Checkmate: The Baddest Chick (22 page)

“License and registration,” the officer repeated.

Cross calmly reached across to the glove compartment, unhooked it open, pulled out the things he needed, and then handed the information to the cop.

The cop took a glance at everything, and then said to Cross, “Step out of the car, please.”

“Officer, did I do something wrong?”

“Step out of the car!” the officer said sternly.

Cross looked defeated. He knew he was done. He glared at the officer and slowly complied. When he put both feet onto the pavement, the officer began reading him his rights, pushing him face first into the side of his truck before cuffing him.

“What the fuck did I do?”

“You have a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Nah, that’s fuckin’ bullshit!”

The other two officers searched Cross’ truck, and then one soon shouted out, “Gun!” They removed the 9 mm from the center console and then found the .38 under the passenger seat.

****

An hour after his arrest, Cross sat tired and hungry in a dull, gray interrogation room handcuffed to an iron bar that lined the wall. It had been a long day for him. Two detectives entered the interrogation room and sat opposite him behind the long table.

Cross glared at them.

“I know you heard about Edge,” one said.

“What the fuck you want from me?” Cross barked. “My friend is murdered, and y’all muthafuckas picked me up. You must be fuckin’ crazy!”

“You’re a damn menace, Cross,” Detective Rice exclaimed. “You’re pretty much fucked right now, so you have two options—You cooperate with us, or you go down to the pokey pen and take your chances with the courts.”

Cross sighed. “Call my lawyer, and we’ll work this shit out.”

“Fine with us,” the second detective said.

The shit hit the fan when Cross got the news that Edge had sworn on affidavit to their involvement in organized crime, and was planning to turn state’s witness. Cross couldn’t believe it, but the proof was clearly in his face. The betrayal had him feeling a wreck. The detectives figured that Cross, after finding out about Edge’s betrayal, had set him up to be murdered.

Cross was taken down to Central Booking—the tombs—located in Lower Manhattan, where he was booked and processed. He sat on the hard, cold benches attached to the graffiti-covered walls in the filthy bullpens of the courts, jammed with prisoners. The first thing Cross wanted to do was contact his lawyer and find out what was going on. He couldn’t rest. His mind was spinning, and he wanted out of jail by any means necessary.

****

Hours later, Cross heard a corrections officer shouting his name.

“You got a visit from your lawyer! Let’s go!”

Cross didn’t hesitate to exit the cell, pushing his way past the hooligans, bums, and troublemakers crowding the small holding cell. He was escorted into another holding cell, a bit larger and less rowdy than the one he’d just left. On the other side of the cell was a thick partition for inmates to meet with their attorneys.

Cross was called up and sat behind the partition on a hard bench.

His lawyer approached, looking sharp in his three-button, navy pinstripe Italian suit. Meyers Mitchell was the best at what he did, but when he sat down, the gloomy look in his eyes already spoke to Cross.

“Talk to me, Meyers. What the fuck is goin’ on?” Cross spat.

“You fucked up, Cross. Two guns?”

“It was a bad night. But I need this shit to go away.”

“How, Cross? I can’t work miracles. I got the first gun charge postponed for a year, pushed the trial back as long as I could, but now you pull this. I warned you, stay out of trouble and relax. And then the murder charge that they’re trying to pin on—”

“I ain’t do it.”

“I know. They don’t have enough evidence to indict you. It’s bullshit! But my hands are tied when it comes to the revoked bail.”

“I need to get outta here, Meyers. You need to make it happen.”

“How? I’m not a genie. I can’t grant wishes.”

“You got a seventy-five thousand dollar retainer from me last year and that shit ain’t nearly used up, so do ya fuckin’ job, Meyers, or I’ll get someone else to do it for you!”

Meyers sighed. “The most I can do for you right now is maybe get the charges reduced, but the courts fear you as a flight risk, so there will be no more bail. It will get ugly, Cross, really ugly.”

“I can’t be in here, Meyers! Don’t you fuckin’ understand me? I’m marked, and they can easily get me on the inside.”

“Listen, I’ll fight for you, like I always do, but these charges are not going to go away. I can talk to the DA, maybe have you take a plea—”

Cross jumped up from his seat. “Fuck you, Meyers! If you can’t fuckin’ do the job, then I’ll find somewhere to take care of business for me. You’re fuckin’ fired!”

CHAPTER 19

K
ola needed to release her stress. She wanted to free her mind from the chaos and murders swamping her world in the past weeks. She felt relieved to have finally gunned down Edge. The deed gave her a rush to the point where it almost felt better than sex. The streets were talking about his murder, with rumors and gossip about who did it and why. Kola had no time for the foolishness. She remained in her home for a moment right after the murder, not wanting to take any chances.

Kola lay naked on her back, her legs cocked back, while the young boy’s tongue invaded deep into her pussy, instantly finding her G-spot. Her moans echoed off the bedroom walls as the young face buried between her legs twisted his tongue hungrily.

“Aaah! Right there! Do that shit right there!” Her mind spiraled into a touch of bliss as the orgasm rocked her into screams for more. “Shit! Ooooh! I so needed this! Ooooh! Ooooh!”

Nineteen-year-old Keno was one of Kola’s young workers. He was cute with his thin mustache, dark brown sleepy eyes, high-yellow skin, and a low-cut Caesar. Kola had had her eyes on him since noticing him on the block. She wasn’t much older than him herself, beating the young boy by one year.

She was squirming, with Keno’s tongue digging inside of her, when the phone rang. She ignored it, and let it go to her voice mail. But then it rang again.

Kola snatched up her phone. “What?” she shouted.

“You have a collect call from Cross. To accept, please press—”

Kola quickly hung up, pissed that she’d answered her phone in the first place. She looked down at her young stud.

