Flippin' the Hustle (5 page)

T
ree's street notoriety was skyrocketing throughout New York's heroin infested slums. The seizure department's supervisor had been coming through like clockwork for Derrick. As fast as seized drugs made it to the laboratory for testing, he was snatching them up and putting them back onto the streets.

By his undercover operation not being monitored, the funds that Derrick generated were allocated for whatever he saw fit. Most of the money, Derrick placed in a safe for future evidential references. The remaining was spent doing what drug dealers do—ball.

He was still sexing Asia sporadically, mainly because her sex was good. She had ultimately served the purpose of assisting him in his infiltrations. The contact between him and Sherm had been brief, yet consistent. Derrick was playing the role with RJ's underling in order to get closer to the man. He knew that Sherm's main objective would be to get at his money. This, Derrick would use as a pertinent tool in getting closer to the boss.

The obvious nobodies that Derrick had begun his drug dealings with had made strides on the drug dealing hierarchy, instantly making them a force to be reckoned with. One of Derrick's distributors in particular, had gone from standing on a Brooklyn street corner, to pushing a brand new SL Mercedes Benz convertible. Although Derrick knew he was responsible for the men's rise in their choice profession, he would ultimately be responsible for their demise.

Turning the sounds of Young Jeezy's
Thug Motivation
to ear shattering decibels, Derrick slid his Morgan Frederick eyewear over his eyes and cruised the streets of New York.

******

“So, what's up wit' you, doc,” RJ asked Sherm, sitting opposite him in the den of his luxurious home.

“Dude on some big boy shit. Like our numbers aren't comparing wit' his Virginia connections,” Sherm said. “But for real, dude head is in the clouds, man.”

“He did not strike me as that type of dude, yo,” RJ commented more to himself than Sherm.

“Me neither,” Sherm shot back. “But if dude keeps playing games, I'ma just send a crew of young boys at him.” He stood to exit. “Do you remember broke ass Lil' John from Atlantic Ave?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “The nigga Tree got him pushing the new five. He got to at least be moving twenty thousand caps a week.”

Massaging his temples in contemplation, RJ asked, “You think so?”

“I know so!” Sherm retorted.

Thinking for a moment, RJ said, “I'll tell you what. Set something up for me, you, and dude to sit down and talk.”

Sherm nodded, and then headed for the exit. Before he was out the door, RJ's voice stopped him.

“Sherm! Don't do anything until we sit down. All right!”

Sherm looked him in the eyes. “A'ight. I got you.”

Derrick had just exited Lil' John's Atlantic Avenue home and hopped into his Escalade, when his cell phone vibrated on his hip. He snatched the apparatus from his hip and flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, what up, Tree? This Sherm.”

“Ain't shit, son. What's poppin' wit' you?”

“Um . . . I was trying to hook up wit' you and . . . um talk some business.”

“Oh yeah. Well, as I told you, if your numbers aren't fucking wit' my peeps, I'ma have to pass,” Derrick stated casually.

“I'll tell you what. Meet me at Yolonda's in Brooklyn in an hour.” Sherm quickly hung up without waiting for a response.

Derrick tossed his cell phone into the passenger seat, and then took a right turn onto Lafayette Avenue. Instinctively, he peered into his rearview mirror and noticed a set of headlights that had been traveling dangerously close. Instantly, his tactical training kicked in as he methodically began to lead his followers into a vulnerable position. Derrick was leading the pursuers into a position where they felt he was most vulnerable, encouraging them to do what they'd planned to. However, once the smoke cleared, Derrick had no doubt that he'd be the last man standing.

Steering the Escalade, Derrick was careful not to exceed the speed limit, making sure that his pursuers followed closely. He took a quick peep into the rearview mirror, noticing the silver Ford Expedition with at least three occupants, still following him. Clutching a Colt .45 in his right hand, Derrick could feel the taste for war rising in his throat.

As he casually traveled Lafayette, he knew this was an opportune spot for his attackers to strike, if they in fact, were attackers.

