Chapter 11

Luca’s trip upstate to see her father was an emotional one. She stayed one week and went to see him a second time. The second visit was a better visit. Father and daughter tried to get more in tune with each other, talking and laughing. Travis didn’t appear to be the monster her grandmother portrayed him to be. His eyes were kind and caring. He’d made a mistake a long time ago and was paying heavily for it. He regretted the thirty seconds that changed his life forever. He expressed himself deeply, steadily apologizing to the one girl who truly mattered.

Luca made it back to Brooklyn late in the night. She had left all her tears in upstate New York and was determined not to fall apart. Now was the time to rebuild. What didn’t kill her would only make her stronger, and she yearned to become stronger. She needed to put together a new team, to exact the revenge she was yearning for. The Kabakoff brothers had violated her in the worst way by burning down her house with her money and drugs inside. The only one she could now trust to put them in their graves and make shit happen was Meeka.

She parked, removed the pistol from her handbag, and climbed out the car. She kept her pistol close as she walked toward her grandmother’s building with extreme caution, knowing nowhere was ever safe. The ghetto was quiet tonight. The hustlers were out partying, splurging their drug money, and the fiends had faded from the area, like yesterday. The residents were cooped up in their apartments, trying to stay warm on a chilly night.

Luca didn’t plan to stay in Brownsville long. She was ready to be in and out like a minute-man in the bedroom. Quickly, she went into the building and took the stairs to her floor. She hurried into the apartment, checked in on her grandmother, and went into her bedroom. Luca sat at the foot of her bed weighing her options. She had already spoken to Meeka about the business she needed her to tend to, and Meeka promised she would get it done.

Now it was about money. She was ready to sell the Audi, her jewelry, and anything valuable. With all her drug money and product burned down to the ground, now was the time to get in contact with her attorney. Dominic was her only hope. She had called and left a zillion messages, but when he didn’t answer or return her calls, worry started to set in.

After the umpteenth phone call went unanswered, she screamed into the phone, cursing him out and calling him every bad name in the book. The last message she left him was, “Nigga, you better have my fuckin’ money right, because I’ll be at your office first thing tomorrow morning.”

It was first on Luca’s agenda. Monday morning she was packing her pistol and going to see Dominic unannounced. If he fucked her over, she had nothing to lose, and she wasn’t going down without a fight.

But tonight she needed to rest. It had been a long and lonely drive back from upstate New York. Luca undressed, stripping down to her panties and bra, and slid herself underneath the covers to a warm bed. Closing her eyes, she thought about her father. The last thing she wanted was to end up like him, doing hard time in prison, or end up dead like Naomi. She had to be methodical with every step, like moving through a large field with landmines buried everywhere. One step—Boom!—and pieces of her would be everywhere.

***

Luca strutted into the towering downtown skyscraper like a bitch ready for war. She wore a business suit to handle her business. Luca stormed through the lobby and went straight to the elevator. She had a strong feeling that Dominic was ignoring her calls. She hurried off the elevator and toward his office.

The minute she walked through the doors, his receptionist immediately announced from behind her desk, “Luca, he isn’t in today.”

“Fuck that! I need to see him.” She hurried past the receptionist’s desk and charged into his office only to find that his receptionist was right. It looked like he hadn’t been inside his office for a while.

The receptionist came behind Luca. “I said he isn’t in today.”

Luca spun around and glared at the bimbo-looking blonde-haired woman. “So where the fuck is he?”

“He’s out of town.”

“To where, and for how fuckin’ long?”

“I can’t divulge that information, ma’am.”

“Bitch, you know my name, and I need to know where my fuckin’ attorney is. This is really fuckin’ important.”

“I’ll try and get word to him that you came by.”

“Fuck that shit!” Luca spat. “I need to get word to him now, and I’m not going any fuckin’ where until you get his ass on the fuckin’ phone.”

The leggy receptionist didn’t want any trouble from Luca. She was aware of her violent and dangerous reputation. It clearly frightened her that Luca was in the office ranting and carrying on. Luca wasn’t the only client upset with Dominic’s latest business practices. The receptionist had been receiving phone calls all day from dissatisfied clients eagerly asking to see him.

“I would like to help, but my hands are tied, Luca. Mr. Sirocco didn’t leave me a forwarding number to reach him, and I truly have no idea about his whereabouts,” she explained. “And I’m afraid if you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call security to remove you.”

Luca shifted her weight to one side, her hands on her hip, staring at the bitch fiercely. She smirked. “Look who grew some fuckin’ balls. Bitch, you threatening me?”

