Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance Страница 3

“I’m going to take him from you. That’s what I’m doing here,” Ms. West taunted.

I turned to Ms. West. “I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing here.”

“That was so ten minutes ago.” Ms. West kissed me on the cheek. “You go ahead and save your woman. I’ll be around when you want me,” she said and left.

I turned back to DeFrancisco and CeCe. I raised my gun and shot DeFrancisco in the head, then went and untied CeCe. “Wait here,” I said and started out the room.

“No, you ain’t goin’ after her!” CeCe shouted.

“I’m goin’ to save Cassandra,” I said.

“Not her again. I will never be able to compete with her. Well I won’t be here when you get back,” I heard CeCe say as I left the room.

I went downstairs and headed for the kitchen, knowing that I should have gone there first and wondering what the significance of CeCe and Ms. West being there meant. CeCe I could understand; she has always felt like she couldn’t compete with Cassandra. But what about the lovely Jada West? Did I subconsciously want her to take me from CeCe?

I went into the kitchen and the only one in there was DEA agent, Pete Vinnelli. He orchestrated Cassandra’s murder. Monika and I killed him in Mexico; but not before I ruined his life. I raised my gun and shot him twice in the head.

I searched the house again and nobody was there. No dead bodies, no CeCe, no Ms. West, and definitely, no Cassandra. “Where is she!” I shouted.

Chapter Four

“Black,” Victor said.

“Huh?”

“You all right?” he asked and his eyes cut to the gun in my hand.

“Yeah, I’m all right. Just nodded off for a minute,” I said and looked at the gun in my hand and then over at him.

I liked Victor, I thought as I put away my gun. He’s a smart guy, pays attention to what I tell him and he learns quickly. There are even times when he reminds me of Freeze. But Victor and Freeze are two completely different people, so I try not to make comparisons, because there will never be another Freeze.

I remember when Freeze really started to work for me. It was after he rounded up all four of the guys who highjacked our load. The Kid, that’s what we used to call him, did it quick, and by himself. He earned everyone’s respect that night, and we all started to take him seriously. Before that, he was little more than an errand boy.

After that night, I started taking him with me when Andre sent me to collect for him. “What do you want me to do, Black?” Freeze asked that first time.

“Nothing, understand; you keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, and you don’t do shit unless I tell you. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Now let’s go,” I said and started to walk off. Then I stopped. “You armed?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see.”

Freeze lifted up his shirt and showed me a.38 snub nose tucked in his waist.

“Guess we need to get you a gun,” I said and took him to Cynt’s office. Once she opened the safe, I looked at Freeze. “Pick one.”

Freeze stepped up and looked in the safe. Cynt kept a small arsenal in the safe in her office those days. Now, all of the spots we run have two: One in the office and the other, behind the bar. It has come in handy on more than one occasion.

Cynt leaned close to me. “Bet he chooses the.44 Magnum,” she whispered. But the Kid surprised us both when he came out with a Sig Sauer SP2022 9mm pistol with a 15- shot magazine. “I’m impressed,” Cynt whispered.

When we left Cynt’s, me and Freeze caught the train to 59th Street, and then caught the D train to Tremont Avenue. From there we walked up Tremont to a building on Martin Luther King Boulevard. We were going to see a dealer named Mark Mitchell, who liked to get high on his own supply. When we got to the door, I started to go over the rules again, but Freeze hadn’t said a word since we’d left Cynt’s, so I didn’t think he would start now.

I banged on the door and waited. It wasn’t long before I heard, “Who is it?”

“It’s Black. Open the fuckin’ door before I start shooting through it.” I actually heard him say, “Shit,” before he opened the door.

“What’s up, Black?”

As soon as I was inside, I punched him in the face and he went down from the blow. I kicked him in the face while he was laying there. “That’s for making me come down here,” I said and kicked him again. “Help him up, Freeze.”

Freeze stepped up and helped Mark to his feet. I punched him in the stomach and when he doubled over; I went to the face with a knee lift. He went down again. Then I went into the living room and sat down. Freeze came and stood near where I was sitting, and we waited for Mark to get up and join us. I was glad that I didn’t have to tell Freeze not to help him up.

When Mark did finally join us, he ran down some long, drawn out story about why he didn’t have the money. But as usual, he promised that he would have it if I’d just give him some more time. I got up and smashed his face into the wall a couple of times before I left that day, and ended up killing Mark when I found him the next week.

