Chasing Bliss (41 page)

“I told you I don’t know what they want,” Max snapped looking at Constance with pure
hatred.

“So you called us all the way down here, and you don’t even know what they want? Did you
even ask?” Constance snapped back.

“I called Real down here, not you,” Max answered harshly.

“Enough!” Real yelled, leaving Max and Constance standing in the middle of the floor looking
at each other as he went to the VIP section to see what the Italians wanted. “Somebody looking for
me?” Real asked, looking at the men.

They instantly stopped throwing money at the naked girl and looked up at him. “Who are you?”
asked one of the men.

“I’m Real, the owner. Now, who wants to see me?’ Real asked again.

“Oh! Real! Come take a seat, my friend,” the young, fancy-dressed Italian told Real after making
his friend move out of the seat beside him.

“I’m good. What’s the problem?” Real asked, still standing staring the man down.

“Oh, there’s no problem, my friend. I just came to deliver a very important message from Mr.
Rossi,” the young Italian said as he stood and walked over to Real.

“Rossi? What’s the message?” Real asked, confused. He didn’t recognize the name.

The Italian man got up close on Real and whispered, “Mr. Rossi says you work for him or you don’t work
at all. He knows you are making his competition, the Moretti family, very rich, which is also making Moretti’s
stronghold on the cartel a lot stronger. Mr. Rossi can’t touch Mr. Moretti at this time, but he can touch you. So,
what’ll it be?” the young Italian asked with a sly smile.

Real placed his arm around the man’s shoulder and said firmly, “Tell your boss Mr. Rossi that I
said to go fuck himself and that I don’t sit well with threats. Now, you and your boys get the fuck
up out of my establishment!” Real said, smiling as he exited the VIP section, motioning for Max
and Constance to follow.

“What up, cuz?” Max asked as they entered Real’s back office.

“Everything’s good. Just some rich, arrogant Italians trying to invest in the club, which is totally
out of the question,” Real told Max as Constance stood by, picking up on the lie.

“Oh, okay, cuz. I got everything under control. I will call you tomorrow with an update on
thangs,” Max said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Constance rolled her eyes.

“A’ight, cool,” Real said, turning to walk out the office.

“Under control my ass!” Constance uttered as she followed Real out of the back office.

As Real walked across the floor, he noticed the Italians exiting. The tall, lanky one looked in his
direction and smiled. Real smiled back.

A few minutes later, Real and Constance were turning out of the G-Spot onto Peachtree Street.

Picking up on Real’s different mood, Constance spoke softly. “What’s going on, baby?” she asked, sensing
his uneasiness.

“Some spic trying to make demands. Had the nerve to send me a message that if I don’t work
for him, I don’t work at all. Can you believe that? Ain’t that some shit? He must don’t know who
the fuck Real is!” Real shouted, getting madder and madder as he thought about the threat from
the man in the silky suit.

“Who sent the message?” Constance inquired, trying to see if she recognized the name as one
of her wealthy real estate clients. She had sold several high-end homes to Italian drug lords.

“Rossi!” Real spat.

“Hmm. Never heard that name before. So what’s next?’ Constance asked.

“I’m going to call old man Moretti to see what the deal is. If he don’t fix it, I will!” Real
snapped.

“He’ll straighten it out,” Constance said, hoping he would—but even if he didn’t, she was going
to ride with Real to the very end, no matter what.

“Look, baby, I really ain’t in the mood right now for the play. I really need to make some calls,”
Real said, knowing that she would understand.

“Okay. Me neither,” Constance agreed.

Turning around, Real took the Lambo to speeds it had never reached before on the way back
home.

Chapter 3

“B
itch nigga, you better have my eighty grand by the end of the week, or else my people
here will be back, and the next time they leave, you won’t be fuckin’ breathin’!” Cash
shouted as his two goons pistol whipped the young dealer.

Cash was Real’s good friend and lieutenant. Real had met Cash back in the day on Godby Road.
Cash was the true definition of a young hustler. He would stay in the trap all day every day. Seeing
the hustle young Cash had and how solid he was made Real take him under his wing. Years later,
Cash became very wealthy, all because of Real.

As well as they worked together, Cash was the direct opposite of Real. He was tall, lanky,
bald headed, and very unattractive. Known in circles for his pistol play, Cash wouldn’t hesitate
to unload his clip. At the ripe old age of twenty-four, Cash was considered a legend around town.
While Real dealt with the Morettis, Cash and his goons dealt with the streets. Cash knew his
position and played it well, with no regrets.

