Angel's Revenge

CHAPTER FIVE

Free at last!

Angel stepped onto the Boeing 747 bound for San Francisco, California. She had been out twenty-four hours, and anyone who’s been locked up knows the first twenty-four hours are always the sweetest. The air smelled fresh, not stale like the recycled air inside the prison. The sun shone brighter and seemed to embrace her with welcoming warmth. Even the mundane sounds of car horns and the hustle and bustle of everyday life was music to the ears of a person who hadn’t heard anything but the slamming of steel and the gravelly shuffle on concrete. All that was behind her, and her lover, Goldilocks, had made sure that Angel stepped out in style.

Goldilocks had a stretch Benz limo waiting outside the federal women’s prison in Alderson, West Virginia. But she didn’t stop there. She had an outfit, shoes, and everything Angel needed waiting for her. Goldilocks knew Angel’s taste for men’s clothing and dressed her to look the part. When the female CO escorted Angel to the front door and took one look at Angel in the outfit, her face turned green with hate.

Angel smirked.

“Take a picture for Trina and Lil’ Kim and let ’em know who the baddest bitch really is!” Angel remarked, rubbing her wealth in the face of the heavyset low-wage earner.

“Hmph, you’ll be back,” said the CO.

But going back wasn’t the plan for Angel. It was time for the jump off. She wasn’t only going to take back what was hers. She was about to elevate the game to the next level. All who couldn’t hang had best bow out.

“Welcome to Continental flight 1707 from Atlanta, Georgia, to San Francisco, California. Enjoy your flight and don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything,” the shapely stewardess announced with a friendly smile.

Angel eyed the woman, from her long sexy legs to her small, slim waist and perky breasts, and couldn’t help but smile. The flight attendant couldn’t help but notice and returned Angel’s smile with a grin of her own.

“Believe me, sweetie, you’ll be the first to know if I need anything,” Angel said, stressing anything.

“You do that,” the flight attendant flirted back as she walked down the aisle. Angel watched her from behind.

Angel was exotically gorgeous. Her time in prison had only served to enhance her already voluptuous figure. She and Goldilocks had worked out religiously and had succeeded in sculpting Angel’s five-seven frame into a Beyoncé-type figure. Her panther-slant, light-brown eyes gave her the look of a dangerous beauty.

She relaxed as the plane taxied and took flight. The takeoff was always the worst. She had only been on a plane twice in her life and both times had been with Dutch. Her heart ached for him as she imagined him sitting next to her instead of the elderly white woman in pearls.

Relax, mami. We where we ’posed to be ’cause stars belong in the sky. That’s what Dutch had said to her the last time they were on a plane. The whole crew had flown to St. Tropez, back when shit was sweet, when they were on top of the world, untouchable and together. Now he was gone, but her heart refused to accept it.

Dondé es, papi? her palpitating heart asked, and it was as if she could hear his reply. Wherever you are, I am. They can’t stop what they can’t see. Never forget that. Now it’s your turn. Rep the bloodline and show these muthafuckas real niggas don’t die.

Te quiero, her mind replied, because she thought only in Spanish.

The flight to California took forever. The only thing that kept Angel amused was the cat-and-mouse game she played with the stewardess. Angel flirted and the stewardess blushed, so Angel flirted some more.

The flight attendant brought Angel a drink, which for Angel was the perfect opportunity to make a move. When the flight attendant handed her the plastic cup, Angel caught her hand and held it in hers. She looked at her nails.

“You need a manicure, boo.”

The stewardess giggled nervously. “I plan on taking care of that when I get some time off.”

“I got some things you can take care of when you get some time,” said Angel, throwing it out there.

“I guess it depends on what types of things,” the flight attendant replied as she slowly withdrew her hand.

Angel knew she had made her point. Before she got off the plane, she had the stewardess’s number tucked away in her pocket.

Once she arrived in San Francisco, Angel cut through the terminal in a confident stride and headed for the baggage claim area. Goldilocks was supposed to be waiting for her, and just as she promised, she was.

Goldilocks was leaning on the hood of a jet-black 760i with a charcoal-gray interior. She was casually dressed in a Juicy jogging suit, Nike sneakers, and Fred sunglasses. With no makeup, she radiated beauty. Goldilocks was shorter than Angel and more petite. She was half-German and half-black. German in her smoke-gray eyes and high yellow skin, but black in her fat ass and sassy attitude.

She got the name Goldilocks because of her shoulder-length dreads that were sun-kissed to a golden brown. She and Angel had met in prison while Goldilocks was doing a stint for bank robbery. She was bisexual and had been gay way before she met Angel. She was not only Angel’s lover but her best friend, a first for Angel, who had always swung with men and rolled dolo.

Goldilocks had gotten out a few months before Angel and had been counting the days until they would be reunited. As soon as she saw Angel come through the door, she hurried to her, threw her arms around her neck, and tongue-kissed her like Angel was a soldier coming home from war.

“I missed you! Oh, my God! I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Goldilocks whispered, caressing Angel’s ear with her tongue.

People walking through the baggage area couldn’t help but stare at the two women locked in a passionate embrace. Even in San Francisco, passion that electric turned heads.

“Be easy, ma, before you start something we could be arrested for finishing.” Angel smirked, wet with anticipation.

Goldilocks took Angel’s hand and slid it inside her sweatpants down to her pussy. “It ain’t like we ain’t been there before,” she teased.

“Yeah, and it’s somewhere we ain’t goin’ no time soon,” Angel replied as she removed Goldi’s hand and smacked her on the ass with it. “Take me home.”

Once they arrived at Goldilocks’s apartment, the two girls wasted no time. Goldilocks stepped out of her sweatpants, revealing her firm, juicy ass to Angel’s lustful eyes. She began to do a striptease for Angel, removing her shirt and bra slowly. Her tits were the size of ripe grapefruits and had tiny red freckles around the nipples that Angel tickled with the tip of her pierced tongue.

“Damn, you got me so wet,” Goldilocks moaned, rubbing her clit then sticking her finger in Angel’s mouth so she could taste her sweet nectar. Angel undressed and stood over Goldilocks as she lay on the couch, spread-eagled. Angel then took Goldilocks’s legs and placed them over her shoulders before going down on her.

Goldilocks arched her back to meet Angel’s adventurous tongue that lapped greedily over her pulsating pussy, bringing her to a thunderous orgasm.

Then it was Goldi’s turn.

“I got a surprise for you, boo,” Goldilocks announced mischievously after Angel came in her mouth. She reached under the couch and produced a large nine-inch strap-on. She started to harness it around her waist, but Angel grabbed it from her.

“Nah, that’s my job,” Angel said, asserting her dominance and refusing to have a dick, fake or real, fuck her.

Angel strapped on the dildo and bent Goldilocks over the edge of the couch, plowing into her with the hard rubber as if it was real.

“Sssss-awwww,” Goldi gasped, sucking in air through clenched teeth. Angel slid deeper inside her tight hole with the nine-incher.

“Ohh, Angel, Angel, Angel!” Goldilocks repeated like a hook in her favorite song. It was definitely good to have her lover home.

After they showered, they ate Chinese takeout and lay naked on Goldi’s bed, basking in the glow of their reunion.

“If I told you I loved you, would you believe me?” Goldilocks asked, looking Angel in the eyes.

“Should I?” Angel countered.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Goldilocks replied solemnly. “You mean a lot to me, Angel. What we have, the world may not understand, but I do and I never want it to end.”

“Nothin’ last forever, ma,” Angel said, remembering all that she had lost in life.

“But it can last for life.”

Angel shrugged, “Love makes you do crazy things, G. And I don’t need crazy right now. I need DBD.”

“DBD?” Goldilocks questioned, not recognizing the term.

“Death before Dishonor.”

Angel eyed Goldilocks’s reaction. She knew Goldi didn’t have the heart of a killer, but if she was planning on rolling with Angel, she’d have to do something.

“Death before dishonor.” Goldilocks repeated the code like a bride saying “I do.”

She tried to kiss Angel, but Angel stopped her with an index finger to the lips. She traced the outline of her bottom lip and across her chin to the flesh of her throat.

“Everything I’m about goes against everything you’ve ever known,” Angel explained, sliding her index finger and thumb down Goldi’s gently heaving cleavage and circling her breasts. “And I gotta know. I gotta trust that the only thing that matters to you is me.”

Goldilocks closed her eyes and licked her lips, enjoying the soft sensuality of Angel’s touch.

“I gotta know that your body is mine.”

“It is, I swear.”

“Your mind,” Angel continued, caressing Goldi to her navel. “Will you kill for me?”

“Yes, I’ll do anything for you,” Goldilocks responded.

Angel brought her face closer until they were sharing air.

“Will you die for me?”

Goldilocks blinked and focused on Angel as her fingers slipped inside her wetness. Goldi nodded slowly.

“Anything.”

Angel smiled and kissed her.

“Then we need to go to church,” Angel announced.

First Street Baptist Church.

Angel struck a match with one manicured hand and sparked her cigarette. She concentrated on the reddish- orange flame before blowing it out. She inhaled deeply, threw her head back, and blew a stream of smoke into the cloudy morning sky. The Los Angeles streets were slick from rain the night before.

Angel looked at the face of the church that boasted the name “Reverend Qwan Taylor” on its marquee. It had been almost four years since Qwan testified against Dutch, and Angel had dreamed of making this trip ever since. She understood why Dutch had let Qwan live. Qwan had always been a coward. He wasn’t of the same caliber as the rest of the team. Angel had known it ever since she first laid eyes on him. He was a good car thief and an excellent driver, but that’s where his talents ended.

When the Month of Murder kicked into full swing, Angel saw how jittery and nervous he was. Qwan just wasn’t cut out for that shit, and Dutch knew it so he pardoned him. Angel understood Dutch’s motives perfectly, but she didn’t agree with them, not yet. Not until she had the chance to see for herself if Qwan had been truly vindicated.

Angel approached the front door, taking a long drag of her Newport before throwing it to the ground. She knocked on the door. No one answered. She knocked again louder, and still no answer. Angel tried the knob, but it was locked.

“Shit,” she cursed before stepping around the side of the building to the parking lot. The only vehicle in the lot was a sparkling new gray Lincoln Navigator parked near the rear door. She walked across the small parking lot and knocked on the back door. A few seconds passed before she heard footsteps behind the door. Angel took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the door opened. Qwan stood behind it.

Angel recognized him instantly even though he had gotten a little chubby and had grown a goatee. He was dressed tastefully in a blue double-breasted suit that was clearly tailored to fit.

Looks like God’s been looking out for a nigga, she thought sarcastically.

“Hello, Qwan. Long time no see, huh?”

Qwan looked puzzled for a minute. It had been almost fifteen years since he had seen Angel, and her blonde wig hid the jet-black hair he was used to. Qwan’s eyes quickly took in every curve that generously filled out the body-hugging silk dress she wore so well. Even Angel had to look twice at her own reflection. She couldn’t remember ever wearing a dress in her life, let alone a dress so clingy and revealing. How do broads wear this shit? she thought, hoping her breasts didn’t pop out of the front.

He looked at her face again and recognized her under the sexy outfit and wig.

“Angel?” he asked breathlessly.

“Who else?” She smiled, flinging her arms open. “Ain’t you got a hug for an old friend, Qwan?”

He hesitated but Angel didn’t. She enveloped him in a tight embrace, making sure to press her hot body against him, sending fire through his sanctified loins.

