Flippin' the Hustle (20 page)

Derrick
had succeeded in getting Dominique to become an important ally in his operations, but not without paying a healthy price.

She had fallen in love with Derrick, and her only tool of leverage was the investigation that she was basically in control of.

Derrick, being the manipulator he could be, so much as promised her that for her unadulterated loyalty he would ultimately leave Naria and be with her.

Walking into his car dealership, Derrick noticed Dominique behind her desk giddily chatting on the telephone. He ignored her penetrating stare, going straight into his office and closing the door. He knew he had to string the naïve woman along until his plan came to fruition. Yet, her hungry appetite for sex was beginning to wear on him.

Looking out of his window, Derrick noticed the normal flow of drug dealer traffic at RJ's detail shop had quieted. In fact, he hadn't talked to his partner in almost two weeks. He grabbed his phone from his waist and called RJ.

* * * * *

RJ had begun to neglect nearly everything besides money for the lure of Melissa's sexual trysts. Driving through the city in his Escalade, he was en route to drop off a package of drugs to one of his newfound Brooklyn distributors.

He bopped his head to the pounding bass of Buster Rhymes' latest single. The vibration from his cellular phone caused him to decrease the music a few decibels and retrieve his phone. “What's up?” he answered.

“Yo, son, what's the deal? You MIA or what?” Derrick asked.

“Nah, man. The question is, are you MIA?” RJ retorted, “'Cause I'm out here in these streets right now.”

“I feel that. I feel that. But, um . . . maybe we should hook up a little later or something,” Derrick offered.

“Yeah, maybe later, yo.”

“A'ight, so I'm a hit you back later, B.”

“Yeah, that's cool. Hit me later, man.” RJ pushed END on his cell phone and tossed it in the passenger seat.

* * * * *

After being presented with the fact that his long time friend was sexing his child's mother, Damien completely lost it. Although he agreed to cooperate with the DEA, he still kept numerous things under wraps. Not only could those things get RJ life, but they could very well get Damien life also.

Nevertheless, after coming to grips with the raw irony of his situation, Damien made his choice.

Sitting in the small holding cell in the United States Courthouse in Downtown Manhattan, Damien's handcuffed hands sweated profusely. In a matter of minutes, he was due to appear in front of a Federal Grand Jury to disclose the unsolved murders that he and other members of the Black Tar Boyz had committed.

As he stared around the small room with sand blasted windows and rickety wooden furniture, all he could see was Melissa and RJ making love in the bed that he had purchased.

As the images in his mind became too vivid for him to handle, a voice said, “Mr. Gregory, it's time to go.”

“You're doing the right thing, son,” an older United States Marshal said, leading him into the courtroom.

* * * * * *

Derrick nearly had to peel Dominique off him in order to leave. Her possessiveness was beginning to scare him. Derrick knew he needed to spend more time with Naria now that she was in the vulnerable stages of pregnancy, and that's exactly what he planned to do.

Sticking his key in the door, Derrick entered the house and made his way upstairs. Once he got to his bedroom suite and didn't find Naria, he set out throughout the house to locate her.

Peeking his head inside of Carl's nursery, he found her seated in the overstuffed chair with their son in her arms. Naria looked to be the picture perfect mom until Derrick rounded the chair and got a closer look at the woman he'd come to love.

“Naria! What's wrong?” his voice boomed.

Unable to answer, Naria just sniffled and continued to cry.

“Answer me, baby. What's wrong?” he asked.

Raising her head to look at Derrick, she said, “You . . . don't . . . love me . . . no more.”

Derrick dropped to one knee in front of her and placed his hand over hers. “Naria, you've got to stop this, baby. I love you more than words can define. I want to be with you forever.” Once he noticed a flicker of light sparkle in her beautiful eyes, he said, “Naria, I want you to be my wife . . . Will you be my wife?”

Naria's entire facial expression changed from desolation to delirium in a second. Derrick kissed her tears, and then kissed their son and made a silent vow to make them number one from that point on.

* * * * *

Dominique joyously sang along with Mariah Carey as her bath water ran, filling the tub with fragrant bubbles. She was as happy as she'd ever been, with the promise of love and marriage on the horizon.

All she had ever wanted was to be loved, ever since she was a child. Raised in Chicago on its rough Westside, her upbringing was no cakewalk. Her father had abandoned her and her mother when she was only nine. Throughout her life, Dominique's mother stressed the importance of independence, yet all the young girl longed for was the masculine touch of a man.

