Welfare Wifeys (7 page)

“Listen, if this is about that little thing with the guy Harold, I promise you that I’m working on it, brother.” Arthur gave him a dopey smile.

Without warning Don B. smacked the cocaine-coated mirror from Arthur’s hand. “First of all, I ain’t ya fucking brother, cracker, and second of all you’re a damn liar. You took my bread and left my lil nigga Fully for dead!”

During the production of the Left Coast’s second album Fully
had gone out drinking with some of the homeys and gotten into a fight with some guys in a bar. He hit one of the guys with a bottle and disfigured him. The situation looked bad for Fully but Weis had promised to get him off for the right price. Desperate to get the album finished Don B. went against the advice of his regular attorney and paid Arthur five hundred thousand dollars to get it done. In the end Fully ended up blowing trial and getting a flat twelve instead of the six to nine the DA initially offered.

Arthur adjusted his tie nervously. “Don, that wasn’t my fault, it was that cunt of a judge and rotten luck! What are the odds that her son was killed five years ago by the same gang Fully belonged to? She had a hard-on for the guy from the time she read his jacket. It was outta my hands.”

“Of course, because you needed your hands free to take my money, you fucking crook!” Don B. snapped.

“Hey, now that’s not true. Don, I fought my ass off for Fully, and when I blew it I accepted responsibility for it and gave you a discount to get his appeal done. I know you’re salty because it’s taking so long, but these things take time with the red tape and all, ya know?”

“Yeah, we know all about
tape
.” Don B. nodded to one of his henchmen who produced a roll of duct tape. “Weis, I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t no fool. You never filed Fully’s appeal because you knew he couldn’t win the damn case in the first place. Now I gave you a half a ticket for the case and if you stack that on top of the appeal you never filed for and add interest, it puts you into me for about a million and change. Do you have my money?”

“Come on, Don, you know me, we go back. Listen, on my mother’s eyes I put that paperwork in, I can even show you the e-mail confirming it.” Arthur went to turn his computer monitor around but Don B. stopped him.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Don B. said coldly.

Arthur looked from the man holding the duct tape and smiling
menacingly, back to Don B., and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Don, I didn’t steal from you, man, I swear to Christ. Okay, if you wanna work something out I’ve got fifty thousand in my desk drawer and I can get you a little more in a few days. Let’s say I kick you back the bread you gave me on the appeal and we’re square, huh?”

Don B. removed his shades and glared at Arthur. “I gave you a million dollars which is what I expect back.”

“Don, let’s be reasonable about this, we’re friends for Christ’s sake!” Arthur began, but was cut off when Don B. stuck a gun in his belly.

“Friends don’t fuck friends, Arthur.” Don B. waved his men forward. Arthur struggled with everything he had but he was no match for the thugs who used the duct tape to bind him stomach-down across his desk. Using two pairs of handcuffs they clamped Arthur’s ankles to the legs of the desk, forcing him to have to lie with his ass up.

“Don, what the hell are you doing, man?” Arthur struggled to crane his neck so he could see the men over his shoulder.

“It’s like I said, kid, friends don’t fuck friends, but when you took my bread that ended our friendship.” Don B. hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and gave Arthur a look that made his blood run cold.

When Arthur started to get the picture he began thrashing wildly trying to get free of the tape. “Wait, wait, wait, you’re going too far, Don B! I know I’m in the wrong because I owe you money, but this is fucked up on so many levels!”

Don B. frowned. “Arthur, you got me twisted. The Don only indulges in pussy, I don’t play them games you hinting at.” Hearing this made Arthur breathe a sigh of relief, but it was a short-lived moment when he heard Don B.’s voice again. “Yo, Herc,” Don B. called over his shoulder. All 350 pounds of Herc lumbered forward licking his lips at the sight of Arthur bound and helpless. “Herc,
until this piece of shit pays what he owes, he’s property of Big Dawg. Enjoy, my nigga.” Don B. patted Herc on the back and headed for the office door. Devil grabbed the secretary by the arm and followed.

“Don, you can’t do this to me! This is inhumane!” Arthur shouted over the sounds of his pants and underwear being ripped.

Don B. stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Nah, this is the game you chose to play.”

