Dirty Work, Part 1, page 17
Pete looked cool and affable at the table, with his gold Rolex peeking from underneath his white cuffed shirt, but he was known to be a brutish muthafucka with notable power. He was arrogant and moved with confidence wherever he went, owning people like he owned buildings.
Soon, a man entered the backroom. He was stopped suddenly by security. He asked to speak to Pete. He came with urgent news.
Pete nodded to the security, allowing the man closer access to him. The man approached urgently Pete’s way. He lowered himself to Panamanian Pete and whispered into his ear. Pete’s demeanor didn’t change at all when he heard about the slaughter of his men in Brooklyn, though among the men killed was his cousin Lance, not to mention the missing $800,000. Pete simply nodded, understanding the verity of the situation. The man was dismissed, and Pete continued playing cards. Inside, he was filled with rage, sorrow, and yearning for vengeance. He sat stoic though.
Maserati Meek had struck first, and now it was war.
Twenty-Nine
The men divided the cash, each of them receiving a healthy cut. It was enough money to aid some serious issues each man was having in their life. Devon stopped his Expedition in front of the projects. The hour was really late, with dawn soon coming. The block was calm, people were asleep, and the projects were still.
Papa John yawned loudly.
Kip climbed out of the SUV and gave his goons dap. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he told them.
They nodded. Devon drove off, leaving Kip alone on the sidewalk, his gun tucked snugly in his waistband.
Kip started to walk toward the building lobby. He was the only soul outside at three in the morning. He could hear his own breathing. As he got closer to the lobby, an eerie feeling came over him. He turned around, only to see Jay P in all black, gunning for him with a .45.
“You bitch-ass nigga!” Jay P shouted.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Kip scurried for safety while trying to pull his own gun from his waistband to return fire. Bullets ricocheted everywhere. He made a dash for his building.
Jay P was reckless with it. He fired more wild shots, shattering glass.
Kip felt a sudden sting on his arm. “Ouch!” he shouted. He stumbled. He was able to return fire, but Jay P was already gone. He had been grazed in the arm, but it hurt like a muthafucka.
***
Kip was able to get himself patched up at Harlem Hospital on Lenox Avenue. While being treated, he received an unwelcome visit from detectives Albright and Yang. They had heard about the shooting and came to chat with him.
Kip scowled at their presence, having nothing to say to them. They tried to grill him on the shooting, wanting him to give a name, but he remained tight-lipped. Tired of the harassment, he let the detectives know how he felt about them. Once again, they had nothing and were forced to leave.
Devon and Papa John were already aware of the shooting, and they rushed to the hospital. Kip told them to wait outside. He didn’t want their faces seen inside the hospital.
Finally released from the hospital in the early hours of the morning, Kip climbed into the back seat of the Expedition, and they rushed home. Kip was extremely worried about his brother. He needed to move Kid. Their apartment was no longer safe. They discussed what happened, and each man thought the failed hit had come on Maserati Meek’s orders. Meek didn’t believe a word they’d said, and probably figured out they had stolen the money.
All three men went up to Kip’s apartment with their guns drawn and ready for anything. Kip cautiously put his keys into the lock and pushed the door open, expecting a gunfight, but there was nothing. The place was still and quiet. He rushed toward Kid’s bedroom with his gun still in hand and pushed open the door, only to find his brother still sleeping.
“Kid, wake up! Wake up!” Kip said, rousing his brother from his sound sleep.
Kid finally woke up, looking disoriented for a moment. The sun was still new in the sky and percolating through his bedroom window. He lifted his upper half from the bed, propped up on his hands, and quickly took in that something was wrong when he saw Devon and Papa John and the bandage around Kip’s left arm.
“Oh shit! What happened to you?” he asked fearfully.
“I got shot.”
“Shot?!”
“I ain’t got time to explain what happened. We need to go,” Kip said sternly.
“What? Go where?”