Dipping her manicured feet in the steaming water, she wished that Derrick were there so she could bathe him also. As if her wish was suddenly granted, her doorbell chimed to life. Without thinking, Dominique snatched her Kimono up and bolted to the door, knowing that her prince had arrived at her mental beckoning.

However, when she abruptly pulled the door open, expecting to see Derrick, there stood Bop holding two flutes and a bottle of chilled champagne.

“Hello, Dominique,” he crooned, “I see I'm just in time.”

Allowing an exasperated sigh to escape her, she hastily replied, “What is it now, Bop?”

“I just came by to ask about the good news.”

Shifting on the balls of her feet in an agitated manner, she retorted, “What good news?”

“The grand jury just handed down a 24-count indictment against the ‘Black Tar Boyz,” he revealed. “You're on the case and you didn't know?”

Shock immediately registered on Dominique's face. “But . . . how . . . when . . . I mean—”

“I had a meeting with Gold. After I left, I overheard him on the phone saying they only got one count against Derrick, so they're still going to need you to continue your undercover work.

Instantly, the blood returned to her face. “So, um what count did they return on?” she asked carefully.

“I think money laundering. But you know the US Attorney ain't gonna want to unseal the indictment on him just yet . . .” Bop paused and looked around secretly. “Do you think I could come inside?”

Hesitating for a split second, she gripped her gown closer to her waist and reluctantly stepped to the side, allowing him to enter.

* * * * *

Once Dominique convinced Bop to leave, she immediately dialed Derrick's phone number. She knew she had to confirm the information from Bop. So she called Gold and learned Bop was right. She then planned to relay to Derrick the information that Gold had just given her. In the next couple of days, things were going to heat up drastically for Derrick and those around him.

Dominique held the phone to her ear, listening to it ring incessantly, until Derrick's voicemail picked up.

Hanging up, she dialed his number again, only to be met with the same response. As anxiety engulfed her, Dominique knew she had to call his home number, something he diligently warned her against. However, the situation at hand was of the utmost importance.

Feverishly going through her purse, she retrieved her BlackBerry with all of Derrick's information.

Once she brought the number up on the tiny screen, she methodically dialed the number and listened as the phone rang.

* * * * *

Naria was once again in a joyous mood after Derrick's marriage proposal. His offering of marriage erased her fears of him not wanting her anymore, due to the physical changes pregnancy had bestowed upon her once graceful figure.

Lying in their spacious bed alone, Naria felt confident about her future with Derrick. Trying hard to hear the sounds coming from their son's room, she smiled at just the thought of Derrick's fatherly instincts.

Just when she decided to peek in on her man, the phone blared to life. Quickly, she reached over and grabbed it. “Hello?” she blurted.

“Um, yes. Is Derrick there?” a woman asked in a professional manner.

Instantly, Naria's womanly instincts kicked in. “Who is this?” she retorted in a voice dripping with contempt.

“Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Tonya, and I work for Mr. Richards,” she explained. “It is very important that I speak with him ASAP.”

Quickly changing her tone, Naria asked, “Is everything okay?”

“I'm not sure, ma'am. But I really need to speak to your boyfriend,” she slyly replied.

Unable to pick up on the contemptuous remark, Naria simply said, “A'ight, just hold on for one second, he's putting our son to sleep.”

Unbeknownst to Naria, this response stung Dominique more than any profanity could ever have.

After a brief wait, Derrick's voice came on the line. “Yeah. Who is this?”

“Derrick! I really, really need to talk to you!” she gasped.

“Dominique! What the fuck are you doing call—”

“I know Derrick! I know! But it's really, really important that I see you tonight.”

“Come on with the bullshit, Dominique! I told you earlier that I had some—”

“Derrick! They've indicted you and Robert Jordan and—”

“What!”

“Yes Derrick, but—“

“That's enough. Not on the phone. I'm on my way,” he announced, and then abruptly hung up.

* * * * *

Robert lay sprawled across Melissa's bed with his eyes rolled into his head. Melissa, who was nestled between his thighs, slurped sloppily on his manhood. The feelings of ecstasy that he was experiencing were beyond imaginable. Melissa was an expert at fellatio, and she was putting her all into pleasing him.

“Oh shit! Damn, Melissa!” he panted.

