Trickery (7 page)

The two friends had agreed to meet at a restaurant near the walk-up, and when Sallie arrived Lin was already there. They ate a small meal and then Lin suggested they head over to Sallie’s new apartment.

The stench of bloody pork and gamey chicken coming from the butcher shop downstairs and the meat storage unit upstairs was almost suffocating, but Sallie sucked it up without complaint as he followed Lin up the chipped, rickety stairs. Once inside the apartment he took a long look around. There was a pullout sofa in the front room that doubled for a bed, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom that was roughly the size of a closet. It was way too small to hold a bathtub, and the rusted-out sink was in the same stall as the jerry-rigged shower.

There was one other thing that Sallie noticed. There was a fake statue of Buddha pushed up against the wall. Sallie crossed the room and touched the statue. It was about six feet high and had been carved from antique Cambodian wood. He knocked three times on its fat, round belly. It was hollow, and nice and broad across the navel.

“I’ll take it,” Sallie said, holding his hand out for the keys.

Lin frowned as he toked on his blunt. “Take what? The Buddha?”

“No, asshole,” Sallie said, snatching the stick of weed from his boy as he eyed the statue critically. He puffed and passed, then stared. If he positioned his stolen bricks of cash just right he could probably stuff most of the cash right up inside this guy’s protruding beer belly. “I’ll take this funky little shit hole. I wanna rent it for the next three months.”

$$$$$

“I’m telling y’all idiots that boy Maleek is the one who pulled the trigger on Truth!” Salida swore up and down as she argued with Ace and Pluto. She knew damn well that after turning down Flex’s business proposition and sending him a note that said, Fuck you! she needed to come up with a plan to take that young niggah all the way down.

She raised her voice and glared at Ace, trying to punk him. “You heard me! Maleek was the shooter and Flex put him up to it! Don’t tell me y’all niggahs is too scared to go over there and pay that fool back!”

“Nah,” Ace said, shaking his head as he challenged his boss-woman and displayed a rare moment of opposition to her will. “I’on’t think it’s like that, Salida. Me and Pluto got us a bizzness agreement going on with Flex. An arrangement. I’m telling you we gotta know for sure before we start talking outta our necks like that.”

Salida broke. She needed to get these fools on her side and quick. Flex was just a younger, greedier version of Granite McKay, and she fully expected him to retaliate against her in some kind of vicious way. She didn’t mind going to war with Flex’s twisted ass, but she knew she couldn’t go up against him all by herself.

She sneered at Ace in disgust. “And
I’m
telling
your
dumb ass that it was him! Besides, we got a witness! Bilal saw his ass!” she insisted.

Gripping Bilal’s arm, she turned away from Ace and pushed the dreadlocked young’un up in Pluto’s face instead. “Tell Pluto what happened, Bilal! Tell him! You saw Maleek shoot Truth with your own two eyes, didn’t you?”

Bilal stood there shaking as he swallowed the rock in his throat. The young’un was so shook he could only nod. Salida had tortured the shit outta three of her cut-room boys before one of them squealed on him and told her that Bilal was the one who had run her ass over in the back alley that dark night. Not only had Salida gotten a crew of her corner boys to roll up on Bilal’s younger brother and smash him until he was halfway dead, she had threatened to drop a dime to Ace and Pluto and tell them that
Bilal
was the shooter who had actually slumped Truth.

“Yeah, it was him,” Bilal confirmed when he finally managed to get his tongue unwrapped from around his nuts. Salida was a big-ass liar! Not only didn’t he shoot his boy Truth, he hadn’t seen Maleek pull no trigger on that niggah neither!

“Not only did I see him do it, but Maleek even
told
me he did it,” Bilal said, lying through his teeth. “That niggah told me he put the tool on Truth over a bitch. He said he popped him because Truth stole his girl.
Nooni
. I guess that Puerto Rican chick was suckin’ Maleek’s dick first and that niggah got mad when Truth boned in on that and snatched Nooni up. It was all about payback. Revenge.”

Bilal felt like shit inside as he mixed a little bit of truth with his lie. That piece of ass Monique had paid him with had been real good, but it wasn’t worth all this. She’d let him run his dick up in her chocolate dookey in exchange for bouncing Salida off his bumper, but nobody had told him he was gonna get his brother’s face stomped in and have to play like he was an eyewitness to a goddamn murder.

