“Get the fuck down! Get down!” K’wan screamed out, with him and Roscoe sweeping through the room, trying to maintain order and to keep from getting shot.

  “Fuck around and get shot tonight!” Roscoe shouted. ”Fuck wit’ us!”

  Three men were caught off guard inside the living room.

  K’wan held them at gunpoint, while Roscoe hurried through the three-bedroom apartment making sure there weren’t any surprises. There was a naked bitch in one of the bedrooms. Roscoe forced her out and made her join everyone in the living room. They made everyone get down on their stomachs, kissing the floor.

  “Where the shit at?” K’wan asked.

  No one answered.

  Roscoe cocked back the shotgun. “Y’all think we fuckin’ playin’?” He pointed the sawed-off shotgun at the back of the naked girl’s head.

  She whimpered and begged for her life.

  Someone quickly said, “The shit is in the speakers.”

  K’wan didn’t believe it because music was playing. “You lying, nigga.” He stepped to the bitch in a threatening manner, ready to shoot.

  The same man shouted, “I’m not fuckin’ lying. They in the fuckin’ speakers.”

  K’wan motioned to Roscoe to check it out.

  Roscoe carefully inspected the speakers and found out how to remove the woofers. He slowly removed the material and reached inside pulling out several kilos of cocaine and a few bundles of cash. “Bingo!” He smiled like a kid on Christmas Day.

  K’wan nodded. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “You got what you want, let us be,” someone exclaimed.

  “Yeah, let y’all be. Right. I feel you on that, muthafucka,” K’wan said coolly right before he unleashed his fury.

  The first shot tore through the man’s head, spilling his flesh and blood all over the floor and on the people next to him.

  When the bitch started screaming, Roscoe quickly shut her up with a shotgun blast to the back of her head. Her skull exploded like a pumpkin falling on a landmine.

  They quickly extinguished the other three men execution-style and hurried out of the apartment with the goods.

  ***

  K’wan and Roscoe counted their take in the depths of a shabby apartment building a few blocks from Rockaway Avenue. Money, drugs, and guns were spread out on the table. With a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a bottle of E & J beside him, K’wan nodded to a Jay-Z track and grinned as he counted hundred after hundred.

  “Yeah, we came up wit’ this hit,” K’wan said.

  “How much so far?”

  “About twenty stacks and, wit’ the coke, we talkin’ ’bout fifty stacks easy.”

  Roscoe smiled. “I told you they were holdin’ some serious weight up in that spot. Was I wrong, K’wan?”

  “Nah, you were on point, Roscoe,” K’wan replied nonchalantly.

  “My source always be on point.”

  K’wan threw a dubious gaze at his partner in crime. “Yeah, your source.”

  K’wan had a personal vendetta on his mind, and he was ready to raise hell on those who had caused his fall from drug boss to petty stickup kid. He was determined to rise back to the top and reclaim what was rightfully his.

  He took a pull from the cigarette between his lips and blew out smoke. He placed the ki’s back into the garbage bag and divided up the cash.

  Roscoe felt proud to be back working capers with his friend again. He’d come home from doing a bullet on Rikers Island and couldn’t wait to get back into his treacherous lifestyle.

  K’wan handed him $10,000, his portion of the cash.

  “Yeah tonight, I’m gonna put this cash to some good use, find me a nice bitch to pop off wit’ and ride out. Feel what I’m sayin’, my nigga?” Roscoe gleefully leafed through hundred after hundred.

  K’wan replied halfheartedly, “Yeah, I feel what you sayin’.”

  Roscoe placed his cash into two separate pockets of his jacket and turned to make his exit. He gave K’wan dap and was set to have a great time tonight. They planned on stashing the ki’s of cocaine somewhere secure and profiting from them later. K’wan had an out-of-state connect that was interested in purchasing them.

  “Be safe, my nigga,” K’wan said.

  “I will.”

