Flippin' the Hustle (21 page)

Tossing her an unreceptive snarl, he explained, “Just turn it over to the evidence room under some bogus investigation number, then give me the evidence number.”

Shrugging, as if his task for her was mediocre, she replied, “Okay. But why would you want the evidence number?”

Smiling slyly, he said, “Never know when I may need it back.” He then turned to get dressed.

“Okay.”

As he looked at her reach for the gun, his test was done. He knew her loyalty to him was growing, because completing the task he requested was a complete betrayal of the DEA. But he was also mindful that there was a possibility that she would turn the gun over to the agency as evidence against him. “Nah, don't worry,” he told her, staring into her eyes in an attempt to gauge her loyalty. While she had done a lot to prove her commitment to him, he knew that anything was possible in the dangerous game he was playing. It was an unpredictable lifestyle that he hoped he would make it out of alive.

T
he entire time they'd been riding in Naria's SUV, Trina felt a strong sense of apprehension. She just knew they were going to find RJ with some other female, which would ultimately tear her down mentally.

“What's wrong?” Naria asked, stealing a quick glance at Trina.

“Uh . . . nothing. I just wish all this crazy stuff would end,” she stated in a defeated voice.

“Yeah. I know girl, but sometimes this is the shit we gotta go through when we choose to love a thug,” Naria explained.

“Yeah, I feel you. But what if we get there and Robert is laid up with some bitch?”

“Girl, I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you what I would do.”

Trina asked, “What would you do?”

“Beat-his-mother-fucking-ass!” she replied in a voice dripping with malice.

“Well, I guess we're about to see, huh,” Trina commented somberly as they turned onto Gates Avenue.

As soon as Naria turned she announced, “There's his truck right there!”

Making a quick U-turn, she pulled up beside RJ's Escalade on the opposite side of the street. Simultaneously, she and Trina exited her truck and approached the driver's side. Peering into the vehicle's dark windows, neither Naria nor Trina could see inside.

They stepped around the truck. “AHHHHH!” they both screamed, horrified at the hideous image.

There, slumped against the seat, nearly half of RJ's head was missing. His once handsome features were now swollen and mangled.

Unable to bear the sight of her dead brother, Naria dropped to her knees and wept.

Trina still hadn't rounded the door to get a glimpse of her man. Yet, all she could manage to say was, “No . . . Noooo . . . No, No! God No!”

It wasn't until Trina got a full view of RJ's purplish, blood stained head that she completely broke down. The sight of his distended features nearly caused her to faint.

* * * * *

Once Derrick received the eventful phone call, he reluctantly made his way back to the chaotic scene that he'd caused. He knew it was absolutely crazy for him to come anywhere near the murder scene, yet he didn't want to arouse any suspicion in Naria at that point.

Cradling Naria and Trina in his arms as the morticians carted RJ away, Derrick played the role of the comforter.

“Why! Why! Oh God! Please tell me why?” Naria bellowed into Derrick's chest.

Gripping her tighter, Derrick consoled her. “I know, baby. I know. But everything is going to be fine.” This seemed to only incite both women even more, as their bodies shook violently from each sob.

Eyeing the spectacle, Derrick began to second-guess his actions. Taking one final look at RJ's lifeless body being loaded into the ambulance, he turned and led the ladies away.

*****

Ishmah and his cohorts were within days of killing. All of the information needed in annihilating RJ had been gathered. While the two men from the security team, who were delegated the duty of extracting RJ's life, were sitting just outside of Melissa's country home, they received the call that their target had already met his demise.

This would ultimately slow them in their quest of finding the man known as Tree, the man responsible for the actual bloodshed on sacred ground.

Pulling out into traffic behind the Jaguar, Ishmah made sure to keep a safe distance from the unsuspecting driver.

* * * * *

Lil' John had moved up to the upper echelon of drug dealers in New York, and he owed it all to Tree. As he cruised the city, he never thought for one second that he could be in danger. Even as the streets buzzed with the untimely death of RJ, one-half of his heroin connect, he still felt as if he was untouchable.