“For real, I saw him, dude,” Bilal told Pluto, and then he added something slick, just in case that crazy bitch Salida tried to renege on her promise and cross him up. “And word on the streets is that Maleek was the one behind the wheel of the whip that crashed into Mizz Salida too. Matter fact, Maleek bragged to all his boyz about pulling a hit-and-run the night she got hit.”

Frowning at his bold game, Salida cut her eyes at Bilal, and then glared at Ace and Pluto. “See? Told y’all! Bilal saw Maleek blast Truth right in the neck!”

Pluto stared at Bilal and then bellowed, “Niggah if you seent that shit go down then why the fuck you didn’t
tell
nobody?” 

“’Cause he was
scared
!” Salida barked, stepping in front of the boy and using her body to shield him from Pluto’s deadly glare. “He didn’t tell nobody because he was too scared that Flex and the Divine Nine was gonna put a target on his forehead just like they put one on Truth! Besides, if Bilal had told y’all then who was gonna look out for him? Who was gonna protect him? Everybody already knows y’all asses are way too soft to go up against Flex anyway! The only one Bilal felt safe telling was
me
. And that’s why I’m telling you. And it ain’t because I give a fuck about you, Pluto, because you already know I don’t, but I loved me some Truth and I just figured you would wanna get some justice for your murdered nephew!”

The look on Pluto’s face was one of deadly rage. That grimy niggah Flex! Truth had been his manz. His fam. His nephew. His blood. Them niggahs had capped him in the head and blown out his goddamn eyeball, and that shit was unpardonable.

Pluto pondered on that little distribution deal Flex wanted to get down on where they would go in hard together for G’s old connect, and then split the supply channels right down the middle. Hell naw! That shit was off! Flex could kiss his ass! He wasn’t doin’ no bizz with his enemy! If Bilal was telling it right and the Divine Nine was behind Maleek’s cowardly slump of Truth, then that lil sawed-off, rat-faced runt muh’fucka Flex was gonna get handled. Matter fact, Pluto thought as his heart burned hot in his chest, Flex was gonna get tricked
and
fuckin’ handled. He was willing to put his last money on that shit.

Pluto knocked over his chair as he jumped up and stormed out of the room. If he hadn’t been so blinded by rage and deafened by the need for revenge, he woulda been able to peep the scandalous Salida as she grinned real wide and snickered in satisfaction.

CHAPTER 8

It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon when the front door of Second Chances barbershop swung open wide.

“Yo! Trey!”

A down-ass white dude named Skeet busted up wildly inside the shop like somebody was chasing after him with a pit bull. Skeet was the owner of an urban clothing store called Empire Attire and a dedicated member of the Talented Ten, and right now his blond hair was wild, his pale cheeks were flushed red, and a look of pure rage was clouding his face.

Trey looked up quickly, surprised by the disturbance. He had an old-timer from the neighborhood in his chair shining his baldhead, and six of the other nine chairs had customers in them too.

“Yo, them fools hit my delivery truck, man!” Skeet barked. “And my safe too! I had Hill posted up at the back door waiting for a shipment to come in, and they got past his ass! Fizz had just emptied the safe and was about to go make a bank drop when they bum-rushed him too.”

Skeet was red and swole with fury. His urban clothing store brought in big loot in the hood, and he sold his trendy gear at cut-rate prices so he could keep it affordable to his customers. His father and his grandfather had both been businessmen in Harlem, and Skeet had grown up on these mean streets and had been married to his sistah-girl honey from high school for five years. Just like the other members of their coalition who owned grocery stores, fish markets, dry cleaners, rib shacks, deli shops, check cashing places, and even AT&T franchises, Skeet had joined the Talented Ten to help keep his small business, and the neighborhood, thriving.

“You mean Fizz just gave your cash up just like that? That cat didn’t even try to stand his ground?”

Skeet shrugged. “Them bandits was brandishing from the gate, my brother. Fizz said he had a Glock stuck halfway up his nose before he could even reach for his piece.”

Trey set his clippers down and glanced out the window. He peeped two members of his street security team roving outside. They were posted up and standing watch just like they was supposed to be.

He shook his head. “Yo, Skeet man, how your soldiers let that kinda thing happen? What’s bad for your business is bad for everybody’s business. Why didn’t nobody sound the alarm so we could rally up and take them cats down?”

Skeet frowned. “Hill said it happened too fast. Them boyz was layin’ in the cut. They musta been hiding in the back of the truck when it pulled up. Zack was supposed to be on guard too, but that fool had just went to take a piss when they rolled up.”