  Roscoe headed for the exit, but before he could take three steps toward the doorway, K’wan immediately picked up his pistol, outstretched his arm, aimed it at the back of Roscoe’s head, and fired multiple shots into his skull. Roscoe dropped dead by his feet, his blooding spilling out of his head.

  “Snitch muthafucka!” K’wan glared down at the body. He crouched over the body, went through his pockets, and removed the cash.

  Roscoe used to be a friend, but word had gotten out that he had been running his big mouth to keep his freedom. Instead of doing hard time for the drug charge he was hit with, he gave up Dwayne, K’wan’s little brother. Roscoe received a lesser sentence from the prosecutor’s office, doing only one year on Rikers Island. He didn’t think K’wan would ever find out. Because of Roscoe, Dwayne was still on Rikers Island awaiting his trial with a $100,000 bail that couldn’t be paid.

  K’wan grabbed everything in the basement and immediately left, leaving Roscoe’s body there to rot. His former friend deserved to burn in hell for his transgression against his family.

  K’wan loved his little brother. Dwayne was the only family he had left. He couldn’t afford to pay Dwayne’s bail, so robbing and killing was the only way to raise the money.

  He walked out the building with a cool conscience, whistling a melody, not even giving a second thought that he’d killed a friend. He walked to his car, tossed the goods into the trunk, and climbed behind the wheel. He had another important engagement he needed to be present for. His girl had called him and said she had some important news to tell him, and plus, he was horny.

  He lingered behind the wheel of his Nissan Maxima for a moment and sat looking pensive. The block was quiet, the cold freezing his windows. He lit another cigarette and smoked for a moment. Dwayne was on his mind. He knew his brother could handle himself in jail, but the wild thought of him getting heavy time because of Roscoe’s betrayal haunted him.

  Dwayne was only nineteen, but he was already a force to be reckoned with, becoming a lethal young nigga having the streets on lockdown just like his older brother. Dwayne was moving serious weight, and, like K’wan, he was a beast in Brooklyn.

  The state prosecutor had unsealed a 15-count indictment, charging Dwayne with continuing of a criminal enterprise and conspiracy to distribute kilos of cocaine, racketeering conspiracy, extortion, and kidnapping. The indictment was based on the cooperation of Roscoe Clinton, who had already pled guilty to drug possession and grand theft.

  A year earlier, K’wan would have been able to pay the high bail, but now things had changed drastically. He started the ignition and drove off, leaving behind the stench of disloyalty and a body to freeze and be chewed on by rats in the concrete basement.

  If Roscoe told on Dwayne so easily, K’wan couldn’t help but to worry what else the big-mouth snitch talked about to the police and prosecutors. K’wan had committed several murders with Roscoe present. A few murders he did were to help Roscoe out.

  There was the time when they were seventeen. Roscoe was pumping crack on his corner that evening when a rival approached him and assaulted him for working their territory. K’wan convinced Roscoe to go back out and work that same corner, despite what the nigga had threatened. K’wan reassured him that he had his back. Roscoe trusted his word and worked the same corner the next day. When the same rival returned looking for a confrontation, K’wan stepped out of the cut and shot the man in the head with everything he had in the clip and walked away with the gun smoking.

  It angered K’wan that he didn’t see Roscoe’s weakness from the beginning. He would have handled him earlier, and his brother wouldn’t have been in his predicament.

  K’wan drove to Bushwick and parked in front of a two-story flat and got out. He walked toward the structure with his pistol tucked snugly in his waistband and rang the bell. As he waited, he quickly observed his surroundings, knowing he was a man with a list of enemies.

  The front door opened, and a curvy, voluptuous woman appeared in front of K’wan. She was wearing a red silk robe and was all smiles.

  “Hey, baby.” She threw her arms around him and invited him inside.

  As K’wan walked into her home, she was all over him with kisses to his neck and lips and ready to jump into his arms. She felt the cold steel protruding from his waistband. It turned her on that her man was a vicious gangster and killer. When they fucked, sometimes he would rub the barrel of a 9 mm against her naked nipples, or massage her clit with the tip of his .38.

