The Plug's Wife (13 page)

“You know where we are, right?” Summer asked Billy, eyeing him seriously to gauge his reaction.  He let out a long sigh.  He knew all too well where they were.  He’d been at this residence dozens of times delivering cash, clothes, toys, you name it.  Whenever Jesse had to sneak off, Billy was right by his side.  Billy felt like shit about it too.  He had witnessed firsthand what Summer was capable of when she was betrayed.

“Look, of course I know where we at.  Yes, I been here before…lots of times…but that don’t change my dedication to you.  I’m sure you can put ya’self in my Timbs for a minute.  I didn’t know you well enough at the time, boss lady, but I knew JB.  He was a stand-up dude.  He would’ve told you about this situation.  He was just waiting for the right time.  As a man who was right by JB’s side most of the time, this was one mistake he was truly ashamed of.  He wasn’t ashamed of the kid, but of the way it went down…feel me?  A kid is a kid and JB was proud to be a father.  He just wanted it to be right.  I know in my heart he would’ve made shit right on this.” Billy stared out of the windshield at the expansive front lawn.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know that, will we?” Summer said bitterly, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall.  She didn’t know why she felt so emotionally debilitated by the fact that Jesse had a son.  Maybe it was knowing that she had competition for his love. Or maybe it was just pure jealousy.

“I made a lot of sacrifices to be with JB,” Summer said as she stared ahead.  “He was already established.  He was obviously the king of New York.  Me, I was a poor illegal immigrant from Cuba trying to make it.  I was working and holding my own when I met him.  He wined and dined me.  Took me places I’d never been.  Bought me things a girl like me could only dream of and in return, I gave it all up.  My heart.  My trust.  My drive.  I took the easy way out in the arms of a man I thought would be around forever.  But, then I find out, he was a deceitful liar.  No better than any other man I’d ever encountered in my life,” she confessed to Billy.  He was silent.  What could he say to his boss after she’d just bared her soul.  He felt for her. 

Silence fell between them.  Suddenly, Summer sat up in her seat.  Her interest piqued.

Summer eyed the dark cherry wooden door with its beveled glass inserts.  Suddenly the door opened and a beautiful woman stepped out with a large tote bag in hand.  She was dressed in a pale green Juicy Couture sweat suit with her hair pulled back in a sleek, loose ponytail.  She didn’t wear shades this time, so Summer was able to see the full effects of her classical features.  Those slanted eyes and that crystal clear, blemish-free skin made her a rare beauty.  Summer bit her bottom lip.  The woman looked like she’d never used a drug a day in her life.  She hated to imagine that Tanya, the former stripper, had caught Jesse’s eye and that there was more to their relationship than a one-night stand.  Summer watched the svelte woman move like a model with her perfect small waist and perky breasts.  Summer felt the same gnawing jealously she’d felt the first time she’d seen Tanya at Jesse’s funeral.  A little boy bounded out of the door, his tiny New York Yankees fitted and crisp white Nike uptowns giving him a grown man’s swag.  He was absolutely adorable, looking like a miniature Jesse.  Summer and Billy watched in silence. 

“She’s a problem that I want taken care of,” Summer said stiffly.  Billy looked at her questioningly. 

“Her? She’s a reformed hood rat. She’s harmless, far as I know,” Billy said evenly. 

“Are you questioning me?” Summer asked sharply.  Billy put up his hands up in front of him.  He wasn’t trying to cross Summer.

“Nah…I’m just…” he mumbled.

“Good. I didn’t think so,” Summer cut him off.  “I said she’s a problem, so we need to take care of it.  She’s trying to sue JB’s estate and she’s using the kid.  We’ll all be fucked if she gets her way,” Summer fabricated on the spot. 

“Oh, word?” Billy said, his eyebrows dipping on his forehead.  He turned and took another look at the woman and her son as they piled into a BMW 325i.  

Summer rubbed her chin and laid out her plan.  Billy nodded.  He was loyal enough to carry out his boss’s wishes, no matter how sick the plan seemed.