“I ain’t got time to explain shit to you, Kid. Just pack some things into a small bag and let’s go.”
Kid looked agitated and almost reluctant. He knew Kip wasn’t taking no for an answer. He packed a few things, including his chess set and his game systems, into an overnight bag. They were going to stay at an Extended Stay America hotel in Mount Vernon for a few weeks. The hotel had kitchenettes and was quite a distance from Harlem. Kip felt his brother would be safer there, and Kid didn’t object.
The men left the apartment. No one knew how long they would be gone. With war escalating, everyone’s lives were about to get a lot more dramatic and dangerous.
At the Extended Stay hotel, Kip helped his brother get unpacked, and then he dropped the duffel bag filled with cash onto the bed. He unzipped it, showing his brother what was inside.
Kid was in awe. Kid knew one thing for sure: However Kip attained that large amount of cash, it was done illegally, and most likely, someone had ended up dead.
“Kid, if anything happens to me, I need you to take care of this,” Kip said. “Keep this safe.”
Kid said, “Don’t talk like that, Kip. Whatever happened, whatever you did, we gonna get through this. We always do.”
Kip wasn’t so sure. A lot of shit had gone down, and there was a lot of heat on the streets. A war had started, and many men were going to die.
Kip zipped up the duffel bag and shoved it under the bed. He tucked his pistol into his waistband and prepared to leave. With Kid hidden safely in a hotel in Mount Vernon, he felt okay. He stared at his little brother before he walked out and smiled.
“Just be careful out there, Kip. Please.”
“I will.”
All was forgiven between the brothers. The fight they’d had was long behind them. Kid couldn’t lose him; Kip was the only family he had.
Kid sat in his wheelchair and just stared at the door, wondering if his brother would walk through it again.
***
Kip made the trip upstate to see his Nana once more. It was early morning when he knocked on her door, and she answered in her usual attire. She had a chronic cough and looked fatigued. Kip hated to see his Nana in such poor condition. But he had something that was going to cheer her up.
He closed her door and walked toward her bed with an overnight bag in hand. He dropped the bag on her bed. He hugged and kissed his Nana on her cheeks. “I got something for you, Nana. You gonna be okay.” He unzipped the overnight bag and showed her the cash inside—one hundred thousand dollars for her treatment and medication.
Nana was flabbergasted by the amount of money on her bed. She had never seen so much cash before. Her eyes lit up brightly like Times Square at night.
“Holy shit!”
“I told you, Nana, don’t worry ’bout anything. I was gonna get you that money.”
She wondered how he got it. Did someone die for this amount of money? She picked up a ten-thousand-dollar stack and gazed at it like it was exotic. “Kip . . . how?”
“Nana, don’t worry about how I got it. I just got it for you to get better and live.”
Kip was in a rush and couldn’t stay long. He hugged and kissed his Nana again and left her small apartment.
Nana started removing the stacks of cash and placing it on her bed. She counted it; it was all there—$100,000. Kip never failed to impress her. She then picked up her phone and called Curtis. When he answered, she boasted, “Guess what, baby? I got you your money.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Rhonda. I’ll come get you in about an hour. We’ll go out to eat and celebrate.” He hung up.
Thirty
Eshon sat in the comfort of her bathtub, soaking in the warm waters with soft bubbles. She was hassle-free and calm for the moment. She had scented candles burning and a glass of white wine close by, enjoying the perfect scenery she created for herself. She felt enchanted tonight, feeling great to be in her own world.
She sang along in perfect harmony to one of her favorite tracks, “Part II (On the Run)” by Beyoncé and Jay Z.
She was always thinking about Kip. Every love song, every breakup song, or just another sad love song, for her, was about Kip. Every word sung was about him and their relationship, their love life forever on repeat on the radio.
Eshon shed a few tears just thinking about the ups and downs with Kip, wondering if he would ever love her like she loved him. There was no hesitation when it came to loving him, and she let it clearly be known how strongly she felt about him. She wanted marriage and kids with Kip, and whether it was a life of crime with him or a life of stability with a family and a nine-to-five, she would be there.
