Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4 Page 3

  Kola rolled her eyes. “Grow up.”

  “We get money too, yo,” Dino replied.

  “Uh-huh. Next time, watch your mouth around me.”

  Dino smirked.

  Done with business, Kola pivoted on her clean white tennis shoes and headed toward the doorway. She didn’t want to spend one minute longer in a room filled with adolescents pissing the day away. Even though she wasn’t that much older than the teen boys, she felt more mature and more grown.

  Kola exited the stash house, put the drugs in the trunk of her Audi, and sped away. It was a balmy evening, and her day so far was perfect. Business was good, and her life was great.

  The minute she turned away from the property, she got on her cell phone and started making calls, reaching out to those in need of product. She had over twenty missed calls and countless unread voice mails. In Miami, there was always an opportunity to get paid, legal or otherwise, and in Kola’s mind, a broke bitch was a lazy, dumb bitch.

  Kola and Nikki were working on opening up a nightclub in the South Beach area. Kola had the right connections to make it dynamic and popular. She had already been spreading the word about it, getting a buzz going for her new venture. She had the cash ready for radio spots and ads, promotional materials, and for billboards to be plastered all across the city and near the I-95 and 395 highways. She wanted to become a legitimate businesswoman.

  She’d learned a lot while being with OMG and wanted to follow in his footsteps. So in the past few months, she started to launder some of her money into legitimate small businesses, such as party promotion, a boutique on Ocean Drive, and other cash-intensive businesses. She was learning the ropes and educating herself more about Miami and the business world every day.

  Kola jumped on the 395 and headed east toward the buzzing part of the city, nodding her head to a Rick Ross CD and doing eighty miles per hour. She had a lead foot, weaving in and out of lanes. But then she had to slow it down suddenly, reminding herself that she had a half-kilo of coke in the trunk. She slowed her Audi down to sixty and stayed in her lane. Sometimes that youth came out of her, and she had to check herself. She was only twenty-years old, and still a party girl—a live wire with so much spark in her, she could catch afire easily.

  She turned right on to Exit 2B and drove south. The streets were lined with evening traffic, since the Heat was in the playoffs, and the people and fans on the streets were showing their support with Heat T-shirts and sporting numbered jerseys of their favorite Heat player.

  Kola passed the massive American Airlines Arena on her left, where there were thousands of fans lingering outside, ready to attend the playoff game. She drove farther down U.S. Route 41. The gleaming buildings that towered over the road were an indication of the city’s wealth and elite population. Downtown Miami was a spectacle of riches and wonder, with the pristine waters glimmering from the sunlight and the lavish yachts and boats decorating the marina.

  She turned into the Port of Miami and went to a well known spot called Largo’s Bar and Grill, which was packed with people. She strutted into the laid-back fish spot. The wicker couches overlooking the water and flat-screens made it lively and comfortable for those chilling and watching the Heat playoff game.

  Kola was there to meet up with her cousin. They had planned to dine on coconut shrimp, nachos, and fried calamari. But when she arrived, her cousin wasn’t around yet. Kola sighed, feeling frustrated. She hated when her cousin was late.

  Before Kola moved any farther into the place, she removed her phone from her pocket and called Nikki. The phone rang a few times before Nikki answered.

  “Bitch, where you at?” Kola spat. “I’m here.”

  “I’m not gonna be able to make it, Kola. Something came up.”

  “What? Bitch, what happened? Everything good?”

  “This nigga actin’ up again.”

  “What? He tryin’ to put his hands on you?”

  “Nah, that nigga know better. But I know he fuckin’ some next bitch. I found a pair of panties in my fuckin’ bedroom that ain’t even my size or color, so I’m about ready to fuck this nigga up, Kola.”

  “Damn! Handle ya business, cousin, and call me back.”

  “You know I will.”

  Kola hung up. She sighed. It wasn’t fun dining alone. Plus, she had some important business to discuss with Nikki.

  She had warned her cousin about Simpson, that two-faced muthafucka. She thought he was an asshole, and she never trusted him. He was a low-life drug dealer trying to come up in Miami, and Kola always felt that he was playing her cousin, only getting with her because of her reputation.

