Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 4 (13 page)

Treacherous and Baby walked into Ghetto Governor's game store storefront. They each carried small knapsacks over their shoulders. Ghetto Governor was engrossed in heavy debate with a group of teenagers about sports.

“Man, don't no Kobe got nothing on LeBron,” complained a chubby brown-skinned kid with only half of his afro braided.

“Who told you that, young'un?” Ghetto Governor snapped back. “L.J. the truth!” he continued.

“Who got more rings?” a tall, lanky kid challenged.

Ghetto Govenor stared up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. “Y'all don't know basketball. Y'all just know Jordan sneakers,” he finally said, causing a rupture of laughter among the youth.

He spotted Treacherous and began walking toward him. Treacherous hadn't really noticed how big of a dude Ghetto Governor was until right then and there. He stood at the towering height of six foot three inches, and had to weigh at least 300 pounds, thought Treacherous. He had a huge, round belly that protruded far from his body. He had no way of knowing Ghetto Governor loved his stomach. If anybody ever commented about it, he would proudly rub his gut and simply say, “Good living.” It was obvious that he was mixed with something, but nobody was exactly sure what he was mixed with. He would never reveal his racial heritage. He liked for people to wonder about him.

“What's up, bro?” he greeted him, wrapping his hand around Treacherous's and shaking it. “Hey, lady.” He waved at Baby with his free hand.

Baby nodded.

The group of boys eyed and lusted over Baby's banging body as the three of them exchanged greetings.

“So, how'd everything go?”

“Just like you said,” Treacherous replied.

Ghetto Governor's eyes lit up as he turned to the group of young boys. “All right, shop closed. Time to go.”

“Ahh, man! We just got in here. It ain't even that dark out yet,” they all protested.

“Get the hell out, you li'l knuckleheads,” Ghetto Governor playfully growled, using his pointer finger to direct them out of the door.

“You fat bitch,” one of them yelled, right before Ghetto Governor slammed the door in their faces.

“Ya mother,” he called back, locking the door and hanging the
CLOSED
sign up. “Step into my office, brother man,” Ghetto Governor said, heading to the back.

This was Ghetto Governor's favorite part. When he first put them down on the score, he was hopeful they'd pull it off, but he wasn't 100 percent sure. He knew there was millions' worth of insured jewelry in the downtown jewelry store and he wondered how much they were actually able to grab. Aside from the money he looked to make, Ghetto Governor couldn't wait to get a look and first dibs on a piece or two for himself. He had a watch fetish and was eager to see what Treacherous and Baby had come up with.

They entered Ghetto Governor's office. Ghetto Governor plopped his big body in an old chair. The chair whined and creaked underneath all of his weight. “Let's see what you got.”

Treacherous plopped the knapsack he had in his possession on the desk. He unzipped the knapsack and started dumping the jewelry on Ghetto Governor's desk. Ghetto Governor's eyes grew as each piece spilled out of the knapsack and onto the desk. He expertly studied each piece with a critical eye, hefting them in his palm, trying to determine if a piece was hollow. He knew quality merchandise when he saw it.

Within minutes, Baby's knapsack had been emptied and examined. Ghetto Governor had all of the jewelry in front of him that Treacherous and Baby had gotten from the smash and grab. He caught a hard on as he computed what he could get for all of the merchandise. He hadn't come up on a lick so sweet since Treacherous's parents, he realized.
The apple don't fall too far from the tree.
It took everything in Ghetto Governor's power to keep his composure.

“This shit here,” Ghetto Governor said, staring down at the other pile, “this is some grade A, quality shit.”

Treacherous could see Ghetto Governor's excitement, but he wasn't interested in talking jewelry with him. He just wanted what he and Baby were owed so they could get out of dodge. The $7,500 in the safe, which they felt they had earned, was not enough money to float them. It wasn't even enough to furnish them with a new place. Outside of the casino chips they couldn't do anything with, they were basically back to square one.

“What it's worth?”

Ghetto Governor leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. He thought about it for a second. “It's worth a pretty penny,” Ghetto Governor admitted. “But we ain't gonna get nothing near what it actually worth,” he clarified.

“Okay, so how much?” Baby wanted to know. She too wanted to find out how much they could get and how long it would take to get their money.

“This over three hundred grand in jewelry!” Ghetto Governor exclaimed. “I can dump this quick and easy for one-fifty.”

“How long?” Treacherous asked.

“Gimme about four or five days,” he replied. He knew it would be no problem at all fencing the merchandise. What he didn't know was that time was of the essence for Treacherous and Baby.

Treacherous and Baby looked at each other. Ghetto Governor sensed something was wrong. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“How much do you have?” Baby asked.

Ghetto Governor stared at her oddly. “You mean like, now?” he asked.

“Yeah, how much could you give us now?” Treacherous backed Baby up.

“Man, times is hard on the boulevard,” Ghetto Governor sang.

Baby shook her head and sighed. She couldn't believe this was happening.

“Look, Gov. I know you have to be a good dude for my parents to have trusted you. So, I'm going to trust that you'll play as fair as you can now. We don't have four or five days.” Treacherous waited for his words to sink in before he continued. Ghetto Governor's facial expression confirmed that he was now following. “Whatever you have access to that you believe is fair is fine by me, but whatever it is we need it now,” Treacherous ended.