  “I got some really good news for you, baby,” she said.

  “What you got for me, Paquitta?”

  “You love me?”

  “Yeah, you know I do,” K’wan replied, wrapping his arms around her curvy waist and squeezing her lovingly.

  They passionately locked lips in the foyer. K’wan lifted the back of her robe and clutched her naked booty. Paquitta had ass for days. He loved her body—her shaved pussy, dark nipples, thick thighs, and that ghetto attitude.

  He fondled her body and cupped her tits, ready to unzip his jeans and please himself with some of that ghetto loving.

  Paquitta untied her robe, revealing her appealing body and teasingly took a few steps back away from him. She was beautifully drunk off his thug loving and murderous smile.

  K’wan followed her deeper into the living room. He removed the pistol from his waistband and placed it on the coffee table. He undid his jeans, took off his coat, and pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his chiseled, tattooed body and street wounds.

  “What you got to tell me?” he asked.

  Paquitta dropped her robe, letting it mesh around her feet and was completely naked for his taking. “C’mere, sexy,” she said, gesturing with two fingers.

  K’wan stepped toward her, smiling broadly.

  Within a span of twenty-four hours, K’wan had killed numerous people, including his best friend, and it didn’t bother him at all.

  He entangled himself in her seductiveness, and they fervently locked lips again.

  She hurriedly pulled out his thick penis and wrapped her manicured nails around it. As she stroked his dick, she said into his ear, “Your brother is coming home, baby. He made bail.”

  K’wan pushed away from Paquitta. “What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?”

  “I thought you would be happy, baby.”

  “How the fuck my brother made bail?”

  “I looked out for you.”

  “How? Where the fuck did you get a hundred thousand to post his bail, Paquitta?”

  “From a friend.”

  K’wan looked at her suspiciously. “What fuckin’ friend? You fuckin’ some other nigga?”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “I love you. And, besides, he came to me and was asking about you. He heard about Dwayne and decided to post his bail. He wants to meet you, K’wan. He wants to talk some business wit’ you, baby.”

  “What business?”

  “I don’t know, but ya name rings out, K’wan, and you know we need the money.”

  K’wan clenched his jaws along with his fists. He shot a murderous look at Paquitta. He wasn’t too thrilled about her being in his business and chatting with some other nigga about his future.

  “Just talk to him, baby.”

  “Who the fuck is this nigga you talkin’ about?” he shouted.

  “His name is World.”

  “World?” K’wan repeated, a bizarre expression on his face. He knew that name from somewhere.

  “He said he got some work for you if you need it, and he’s willing to pay you what you worth. Baby, you ain’t gotta be out there doin’ these stickups. The nigga is running an empire.”

  “I was running a fuckin’ empire, bitch! You want me to become a fuckin’ soldier in some next nigga’s crew when I was the fuckin’ general of my own shit?”

  “He just wants to talk to you, baby, that’s all. It can’t hurt, right?” Paquitta softly said to him.

  K’wan wasn’t too excited to meet with the man, but he wasn’t stupid. If this man was able to bail his brother out of jail, then K’wan might be able to work with him.

  Chapter 5

  Luca was devastated by Clyde’s rejection. She didn’t understand it. What was wrong with her? Why did he choose Phaedra? The thought of it made her want to snap. She wanted to hate everyone.

  Leaving the hospital, the pain in her heart was throbbing like she was about to explode. She hurried to her car and sped away, not knowing what direction she wanted to go in. She didn’t want to be around anyone. She wanted to disappear for a moment and think, really think.

  She found herself driving toward her home in Rockaway Park. During the ride, Luca cried her eyes out. She wished she could drive herself into a different life and become someone new, or turn back the hands of time and correct her mistakes.

  The hour drive from Brooklyn to Rockaway Park was a sorrowful one, every mile polluted with distraught memories. The farther she traveled from Brooklyn, the deeper her heart sank, and the more her tears flowed. She had lost so much. The men she loved—Nate, Squirrel, and now Clyde—had all betrayed her and broken her heart. Not to mention friends—Naomi, and now Phaedra. She had no one left that she truly loved, no one but her dying grandmother.