Chapter 10 
High Price to Pay

Mitch sat waiting for Trevor “Blacka” Blake, head of the Tivoli Gardens “Blackout” crew, the most deadly Jamaican drug posse to enter the drug game since the Shower Posse reigned terror in Brooklyn years ago.  Mitch grew more envious by the minute as he looked around Blacka’s palatial estate.  The six thousand square foot dream home sat on three acres of land in the same exclusive Saddle River, New Jersey neighborhood where stars like Reverend Run and Jah Rule maintained homes.  In Mitch’s assessment, the home, which boasted Italian marble floors, two spiral staircases with gold railings, an expansive crystal chandelier, a private elevator, and enough artwork to fill a museum, was how he should be living. 

Blacka glided into the room bopping to the side hard enough to break a hip.  Mitch blinked and hmph’ed silently.  He couldn’t understand why a grown ass man like Blacka insisted on wearing a gold bejeweled crown on his head, huge gold and diamond rings on every finger, including his thumb, and at least six huge diamond encrusted chains probably worth a million dollars around his neck.  Blacka was the epitome of a gaudy, new money, came-from-shit type of dude who felt the need to showcase his newfound hood wealth.  Mitch stood up and extended his hand for the fake, clown ass King Midas wanna-be in front of him.

“What do I owe the honor of a visit from the late, great JB’s right hand man?” Blacka laughed, his charcoal black skin, large lips, prominent flat nose and glowing white teeth making him look like a cross between Flava Flav and Shabba Ranks. 

Mitch blanched at Blacka’s question.  He was afraid Blacka would have a lot of questions.  Mitch knew how suspect his request for a meeting with the Jamaicans seemed since JB and Blacka never got along.  JB had negotiated a truce with Blacka a few years ago wherein both men agreed to stay on opposite ends of Brooklyn.  Blacka felt JB relegating him to Flatbush and Canarsie was a slap in the face, but knew he didn’t have the gun or manpower to handle the Mexicans who backed JB.  It was a precarious relationship at best.

Blacka sat down in a chair fashioned like a king’s throne, complete with a royal staff at the side.  Laughable to say the least.  Mitch took a seat across from Blacka in a regularly upholstered chair. 

“Yo Blacka man, I’m just gon’ be real with you.  I ain’t come here to waste your time or mine.  JB ain’t around no more and I’m looking to branch out―new networks, new deals, new leadership.  Completely disconnected from those Mexican motherfuckers that think they run New York.  Finally tryna be boss of my own part of this pie out here,” Mitch replied, looking Blacka in the eyes as show of strength. 

Poker-faced, Blacka seemed to consider Mitch’s explanation. 

“I thought you had a new leader already,” Blacka chuckled tauntingly, showing all of his square white teeth. 

Blacka could only imagine how Mitch must’ve felt when he wasn’t chosen as next in line after JB.  He shook his huge, block shaped head in pity for Mitch. 

“Mi cyan’t himagine ow yuh mus feel enna ya heart to ave a ooman tek ova wha mi seh rightfully belongs to yuh?” Blacka said, letting his Jamaican patois come out for the first time.  Mitch’s jaw rocked now.  The heat of embarrassment lit in his chest and rose to his face.  Summer becoming boss was definitely still a sore spot for him.  He knew for sure now that all of the crews in Brooklyn were definitely laughing at him. 

“She took over because Cardinale assigned her.  No other reason.  I don’t take orders from nobody. In fact, she wouldn’t know shit about the game without me,” Mitch said bitterly, speaking half-truths.  He had Summer and Cardinale believing he was fine with his position as Summer’s supposed partner, but his presence in front of a known rival signaled otherwise. 

“What is in this for me?  You come here today alone―no muscle, no weapons―boldly asking a favor like we are long lost buds.  I could kill you right now and tell your new boss of this backstabbing,” Blacka said, his voice firm with a hint of annoyance. 

Mitch’s stomach muscles tightened.  He realized how risky his move was, but he was desperate.  He flexed his neck, unable to respond.  He knew what he was doing was a cardinal sin in their line of work. 

“All you can do is respect me for trying to get on my feet. Everybody, even you, know I am the rightful boss.  I put in years of work for JB―he was my brother so I never questioned it.  But when he closed his eyes, shit got twisted.  I am as loyal as they come, but I’ve been wronged and you know sometimes in business you’ve gotta make your own way.  I’m just here tryna to right that wrong…feel me?” Mitch explained as honestly as possible. 

