Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4 Read online

  “I miss you so much, Nichols,” Kola proclaimed with her watery eyes. “You were the one so easy to talk to. You was always special, Nichols, and you still are. A lot done happened since your death, and I know you gotta be lookin’ down at us and shakin’ your head. You gotta hate what you seeing right now—Apple and me at war wit’ each other.” She released a slight chuckle.

  “But I can’t stand the bitch. She’s so fuckin’ stupid! Her stupidity got you killed. But I know you, Nichols. You would hate to see your two sisters like this, and you would be the peacemaker, like you always were, and would try to be the one to piece us back together again. But I don’t think there’s no puttin’ us back together again. She did this to you. You had so much potential to do somethin’ wit’ ya life, and this fuckin’ place, this ghetto took all that away. How can I forgive her, Nichols? Huh? Look at you, rotting in the fuckin’ ground like shit, when you were supposed to be blossoming every year of your life.”

  Nichols was the glue that held the family together, and now that the glue was gone, everything had fallen apart. Standing over Nichols’ grave, Kola started to feel a calm settle around her. She started to talk freely, release her emotions and feelings, like she was in therapy. The tears continued to fall, and the calm around her continued to grow.

  “I have been goin’ through a lot. I was stabbed in Miami. I almost joined you in the afterlife, Nichols, but I survived it. I’m on top now, little sister, and I’ve been tryin’ to avenge ya death, even if I gotta get at Apple.”

  Kola suddenly felt a feeling of uncertainty. For some reason, it didn’t seem right to be vilifying Apple and Denise’s names while standing over Nichols’ grave. Nichols wouldn’t have liked it. So Kola stopped her rant and sighed, wiping away the tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “I want to forget about it, but I just can’t, Nichols. How can I forgive the people that did this to you . . . that put you in that ground?”

  Kola bent down and removed the dead flowers and rubbish from Nichols’ grave, trying to make her sister’s final resting place a little more decent. She planted her knees into the grass, wanting to get comfortable and continue her talk with Nichols, not caring if she stained her expensive Seven jeans.

  She leaned forward and kissed the headstone and then wrapped her arms around it, hugging the inanimate object like it was Nichols herself. “What should I do, little sister?” she asked meekly. “I know you wouldn’t want me to keep on hating our family, but I have so much rage and resentment in my heart. Someone needs to pay for your death. But I know you wouldn’t want me to go against Apple. You loved us both so much, as we loved you.”

  Kola, hugging the granite headstone with love, felt a calm and tranquil feeling sweep over her. It felt like there wasn’t anything wrong in her world. It almost felt like all her problems had been erased. She didn’t know if it was Nichols hugging her right back spiritually or what, but it was a warm feeling.

  Kola embraced the headstone tightly, and she started sobbing like a baby. “I miss you so much, baby sister,” she cried out.

  Kola remained at the grave for over an hour. It gave her some comfort and insight. She regretted waiting so long to pay her respects and vowed to visit her sister at least once a month. She rose up from off her knees and stood tall, drying her tears. “I’ll be back, Nichols. I promise.”

  She pivoted on her heels and walked toward the exit. As she made her way toward the Benz parked outside the cemetery gates, with Sags and Mondo posted on the hood of the car, smoking a cigarette, she knew this war with her sister had to come to an end soon. It’d dragged on too long. But how it would end was the million-dollar question.

  “Ya good?” Mondo asked.

  Kola nodded. She climbed into the S-Class and remained quiet. She couldn’t show her weakness.

  Mondo and Sags shrugged and got into the car. Sags got behind the wheel and waited for Kola’s instructions. “Where to?” Sags asked.

  “Back to Harlem. I got some unfinished business to take care of.”

  Sags nodded, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, leaving the cemetery behind them in the rearview mirror.

  Kola closed her eyes and tried to preserve the memory of her baby sister. Visiting her grave had stirred something else inside of her. She couldn’t pinpoint the emotion, but she felt she had to snap out of the weird trance. But she just couldn’t stop thinking about Nichols.

  Nineteen

  People had been seeing Kola around, and the word was out.

