Mafioso Page 12

  Avery drove off. Maxine sat in the backseat and frowned. Avery answered to Mason, Mason answered to Bugsy, and Bugsy answered to his father. That was the chain of command. So where did that leave her?

  It was early afternoon when Avery stopped the truck in front of Pier 86 in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood. The place was open to the public and home to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum.

  “I’ll be right back. Stay here,” Maxine told the two men.

  “We need to come wit’ you,” said Mason.

  “I said I’ll be okay. Stay here!” she commanded harshly.

  Mason looked reluctant, but he relented. Maxine climbed out of the truck and looked around. It was cold and the area was sparsely occupied with folks. She walked toward the pier carrying the satchel. She could feel Mason and Avery’s eyes tracking her from behind. She knew they were watching her closely. She felt nervous and reluctant to pay these fools again, but she didn’t have a choice. Until she could find someone to handle her problem, this was going to be it.

  She paid the admission and walked into the museum. There were a few folks inside the massive structure, mostly tourists exploring the place—wholesome families with children. Maxine looked at the white folks for a few, thought about her own future, felt some sadness, and then she proceeded with her business. She was to meet Tarsha at the food court.

  There the bitch was, seated at a table alone. Maxine locked eyes with her and felt reluctant to hand her nearly one million dollars in cash. She had to take a deep breath. Maxine walked toward her, her eyes transfixed on Tarsha. She noticed since their first meeting at One Police Plaza, Tarsha’s upkeep had significantly improved. She observed the Jimmy Choo heels, the Prada purse, the diamond earrings, and the diamond rings and bracelet, and the fifteen-hundred-dollar leather coat. Maxine knew it all came from her money. That bitch was living well off of her, buying nice shit. It bothered her.

  Maxine sat opposite Tarsha, and their hatred for each other was palpable. Maxine placed the satchel on the floor near her feet and nudged it closer to Tarsha’s reach. She secured it in her hand. The smirk on Tarsha’s face started to make her angry.

  “This is it. Nothing else will come after this,” she said.

  “Bitch, you don’t give out demands. We say it ends when we want it to end. And this don’t look like five million,” Tarsha replied.

  “It’s almost a million. Be grateful!”

  “You think this is a fuckin’ game?”

  “No, but until Scott is either acquitted or convicted, I have nothing else to give you.”

  “We will fuck up your life, bitch! You keep comin’ up short wit’ our money, and we will destroy you,” Tarsha griped.

  “Look, I’m done! So you can go ahead and tell Scott. But let me remind you of something. If you do, then your gravy train with me ends. Because he will kill me and he will kill you and Wacka, and your son. At least with me alive, there will be more cash coming in if he gets acquitted. Besides, if you’ve been watching the news, then you would understand that his money is tied up right now. The feds froze his accounts, and I don’t have access to any of his illegal funds,” Maxine explained.

  “Bitch, I don’t want to hear all that. That’s your fuckin’ problem, not ours! Now you better start coming correct, or we—”

  Tarsha didn’t get to finish her threat. Something inside Maxine snapped. She leapt from her seat and charged at Tarsha like a beast from the jungle. Her clenched fist collided with Tarsha’s face and it felt like she broke her nose. Tarsha toppled over in the chair. She couldn’t get her footing quick enough. Maxine was on top of her with repeated punches. It was weeks of frustration and pent-up anger finally being released, and Tarsha was on the end of an ass-whooping. Blood flew everywhere.

  “Fuck you, bitch! I’m tired of your shit!” Maxine yelled.

  Her punches were solid, like Iron Mike Tyson. Tarsha had never felt anything like it. She’d underestimated the bitch. She felt her face smashing into the floor, her eyes swelling, and her beautiful wardrobe being torn up by Maxine’s abrupt attack. She was being pulverized.

  “Get off her!” Maxine heard him yell.

  It was Wacka coming out of nowhere to aid his woman. He tried to attack Maxine, but he couldn’t get a grip around her with missing fingers.