That was about to change.

* * * * *

The days following RJ's death, Derrick played his role perfectly. He went to his business daily and came home afterward to be with his family.

RJ's funeral turned out to be more of a gala event than a last goodbye. Hustlers lined the street in their expensive European automobiles and donned the finest clothes to say goodbye to a well loved and respected hustler.

Derrick played his part so well. He even managed to shed a tear as they exited the funeral home. With both women under his wing, he heard, “Tree! Tree!”

Instantly, the deep Caribbean accent garnered his attention. He knew it could only be one person. Turning, he smiled somberly as Tony and Ox made their way toward him.

Although Derrick wasn't acting as if he was elated to see the short Jamaican outwardly, internally he was beaming.

After a brief interaction, Tony stepped back and said, “Sorry ‘bout yah bredron. Soon everything a'ight, gives me a link pun de phone.” Handing Derrick a piece of paper, the charismatic Jamaican walked away.

That connection with Tony was exactly what Derrick needed.

* * * **

Derrick had secured all of the preliminaries for his smooth getaway, besides selling the numerous blocks of raw heroin that he'd retrieved from his and RJ's stash house. After playing phone tag with Lil' John for a few days, a meeting was scheduled to make the drug transaction.

Derrick started his day like any other. Since RJ's murder, his newly acquired extended family stayed in his home along with him, Naria, and their son. This made the otherwise large lonesome house much more busy.

Sitting at the head of the large kitchen table, Derrick stole a quick glance at the somber faces seated at the table with him. A pang of guilt shot through him, for he knew that his actions were the reason for the downcast spirits.

Breaking the momentous silence, Derrick announced, “Next week I've scheduled a trip for all of you. Sort of a mini-vacation.”

This brought a slight reaction from Naria and Trina, as they both glanced up and smiled briefly.

Raven, Trina's daughter, showed more emotion than either of them as she jumped from her seat and yelled, “Goody! We're going on vacation!”

As if she didn't hear it when Derrick announced it, Naria looked up. “A vacation? Where to, Derrick? And what do you mean by for you all?” she inquired in a hostile tone.

“Whoa, Naria,” Derrick replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, I said vacation, and I did say for you all. I'm going to stay behind for a few days and handle some things.” He stood, signaling the finality of the conversation.

Before he could exit the kitchen, Naria asked, “So, can you at least tell us where we're going?”

In his best Caribbean accent, he crooned, “Jamaica, Jamaica!”

* * * * *

Dominique sat on her bed eyeing the television, yet her mind was miles away from what played on the screen before her. She was desperately racking her brain as to why Derrick had suddenly changed. No longer did he spend countless hours ravishing her body into paradise. Lately, he hadn't even given her the small affectionate touches and kisses that she so longed for.

Dominique felt that she had done all that she could in order to show Derrick that she wanted to be with him. She'd put her freedom and livelihood on the line for him and he still acted as if she was disposable.

Although Derrick had assured her that he would soon be leaving his girlfriend, he suddenly extended the breakup once news of RJ's murder surfaced, citing some mysterious stash that only RJ's sister knew of as reason for the extension.

Burying her face in her palms, Dominique confessed, “I love him soooooo much, it hurts.”

As she raised her hand, there was a soft knock on the door.

* * * * *

Derrick stood at Dominique's door patiently and waited for her to open it. He silently cursed himself for not taking the extra key to her apartment when she had offered it.

He had less than an hour before he was to meet Lil' John to distribute the heroin. Just when he'd thought of alternate ways to enter the apartment, the door was snatched open.

“Derrick . . . I . . . I was just thinking about you,” she revealed, her eyes coming to life as she flashed her bright teeth.

Stepping past her, Derrick went straight to the spot where he'd hidden the drugs.