Angel stepped back slowly to allow Qwan a good look at her.

“How… where have you… I haven’t…”

His questions and comments stumbled over each other as he attempted to speak them all at once. Yet the main question he wanted to ask was what she was doing there.

“Now this is what I call a nice surprise,” he said, admiring her from head to toe.

“Well, I moved out here temporarily, and you was on my mind. So, here I am,” Angel replied.

“Come on in, Angel. Come on in,” Qwan invited, stepping aside to usher her inside.

Angel brushed her breasts against him purposely as she entered a small stairway that led to a plush office. The desk was black lacquer and the carpet was thick burgundy. A bookshelf took up three walls while the fourth held a large picture of a black Jesus and a golden crucifix. Under the picture was a long, beige leather couch.

Angel sat in the chair in front of the desk while Qwan perched on the edge of the desk.

“So… where did you move to?” Qwan inquired, hands clasped in his lap.

“San Francisco. I met a few chicks in the pen that had a nice racket going on in the Bay, so I said what the hell, you know?” Angel explained, only half lying.

“Yes, I heard about that. I’m sorry I didn’t write or anything, but with my duties here at the church… well, you know what they say, the Lord’s work is never done.”

“And from the looks of it, his workers get paid well. Is that your Navigator out there?”

Qwan cleared his throat nervously. “Yes. Well, I try to maintain a respectable persona. It’s important that the congregation see the blessing God gives the faithful.”

Angel nodded and looked around. An eerie pause played with the rhythm of the moment. Qwan broke the awkward silence.

“San Francisco’s kinda far, but I know a few good churches I can recommend if you’d like.”

Angel brushed blonde hair off her face. “You know me, Qwan. Ain’t much changed. I’m still the same ol’ Angel. Church is the last thing on my mind.”

“Well, God is the changer of hearts.”

“So I’ve heard,” she sighed, tired of the small talk. “Listen, Qwan, I think you know why I’m here.”

“I have some idea.”

“So why don’t we talk about it, then? Why did you do it, Qwan? We was a family, la familia. And family don’t turn on family for nothin’.”

Her eyes narrowed, but Qwan averted his gaze. He stood up and walked around the desk pensively. He sat down then and looked at Angel above tented hands.

“If I told you it was hard to do, Angel, I’d be lying. I don’t feel any remorse. Maybe that’s hard for you to understand but I pray I can make you. Do you remember the port?”

“Of course.”

Qwan leaned forward in his chair.

“When I went to prison for that year, I took a long hard look at my life. I saw myself starting a vicious cycle that could only end in one of two places. Prison again and again or the graveyard, and I didn’t want either. One night, I prayed. I prayed like never before and I asked God to show me the way, to guide me, and he did. He guided me to His Son, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

Angel got the feeling he had recited this speech before, probably to wayward youth, but she let the record play out.

“When I came home, it was like I forgot Him, forgot His Son, and I fell right back into Satan’s trap. Dutch. You may not like what I’m about to say, but Dutch was a devil. He was evil. I just didn’t know how evil until the night he and Chris murdered that girl’s father in cold blood. Cold blood, Angel. We walked right into his home and took his life. For what? Because Dutch wanted to send a message?”

Qwan dropped his head, mumbling something inaudible.

I hope it’s a prayer, Angel thought.

“You mean Simone’s father?”

Qwan nodded with watery eyes. In his mind, he relived the moment.

“After that, I tried to get out, but I couldn’t. I can’t tell you why, but Satan had me. I… I was scared that Dutch would kill me, so I stayed. I stayed and I watched people die at his hands. I spent the blood money. I luxuriated in it. Until one night, one night I had a dream.”

Qwan’s eyes glazed over and his voice boomed like he was giving a sermon.

“I dreamt I was standing on the brink of fire. All I could hear were screams, agonizing screams, and I smelled burnt flesh. I saw myself standing over the pit. Then someone called my name. I turned around and it was Dutch. He said my soul was wanted in hell, and then an unseen force flung me into the pit. I woke up sweating and crying and I knew then, even if he killed me, I had to get out. I had to,” Qwan said as he lowered his head.

Angel sat unmoved by Qwan’s story. She had no pity and no sympathy for what Qwan had done, no matter what he said. She stared at the top of his head until he raised it.

“But he didn’t kill you, did he, Qwan? He let you walk away clean,” Angel said, still not understanding why he had turned state and testified.

“But I couldn’t be clean, not as long as I carried the burden I carried, and the trial was my only chance to unload it.”

Qwan stood and walked around the desk.

“When the DA first contacted me to testify against Dutch, I said no. I didn’t want no part of it. But the more I thought, the more I knew it was my only chance to purge myself. How could a man of God refuse to denounce the devil to his face? How?” Qwan emphasized with his open palms.

“He wasn’t a devil, Qwan, and you know it! Your fuckin’ conscience just wants to make him your scapegoat! Dutch was your friend and you sold him out!” Angel spat.

“Friend? He was a conniving manipulator! A… a… deceiver and a cold-blooded murderer and a bastard who didn’t deserve to live! If you want to know the truth, I’m glad he’s dead! I’m glad to be rid of him. Friend! He was never my friend,” Qwan spewed before collapsing on the couch.

His spirit felt much lighter, having finally spoken his true feelings.

Angel didn’t speak for a moment, and when she did, she began calmly.

“Do you think I’m a devil too, Qwan?”

“God is the best of judges.”

“How about a friend? Are we still friends?”

Angel’s tone made Qwan open his eyes and look at her.

“I don’t have anything against you, Angel.”

“Liar.” She playfully giggled. “I think you do, Qwan, because, after all you said, you left out one thing.”

“What’s that?”

A smirk played on Angel’s lips. “I think you were jealous,” she stated simply.

Qwan eyed her incredulously. “Jealous of who, him?”

“It’s okay to say his name, honey. He’s gone, remember? Yes him. Dutch. You were jealous of my devotion to Dutch.”

Qwan quivered with laughter, shaking his head, “That’s absurd.”

“Is it? I remember when you first saw the BMW I saved for Dutch. The hate in your eyes, wondering why I didn’t save one for you, too.”

Qwan didn’t speak. He also remembered the BMW and the envy he had felt, wishing he had one as well.

“And I remember how you used to watch me when you thought I wasn’t looking. Do you remember that, Qwan?”

She was initiating the cat-and-mouse, a game she had mastered. Qwan looked at her curiously.

“I was young. We were young and of course I looked at you, you were pretty and…”

“Am I still?”

“Still what?”

“Pretty?” Angel asked provocatively, standing up and crossing the room to sit on the couch next to him. Qwan watched her, growing more nervous by the moment.

“Why does that matter now?” he asked, but Angel ignored the question.

“I remember how you used to be around me. I could tell you wanted to say things then that you were afraid to say. Do you still want to say them?” Her tongue tickled the “th” in them, seductively.

Qwan stood up quickly, knees trembling. “That was a long time ago.”

“And I was a little girl then, but…” she said as she purposely uncrossed her legs so Qwan could see what was between them. “I’m a woman now, and I’m all alone in this cold world,” she said as she got up and moved closer to him.

“Wh… what are you doing?” Qwan asked, wide-eyed.

“Whatever you want me to.” She smiled as she caressed his face.

Qwan jerked away from her. “No! I… I don’t want you to do anything besides leave,” he retorted, attempting to sound firm, but his tremor gave him away.

“Really?” Angel giggled. “Your spirit is willing but your flesh is weak?” she remarked, referring to his tented trousers.

Qwan swallowed hard and adjusted his crotch. “Get out!” he yelled out of embarrassment that she could so easily arouse his weakness.

“Get out or… or…”

“Or what?” Angel taunted. “What will you do if I don’t?”

He stormed over to the door and threw it open with a bang. “I’ll throw you out myself!”

Angel groaned so sweetly it played up and down Qwan’s spine like a chill.

“We’ll see,” was all she replied as she slowly shook the spaghetti straps off her shoulders. Her dress fell to the floor, and she stood there, her pecan nakedness exposed to him.

Qwan gulped audibly. He feasted his eyes on her heavy, round breasts and tight stomach that vee’d to her shaved pussy.

“Now, how can you throw me out of a church like this?” Angel smiled.

“P-p-please, Angel, please put your clothes back on,” Qwan begged, trying to tear his eyes away from her thighs.

“You’ve waited fifteen years to see this. Well, here it is, baby, and it’s all yours.”

Angel took him by the hand.

“Don’t,” he whimpered, attempting no resistance as she placed his hands on her breasts. It was the closest Qwan had ever been to heaven. Dreams of Angel had defined his young adulthood. His every boyhood fantasy was made of what his nerve endings were feeling now.

“Please…”

“Exactly. Let me please you.”

Qwan pulled his hand away. “No, I can’t do this.”

“No? Well can you do this?” Angel folded her body into his and kissed him, sucking in his breath and giving him her succulent tongue to taste. To him, it was like strawberry cream, and he sucked her tongue like a lollipop. Angel led him over to the couch and laid him down. She positioned herself on top of him, gyrating her hips, bringing him to the verge of wettin’ all over himself.

“What do you want, Qwan?” Angel whispered in his ear.

“I… I want…” Qwan lay with his eyes closed, torn between spirit and flesh, unable to answer.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you want me, how much you’ve always wanted me,” she urged, darting her tongue in and out his ear, all the while squeezing his manhood through his trousers. Qwan groaned with desire.

“Tell me,” she demanded through clenched teeth.

The dam of his righteous resistance broke and flooded him with desire.

“Yes,” he admitted, looking her in the face, eyes full of lust, “I’ve always wanted you, Angel. Stay with me. I’ll make you godly if you make me whole.”

Qwan knew this was a test of faith, and he knew he had failed. He just didn’t know that his failure would cost him his life. He was too far gone to see the ice form in Angel’s eyes, frozen rigid marbles that tensed her body.

“Are you ready to give yourself to me?” he asked lustfully, taking her breast in his mouth.

She watched him sucking on her breast for a moment, totally detached, numb to any thought except murder. She lifted his head with her hand and bent to lick him from his ear to his neck and around to the other side. He never saw the thin steel razor she flipped from her tongue and into her clenched teeth. He was too busy trying to palm her ass.

The razor slit his throat from ear to ear. He felt no pain but heard the gurgling sound of his blood spewing from his body.

He grabbed for his throat, eyes wide with frantic fear and amazement. He had cum in his pants the very instant his life began to leak all over the burgundy carpet. Angel slowly rose and watched him suffer.

“Punta!” she hissed. “You hid behind God because you were afraid to be the devil,” she accused and spat on his convulsing body. “Your repentance ain’t accepted, Reverend. Forgiveness denied.”

He tried to get up but was too weak. All he could do was fall facedown in a pool of his own blood at Angel’s red stiletto heels.

“Judas,” was her single-word eulogy.

Angel slid her dress back on, not stopping to wipe the splattered blood from her body. She wore it like a badge of honor.

She walked out of the office and down the stairs, using the ends of her dress to open and close the door. She crossed the parking lot to Goldilocks, who was waiting patiently in a Jag.

As she got in the driver’s side, she removed the blonde wig, unpinned her hair, and shook it out to its full length. Goldilocks studied her. She had never seen this side of Angel before. Goldilocks wiped the small spots of blood from her lover’s face with a napkin.

“Death before dishonor?” Goldilocks inquired directly.

“Amen,” replied Angel.

They pulled off, girlish giggles floating in the air in their wake.

“We fucked up, yo. He got away.”

