Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (12 page)

“Nigga, I don’t wanna hear about no muthafuckin’ Cross or his bitch right now!” Chico shouted.

Chico didn’t want to admit that Dante was right. He didn’t want to look stupid and played. He had heard the name “Coca Kola” being floated around. Word on the street was, she got that nickname for all the weight she was unloading. Cross and his bitch were moving so much snow, they were calling his team “The Perfect Storm,” which was hard for Chico to swallow.

“I’ma go talk to a few not-so-loyal muthafuckas and negotiate,” Chico said.

“It’s your court, cuzzo.”

“And I’m still holding the ball.”

Chico sat silently, disturbed by everything going on. He only wanted to have a few words with Memo and then kill him.

An hour later, the two men were still sitting and waiting in the stolen, dark Chevy. It was evident that Dante wanted to be elsewhere. Becoming weary, he fidgeted with the radio continuously.

“We should have brought some CDs wit’ us,” he said.

“Worry about that shit some other time. Just focus on this muthafucka comin’ out,” Chico replied, his eyes glued on the tacky lounge across the street.

“You sure he really in there? You trust the chick that’s tellin’ you this?”

“She’s a hundred percent.”

“And why’s that?”

Chico turned his focus toward Dante. He was silent for a moment before saying, “Because I say so.”

“Well, she better be. I’m gettin’ tired of this waiting around. It’s making me feel like it’s a setup.”

“You a gangster, right?”

“Fuck kind of question is that?”

“Nigga, then act like it.”

Dante glared at his cousin. The bickering was normal between the two. Dante was the only person Chico trusted and the only man with the balls to question him.

It wasn’t until after two in the morning when a few patrons began exiting the rusty side door that led into the dark alley. Both men in the Chevy rose up and retrieved their guns. Chico cocked back his .45 and kept a steady eye on the small crowd pouring into the streets, mostly bottom-class residents of Harlem inebriated with liquor, their source of heaven.

“Look hard for this muthafucka,” Chico said.

“I always do. You wanna talk first, or just open fire?”

“Talk to this muthafucka for a moment, but if he raise up, shoot to kill this nigga.”

Dante nodded.

Memo followed behind the other patrons onto St. Nicholas Avenue. He was easily recognizable by his height alone. He stood six three with long braids and was dressed in a pair of beige Timberland and a classic varsity-style jacket with wool/polyester body and soft, lambskin sleeves. He was high yellow, like afternoon daylight, and slim, and his beady eyes carried an angry stare.

Memo exited the lounge with a friend by his side, shorter in height but carrying the same thuggish demeanor. The two men looked like they were nothing to play with.

Chico observed his mark closely, blowing cigarette smoke out of his mouth. He said to Dante, “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

Chico jumped out of the Chevy and walked quickly toward Memo and his friend, and Dante was right behind his cousin, both men carrying their guns at their sides, ready to open fire.

Memo headed for the Accord parked at the corner of St. Nicholas and 148th Street. He staggered toward his car with the keys in his hand, unaware of the oncoming threat across the street. His friend Mooky was steps behind him, laughing to himself. The liquor in his system was making everything much funnier to him. He almost lost his footing and caught his balance against a parked car.

“Yo, I’m ready to go smoke,” Mooky said.

Memo turned slightly to comment on what Mooky had said, but his eyes caught the sudden trouble heading his way. His eyes squinted, zeroing in on Chico and Dante rushing his way. He saw the guns, noticed their bizarre movements, and read into it immediately—They were coming for him.

He reached under his shirt for his pistol. Before he could warn Mooky about the danger, a shot was fired, striking Mooky in the back of the head, and Mooky fell dead on the pavement in front of Memo.

Memo shouted, “Muthafuckas!” and fired back.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
He took cover behind his car, while Chico and Dante rushed ahead with their guns blazing at him, sending bystanders scattering for cover, lighting up the block like a firecracker.

Shots whizzed by Memo’s head shattering car windows, but he wasn’t afraid and was determined not to die. “Fuck y’all!” he screamed.

Memo exploded on both men with his 9 mm like a trained soldier and proved to be a good shooter, barely missing Chico’s head by mere inches and pushing Dante back.

Dante began pulling his cousin by the collar, shouting, “C’mon, nigga, let’s go!” He knew the police would be on their way soon.

Chico continued to let off a barrage of shots, each one tearing into cars and windows. “I want him dead!” he shouted.

Dante was successful in pulling his cousin away from the gunfire and back to the car with Memo still shooting wildly at them. Both men jumped inside the Chevy and sped off, knowing they would get the chance another day.

Chapter 12

W
rapped in a white towel, Kola was running a hot bath in the large, oval tub that was cemented around marble foundation. She couldn’t wait to dip into the soothing water and soak like a boiling egg in her plush bathroom to the sound of Mary J. Blige coming from the small CD player on the granite countertop with dual sinks.

She wanted to relax. It had been a stressful day for her, but life was good. She’d made some strong connections, and the money was pouring in by the boatloads.

Slowly but surely, Chico was getting pushed to the side, his clients now copping weight from her. But she wanted the nigga out of business permanently. Chico was still a threat to her and her organization as long as he was alive and dating her sister, so she put shooters out on the streets to look for him, with the order to kill on sight.

Kola sighed as she slowly slid into the warm tub and felt the water calm her body and soul like a much-needed afternoon nap. She closed her eyes, tread the water calmly with her hands, and thought about the upcoming trial date that Cross and Edge had for their gun charge. They had to meet with Cross’ attorney and see which way the prosecutors were going with the case. Kola couldn’t imagine Cross being out of her life. That would’ve been a nightmare for her.

Kola remained relaxed in the tub for a moment, enjoying the sweet sounds of Mary J., a loaded .380 resting on the sink. The CD started playing one of her favorite songs by Mary J. Blige, “My Life,” and she started singing along.

