Gangsta Bitch (12 page)

Scott’s mouth opened and closed like a beached fish but no sound came out. The pain was so intense that his vocal cords wouldn’t work. Duce could’ve shot him in the head and ended it, but Scott didn’t deserve a quick death. He needed to die slow. As Duce looked back and saw Scott trying to keep his intestines from spilling into the snow, he was pretty sure that he would.

Duce drove his Explorer as calmly as he could down St. Nicholas Avenue. There was blood on his boots and a hot pistol on the passenger seat, but panicking wouldn’t change that nor would it change the fact that he had killed two people in as many nights. Marsha’s death had made him feel better, but he savors Scott’s far more. It had been Scott who called Duce to the apartment that would spell his doom, and Scott who he had treated like family. Part of him wanted to turn around and shoot Scott again.

When the Boost phone he’d purchased that day went off, he almost jumped out of his skin. He’d only given one person the number so he knew who it was without looking at the caller ID. “Yo,” Duce said, holding the phone with one hand and steering with the other.

“Young blood, what it is?” Cos said.

“Ain’t shit, about to go see this broad,” Duce lied.

“Man, fuck that broad, I got something better lined up for you. Bring your ass down to 79
^th
and Columbus Ave.”

“Come on, Cos, a nigga about to get some ass. You know I’m fresh home,” Duce protested. The last thing he felt like doing at that moment was clubbing, especially with all the dirt he was riding with. All Duce wanted to do was hit the FDR and make it back to Brooklyn without incident.

“Fuck that, there’s a gang of bitches up in here. Somebody’s gonna give your young ass some pussy. Besides, the big homey wants to meet you. We’ll be expecting you in about an hour,” Cos said, before ending the call.

Duce cursed and tossed the phone roughly into the passenger seat. Meeting Cowboy wasn’t something he had planned on just yet, it was messing with the natural order of his plan and Duce hated that, but it was a necessary evil. He knew Cowboy by reputation, but had yet to feel the man out. A good hunter was always familiar with the scent of his prey before the kill.

Booby was huddled so deep in the doorway
of the closed wireless store that you couldn’t see him unless you knew where to look. Ever since he was a kid, it had always been easy for him to blend in, or be overlooked, which is what made him such a valuable informant for some of the under world’s top figures. That night, he was in the employment of El Pogo, through Tito.

It wasn’t hard for him to locate and track his mark, because they were from the same neighborhood. Cowboy had a residence in the middle class complex of Espinard Gardens, while Booby resided on 147
^th
and Seventh. He knew what Cowboy and his crew were capable of so he was apprehensive at first, but when he heard how much he’d be paid, it was a done deal. He wasn’t sure what Cowboy had done to piss El Pogo off and truthfully he didn’t care, as long as he got his cake.

It had been about fifteen minutes since Cowboy and his entourage had entered the bar. When he was sure that they weren’t going anywhere, he picked up the phone and dialed the number Tito had given him.

Duce had driven pass the bar twice before he finally spotted it. It was a very nondescript spot located at the basement level of a restaurant. As luck would have it, he was able to park right in front, which was amazing considering the parking situation in New York City. Though he still had on the thermal shirt and jeans at least he was able to find a pair of dusty black Timberlands in the back of the truck. They weren’t exactly club worthy, but at least they didn’t have blood all over them. Securing his gun under the driver’s seat of his truck, he made his way towards the bar.

“Fam, we got a dress code here,” the bouncer said before Duce had made it all the way to the descending stairs.

“My dude, I’m fresh off the road just trying to catch a quick drink,” Duce said pleasantly.

The bouncer looked him up and down. “Still, the rules are the rules. You can’t get in dressed like that.”

“Jimmy for as well as we tip your ass I know you ain’t out here hassling a member of my team?” A voice floated from the bottom of the stairs. Cos was leaning against a table smoking a cigarette.

“My fault, Cos. I ain’t know homey was here with y’all,” the bouncer said humbly.

“Well now you do,” Cos said, handing him a $50 dollar bill. “Now move your big ass out the way and let my man in.”

“What da deal?” Duce stepped passed the bouncer and embraced Cos.

“Welcome home, kid,” Cos patted Duce on the back. “How does it feel?”

“Damn good,” Duce eyed a scantily dressed young lady who was making her way down the steps.

“Man it’s a hundred more like her in the club. Come on down so I can introduce you to the team.”

Cos led Duce down the stairs and through two large wooden doors. The interior of the club was nothing like the quiet exterior. The music was loud, the air was stale and liquor flowed by the gallons. Cos bumped through the crowd passing out handshakes and hugs while Duce followed closely behind. His eyes were constantly scanning the place for trouble. Granted he had never been one to do the nightlife so his face wasn’t a familiar one, but you never knew who you’ d bump into with the world being so small. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and blow his cover.

They made their way across the bar area to the where the dance floor was located. People of all races were drinking, laughing and grinding to various hits spun by the D.J. A shapely young white girl tried to grab Duce’s hand and pull him onto the dance floor, but he politely declined. For as much as he needed to release that five year nut, business always came first. As they approached the far corner of the club, Duce’s heart started beating at 100 miles per minute.

