Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick Page 7

  One night, while he was doing time on Rikers Island, five rival gang members rushed into his home looking for money and drugs. They found Nikki asleep in the bedroom. They raped and beat her repeatedly for hours and then shot her three times in the head. The horrendous crime sent shockwaves through the hood. It was a clear message to Chico—they were coming for him next.

  Dante hit the streets in his cousin’s name and found two of the men responsible for Nikki’s death in a week’s time. He made sure they suffered before hacking them into pieces with a machete. Chico was distraught for months and spent most of his time on Rikers Island in isolation. After a year on Rikers, he came home a more ruthless man, vowing to never let anyone take anything away from him again.

  ***

  Chico watched Dennis emerge from one of the project buildings and approach the parked Impala with wild-looking eyes. Slim and grungy-looking with unkempt hair, he had a devastating addiction. Crack had controlled his life for years, and he was willing to do anything for a payday, even if it meant selling out a friend. He could taste the hundred dollars Chico was paying him for information. It was going to be put to good use in a crack pipe.

  Chico rose up in his seat. “What you got for me, nigga?”

  Dennis smiled, showing the few teeth he had left. “I got good news, Chico.” He fidgeted near the Impala, looking around nervously. He then grabbed the car door with his greasy hands.

  “Nigga, get ya fuckin’ dirty hands off the car. You fuckin’ crazy!”

  Dennis jumped back, his eyes widening with fear. “I’m sorry, Chico. I’m sorry.”

  Chico stepped out of the car and glared at Dennis with a cold stare meant to send chills into him. “Where he at?” Chico sternly asked.

  “Joe in the stairway now gettin’ high,” Dennis said in a nervous tone.

  “Which one?”

  Dennis pointed to the first building directly across the street. “He on the third floor smoking now.”

  Chico stared at Dennis for a moment, making the fiend even more uncomfortable. He just wanted to get his money, run off, and get high.

  Chico reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off five twenties and slowly handed it over to Dennis.

  When Dennis went to reach for his reward, Chico pulled the cash back. “Nigga, if ya lyin’ to me, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m not lyin’, Chico. He up there in the stairway now, alone and gettin’ high.”

  Dennis was beaming after Chico handed him the hundred dollars. It had been the most money in his hands in a long time. In fact, he felt like he had won the lottery.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” Chico exclaimed, and Dennis took off running.

  Dante exited the car with the .50 concealed in its holster. He stared over at Chico. “You want me to take care of this alone?”

  “Nah, I wanna be there for this.”

  Both men walked toward the building and entered the cold, empty lobby. They walked straight into the stairway and slowly headed up the stairs. Dante had his Desert Eagle in his hand and Chico had his .45 cocked and ready. They got to the third floor and found Joe slumped against the wall with a crack pipe in his hand. He looked up at Chico and didn’t say a word.

  “You Joe?” Chico asked.

  Joe remained quiet.

  Chico approached him closer and glared at him. He glanced at Dante, while Joe just sat there.

  “Joe, Joe . . . who’s Joe? I’m good, though. Nah, you good,” Joe mumbled incoherently, the crack pipe dangling from his fingers..

  Joe’s eyes were sunken, red, and spaced-out. He was wearing a thin, tattered jacket and dirty, torn jeans and had a foul odor. He had smoked “red devil’s lay,” the talk of the town, which so happened to come from Cross, and it had seeped into his system, making him feel like he was on a different planet.

  “Yo, take this nigga up on the fuckin’ roof!” Chico said to Dante.

  Dante holstered his gun and grabbed Joe from the stairway by his jacket. Then the two men forced him up the steps. Joe didn’t put up much of a fight.

  Dante kicked open the door to the roof, pushed Joe out, and kicked him in the ass.

  Joe fell against the hard gravel and didn’t bother to get up. Joe was still mumbling, “I ain’t do it. He done it. It ain’t me.”

  “You ain’t do what, muthafucka?” Chico exclaimed.