Just as he gave the word for his goons to release the dealer, Cash’s cell phone rang. “What up,
bro?” he answered when he saw Real’s number on the screen.

“I need you to come out to the house ASAP,” Real told him firmly.

“Damn, bro, can’t it wait until tomorrow? I got Jesse and B-Low riding with me anyway. You
know I can’t bring them out to your spot,” Cash said, watching B-Low and Jesse laughing as the
young dealer run off.

“Look, man, drop them two niggas off and get out here! This is important!” Real snapped and
hung up his office phone.

Cash could tell by Real’s actions that it was a serious matter, so he hurriedly dropped B-Low
and Jesse off and navigated his brand new burgundy 600 SEL Mercedes Benz through the night
traffic to Real’s house.

A half hour later, Cash was pulling up in front of Real’s million-dollar home. Cash was lost
for words every time he went out to Real’s place. The six-bedroom home sat on ten acres of well-
manicured land. Behind the home sat an Olympic-sized swimming pool, full basketball court,
tennis court, and guest house. Adjacent to that was a custom-built garage that housed Real’s lime
green Lamborghini Murcialago LP460, snow white Rolls–Royce drop-head Coupe, and black on
black Range Rover Sport. Next to Real’s expensive collection were Constance’s lavender Bentley
GTC, bright cherry red H-2, and midnight blue Ferrari 360 Spider that she barely drove.

Cash stepped out of his Benz into the cold night air.

Ding! Ding!

A few seconds after ringing the bell, Constance appeared at the door. “Hey, Cash,” she said.
“Come on in. Real’s down in his office.” She stepped aside, letting Cash in.

“What’s up, sis? You good?” Cash asked as he entered.

“Just fine. Just see what’s up with Real,” she told him as she closed the door behind them.

“All the time,” Cash replied as he hurried through the house to Real’s home office.

On the way to Real’s office, Cash thought back on the times when Real had stayed in a humble
two-bedroom condo out in College Park. Now, his crib had marble floors, two full kitchens, an
elevator, three fire places, and a bad ass home theatre.
Man, my boy’s come a long way,
Cash thought
to himself. “What’s up, bro?’ Cash asked as he entered Real’s office.

“A lil’ problem from the cartel,” Real answered, rearing back into his oversized leather desk
chair.

“What kind of problem?” Cash sat down in the oversized office chair positioned in front of the
desk.

“A couple Italians came down to the club tonight with a message from a Mr. Rossi. This Rossi
says I work for him or don’t work at all.”

“Work for him or don’t work at all!” Cash spat.

“Yeah. He got to be playing!” Real fired back.

“Who the fuck this wetback think he is? He don’t run shit!” Cash yelled as he jumped out of the
office chair and started pacing the floor.

“I just put in a call to my connect, the Morettis. If they don’t handle this Rossi fool, I’ll do it my
damn self,” Real said sincerely.

“Bro, just get me this spic’s location, and I’ll eliminate all of this tough guy talk! Fuck them
slick heads!” Cash shouted as he continued to pace the room.

“I’m going to see what the Morettis do first. There may be no need for us to bother. What’s the
word on the street?” Real asked, changing the subject.

“Everythang moving lovely. I had to chastise a lil’ nigga this morning about an overdue debt, but all in all,
everything moving like clockwork,” Cash said as he sat back down in the office chair.

“Well, you know I got a shipment coming in this week, and it’s mandatory that it go quicker
than the last. Oh, by the way… I hear Deuce and them on the west side are putting down real
heavy. What’s up with that?” Real inquired.

“Yeah, word is they got a new Colombian connect out of Miami. My crew and I were just
discussing that yesterday. We are working on eliminating that problem before the end of the week,”
Cash assured Real.

“A’ight. We don’t need to be sitting on this shit no longer than a week,” Real said firmly.

“I got you. I’m getting with my niggas tomorrow to handle that west side problem, and also
I’ll connect with my folks in New York and L.A. with some good numbers to make that shit
disappear.”

“A’ight. And about that west side problem, let them niggas on payroll handle it. Don’t get your
hands dirty. They expendable, and you ain’t,” Real said firmly, knowing all too well how Cash
liked to get his hands dirty.

“I’m just calling the shots, bro. Let me know if you need me to handle that slick back,” Cash
said as he stood to leave.

“Get at me tomorrow.”

“Fo sho,” Cash replied as he exited.

En route home, Cash picked up his cell phone and called B-Low, not realizing that a black
crown Victoria driven by a federal DEA agent followed close behind.

Stay tuned for the sequel…Coming 2012

Lights Out

Real Takes the City by Storm