Sucking with even more force, Melissa glared into RJ's eyes and began to hum, which instantly sent him over the edge.

Spasming uncontrollably, RJ gripped the back of her head and released his seed into her welcoming mouth. RJ lay there and watched Melissa shimmy her jiggling ass into the adjoining restroom.

Once he caught his breath, he sat up in her comfortable bed and began to contemplate his current situation. Melissa's remarkable lovemaking skills had ultimately blinded him from his initial plan of using her and her daughter as pawns for his freedom. However, now that Damien was aware of his and Melissa's sexual tryst, RJ knew Damien would definitely tell the Feds everything.

As the reality of his lack of judgment crashed into his world, RJ quickly hopped from the bed and grabbed his jeans.

Just as he pulled his pants over his hips, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Without even checking the caller identification he answered, “Yeah, what up?”

“RJ! I need to holler at you ASAP!” Derrick blurted.

“I need to holler at you too.”

“Meet me at the spot in fifteen minutes.”

“A'ight, fifteen minutes,” RJ said, and then ended the call.

RJ
aimlessly drove through the city as Derrick dropped bomb after bomb on him.

“Man, you've got to just take some paper and bounce. I'm telling you, RJ, Jamaica is the place to go. Soon as shit blows over, me, Naria, Trina, and the kids are coming too,” Derrick advised.

RJ shook his head defiantly. “I ain't never ran from shit, and I ain't gonna run now. That bitch ass nigga only snitchin' ‘cause I'm fucking Melissa, and I can prove it. The bodies he told them about, he ain't tell me.”

Derrick couldn't believe how naïve his partner was being concerning the seriousness of the case. Had his own situation not been intertwined, he would have allowed RJ to continue to think as he'd like. However, he knew the games of deception that the government played, and he refused to be a participant.

“Look, RJ, this shit is serious, son. If you allow them crackers to get you in that courtroom, you're dead!” he admonished in an aggressive manner. Derrick knew the government needed RJ to ultimately get him, so if he didn't allow them to apprehend the only person to connect him with numerous homicides, he'd go free.

“I guess I'm dead then,” RJ stubbornly retorted, wheeling his Escalade through Fort Green. Had RJ been cognizant of Derrick's sudden shift in demeanor, he may have changed his take on things.

“RJ, pull over up there by that store. I need to get me something to drink real quick.”

“Yeah, all this talking got me thirsty too.”

* * * * *

Naria couldn't believe what she'd heard. Derrick's sudden departure in the wake of the phone call from the strange woman was warranted according to what she'd heard.

Not only was her children's father facing charges, but so was her brother. Naria couldn't just sit around and do nothing.

She picked up the phone, and dialed Trina's number.

“Hello.”

“Trina, I need to talk to you,” she blurted. “The Feds about to get Robert and Derrick. Some girl called here, and Derrick is going to meet her now, and I think she's one of them because she's got an inside scoop, and—”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ria? Slow the fuck down and tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Is Robert there now?”

“No. But tell me what's going on, please,” Trina pleaded.

“Come over here. It's too much. Just come here now.”

* * * * *

Derrick made his way through the dark block and turned the corner before entering the store. He was focused on the task at hand, not worried about the pitch black street where someone could easily be laying on him. He grabbed a V-8 Splash from the cooler, handed the Middle Eastern grocery store owner a five-dollar bill, and exited.

As he made his way back toward RJ's Escalade, he eyed the scenery around him as he formulated his plan. He could hear the light bass coming from the truck as he approached, which would assist in his deadly intentions.

Derrick knew he couldn't allow RJ to continue to live. It would only come back and haunt his future plans.

RJ's reaction to his urging him to leave the United States was ultimately the signing of his own death certificate. Had Derrick chosen to allow RJ to live, the government would only use him to get him.

Feeling there was no other action to take, Derrick pulled the passenger door open and hopped in the passenger seat.

“Where my juice at?” RJ asked with his cell phone glued to his ear.

Passing RJ the only bottle of juice that he'd purchased, he apprehensively inquired, “Who are you talking to?”

Flashing an evil smirk, RJ retorted, “Something new, nigga.” Then he turned his attention back to whoever was on the phone. “Melissa, I'm a hit you back in a minute.”

As RJ placed his cell phone in his lap, Derrick eased his .45 from his hip. RJ noticed the gun raising and shoved his door open full force, slamming Derrick to the ground. The gun slid across the sidewalk. As Derrick rose to his feet and charged forward, RJ was out the car and pulled his Glock and fired.