  Luca had no idea what or who was waiting for her at the home. It was a dangerous place for her to be alone, but she didn’t care.

  In was late in the evening when Luca arrived in the quiet suburban area with its prime real estate, manicured green lawns, picket fences, and that Brady Bunch way of living. The houses on both sides of the street were spread more than a respectable distance from each other, not cramped and packed on top of each other like the projects in Brooklyn.

  She navigated her way through Mayberry, and when she rounded the corner to her street, nothing could prepare her for what she saw next.

  Luca stopped the car in front of her home, her mouth open in awe. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It couldn’t be true. This wasn’t happening. She only wanted to wake up from the perpetual nightmare she kept plummeting deeper and deeper into. Her house was gone—like Wizard of Oz gone.

  “Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” Her eyes teared up again.

  There had to be some kind of explanation. Her home couldn’t just get up and walk away. She jumped out of her car in disbelief and hurried to what was left—nothing. What the fuck happened?

  There was nothing left of her home, not even rubble, no indication that a house had even been built there. It left only an unpleasant view in the plush area.

  Luca walked all around her property and looked around. The ground beneath her feet felt soft and unsteady. Maybe she was getting dizzy. She stood in an empty quarter where her living room used to be. Then she walked over to where her secret room used to be, and it was all gone—the money and the drugs.

  “Why was I so fuckin’ foolish to leave it in the same place twice?” she screamed out.

  She remembered the old saying: fool me once, shame on you, and fool me twice, shame on me. Shame on her. It was a stupid, stupid move. Luca collapsed down on her knees, feeling beaten, overwhelmed, and overcome with anguish. She had lost everything.

  Luca noticed the neighbors’ lights come on and then someone pulled back their blinds to see outside. She lifted herself off her knees and walked over to the house. She dried her tears and stormed up the porch and knocked loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

  She banged loudly and shouted, “I know someone is fuckin’ home! Answer the fuckin’ door!” She didn’t care if they called the cops or not; she wasn’t going anywhere.

  A minute later, the porch light came on, and the front door opened up, followed by the screen door. Luca glared at Mrs. Shoals, in a green housecoat, her hair in rollers.

  “Luca, what is going on?” Mrs. Shoals asked, looking mystified by Luca’s presence.

  “Don’t act like you didn’t know I am here, Mrs. Shoals. I saw you looking out your window. I wanna know what the fuck happened to my fuckin’ house. Why isn’t it there anymore?”

  Mrs. Shoals sighed, looked up and down the block and said, “Come inside. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Luca stepped inside the woman’s well-furnished home and stood in the living room. She was livid.

  Mr. Shoals came marching down the stairs tying his robe together. “Tina, who was that knocking on the gotdamn door like that? What is wrong with people today? They have no respect.”

  When he reached the living room and saw Luca standing there, he turned blue in the face. “Oh,” he uttered with embarrassment.

  Luca glared at him.

  Mr. Shoals could only look at Luca. “I’m sorry about your house.”

  “Fuck a sorry! What happened?” she spewed, impatience in her tone.

  “Do you want some tea?” Mrs. Shoals asked.

  Luca didn’t have time for their formalities. She wanted them to talk. She knew they knew something. There was no way they could live next door and not see how her house just up and vanished out of nowhere. This wasn’t David Copperfield, and she didn’t believe in magic.

  “I just wanna know what happened.”

  Mrs. Shoals said, “Two weeks ago your house caught fire.”

  “What?”

  “It was a huge blaze.”

  “It was a damn inferno, woman,” Mr. Shoals said, like it was something he had never seen before.

  Luca looked at them in disbelief. “My house caught on fire, how?”

  Mrs. Shoals told her, “It was a big fire. It got so out of control, the block had to be evacuated. We heard something like an explosion. We didn’t know if it was a gas line or something. The fire department couldn’t contain the fire, so your house burned down to the ground.”

 

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