Once the Escalade cruised to a stop at the stoplight, Derrick went to work fast. He quickly slammed the Escalade gearshift into park. Derrick slid his shoe off and jammed it into the brake, causing the brake lights to stay on. Taking a quick look back, he noticed two men hastily exit the Expedition from both sides and converge on his vehicle in a crouched manner.

Smoothly, Derrick slid into the rear seat as if he was the passenger behind the driver. With his arm aimed high, he calmly waited for the men to make their move.

As two assailants approached from both sides, Derrick planned to use this to his advantage. Glancing up at the stoplight, he couldn't believe that the light had actually afforded his would-be murderers the allotted time to commit an atrocious act.

Suddenly, the driver door was snatched open. Derrick didn't even give his attacker time to realize that he wasn't there before he squeezed the trigger on his weapon, placing a well-aimed .45 slug into the man's head. Almost simultaneously, the passenger door was pulled open. With his weapon aimed in the perfect angle, Derrick pulled the trigger again. The shot rang out, causing nearly half of the second attacker's brain to splatter against the
window.

Quickly sliding from the rear driver door, Derrick witnessed the Expedition leap from its sitting position as the driver stomped the gas pedal.

He eyed the nearly six thousand pound vehicle coming directly toward him. Derrick calmly leveled the high-powered handgun and squeezed off numerous well-placed shots, until the SUV abruptly swerved and then slammed into a telephone pole.

Derrick threw a fresh clip into his gun and cautiously approached the Expedition. Snatching the driver's door open, he noticed two nickel sized holes in the third attacker's mask. He pulled the ski mask from over the man's swollen head and recognized his face immediately. It was Sherm. Snatching the diamond encrusted BTB necklace from his neck, he quickly made his way back to his truck.

Hopping back into his Escalade, he looked up and noticed the stoplight had ironically just turned green. As he pulled away from the atrocious scene, he dialed DEA headquarters and reported the three bullet riddled corpses.

***

Driving through the streets of New York, Derrick battled with the fact that Sherm had actually tried to murder him. Nonetheless, it went without saying that the streets were definitely treacherous. Derrick still wasn't sure if the hit had come from RJ or not, and there was only one way of finding out.

He picked his phone up from the passenger seat, and dialed Asia's number.

“Hello,” she blurted on the first ring.

“What's up, Asia? I need to see you,” he announced in his sexiest voice.

“Oh really. I thought you'd be busy.”

“Nah, I'm trying to see you.”

“A'ight. Come on,” she stated, faking as if she'd been pressured.

“I'm on my way.”

******

Pacing back and forth inside the house on Grand Avenue, RJ glared at each man accusingly. “How the fuck did this shit happen!” he yelled.

Each man attempted to avert RJ's piercing gaze, prompting him to sarcastically add, “Don't everybody speak at once!”

Again, there was complete silence. RJ stepped over to where Damien sat with his head in his palms. “Damien! What the fuck happened, yo?”

Damien shook his head in a somber manner. “Dude was fucking wit' them niggas in the projects.” Throwing his hands up, he said, “I guess they got him crossed up in some dumb shit.”

“Some
dumb
shit, huh!” RJ barked incredulously, and then moved on to the next man. “What you got to say, Lil' Roy?”

“Man, you know how Sherm was. Dude was out there running with them young boys, beefin' wit' niggas and got slumped,” he said. “But truthfully, I heard he was trying to stick dude from Virginia.”

RJ's aggressive demeanor changed as he replayed the conversation he and Sherm had had no less than thirty-six hours before.

“Sherm! Don't do anything until we sit down. A'ight!”

“A'ight. I got you, yo.”

At that very moment, RJ knew exactly what happened to Sherm and his young crew. Apparently, the charismatic dude from Virginia wasn't as vulnerable as Sherm assumed.

“I told his stupid ass to be cool!” RJ yelled, drawing confused stares from his crew. Looking each of them in the eyes he said, “Y'all niggas lay low for a few days until I check some shit out. And I mean
lay low
!” he advised firmly, and then stormed from the house.

******

“Oooh! Tree, fuck me deeper! Oh yes!” Asia screamed as Derrick pounded into her from the rear. Her naturally juicy pussy was now gushing cum as it trickled down the inside of her thighs.