As time went on, Freeze learned the craft. It got to the point that we worked together that we didn’t need words. Freeze knew exactly how and when I wanted him to deliver pain. And Freeze was brutal. I think its the thing that separates Victor most from Freeze. Victor is smart, efficient; he does what needs to be done to get results. Freeze enjoyed hurting a mutha fucka.

I remember a guy named Irving Anderson; a stock broker whose only vice was that he liked to bet baseball. After a run of bad luck, he owed me fifteen thousand dollars. We found him one night at a bar on Seventh Avenue. Me and Freeze got to the door, but instead of going inside, I went and leaned against a car. “Go on in and bring him out,” I said.

Freeze smile. “You ain’t goin’ in, Black?”

“I’ll be right here.”

Freeze went in, and five minutes later, the doors swung open and Irving Anderson landed at my feet. I looked at Freeze as he came out. “Mr. Anderson I presume?”

“That’s him,” Freeze said.

“He’s all yours.”

Freeze smiled again, but went straight to work on Mr. Anderson. I watched him while he worked. And I looked in his eyes and could tell that he was lovin’ every second of it. Hittin’ him with fists, forearms and elbows; kickin’ him, rammin’ his head into cars.

“Is there a problem out here?” some big mutha fucka that I assumed was the bouncer asked as a crowd formed to watch.

I showed him my gun. “Does it look like I’m havin’ a problem?”

“No problem,” he said wisely.

Freeze picked Mr. Anderson up from the ground and slammed his body against the car I was leaning on. Freeze reached in Mr. Anderson’s pocket and took out his keys. He threw them to me. I hit the alarm and the lights flashed in a sweet Lamborghini that was parked down the street. And it was black. “You’ll get this back when I get my fuckin’ money,” Freeze said and hit Mr. Anderson again. We left him laying on the car, and drove away in his car. Two days later, he called with my money. There will never be another Freeze.

I looked at Victor and asked him what time it was. “Eleven thirty.”

We were in Miami, parked in the airport parking lot, waiting for Bobby’s flight to arrive. The flight was delayed due to bad weather in the area, but things had cleared up and I hoped that meant Bobby would call soon.

We were in Miami to meet with Hector Villanueva. I had killed his nephew, Cruz, because of his involvement in a plot to kill me. Not wantin’ any bad blood between me and Hector, I setup a meeting.

Earlier that day, I went to a restaurant called Delicias de Espana. Hector has lunch there every day. They serve traditional Spanish Cuisine, and boast about their fresh fish and seafood that they receive directly from Spain twice a week. “The taste of the Cantabric Sea in Miami.”

Once she was miked for sound, I sent Monika in first. She had a special assignment. As soon as she was in place, Victor went in to arrange the meeting with Hector. I watched from the car as Victor approached Hector’s bodyguards. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Hector sent her away.

“Nianza De La Vega?” Monika asked, calling her by her maiden name. She was Hector’s wife and an old acquaintance of mine.

“Yes.”

“Mike Black sends his regards and wants to know if there is any reason that he shouldn’t meet with Hector?”

“Hector is glad Cruz is dead. Black saved him the trouble of having to do it himself,” I heard her say before she walked away.

Once Victor arranged for us to meet that next afternoon, he came back to the car. Monika waited a while before she got up. Just as she was about to walk out, I saw Nianza walk up to Monika. “Give this to Black.”

When Monika got in the car, she handed me an envelope. The letter said: meet me at the Epic Hotel on Biscayne Boulevard after you meet Hector. Room 1908. It was signed: Nina. I smiled. “Let’s go.”

Victor’s phone rang and he answered it. “What’s up, Bobby?” When he hung up, he said that Bobby’s plane was on the ground and he was on his way to baggage claim. So we left out and went to meet him.

That next afternoon, me and Bobby went to meet Hector at Delicias de Espana. After we dispensed with the pleasantries, Hector and I got to the point. “My nephew, Cruz, is dead, Black. Some say that you killed him and left his body to be eaten by rats.”

“Cruz was involved with two of my own people in a plot to kill me, Hector. I only did what was necessary,” I said.

Hector laughed. “Let’s be honest, Black. Cruz was a problem. That’s why I sent him to New York. If he had stayed here, either I would have killed him, or he would have killed me. I told him to stay away from you, but you know how these kids are today; my telling him that only proved to drive him to a confrontation with you.”

