Read New York's Finest Online

Authors: Kiki Swinson

Tags: #Romance, #cookie429, #Kat, #Extratorrents

New York's Finest

New York’s Finest

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. New York’s Finest. Copyright 2011 by Kiki Swinson. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

 

Publisher’s address:

K.S. Publications

P.O. Box 68878

Virginia Beach, VA 23471

Website: www.kikiswinson.net

Email:
[email protected]

ISBN-13: 978-0984529063

ISBN-10: 0-984529063

First Edition: October 2011

1098765

Editors: J. Wooden & Letitia Carrington

Interior & Cover Design: Davida Baldwin (OddBalldsgn.com)

Cover Photography: Davida Baldwin (OBDPhotography.com)

 

Don’t Miss Out On These Other Titles:

 

Wifey
I’m Still Wifey
Life After Wifey
Still Wifey Material

Wifey 4-Life

Mad Shambles
The Candy Shop
Still Candy Shopping

A Sticky Situation

Sleeping with the Enemy (with Wahida Clark)

Heist (with De’nesha Diamond)

Playing Dirty
Notorious
Cheaper to Keep Her part 1 & 2
Wife Extraordinaire part 1

Wife Extraordinaire Returns part 2

Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless (with Noire)

 

New York’s Finest Kiki Swinson

 
Prologue

 

When I first laid eyes on the Federal Agents who were being accompanied by the airport police, I damn near had a heart attack. They were fifty feet away from me. If I wanted to make my escape, then now was the perfect time. Unfortunately for me, every government agent with a badge and gun had every exit in this entire fucking airport blocked off. So the possibilities of me getting away from law enforcement were slim to improbable. And even if they weren’t, where would I go?

Immediately after I got word that our entire operation blew up in our faces, we got word that the Feds were about to make their arrests, so I was given instructions to go to my place to clean out my safe, erase my hard-drive on my laptop and get my ass over to the hideaway apartment Reggie and I had across town. It was a place no one knew about but the three of us.

Meanwhile the Feds and the airport police were minutes from closing in on me. I tried to figure out my next step as my heart raced uncontrollably. The edge I had over them was that they were looking for a young woman fitting my description and not a senior citizen woman wearing a grayish colored wig with streaks of black, an old faded blue dress, a pair of orthopedic shoes and walked with a cane. Believe me, I acted the part on queue and used my knowledge of the airport’s security system to my advantage. Only a select few of the employees knew the airport was equipped with over a thousand rotating surveillance cameras and fortunately for me, I was one of them. I also knew there were so many cameras that the security staff could not observe them all simultaneously, which immediately prompted me to change my escape plan.

The airport’s generator room was only three feet from me. I eased towards the door very carefully. I acted as if I had lost something on the floor and right before I swiped my key card to make my entry, I glanced around the concourse to make sure I was free and clear. When I realized passengers and airline staff had fixed their attention on the manpower search that had engulfed the entire airport, I knew now was the perfect time to make my exit.

Without hesitation, I swiped my key card and pushed the door open. And just when I thought I was about to make a clean getaway, the security alarm went off. Immediately, my body became panic stricken. I didn’t know whether to proceed through the door or turn back around. But as soon as I heard several of the law enforcement officers yell from behind me, I instantly looked back and noticed a horde of law enforcement types rapidly rushing towards me. I could tell by the expressions on their faces that they wanted me badly. I slammed the door shut and looked around the machine-filled room for something I could use to barricade the door. My heart beat at an incredible pace as I scanned and moved around the room. Then I finally saw a pipe lying next to one of the big generators. I snatched it up from the floor and said a quiet and quick prayer as I raced back to the door. I heard the commotion on the other side of the door. There were at least two different voices yelling obscenities as they struggled to get the door open.


Who has a fucking key card?” I heard one officer yell over top of the loud blaring sound of the security alarm.

That question alone gave me a glimmer of hope that I may be able to prevent them from getting into this room. Now I had to hurry and place the pipe between the crease of the metal bar and the floor. So when they tried to push the door open, the pipe wouldn’t allow the door to move one inch.

Not even ten seconds after I placed the pipe against the door, I heard a loud booming sound hit the door. BOOM! But the door didn’t budge. “On the count of three, let’s hit it again,” I heard one of the officers yell. On the count of three, I watched nervously as they hit the door again. But the door didn’t budge. “She’s gotta have something barricading the door,” I heard another male’s voice yell over the top of the continued blaring sounds coming from the alarm system.

Knowing that they had figured out what I had done sent my mind into overdrive. I knew I had very limited time to find my way out of this room before they found a way inside. I had to get a move on it if I wanted to escape this madness.

When I turned around to bolt into the opposite direction, I was stopped in my tracks by a police-issued .40 caliber Glock.


Where the fuck you think you’re going?” said a man’s voice as he pointed his pistol directly in my face.

The words slim to improbable reverberated throughout my mind as I looked down the biggest barrel I had ever been face-to-face with.

