Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (6 page)

She took a chance by walking over to him slowly. She wanted to talk to him and smooth things out. She refused to believe that she fucked up and had hope that things would turn out OK.

She climbed onto the bed with Cross and tried to ease his worries by massaging his shoulders. “Baby, I’m already on it. I started making phone calls, hitting up some of our old customers to negotiate with. We gonna cut out Chico and that bitch and run Harlem like it should be. We’re a team, baby, and together we can move this shit.”

Cross remained silent. Still fuming inside, Kola’s support didn’t mean shit to him at the moment.

Kola realized she had to do more showing than telling, which was exactly what she planned on doing.

Cross dryly responded, “I hope you ain’t kill us wit’ your shit.” He removed himself from Kola’s touch and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Kola tried to hold back her tears, but she couldn’t help crying at seeing Cross so upset. After sitting there for a moment, she snatched up her cell phone and began making more phone calls, determined not to fail.

Chapter 5

T
he two weeks Apple spent in the burn unit were excruciating and degrading. She couldn’t look at herself in any mirrors. She once took pride in her beauty, but that was snatched away from her viciously. The physical pain was subsiding somewhat with the medication she was given, but her spirit was crushed. The only thing on her mind was revenge. She hated everybody and everything. The bitter spirit that resided inside of her was ready to cut loose and wreak havoc on whoever disfigured her. If they thought she was a bitch before, then Harlem was about to get a rude awakening.

Detectives were in and out of her room, wanting her to file a report or press charges against her attacker or attackers, if she knew who they were. But Apple was defiant toward them and wanted to enforce the code of the streets. She was ready to handle her own problems and didn’t need the help of the police.

The one good thing that Apple had in her life was Chico. She was surprised he was still by her side trying to comfort her and make the situation easier. Still, Chico had a hard time dealing with her sudden disfigurement. It took a strong stomach to stare at the burned side of Apple’s face.

The doctors had planned to do many skin graft operations, but her face wasn’t healing right. They had to treat her face with antibiotics for infection that had developed in the wound and operate on her burns countless times. Chico paid for all her medical bills. He was supportive and constantly by her side, which confused his crew. They figured that, with Apple’s beauty gone, Chico would have been long gone too.

Chico sat by Apple’s bed, holding her hand gently while she was asleep. His phone kept buzzing, but he ignored it for a moment. It had been another long day with medical treatments—the skin graft, the medication, and Apple’s hollering and bitterness. But he understood her pain. He was ready to do anything for her, even kill every single last soul that was responsible.

Chico fell asleep in the chair next to the sleeping Apple. His phone had been ringing all night, but he was too tired to answer anyone’s call. He planned to deal with business in the morning. Apple was his main concern for the night.

Chico woke up at four in the morning to see Apple out of bed. He wiped his eyes, looked over at her, and asked, “Why you out of bed?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You OK?”

Apple turned and looked at him with an expression that said she was far from OK and wouldn’t be for a very long time. The bandages on her face were itching and sticking. The painkillers she was taking were doing her fine but taking a small toll on her. She was drained of tears and felt so bitter that her hands were constantly balled in a fist. She couldn’t think about anything but revenge.

Apple was saddened, though. It was her second week in the hospital, and there were no visitors, no concerns, no get-well cards, flowers, balloons, or anything sentimental from anyone. It was like everyone had forgotten about her, including her own family. Chico was her only support, but everyone else—all of Harlem—had left her for dead. It made Apple want to cry, but tears trickling down her face would be painful. So she held back her tears and substituted it with anger, and plotting against all of her enemies—even her sister and mother. Her heart was more bruised than her face.

Apple couldn’t believe how drastically her life had changed within the year. She had transformed into so many people in such a short time that she was becoming bipolar. It felt like she was about to go crazy. She would just sit there for hours, looking into space, not saying a word. Chico tried to help her, but some days she would just ignore him.

“Baby, you need your rest,” Chico said.

“I don’t need shit!”

Chico went up to her and tried to console her, but Apple pulled away from him, not wanting to be touched or comforted. In fact, most of the time she wanted to be alone.

Holding in his frustration, Chico checked the numbers in his phone and then looked at Apple. “I know what will make you feel a whole lot better,” he said.

Apple didn’t respond. She just continued to sit on the edge of her bed staring at the wall. The television was on mute with the dimmed room lit up from its azure glare.

“Just give me the word, Apple, and I’ll hunt them all down and kill ’em,” Chico proclaimed through clenched teeth. He was a killer and ready to spark up death all through Harlem.

“What about Kola?” he asked. “I’ll start wit’ that bitch. You said she had something to do wit’ this shit.”

Apple looked at him confused.

“The first night you were here that bitch name kept coming out your mouth. You kept blaming her.”

Apple didn’t remember anything. She was delirious at the time and hurting really bad. But she didn’t rule her sister out as one of the culprits.

Chico, known to protect what was his with an iron fist, felt the attack on Apple was a direct attack on him. The streets and his woman were his. He had a brutal reputation on the streets, and there had to be serious retribution for Apple’s disfigurement. People had to pay; they had to die. Or he would look weak, and he refused to be weak.

“Give me a name, Apple,” he demanded.

Apple couldn’t think. The only thing that came to her mind was the crackhead that walked up to her and changed her life forever.

“You need to kill him!” she cried out. “That’s who I want fuckin’ dead!”

“Lower your voice, baby. We in a public hospital.”

Chico wanted to know every detail about the crackhead. The only thing Apple remembered was, he was always around her old building, and he went by the name Joe.