  “That fuckin’ bitch is back in town, huh,” Apple said to no one in particular. “She shoulda kept her ass down in Miami. I’ll kill that bitch if she gets in my way.”

  “Talk about sisterly love,” one of the goons joked.

  Apple shot him a sharp glare.

  “My bad,” he said, apologizing quickly.

  She took a heavy pull from the Newport and gazed out the passenger window of the Range Rover filled with goons and guns as it sped north on FDR Drive. Terri kept quiet while he drove and Apple ranted about Kola’s return to Harlem.

  ***

  Denise had been constantly blowing up Apple’s phone. Her mother was scared to death after the murders in her apartment. She had no support or muscle in the streets, and she refused to tell anyone where she was hiding out. The cops had questioned her for hours immediately after the massacre, but she’d remained stubborn and silent, refusing to name anyone who might want to end her life. Denise thought that her only hope was via Apple or Kola. She’d heard that Kola was back in New York, and she’d reached out to her daughter immediately.

  ***

  The black Range Rover with the tinted windows and chrome rims moved through the Harlem streets and turned slowly onto 135th Street.

  Apple carried a scowl as she smoked her cigarette. She eyed everyone moving in the streets like they were prey. Under her seat was a loaded Glock 19, which she was ready to use without hesitation. She’d heard rumors of the feds running a joint task force with the NYPD to put an end to the violence and lock up the major players, but she was still hell-bent on causing chaos and destruction. Shaun, Kola, Chico, and Blythe; they all had to die.

  She wanted Shaun the most. She wanted to tear him apart piece by piece and make him suffer slowly and painfully. Next on her list was Blythe. Unbeknownst to Blythe, she became a mark the minute she started fucking Chico. Apple couldn’t stand the pretty, sassy bitch. Chico, she wanted him dead yesterday for his betrayal. And Kola, Apple was going to save the best for last. It took a special kind of evil to kill your own kin. The neighborhood used to say that Apple was the good twin and Kola was the rotten one. Now, both twins were rotten to the core, but Harlem really despised Apple.

  Apple’s phone rang. It was Denise calling. She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fuckin’ sick of this bitch.”

  “Why don’t you just answer it?” Terri suggested.

  “She just don’t fuckin’ get it! I heard about the shootin’ at her place, and now this bitch is lookin’ for me to help.” Apple chuckled at the thought. “Fuckin’ scared lil’ bitch she is. She wanna disrespect me and now come crawling back to me so I can save her ass. Fuck her!”

  “I don’t even see why we gotta come out here tonight,” Terri said.

  Apple cut her eyes at him. “What? You havin’ a change of heart all of a sudden?”

  “No, not at all. I’m fuckin’ cold-blooded wit’ this shit. I just need you to be smart about things, and not impulsive.”

  Apple hissed, “I am smart about this—come at family, I go after ya fuckin’ nuts and cut ’em off.”

  “But you don’t give a fuck about ya moms.”

  “It ain’t the point, Terri, and you know this. I can’t look weak!”

  “You ain’t weak, Apple. I think Harlem understands that clearly by the work and bodies that we been dropping,” Terri replied. “And they say niggas got egos.”

  “Fuck that! I’ma clip Chico’s nuts and stuff them in his fuckin’ mouth!”
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  “You the boss,” he said dryly.

  They made it to the west side of Harlem, continued driving toward the GW Bridge, and crossed into New Jersey.

  It was a lengthy drive into Lyndhurst, New Jersey. The roads were shaded and quiet. In a nearby park adults and teenagers were enjoying a ballgame on a warm summer night.

  Apple stared at the soccer moms and coaches. “Fuckin’ gimps.”

  “The American dream,” Terri joked.

  “It ain’t my American dream,” she replied.

  “Then what is?”

  Apple remained quiet. From the front seat of the truck, her eyes stayed on the crowd in the park. She scanned the area looking for a particular face. The baseball field was packed with people cheering, the bright lights in the park flooding the area, making it look like daytime. Apple’s ruthless Mexican thug, Chicano, and Kori, her silent killer, sat in the backseat, both itching for some action.