  Joe turned over onto his side and looked up at Chico and continued to mumble.

  “Yo, this nigga is really fucked up,” Dante said. “He high, man.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what he is. He knows something.”

  Chico walked over to Joe, snatched him up by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him to the edge of the roof. Dante walked behind them. Chico lifted him off his feet and dangled him over the edge.

  “Who paid you to throw acid in Apple’s face?” Chico asked sternly. “Huh, muthafucka?”

  “Apple? I don’t know Apple. I wanna go home. Home. Home,” he replied, looking lost.

  “Yeah, you do. Don’t play wit’ me, nigga!” Chico tightened his hold around Joe and pushed him farther over the ledge.

  Joe didn’t cringe, and it angered Chico. Joe was a full-blown crackhead. His skin was ashy and scarred, and he, unknown to Chico and Dante, suffered from dementia.

  “Who the fuck paid you, nigga?” Chico repeated, with Joe dangling from six stories up.

  Joe just stared into his aggressor’s eyes, looking unfazed by everything going on around him, and mumbling to himself.

  “He ain’t gonna talk, Chico. The nigga’s really fucked up.”

  Chico looked over at his cousin, knowing Dante was right. He threw Joe to the ground and stood over him.

  “Just end this nigga and let’s go,” Dante said.

  Chico removed a lethal shot of dope mixed with rat poison from his jacket. He was ready to inject Joe with it, but then he looked down at him and decided against it.

  “Crazy muthafucka might wanna go out this way,” Chico stated.

  Dante laughed.

  “Nah, I ain’t giving him the pleasure.” Chico took out his .45, hovered over Joe with the gun, and fired two shots into his skull, spilling his brains out on the gravel. “Stupid muthafucka!”

  “C’mon, cuz, we out.”

  Chico and Dante rushed down the stairway and jumped back into the Impala. Chico still wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t get a name.

  ***

  Two hours later, both men were at a local bar on Broadway having drinks. Jack’s spot was teeming with people, a mature crowd of men and women in their thirties and up. Jack was a really close friend and customer to Chico and would purchase a few ki’s from him every month. In fact, he was one of the few who still showed loyalty to Chico.

  Chico downed a rum and coke, all the while worrying about his business. He’d been spending so much time at the hospital with Apple, Cross had crept up on his customers, and territory. A lot of his money was tied up in Apple’s medical bills, since he was paying for everything, from the medication to her surgery. He wanted his lady to come out a hundred percent, but he wasn’t sure if that was possible.

  Jack walked into his establishment clad in a dark, pinstriped suit, bejeweled in diamonds and bling, and flashing a catching smile. An old-school player in his mid-forties, he was a well-groomed man with a casual demeanor. He was a well-liked guy, but he had a dark side. Jack’s spot was a front for money-laundering and drug distribution. He was a businessman first and considered himself a gangster second. He was greeted with love and respect the minute he stepped into his bar.

  Jack locked eyes with Chico and gestured for him to meet him in his office in a few minutes. Then he went into the bar’s back office, followed closely by his right-hand man, Antonio, and shut the door,

  Chico nodded and finished off his drink. He waited for a short moment and then walked through the crowd, headed toward Jack’s office. He knocked once on the door, and Antonio opened up.

  Chico and Dante lock
ed eyes with Jack’s right-hand man and bodyguard.

  Dante was far from impressed. He smirked at Antonio and followed his cousin into the office.

  Jack was seated behind his red oak desk, tilted back in his leather chair and smoking a cigar. He stood from his chair and greeted Chico with a handshake and a smile.

  “It’s always good to meet with you, Chico,” he said.

  “Likewise,” Chico replied. “You remember my cousin, Dante?”

  Jack nodded at Dante with respect, and Dante returned the nod.

  “So what brings you around, Chico? If you’re here to question my loyalty, you have nothing to worry about. I’m too old to switch over, and I don’t care nothing about Cross and his crew.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Have a seat then. Let’s talk.”