“I just don’t want any trouble.”

“There won’t be any trouble if I speak to Dominic.”

“Look, the best I could do for you is—”

“No, the best you can do for me is take down my personal number, and the minute he comes through that door, you fuckin’ call me.”

The receptionist nodded. She took down Luca’s number and placed it on her desk.

“And if I hear he’s back in town and I don’t receive a fuckin’ phone call from you soon then, bitch, it won’t be pretty for you. And, yes, that is a fuckin’ threat—Fuck with me, bitch!”

Luca pushed past her and stormed out of the office, the frustration of being played and lied to manifested on her face. She hurried out the building and walked to her car.

She climbed into her car and lingered for a moment. She picked up her cell phone, scrolled down her call list, and dialed Meeka’s number. She was handing out threats, but she needed to back them up too. She couldn’t look weak, even though the hand she held at the card table was weak and she couldn’t bluff for too long.

Luca needed a strong team of killers. Meeka had the task Phaedra once had of recruiting people to work for her. The only solid thing Luca still had going for her was the blackmailing and extortion of judges, police officers, lawyers, and politicians. She had all of their transgressions locked away in a safety deposit box in the city. If push came to shove, she had that card in her back pocket.

The phone rang several times before Meeka finally answered.

“What’s the verdict?” Luca asked, not beating around the bush.

“In Brooklyn now, and I’m about to talk to someone at the moment, Luca,” Meeka said.

“I’m depending on this, Meeka. Make it happen.”

“I will, Luca.”

Luca ended the call.

Meeka was the only one she could depend on right now. With her team fading, it felt like the well was finally running dry.

Luca locked eyes with herself in the rearview mirror and sighed intensely. She lit a cigarette. She remembered a time when she was no one, a bitch without a future, and it felt like the world was constantly taking a shit on her. She was the people’s toilet. With her fierce attitude now, it was hard to ever think she was meek, scared of her own shadow. The difference now was that she’d had a taste of power and wealth, and she wanted more. She would die before she ever went back to being that scared, naïve, stupid bitch again.

She finished her cigarette and flicked it out the window. Getting a fierce crew was relevant to rebuilding her empire. Her ship wasn’t sinking yet.

***

Meeka climbed out of her silver Camry parked on Myrtle Avenue and gazed at the Marcy Houses in Brooklyn. The notorious housing project, once home to Jay-Z and Memphis Bleek, was teeming with residents enjoying the rare winter day of warm sunshine and fifty-five-degree weather after freezing rain and bitter cold. Meeka hit the pavement in her black and white Nikes, dark jeans, and pullover hoodie covering her long cornrows, looking more like a female roughneck than a young lady. She carried a loaded 9 mm on her person with the safety off, ready for anyone and anything.

She briskly walked toward the six-story brick building. Passing a few thugs and hustlers, she moved with purpose as she entered the lobby. She was going to visit a friend she thought would benefit the organization. They needed hardcore people who didn’t give a fuck and would strike fear on the streets. Her friend was Brooklyn, a nineteen-year-old perpetual troublemaker recently released from prison for aggravated assault and battery, drug possession, and resisting arrest. Since she was fifteen years old when she had incurred the felony charges, she was tried as a minor and did three and a half years.

Meeka took the elevator to the sixth floor, stepped off, and walked toward the apartment, hoping her friend was home. She knocked on the door of the apartment that had the rap music blaring and the strong smell of weed coming from behind the door. She knocked harder and waited.

After a minute of waiting, she heard someone answering the door. When it opened, a bald man in a soiled wife-beater appeared in front of her, his belly protruding and tattoos showing. He had no-good written all over him.

“What the fuck you want?” he asked.

“Brooklyn. Is she here?” Meeka asked, scowling at the man.

“What the fuck you want wit’ my daughter?”

“Just to talk.”

He looked Meeka up and down, sizing her up, looking like a slob and a pervert. He reeked of nastiness and disgust. He purposely blocked Meeka’s entrance into the apartment. “Brooklyn ain’t here,” he said.

“Look, you stupid muthafucka, I ain’t here to play fuckin’ games. I know Brooklyn just came home, and I need to see her.”

He shot back, “You threatening me at my crib? Yeah, I remember you. You were a little ho back in the days, weren’t you? You still that ho? Yeah, I bet you still are.” He chuckled.

Meeka frowned.

“My daughter—”

“Step-daughter,” she corrected him, knowing he didn’t care for Brooklyn at all. He was a lowlife and a bum who’d shacked up with Brooklyn’s mother years ago, leeching off her benefits and food stamps. He’d never had a job and didn’t have any ambition at all, except for trying to get into young girls’ panties.