Don B. and Devil escorted the secretary into the reception area, leaving Herc and whoever else stayed behind to their devices. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably because she knew after what she had witnessed there was no way they would let her live.

Devil went around the girl’s desk and retrieved her purse from the floor. He fumbled around inside until he came up holding her driver’s license and a picture of her kids. He ran his thumb across the image of her teenage daughter and licked his chops. “What’d you see, baby?” he addressed her coolly.

“I didn’t see nothing, I swear I didn’t,” she said between sobs.

Don B. pondered her answer for what seemed like an eternity before giving Devil the nod to cut her loose. “Come here, shorty.” Don B. waved her over. The secretary took timid steps toward Don B., keeping her eyes glued to the ground. “Look at me.” He forced her face up. In his hand he held a thick roll of money. He placed the money into her trembling hands along with a slip of paper that had a number scribbled on it. “Take a few days and get ya shit right, ma. Use that number if you want a real job, ya dig?” The girl was too frightened to answer so she just nodded dumbly and scurried out.

“How you gonna scare a chick shitless and then offer her a job?” Devil asked after the girl had gone.

Don B. smirked at him. “I was feeling kind. Besides, if I get her on the payroll I stand a better chance to sample that sweet little ass. Did you see the body on that bitch?”

The two of them laughed so hard at Don B.’s twisted humor that
they had almost forgotten that they were at the scene of a crime. That changed when they heard Arthur’s high-pitched squeal coming from the next room.

Don B. led his entourage out of the plush Fifth Avenue building as if they totally belonged, dressed in baggy jeans and jewelry. Devil drove Don B. in his Durango while Herc and the rest of the soldiers rode in the minivan. On the way to their vehicles they drew the occasional stare from the business types they passed but one set of eyes lingered on them longer than anyone else’s. Hatred swelled behind the eyes and it took everything the watcher had not to move on Don B. right then and there, but the watcher was patient. The watcher had waited years to settle up with the Don so a few more days wouldn’t change what was coming. Only when the men had climbed back into their vehicles and pulled off did the watcher take his eyes off the entourage.

“You never cease to amaze me with the levels of stupid shit you choose to pull,” Devil told Don B. once they were safely away from the scene. “The plan was for us to come down here and maybe smack Arthur around a little to get him to pay back the money he owed; you never said nothing about no funny ass rape shit!”

“Sometimes plans change, my nigga,” Don B. said as if it was nothing.

“Yeah, I should’ve known something was funny when you insisted on bringing Herc and the rest of them ass pirates along. My nigga, Arthur Weis is a scumbag, but he’s still a fucking lawyer! We might’ve been able to get away with beating his ass, but there’s no way in hell this shit is gonna ride.”

“Sure he is. To a man like Arthur money is more precious than his pride. If he gives up what happened then all his shady shit comes
to light and that’s the end of his career and his lifestyle. Nah, he ain’t gonna say shit.”

“I guess you got it all figured out, huh?”

“Don’t I always? That’s why I’m the Don and these niggaz is soldiers,” Don B. said smugly. His statement wasn’t directed toward Devil, but the truth in it still stung a bit. “Now, on to the next order of business; did Animal make his flight?”

Devil shrugged. “He said he would, but the plane landed hours ago and I still ain’t heard from him.”

“See, this is the problem when you’re dealing with these
Rain Man
ass niggaz. He knows we’ve got a lot going on and his ass is MIA . . . again. That’s my word, B, if this nigga ain’t on deck for the session I booked for him and Chip we gonna have an issue.”

“Yeah right.” Devil laughed. “You talk that shit now, but I know ya lying. Animal done put so much bread in ya pocket I’m surprised you ain’t never tried to kiss the nigga in the mouth,
pause
.”

Don B. chuckled. “Yeah, that crazy muthafucka is hella talented, he’s just weird as hell. Did Shawna ever call you back and confirm our appointment with ol’ boy?”

“Yeah, she said he griped about you wanting to do another walk-through, but eventually saw it our way and agreed.”

“Fucking right he did for as much bread as I already dropped on this shit, just the licenses alone cost me a grip. Sal and them really fucked that club up and I don’t even wanna talk about the back taxes.” Don B. massaged his temples. “It’s gonna take some work, but I know I can bring the beat back. The Zone might be dead, but Code Red is gonna be alive and kicking come the grand reopening.”