  Tarsha was still underneath her attacker, screaming her head off. “Get this bitch off me! Get her off me!” she yelled.

  A slight crowd started to gather around the altercation. They stood aghast at the scuffle happening in such a family oriented place. Who were these two women? And why were they fighting each other? It was chaos and they weren’t going to stand for it.

  “Someone, hurry and call the police,” a voice shouted from the crowd.

  “You bitch! Don’t fuck with me!” Maxine screamed. Her fist smashed into Tarsha’s face one last time before two men rushed in to break up the scuffle and pull them apart.

  During the chaos, the satchel filled with the money remained unattended; it had been kicked around and tossed to the side. No one but the two girls was any wiser to what was inside. Now that they had been pulled apart, Maxine was able to compose herself, while Tarsha looked a bloody mess. Max breathed heavily and knew it was time to go. She noticed the satchel nearby. She picked it up and could have easily left with it, but she decided to throw it at Wacka, shouting, “Take your fuckin’ money and leave me the fuck alone!”

  Clumsily, he tried to catch it, but his hands failed him and he let it fumble to the floor. Maxine was keen and watched him try to pick up the bag with his gloved hands. It was awkward. He seemed all thumbs. Why? She shrugged it off and made her escape before the cops came.

  Tarsha and Wacka fled the area too—almost a million dollars richer. But Tarsha was fuming. Maxine had put her hands on her, and now she really wanted to make that bitch pay.

  22

  Lucky sat in the backseat of the Navigator in a slight daze. The city went by her in a blur as the vehicle did 70mph on the highway. Her men were dead by her hands and she felt alone and dismayed, but she also felt that she’d left a good impression on Angel. Her connection with him started shaky, but she felt confident that he was a man of his word.

  Angel’s men felt that it was foolish and unwise to get into business with Lucky. They thought for sure that he was going to murder her along with her men. And yet, he hadn’t. They had to admit to themselves that the girl really had heart. Killing four people in one night was nothing to sneeze at.

  Angel wanted to test Lucky for two reasons. One, he only dealt with men. He felt their world was a man’s world and women shouldn’t be allowed in it. The only reason he did business with Layla was because he knew she helped build her husband’s empire. Layla had been making moves for decades and she had a strong reputation for being ruthless. Angel needed to know if Lucky was just as ruthless and tough as her mother—maybe even crazier.

  The second reason he made her kill four men was to test if she was working for the feds. If so, it would have been asinine for her to commit a quadruple homicide. Angel had secretly recorded her murderous deeds, and the video was a smoking gun if she ever tried to get cute with him.

  Angel was known to have an arsenal of evidence against all kinds of people, from criminals to cops. If he ever got jammed up, he was going to use his evidence to get out of jail free or take some serious drug lords down with him. Now Lucky was one of many he had tangled in his web.

  It was early morning with dawn approaching in two hours. The driver smoked a cigarette and soon neared Lucky’s South Beach hotel. It had been a short ride, but it felt like it’d been hours. Lucky released a deep sigh and slouched in the seat. It had been a long day for her, and her outfit was wasted on murder and deceit—no party at all. Despite the hour, South Beach was still alive with bustling nightclubs. Lucky wanted nothing to do with partying and the nightlife. She’d had enough of Flor
ida and she wanted to fly back to New York ASAP.

  The truck stopped in front of her hotel and Lucky made her exit and strutted into the lobby fatigued.

  She went up to her plush room and peeled away the red dress from her petite brown frame and went into the bathroom to draw a hot bath. The hot water poured from the pipes into the sunken tub and it was filling quickly. Though she literally didn’t have blood on her hands, in her mind, she did. Her first murders by her own hands were somewhat overwhelming for her, but she would get through it. She justified her actions as the cost of doing business and nothing else.

  The tub was soon full and her bath was waiting. Before she could enjoy it, she heard a faint knock at her hotel room door. Trepidation swelled in her as she donned the white cotton hotel robe and went toward the direction of the knock. She wasn’t expecting any company, especially at this hour, and she didn’t have a weapon, since she’d had her bodyguards in town. She felt extremely vulnerable.