Kola had a beautiful, soulful voice like Mary J. Her friends had always said she could become a singer if she wasn’t in a life of crime. She had the vocals, and she definitely had the looks. But singing full-time wasn’t for her. She had no desire to sit in a dark studio and suck a producer’s dick for a hot instrumental track. She was making money moving weight and had respect wherever she went.

She briefly thought about Apple and wondered what her twin sister’s face looked like, knowing they were no longer identical.
Who had the balls?
she thought. She wanted to meet that stranger.

Kola continued to soak in the tub for an hour, listening to the entire album. She wanted to forget about her troubles, but Cross’ gun charge kept creeping into her mind and stuck around like a cancerous cell.

As the water began to chill, Kola lifted herself out of the tub, her body glistening like a gem. She stepped out the tub and reached for her towel that was resting on the marble.

Kola sighed and walked toward the window. She peered outside just in time to see Cross’ H6 Hummer come to a stop in the driveway. He and Edge stepped out of the mountain-sized vehicle looking like two rap stars, their long chains swinging and gleaming. It was always good to see her man home.

She hurried into the bedroom to change into something decent. She would have remained in the towel and given Cross something nice and warm to come home to, but seeing that he was with Edge, she knew now wasn’t the time.

She swung open the dual doors that led into her walk-in closet and picked out a dark blue cashmere robe, wrapped herself in it, tying it closed at the waist, put on some cozy socks, and headed toward the great room, where she heard Cross and Edge talking.

Cross was fixing himself a drink at the small bar, while Edge was splitting open a cigar, about to roll a blunt. Edge sat slouched in the plush, stylish chair next to the glass coffee table that had an ounce of weed sitting on it in a large Ziploc bag .

Kola greeted him with a smile. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey.”

The two quickly kissed.

Cross didn’t look too worried about the meeting with his attorney in a few hours. He took a sip of his scotch on the rocks, walked farther into the great room, and told Edge, “Yo, roll up two of those.”

Edge nodded.

Kola positioned herself behind Cross and wrapped her arms around him, nestling the side of her face into his back and hugging him like he was a giant teddy bear.

Cross took a few sips from his drink, but Kola stayed attached to him like she was clothing. When his cell phone rang, he quickly took the call. It was Meyers Mitchell, his attorney. He removed himself from Kola’s loving arms and walked toward the large cathedral windows to speak privately with his lawyer, while Kola stood opposite Edge, the glass coffee table separating the two.

While Edge rolled the second blunt, there was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them. Edge had made it clearly known that he was against the new arrangement. He thought a female needed to stay in her place. Kola made it known that she was nothing to bet against and wasn’t going to be intimidated by the twenty-six-year-old. In her eyes, age didn’t matter; it was how smart and vicious you could be. And she was as vicious in a dogfight in the bloody pits, just like any of the male dogs.

Edge finished rolling the second blunt. He removed a lighter from his pants pocket, placed the long blunt between his lips, and lit it quickly. He then leaned back into the chair, his eyes lingering on Kola with a deadpan gaze. Kola noticed his dark eyes staying on her a little too long for her comfort.

Edge exhaled and handed the burning joint to Kola. “You smoking?” he asked in his raspy tone.

As Kola reached for the blunt, Edge smiled at her. She stepped back from him and took three long tokes. She coughed after the first pull and took a deeper pull the second time. The third had her feeling nice. One thing Kola respected about Edge, he knew how to cop quality weed, and what she was smoking was straight potent shit, probably directly off the banana boat.

Kola stared over at her man for a moment as he stood by the window talking on the phone. His body language told her that whatever Meyers was saying to her boo wasn’t good. She wished she could take his troubles away.

Edge took the blunt back from Kola and continued to take deep pulls from the intoxicating purple haze like it was a cigarette. As he lounged in the chair with the blunt between his lips, his eyes hooked on the shape of Kola’s ass under the bathrobe. He rubbed his crotch slowly while studying her shapely figure from head to toe and wished that someday he could slip his dick into her pussy. He longed to fuck the shit out of the young girl. For Edge, young pussy was always the best pussy.

Unknown to Kola and Cross, Edge had had a profound crush on Apple ever since she was fourteen. In his eyes, age didn’t matter. In fact, he was attracted to girls, sometimes as young as twelve or thirteen. He used to watch Apple from a distance. He would sit in his car and stare at her hanging around with friends in the projects, and would even follow her around in his car for blocks. But since Apple was no longer around to fuel his fantasies, his lust shifted to the twin sister. He would watch Kola from the side of his eyes, lick his lips, and even touch himself slowly when she or Cross wasn’t looking.

“You wanna take another hit of this?” he asked Kola.

She turned on her heels and reached for the blunt. This time, she took two short pulls and immediately passed it back to him. He took it from her and savored the taste around the tip of the blunt, subtly licking it like it was candy. Kola, more focused on the conversation Cross was having with his attorney, wasn’t aware of the foul looks directed her way.

Cross didn’t look too pleased when he got off his cell phone. He walked toward the two and was silent for a moment.

“What he say?” Edge asked.

“We’ll talk in his office today.”

Edge shrugged it off and continued smoking.

Cross turned to Kola. “Baby, why don’t you go put some damn clothes on? Why you standing out here naked underneath a bathrobe in front of my man?”

“’Cause I can,” she teased.

Cross cut his eyes at Kola.

She understood what his look meant. “Fine!” She spun around in her socks and headed toward the stairway.

Kola entered the bedroom with a troubled gaze and sat on the edge of her bed, worried about Cross and his open case. She wanted to know what his lawyer had said over the phone. She heard the men talking downstairs, but it wasn’t about the case.