  Jack sat in his expensive leather chair and continued to smoke his cigar. He poured himself a shot of Henny. Chico took a seat opposite Jack and poured himself another drink.

  Jack looked at his friend. “You better take it easy on that stuff, Chico.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Jack. I’m good.”

  Jack shrugged. “How’s your woman?” he asked.

  Chico downed his drink. “She could be better.”

  Jack was a little worried about his friend. He hated to see Chico drinking and worrying about Apple so much, but he wasn’t his daddy. It was always business between the two, and he wasn’t too fond of Cross and his goons. Even though Chico was a thug himself, Jack felt he could trust him somewhat.

  The two sat in his office and talked for a moment while drinking Hennessy. They talked mostly about business. Chico wanted to know, if the streets got ugly, would Jack have his back in a time of war. Jack confirmed his loyalty to Chico, and the two men toasted.

  Chico exited Jack’s office with a smile on his face, and pussy on his mind. A young woman standing by the bar had caught his interest from earlier, and with Apple lying in the hospital, he needed to relieve some tension. He approached the petite, young woman with her long, flowing hair and said a few kind words to her. He offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted.

  “What’s your name?” Chico asked.

  “Melissa,” she replied with a smile.

  “Melissa, you wanna go somewhere private and talk?”

  She smiled, knowing who Chico was already. He was making her blush with his smooth talk and thuggish mannerism.

  “Sure.”

  After telling Dante he would be back in a moment, Chico took the woman by her hand and exited the bar.

  ***

  Melissa slipped her full, silky lips back up to the top of Chico’s dripping wet shaft and wedged her teeth gently underneath the swollen mushroom tip, causing him to groan and whimper.

  “Ooooooh shit!” Chico’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Melissa’s tongue and soft lips had him weak.

  The windows in the car began to fog up from their breaths of passion.

  Melissa removed her panties, lifted her skirt to her hips, and slowly straddled Chico in the backseat of the Impala, drowning him in her juices as she slid down on his ready-to-burst organ. She clutched him tightly, groaning and howling in his ear as their bodies came together, sweat pouring from her skin.

  Chico was fucking Melissa raw, and when he came, he made no effort to pull out, exploding inside the woman.

  Melissa rested her head against him like a girlfriend, and they both took in the moment. Until he felt the urge to throw up.

  Chico shoved Melissa off his lap, opened the door, and began hurling out chunks on the sidewalk.

  “You OK?” Melissa asked.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

  She scowled at him.

  “I’ll kill ’em all! I’ll kill ’em all!” Chico kept chanting,

  Melissa looked at him strangely and figured it was time for her to leave. She didn’t do cuckoo.

  Chapter 9

  Dr. Changer examined Apple’s face closely and felt that her burns would take more time to heal. He thought it was time for her to go home and rest after enduring weeks of intensive care. With the money Chico was spending on her care, Apple had the medical attention that money could buy, and it was costly—almost totaling two hundred thousand dollars. The doctors had done reconstructive surgery and countless skin grafts, mostly removing skin from her butt cheeks and surgically grafting it onto the site of her injury. Although the process improved her scars a great deal, she was still disfigured, emotionally drained, and distraught.

  Dante sat in the Impala while Chico went up to the hospital room to help with Apple’s discharge. He caught fleeting looks from the female staff members as he sauntered down the hallway with his long chain swinging and gleaming, and dressed in his urban attire straight out of the XXL fashion section.

  The doctor had a short conversation with Chico, advising him about Apple’s condition and the continuing treatment she would need over time.

  “She’s going to need a lot more rest, and I’m prescribing a cream that she needs to apply to her burns every night, along with wearing a mask,” Dr. Changer stated.

  “A mask?” Chico questioned with a raised brow.

  “Yes. It’s a clear plastic mask that she needs to wear twenty-three hours a day for a few months. It’s to help ward off any infections and to ensure her skin continues to heal properly without any keloids developing and her having to take a load of antibiotics.”

  Chico nodded. “I got you, doc.”