“You need to stay away,” he warned.

“Or what?”

“You think ’cuz you older now that you big and bad, bitch? I’ll still snatch you into this crib, bend you over my knee, pull ya panties down, and smack that ass.”

Meeka glared at him, smirked, quickly pulled out the 9 mm, and pointed it at him.

He jumped back. “Oh, so it’s like that now?”

“You a stupid muthafucka that gotta make shit difficult. I just came by lookin’ for Brooklyn, and now you ’bout to have me catch a fuckin’ murder charge. Where is she?”

“Brooklyn ain’t here,” he said submissively.

That made Meeka angrier. “I should shoot ya fuckin’ dumb ass.”

He cringed, staring down the barrel of the gun. “Ain’t no disrespect.”

“Yeah, you ain’t talkin’ that shit now. Where is she?” Meeka asked through clenched teeth.

“She left an hour ago.”

Meeka felt like shooting him just for being an asshole, but he wasn’t worth her time. Seeing the nigga cower like a bitch was thrilling enough.

“Next time I waste my time wit’ you, the last thing you gonna hear is that fuckin’ pop. Don’t fuck wit’ me, nigga!”

Meeka hurried back to her car. She wasn’t about to give up on finding Brooklyn. Knowing her friend, she was trying to find weed and then some dick. Three and a half years was a long time to go without either.

She climbed into her Camry. She knew all the weed spots in Bed-Stuy and Brownsville. She observed Brooklyn exiting the two-story corner brownstone on Lewis Avenue. Traffic at the brownstone was continuous, in and out with various people; making it known something illegal was happening. Meeka smiled seeing her homegirl again.

Brooklyn still looked the same after three years being incarcerated. She was five five, black like tar, her raven-black hair styled into two long pigtails, eyes black as ink, and plump in the back. She got the name Brooklyn because her mother gave birth to her in the backseat of a car on a Brooklyn block during a snowstorm, right after turning a trick. Her mother felt if the Brooklyn streets couldn’t kill her daughter during birth, then she was born to run the rough and tough borough someday.

Meeka drove toward Brooklyn as she walked with a cigar nestled behind her ear and smoking a cigarette. Brooklyn walked like she had somewhere urgent to go, moving fast, puffing on her cancer stick. She didn’t notice the Camry approaching her until it was riding parallel to her as she walked.

“Yo, shorty, what’s good? Let me get that number,” Meeka joked, trying to sound like a thirsty male hollering at her from the car.

Brooklyn gave her the middle finger. “Fuck off!”

“Oh, so it’s like that, Brooklyn? That’s how you treat an old friend?” Meeka said, no longer trying to disguise her voice.

Brooklyn stopped walking and shot a look at the car. Realizing who was behind the wheel, her frown turned into a smile. She shouted out, “Oh shit! Is that my muthafuckin’ bitch, Meeka?”

“You know it, bitch.”

Brooklyn was impressed by the Camry Meeka was driving. The paint job and rims stood out like an all-star on Rucker’s court.

Meeka put the vehicle in park and jumped out. She immediately hugged her friend.

“I heard you was doin’ it big out here, Meeka. Shit! Bitches weren’t lying.” Brooklyn continued to admire the Camry, looking inside, touching the interior. “How can I get one of these?”

“Fuck wit’ me, easily.”

“Hey, I need to make some ends, fo’ real.”

The girls gazed at each other cheerfully, ready to catch up on long-lost time between them.

“It’s good to see you home.”

“I’m glad to be finally home. Bitch feel free as a fuckin’ bird now.”

“I went by ya crib, almost shot ya fuckin’ stepfather,” Meeka said.

“That clown-ass nigga. I wish you did. I ain’t been home a week yet, and he already startin’ wit’ his shit.”

“Give the word, and I can make it happen.”

“Damn! You got cold like that?”

“You don’t even know the half of it.”

Brooklyn nodded her head in approval. In her eyes, Meeka was always hard core, a street brawler, a fighter down for whatever, but she had not yet transformed into a killer. Brooklyn didn’t know Meeka had graduated to a murderous enforcer when she got down with Luca.

Rumors of Brooklyn catching two bodies before her three and a half-year incarceration had circulated throughout the hood. They said she had bodied two niggas for her man when he caught a corner beef with some rivals over some cash and a few vials. Detectives came at her intensely, but she didn’t crack, sticking to her story. Due to insufficient evidence and lack of witnesses, the murder case against her became a cold case file.