 

New York’s Finest Kiki Swinson

 

Chapter 1 – Internationally Known

 

I was elated when the pilot finally landed our aircraft. We had been in the air for five and a half damn hours. The flights from San Diego to LaGuardia were always long and hard on my stomach. Having worked for the airlines for a little over five years, you would think I would be used to it by now. But unfortunately I wasn’t.

What I had gotten used to were the perks of being a flight attendant. A lot of my co-workers weren’t aware of it, but I was New York’s Finest
.
I was a fly chick from Harlem and I was very popular amongst the men who were elite members of the airline and flew first class. I had them eating out of my fucking hands.

To get straight to the point, I’d befriended and fucked most of them. In return, they’d give me monetary gifts as well as expensive gold and diamond jewelry. Some would say I was being the typical flight attendant, fucking a passenger on every flight. But there was nothing atypical about what I was doing. I didn’t consider myself a whore, but this pussy wasn’t cheap; hence, the gold and diamond pussy. But the best connections I scored were three passengers who had lucrative drug connections. Unfortunately, after several deals, only one outlasted the other two. His name was Juan Alvarez.

Alvarez was from Costa Rica but he owned a lot of prime real estate here in New York. Not only did he have plenty of money, he had sex appeal. We dated for a few months. During that time I introduced him to my brother, Reggie. Alvarez and Reggie hit if off well and from there, we started a moneymaking enterprise that couldn’t be tampered with. While I needed to make more money than the measly $17 an hour I was receiving from the airlines, Reggie needed a consistent supplier and Juan needed someone to put his coke on the streets. So it became a win-win situation for everyone involved.

Alvarez was a womanizer and when I learned that, I cut our relationship short. But we didn’t end our business relationship. In the world we both grew up in, money talked and bullshit walked. Juan, Reggie and I had a good business venture, and more importantly, we had a means of transport—my flights to and fro locations across the globe. And as long as I had my bag handlers, TSA agents and mules help get Juan’s coke through the airports, he promised he’d continue to supply Reggie and then we all would be happy.

After all the passengers exited our aircraft, my fellow flight attendants, Brooke and Kelsey, inspected the aisles and seats to ensure passengers hadn’t left any of their belongings behind. Once that task was completed, we exited the plane ourselves.

I retrieved my Blackberry from my carry-on bag as I entered the airport and called Reggie. I had his number on speed dial, so it only took a matter of seconds to get him on the line.


What’s good?” he asked. He sounded very excited to hear from me. As a matter of fact, he’d always got excited when I called him after I came in from a flight. He knew that once he heard my voice, I had some high quality product coming his way.


I hear the cheer in your voice,” I told him.


You damn right! When I hear your voice it makes me happy. Not only do I know that you’re home safe, I also know that you’ve brought home some shit that’s going to make us richer than we were yesterday.”

I chuckled at Reggie’s comment. He was a comedian in his own right. But he was better at selling coke. I introduced Juan to Reggie six months ago and since then, Reggie and I have generated a large sum of cash. I can’t count Reggie’s money, but I can say that I had saved over two million dollars. I thought about quitting my job as a flight attendant several times, but Reggie stressed over a dozen times how he needed someone on the inside to watch over his investments. He figured that if I left the airline, then he wouldn’t have a set of trusting eyes watching to make sure his packages arrived safely into New York. So that’s one of the reasons why I was still employed.


Where are you?” I asked.


I’m cross town at Malika’s apartment. But I’m about to head back uptown because Vanessa’s been ringing my Blackberry off the fucking hook. I told her I was out handling business but for some reason she doesn’t believe me.”

I chuckled once again. “Come on Reggie, are you listening to yourself? You’ve cheated on her over a dozen times since you two have been married, so ask yourself why should she believe you?”

He totally ignored my question. The only thing he wanted to talk about was how pure his coke was and how much money he stood to make. And immediately after I gave him the numbers we ended our conversation. Before we hung up, I assured him I would go to the TSA office to check up on the bags to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. And then I’d put them in the right hands, so he could get them before nightfall.

 

I had had a long day, but when I looked at how much I had accomplished, I felt good. Normally when I came home from a long flight, I’d take a hot shower and then I’d slip into my terrycloth pajamas and watch a couple of Blue Ray movies. Tonight, I decided to order Chinese and then hit the sack.

While I waited for my Chinese food to be delivered, I got a phone call from my sister-in-law, Vanessa. From time to time she’d pick up the phone to call me when she needed advice on how to handle certain situations with Reggie. I pretty much listened to her take on things, but at the end of the day my allegiance was with my brother. I would never sell him out even if he were wrong. He was my blood. And whether Vanessa realized it by now, Reggie was going to do what the fuck he wanted and when he wanted, and there’s nothing she or I could do to change that.

Reggie has been and always will be a fucking street hustler. Our father was a street cat, so hustling ran through our blood strong. Reggie had stepped the game up big time. He excelled as an athlete in high school—the star running back on our football team and the point guard in basketball. Even then he was a hustler. He ran a betting racket on the football and basketball games he played in. Amazingly, as teenagers we were raking in bags of dough. As the dude setting the line, and the athlete controlling the results, we always won both on the field and in the streets. And it all computed to one thing—mo’ money, mo’ money. And that’s some real shit!

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