Eshon lingered in the tub for about an hour, drowning in love and heartbreak simultaneously. She finished her wine and wiped away a few more tears. She stood up from the tub, stepped out, and toweled off while looking at her image in the bathroom mirror. What she saw was extraordinary, and she hated to be conceited. What was there not to like about her curvy figure, perky tits, round chestnut-colored eyes, full lips, and soft skin? She could easily become a singer or a model, or maybe both. Eshon knew she was a great catch, and while every nigga in Harlem was chasing and yearning for her, she didn’t give them the time of day, because she believed wholeheartedly in what she had with Kip. Some might say she was delusional.
She tied the towel around her body and knotted it. Stepping out the bathroom and into her bedroom, she noticed she had several missed calls and a few voice messages, including texts. Immediately, she knew something was up. Brandy had called her four times, and a few other home girls had reached out. There was a text from Brandy, saying: urgent, call me back.
Eshon wasted no time calling her back. Brandy’s phone rang twice before she answered, saying to Eshon, “You ain’t heard?”
“Heard what?” Eshon asked, trepidation slowly building inside of her.
“Kip got shot last night.”
Eshon immediately went blank. She thought she’d heard her friend wrong. It had to be a joke, but Brandy wouldn’t joke like that.
“What?” She was scared to ask if he was alive or not. Her heart fluttered with fear, not wanting to hear the worst, but she needed to know. “Brandy, is he dead?” she asked, her voice quivering with apprehension.
“He went to Harlem Hospital, but they say he’s okay.”
Eshon felt like she herself had just escaped death row. “What happened?” she asked.
“He got shot in the arm. I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t. Is he still in the hospital?” Eshon didn’t know it, but her body was already dressing, and she was ready to rush to his aid.
“I don’t know, but it was over some beef wit’ some nigga.”
Eshon was fully dressed; she had set a record for dressing. She then flew out the door like a flash of lightning and hurried to Kip’s apartment. Once there, she knocked several times, but there was no answer. She knocked again. Again, no answer. She sighed and took a seat on the ground. She was worried about Kip. Was he still in the hospital? She doubted it. He had gotten shot in the arm; it couldn’t be that serious. She knew Kip had to be out there looking for revenge on the man who’d shot him. It was in his character.
***
Devon smoked a blunt while sitting shotgun in his own vehicle. Papa John drove, and Kip sat in the backseat clutching a black 12-gauge pump shotgun, itching to use the fully loaded weapon against Jay P. Kip was looking for him, and anyone working or associated with him was a dead man too. He wanted to blow Jay P’s head off, and Maserati Meek’s too. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
They drove to Long Island and went to both of Maserati Meek’s stash houses, but both houses had been abandoned.
“Muthafuckas is running from us because they know we comin’ fo’ that ass,” Devon exclaimed.
Kip had no words. They all believed Meek had left the houses, and probably left town, because of the failed hit on Kip, who was grateful that Jay P had poor aim. And Maserati Meek’s cell phone was off.
But they had no idea that Meek was in hiding, and in Mafia terms, “going to the mattresses” because of the sudden conflict with Panamanian Pete. Maserati Meek was at war with a man just as powerful, resourceful, and deadly as himself. And Pete didn’t take kindly to losing his cousin and $800,000 in cash.
***
Panamanian Pete thought it was a petty robbery, and that his cousin’s murder was uncalled for. Why would Maserati Meek do something so stupid? Why would he risk both organizations going to war over $800,000, when they both had more money than they could count? What was Meek’s goal? Panamanian Pete planned on asking Meek that before he beheaded him for violating him, his family, and his organization in the worst way.
***
The entire night, Kip and his crew drove around the city, going from borough to borough, looking for Jay P, going to locations he was known to frequent, but there was no sign of him or of anyone connected to him.