“Trying to prove that he was better than you,” I said.

“I would say that he thought that he was smarter; knew better than me,” Hector said.

“I meant no disrespect.”

“I took none, my friend.” Hector took a sip of his drink. “You and I have no problems, Black. But I appreciate that you came down here to show respect.”

I stood up and so did Bobby. “I know that you are a busy man and have important things to do, so I’ll leave you now. You have not only my respect, but my condolences for your families’ loss,” I said. We shook hands and I left.

Bobby drove me to Biscayne Boulevard. I went inside the Epic Hotel and knocked on the door at 1908. Nina opened the door wearing a tight blue dress and I stepped inside. “Hello, Nina. You look good.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Nina said and went and sat on the bed.

“What did you want to see me about?” I asked and sat on the bed next to her.

“Do you remember what I said I wanted to do the last time I saw you?” Nina asked.

“Vaguely.”

“I said what I’d really like to do is suck that big dick and then ride you until I felt it swell up and explode inside me,” she said and began to unzip my pants.

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes.”

Nina took my dick from my pants and clasped her fingers together around it, and stoked it. She moved her hands up and down slowly until it was hard. She licked her lips, and I felt my dick swelling in her hands. Nina lowered her head and took me into her mouth. She ran circles around my head with her tongue. Nina slid her lips up and down, deeper and deeper, slowly, until she had taken almost all of me in her mouth.

Once she had had her fill, Nina stood up and got undressed, then she undressed me. I laid back down and watched her gliding her hands across my skin. Nina straddled my body and lowered herself onto me. Then as promised, she rode me until I swelled up and exploded inside her.

When she was done with me, Nina said good-bye and left the hotel. I took a quick shower and went downstairs where Bobby was outside waiting for me in the car. When I got in the car, Bobby shook his head and started laughing. “What?”

“You a greedy man,” Bobby said.

I laughed too. “You’re right. I’m a greedy man.” It was the name of an old James Brown song that we picked up because it fit us. “Now, brother, don’t-” we both sang. “Leave-your homework undone.” We both laughed as he drove away.

“Tell ’em one more time,” Bobby said. “Now, brother, don’t-leave-your homework undone,” we both sang. But instead of thinking about what I had just done with Nina, my mind was on Jada West.

Chapter Five

Jada West

What to do about Mike Black?

Now that is a man. Every time I see him, every time he parts those sexy lips, every time he says Ms. West, he makes me want to forget about everything, and I become his personal sex slave. And believe me, sex is something I know about. Sex is how I make my living. After spending more time than I care to admit, lying on my back with my legs in the air, I realized that the real money was in being the one who arranged for other woman to lie on their backs with their legs in the air. To me, sex is just another way to make money. The day I left Sasha, my old madam, I handed her two thousand dollars. That day I decided to get on the money-making end of that equation. In my new world, I created the women who were lying on their backs with their legs in the air working for me. They walked the way that I did, talked the way I told them to talk and they dressed and conducted themselves the way I said a lady should. The day I became the madam was the last time I had sex. But I have to say, Mike Black would be the man to change all that. I remember the first time I saw him.

“Jada!”

“What?” I asked.

“Are you listening to me?” Jenna asked.

I looked at her and smiled. “To be honest with you, Jenna, no I wasn’t.”

“At least you’re honest about it,” Jenna said and walked off. I sat for a second thinking about Jenna and how rude I’d just been to her, and I planned to apologize to her the first chance I got. I didn’t want to lose her because I knew that Jenna Bobbit had the potential to be a big earner for me.

I met her at a fashion show that was given by Pierre Preston, one of the city’s hot, new designers. That evening I wore an Akris Punto silk, long-sleeve jacket with a notched collar, three-button close front patch pockets, and satin piping. And Jimmy Choo clue leather platform snipped, peep toe slingbacks. I was sitting next to a makeup artist called Tommy Rome, when I caught my first glimpse of Jenna. One of the models had broken a heel and was limping badly trying to get off stage. Jenna came out and helped her out. “I haven’t seen her on stage tonight,” I said to Tommy.

“She’s not a model. Not anymore,” he said. Tommy went on to explain how Jenna was a hot property when she was sixteen and seventeen. But her body matured after she turned eighteen. Her breasts got fuller, her hips spread, and she got some butt. “She got fat, honey,” Tommy said. “You know these Nancy’s like these girls to be skinny as a rail.”