Duke couldn’t believe the words he was hearing on the other end of the phone.

“Fuck you mean ‘got away’?” he barked back.

Ty was on the other end, too shaken to speak. He looked in the rearview mirror as he hit the turnpike, heading south.

“Roll, yo, he…”

Duke jumped up from his couch and shouted into the phone. “I know who, muthafucka! Tell me how!”

The word “how” scrambled his brain like a bad hit of EX. He had formulated the perfect plan. He had organized it meticulously, down to the last detail. It was simple, a piece of cake, but somehow, it had blown up in his face.

The plan was to use Ty and three others. They were supposed to meet Roll’s people, which they did, in Branch Brook Park. Roll had three cats with him. Duke knew that they’d be frisked, so the plan was to make the deal, then have two shooters in a stolen car positioned outside the park tail Roll, nod him at a stop light, then take back the money and merchandise.

The deal went down as planned. Roll took the duffel-bagged million, and Ty took the weight. Then Ty made the call to the shooters.

“He out.”

The shooters readied themselves. When they spotted Roll’s BMW, they followed him, swerved up beside him at the red light, and opened fire.

They didn’t count on the BMW being bulletproof, but it was. They could’ve been tossing grenades at the car and still not cracked the windshield. The talons bounced off the car like it was Superman’s chest.

Roll ducked out of pure instinct but came up laughing at the feeble assassination attempt. The shooters did manage to damage the tires, but even they were designed to roll in the event of a blowout. The shooters attempted to give chase, but the blare of approaching sirens made them quickly detour.

When Ty got the word, he jumped dead in his rental and aimed it for the turnpike. He knew he had fucked up. He knew there would be retaliation. He now had two of New Jersey’s biggest drug lords on his ass, and he wasn’t about to stick around for the fireworks.

“Where you at?” Duke asked, head spinning.

“On my way out to your spot,” Ty lied, already heading in the opposite direction.

“Naw, naw. Meet me in Elizabeth. You know the spot,” Duke ordered, already trying to figure out where he was gonna dump Ty’s body.

“No doubt. One.”

Ty hung up and tossed the cell onto the empty passenger seat. Wasn’t no way he was gonna meet Duke anywhere, especially since Duke had found out that Roll got away with his paper. It was a total failure, but for Duke it loomed even larger.

Once Roll found out who was behind the assassination attempt, war was inevitable. Young World had warned Duke from sparking, and Duke had violated. He knew World wouldn’t like it and knew he had to prepare for two wars. One with Roll and the other with Young World. Either way, it was on, and Duke couldn’t turn back the clock.

Roll was a big, fat, black, Biggie Smalls-type nigga, whose belly shook when he laughed. As he and his main man, Nitti, walked into his wife’s hair salon, his belly bounced with hilarious cackles.

“What’s so funny, Roland?” his wife, Renée, asked as she prepared to open the shop.

Roll took the duffel bag from Nitti and kissed Renée on the cheek.

“Somebody tried to kill me.” He laughed.

“And that’s funny?” she asked in a panic. She knew her man was crazy, but she thought he had finally lost it.

Roll relaxed in one of the salon chairs.

“It is when you send stupid muthafuckas to murk a nigga like Big Roll,” he boasted.

Roll explained the scenario, and Renée sucked her teeth.

“It’s not funny, Roland. I swear I wish you’d leave this shit alone because everybody won’t always be stupid muthafuckas,” she told him, then walked away mad that he took the attempt on his life so nonchalantly.

Nitti, Roll’s sleepy-eyed silent killer, wasn’t laughing either. “I guess I ain’t gotta tell you who it was, do I?” Nitti asked.

Roll lit a Cuban cigar.

“Hell no! Who else could afford to just give away a million dollars, except me, and I damn sure ain’t try and kill myself.” Roll chuckled, but his insides were beginning to boil over. “I’ll tell you this though,” he said between puffs, “I was startin’ to think World’s bitch ass was goin’ soft, yo. He was makin’ it too easy to play him out of pocket.”

Roll blew out a puff of smoke. The more he thought about it, the more his nervousness subsided and his anger grew.

“Send toy soldiers at a real nigga like Roll? I’ma bury that nigga! Him, that bitch-ass Duke, his dick-suckin’ mother, and whoever else get in my way! I’ma take what shoulda been mine from the jump!” Roll huffed. “And my next Bentley on World!” Roll exclaimed and held up the million-dollar duffel bag.

“You got exactly one hour, Muhammad,” the blond CO told Rahman as he took off the cuffs at the door of the booth.

Rahman didn’t respond. Instead he looked over his shoulder at Young World on the other side of the Plexiglas.

Rahman gave him a wink, but he could tell Young World didn’t like seeing him in a cage chained like an animal. When the officer left, he firmly locked the door with a thud. Rahman turned to the phone and picked it up with a smile.

“As-Salaamu Alaikum, Shahid,” Rahman said, calling World by his born name.

“Alaikum As-Salaamu, my brother,” World replied. “What up wit’ this thick-ass Plexi and crazy heavy phones? You been wildin’ on them niggas in there or what?”

“Naw. You know how these crackers play with a nigga’s life. A nigga ain’t suppose to speak. And if you outspoken, then you losin’ some type of privilege. It ain’t nothin’ though.”

Young World nodded.

“What was you protestin’ for, more food?” World joked. “I saw that gut, Ock!”

Rahman threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I know. I ain’t been workin’ out like I should,” he confessed, noticing the dragon chain World was wearing. Rahman could clearly see the world he had introduced his young protégé to, a world based on slavery. Enslavement of self, morally, and principally, enslavement to materialism, totally. It was the prison of the game many entered but few ever escaped. Rahman turned his head away.

Young World sensed his annoyance but mistook it for a different kind of disappointment. World thought Roc was upset with the way he had been handling the family affairs, so he sought to explain himself.

“I’m sayin’ yo, I know I ain’t holdin’ it down like you and Dutch, but shit is crazy for a nigga right now. I know you heard about it.”

“First of all, this is a federal penitentiary, Sha. I’m in here on drug and racketeering charges. My mail, my phone calls, my visits are all monitored and documented. You see that?” Rahman asked, pointing to the cameras in the corners of the room. “My whole life is an open book, and you come up in here with a murdered man’s chain around your neck, an armful of bling, sayin’ names like Dutch and y’all? You must wanna go to prison.”

“Naw, naw, my bad. I wasn’t-”

“Thinking?” Rahman finished the statement, then sighed. “If you gonna live that life, you always gotta think before you act.”

Young World was back on familiar ground now that his mentor was keeping him sharp, which was exactly what he had come for.

“I got you, my bad.”

“So what was it I’m ’posed to be hearin’?” Rahman asked, changing the subject.

Young World glanced at the camera before beginning. “Just things. I know dudes in here comin’ at you saying I ain’t cut for this shit or whatever.”

“It’s a lot of talk that I don’t listen to these days,” Rahman replied.

“Everybody wants to be gorillas and killas like they’d rather see blood than money. You know me, Roc, and you know how you raised me. Ice cold, and I done dealt with shit on those terms, but it ain’t enough, yo. It’s like, I’m missing somethin’. I’m missin’ a lot. That’s why I’m here.”

Rahman had lost his focus on Young World’s words after World said “how you raised me.” It echoed in his mind several times before settling in his stomach like a ball of hot lead. He grimaced over the lessons he had instilled in Young World.

Fuck the forty-eight laws of power, Rahman remembered saying once, referring to the true hustler’s handbook. The forty-ninth law is break every law except your own.

They were lessons that all ran counter to the Islamic faith, which he now held so dear. Rahman rubbed his head.

“So what you sayin’, Sha?”

“How he do it?”

“He who?” Rahman replied, feigning ignorance.

Young World just looked at him as if to say, who else?

“The only man that knew that answer is dead,” Rahman replied dryly.

“But, Ock, you know son like that. Y’all came up from the dirt together. You know the moves he made and why. I know you wasn’t in his head, but you was there from the jump.”

Rahman could tell Young World was desperately seeking the secrets of Dutch’s success, secrets only he could provide, ones he’d never reveal, not because of the code of the streets but because of the code of Islam. He knew he had created a monster in Young World, one that would eventually destroy itself.

“Let me ask you something, Sha. What does your name mean?”

Young World was puzzled.

“What? Young World? You gave me that name, remember? You said I was the next generation, the Young World.”

I know this nigga ain’t forget, Young World wondered to himself.

“But the next generation of what?” Rahman asked. “How’s your Abu? He still go to the masjid on Branford?” asked Rahman, changing the subject once again.

“Yeah, I guess,” World replied, not really feeling the small talk when there was more important business to discuss in the hour they had.

“How about you? You go?”

“Sometimes,” World lied.

“When’s the last time you been?” Rahman pressed.

Young World realized where the conversation was going so he sarcastically retorted, “I don’t know, yo. Whenever. I ain’t bodyin’ a nigga or a nigga tryin’ to body me. I drop by.”

Rahman sighed when he saw the steel in Young World’s eyes. The door to his soul was locked shut.

“If I could tell you, I would tell you, but then what? Huh? What you gonna do then? Go out and try and be like him? Be like me? Which one you want, death or jail? Because that’s where it ends. Don’t look at what we did to get it. Look at the inevitability of how we lost it!”

Rahman was adamant in his tone, but Young World was just as adamant in his resolve.

“Naw, Ock, I ain’t tryin’ to be nobody. I am somebody! I’m muthafuckin’ Young World! Let me worry about tomorrow. I’m askin’ you about today!” World exclaimed.

“Sound like you want me to hold your fuckin’ hand,” Rahman cursed, which was something he no longer did. He was angrier with himself than with Young World.

“Yo, Roc, what’s up with you? I fly all the way down here to holla at you and you on some bullshit!” Young World barked.

“Naw, nigga. You on some bullshit. The life you livin’ is bullshit, and you flew down here on some bullshit, that’s bullshit, nigga!”

Young World cracked a smile of understanding. “Ohh, I see now. I see what this is all about. They got you up in these muthafuckin’ mountains and now you on some peace shit. Some Malcolm X-type shit, and you thought you could get me to turn the other cheek with you,” World snidely surmised.

Rahman met his gaze. “Look, I’ll probably be home sooner than you think, Insha Allah. And we got big plans, believe me. It’s official. I want you to roll with me on this, but you gotta leave the game behind. You do that and I’ll tell you what you need to know,” Rahman explained, trying one last time to bring World over to his side.

World laughed in his face.

“While you safe in a cage, and I’m out fightin’ wolves, you talkin’ about some plan? Some prison dream?”

Rahman dropped his head. He understood Young World’s dilemma. He was in too deep to just get out, his foolish manhood telling him to get out now would be to run like a coward. He wouldn’t just walk away from the level he had obtained.

But Rahman had his own dilemma. To tutor Young World would be to assist him in his dealings. In Islam, whoever takes part in devilishness is a devil himself. Yet, to turn him away would be to basically cosign Young World’s death warrant. Rahman was well aware of the latest developments in the streets. The Plexiglas was much more than just a security partition. It was a gaping void between the worlds of two opposing principles.

“Ain’t nothin’ I can do for you.”

His simple answer was full of complex meanings, but to World, it was just that, a simple answer, an answer that meant Roc had simply turned his back and thrown him to the wolves. Young World shot to his feet, exploding with rage.

“Nigga, you’sa bitch! A muthafuckin’ coward hidin’ behind a kufi! You ain’t no Muslim! You just a scared-ass nigga!”