Pouting, Dominique slammed the door and followed him into her bedroom. “Derrick, we need to talk,” she announced.

“Talk,” Derrick bluntly replied.

“I . . . think we should take things a step further in our relationship.”

“A step further! What direction?” he joked.

Smacking her lips impatiently, she said, “Seriously, Derrick. I am committed to us, but at times I feel . . . I feel . . .”

“You feel what?”

“I . . . I feel that we're not growing. . . .”

Derrick moved over to her and placed his arms around her and pulled her close. “You feel what?” Without waiting for her to respond, he kissed her. He knew what she needed and he knew he had to give it to her.

As he laid her back onto the bed, he knew there was no way he'd make the meeting with Lil' John in an hour.

L
il' John was extremely excited about his scheduled meeting with Derrick. This deal would put him on a level that he had never known.

Pulling up to the stoplight, Lil' John's mind was so focused on his anticipated meeting, that he hadn't even noticed the dark minivan two cars back from his own. Had he been more cognizant of his surroundings, he would have noticed the same vehicle had been shadowing his movements for the last few days.

Meanwhile, the men gathered inside of the mini-van eyed the man inside the sporty Jaguar. All they were waiting for was the word to attack.

Just as the light turned green, the small two-way radio sitting on the dashboard came to life.

“Now! Now!” a voice cracked through the electronic device.

* * * * *

Derrick quickly dressed as Dominique lay sprawled out on the bed. His immaculate lovemaking skills had left her in a blissful state.

Exiting the room, Derrick turned to take one final look at his handiwork, and then smiled. As he made his way out of her apartment, he pulled his phone out and dialed Lil' John's cell phone number. With the phone glued to his ears, Derrick listened as Lil' John's answering machine picked up. Checking his watch, he noticed that he'd managed to sufficiently sex her up, and make the meeting with Lil' John. However, as he continued to dial the man's number, he was repeatedly met with his answering machine. Throwing caution in the wind, Derrick made his way to their pre-planned meeting place anyway.

* * * * *

DEA Director, Douglas Gold sat behind his desk in deep contemplation. The news of his freshly indicted suspect's murder had ultimately blown over. Yet, he couldn't let go of the fact of how timely he was murdered in conjunction with his being indicted.

Although many suspects turned up dead in the midst of being indicted, Robert Jordan's murder cut it extremely close. Not twelve hours after the District Attorney had divulged the information, Jordan was dead.

It was almost as if his murderer had an inside source giving him all their first class information. Just as quickly as Gold thought it, an eerie feeling shot through him, causing his face to drop.

Bolting from his chair, he scrambled for his keys. Suddenly everything made sense. Dominique's abrupt change of heart, and even more impromptu information shortage all became so very clear.

Derrick had turned her into his very own operative.

Gold shook his head and quickly made his way to his car.

* * * * *

“I told you, man, I don't know where dude lives at!” Lil' John cried out hysterically.

In a voice calm, but as cold as ice, Ishmah said, “Well, it seems we have a problem. Either you tell us where he lives, or you die.”

Lil' John eyed the Middle Eastern looking man with the bushy beard. “Man, I think dude got a car lot over on Queens Boulevard, that's all I know!” Lil' John internally prayed that this would suffice the group's hunger for Tree's whereabouts. He still held on to the possibility that they would let him go, and he'd still be able to broker the largest drug deal in his life, while tipping Derrick off that the men were desperately looking for him at the same time. Noticing the indecisive expressions on the men's faces, he added, “I swear to God that's all I know, man!”

This brought a round of laughter from the men gathered around his duct taped frame.

Once Ishmah opened his mouth to speak, the laughter immediately ceased. “I'm glad to know you are a man of God. You can tell him hello when you see him,” he taunted, raising a black handgun and putting two well-placed shots into Lil' John's forehead at point-blank range.

As if this act was routine, the men quickly rolled the body into the thick burgundy comforter and tossed it on a side street beside some garbage.