  Simpson was many things, but a thorough and real nigga he wasn’t. Kola felt he was a fake thug, a wannabe. He was cute and talked a good game, but Kola read his kind like a book. But Nikki proclaimed to be in love with him, saying that the sex was phenomenal. She was blinded by a big dick and a cute face, but love was love, and Kola knew the feeling. So she could only warn and advise her cousin.

  Kola turned and made her exit. She wasn’t in the mood to eat alone, even though she saw plenty of men giving her hospitable looks. But they weren’t her type, and she wasn’t there to find a mate.

  As she headed back to her car, she thought about calling OMG. It would have been the perfect day for his company and some dick, but she figured he probably was spending time with his wife and family. She strutted to her Audi feeling disappointed. It wasn’t the first time Nikki had stood her up over some dick.

  Kola jumped into her pink Audi, revved the engine, and pulled out of her parking spot. This time, she was going home. She wanted to change into something skimpier, drink her some Cîroc, and enjoy the remainder of the sun-drenched day lounging on her patio and catching a tan. Fuck it!

  As Kola navigated her way through downtown Miami, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed. She glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed a dark sedan three cars behind her. It had been on her since she left the bar.

  Is it police? She hoped not.

  As she drove, her heart began to pound rapidly like a drum in her chest. She constantly checked her mirrors. When she made a turn, she glanced in her rearview only to see the sedan make a turn too. “Shit!”

  The streets of Miami were too crowded to take whoever was following her on a high-speed chase with a half-kilo of cocaine in the trunk. She didn’t know who she was dealing with.

  Shit! She had to think.

  She drove a few more blocks and made a few more turns. She would soon reach I-95. Once she was able to jump on the highway, she would be ghost. But, surprisingly, the sedan was no longer behind her.

  She made a few more turns and even slowed down a little just to make sure, but it was gone. She sighed with relief.

  “Damn! That’s crazy. Get it together, girl. You always been careful. Ain’t no one following you,” she said to herself.

  She cruised down 13th Street feeling more relaxed. The area was light with traffic, and the sun was fading from the sky.

  A breeze began circulating with night encroaching, and Kola caught a chill. When she came to a stop at a red light, she decided to put her top up. The roof began to cover the car, but just then the sedan that had been following her earlier came to an abrupt stop in the intersection in front of her, blocking her exit with its blaring lights.

  “What the fuck!”

  Soon another sedan and a black Yukon came from behind, red and blue lights flashing, blocking her ability to reverse, and suddenly, she found herself surrounded by law enforcement.

  Up to a dozen men in dark blue flight and flak jackets with FBI imprinted on the back, badges showing, and guns out, charged at her, screaming, “Get out the car! Get out now!”

  Kola’s door swung open, and she was instantly dragged out of her car and thrown to the pavement. She felt a man’s knee pressing into her back, and her arms being folded behind her. They began reading her Miranda rights as they placed the iron bracelets around her slim wrists. All she
saw was boots and movement as she lay still against the pavement.

  The feds began going through her vehicle, doing a systematic search of it. They opened the trunk and removed the brown paper bag containing the half-kilo of cocaine.

  One of the agents said, “Bingo!”

  “We on the money?” another asked.

  “It’s cash out time in Vegas,” he replied.

  Two men grabbed Kola by her arms and pulled her up from the pavement. They knew she was dangerous—a killer and a notorious drug dealer in the underworld. They had been performing scrupulous surveillance on her for the past month.

  Kola knew to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t utter a single word during her arrest. The feds tore her car apart, searching for other incriminating evidence, but there was nothing else.

  They shoved her into the backseat of the sedan.

  The white boy in the mirrored sunglasses smirked. “We’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Kola. Gotcha!”

  Kola grimaced. She was ready to smack the smile off his face, but she was in no position to fight. The only thing she was concerned about was making her phone call and contacting her cousin and a lawyer. She wondered what other charges the feds were ready to pin on her, because murder, money laundering, and extortion, among other things, were all possibilities.