Rahman silently seethed. He was a changed man, but a man nonetheless. He still possessed a killer’s instinct, and had the Plexiglas not been between them, he probably would’ve flipped on World, violently. Not for the insults he was spewing, but to rid himself of the guilt for what he had created. He knew that once he returned home, Young World would become an issue that would have to be dealt with one way or another.

He stood up.

“The visit’s over,” Rahman announced, then hung up the phone. He turned to the door and knocked twice to signal the CO.

“Fuck you, nigga! Fuck you! If you do come home, bitch, I’ll kill you myself! You hear me? Myself!”

Rahman felt each expletive hit his back like a slug as the CO opened the door and cuffed him.

“Did you have a nice visit?” the redneck asked slyly, but Rahman’s eyes checked him so coldly that the officer dropped his head, red-faced.

Young World watched the door close, then turned and walked out.

Once he was back in Jersey, Young World prepared his mind to go all out. His anger still had the best of him and his emotions were controlling his intellect, but Roc had left him no other choice.

What I got to lose? his mind asked as he heard Dutch’s advice.

A better opportunity.

He remembered Dutch saying that to him, dropping a jewel about desperation on his young mind.

Never think you have nothing to lose. Because then you move out of desperation. And desperation is the worst motivation for action.

But World couldn’t help but feel desperate. Everywhere he turned there was treachery, deceit, cross-dealings, and double-dealings. It was like Biggie said, the more money, the more problems. He had Ceylon threatening to cut him off, Roll gunning for his crown, and when he needed him the most, the man he looked up to like a father had turned his back, leaving him out in the cold.

Things had moved too fast for Young World, going from a block lieutenant to a don damn near overnight, and he simply wasn’t cut out for the responsibilities. His ego wouldn’t let him accept it even though his heart was beginning to agree.

He pulled his pearl-white Aston Martin convertible into the horseshoe driveway of his crib in West Orange. He turned off the car and sat back, taking in the landscape. The six-bedroom, eight-bathroom, ranch-style house was the type of house he’d always dreamed of owning ever since his block hustling days-chasing dimes and nickels, day and night, grinding hard, showering every two or three days and sleeping in hoopties on lookouts. His only goal was to get money. He would hustle all night then take the money to Lana’s mother’s house, catching her before she went to school. Sometimes he’d talk her into playing hooky. They would go downtown to buy clothes or look at jewelry. Then they’d sit on her porch and watch bigger hustlers drive by in their Benzes and BMWs.

“I’m tellin’ you, girl. That’s gonna be us in a minute, word. We gonna have it all, baby,” he’d tell her, and she would reply, “I already got it all.”

Now look at me, he thought. He had two homes, this being the larger of the two, complete with a swimming pool and full basketball court. His three-car garage held the $230,000 Aston Martin DB9, a $135,000 CL 55, and a $70,000 Cadillac Escalade, not to mention Lana’s $120,000 760Li series BMW.

“You’ve come a long way, son,” he said to himself. But deep inside, he wondered if it was all worth it.

So what if Ceylon cut him off? In his three-year run, he had stacked NBA-type paper. What else did he have to prove? And to whom? Roll? Duke? Lana? Himself? Young World leaned back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Maybe it was time to get out, take Lana somewhere quiet and exotic. Logic and reason pointed him in that direction, and he had almost convinced himself. Until he felt the weight on his chest.

The dragon chain.

His chest filled with foolish pride and impotent rage. He cursed himself for even thinking such thoughts.

“Fuck that! I ain’t runnin’ from these bitch-ass niggas!”

Dutch had left him the dragon to represent, and like a diehard gangster, he planned on repping his jeweled flag to the death.

Young World entered the house with his mind set on his course of action. All he had to do was put Lana on point to his decision, because she’d have to relocate.

“Lana!” he yelled loud enough to be heard all over the house.

He got no reply.

“Lana, you here?”

Young World noticed the TV showing her favorite fitness channel. The leotard-clad women were jumping and stretching to a muted beat. He smiled to himself. Lana had an hourglass figure and flawless skin, which she attributed to her vegetarian diet and workout regime.

He turned off the TV and looked out to the patio where he saw Lana sitting at the edge of the pool. He started toward her, then stopped in his tracks.

Lana. Suppose something were to happen to her? he thought.

The game he was playing wasn’t only with his life but with hers as well. It had always been in the back of his mind and with the decision he was about to implement, he knew shit could get real ugly, real fast. God forbid if they came for him through her. Young World would never rest until he avenged her death, but revenge wouldn’t bring her back. Again he questioned his stance, but his pride wouldn’t let him reconsider.

He walked over poolside and heard Jaheem’s CD playing in the background.

“Lana.”

She jumped, slightly startled. “Oh, hey, World.” She smiled and stood up to hug him. She kissed him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“How could you with this bullshit blastin’ like you in the Projects or somethin’,” he snapped.

“You know it ain’t that loud, boy. Quit trippin’.”

“Did you hear me come in?”

“No.”

“Then it was that loud. I coulda been fuckin’ anybody. I warned you about slippin’,” he scolded.

Lana watched Young World go to the minibar and pour himself half a glass of Remy Martin.

“What’s wrong, Sha?” Lana asked.

“You! I tell you all the time, watch your…”

His words were silenced when Lana pulled out a.25 caliber pistol concealed in her bikini bottom.

“Happy now?” She smirked, then laid the gun on the bar.

“You still ain’t hear me come in,” he grumbled, downing the Remy in one gulp.

Lana studied her man. “What’s really wrong, Shahid? You can’t talk to me no more or somethin’?”

World looked into her face and his heart melted.

“Long trip,” he said before sitting down on a chaise longue.

“And I see you still on it,” she quipped as she eased onto the edge of his chair.

Young World didn’t reply. Instead, he stared into space for a few seconds, thinking.

“You movin’.”

“What do you mean I’m movin’? Moving where? For what?” Lana asked with a frown.

“ATL.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Lana chuckled to hide her annoyance. “Why don’t you just say how high when you want me to jump?” she remarked snidely.

World knew he wasn’t playing fair with her, but he had already made his decision and he wouldn’t allow her to sway him.

“Do you trust me, Lana?” he asked sincerely.

“With my life,” she replied without hesitation.

“Then don’t ask questions about this, okay?”

Lana sighed hard and stood up. She had a lot to say but she held her tongue.

“Whatever,” she said as she tossed her hair back nonchalantly and walked away.

“Lana!” He called her just like she knew he would. She had been with World long enough to know how to manipulate him when she wanted something. And she really didn’t want him leaving her alone tonight.

“What, Sha?” she answered without turning around, her arms folded across her breasts.

Young World admired her delicious frame in the peach bikini she was wearing. It wasn’t a thong, but her ass was so round, it might as well have been.

“These niggas want a war, so I’ma give it to ’em. I don’t want you nowhere around when it pops off.”

He broke down and explained, not knowing it had already popped off and war had already been declared on him.

“What about you? Where you gonna be when it pops off?” she turned and asked.

“On the front line where I’m suppose to be,” he declared, like he was some kind of hero.

“Like I said, whatever,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Look, baby. I ain’t running from nobody. I just can’t. As much as I love you, I can’t. If I did, then I’d be a target on every hungry nigga’s plate! I ain’t goin’ out like that, ma. Word. You can’t ask me to.”

Lana loved him for his strength and confidence. But she was beginning to fear that those traits would become his weaknesses.

“Please, World. Don’t…”

He couldn’t explain his motives to her. It was what he felt he had to do. His hand was forced. There were no words. So he responded with a hard and passionate kiss, taking Lana’s breath away, replacing it with his own. He attempted to console her with his embrace, soothe her with his caress, and fulfill her needs with his manhood.

In the background, Jaheem’s “Just in Case” was playing, and Young World indeed made love to her like it was the last time. The energy was so intense, Lana cried tears of passion as Young World filled her with his seed of life.

“I love you, My World. Please don’t go, not tonight. Stay with me, okay?” With all his heart he wanted to, but he needed to act, and the sooner the better.

“I won’t be gone long. As soon as I can, I’ll be home.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise.”

Rahman lay on his back and looked at the bottom of the bunk over him. His celly was locked down in what everyone called the “bing” or the “hole.” In the hole you were locked down for twenty-three hours with one hour to take a shower and have recreation. So Rahman had the cell to himself. All he could think about was the Don Diva article and Angel. She said she had won her appeal. He figured she had probably already touched ground by now. The interview didn’t take place yesterday. Because his case was based on the same evidence as hers, it was certain that he’d go home soon, too. Or at least that’s what his lawyer told him. He knew he had the perfect plan, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was ready for the streets again.

It was easy to be righteous in prison. But once freed, it was another story. Like a crackhead in jail, he could easily believe he had conquered his addiction. However, when faced again with the powerful substance, the sound of the sizzle, the sweet smell of its burn, and its mind-numbing effects, could any addict resist taking that welcome-back hit? It was just like that with the streets, and Rahman knew the game was just as addictive. It was like stealing. Half the niggas he knew didn’t steal because they needed to. They stole because they liked the rush they got from stealing, the sneakiness in the take, and the thrill of getting away. Money is a high of its own. The art of the deal, the brrrap of the money counter flinging bills as it counts, the intoxicating effect of being “that nigga”-rims spinning, jewels gleaming, the VIP status everywhere he goes, and oh my God, the chicks on his dick!

Addiction. It’s what Rahman feared. Not just the streets but him on the streets. Freedom was the ultimate test for a recovering addict of the game. But even worse was a nigga with options. And Rahman had plenty of them.

He heard a cart squeaking along the corridor and looked out of his cell. It was Donald from the library, collecting books.

“As-Salaamu Alaikum, Rahman.”

“Alaikum As-Salaamu,” Rahman replied.

“Here you go, brother,” Donald said as he passed Huckleberry Finn through the steel bars to Rahman.

“What I want that for?” asked Rahman, annoyed.

“Page 137 contains a valuable message, my brother,” Donald said as Rahman relieved him of the book.

“Shakron.”

“Afwan,” Donald replied as he rolled his cart away.

Rahman opened the book to page 137 and found a folded piece of paper tucked in along the spine. He opened the slim piece of paper and read to himself:

How you? I heard our young friend came to check you. You don’t have to tell me how it went because I know the mind of a young gangsta. Remember, we already wore those shoes. Now you see firsthand what you’re up against. Your freedom is near and the moment of truth is upon us. Everything is in your hands. Move wisely. You know I’m here for you. Everything I have is at your disposal if need be. Stay focused and keep Allah first.

As for our friend, he chose… now you must choose as well.

Salaam Alaikum, Akbar.

Young World guided the pearl-white Aston Martin through traffic like a missile. His theme music pumped out of the surround sound system, banging like a war drum.

What you think the game is for? he reminded himself.

World’s destination was a strip club on Sixteenth Avenue. He was part owner of the Eleganza. His many businesses included other strip clubs, but the Eleganza was Newark’s player’s club of choice. The girls were top notch, no stretch marks, sagging bellies, or droopy titties allowed. You had to be a dime to even walk through the door. The girls were hand-picked after being interviewed, usually by one of the other partners. The interview was to strip naked and give a lap dance along with a sample of the goodies. World had interviewed some of the girls himself. He had sampled the goodies from most of them but hadn’t gotten around to knocking off the rest. It was like being a jockey and walking into a barn full of stallions in every flavor and every shade of the rainbow. Only the biggest ballers, athletes, and entertainers could afford a table at the Eleganza.