* * * * *

After calling Lil' John at least twenty times, Derrick got the picture. Law enforcement had either nabbed Lil' John or he was somewhere dead. Although Derrick was theorizing this, he would have been shocked as to how close his presumptions were to the truth.

Pulling out of the restaurant parking lot, he began to make his trek back to his home.

On his way home, his cell phone began to chime. “Yeah. What up?”

“Tree, what it tis, bredron? How you ah no send the gal them yet?” Tony inquired.

“Oh, wassup, Tony? I've been trying to tie up a few loose ends.”

“Loose ends? Loose ends like what?”

Derrick paused and replied, “I'd rather not say over the phone.”

“Me coming at you right now, so you can explain face to face.”

After setting up a meeting spot, Derrick redirected his G-Wagon in anticipation of meeting up with Tony.

* * * * *

Less than an hour later, Derrick's truck was inconspicuously parked at a hotel just off the highway, while he and Tony traveled down the interstate in the direction of Virginia.

Derrick sat back in the passenger seat of the nearly half a million dollar Ferrari and relaxed. His plans were in their final stages of completion, and although they were speeding down the interstate with enough drugs to put them both away for the remainder of their lives, he was at ease.

Before he left the city, he'd made sure to pack Naria, Trina, and the kids off to Miami with enough cash to purchase a small furnished island, with change to spare. The $270,000 he was about to receive for the three kilos was just icing on the cake.

Leaning back even further in the expensive sports car, Derrick allowed the hypnotizing bass of the Dance Hall song playing to relax him even more.

* * * * *

Gold banged on Dominique's door furiously. “Open this fucking door right now!” he barked angrily.

Dominique was still comatose from the exquisite lovemaking that Derrick had put on her. However, the banging on her door quickly roused her. Grabbing her government issued .40-caliber, she eased to her door in a crouched stance.

“Come on, Dominique! Open the door! I know you're in there! Open the fu—”

Opening the door instantly cut his outburst short as Dominique aimed her gun directly at Gold's head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked, looking confused, yet unyielding her firearm.

“Where is he?” he inquired.

“Where is who?” she replied, faking confusion.

“Come on! Don't give me the innocent bullshit. I know what's going on between you and Richards!”

Dropping her gun to her side, she cast a sympathetic glance at her superior. “Come on in, Douglas. I think you've been working too hard.”

* * * * *

Navigating the smooth BMW X5 down the endless highway, Trina stole a quick glance at Naria's plump belly in the passenger seat. As the peaceful look rested on her foreign features, all Trina could think of was RJ. She didn't want to remember him bloated and battered, as they'd found him, but lively and handsome as he was. But the only vision she could conjure of him was the grotesque one that had been presented to them the night they found him dead.

As she conquered more of the open interstate, her mind began to shift toward Derrick. It would seem that he and RJ had been friends their entire lives, due to the manner in which he had been there. In a strange way, it almost seemed as if he was over compensating in his actions.

Trina would never want to launch such serious accusations against her man's business partner and friend. And besides, there couldn't have possibly been any reason for bloodshed between the two, or at least she thought.

* * * * *

Derrick and Tony headed straight to a storefront in Richmond, just a rock's throw from where he was raised. After receiving the money from the Jamaican business owner, Derrick and Tony hit the streets of the city. Derrick had been pressing Tony to see the hood he grew up in, because Tony had said he spent time in Virginia also.

It was a rarity that a bright yellow Ferrari 550 M cruised the streets of Richmond due to the absence of rappers and professional sports figures in the city. However, on every occasion, the locals of the financially impoverished city gave their attention to such spectacles.

This was never truer as Derrick and Tony cruised down Broad Street. Kids on bikes were desperately trying to keep up with the nearly 600 horsepower automobile, and hustlers on every corner stopped what they were doing to marvel at the scene. The female genre nearly tossed themselves in front of the car in hopes of being chosen.