Derrick eyed his condom-covered shaft sliding in and out of her pussy as the sound of her wetness nearly pushed him over the edge.

“Damn, Tree! You so fucking . . . deep in my pussy,” she crooned through clenched teeth. The sight of his dick sliding effortless into her became too much for him to bear.

As he began to jackhammer into her furiously, he felt his seed fill the condom to its capacity.

“Oooh, yes! Give me my shit!” Asia yelled, winding her buttocks rhythmically.

Flopping down onto her back, spent, Derrick's heavy breathing stood as an indicator of just how good sex with Asia actually was.

Rubbing the side of Derrick's face soothingly, she said, “Asia got that good shit, don't she?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Derrick replied, attempting to regain control of his labored breathing. Once he recuperated from the vigorous sex, his mind instantly reverted to his initial reason for the unexpected visit. Sex was just a prerequisite to his means.

“Asia, I need you to do me a favor.” He paused for a moment to judge her reaction to his serious tone. “I need you to call Trina and get her to relay a message to Robert for me.”

Asia reached over to the bedside nightstand and grabbed the phone. She began dialing. “What you want me to tell her?” she asked.

Derrick carefully chose the words that would ultimately make or break his investigation.

******

Derrick casually entered the dimly lit restaurant as the mellow sounds of Steele Pulse played through the establishment's stereo. Dressed in his Andrew Tiziano's sweater, Gucci jeans, and white Air Force 1′s, Derrick blended in easily.

He noticed RJ sitting in a dark corner alone with his phone glued to his ear. As Derrick made his way to the table where RJ sat, he inconspicuously pulled the BTB medallion that he'd taken from Sherm from his pocket and gripped it in his hand. He gave RJ a murderous glare and took a seat opposite him. Without saying a word, he tossed it onto the table, causing a loud clank.

RJ asked, “What's this?”

“That's what I took from your boy after he tried to murder me,” Derrick said.

“Look, man, I ain't have shit to do with what dude did. In fact, I specifically told dude to set something up so I could holler at you,” he explained.

“Really?” Derrick responded. “I don't seem to recall him saying anything about that while he was trying to blow my fucking head off!”

“You can believe what you want! Now, we can handle this like some men, or we can handle it like some gangsters.”

Derrick knew he had RJ exactly where he wanted him. “A'ight, let's handle it like men.”

“That's what's up, yo.” RJ allowed a faint smile to appear on his face. He raised his hand to beckon a server, and then ordered a bottle of champagne and both he and Derrick a seafood dinner.

“So what did you want to talk about at this sit down you mentioned trying to arrange earlier?” Derrick asked.

“Business.”

“That's a broad statement.”

RJ smiled. “We seem to be in the same line of work.”

“Me and a million other dudes in Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn, not VA.” RJ pointed at Derrick with a grin.

“So you like Virginia?”

“Used to hustle down there.”

Derrick's eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah?”

“Virginia Beach. I was a teenager back then. Going hand-to-hand for some older dudes from Brownsville.”

“So you know how to get around.”

“And I know the prices. I understand the dynamics of profit margins there versus New York,” RJ said with a smile. “And since I been tolerating you making money in Brooklyn, you gonna help me make some money in Virginia.”

“Tolerating,” Derrick said with a snicker.

RJ's face turned grim. “Oh yeah. Brooklyn motherfuckers hustle in any city in America. But nobody in they right mind come to Brooklyn and set up shop.”

“So I guess I'm insane.”

“Or suicidal.”

Derrick leaned back in his chair and poured some champagne. “I like you.”

“That's good, because people that dislike me don't live long.”

“So what exactly do you have going on in Brooklyn?”

RJ grinned.

“That wasn't supposed to be funny.”

“Why all the questions? You writing a book or something?”

Derrick chuckled. “Now that was funny.”

“Serious. I'm not asking you much yet, and I expect the same in return.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just gave you a proposition. That's enough for one day.”

Derrick nodded.

“Tonight, just enjoy your meal and the Moet.”