Downstairs, ballers gambled for pots that easily exceeded fifty grand, game after game, night after night. It was always the same-alcohol, gambling, and pussy. What more could a man ask for?

Young World placed his cell phone back in his pocket. It was the sixth time he had tried to phone Duke with no success. Why this nigga not answering his phone? He figured Duke was at the El, his home away from home. That’s why he made it his first stop.

He entered the club and approached the bar, greeting the bartender.

“What up, Tank? What’s good?”

“Same ol’, same ol’, Young. What up wit’ you?” the big bartender asked back.

Young World glanced around the club. Five of the girls were working the floor. One of them, Tania, saw Young World and her heart leaped with lust. Not for him, but for the five thousand dollars Roll had offered her if she called him the moment he came into the club. Tania was Roll’s cousin, and she knew Roll was looking for him. She knew Roll had ordered a hit.

She watched World at the bar. Where’s his army? He just walkin’ around like it ain’t nothing, Tania thought to herself as she slipped away from her lap dance and placed a call to Roll. It rang twice.

“Who this?” Roll’s gruff voice rumbled through the phone.

“It’s Tania.”

“Tania who?” Roll barked, wondering how the ho had gotten his private number.

“Your cousin, nigga! And guess who here?”

“Who?” Roll asked, not interested in playing twenty questions.

“World.”

Roll sat straight up. “Where?” he asked with murderous anticipation.

“The Eleganza. He just walked in and he by himself,” Tania said, ready to get her five thousand.

“Hold him! Whatever you gotta do, hold him. If you got to put that nigga’s dick in your mouth and hold him with your teeth, do it!” he ordered and hung up.

“That nigga really think shit’s sweet! He at the El right now, alone!” Roll said as he turned to his main man, Nitti.

That’s all Nitti needed to hear. He and his driver, Jay, were out the door.

At the Eleganza, Tania sashayed across the floor and rubbed her bare breasts up against Young World from behind. Young World turned around, annoyed.

“Bitch, get your titties off of me. Do I look like a trick to you? Ain’t your ass supposed to be working?” he arrogantly spewed, turning away from her, back to Tank.

“But I need to talk to you, World. It’s important,” she insisted. That’s why you about to get fucked up, muthafucka. See how you like it then, she thought to herself.

“Talk to me for what?”

“Just let me holla at you before you leave, aiight?” she said, sucking her teeth.

“Yeah, whatever, if I remember.”

“Shit, you won’t never forget,” she mumbled to herself as she walked away.

“Anyway, yo. What was you sayin’, Tank?”

“Oh yeah, they tried to murder that nigga, Roll,” gossiped Tank.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Tank said as he shrugged his shoulders. “All I heard was Roll was comin’ out of Branch Brook and some guys caught him at the light. Lit his shit up and completely missed,” Tank explained, cleaning a glass.

Young World shook his head.

“Musta been some lame-ass stick-up kids. Fuck was they shootin’, slingshots?”

They both laughed.

“Must’ve been,” Tank agreed.

Young World looked at his watch. “Where is this nigga at? Yo, Tank. Call Duke again. Fuck is this nigga doin’?”

Tank slid over to the phone and dialed Duke’s cell as World had asked him to. He handed the phone to World, who let it ring until the machine picked up and confirmed that the mailbox was full.

“He still not answerin’,” said World before hanging up.

“Nigga probably laid up with them nasty-ass white girls he be fuckin’,” Tank said, and they both laughed.

World got up from his seat and started for the rear of the club just as Nitti was parking his car outside. World entered the bathroom and went inside a stall. The toilet wasn’t sparkling clean, but it wasn’t bus-station filthy either. He made a mental note to cuss Tank out for not keeping it cleaner.

He rolled the toilet paper across the toilet seat, lowered his pants, laid his gun on the floor, then sat carefully on the seat, making sure he didn’t knock any paper into the toilet. Young World searched his pants for a match so he could light a blunt while taking a shit.

World thought again about his plans and began organizing his mental notes. Whoever tried to knock off Roll fucked up his plans. Roll was probably taking extra precautions and would be harder to get at. At least that’s what World thought. Regardless, as soon as Duke arrived, he planned on getting the ball rolling. The way he figured, he had the element of surprise on his side. But, in fact, he was the element about to be surprised.

Jay walked into the club, trying to focus in the smoky, cloudy room. He spotted Tania and took a seat at a secluded table. She quickly made her way over to him and straddled him for a lap dance.

“Where he at?” Jay asked with Tania’s tits jiggling in his face.

“In the bathroom,” she said, grinding and bouncing on top of him.

“Aiight. Nitti’s at the back door. Let him in,” Jay instructed, wondering if it was true what he heard she could do with a Corona bottle.

“Y’all gonna take care of me, right?” Tania inquired, her green contacts looking like dangling money signs in her pupils.

“Just go let him in and we’ll talk later,” he said, meaning it. She slid off his lap and headed for the back door. Tania looked around before she cracked it and allowed Nitti to step in.

“He in the bathroom.”

Nitti winked at her, then crept along the wall.

After this shit all over, I’ma marry Lana, have some kids, settle down, do the family thing. He imagined himself a father, teaching his son how to dribble or having tea with his daughter.

The weed made his thoughts funnier than they were, and he laughed out loud just as Nitti entered the bathroom. Nitti heard the laugh, checked under the doors and saw Young World’s Timberlands. He smelled the haze in the air. After spotting the gun on the floor, Nitti smiled. He had truly caught World with his pants down.

Tank watched Tania and knew her trifling ass was up to something. He couldn’t figure it out, but knew something wasn’t right. He had seen her dancing and then stopping to make her way to the back of the club where she had no business. Then he watched her re-emerge seconds later, looking as if she had stolen something. Tank moved to the other end of the bar, trying to see down the darkened hallway. He saw the bathroom door swing closed, but he didn’t see Nitti enter it.

Then he got a good glimpse of Jay, who was headed for the bathroom, too. Tank recognized Jay as one of Nitti’s people and put two and two together. In the blink of an eye, he snatched the pump shotgun from under the bar and hopped the counter.

“Jay!” Tania screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the music. He saw her frantic expression too late. By the time he knew to look, Tank was aiming the shotgun directly at him.

Jay didn’t ask any questions. He tried to go for his pistol, but a shotgun blast to the stomach folded him on impact. Tania and the other girls screamed and ducked, but Tank’s only concern was Young World. He ran for the bathroom.

Inside the stall, World had finished shitting and was about to wipe his ass when he heard the muffled shot in the club. His ears easily picked out the sound of gunfire from the bass of the music.

Nitti heard it, too, and knew he had no time to waste. He barged through the stall door. Young World found himself staring down the barrel of a.45 silencer. The game was over and he had lost his crown. He’d never know Lana as his wife or the mother of his children. He’d never know life without the game. He’d never know life at all.

His last thought was of Lana. Stay with me, World. Please.

Two shots caught him in the forehead and two more imploded in his chest. He slumped against the wall as Nitti pumped four more into his body. The lit blunt fell from his hand. He was still breathing and his eyes were still open when he saw Nitti’s gloved hand lift the dragon chain from his neck.

“You wasn’t rockin’ it right.” Nitti smirked, putting the chain in his pocket.

Tank kicked the bathroom door open, his pump ready to blast. He saw no one, just one of the stall doors swinging open.

“World?”

Tank pushed the bathroom door against the wall to make sure no one was behind it. He looked under the stalls and saw blood and World’s boots.

“World!” he yelled, running over to the open stall. He grimaced at the sight of World’s bullet-ridden body and his pants around his knees. He never noticed Nitti, who had been standing on the toilet in the next stall. Nitti knew whoever had the shotgun had come for World.

Just as Tank turned his eyes from World, Nitti leaned over the stall wall.

“And behind door number two…” Nitti joked as Tank’s eyes widened in surprise.

He fired a bullet into his head and Tank slumped to the floor. Nitti exited the bathroom, leaving an unsolved double murder.

The news of Young World’s death sent shock waves through the streets, and everyone scrambled into position to best exploit the situation. Teams that had been under his control made new alliances or posse’d up to lay claim.

Duke was no exception.

After the failed hit on Roll, Duke took refuge with Vinnie Z in Hoboken, a town known for its mob ties and strong Italian community.

“I can’t believe the fuckin’ guy died on the toilet,” Vinnie Z joked. “Since when do gangstas die on toilets?”

“They don’t,” Duke replied, implying that Young World wasn’t a gangsta in his book.

He showed no remorse for his slain friend and ex-boss. In truth, Duke was relieved at Young World’s demise. He was glad to be out of Young World’s shadow. He felt World had inherited a position he didn’t earn or deserve and being left leaking on a toilet confirmed it. It was time to make the moves necessary to solidify his position, and Duke planned on wasting no time. He planned on sending many of Young World’s team with him.

Vinnie handed him a glass of Henny and held his own up. “To the new boss of bosses, eh? Salud.”

Vinnie toasted and they drank to new beginnings. Duke was now the nigga he’d been itching to be. All he lacked was Dutch’s dragon, and he planned on taking it from Lana. He didn’t realize that Nitti held the chain.

With the mob behind him and the streets at his feet, he felt like the new Dutch. But the mob had been a front for Dutch, and Duke would only be a front for the mob.

The news of Young World’s death reached Rahman, and he prayed an absentee Janazah prayer for him, a prayer for dead Muslims. Rahman was devastated because he felt responsible. He questioned himself and his decision not to assist Young World out of the bind he was in.

“To Allah we belong and to Allah we return,” he whispered to himself, reciting a verse from the Qur’an.

Lana was a mess. She refused to believe that her World was gone, no matter how many times it was explained to her. She waited for him to come home. She had yet to cry. Her mother and Peaches were worried sick.

“We going to see World?” Lana asked with childlike innocence.

Peaches looked at Lana’s mother.

“Yes, baby. We’re going to see Shahid. But he’s not the same,” her mother answered.

“Why not?” Lana seemed to sing, head cocked to the side. “Is he sick? I hope he’s not sick. I miss him so much.”

Her mother tried to respond, but tears choked her. All she could do was pull her daughter to her bosom and hold her tight.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. We’re going to see World. Aren’t you happy?” Lana smiled.

“He… help her get ready, Peaches,” Lana’s mother said, shaking her head as she left the room.

The wake was held at Whigham’s Funeral Home in Newark. It looked like the president had died and it was his funeral instead of a local drug dealer’s. Young World was well respected by the street elite. The hustling community showed up in full force to prove it. Bentleys, Benzes, and multicolored SUVs double-parked in the streets for two blocks. Platinum, diamonds, and furs seemed to be worn by everyone.

Inside, hustlers mingled and females flirted like it was club night. The life of a hustler was good, but sometimes death was even better.

Angel and Goldilocks sat at the back of the room, both wearing full-length chocolate-brown minks and dark- brown Gucci shades. The whispers of Angel’s return burned up the grapevine, but only a few had enough heart to approach her.

“I’m sayin’, you come home and don’t even holla at your peoples?” a hustler named DC playfully remarked as he approached Angel.

“You know how it is, DC. Only fools rush in,” replied Angel.

“I hear that, ma. At least you could give a nigga a hug and introduce me to your friend,” DC signified, eyeing Goldilocks’s tantalizing frame peeking through her mink.

“The hug ain’t a problem, but, ahhh, I don’t think you’re her type,” Angel replied, squirming out of the embrace.