  Carefully peeking through the peephole, she saw that it was Angel standing outside her room door. What else does he want from me? she asked herself. She couldn’t ignore him. He knew she was inside. She inhaled and sucked in a deep, calming breath to galvanize her nerves before slowly opening the door.

  Angel smiled. She stepped aside, and he walked inside.

  “Is everything okay?” she said, closing the door.

  “I should be asking you that,” he replied. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. I’m just here checking to see if you’re good.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You did good tonight . . . impressive,” he said.

  “I want this to work between us.”

  He smiled. “It will.”

  Lucky stood before him in her white robe, while he stood there in his white linen shorts and top and white Gucci loafers, with his dark shades off and in his hand. He admired her sexiness.

  It felt like he was about to put her through another test—a more intimate one. “You have no reason to be afraid. I adore your company.”

  Angel stepped closer. Lucky didn’t move. The look in his eyes showed what he wanted from her—sex. She took another deep breath to steady her nerves.

  “I find you quite intriguing for a black woman,” he said.

  Wow!

  Angel wasn’t attracted to races outside his own. He didn’t consider himself a racist, but when it came to mating, he believed you stick to your own kind. But there was something about the pretty black girl with the droopy eye and a cold heart. He couldn’t allow her to leave the state without sampling her goods.

  He wanted to kiss her and she didn’t deny him. Their lips pressed together and he kissed her passionately. She didn’t resist. In fact, his lips against hers felt kind of good. But why did he want to have sex with her? Lucky’s mind was spinning with reasoning, but his hand against her breast distracted her. It had been a while since she’d had sex.

  Slowly, he untied her robe, removed it from her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Her nakedness was beautiful. He kissed her again, and they soon found themselves in the bedroom.

  Lucky felt the great pleasure of her nipples being licked and kissed softly. He sent electric signals down to her clit, making the entire area wet. She felt overwhelmed with sensation. She moaned and wondered how she could fuck him after he made her kill three of her men. Her emotions to be appeased sexually were too strong, though.

  Angel undressed, and Lucky was impressed by his hefty eight-inch cock. She became fearless and spread her legs for him. He placed himself between her inviting thighs and thrust inside of her. Lucky gasped and clenched her body against his. She felt every inch of him. Feeling him move inside of her, she had no second thoughts or doubts.

  He was pressed against her in the missionary position like a hot iron to clothes, and for an average sized man at five-eight, he became a gigantic lover. His dick felt hard and smooth inside her, and his kisses were like magnets to her skin. The friction against her hardened clit twisted her body against the bed.

  Her eyes were shut and her body wriggled against him. “Oh shit!” Lucky cried out.

  She moved from beneath him, saddled up, and rode him cowgirl style, gyrating on his fully erect dick as it stimulated her G-spot and clitoris to a brewing orgasm. She felt in control, but in actuality, he was the one in control of her. He thrust up into her and she leaned forward as he massaged her breasts and toyed with her nipples. Her breathing started quickening. Her legs quivered and there was no holding it back.

  “I’m gonna come!” she announced breathlessly.

  They both came multiple times that night, and they knew that this would only be a one-night stand. Three hours after his entrance, Angel left the room, leaving Lucky asleep on the bed.

  Later that day, Lucky boarded an American Airlines flight back to JFK. She sat in first class and laid her head back against the chair. She heaved a sigh, thinking What’s next? She still felt some lingering remorse for killing her men, but the good news was, she achieved getting her independence from her mother.

  Two weeks later, a shipment of two hundred kilos on consignment arrived from the Juarez Cartel via two 18-wheelers. Lucky knew that there was no turning back now.

  23

  The charges were official for Layla—attempted murder and the RICO act. Layla felt she was fucked. But she was baffled by the attempted murder charge. Who did she try to kill, and whoever it was, how were they still alive? If she wanted someone dead, then they would be dead. So who was still alive? She bothered her attorney with tons and tons of questions, but Fitzgerald had nothing for her yet. “I can’t go to prison! Get me the fuck outta here!” she cursed.