Trey smirked. “I told you before about that slow cat Zack, didn’t I? When you put a weak dude on security ain’t nobody gone be safe. How much they get? Is Fizz good?”

“Fizz is stable, man. He’s madder than a muh’fucka, but stable. He said they got everythang out the register. Every fuckin’ dollar. But we ain’t sweating the doe, man. We just ready to get up in somebody’s ass, you feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Trey said. “But that’s why we put all these systems in place, ya dig? To make sure shit like this don’t happen. Them fools musta been real desperate to come around here violating like that. These local cats know they can’t match up with us.”

“It’s all them new drugs,” the old-head sitting in Trey’s chair butt in. “These young boys is losing their damn minds over them new drugs.”

A cute chick in her early twenties scooped her toddler out of the barber’s chair right next to Trey’s. His clothes were all brand name, and his little shape-up was slick and tight.

“Hell, the crack craze was bad enough,” she said, shaking her head. “But now them fools is out there chasing that crystal meth too. That’s even worse.”

“You ain’t lying,” Skeet agreed quickly as he followed Trey to the back of the shop. “Check this out,” he said once they were behind the closed doors of Trey’s office. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small vial and held it in his pale, outstretched palm. “Fizz said he recognized them dudes, and one of them dropped this shit on his way out.”

Trey peered into his manz hand. The small vial held icy-looking crystals and had the words Divine Nine stamped on the outside.

A hot ball of rage jumped in his chest and his dark, piercing eyes narrowed and became even darker.

“That little muh’fucka,” he said. “That’s Flex and his crew.”

“Flex? That young boy who used to run around with your brother Cooter? I thought he got popped?”

Trey nodded. “He did. But them fools messed around and got him in the gut when they shoulda crashed his dome. I had a talk with that youngsta right after my brother got killed, man. Him and Cooter was scheming on bagging the drug trade all over Harlem. I told him if he ever brought his little ass anywhere near here he would regret it. That niggah’s testing us, man. Inching his fucking toe over the line.”

“Yeah, you right. He sent them boys,” Skeet agreed as he studied the vial. “This is definitely his work. Fizz said it was Rome, Boog, and that lil cat Maleek you be sonnin’. He was ridin’ with ’em too.”

Trey froze and grilled the white boy. “You sure about that? You sure Fizz said it was Maleek? Little Leek?”

“Yep,” Skeet nodded. “That’s who I’m talking about. That cat might be young, but he’s real twisted. So what we gonna do about this shit?” he asked. “Call the cops?”

Trey chuckled and shook his head like Skeet was crazy. He touched his front pocket and felt the cold slice of metal that was resting against his thigh.

“Nah, we don’t call no cops when a faded niggah like Flex pulls a lick on us, homey. We assemble us a war council, dude. And then we get ours in.”

“Cool,” Skeet said with a nod of satisfaction. “Them lil cats is prolly up on the Ave right now styling my shit! Rome and Boog are gonna get served, but whattup witcha boy, Maleek? We gonna get in his ass too?”

An unreadable look washed over Trey’s face.

“Nah,” he said. “Don’t fuck with Leek. Don’t even think about touching him. Maleek is mine. I’ll handle that lil cat.”

CHAPTER 9

Money-making Monique was busy fake-moaning her ass off, when in reality she was steady scheming and her pussy was numb and couldn’t feel a goddamn thing.

“Yeah, Daddy!” she screamed as she bounced up and down on Pluto’s lap. “Gimme that good dick, baby.
Ooooh
, yeah, fuck this shit up!”

She was facing away from him and impaled on his wood, and behind her Pluto was gripping her small waist and raising and lowering her on his pole. Babbling sexual gibberish, Mo arched her spine and thrust her bold chocolate cake way out so he could really get up in it. Smirking as she worked her ass-cheeks, she rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling and gripped Pluto’s fat thighs to brace herself upright.

Trying her best to get him to blow his load, Monique started shuddering and stuttering like she was turned on to the max and just about to cum. She made her pussy muscles get soft and loose, and then she contracted her pelvis and grinded down real hard, making her coochie walls suck him in deep and tight as shit. Performing like a mothafucka, Mo moaned and yelped like Pluto’s slimy dick was a stiff, delicious bomb-pop, but every bit of it was just part of her professional hoe-act because Monique knew she couldn’t get off on this niggah’s wood if she tried.