Gangsta Bitch (24 page)

Without saying another word, I turned on my heels and headed for Essence’s 2009 Nissan Pathfinder. By the time I jumped in and closed the door, my girls were already crackin’ the fuck up.

“Damn, bitch. You got that fool’s nose open wider than Essence’s legs,” cracked Angie.

As usual, Essence didn’t get bent out of shape. She just frowned and gave Angie the finger. Her behavior seemed a lil’ weird but I didn’t say shit. That was her problem. I had my own issues to worry about.

“I keep tellin’ you bitches that my pussy is the best thing since hair weave,” I said, braggin’ on my sweet sex. I took one last look at Paul’s sad ass face as Essence pulled off.

Umph…pathetic ass nigga
.

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The cocking sound of Trick’s Smith and Wesson shocked everyone around, but especially a frightened Dajon. His face tightened even more as Trick pressed the tip of the gun forcefully into his temple. Dajon laid frozen beneath his sheets panting like an old, overweight dog, breathing loudly through his nose. He had no idea how the trio had crept into his home unseen and unheard in the wee hours of the morning. But he knew the end result. Trick’s reputation was known throughout the Philly area, so a save wasn’t likely. He watched as Trick gave instructions to his workers who stood guard on both sides of the room, while Trick sat on the edge of the bed close to Dajon’s shivering body.

“You want me to bust ‘em?” Felony asked in his raspy voice.

Trick nodded slowly as he gazed into Dajon’s chubby face. He nodded his head up and down as the street lights shone into the dark bedroom giving Trick a chance to see every fearful expression on Dajon’s face. Although the New York Yankees fitted hat hid Trick’s scowl, it was clear that his eyes remained focused on Dajon for nearly twenty seconds while his boy’s Felony and Polo stared at him in disbelief.

“Yo, like dis taking too long, dawg. Let’s go,” Polo uttered.

“I got this,” Trick countered.

Trick was always difficult to figure out. To most, his calm demeanor was a sign of weakness, but to those who knew him, understood that he was in his most ruthless state when in deep thought… always trying to figure out the best way to take an enemy out. Dajon knew Trick well enough since he’d fronted him drugs on a regular basis. He just didn’t know him as well as Felony and Polo did. Suddenly, Dajon’s thoughts were cut short. The moment that Trick leaned over, moving closer to Dajon’s face, he quickly shut his eyes tightly. Fat boy knew it was over and sadly, there was no escape.

“You see where stealin’ gets you?” Trick taunted, pressing the gun even more forcefully into his temple.

Sweat poured from Dajon’s face as he pleaded, “C’mon man! I told you what happened…!”

“You must notta heard what happens to niggas who fuck with me, yamean?” Trick said.

“C’mon, man!” Dajon begged even more.

Before he could get another word out of his mouth, Trick withdrew the gun from his head, hitting Dajon across the face with the butt of the gun. Instantly, blood trickled from his face and his eyes ballooned in fear.

“I swear on my daughter, man! Don’t do this. Don’t do this, man,” Dajon ended as tears streamed down the side of his cheek.

“Bitch-ass nigga,” Trick sniped.

“Fuck dat shit!” Felony shouted, as he paced back and forth on the right side of the bed. He moved closer to Trick with vengeance in his eyes. “Trick, you know dis nigga lying. Lemme bust’em?” he asked again, only this time he’d removed the .357 that had been stuffed down his loose fitting pants.

Both he and Polo had gotten antsy since they’d been in Dajon’s house for more than ten minutes. The plan had called for a quick in and out, leaving Dajon dead. Trick had known for weeks that Dajon’s fabricated story about how he’d gotten robbed while in possession of 70,000 dollars worth of Trick’s product was all a lie. He’d given him the chance to confess, even offering Dajon a re-payment plan, yet nothing worked. Dajon kept sending messages that Trick should just take it as a loss because there was nothing he could do to get the money back.

Trick finally spoke after minutes of silence. “So Dajon, you know a nigga from the East side name Dre?” He pressed the gun into Dajon’s temple once again.

A lump formed in Dajon’s throat.

“Ahhhhhhh.”

“Huh nigga, you know who I’m talkin’ about, right?” Trick jolted the gun a bit. “I got me a sexy lil biddy on the east side so I gotta few friends, yamean?”

“Yeah…I know what you mean, Trick. But c’mon man, put the gun down!” Dajon cried out, while remaining stiffly in place.

“Nah, nigga. You sold my shit to that nigga, thinkin’ I wouldn’t find out. I know everythin’ that goes on in my town,” he said with discontent, then grit his teeth. “I own this town. Yamean?” he asked with even more anger in his voice.

Of course, Dajon never said a word. He simply cried like a bitch. Yet none of it phased Trick. He was used to punks and wanna-be hustlers. He’d seen it all his life. In an instant, Trick transformed into what Felony had been waiting for. He rose from the bed like he was being attacked.

Boom!

Trick never even flinched as the gun exploded. But even Felony cringed at the sight of Dajon’s blood that covered the crisp white sheets. The sound from the gun left all three men with ringing ears, which of course made Trick realize they had less than a minute to make it to the back of the house where the getaway truck was waiting. Trick had been killing for years so not only was he skilled at murder, but at getting away with it too. It was what he did best. Murder was the name of the game. His whole life consisted of getting money and slaying anybody who got in his way.