  Apple’s eyes never left the park. She took a few drags from her cigarette and waited patiently. In her world, everyone was a target. Young, old, it didn’t fuckin’ matter. She was looking diligently for Chico’s little brother, Terrance. He was eighteen, and a baseball fanatic.

  Terrance and Chico were complete opposites. Chico was the gangster in the family, while Terrance was the square, a straight-A student who never got into any trouble. She’d met Terrance once, when he came to a birthday party in Harlem for Chico. He was very handsome and smart. Chico adored his little brother and always looked out for him.

  Now Apple was hunting for the little nigga. She was ready to send a violent message back to Chico. He thought his little brother was safe in the suburbs in New Jersey, but Apple was about to prove him wrong.

  She’d found young Terrance via the Internet, through his Facebook account, and befriended him under an alias. She looked into his page, studied the activity on his wall, and soon found out about his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, and that he was in a relationship. It didn’t take rocket science to track him down. Terrance was very vocal open on his Facebook page, letting the world know about all his activity, even his baseball games.

  “What this li’l nigga look like?” Kori asked.

  “When I see him, I’ll point,” Apple replied coldly.

  “A’ight.” Kori pushed the loaded clip into his 9 mm.

  The park was loud and vibrant, so no one noticed the dark Range Rover with New York plates parked in the distance. Everyone around the baseball field was focused on the game. It was the last inning and a tied ballgame. The warm summer night became boisterous whenever there was a hit or home run, or a difficult catch by one of the outfielders.

  “Bingo!” she uttered, smiling.

  “Got him?” Terri asked.

  Apple nodded. She gestured to the player stepping up to bat next. “Number twenty-four.”

  Apple grinned. It was too easy.

  “Fuck it.” Chicano opened the door with the Mack-10 in his hands.

  “Chicano, chill,” Apple told him. “Not now.”

  “Why not now?”

  “’Cause I wanna watch him play for a moment . . . see if he’s any good.”

  Chicano shut the door, growling.

  Apple watched Terrance step up to the plate, the crowd cheering. The teen got positioned into his hitting stance and clutched the bat, looking like Derek Jeter at the home plate. With the game tied and already two outs for his team in the final inning, this was it—clutch time. Win or lose.

  The pitcher threw his pitch, and it was an automatic strike. The crowd booed. Terrance kept his calm and remained focused. The pitch was thrown again, and it was a ball. Count one and one. The third pitch was a ball, and the fourth a strike that Terrance swung at and missed. The game was becoming tense, and everyone was on their feet.

  Terrance raised the bat, held it tightly, and stared at the pitch like he had the eye of a tiger. The baseball came at him at ninety miles per hour. Terrance swung and connected, sending the ball flying out the park. It was a home run. The crowd cheered, and Terrance’s teammates came running out the dugout screaming and yelling. Terrance slowly made his way around the bases, all smiles. He had won the game for his team.

  “Little nigga got talent,” Apple said.

  “Too bad,” Kori said.

  Terrance was enjoying the attention. His team was going to the finals. He hugged and kissed his girlfriend. She was young and beautiful, and clearly proud of her boyfriend. He was on his way to bigger things, like attending college in the fall with a full athletic scholarship, and possibly playing in the major leagues.

  Fifteen minutes later, everybody started leaving. Terrance walked to his car with his girlfriend on his arm. They were nestled together with love. He was talking and laughing with his teammates, receiving pats on the back and praises. He escorted his girlfriend into a burgundy Camry, a birthday gift from Chico a few months back.

  Apple turned to her shooters and gave them the nod.

  “It’s ’bout damn time,” Kori uttered.

  He and Chicano stepped out the truck and moved toward their victims. The crowd in the park became sparse, with everyone either in their cars or walking home. The two shooters hastily made their way toward the Camry that sat idling in the parking spot. Terrance was kissing his girlfriend passionately. The windows to the Camry were down, and the occupants’ attention was focused on each other.