Blacka rocked his head up and down like he fully understood what Mitch was saying.  He picked up a long brown splif and lit the end of it.  The sweet, pungent aroma of the homegrown ganja swirled around the two men relaxing their senses a bit.  Blacka exhaled a thick cloud of the poignant smoke in Mitch’s direction. 

              “If I go into business with you, I would be taking on many enemies.  Cardinale for one, but also Millenia.  I heard Pedro Millenia is not too happy about finding his son’s balls hanging from his estate’s gates,” Blacka said seriously, his voice gauzy with smoke. 

Mitch moved to the edge of his seat, ready to further his cause. 

“If you go into business with me, you’d be eliminating your biggest competition.  You won’t have to go to war.  I’ll make sure Millenia knows that Cardinale and Summer were responsible for his son’s death―that is if he doesn’t eliminate them before I do from the inside.  She trusts me and Cardinale is depending on me to teach her what she needs to know.  That puts the ball in my court.  I’m telling you, just give me a shot and I can put you back on the map in Brooklyn,” Mitch explained, his devious plan coming together with each word. 

Blacka took another long drag of his mind-easing drug.  He rocked his head in deep thought as he exhaled.  Mitch was starting to feel a contact from all of the smoke blown in his face.  Both men’s minds moved like cogs in a machine.

“So how you plan on doing all this?” Blacka wanted to know. 

“Right now she thinks she’s tough, but I know better.  There’s a scared little girl living inside of her and I plan on exploiting that to the fullest.  It won’t be long before she realizes just how much she needs me.  I’m going to make sure of that,” Mitch said with conviction. 

“And what if you try to kill me like you killed your last boss?” Blacka asked, not mincing his words. 

“Nah man…that wasn’t me.  The jury is still out on that one.  I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” Mitch answered, his voice shaky.  “Whose to say it wasn’t her?”

“Prove to me that you have the situation under control and you can give me back Brooklyn and I’ll consider this deal.  But mi ah warn yuh…fi mi, there’s a high price to pay fi betrayal,” Blacka said, putting his splif down. 

“Deal,” Mitch said, standing up and extending his hand again. 

“Nah man, mi nah shake ands with yuh huntil I ave hassurance mi can trust yuh ya know.  Set ups seem to guh and hand and in yuh crew deh,” Blacka said, changing to his thick accent again. 

Mitch dropped his hand at his side.  “You’ll see.  All I need is a little bit of time to make my moves,” Mitch said confidently. 

Blacka nodded, his eyes low and blood shot red now from the potent ganja.  “Make me a believer.” 

**************************

Caralina swung her legs in and out under the rickety metal table as she waited for the detectives to come back into the small, pale walled room.  She looked terrible.  Her usually vibrant skin was now pallid, almost lifeless.  Her lips were cracked and dry like withered leaves.  Her eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed with huge puffy, dark bags underneath them.  Her hair was a ratty nest and she wore the same clothes for three days straight. 

Catalina examined the four broken nails she’d suffered during her attack on Summer a few days ago.  “These can be fixed but what I’m about to do to you your ass will be beyond repair,” Caralina whispered to the empty room, as if miraculously her words could reach Summer’s ears. 

Caralina jumped, startled by the thick, pale grey metal door to her left squeaking open.  She watched through wide eyes as two detectives walked inside.  Their presence seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the claustrophobic, windowless room.  Caralina inhaled, trying to grasp as much air as she could.  She felt like she was choking and she hadn’t even said a word yet. 

“Hi, Ms. Joplin. I’m detective Lyder and this is my partner, detective Bracken,” a slightly overweight, bald-headed and blue-eyed white man introduced.

Caralina nodded calmly, although her heart raced.  She was already regretting coming there.  Speaking to the police, where she was from, was just as bad as killing your own mother.  Cops stunk to her.  A distinctive smell she was inhaling right now—cheap cologne mixed with stale coffee laden bad breath—summed it up. 

“So I understand you have some information for us?” Detective Lyder said, dragging another metal chair close to Caralina and sitting down.  She felt the hair on her arms and neck prickle.  Her throat and mouth were so dry she could barely speak. 