“Continue, baby.”

Keno dove back into her pussy.

Kola’s phone started to ring again. “What the fuck!” she screamed out. Then it stopped.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

Kola snatched up her phone and screamed, “I don’t accept the fuckin’ call!”

“Who the fuck you screaming at, bitch?” Cross shouted.

“Cross, what the fuck you doin’ callin’ me collect?”

“Why I gotta get my man to three-way you for me to talk to you?”

“’Cuz I’m not tryin’ to be bothered right now. I’m busy.”

“Look, I’m locked down in Rikers right now, and I need you to come see me.”

“What? Nigga, is you serious?”

“Like the national deficit, hells yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious. I need you to collect some information from me and gather up these papers. I need you to get at this new attorney for me. He’s licensed in New York and Miami. ”

Kola chuckled at his orders. “You is a funny muthafucka, Cross. You need to be callin’ that other bitch, Cynthia, to handle ya fuckin’ business ’cuz I’m through wit’ you.”

“You think so, Kola?”

“I’m about to hang up now, so don’t let the dial tone hit you—And don’t drop the soap.”

“Bitch, you hang up on me, and I guarantee you that you won’t be fuckin’ alive tomorrow morning,” Cross said through clenched teeth.

Kola chuckled. Cross was no longer a threat to her. Edge was dead, and he was incarcerated. Her problem was already solved.

“I think I’ve already proven I can handle myself, so you can take your little threats and shove them up your ass!” she began. “It seems I’m smarter than you and your right-hand man. You both are memories while my name is still ringing bells. I’m the baddest chick these streets have ever seen—”

“You think that massacre at your stash house was the end of it? Bitch, that was only the beginning. You really don’t fuckin’ know, do you?”

“Was you a part of that, Cross?” Kola asked heatedly. “’Cuz I swear, you will pay.”

“Come see me tomorrow, and we’ll talk,” he said. “And don’t bullshit me, bitch! I got news that you need to hear.”

Cross and the third party he’d connected through hung up, leaving Kola outraged and speculating about what he’d just said.

Keno tried to restart what Kola had put on pause, but she was no longer in the mood. She pushed Keno away from her, hissing, “Just get the fuck away from me!”

Keno shrugged. He knew not to push. He got out the bed and began collecting his clothing.

Kola just sat on her bed, worry, speculation, and anger mixed in with her emotions. She didn’t want to visit Cross. However, she felt she didn’t have a choice.

Her eyes followed Keno as he left the bedroom. It was a waste of good dick. Cross’ phone call had soured the mood and had her pussy drying up like sand.

****

Early the next morning, Kola was on the long and growing visiting line to see Cross. Rikers Island was bustling with guards doing thorough searches of incoming visitors. Streams of people passed through the metal detectors, and then were directed to their destinations. Visitors scrambled about, some with young children, to make sure their papers were in order.

Kola hated the putrid smell of the jail, the sight of bars caging so many men and women, and the heavy security presence that surrounded her. She thought about her own fate, being on the wrong side of the law.

She moved slowly behind a woman dealing with two small children. The woman looked too young to be a mother. She seemed poor and frustrated. She fumbled with the children’s belongings as well as her own, as she moved through the metal detector and then was checked by a C.O. waving a wand across her body, and her children’s.

Kola sighed. She could never see herself being someone’s baby mama, and bringing kids into a harsh environment like Rikers Island. Kola shook her head at the shameful-looking mother and slowly followed behind her. She went through the search easily and proceeded into the larger room to register for her visit with Cross. The room was packed with people, young and old, and there were proportionately more blacks and Hispanics than whites.

Kola looked around the registration area and knew it was going to be a long day. She noticed the fleeting looks her way and some gawking by different groups of people she’d passed, both men and women. They had to be stuck on her tight, trendy jeans that highlighted her shapely curves, black sequined top with the peek-a-boo bodice, open back and sequined hemline, and six-inch heels that made her tower over some of the ladies.

A few guards tried to flirt with her, but she paid them no attention. Her main concern was seeing Cross and then leaving. She didn’t want to stay longer than she needed to. At one of the many reception desks, Kola had to produce her driver’s license or a form of identification, and the name of the person she was visiting. She gave the pudgy, soft-spoken redbone lady her license. The lady then typed Cross’ government name into the system, and then she gave Kola a white piece of paper and told her the housing unit he was placed in. Kola had to sit in the waiting area with the other ladies and wait for the next bus to transport them. She looked around and took a seat and felt like she was in hell.

Twenty minutes later, Kola followed behind a group of ladies into the visiting area. They moved past a giant steel door that hummed a short alarm every time it was opened, and they entered the massive room with dozens of visitors and inmates seated at selected locations. Kola handed the lady guard by the door her white paper, and she said to Kola, “Table fifteen,” pointing in the direction where she was to be seated.

Kola strutted to the area and once again felt the eyes of many upon her. She kept walking and remained nonchalant. She took a seat at the small plastic round table and waited.

Cross entered the visiting room shortly after Kola’s arrival. He looked around for Kola, handed the guard his ID, and walked toward her with a confident stride and swag that appealed to a few of the ladies he passed.

Kola didn’t smile when Cross came her way. She felt nothing but anger and hostility toward him. She once loved him, but now it made her uncomfortable just to see him. There were no hugs or kisses when he took a seat opposite her, his back facing the corrections officers and their elevated platform.

Cross was clad in the bright orange prison jumpsuit with “DOC” printed on the back in bold black letters. He sat upright and focused on Kola. “Good to see you, Kola,” he greeted matter-of-factly. “You look good, baby. Got all these niggas sweating you in here and shit.”

“Why am I here, Cross?”

“Were you fuckin’ that nigga?”