There was a brute of a man standing at attention with his eyes sweeping the crowd. The chances of him being armed inside the club was unlikely, but the man looked like he could do some damage with his bare hands. Duce gave him the once over, but his eyes were focused on the man directly behind him. Though Duce had never met the man face to face, he knew the lanky cat dressed in all black had to be Cowboy. He was lounging on the cushioned seat with a pretty redbone on his lap. From his arrogant demeanor and the way he was barking directions at the waitresses you’d have thought he owned the place. He took a minute to stop groping the girl to cast a cold stare up at Duce.

Cos leaned over and spoke to Cowboy. “This is the young boy Duce I was telling you about.”

Cowboy eased the young lady off his lap and leaned forward. “So this is the scourge of the New York state prison system? Funny, I expected you to be bigger from all the shit Cos has told me about you.”

“I could say the same,” Duce returned his glare.

“This is my nigga Thor,” Cos said, trying to ease some of the tension. Thor nodded but didn’t extend his hand, nor did Duce. “What you drinking on Duce?”

“Vodka and cranberry,” Duce said, still eyeballing Cowboy. He knew that Cowboy was testing him and was determined to show the man that he wasn’t a punk.

“Come on and cop a squat,” Cowboy patted the seat next to him. Duce slid onto the seat, but kept a comfortable distance between himself and Cowboy. “I hear you’re looking to come up?”

Duce shrugged. “You know how it is; I’m fresh off a bid and trying to get my ones up.”

“I don’t know about no ones, but I know that fucking with me you can stack some fifties and hundreds.”

“Even better,” Duce gave a half smile. “You know, even before I met Cos your name was ringing off in the joint. Everybody from Fishkill to Downstate is talking about the Bandit King,” Duce stroked his ego.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Cowboy smiled. “I like that shit. So what else are they saying about me?”

Duce chose his next words carefully. “They say that you’re the best friend a guy could have and the worst enemy.”

“You better fucking believe it! Me and mine is straight bout that, feel me?”

“No doubt,” Duce nodded. “So, my nigga Cos tells me that now that I’m a part of the team I can make some serious paper.”

“You ain’t part of shit yet, homey. You still gotta prove yourself,” Cowboy told him.

“I guess this is the part where you tell me that I gotta kill one of your enemies or go toe to toe with the big man?” Duce said sarcastically.

Cowboy laughed. “Nah, Thor would murder you in a fight and ain’t nobody stupid enough to be my enemy. What I got in mind is something way simpler, but just as dangerous, if you’re up to it?”

“Like I told you, I need to get my ones up. I’m down for whatever,” Duce said seriously.

“Glad to hear it. Check it, we got this score coming up and this is when you’re gonna cut your teeth.” Cowboy went on to explain the dynamics of the upcoming robbery while Duce listened intently. Cowboy was a master schemer and every bit of an arrogant Harlem hustler. Had the circumstances been different they might’ve been able to do business together, but this wasn’t the case. Cowboy had violated and had to be served justice, just like the rest of them.

Two hours after arriving at the bar Duce and Cowboy were chopping it up like two old friends. He and Cos were visibly tipsy, from all the drinks they had been throwing back, but not Duce. He sipped with them to break the ice, but he was far from dunk. In his line of work, a split second of indecisiveness could mean the difference between life and death.

Cowboy chatted away while Duce pretended to listen to his ranting. Though he tried to relax, something didn’t feel right. His eyes scanned the bar for signs of trouble, but all he could see where the throngs of people on the dance floor, but that didn’t remove the eerie feeling in the pit of his gut. Focusing all his senses, he tried to drown out everything around him and zero in on what didn’t match in the picture. On his second sweep of the crowd, he spotted the oddities.

Posted against the wall where two Hispanic men. To the untrained eye they looked like two cats just enjoying the scene, but Duce had long ago learned to look beneath the surface of things. The first thing that struck him as odd was the fact that they were standing around in bubble coats in a room where the temperature was 90 something degrees. Even wearing just the thermal Duce was sweating, so he knew they had to be suffering under the goose feathers. Secondly, they weren’t drinking. They had drinks in their hands, but the ice had long ago melted out of them and the liquor had yet to be touched. All these things told Duce that something was definitely wrong with the picture, but what sealed the deal were the larcenous glares they were sending over to the corner.

Silently, Duce slid from the seat and headed towards where the bathrooms were located. As he crossed the crowded room, he could feel the eyes of the Hispanics on him, but he didn’t look in their direction. Instead of actually going into the bathroom, he pressed himself against the wall which divided the dance floor from the restrooms. He peered around the corner and to his surprise he didn’t see the men. A quick scan of the crowd revealed one of them moving in Cowboy’s direction, while the other slithered along the wall towards the bathroom.

Duce found himself with one hell of a dilemma. Whoever had set the Hispanic men on Cowboy had nothing to do with him, but Cowboy dying that night wasn’t a part of the plan. True, if they killed him it would save Duce the trouble but Cowboy’s life was already spoken for. For as much as he hated to do it, he had to take action. Before he had a chance to decide on what to do next, one of the Hispanics rounded the corner with a gun in his hand.