  Four

  Apple strutted with a slight limp into the towering TrumpPlaza. The shot had grazed her leg, and she was treated by a doctor who’d promised to keep the small surgical deed a secret. He was paid handsomely and sent on his way.

  Apple felt she belonged in a palace like the Trump Tower, sharing residence with such stars as Beyoncé, Erik Prince, and Bruce Willis. Guy Tony had the money and clout to secure residency in the building. It was costly, but well worth the price they paid because she wanted a secure building while settling old scores in New York. It was so good to be back in New York. The smell of the city brought her to life.

  Apple had gotten word that her sister Kola was now in Miami with their cousin Nikki. She would deal with Kola later on. Now her only concern was continuing to build her empire and seek out vengeance on Chico, and with Guy Tony ready and willing to do whatever she asked, she had the goons and killers on standby to seek and destroy.

  She rode the elevator to their penthouse suite on the 50th floor. When she entered her suite, it looked like an army base with artillery displayed all over the place. AK-47s, Uzis, and Glocks were scattered across vintage wood tables, and Guy Tony’s goons lounged around the penthouse like it was some kind of clubhouse.

  Apple glared at the half dozen thugs who’d traveled to New York from Texas with them. It was hell trying to get them to fit into such a posh environment; they had no class and no manners. They were out of place in Trump Towers, like a Muslim at a Klan rally.

  The men were pigging out on Chinese food and pizza from Domino’s and watching videos and movies in the living room.

  “Where’s Guy?” Apple asked.

  “He in da next room, shawty,” one of the thugs responded.

  “Don’t y’all got anything better to do than just sit around and make a fuckin’ mess in such a beautiful room?”

  The same goon replied, “Ya got work fo’ us, then we gon’ do it. I know we ain’t come up hurr ta look pretty. Shit, we smuggled all these guns up in da city. I’s ready to make use of them.”

  Apple looked at Crunch, a menace with a strong appetite for murder and violence. He had “Down South Backcountry Boy from Texas” written all over him, from his offbeat wardrobe to his way of speaking. Crunch, with his box braids and gold grill, stood six three and weighed over three hundred pounds. It was his first trip to New York, and he was in awe of the way it moved like a machine, running twenty-four/seven.

  “Y’all niggas don’t embarrass me in this building,” Apple told them.

  Crunch laughed. “Ya, shawty, we up hurr ta take care of business, and the quicker we get ta murderin’ niggas, da faster we get ta go back home.”

  Crunch was black, huge, and uneducated—and one of Guy’s top enforcers. Apple wasn’t fond of him, but he was good at what he did. He knew how to hunt and was powerful with his hands. He could easily snap a man’s neck like a twig.

  She turned on her heels and went to meet Guy Tony in the next room, but before she could leave, Crunch lifted his right leg from the couch like a dog ready to pee and executed a rippling fart that echoed out and stirred laughter among his peers. Then he smiled and continued eating.

  “So fuckin’ nasty.” Apple held her breath and moved faster from the poisonous stench.

  Guy Tony was alone in the adjacent room with the lights dimmed. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows and peered out at midtown Manhattan. It had been a while since he’d seen New York as well. He had mixed feelings about being home.

  As he gazed at the steel metropolis, he began to think about his past. Growing up had been rough. Supreme had taken him under his wing and schooled him about the streets and business. There was this unsettled feeling stirring inside of Guy. In fact, he still felt some guilt for murdering his mentor. He knew he looked like a fool taking Apple back after the attempt on his life. But look at him now. He was the boss hog, the nigga in charge, and the one able to afford a magnificent penthouse suite in one of the most opulent buildings in Manhattan. Apple had no choice but to respect him, even if she didn’t love him. He wanted to show and prove to her and to anyone that doubted him that he could do it bigger and better.

  Guy Tony had taken Apple by his side, because she gave him the motivation to succeed. The murder attempt on his life completely changed him. It made him become meaner than a starving junkyard dog. Killing that fool Munchies a while back had fueled the iniquity in him and opened a Pandora’s box.

  “Baby, what you doin?” Apple asked, coming into the dimly lit room.

