strong black woman would, pouring all of her time into her job. Love was something she hated.