Within minutes, Trick had switched into high gear. His jewels glistened in the darkness as he jetted down the stairs, taking two at the time, then out the back door, following on the heels of Felony. He moved swiftly knowing that someone had probably heard the shots. Trick, Polo, and Felony ran like their lives depended on it, rushing toward Trick’s 2010 off white Cadillac Escalade. Within minutes, Polo had hopped in the driver’s seat, started the ignition, and sped through the alley way, hopping onto Gratz Street. Trick sighed a deep sound of relief as he laid back in his butter soft leather seats, knowing he’d just gotten away with another murder.

Although his bald head was covered in sweat, he was pleased with how things had gone. He knew that with Polo driving he could rest his eyes for a moment while sitting in his second best treasure. The Escalade with deep black tinted windows was every man’s dream. It was fully equipped with everything from 12-inch plasma screen TV’s, custom black floor mats and a Bose’ system which Polo had now pushed to the limit. Plies song,
Wasted
blasted from the speakers as they sped down Broad street.

Although the music pumped, Trick thought deeply about his life. As strange as it sounded, he was tired of the ups and downs of the cocaine game. And definitely tired of the hatin’ niggas in the biz. Everybody he’d ever met was cut throat with the exception of Polo and Felony. It was time for a drastic change, he thought to himself. He’d committed to throwing in the towel and sticking to his new money making business…one that would set him straight for a lifetime. Little did Felony know, but Trick was about to separate himself from any dealings with drugs after their last deal they were headed to make.

“Man, like what time we gotta meet up with Ce-lo?” Trick asked Felony.

“9 a.m.” Felony laughed.

“Fuck. That’s five hours from now.” Trick tugged on his long, full beard showing that he’d already gotten restless. “A nigga need some sleep.”

“Dat’s your boy. The only nigga in town who gotta get up at da crack of dawn to get served.”

“Like that nigga better be glad his money right,” Trick announced. “Yo, stop me by that 24 hour spot….Ahhh what’s that jawn called?” Trick snapped his fingers as Felony made a sharp turn, causing him to hold on to the handle above him. “Richies, that’s the name of it. Get me one of them egg sandwiches before we go cook up.” He closed his eyes. “And good lookin’ out back there.”

“Always,” both men said in unison.

“Now hurry Felony, a nigga hungry,” Trick said slouching down in the seat.

“Gotcha dawg.”

For several minutes Polo and Felony laughed and talked shit to one another until Trick’s cell phone rang. He opened his eyes knowing what was next. The caller ID read trouble. It was Mena, Trick’s money hungry girlfriend.

“Talk to me.”

“Im’a talk to you alright. Fuck you, Trick! It’s five o’clock in the morning and you still not home! Where the fuck you at?” Mena shouted through the phone.

“Takin’ care of business. You know what that means, right?” He smirked. “You wanna spend big money every day…well somebody gotta make it, so chill your foul mouth ass out.” He paused and put more bass in his voice. “Aye Mena, I told you about disrespectin’ me.”

“Fuck you, Trick! I bet if I change the locks on your ass, you’ll come home at a decent hour.”

“Mena, I got shit to do. And besides, It’s not like I’m out with some biddy. So I’ll see you about ten. And remember, that’s my jawn, bitch. You just on a guest pass.”

“Ten? Mufucka, you crazy? She screamed like the devil had possessed her spirit. “See if I’m here when you get here, nigga? That staying out all night shit is a no-no for me.”

Trick held his breath and gritted his teeth as he often did when his blood boiled. Mena had a unique way of getting deep under his skin. Even though they’d been together for five months, he wasn’t crazy in love. He had other women that he preferred to play house with, and Mena knew it. Trick just wasn’t the settling down type…just really wanted his dick sucked the moment he opened his eyes every morning. Although Mena’s head game and pussy was on point, she was even better for his newly discovered hustle that had been growing more and more by the weeks.

“Mena, if you stop askin’ me for new purses, clothes, and jewelry every day, maybe I could come home more often. Man, bye!” Trick spat.

“Trick, Trick, Trick,” Mena called out, still holding the phone, but got no answer.

Just as the call ended, Felony startled everyone in the truck. “Oh shit!” he blurted out glaring at the rear view mirror.

By the time Trick turned to look behind, he could hear the sirens sounding from the rear. The blue and red flashing lights sent him into a fast frozen state. In an instant his heart rate sped, wondering what his next move would be.

Five hours had passed and Trick felt like he had conquered the world. He and Felony had been in a fake high-speed car chase, cooked three keys, made the drop to his early morning sale, and now had two large bags of money. It killed him that Ce-lo was his only connection who always wanted to meet early in the morning. Most times, he didn’t care. But considering he hadn’t gotten any sleep all night this was beyond his limits. He’d killed a man, cooked cocaine like a top chef and was now on his way home to Mena’s loud mouth.

After almost falling asleep behind the wheel a few times, Trick finally pulled up in front of his 4,800 square foot home in Gladwyne several minutes later. All he could think about as he turned off the truck’s engine was his plush king sized bed that he couldn’t wait to dive into. No matter how long he’d been into the fast money drug game, he could never get used to the grueling hours the job required. However, after walking up the driveway his entire demeanor changed as he stopped to gaze at his new prized possession. Gently rubbing his hand across the snow white Bentley Continental GT, he quickly realized that if it wasn’t for the work he put in, the new $187,000 dollar car would still be on the showroom floor. He was especially proud of the custom red and black seats and chrome Dub 22 inch rims. As Trick thought about how his new beauty could go from 0-60 miles per hour in 3.7 seconds, the front door to his house flew open. He didn’t even have to look up. He knew exactly who it was.

“I can’t believe this! Do you know what time it is?” Mena yelled as she stormed outside barefoot in an oversized RIP Michael Jackson t-shirt.