“Shit!” Derrick blurted as the hot bullet whizzed by his ear, and he gabbed RJ's arm.

“Motherfucker!” RJ grunted as he head butted Derrick. “Fucking snake!”

Derrick fell again, pulling RJ with him to the ground as a second shot fired before the gun fell from RJ's hand.

Derrick kneed RJ in the nuts, causing him to tumble over. RJ went for his gun and Derrick his. They both clutched their firearms at the same time, but Derrick fired first with the eye of a trained DEA agent. The .40-caliber slug slammed through RJ's neck, twisting his body. Derrick looked around the vacant street before firing three more bullets into RJ's head and face.

“Sorry it had to end this way, RJ, but you just wouldn't listen,” he mumbled as the left side of RJ's cranium oozed down the dark tinted glass of his truck. Placing one final shot into his head, Derrick said, “Don't worry, I'll take care of Trina and Raven.” He then flipped his hood on his head and casually walked away into the darkness of night.

* * * * *

Once Trina arrived at Naria and Derrick's house, Naria immediately filled her in on what she'd overheard while eavesdropping in on Derrick's phone call with the mysterious woman.

“I'm telling you, Trina, Robert's in trouble, and Derrick rushed out of here to God knows where. I just don't know what to do,” Naria stated in a worried tone.

Holding her palms flat against the sides of her face, Trina replied, “I've been calling him for nearly a week and he hasn't been answering. I don't know what to do either,” she said, on the brink of breaking down.

“We should call him from here then. He'll think it's me or Derrick, unless Derrick is with him,” Naria rationalized as she reached the phone. Tapping in RJ's cell phone number, she held the phone close and listened as it rang until his answering service picked up.

“Yeah, this me, but as you can see I'm doing me, so do you and hit me back.”

Naria hung up and tried again, only to be met with the same response. Frustrated, she slammed the phone down and turned toward Trina. “We've gotta get in touch with him, Trina.”

In a voice just above a whisper, she replied, “I know, Ria, I know.”

Naria snatched the receiver from its cradle. “I'm going to call Derrick. Maybe they are together.”

* * * * *

Sweat trickled down Derrick's back as he trooped through the blistering New York night temperature. The act of murdering someone whom he'd come to view as family was a hard act to commit. Yet, Derrick vindicated his behavior as something he was forced to do. Just as he raised his arm in the air to hail a cab, his cell phone vibrated on his hip, startling him.

Nervously, he retrieved his phone and eyed the number. “Shit!” he exclaimed, as his home number stared back at him.

“Do you want a taxi or what, buddy?” the cabdriver asked in a snide voice.

Without responding, Derrick hopped in the cab as his cell phone continued to quiver in his hand. Thinking quickly, he pressed the END button. He knew he needed to get as far away from the calamity in which he'd just invoked as he could.

“Where to, buddy?” the cabby asked.

Derrick struggled with the enormity of his act, which provoked the cabdriver to add, “Hey buddy, I know they've got some powerful shit on these corners, but I need to know where you're headed.”

“Oh . . . I'm sorry.” Derrick passed the driver a fresh Benjamin. “Queens,” he said, resting his head against the cold vinyl and replaying the entire scene that had just transpired in his mind.

* * * * *

Naria slammed the phone down, even more frustrated than before. “I don't believe this. I feel so helpless,” she whined. “There's gotta be something we can do, Trina.”

“Yeah. But what?” I haven't heard from RJ in five days, so . . .” Her voice trailed off as violent sobs racked her body.

Naria moved in close and hugged her. “It's going to be okay, Trina. We're going to find him tonight. I promise,” she vowed.

Naria quickly ran their options through her head. She grabbed the phone. “I've got it!” she yelled.

* * * * *

When Derrick entered the modestly decorated apartment, he stripped down and hopped in the shower. As if washing the memory of his earlier act away, he scrubbed his body furiously.

Once he was physically clean, he exited the shower and toweled off.

Looking around the apartment as if this had been his first time being there, Derrick began to search the domain meticulously. He was already aware of where the drugs and money were stashed, but that wasn't his concern. Derrick was more interested in what was present inside the apartment that he wasn't aware of.

Just as his search got underway, his cell phone began to dance across the small coffee table, instantly garnering his attention.