  “They have a witness, but the identity hasn’t been made clear yet,” said Fitzgerald. “I have someone who can go underground and dig out whatever I need.”

  “I don’t care what you gotta do, make it happen. Make it all go away.”

  “He’s expensive.”

  Layla sighed. “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand,” he said.

  “Nigga, I gave you a fuckin’ million on retainer, take it out of that,” she growled at him.

  Reluctantly, Fitzgerald nodded, and their meeting concluded.

  Layla felt that she was rotting away in a jail cell while Maxine was mocking her. She couldn’t shake the feelings of hate and disgust for the bitch. She didn’t trust Maxine. Everything started falling apart the moment she came home from prison. There were questions like, how did Maxine get an early release? Parole?

  Layla felt in her bones that Maxine was the snitch. She had to be working with the feds. But what did she know that could possibly get her and Scott locked up? Was Scott running off his mouth to that bitch and jeopardizing everything they’d worked so hard for? Layla surmised that Maxine made a deal with the feds and infiltrated their organization to disclose information. It all made sense to Layla—befriending her and getting back into her good graces before stabbing her in the back would be the ultimate revenge. All the years she helped Maxine because she felt sorry for her, and it came back to bite her on the ass.

  But no one was listening to her. No one believed that Maxine needed to go immediately. Layla needed someone to do what her own family wouldn’t do. Scott was a fool to fall back in love with Maxine, and Bugsy was an idiot to think she cared for him like she was his mother. Meyer was in the hospital, and Lucky was becoming detached.

  ***

  It was visiting day, and Layla walked into the visitor’s room to see Lucky smiling like she’d won the lottery or something. Lucky looked fabulous and bossy, and it pissed Layla off. It felt like Lucky didn’t care that her parents were locked up, or that her mother was in a legal battle for her life.

  “Bitch, why the fuck you grinning so hard for? Like you visiting me at the Ritz or something?” Layla berated after taking a seat across from her.

&
nbsp; “It’s nice to see you too, Ma,” Lucky replied sarcastically.

  Layla took in her daughter’s fashionable outfit, hair and nails done, eyebrows threaded and shaded in. “I see you’re living well.”

  “I’m doin’ me.”

  “Well, I need for you to take care of something really important. I want for you to put two of your best goons on Maxine and take care of her,” she ordered in a low tone. “She’s the one snitching on us. I know it. It all started to fall apart the moment she was released from prison. That bitch is out to destroy us.”

  Lucky rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “Bitch, you got a problem?” Layla said angrily.

  “I’ll think it over.”

  “You don’t need to think shit over. I gave you an order, you execute it. I’m the boss bitch here!” Layla growled through her tightened jaw.

  “You were the boss bitch,” Lucky replied matter-of-factly. “Your men, they now answer to me.”

  Layla clenched her fist and narrowed her eyes at Lucky. Was Lucky saying she was now wearing her shoes—stealing her queen pin position? But how? There was no fucking way, especially without a connect.

  “You listen to me, you fuckin’ dead-eye bitch,” Layla exclaimed. “Don’t fuck wit’ me!”

  Lucky had never heard that nasty remark from her mother. It stung like alcohol in a gunshot wound.

  Layla continued to berate her. “I made you, I made all of y’all. And if you fuck wit’ me, if you go against me, I’ll bury you, you fuckin’ dead-eye cunt. This is my empire—I built it, and I will burn it down before I let an ungrateful bitch like you take control over it.”

  For a black woman, Layla was turning red and it looked like smoke was about to bellow from her ears. However, Lucky kept her cool. Her mother wasn’t a threat to her, but she did have one thing she needed—the fifty million she hid somewhere.

  “Where is it—the money?” Lucky asked. “You tell me where you hid it and I’ll take care of Maxine for you.”