The next day it was the same thing, hunting urgently for Jay P or anyone close to him. Four days passed, and Jay P was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Thirty-One
Jay P slept like a baby next to his naked whore. After some intense sex, he was spent. It was the middle of the night, and he didn’t hear a sound where he laid his head. After shooting Kip in the arm, missing his target completely and fucking things up, he had to leave town immediately. He didn’t trust anyone, and he knew there would be a price on his head. He went north, to Connecticut, where he stayed in a cheap rental in West Haven. He kept things low-key, paid for everything in cash, and left his entire identity back in New York. In West Haven, he was Mitchell from Albany. He had gotten a fake ID, always carried around his Ruger .9mm, and did his best to stay out of trouble. His only weakness was pussy. He’d spent a week in West Haven and frequented a strip club in New Haven called The Bottom, where he met Star, and she became his freak of the week.
Something suddenly woke Jay P out of his peaceful sleep. The room was dark and quiet. His stripper, Star, was wrapped around him intimately, still asleep. Jay P felt like some kind of entity was in the room with him. He pulled himself from the woman’s naked body and looked around the darkness, feeling a bit of paranoia overcoming him. His Ruger.9mm was on the nightstand, but still a tad out of his reach.
He sat there on the bed, one leg propped on the mattress, the other on the floor. Then something caught his eye in the shadows of the room—a man. Jay P knew it wasn’t a friend. He lunged for his pistol, but a bullet quickly tore through his leg. It came from a .9mm with a suppressor at the end of it.
Jay P dropped to the floor, bleeding and immobile.
The man dressed in black stepped closer to his victim.
Jay P stared up at him in awe and whispered, “I know you.”
The man in black aimed his gun at Jay P’s head.
Jay P pleaded for his life. “Please . . . don’t do this.”
The man fired three times at Jay P’s head and completely disfigured his cranium with large holes. Jay P’s body slumped in a pool of crimson.
Star, awakened by the commotion, was wide-eyed with terror and about to scream.
The man trained his gun on her. “You scream, you die.”
“I don’t wanna die,” she murmured, panic in her voice.
He glared at Star. He was only there for Jay P, not her, but she had seen his face. He locked eyes with the naked woman and said, “I’m sorry.”
“No!”
Pwoot! Pwoot!
He put one in her head and chest, and she lay there dead. He couldn’t take any chances.
***
Two days later, Jay P’s naked, bullet-riddled body was found in a park in Queens with half his head blown off. Someone had taken a razor and carved the word war into Jay P’s chest. A man walking his dog came across the gruesome sight in the early morning and immediately called 911.
The news quickly spread through the Tri-State. It was believed that Jay P was killed by one of Panamanian Pete’s men in retaliation for the death of his cousin and his missing $800,000.
***
Kip held Eshon in his arms as they lay in his bed, naked and chilling comfortably after two hours of passionate sex. She wanted to be held by him forever. Seeing Kip alive and in good health, she was able to breathe again. But for how long would she breathe freely until something else came up? But Eshon didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to enjoy Kip, his body, his kisses, his everything. It had been a breathtaking evening for her. For them. She and Kip went at it like they would never see each other again. She kissed every part of him, and she felt him so strongly when he came, it almost felt like her soul had lifted from her body for a second.
She toyed with his chest and rubbed her leg against his fine physique. She kissed his lips softly, looked into his eyes and uttered the words, “I love you.”
He looked at her, exhaled, and said, “I love you too.”
Eshon almost jumped up with joy. Her pussy throbbed. She truly didn’t expect that from him. Was Kip finally seeing the light with her? Was he changing? This had to be the best day of her life.
“I don’t want to lose you, Kip,” she said, as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“Where I’m gonna go?”
“This life you live, Kip, do you ever think—”
“Eshon, don’t even think like that. You know this is me, what I do, and you’ve been riding wit’ me for the longest. So don’t act like you brand new to this shit.”
“I know, but—”