“Why is that?”

“ ’Cause you ain’t got a pussy,” Goldilocks calmly answered, showing no expression at all.

“Damn, ma. My fault,” he said before turning back to Angel.

“Fucked up how they did World and shit. I know them was your peoples, so I’d hate to be whoever did it,” DC said, trying to see where she stood. But Angel wasn’t ready to play her hole card yet.

“That’s the game, DC. A bitch did too much time to need this drama in her life. I’m just here to pay my respects.”

“That’s gangsta,” he replied, not believing a word of it. He knew Angel too well. Drama was the bitch’s middle name.

“Well, holla at me if you need anything, aiight?” he said before breaking away.

Angel surveyed the room. A new generation of ballers and hustlers had cropped up in the short time she’d been gone. Many names had reached her, but no one impressed her in style or reputation. They were all just chasing the crumbs off the table Dutch left behind. He was more than a legend. He was a spirit that haunted the streets, and every gangsta would be forever judged by him.

Just wait. We ’bout to take it to the next level. Y’all muthafuckas ain’t ready, Angel thought as she looked toward the rear door. She watched Duke make his entrance. He had two girls with him, one on each arm. Straight dimes that even made Angel look twice. Duke was outfitted in an all-white Armani suit and matching Gucci shoes. He had a gold-tipped cane, and his diamonds twinkled and winked like they were stars in the night sky.

Angel watched Duke closely until he noticed her. Their eyes met through the crowd. Duke acknowledged her with a nod and Angel did the same in return.

Duke walked up to the casket and peered down at Young World’s body. They had done a lot of work on him to have an open casket. Young World was sewn together like a stuffed rag doll, but he was dipped. He was to be buried in a black silk Versace suit with all his jewels except the dragon, which Duke believed Lana was holding. He turned away from the coffin to find Angel eyeing him. He knew who she was at first sight. He just hadn’t been informed that she was back. The bitch could change the game, he thought and wondered if Angel would be a problem. He had every intention of taking over Young World’s fragmented territory and hoped she wasn’t back to get in his way. For her sake, she better not be, he thought.

Lana, her mother, and Peaches came in and scanned the room. People whispered as they watched Lana, the hustler’s wife. Duke walked up the aisle and hugged her.

“Lana, I’m sorry, ma. I know how you must be feelin’. Sha was my man and I promise you we gonna ride for money. You ain’t got to worry about that.”

Peaches sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She could see straight through his facade. She wanted to flip on him, but for Lana’s sake, she didn’t.

“But, yo. I need to holla at you after the wake, aiight?”

“Don’t worry, Duke. You can talk to Young World about it later.”

Duke looked at Lana like she was crazy. Shortie’s fucked up for real. She looks good though, he thought as he eyed her bangin’ frame.

“Can we see my World now, Mommy?” she asked, like a child wanting to open her Christmas gifts early.

Her mother could only nod and lead her down the aisle to the casket.

“I’m so sorry, Lana.”

“I’m here for you, girl.”

“Be strong.”

The words spoken to her by her friends had no impact. Lana approached the casket holding her mother’s hand. She imagined that she was in church, wearing a Cinderella-white gown, heading for the altar where Young World stood holding his hand out to her.

She peered into the softly cushioned casket at World’s face and slowly the room began to spin around her. The veil that protected her from reality had been snatched away, leaving her heart naked to the truth. There would be no wedding, no sandy beach honeymoon, no church. World was dead.

Dead. The word echoed in her head and all she could do was stare. Lana’s mind flashed back to the day they met, their first kiss, the first time they made love, the pain, the pleasure, the tears, the laughter. She remembered the last thing he said.

I promise.

Her body began to tremble. Her mother gripped her tighter.

“Steady, child. He’s with God now. You must be strong,” her mother said comfortingly.

Lana heard none of it. Her trembles became a bodily earthquake, like the moment before a volcanic eruption. It started as a whimper.

“No… nooooo…” she moaned.

“Please, baby. It’s going to be okay.” Her mother tried to console her.

“No, no it’s not! It’s not ever going to be okay. How can you say something like that? It’s not okay! Nothing’s okay!”

Her mother pulled her close, but Lana shoved her away. The mourners stopped talking and socializing and turned their heads toward the casket and Lana.

“You think you gonna take my World from me? You’re not. It’s not going to happen. It’s not going to happen!” she screamed.

Her mother was embarrassed and covered her face with her hands to wipe her own tears. It was a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life, because she took her eyes off Lana long enough for Lana to dig into her purse and pull out a.25 automatic. It was the.25 Young World always made her carry.

“You won’t take my World from me!” she screamed hysterically, pointing the gun at anyone near the casket.

“Get away from him!” Lana yelled, aiming the gun at Peaches, who jumped back.

“Lana, no! What are you doing?” Peaches begged through tears.

“Get away!”

Peaches grabbed Lana’s mother and pulled her away, but she kept reaching out to Lana.

“Lana, give me the gun, baby. Please. He’s gone now. He’s with God!”

“I want him with me!” Lana bellowed, backing toward the coffin.

No one knew what was going to happen, but within seconds Lana had climbed into the casket, raised the gun to her temple, and fired a single shot into her brain. The gunshot reverberated through the stunned crowd. Her mother broke the silence with a scream.

“Somebody get an ambulance!” Peaches yelled.

Lana’s bleeding head lay on Young World’s neck. World, Lana, and their unborn seed were gone.

Angel stood outside the funeral home as the EMT workers wheeled Lana’s white-sheeted body past her to the ambulance. People lined the sidewalk, stunned and amazed. It was one thing to stand by your man. It was another to ride and die for a nigga. No one could believe what Lana had done and everyone was talking about the tragic event that had unfolded in the funeral parlor.

Angel waited for Duke until he emerged from the building. When his eyes met Angel’s, she subtly beckoned him. He quickly crossed the span between them.

“Crazy night, huh?”

“Crazy world.” She shrugged.

“Love makes a nigga do some crazy shit, right?”

“And what ’bout you?”

“Naw, how ’bout you?”

Angel grinned and blew out Newport smoke. “Kinda fucked up how World went out, yo.”

“Word, and you can believe it ain’t over. Niggas gonna bleed for this. We gonna rep son till the last man’s standing.”

“Come on, Duke. Who you think you talkin’ to? I can see it in your eyes. Now World’s out the way, you the man. What you care about some bitch-ass nigga that got nodded on the toilet,” Angel asked, wiping her eye with the palm of her cigarette hand.

“You bein’ real disrespectful to my man. Watch yo’ fuckin’ mouth,” Duke warned, fronting like he really gave a fuck.

“Dig, Duke. If you wanna stand around and bullshit behind a fake-ass vendetta, then you wastin’ my time. Don’t worry, I ain’t here to cause you no problems. I just want the bloodline represented right. So either you the man for the job or you ain’t.”

“Yeah, I’m the man. But what kind of job you got in mind?”

“Let’s ride and discuss the possibilities,” Angel suggested, throwing her cigarette into the street.

Duke glanced around, weighing the proposition. Angel was Dutch’s main shortie. To have her come fresh out the joint and ride with him would let the streets know that his shit was official. But something about her vibe wasn’t right. Angel read right through his hesitation.

“Nigga, it’s cold out here in more ways than one. Them same niggas that got World see you the same way. But wit’ me, you fuckin’ wit’ a vet, and niggas know it. The name Angel rings bells in these niggas’ hearts. So what’s it gonna be?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She waved her arm and Goldilocks pulled up in an ’85 Cadillac Fleetwood. Angel approached the car and opened the back door.

“You rollin’ or what?”

Duke walked over and got into the backseat. Angel closed his door, got into the front seat, and signaled for Goldilocks to pull off.

“I double-checked that account personally. The check deposited on October 4 did not clear the system because of insufficient funds. So when the customer checked his account and saw those as available, they actually hadn’t cleared the account. They were merely posted on the account. Mr. Hamel doesn’t seem to understand.

“Uh-huh,” she added.

“Exactly. The check he deposited was no good and he should receive it in the mail within seven days once our system kicks it out.

“You’re welcome,” she added before she hung up the phone and removed her Cartier frames. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and thumb. Being a bank manager wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But she put up with it because she was ambitious and had her eyes on bigger and better.

It wasn’t only about the money. It was mostly about the challenge of being a thirty-four-year-old black woman making her own way in the lily-white world of finance. For the last year and a half, she had dived headfirst into her career, trying to fill the void Dutch’s death left in her heart. She relived their last time together and her aborted trip to the courtroom over and over. She went through the shoulda, coulda, woulda stages and finally left the what-ifs for the reality of what was. Dutch was gone, and as painful as it had been, Nina had to continue with her life. Her career filled the void.

Until she met Dwight.

He was a mechanic and worked at a local body shop. She met him when her BMW needed body work after a minor fender bender. He was a regular Joe, not into the streets or the game or the fast life. Dwight was a hardworking man. He worked a seventy-two-hour, six-day workweek and watched football on Sundays. He didn’t feel intimidated because she earned more than he did, nor did he try to exploit it and live off her. He viewed their relationship on equal terms and respected her independence.

All that, and he was fine.

Dwight wasn’t tall or muscular, but he did have big, strong hands that Nina loved to hold. He had a brown complexion, clean-cut face, brown eyes with bushy eyebrows, and a charming smile that brightened even the cloudiest day.

Her day was going horribly, and she really needed to hear his voice. She picked up the phone but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Miss Martin,” her secretary asked before entering.

“Come on in, Susan,” Nina sighed, wishing the day was over.

“You have a visitor. It’s Dwight,” Susan teased.

Nina beamed and hung up the phone. Dwight always seemed to have perfect timing.

“Sure, Susan. Show him in.”

Susan giggled as she closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, Dwight walked in and closed the door behind him. He had taken half a day off and was dressed casually instead of in his work clothes.

“Gimme all the money and nobody’ll get hurt,” he joked, aiming a finger gun at her.

Nina laughed.

“On second thought, forget the money. Fine as you are, I’m takin’ you instead,” he charmed as he sat on the edge of her desk.

“Yeah, right,” Nina replied “Me over all the money in the bank? I don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe not all the money,” he said with a grin as she playfully hit him. “So how’s your day been? Lunch on me?” he offered.

“I wish. I’ve already got a lunch meeting scheduled at two-thirty.”

“So cancel it.”

“If only it was that simple.”

“It is,” he answered, staring her down with his pretty browns. He made her wish it was that simple.

“Anyway, I just dropped by to check on you.”

“So you’re checkin’ on me now?” Nina’s eyebrows arched playfully.

“Damn right, ’cause a brother ain’t takin’ nothing for granted when he’s got a woman like you.”

“Excuuuuuuse me,” she replied.

“You heard me,” he said as he studied her, expressing a bit of his concern. “You okay, baby? You look tired.”

“Long day, I guess.” Nina shrugged.

“Long? It isn’t even noon.”

“I know. This day is going to take forever to end.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got the remedy.”

He walked around the desk and got on one knee in front of her then patted his knee. “Put your feet right here.”

“Dwight, what are you up to?” she asked skeptically.

“What? I can’t give my lady a foot massage without twenty-one questions? Feet please, right here. That’s an order, not a request.”

“Yes, sir!” she said, saluting him jokingly.

Nina kicked off her tan leather pumps and placed her stockinged feet on his knee.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he crooned, using his strong hands to knead and rub the sole of her right foot. “Why keep toes this pretty covered up?”