Chico nodded, taking a mental note of the information. He was ready to go to the projects with a few goons and talk to Joe the way he knew best, using hands-on violence.

He moved closer to Apple, took her hands into his, fixed his eyes on her wounds, and clearly stated, “Baby, whoever did this shit to you, I guarantee will get dealt with in the worst way. Fuck that shit! Niggas think they can throw acid in my girl’s face and there ain’t gonna be any repercussions? I’m about to light up Harlem fo’ real over this shit.”

Apple turned her head away from his stare and looked at the wall. She just wanted her normal life back. There was a deep-rooted pain and jealousy stirring in her stomach, making her green-eyed about the fact that her twin sister Kola now had all the beauty and wealth, while she was looking like a monster.

She turned to look back at Chico and saw how serious he was with his statement. He was ready to kill for her. She knew he was capable of carrying out the hits. He reigned with violence, some of which she’d witnessed personally.

Apple managed a smile. “Kill ’em all for me, baby. Kill ’em all, starting wit’ that fuckin’ crackhead.”

“I will. I will.”

Chico left the hospital room on a mission. The second he exited the lobby, he began making a few phone calls. He hated to see Apple in pain and felt the only way to make her feel a little better was to find out who was behind the assault and take care of it via bloodshed and torture.

He called Dante, his cousin.

“Yo, speak to me, Chico. What’s good?”

“I need you in New York,” Chico said.

“Problems?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m there, cuz.”

Chico nodded as he ended the call.

Dante was the main reason why Chico was running some parts of Harlem today. He had so many bodies to his name, he was nicknamed Body Count. Dante was six three and weighed over two hundred pounds and used various methods to kill his victims—guns, knives, and even strangulation.

Eight years ago, Chico was warring with a rival dealer named Manson, and it was getting ugly for him in the streets, until Dante arrived from Miami. Within two weeks of his arrival, Dante took out four of Manson’s top men in brutal fashion, and Manson began looking weak in the streets and in the eyes of his men. A few months later, they found Manson’s body in the trunk of a burning car. His own men had killed him.

Dante had locked down Harlem with fear. He was known to sometimes use a machete to hack off the limbs of his enemies and leave them to bleed to death. Originally from Cuba, the ex-militant and illegal immigrant was always ready to kill and cause havoc for his cousin. Chico meant the world to him, and it only took one phone call to bring him back to New York.

Chico walked to his car knowing that his foes would regret the day they attacked his girl. He loved Apple and would continue to do so, even with her scars.

Chapter 6

K
ola secretly watched from the crevices of the dimmed doorway as Sunset rode the police sergeant’s dick like she was a jockey.

Sunset straddled the officer like a tight noose around the neck as his dick plunged upward into her dripping wet pussy. “Ooooh, fuck me, daddy! Fuck me!” she cried out, digging her manicured nails into his chest as the sergeant slapped her ass repeatedly.

“Damn!” he moaned. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

A regular at Kola’s sex parties, Sergeant Charles was a large white man with a distinctive mane of thinning white hair and a pork-size penis.

After Bunny Rabbit’s death, Sunset had become Kola’s number one girl. Kola took the girl under her wing and was training her on how to get money and satisfy a trick. They were becoming close like sisters, and Kola felt she could trust the girl with anything.

Sunset stood no more than five feet without her heels, and with her butter-like complexion, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, she was able to stir any man’s heart. She carried herself like a lady at all times and was a class act. And she was the freak that every man dreamed of. The men chased her down at the parties and weren’t shy about offering her all-expenses-paid trips to the Caribbean and spending huge amounts of cash on her.

Kola backed away from the doorway, hearing the moans and cries coming from the sergeant. She smiled as she walked down the corridor to tend to her party, which was in full swing.

Kola’s parties were still private affairs with invites only, and they were creating a huge buzz throughout the underground. Well-established men—brokers, investment bankers, entrepreneurs, a few big-time street hustlers, cops, and even a senator’s aide—were willing to pay up to two grand to frequent one of her parties, knowing that the women attending would be top-notch and disease-free. One time, a senator himself showed up at one of Kola’s parties.

Kola was strict with her business, taking charge of everything, from the type of music that she wanted playing, to the refreshments served, to the attire the girls needed to wear. She even had her girls checked on a regular for any STDs, and she made sure security was on point.

R. Kelly’s “Bump N’ Grind” was blaring throughout the party, while the girls walked around the hall with their body parts exposed, eyes and hands flirting. Kola strutted into the hall in a
V
set, the bra and V-string encrusted with colorful Swarovski crystals, and bright red stilettos. The raunchy attire showed off her wonderful shape, but she was the only woman off-limits to the men. She belonged to Cross, and Cross was a jealous lover most times.

Kola chatted with a few of the men who were seated by the bar sipping on a bottle of Moët. Wearing boxers and T-shirts, and their dicks hard like rocks, they came from Wall Street to unwind and fool around with the best ladies in the room.

She smiled and asked, “How are y’all gentlemen doing?”

One of the men raised his glass to Kola and replied, “I think I’m never going home to my wife.”

The men around him broke up laughing.

Kola smiled at his comment and moved on. She was only eighteen and already the boss of things. She looked around to see if everything was going smoothly, and she was proud of what she saw.

Still, Kola had other business to take care of. She had a few ki’s to move in a limited period, and she wasted no time getting on the phone calling up people. She even used her sex parties as an avenue to network.

She had an interest in three particular fellows at her party. One of the men was Perry. He was a fierce Dominican from the East Side in Spanish Harlem, and one of the hustlers who got his product from Chico. Kola saw this as an opportunity to get into his ear about business.