  Guy turned to face his woman. “Thinking,” he replied softly.

  Seeing him standing by the window like a boss, shirtless with tattoos decorating his skin, and his physique filling out like an NBA athlete did something to Apple. She had never seen this man look so good. There was a definite change in him.

  Apple approached her lover and embraced him. “What’s wrong, baby? What you thinkin’ about?”

  “You don’t need to know,” he replied coldly.

  Apple didn’t push it. She and Guy had their special and not-so-special moments together. This was one of their not-so-special moments. Guy Tony averted his look from Apple and gazed back at the city. Apple took a step back and looked at him for a moment. It was clear to her that he didn’t want to be bothered. “Whatever,” she said and left the room.

  She had her own troubles. The demons were swimming around inside of her. She was still pissed that they’d missed their opportunity to murder Chico. But what pissed off her even more was, Blythe, Chico’s bitch, was walking around in her shoes. It still bothered Apple greatly that she had been replaced. Chico had been her love.

  While she was a sex slave in Mexico, she’d dreamed about him night and day. But it seemed that he was living it up in New York without a care in the world. And to make matters worse, he’d tried to murder her, so any remnants of feelings she still had for him dissipated on the night of the shootout.

  Apple removed herself from the room, giving Guy Tony his privacy. He was never her heart, but only a convenience for her. Guy had the army she needed. She fucked and sucked him passionately, and she poured everything she had into her relationship with him, but no matter how high the throne he positioned himself on, she still felt she had dominance over him. He put on an excellent show for her, but once she got what she needed, she was ready to cut him off quickly. She had some respect for his come-up, but he would never be like Chico, no matter how heartless, rich, and powerful he became.

  Apple settled into one of the many bedrooms of the penthouse. Her room had a breathtaking panoramic view of midtown. She shut the door and sat in one of the many relaxing chairs in the bedroom. She kicked off her
shoes, inched her satin dress up her thigh a little, and stared at the bullet wound in her leg—a welcome home gift from Chico. She picked at the scarring tissue in her leg and began to fume. It was war. She then stood up and peeled away the dress and went into the bathroom to shower.

  Apple had a devious scheme that she was ready to implement. She wanted to hit Chico where it would hurt him the most. Getting at Blythe would be like taking candy from a baby.

  ***

  The pearl-white Bentley that Apple drove was a New York gift from Guy Tony. His lady needed to move around a city like New York in style. And it was Apple’s kind of car to cruise on the New York streets and hit up all the well-known nightclubs from downtown to uptown.

  She drove north on Park Avenue toward a club called Dynex, a posh uptown venue that catered to some of the city’s elite. Located on 79th Street, the 10,000-square-foot space hosted some of the hottest R&B and pop acts, like Justin Timberlake, Mary J. Blige, Britney Spears, and Anthony Hamilton. And the VIPs flocked to the glass-enclosed lounge, the dimly lit chandeliers setting a sensual tone.

  Apple pulled up to the spot in her flashy ride, and it immediately turned heads out front. There was a long line outside, and the bouncers were brawny black men who looked like they didn’t take any shit from anyone. Apple stepped out the car, placing her black slingbacks onto the pavement and looking stunning in a fitted one-sleeve ruched mini-dress.

  Apple was accompanied by one of her Texas goons, Terri—six four, muscular, with long dreads stretching down to his back. His platinum grill and dark, onyx eyes complemented his threatening demeanor.

  She bypassed the long line by giving the main bouncer a three-hundred-dollar incentive to let her through. When she stepped into the club, it was lively and swarming with well-dressed revelers jamming to a Kanye West track. But Apple didn’t come to party. She came for a reason and was steadfast on implementing her scheme. She scanned the large crowd, searching for Blythe, knowing it was one of her favorite places to party.

  She and Terri went into one of the private sections of the club, where it cost $1,500 for bottle service. She had no problem putting up the money for two bottles of Cîroc and Cristal, and Terri kept her company, giving the impression they were a couple, when he was really her goon on standby. Naturally, he caught looks from ladies in the spot.