“Where you goin’?” Meeka asked.

“Yo, check this, I been home less than a week, and already I got bitches talkin’ shit ’bout me. I know where this bitch rest at, so I’m gonna stop by and just have a talk wit’ her. You know, let a bitch know I’m home and warn her to keep my name out her fuckin’ mouth.”

“You need a ride?”

“Bitch, you read my fuckin’ mind.”

The two ladies climbed into the car, and Meeka headed to where Brooklyn wanted to go.

“So who you down wit’, Meeka?”

“I roll wit’ a tight crew, and it’s run by a bitch.”

“Oh, word?”

“She’s smart and vicious, and she took over the hood wit’ some quality dope. It pays to be on her team, Brooklyn. I’m out here grindin’ and getting’ my paper up.” Meeka reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of hundreds.

Brooklyn’s eyes lit up. “Damn, bitch! What? You the Rockefeller of the hood?”

“Tryin’ to be.”

Stopped at a red light, Meeka peeled a few hundred-dollar bills from her wad and handed them to Brooklyn. “Consider it a welcome-home gift.”

Brooklyn took the $400. “Shit, bitch! I knew there was a reason we always got along.”

Meeka laughed. She didn’t need to persuade hard. The light changed to green, and Meeka drove off with a grin, knowing the recruitment was going well.

Three blocks later, Brooklyn fixed her stare out the window and shouted, “There go that fuckin’ bitch right there.”

Meeka sped toward the curb, and before her car could come to a complete stop, Brooklyn leaped out and quickly lunged for the brown-skinned girl clad in gang attire and a red bandanna.

“You talkin’ shit, bitch!” Brooklyn screamed out, striking first, punching her rival in the face over and over.

Meeka hopped out her car and helped her friend beat the girl down. Brooklyn had the girl’s long hair entangled around her fist and tore into her face savagely with blow after blow, causing the girl to stumble and cry out. Meeka got her hits off too. When the girl dropped to the pavement in a fetal position, they kicked and stomped her repeatedly.

“I’m home now, bitch! Keep talkin’! Keep fuckin’ talkin’!” Brooklyn shouted heatedly. “I told you keep my fuckin’ name out ya fuckin’ mouth.”

The girl’s blood spewed onto the concrete, her teeth kicked in.

Brooklyn pulled out a razor and was ready to cut her face open.

Meeka grabbed her friend, shouting, “Brooklyn, come on, let’s go!”

“Look at that bitch! Look at her now!” Brooklyn shouted.

Both girls hurried back to the car and sped away, leaving the girl sprawled out on the concrete looking like she’d been hit by a Mack truck.

Meeka knew Brooklyn was more than qualified for the position. The bitch was harder than most niggas she knew. Luca would be pleased.

Brooklyn bragged about the ass-whipping as Meeka hurried away from the area, turning corners hastily and laughing herself.

Meeka had two more people like Brooklyn to look at—two more ruthless young muthafuckas who didn’t give a fuck.

***

Chin was a pretty boy with light caramel skin, honey-colored eyes, and silky light brown hair. His mother was Black American and American Indian. Growing up and living on the mean streets of Bed-Stuy, the do-or-die neighborhood, Chin used to get picked on a lot. In grade school, he used to get chased home from school every night, and in junior high school they bullied him. His mother put him in boxing, so he would learn how to defend himself, and over time he became lethal with his hands.

In the eighth grade he started making a name for himself, knocking out the same muthafuckas who once bullied him. But then in high school, things were different. No one fought anymore. They shot or stabbed first.

Soon Chin, because of his pretty boy looks, started packing a pistol and joined a fierce gang called the Bee Boys. It didn’t take him long to graduate to murder before dropping out of high school with a tenth-grade education. By the time Chin was eighteen, he had a fierce reputation for violence and murders and a history of many arrests.

Chin’s partner in crime was Scotty, a quick-tempered triggerman who loved guns and bloodshed. With no mother or father, he grew up in the ghetto pits of hell, seeing violence and murder from the time he was five years old. He had been sexually abused and bullied, like Chin. Scotty knew about every brand of gun, the calibers, the kill zones, and what kind of damage they were able to do to the body.

Chin and Scotty were a pair of serial killers who’d left their mark of destruction—bodies piled up in blood and bullet holes—from state to state.

Their motivation for killing was money. Like the Joker once said, “If you’re good at something, why do it for free?”

Meeka knew them both, having grown up with them in Brooklyn, and she was desperate to recruit them to come work for Luca.