Derrick eyed all of this sadly, because even though he had become a product of the very same environment, he felt that he was somehow different.

Reaching over to turn the Caribbean music down, Tony casually said, “Me used to run all these streets, yo, when me first come to America.”

Derrick nodded.

“This one youth try to take me for a sucker years ago,” he stated, and then paused to maneuver the car past a group of kids. “A good youth, but ‘im let ‘im bredron boost ‘im up to take people things that no belong to ‘im.”

“Yeah, dudes gotta know who to fuck with and who not to fuck with,” Derrick said.

“Yes, bredron.” Tony nodded. “Yes. Ya see dat spot right dere?”

Derrick's heart pounded as he watched Tony point to the area where his brother Ray was murdered. The block had always been hot back in the day. That was the reason Derrick's mother had warned him about stay being there. So it was no surprise that another person had been murdered where Derrick's brother had been killed. It was a sad reality that made Derrick angrier about losing his brother.

“Me have to murder dis boy in ah cold blood, right ere in the street. It make me first and last time me eva have to murder,” he said in a somber tone.

“Oh yeah? What happened.”

“A bwoy was right near that pole . . .”

Derrick sat in the passenger seat stunned, thinking of the makeshift memorial that had been filled with flowers and cards the day after his brother was killed in the very spot Tony was talking about.

“Shot em ras in the back and chest. A big tall bwoy. Dey call the mon Tree, just like you.”

“Oh yeah?” Derrick said, becoming more eager to know about the shooting.

“He a disgrace ya name.” Tony smiled. “Mon name Tree, but me cut his ras down.” He laughed. “Me forty-five kill ‘im ras dead in the middle of a Summer day.”

“Summer day?” Derrick's heart rate increased. He paused, looking at Tony. “What year was that?”

“Early eighties.”

“Like eighty-four?” Derrick asked.

Tony nodded. “Yes, mon. Believe it was dat year. A very hot year. Was a heat wave that year.”

There was a painful whistling sound in Derrick's ears as a lone tear cascaded down his cheek. His brother had been known as Tree and he was shot in the very same part of his body Tony mentioned. And Derrick gritted his teeth because his fear had been confirmed as Tony mentioned the year of the heat wave that accompanied the murder of his brother. Derrick couldn't believe that he was actually sitting beside the man who'd taken the one person from him that he loved more than anything from him.”

There was a painful whistling sound in his ears as a lone tear cascaded down his cheek. His brother Ray was shot in the very same part of his body. Derrick gritted his teeth when his fear was confirmed as Tony mentioned the year the murder happened. He couldn't believe that he was actually sitting beside the man who'd taken the one person that he loved more than anything from him.

As Tony waited for a break in traffic, he was oblivious to the ball of rage sitting beside him.

Easing his newly acquired .40-caliber from its confines, Derrick gripped the gun with so much force, he was unable to feel his own hand. He turned the gun on an unsuspecting Tony, and screamed, “Why?”

“What the bomba! Bredron, why you ah put that gun pun me so?” Tony shouted in a panic filled voice as he leaned away from the barrel.

“Just fucking tell me why!” Derrick repeated indignantly.

“Bredron, me a not know—”

“You don't know.” Derrick gasped. “You don't know who the fuck that was you killed?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders. “Me nah know.”

“Think about it. His name was Tree. He was from my hood.”

Tony's eyes grew wide as the reality of who he killed had set in. “Oh shi…”

Derrick had heard enough, pulling the trigger on the handgun, he instantly witnessed the Jamaican's brain matter splatter against the yellow and black piped seats. Pulling the trigger again and again, Derrick watched as the short Jamaican's body jerked as every slug entered his body.

Unbeknownst to an enraged Derrick, the car had rolled nearly half way down the one-way block and crashed into a parked car.

Almost instantly, people were exiting their houses to get a glimpse of the people in the wrecked sports car.

Derrick grabbed the bag containing the money and exited the car. Ignoring the people gathering, he walked away.