  Chicano walked up toward the driver’s side window, while Kori crept toward the passenger side, their guns out and ready to be put to use. Terrance’s girlfriend noticed the men first and screamed, but it was a short, piercing scream right before both men opened fire.

  Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

  Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak!

  The MAC-10 tore into Terrance’s flesh, jerking him violently in his seat, while the 9 mm slugs ate into his girlfriend from the chest downward. Blood splattered everywhere, spraying the windshield and coating the seats with a crimson hue.

  Terrance slumped over the steering wheel with his brains leaking onto the dashboard, stomach spilling all over the seat, while his girlfriend drooped against the passenger door, their bodies contorted with death.

  The sudden shots stirred the attention of the remaining spectators at the park, but Chicano and Kori quickly left the scene, walking quickly but not worriedly toward the Range Rover. They climbed into the truck, and no one said a word.

  Apple released an impish smile. She stared at the gruesome masterpiece created by her two killers as the truck drove by the dead. She would pay handsomely to see Chico’s reaction once the news hit him about his little brother. It would be a priceless moment to witness.

  “Checkmate, muthafucka,” she said, tossing her cigarette out the window.

  ***

  The new location was more discreet and not so cozy for Apple. It wasn’t the Trump Plaza, but she felt safe there. She had to relocate. Things were getting hazardous for her, and she didn’t feel secure staying at one location too long. And besides, the Plaza was too busy and congested; too many upscale residents and too many unfamiliar faces were always coming and going. The Plaza was posh, but it wasn’t made for her and her crew. Her goons were always catching attention from security, and with the automatic weapons they wanted to house, the Plaza wasn’t going to work.

  So she and her crew moved into Brooklyn, renting out a spacious loft near the Brooklyn Bridge. The area was secluded—no neighbors, not too much traffic, and there were only two exits, which Apple had covered with security cameras. Inside the loft was a small arsenal of machine guns, automatic weapons, grenades, bulletproof vests, and gas masks.

  Apple heard the news of Terrance’s murder had hit Chico hard. She heard he went mad and was in pure rage mode. He viciously attacked the messenger that gave him the news of his brother’s murder. The murders made headlines, and it didn’t take long for the media and investigators to link the gruesome murders to a drug war and a drug kingpin in Harlem. The papers were all over it, wi
th one newspaper’s headline being, “Harlem Kingpin’s A-student Brother Gunned Down in Park.”

  Apple felt rejuvenated as she stood out on the rooftop with its picturesque view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the city’s skyline. She had just gotten off the phone with Guy Tony. He wanted her to come back to Houston.

  “Come home, Apple,” he’d said.

  Apple declined. New York and Harlem was her home, Houston wasn’t.

  Guy Tony became upset. He told her he was missing her, but Apple wasn’t missing him at all. She thought he was stupid to accept her back into his life after everything that’d happened. Letting bygones be bygones was a far-fetched theory for her. Apple was a leopard that wasn’t changing its spots, despite his kindness toward her. Guy Tony was a ruthless thug/kingpin in Houston, but Apple was confident she still had him wrapped around her finger. She was the one pulling the strings. Once she was done taking care of unfinished business in Harlem, she planned on going back to Houston and cleaning house.

  The rooftop gave Apple some solitude from her crew and the world. She peered at the Brooklyn Bridge as she smoked her cigarette on this calm night. She marveled at the city’s infrastructure. The city was alive with noise and bustle as it was every day and night. It appeared so strong and enduring, weathering many storms and the times.

  She wanted to become the same as the city—massive with a lasting infrastructure. She missed home so much. However, her personality shifted greatly.

  The only way Apple was able to cope with what happened to her was through violence. She hated the weakness she felt while being a whore for Shaun, and the thought of the abuse and rape she’d suffered made her clench her fists and narrow her eyes. The nightmares wouldn’t stop. Every morning, or during the middle of the night, she woke up bitter and furious, her mind infested with horrid memories of being held captive. Apple couldn’t cope with emotions anymore. She couldn’t sleep. The only thing that gave her satisfaction was murder and death. She had transformed into a snarling, bloodthirsty creature everyone feared.