Code Red was Don B.’s latest venture. The midtown club had had several different names, but the most recent had been The Zone. The cat Sal who had bought the spot had champagne dreams with
beer
money. The Zone had gotten off to a good start, but it wasn’t long before Sal’s poor business moves had him spending more than he was bringing in. Sal had lost everything and the city was about
to seize the place before a friend of a friend introduced him to Don B. It was only supposed to be a loan until Sal got on his feet, but when Don B. saw the potential in the place he muscled his way in and just like that Sal now had a partner and his club a new name, Code Red.

Devil shook his head. “Don, I still can’t believe you went through with it. That spot ain’t jumped like that in damn near ten years. How do you figure you can do what the last five owners haven’t been able to?”

Don B. just smiled. “Because I’m the Don. Now let’s go see a man about a club.”

By the time Don B. and his entourage pulled up on the corner of Ninety-sixth and Amsterdam Sal was already standing outside the spot. Sal looked like he was snatched from the cast of some B-rated mob movie dressed in a salmon-colored jogging suit and white sneakers. He was a sour-looking Italian man with thinning brown hair and a plump red nose that made him resemble W. C. Fields. Between his stubby ringed fingers he pinched a brown cigarette, which he took deep pulls on while watching Don B. through his fishbowl glasses.

“Sal, what’s up, baby?” Don B. extended his hand and Sal reluctantly shook it.

“Don, I swear you’re the biggest ballbuster I know. We’ve gone over this stuff a hundred times already so I don’t see why I gotta rush outta my kid’s basketball game to do this shit again?” Sal said bitterly.

“Because it’ll make me feel better,” Don B. told Sal and brushed past him into Code Red.

The outside of Code Red was made of black one-way glass allowing the partygoers to see out but keeping those outside the club blind to what was going on inside. That had been Don B.’s first decree
when he came on board. Inside was a buzz of activity with contractors, electricians, and deliverymen moving every which way in preparation for Don B.’s party. The event was still a few days away but for what Don B. had planned they needed almost a week to get ready. Most of it was over the top, but that was how Don B. wanted it. Code Red was to be his newest baby and he planned on spoiling it like he did when he birthed Big Dawg.

“Looks good, man,” Devil said, running his finger across the top of the twelve-foot-long glass bar. It was the longest of the three which would serve the patrons of Code Red.

“Like I keep telling your boy here, I got it under control,” Sal said, looking at his watch. “The cases of liquor will be delivered tomorrow and I’ve already confirmed with the caterer that the food will be here the morning of the event. Are you satisfied?”

“And security?” Don B. asked, ticking off the checklist in his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I got some guys from my brother-in-law’s company to handle the basics and a few friends of mine will also be here to handle any potentially messy situations,” Sal assured him. “Now that just leaves us wit that last thing we talked about. I was gonna let it wait until later in the week but since you insisted on us meeting today we may as well take care of it now.”

Don B. looked to Devil who produced an envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. Don B. extended the envelope to Sal, but held it short of his greedy mitts. “So this ensures that we ain’t gonna have no problems with the police, right?”

“Don B., I told you the guy who set it up is a friend of ours, so why are you so fucking paranoid?”

“Sal, there’s a difference between paranoid and careful. The Don has many enemies on the streets.”

“Not a lovable guy like you?” Sal asked sarcastically.

“You’re a real funny guy, Sally.” Don B. tossed him the envelope.

“Now if that’ll be all youz guys can get outta here so my people
can work and I might be able to get back to my daughter’s game before the fourth quarter, not that I ain’t gonna have to hear my wife bitching about me running out for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, go handle ya business. I got some moves to make too,” Don B. said and led Devil back outside.

“This joint is looking kinda sexy, kid.” Devil hugged Don B. playfully as they walked.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m being so meticulous about this whole thing. Son, niggaz hated on me in the streets and in the rap game, but I’ve been able to fly under the radar and keep the bullshit to a minimum, but this club is gonna put me somewhere else with it. The larger I get the more malicious energy these niggaz gonna send at me and I’m trying to avoid Murphy’s Law, smell me?”