“Dwight, I’m a bank manager. No one is interested in seeing my toes.” She giggled.

He continued to soothe her spirit as he massaged her foot.

“This is all wrong.”

“What?”

“These stockings. You’re going to have to take them off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings. I can’t do this right with these stock-”

“Nuh-uh! See, I knew you were up to something,” she said, removing her feet from his knee.

Dwight lifted them back into place.

“No, no, for real. I can’t massage your feet like I could through this material,” he said, lying through his pretty smile.

Nina eyed him, but his gaze melted away her resolve.

“Foot massage, Dwight,” she reminded him.

“Scout’s honor, I’m telling the truth.” He smiled, holding up the two-fingered Boy Scout sign.

“Mmm-hmm,” she doubted, sliding her stockings down from under her blue skirt. “Your ass probably wasn’t even a Scout.”

Dwight chuckled as he slid the stockings all the way off. He began to work his magic, and Nina leaned back in her adjustable chair, relaxed, and closed her eyes. She definitely needed the attention. Her pumps were murder on her feet.

“Feel good?” he questioned.

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.

The feeling almost made her fall asleep, until she felt his tongue on her ankle, gently kissing along her calf muscle.

“See, I knew it,” she protested, but it felt so damned good. His expert tongue found her most sensitive spots along her inner thigh and made her squirm in the chair. “Dwight, no! Not here,” she said weakly.

“Okay, how about here?”

She felt his breath tickle her flesh. He ran his tongue tantalizingly lightly across her clit.

Nina gripped the arms of the chair. He leaned her back, parting her inner flesh with his thumbs and probed her orally. She couldn’t believe this was happening in her office. She felt like Samantha in Sex and the City.

Nina couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled his head up from between her legs and fumbled with his belt.

Dwight helped her by pushing his jeans down around his ankles and entered her all at once. The moment had her on fire as Dwight filled her throbbing walls. He placed her legs on his shoulders and pounded her incessantly. It took all her will not to scream out and alert everyone in the bank of what she was doing in her office. It was a hot and intense quickie. Nina exploded followed by Dwight moments later. They lay slumped in the chair, huffing and puffing.

“Some foot massage,” Nina quipped.

Dwight laughed. “Hey, I’m a mechanic. All we do is body work, baby.”

For the rest of the day, Nina floated on cloud nine, beaming with happiness. The meeting was stress-free, and before she knew it, it was time to go home. She parked her burgundy BMW in front of her newly purchased home in the Jefferson Park section of Elizabeth. It was a modest-sized house that was just the right size for her needs.

She got out of the car just as two young children rode their bikes down the street. She could imagine herself coming home to her own children. Her blossoming emotions could easily place Dwight in the role of the man waiting for her.

She unlocked the door and let her keys fall into her purse. Her future family thoughts were interrupted when she opened the door and heard music playing. She stopped dead in her tracks and listened carefully. Music was coming from the living room. It wasn’t loud, but it could be heard from the doorway. She entered the living room, realizing the song was Rolls Royce’s “I’m Going Down.”

Time on my hands, since you been away boy, I ain’t got no plans…

Nina mentally reviewed her morning. She was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on because she never played it in the morning. She liked her mornings quiet to help her prepare for the day. She did turn on the television but only to listen to the news and weather as she dressed.

No, she was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on. But if she hadn’t, who had? She lived alone. Despite the mystery, it was a nice surprise to come home to her favorite song. She caught herself singing along.

Sleep don’t come easy… please believe me. Since you’ve been gone, everything’s gone wrong.

The song brought back memories as she traveled back in time to the last time she heard it.

She had been with Dutch.

Nina would never forget the night they stopped at a light in downtown Newark. Dutch had a Cut Master Cee slow jams mix CD playing and Rolls Royce came on.

Nina reached over and turned it up.

“Damn, I haven’t heard this in years!” she exclaimed.

“What you know about Rolls Royce, little girl?” Dutch teased.

“Little girl? Please!”

Then she went into her diva routine, singing the first verse word for word.

That’s when they stopped at the red light. Dutch got out without a word and walked around to the passenger door. He opened it and extended his hand to her.

“Show me how much you like it then.”

“What, dance? In the middle of the street? Dutch, the light just turned green,” Nina protested, feeling self-conscious about holding up traffic. But Dutch was persistent and wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

“Fuck a light. These my streets, and I wanna see you dance in ’em,” he replied, pulling her from the car.

He slid her arms around his neck, and they danced right then and there in the middle of the street.

The memory warmed her and depressed her all at the same time. She still missed him and the feelings Rolls Royce unearthed proved it.

What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? Please forgive me baby… and come on home.

Nina sighed deeply and told herself, Girl, we’ve been there before. Let’s not go there again. She knew that her inner voice was right. The song ended and she waited for the deejay to say HOT 97 or WBLS, but when another slow song came on, she frowned and approached the stereo.

Her heart froze in her chest after it skipped a beat.

A CD was playing. She looked closer and it was the same Cut Master Cee CD she once listened to with Dutch. Where in the hell did this come from? she wondered. Dutch had owned that CD, not her.

An eerie feeling overcame her. She felt like she wasn’t alone. Nina shut off the music and listened to the silence of the house.

Girl, you trippin’, she told herself. Did I have that CD in my collection and just forgot? Maybe I was playing the CD this morning.

Nina shook off her thoughts and attributed the oversight to her hectic schedule. There were times she didn’t know if she was coming or going. This must be one of them. She went to the phone and called Dwight, but got the answering machine.

“You so nasty,” was the simple message she left, giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush. Nina decided to call Tamika, because she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. The phone rang twice before Tamika picked up.

“Who dis?”

“Who dis? Must you be so ghetto?”

Tamika sucked her teeth, “Like yo ass ain’t from Pioneer Homes, bitch,” Tamika shot back.

“What’s up, Mika? What you doin’ tonight?” Nina asked.

Tamika was curled up on her couch watching Jerry Springer. “Why, what’s up?”

“I want you to go somewhere with me.”

“Where?”

“A poetry reading at the Club Paradise.”

“A poetry reading? You really on that boo-gee shit now, huh?” said Tamika, hoping Nina wasn’t serious.

“Fuck you, Mika. Poetry readings ain’t hardly boo-gee.”

“Well, where’s your broke-ass man? Why he don’t take you?” Tamika quipped, referring to Dwight. She couldn’t understand why Nina insisted on dating a mechanic. Dick was one thing, but Nina appeared to be getting caught up.

“My man ain’t broke, okay? He has a job. What about yours? Oh, I forgot. You don’t have one!” Nina teased as she squawked like Morris Day.

“No, dahlin’. I don’t have one. I have many.”

“Slut.”

“Hater.”

The two friends laughed.

“For real, Mika. It’ll be fun. There’ll be a lot of cute guys there,” Nina baited.

“Cute and broke, on some back-to-Africa shit. Give us free!” she said, mocking the brother from Amistad.

“Okay, okay. I got a deal. If you go with me, we’ll go to the club, too.”

“Now you talkin’. Gimme about an hour.”

Nina hung up the phone and looked at her watch. The truth was she’d rather go with Dwight, but he didn’t like poetry readings either. Nina really wanted to go and hear Monte Smith, an acclaimed spoken-word lyricist. Even though she hated clubbin’, she was willing to compromise.

Nina showered and changed into a wool cardigan and a pair of boot-cut jeans, opting for the casual look so she wouldn’t be mistaken for a hoochie once they got to the club.

She drove for five minutes to the South Park section of Elizabeth. Despite the proximity of the two neighborhoods, they were like night and day. The houses were two-, three-, and four-family homes, dilapidated and neglected, not quite the Projects but close. Nina always wondered why Tamika chose to live surrounded by violence, drugs, and despair.

Wearing her man-eating red Gucci tube-dress and black faux fur, Tamika sashayed up to the car and got in. Nina loved Tamika like a sister but sometimes felt that it was women like Tamika who gave sisters a bad name and left brothers with a bad taste in their mouth.

“Let’s get this boo-gee shit over wit’. The rent’s due, and I ain’t wear this dress for nothing,” Tamika huffed.

Nina shook her head.

“Instead of that rose you got, you shoulda got a ‘for sale’ sign tattooed on your ass,” Nina commented, half-jokingly.

“I would have, but your mama beat me to it wit’ her old ass. Drive, ho, and don’t worry about my ass, okay?”

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you,” said the emcee of Club Paradise over the soft applause of the small crowd. “That was my man, Slim Direction, deep brother. You can catch him Saturday at the Black Moon Café. Now this next brother, what can I say? You know him from Def Poetry Slam, but he was gracious enough not to forget us little people. Seriously though, the brother is an experience. I bring to the stage Monte Smith. Show some love, people, show some love,” chimed the emcee to the small cheering crowd.

Everyone except Tamika applauded. Nina nudged her with her elbow.

“Stop wit’ your bony elbow,” Tamika said, sipping her drink. Nina loved the atmosphere of Club Paradise. The mellow lighting matched the mellow mood. For her, poetry seemed to have a euphoric effect. There was nothing more relaxing for her than to kick off her shoes, sip an apple martini, and feel the deep thrust of powerful words massage her mind.

Monte Smith, a slim, light-skinned brother, stepped to the mic. The applause died away, then he began:

I don’t know about you, but it’s funny to hear

Bush and Ridge on TV

Telling me to keep my eyes open

For the enemy at home.

If that’s the case, I’ll be watching the police.

They’re the only enemy I got.

The crowd laughed softly.

It’s been time to show

The propaganda machine. It’ll

Remain impossible to reach us

As long as his story’s in pieces

It doesn’t make sense like Mary and Jesus.

How many victims of police brutality

Do we have in the place to be?

Individuals silently acknowledged there were some in attendance.

Who remembers

Tompkins Square Park

Kent State

Or Howard Beach?

I debate.

We can’t wait on man’s laws to

Manifest justice for humanity’s sake.

These past acts

Of protectin’ and servin’

Prove the scales will remain unbalanced

Until the pigs find their rights

Burnin’ in the same fire

That’s cookin’ ours in broad daylight.

I’m tellin’ ya,

They’ll bomb ya like MOVE in Philadelphia.

Monte stepped down from the slightly raised stage, mic in hand.

Who remembers

Shaka Sankofa

The massacre at Waco

Talkin’ blues?

Sorry Bob.

Slave driver caught in the fire and threw it back

With plenty of matches, pipes, and crack

All wrapped up in a CIA party pack

With a little tag attached

Reading die blacks.

Nina’s mind pictured her brother, Trick, and then Dutch. Caught up in a game designed for their failure.

So to all the rich fraternities and sororities

Soon to be judges and DAs

Stop booking reggae bands at your keg parties.

It’s a slap in the face of the starving.

For real

Think about that the next time you’re

“jamming” till the game is through.

Off the record smoking herb with the band

But in five years you’ll be responsible

For building more death camps

To imprison the youth.

Thank you.

The crowd erupted with applause, except for Tamika, again.

“Whack! The shit ain’t even rhyme,” she criticized.

Monte caught her disapproving body language. Her style of dress expressed her state of mind, so Monte crossed the room to address it.

“I see we have some very beautiful sisters in attendance. Give yourself a hand.”

It was the first time Tamika clapped all night.

“And you, you are definitely beautiful.”

Tamika blushed.

Then Monte recited:

Hey beautiful.

I was just looking for someone to screw

When I first met you

And your preabused blues.