Ghetto Governor gave Treacherous's proposition some thought. He knew if he bought them out he could make more off the pieces by just sitting on them and pushing it in the streets. The white gold engagement ring alone was worth a grip, not including the diamond cuff links and solid gold Cartier watch, he thought. Ghetto Governor knew he could resell one or two pieces of jewelry and make his investment back. His brain calculated the profit he would make off this deal. Ghetto Governor's heart did some somersaults.

“I'll be right back,” Ghetto Governor announced before exiting to another back room.

Ten minutes later he returned with a brown suede Polo book bag.“You got ya'self a deal, my man.” He handed Treacherous the book bag containing $60,000. “That's my life savings,” Ghetto Governor confessed.

“Not for long,” Baby chimed in.

Ghetto Governor laughed. “You're right about that, sis.”

Treacherous extended his hand. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Same here, nephew.” Ghetto Governor shook Treacherous's hand. Baby offered the same nod she had when she had first entered Ghetto Governor's establishment. She already started making her way to the front entrance. Ghetto Governor watched as she exited his store.

“Treach, hold up!” Ghetto Governor called out, just before Treacherous reached the exit.

“What's up?” Treacherous spun around.

“If y'all could use some more extra money, I got something else for you, if you're up for the job,” Ghetto Governor offered.

By now, Baby had reentered the store. “Is everything all right?” she asked. She hadn't heard what Ghetto Governor had just proposed to Treacherous.

“Yeah, everything's straight. Governor says he got something else for us, if we're interested.” Treacherous bought Baby up to speed.

“So, what is it?” Baby directed her attention to Ghetto Governor. Before answering, Ghetto Governor walked over to the front of his business and locked the front door.

“So, this is the deal,” Ghetto Governor started out saying as he began to break down what was on his mind.

The walls shook as the concrete floor vibrated from the bass of the track thirty-two-year-old Marlo Williams bobbed his head to. He adjusted one of the switches on the keyboard and closed his eyes. The bass on the track increased. “I just wanna be the one . . .” Marlo listened, as a pretty, short light-skinned girl with an angelic voice sang into a snowball-shaped microphone. He gestured with his hand for her to raise her voice. He knew the flow of the track like the back of his hand and wanted her to bring her tempo up. After all, he had actually written the lyrics to the song and created the beat for it that she sang to.

“I just wanna be the one you need.” The girl's pitch amplified.

Four young goons nodded their heads to the heat coming out of the speakers. The singer's melodic voice filled the half–million dollar studio's room in Marlo Williams's Petersburg home's basement. They were all in a zone themselves. For the past two hours, they had been in their boss's studio after enjoying a good day in the streets indulging in one of their favorite pastimes. They had all popped a Molly before arriving at Marlo's place. Twenty-one-year-old Kyle Williams, Marlo's younger brother, sat in a swivel chair up against the wall in front of a food tray, mixing red cough syrup with Sprite soda in spring water bottles while three other young thugs rotated three blunts of Sour along with assorted flavors of Cîroc and Rémy Martin. Once the concoctions were done, Kyle Williams distributed the liquid drugs. They all sipped on Lean as the pretty, light-skinned girl's voice took their highs to another level. They were all so engrossed in the music and drugs that none of them noticed the presence of the sexy female behind them. Heads were nodding to the bass and melodic sound of the female's voice blaring through the speakers.

Kyle Williams was the first to notice the surprised guest. He had just opened his eyes after letting the exotic weed marinate. By the time he was able to react, the unexpected shot to his left shoulder spun him around and pinned him to the basement's wall. It prevented him from retrieving his .38 revolver from the top of the speaker he sat by. The sound of the shot echoed in the basement. Everybody spun around in the direction from which the shot came. They all froze in time. Their eyes widened at the sight of Baby brandishing her .40-caliber.

“Turn that shit down!” Baby barked.

The music abruptly stopped. By now, Baby had one set of teary eyes and five pair of murderous ones staring at her. The pretty, light-skinned girl had her hands up in the air.

“Who the fuck are you?” Marlo Williams chimed. “And why the fuck you shoot my little brother?”

Baby moved in closer. She answered him with a blow upside the head. “Shut the fuck up!” Baby boomed. She grabbed Marlo forcefully by his shirt sleeve and yanked it downward. “Everybody get the fuck on the ground!” she then demanded as she took a step back.

Marlo Williams complied with Baby's request out of sheer fear. He had been in the game long enough. In his opinion, he believed that a hostile female with a gun would kill you quicker than a calm man with one and the last thing he wanted to do was trigger Baby off and lose his life over what he believed to be money.

Marlo cursed himself. He would have given anything at that exact moment to be at home with his wife of four years. He now regretted delaying his
Scrabble
night with his wife. Instead, because he had chosen his crew over his family, he was begging silently with his Maker to let him make it out of the basement in one piece.

So many thoughts ran through his mind as he cursed himself for not securing his studio and honeycomb hideout. He knew it was a setup.
Who?
he wondered. There was no way one woman could have the heart to singlehandedly come up in his spot trying to rob him. His suspicion was confirmed when he heard an additional voice in the room.

“I wish you would!”

The sound of Treacherous's voice drew Baby's attention to the right. Treacherous had entered the basement from the back door just in time. Luckily, it was unlocked, just the way Ghetto Governor had said it would be, or else one of the young goons he now had his twin .45s pointed at would have gotten the drop on Baby. He disarmed the two young goons who shared a futon.

“You heard what she said! Everybody get the fuck on the ground!” Treacherous backed Baby up.

Marlo did not recognize the voice. He tried to raise his head to get a look at the new addition to the room but found himself with a pistol aimed against the back of his head.