Snatching his phone up, he quickly noticed it was Dominique. He'd totally forgotten about his meeting with her in wake of everything else that was taking place. After a quick theorization, Derrick felt that there could be no better alibi than her.

Pushing the send button, he answered, “Hello.”

“Derrick! I was so worried about you. Why haven't you at least called to let me know you weren't coming? I mean with everything—”

“I'm on my way!” he announced, instantly cutting her off.

Derrick gathered the drugs and money, and then exited the apartment.

* * * * *

“Well, check under Robert Jordan!” Naria yelled into the phone. “Yeah. J-O-R-D-A-N,” she added indifferently.

She had called every jail in New York. Then she called the hospitals in the area.

“I'm sorry ma'am, but there's no patient by that name in our database. Do you know when the patient was brought in?”

“No, I don't, but thanks anyway,” Naria stated, slamming the phone down again for the twentieth time that night.

“What now?” Trina asked hopelessly.

“I don't know.”

They both sat deep in their own thoughts, hoping some bright idea would spring into their mind, when Naria excitedly announced, “I got it! I got it!”

“What is it this time?” Trina asked in an apprehensive tone.

“Isn't Robert driving that new Cadillac truck?”

“Yeah, I think, but why?”

“Well, isn't Cadillac a Chevrolet, or GM, or whatever?”

“Umm . . . Yeah, I think so. Why!” Trina asked, beginning to sound irritated.

“Well, if it's a GM or whatever, it has the OnStar tracking system that can tell us exactly where he is.”

“But how?”

“Just watch,” Naria advised, grabbing the phone for the twenty-first time that evening.

* * * * *

Derrick pulled into Dominique's parking lot and parked his Benz truck a safe distance from her apartment. Deciding to leave the drugs inside the vehicle, he grabbed the duffel bag containing an abundance of neatly wrapped bills.

According to the promise that he'd made RJ before he murdered him, he would need every stack to take care of his extended family.

Rummaging through the console, Derrick grabbed his gun and tucked it in his waist. He had the perfect plan for making the smoking gun vanish.

He exited the SUV and made his way toward Dominique's first floor apartment. After he reached the small landing at her doorway, she abruptly snatched the door open.

“Oh my God, Derrick! I was so worried about you,” she stated earnestly, hopping into his arms.

It wasn't until they were safely inside the confines of her apartment that he realized that she was wearing only a flimsy gown, gaped open, exposing her naked midriff.

“Derrick. I'm so glad you're here,” she confessed, sliding down his body onto her feet. “Please don't ever scare me like that again.”

Looking her deep into her eyes, he replied, “I won't.” He made his way toward her bedroom with her close on his heels.

* * * * *

After a series of calls, Naria was finally connected to an OnStar representative. Naria, quick-witted as she was, quickly made up a dramatic story about her brother, in which, the operator believed.

“Ms. Jordan, your brother's vehicle is currently in the 3400 block of Gates Avenue. It also seems to be in an immobile state,” the woman explained.

Confused, Naria asked, “Immobile! You mean parked?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Oh, okay, thank you very much.”

“No problem, Ms. Jordan. If you have any more problems, please don't hesitate to call back. Thank you for calling OnStar.”

Naria quickly replaced the receiver and turned to Trina. “Call the sitter. He's on Gates Ave in Brooklyn.”

* * * * *

Derrick lay across Dominique's bed in deep contemplation. There were things he needed to put into perspective before he went any further. The first thing he planned to do was get rid of the nearly three kilos of heroin that were stored in his vehicle. The next thing he needed to do was get rid of the firearm he used to kill RJ.

Once these formalities were taken care of, he would move forward with his ultimate plan of disappearing. Just the thought of disappearing filled him with dread, due to the fact that he'd urged RJ to do the same thing. Now he would have to propose something to Tony, alone.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Dominique asked, crawling cat-like onto the bed.

“Huh?”

“What's on your mind?” she asked. “You have such an intense look on your face,” she added, running her fingers over his torso feather-like.

Ignoring her advances, Derrick hopped up. “Dominique, I need you to do me a favor.”

She sat up. “Just name it, Derrick. I'm willing to do whatever I have to,” she confessed.

Removing the gun from his neatly folded pile of clothes, he said, “Get rid of this for me.”

“No problem, but I don't know how! Throw it in the Hudson River?” she questioned sarcastically.