And I mean…

Blue like the bruise underneath the black tattoo

Of a past lover’s name

Who came to show you shame and solitude

Rhymes with pain and attitude

And believe me I do strain to understand you

When you scream

LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

The crowd laughed hard, but Tamika subtly shifted in her chair because his words had killed her softly, singing her life with his words.

Monte winked, then walked away.

“Don’t lie, you were feelin’ that one,” Nina said, nudging her friend once again with her elbow.

“At least it rhymed,” Tamika replied, trying to brush it off.

Next, it was time for Nina to fulfill her end of the deal.

Brick City was the club, formerly known as Zanzibar, the infamous Newark nightclub that made Tony Humphrey and Chef Pettibone famous.

Nina hated clubs, but Tamika wouldn’t let her back out.

The spot was unusually packed for a Thursday, which only made it worse for Nina. She hated the loud, blaring music, the bumping and touching people did to make their way through the crowd, and the way men thought every woman was an easy fuck for the night.

Now it was Nina with an attitude while Tamika was amped.

“Hell, yeah! Now this is what I’m talkin’ about. Look at these niggas going up in there. Girrrrrrl, hurry up and park!” Tamika urged.

Nina maneuvered through the tight parking lot full of luxury automobiles equipped with so many amenities it made her BMW look like a Hyundai.

“Girl, how are we going to get in? Look at that line!” Nina remarked, referring to the line of people that went around the corner of the building. “It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Please! You think I’m about to stand out in Jack Frost? I don’t think so,” she said, snapping her fingers and making an S in the air.

“Well, how we getting in then?” Nina asked, her eyes bulging.

“It’s called Cavalli, Roberto Cavalli. Honey, with this dress I’m wearing… it’s like a VIP pass. My ass is a pass,” she said, laughing to herself as she looked in the rearview mirror and applied some lipstick. “Shit, I rhyme better than them fake-ass Def Poetry Slam niggas you had me up there listening to. I shoulda been up there on the stage. Maybe that’s what I need to do.”

“You need to get some help,” Nina said, finally finding a parking space.

Nearing the entrance, Nina looked at all the people on line and frowned. Why was everybody dressed like it was 1987? Everyone was dressed in Dapper Dan, Gucci, Fendi, and MCM velour suits mingled with beef and broccoli Tims, Guess jean suits with leather pockets, Adidas sneakers, and Kangols. One nigga even had an 8 ball jacket on. Where the hell did he find that,Nina wanted to know. The outfits were accessorized with dookie ropes, door-knocker earrings, and Cazel frames. They wore sheepskins, shearlings, and bombers instead of leathers and furs. Nina and Tamika couldn’t believe their eyes.

“Damn, Mika. Where the hell you bring me?” Nina asked.

Tamika looked at herself. Suddenly, her dress had lost all its flair. But dress or no dress, she was still a brown-skinned stallion, thick like Luke dancers.

She led Nina to the door where two huge bouncers stood.

“What’s goin’ on, y’all?” Tamika questioned.

“It’s a private welcome home for Angel,” he informed her.

“Well, if it’s private, why are all these people standing on line?” Nina wanted to know.

“Just that. They’re standing on line,” he replied with a chuckle. “But how can I turn away such lovely ladies?” he flirted.

He was obviously referring to Tamika, because Nina’s was a simple beauty. He removed the velvet rope and ushered the two of them in, sparking curses from the haters on the line.

Once inside, Nina looked at all the banners that read, “Welcome home, Angel!”

“Who the hell is Angel?”

Tamika shrugged and grabbed two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. “Damn if I know. But drinks is on her tonight,” she chimed and handed Nina a glass.

The theme was definitely the eighties and Biz Markee was deejayin’ it up in the proper fashion, spinning all the joints from back in the day. Nina had to admit it was fun, hearing all the hip-hop classics she hadn’t heard since high school. She even danced a few times, doing the wop, the Biz Mark, and, of course, the cabbage patch.

Angel and Goldilocks were moving in and out of the crowd, mingling, greeting old faces, and being introduced to new ones. Angel had on a pink suede Adidas suit with pink shell toes and bamboo earrings while Goldilocks had on Jordache jeans, a silk shirt, and a pair of stilettos.

Angel had thrown the party for herself, but the festivities had a double meaning. She wanted a full view of all the players who moved New Jersey. Everyone had shown up except Roll. She had no idea he wasn’t coming, so she continued to wait patiently. In the meantime, she let go a little bit and fed into the nostalgia, wildin’ out on the dance floor, a bottle of Remy XO in one hand and a bottle of Cristal in the other.

Until she saw her. She looked through the crowd of happy partying faces and spotted Nina.

Nina noticed Angel staring at her and knew the face from somewhere, she just couldn’t remember where. Angel knew exactly who Nina was because she couldn’t stand her.

Why you so on this bitch all of a sudden, Angel asked after pulling Dutch to the side.

What, you my mother now? You thinkin’ wit’ my dick? he replied, trademark smile making Angel’s blood boil.

Somebody need to. You don’t know this bitch. She could be anybody, fuckin’ Feds, fuckin’ anybody! Remember Simone, don’t you? Angel asked, warning him to be cautious.

How can I forget? Dutch said, looking down at the dragon chain dangling around his neck. Then he walked away.

From then on, Angel hated Nina, and she was glad when they finally broke up and Dutch stopped seeing her.

She probably here lookin’ for another Dutch to suck off, Angel figured before turning back to Goldilocks.

Nina saw the Puerto Rican girl grillin’ her.

She’s probably drunk or gay, thought Nina, who was ready to go home.

“Mika, we gotta go,” Nina said, hoping Tamika was ready.

She sucked her teeth.

“Come on, Nina, chill out. The party’s just startin’. Shit, it’s getting hot in here, take off all my clothes,” Tamika sang with the music.

“Well, you can stay butt-naked if you want, but my black ass is ’bout to be out. I’m goin’ home,” Nina said, dead serious.

“And how I’m ’posed to get home?”

“Backseat of my Jeep,” Nina joked, rapping the hook of LL’s classic.

“I got yo’ backseat, bitch.”

“You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

They made their way through the parking lot pimps, and were nearing the car when a red Bentley Continental GT pulled up with a Maybach following its lead. Niggas turned their heads twice at the cars as they brushed through the streets.

Tamika gasped with lust.

“See? Just when we leavin’,” she pouted, wishing she didn’t have to leave the party so early.

But something else caught Nina’s eye. She could’ve sworn the fat man driving the Bentley wore the dragon chain Dutch used to wear. It was a quick glance, but the image of the coiled serpent stuck in her brain. Nina stretched her neck to see, but the car passed and the driver was no longer in sight.

She shook it off, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her again. She figured wrong. The dragon was draped over Roll’s fat, sweaty neck. Nitti had delivered it to him after he murdered Young World. Roll wasn’t wearing the chain out of respect. He was wearing it out of disrespect. He was arrogantly letting niggas know he was behind Young World’s demise. He had the chain, and if anybody didn’t like it, too fucking bad.

Roll, Nitti, and the two guys in the Maybach made their way to the entrance. They weren’t dressed in the eighties fashion because they hadn’t come to party. They had come to make a statement. And the dragon did exactly that, bouncing off Roll’s fat belly as he approached the entrance. The two bouncers instantly removed the velvet rope and admitted him and his crew.

When Roll reached the floor, all eyes fell first on him, then on the dragon. People whispered as he passed, openly greeting him or moving aside to let him pass by. When Angel finally spotted him, her blood began to boil upon seeing the dragon gleaming against his sweater. It was the dragon she should be wearing. Who the hell do this fat muhfucker think he is? she asked herself, taking a look as she unconsciously flipped the razor over in her mouth. But she controlled her emotions. It’s just a matter of time, papi, she told herself. Roll looked at her and smirked. She was heated and wearing her emotions on her sleeve. That’s the problem with most broads, Roll thought. They didn’t need to be in the game because they were too emotional.

Angel fought hard, trying not to let him see her emotions, but it just didn’t work. Roll knew Angel was treacherous, but her return could benefit his team if she played fair. If she didn’t, curtains. For Roll, it was that simple.

Angel held out her hand and shook Roll’s.

“What’s the deal, Roll? Long time no see.” Angel smiled.

“Ain’t nothing,” Roll replied, referring to Angel’s and Goldilocks’s outfits. “I woulda dressed for the occasion, but ah… I ain’t come to party.”

Time was money to Roll, and he didn’t waste either.

“Duke wanted me to holla at you. Now that World is gone, he don’t want no beef, and he hoped you and I could squash it,” she finished, trying to keep her eyes off the dragon.

Roll rubbed his chain. “Well, where Duke at?”

“He chillin’.”

“Chillin’?” Roll echoed.

“Let’s go somewhere and talk. Follow me,” Angel said as she and Goldilocks turned to walk away.

Roll looked at Nitti. They were strapped, and Roll felt shit was legit, so they followed Angel to a storage room in the back of the club. It was empty except for a six-foot-long meat locker. The sounds of the music bounced around the hollow room as Angel faced Roll.

“If Duke was here, he’d want you to know he didn’t want no problems. He inherited World’s territory but hopefully not his beef. He wants you to forget the past.”

Roll looked at Nitti, amused.

“Forget the past, huh? What’s in it for me?”

“A merger. World’s spots with yours. You keep your connect and 30 percent of the profit,” Angel proposed.

Roll momentarily avoided answering, thinking of the 30 percent she had offered.

“Where is Duke, anyway? He shook or somethin’? He lettin’ bitches speak for him now?”

Goldilocks tensed but Angel laughed. “I told you, yo,” she began, then opened the meat locker. “Duke’s chillin’.”

Duke was really chilling. He lay on a bed of chipped ice, wearing Angel’s trademark, a slit throat. His blood tinged the ice pink around his head. Roll’s eyes widened momentarily, then relaxed to normal. It was unexpected, but not a surprise.

“Duke ordered the hit on you, Roll, not Young World. World ain’t know shit about it. He was in Atlanta when Duke put that lame shit down. He was movin’ on you and World because he was the only one who could’ve benefited from a war.”

Roll nodded. “Regardless, ma. World had it comin’. If it was his doin’, he got what he deserved, and if he didn’t, then he couldn’t control his people. Either way, it’s still on World,” Roll replied, and Angel acknowledged his point.

“Well, they both gone now. So now what?”

“I’m sayin’, Duke gone but what about this shit I’m hearin’ about him fuckin’ with some spaghetti heads in Hoboken? They chillin’ too?”

Angel closed the meat locker and leaned against it. “A bunch of fuckin’ nobodies. They ain’t even in the mob. They wish they was down with the mob. Duke was their meal ticket, and they were his middlemen. The mob was charging Duke for protection. And now that Duke’s gone, they’ll go back to jackin’ airport trunks.”

Roll was impressed. Angel was still on top of her game. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t to be fucked with. The deal was sweet, almost too sweet.

“So what you sayin’, ma?”

“I think we’d make better friends than enemies.” Angel smiled wickedly.

Mmm-hmm. Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, Roll thought to himself, then looked down and glanced at his watch.

“I think me and you should hang out sometime. Get to know one another,” Roll suggested. His tone said he was interested but not yet convinced.

“Time is money, papi.”

“Then we’ll spend some of both,” Roll responded as he and his people turned for the door.

“Roll,” Angel called out. He turned around at the door. “I like your chain.”

Roll chuckled and left with his entourage.

“Fat muthafucka,” Angel hissed to herself.