  “She also needs to eat more and to drink plenty of fluids.”

  Chico nodded again.

  “Thanks for everything you’ve done, doc.”

  Chico liked Dr. Changer, a Jewish doctor in his early fifties with countless degrees and a highly regarded reputation. Dr. Changer shook hands with Chico and then walked away to tend to his other patients.

  Chico walked into Apple’s hospital room and saw her sitting in a wheelchair with fresh bandages on her face. She was already dressed in a pair of jeans, white Nikes, and a sweater, and her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and tied with a gray ribbon.

  He tried to smile, but his mood wouldn’t let him. He sighed as he walked up to Apple. “C’mon, baby, it’s about time you leave this fuckin’ place and go home.”

  Apple didn’t respond to him. She had her good moments and a lot of bad moments, and today was one of her worst.

  After gathering her things, Chico pushed her out into the hallway and toward the elevators, having signed her out earlier. He stepped off the elevator and wheeled her through the main lobby. She was quiet the entire time. Chico could hear Jay-Z blaring from inside the Impala as he approached the car.

  Dante stepped out of the car when he noticed Chico with Apple. It would be his first time meeting his cousin’s girl. He couldn’t help staring at Apple’s scarred face.

  Apple noticed him looking. “What the fuck you lookin’ at?” she shouted.

  Dante glanced at Chico. Out of respect for his cousin, he kept his cool. “I’m just here to help, that’s all.”

  Apple sighed. “I just wanna get the fuck outta here.”

  Once Chico helped her into the front seat of the car, they peeled off in the dusk. Apple slumped in her seat and peered out the window. It had been a while since she had seen outside, and it was eating her up inside that she had to walk around with a plastic mask over her face like some awful creature in a horror film.

  ***

  A few hours later, Apple sat in her quiet bedroom staring at the walls, while Chico and Dante were downstairs drinking and smoking. She had a lot on her mind. The rage inside of her was growing stronger and stronger every time she looked at her scarred image in the mirror.

  She got out of bed and walked over to the dresser mirror. She pulled off the clear, plastic mask and gazed at herself for the umpteenth time. Apple hated what she was looking at, but she didn’t wish she could miraculously change back into her old self or turn away from her reflection like she usually
did.

  She moved her face closer to the mirror and slowly touched her scars, examining her burns like they were alien to her. She gently touched the disfigured side of her face and held her eyes on the wounds.

  She closed her eyes, experiencing a quick flashback of the incident, and then reopened them. Make ’em pay, she heard a voice shout in her head.

  Apple thought she was going crazy for a moment, but she heard the voice again even louder. They did this to you. Make ’em pay. Show ’em how ugly you can really become. She looked around the room and realized she was alone. She thought hearing voices was one of the side effects of her medication. She turned to stare at herself in the mirror again, hate and anger showing clearly in her eyes. She knew the voice screaming in her head was right. Make them all pay.

  She went over to the drawer and pulled out a pen and some paper. She sat on the edge of her bed and began to write up a list—a list of all of her enemies. Thinking about revenge excited her. Apple wrote down the names of those she thought responsible. At the top of her list was Kola, then her mother, Denise, along with Mesha and Cross. She then tore up the paper, tearing each individual name apart.

  She walked to the bedroom door and called out for Chico, who rushed up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  “What up, baby?” Chico stared at Apple seated on the bed, holding one of his Yankees fitted cap in her hand. He walked over to her and noticed the torn paper on the floor.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  Apple gazed at her man with a sinister smirk. “I’m gonna pick a name, baby.”

  “For what?”

  “Who I want dead next.”

  Chico smiled. “I like the way you think.”

  Apple shook the cap with the names like it was a raffle. Chico stood close by her side. Whatever name she picked, he was ready to kill. He was a heartless thug who wanted to take joy in murdering his foes.

  Apple reached into the cap and pulled out a name. She smiled as she stared at the name written on the small piece of paper. She felt good. She felt she had the power of life and death in her hands. She handed the name to Chico.