Snitching wasn’t something she’d ever pictured herself doing.  Especially not on someone like Summer, who was directly connected to Jesse.  When Jesse had introduced Caralina to Summer, he had made Caralina promise to be a loyal friend to his new love interest and to “watch out” for her.  Caralina felt like it was the least she could do for Jesse, who had helped her through a real tough situation in her life.  Now as she contemplated betraying both Summer and Jesse, she felt the sting of the past swirling in her mind. 

**************************

Caralina was seventeen and sauntering down the notorious Hunts Point track in the Bronx. Barely clothed, her legs, back and ass ached from walking for so long.  The hunger pangs tearing her insides up didn’t make it any easier to move seductively enough to catch a john.  Caralina’s movements were more akin to limps and scoots that night. 

Jordan Bleu, her pimp, had rolled up on her for the fifth time that night.  “Fuck!” she cursed when she saw his beamer inching up to the curb where she had stopped to rest for a few minutes.  Caralina smiled in Jordan’s direction because she knew how unpredictable his moods could be.  He didn’t return the smile.  Instead, he pursed his lips and waved her over.  Still trying to think positively, Caralina walked over, barely able to stand upright in her heels.

“Hey daddy, you a’ight?” Caralina chimed with the phoniest voice she could muster given the circumstances.  Jordan wasn’t swayed.  He climbed out of his ride with his face drawn into a ferocious scowl. 

“How much you pull?” Jordan asked, getting in her face so close the cinnamon Altoids on his breath shot up Caralina’s nose. 

“Um… it’s…” she stumbled over her words. 

“Answer the fucking question!” Jordan barked. 

“All I was able to get was two fifty so far,” Caralina said, her voice quivering.  Two hundred fifty dollars for almost nine hours of work was pennies and she knew it. 

“A’ight, you out here playing around I see,” Jordan growled, baring his teeth like an animal about to eat its prey.  “Get in the fucking car!” 

Caralina knew better.  She knew if she got into Jordan’s car the ass whooping she’d receive would be the worst to date.  Jordan had already warned her days ago about her low earnings.  Caralina tried to explain to him that she couldn’t bring in much when she was on her period, but that explanation was not satisfactory.  There was but so much she could make just selling quick ass blow jobs.  As she stood there with her body trembling so hard she could barely balance on her feet, Caralina imagined the pummeling she would receive.  A black eye or maybe two.  Maybe a broken nose and two missing teeth like one of Jordan’s other girls received.  Or worse…maybe he would slice her face and she’d have a permanent buck fifty to show the world.  Her flight or fight instinct kicked in. 

“You act like you can’t hear bitch! I said get the fuck in the car!” Jordan hissed reaching out towards her. 

Caralina did something that defied all sensibility. 

“No,” she mumbled, stepping backwards in her six-inch clear plastic heels.  She considered running, but it would’ve been impossible to move in those shoes without breaking her ankle or falling flat on her face. 

“What you said to me?” Jordan growled through his teeth.  He looked at her through squinted, fury-filled. His fists clenched tightly at his side.  Caralina swallowed hard and decided at that moment that she was just going to take her chances on the street. She did not want to get locked in that car and beat mercilessly. 

“I said I’m not getting in the car,” Caralina spoke up louder this time, some strange force giving her courage.  Maybe the pain in her back and legs left her partially delirious. 

Before the words could fully leave her lips, Jordan pounced on her like a cheetah on an antelope.  He hit Caralina so hard blood sprayed from her nose like a busted fire hydrant.

“You talkin’ breezy like a nigga don’t own you n’ shit…huh?” Jordan gritted as he winded his hand in Caralina’s hair and tugged her down onto her knees.  Fire raged in her scalp as Jordan pulled. She wouldn’t have a strand of hair on her head if he kept it up. 

“You ain’t gon’ listen to me?  Really? That’s what the fuck you goin’ with? Well I say differently.  Bitch, you must’ve sucked a dick called courage t’day, huh?” Jordan huffed as he dragged her towards the car, the cement shredding away the skin on her knees and shins.  Caralina felt like someone doused her legs with kerosene and lit them afire.  She felt pebbles from the concrete digging in and finding a home in her flesh.  Jordan reached under where her head was hanging and thrust his balled knuckles full force into Caralina’s face.