Authors: Noire
“Nah, I have an early flight so I’m gonna drive myself. But just in case something comes up, I’ll text you my parking area and leave my keys under the floor mat.”
“No problem. Be careful out there. You know you can count on me, so if there’s anything you need, just give me a call.”
Slick Sallie had taken a taxi to the airport at eight-thirty that morning, and walked over to the area that Juicy had texted to him. The key to her convertible had been right under the floor mat where she said she would leave it, and he had paid the parking fee and driven it right off the airport grounds.
Sallie had come straight home and parked the car behind his mother’s orchard house, and for the last hour he had been sitting there staring at it. He appeared to be calm and deep in thought, but in reality his heart was pounding and his blood was surging with excitement.
It was as if something spiritual had come over him as he thought about the possibilities that had opened up for him. It was almost divine. Like a lucky lottery ticket had fallen into his lap complete with all the winning numbers.
Sallie lit a blunt and took three long puffs. Then he clipped it in an ashtray and forced himself to breathe deeply. Nobody knew Juicy had left town except him. This was his prime opportunity, and he needed to be clear-minded and level headed so he could take full advantage of it. His destiny had just manifested, and there was no way he was gonna let it slide through his fingers. Slick Sallie knew exactly what he had to do. And for the next thirty minutes he sat staring at the sexy green convertible he had stolen from the airport, as he came up with his grand, life-changing plan.
$$$$$
“Yo, man, her car is gone.”
“Niggah what you mean her fuckin’ car is gone?”
“It ain’t there. Me and Zero looked all over the parking lot. Somebody musta took that shit. It’s gone.”
Rabbit shook his head.
“Man, ain’t nobody take that car. Y’all was just lookin’ in the wrong place. You must be at the wrong terminal, stupid ass. Ace said that chick got locked down as soon as she got to New York so I know she ain’t come back here and moved no car. That shit is right where she left it. Go back and look again.”
“I’m telling you,” Izz protested. “That shit ain’t there! We crisscrossed and circled that lot so many fuckin’ times that security musta got suspicious. Cop cars started swinging through left and right and we had to break out ’cause Zero had some powder and two dirty gats on him. But for real, slime, I saw where that bitch parked at. Her shit ain’t there no more. I swear it’s gone.”
“Muthafucka!” Rabbit kicked over a garbage can in his small kitchen. “It’s gotta be there, fool! Y’all niggahs just didn’t look good enough. A’ight. Don’t go back today ’cause security is prolly on the lookout now. Wait ’til tomorrow night when it gets dark outside, then go back and look again. I swear to God, Izz, if I gotta go through there and find that ride myself I’ma slump both of y’all niggahs! Word!”
“A’ight,” Izzy sighed even though he knew what he knew. “We’ll go back out there tomorrow, right after it gets dark.”
CHAPTER 5
Growing up in Harlem I had heard a whole bunch of horrors stories about Rikers but I had never stepped foot on the island before, not even on a visit.
A lot of girls around my way got sent to The Rock for various petty crimes, mostly dealing with selling ass or buying drugs, or occasionally for cutting some niggah with the sharp edge of a beer bottle.
But no matter how scary the jailhouse stories had sounded, they were nothing compared to the Kool-Aid my heart was pumping as the cops led me into the Rose M. Singer Center for women.
“Keep your mouth shut in there,” the male C.O. warned me as he opened the door and pushed me inside. He was a skinny white dude with a patchy red birthmark on his nose. “Don’t offer no extra information, and don’t tell nobody your real name.”
“What?” I was straight confused.
“You carrying?” he asked, stopping me right outside another doorway.
“Huh?” I said dumbly.
“You got anything on you? Knives, needles, anything sharp that’s gonna stick me or hurt me?”
I shook my head. “No. But I got some money on me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “There’s more? Where?”
I swallowed hard. “All over me.”
He took me into a small room and patted me down in a quick, but thorough manner before taking the cuffs off me. He had been all about the bizz when he told me to spread ’em, but then out of nowhere he told me to strip too.
I didn’t know what was up, but I knew something was shady. I thought he was gonna try to bust a look at my titties or something, but all he did was order me to take off my clothes and remove all the bills that were taped to my body and put them on the table. He even turned his back and gave me the privacy to do it.
“I’m done,” I said when I had finally gotten all the money off me. Most of it was damp from my sweat but he didn’t seem to give a fuck as he took a trash bag out of a small garbage can near the door. He emptied the trash into the naked can, then dumped the money into the trash bag and tied the end in a knot.
“If anybody asks, you’re being detained for transporting,” he told me as he handcuffed me again and led me out of the room. “Not money, but drugs.” He chuckled. “Every fuckin’ body is in here for drugs.”
“But don’t I get a chance to make bail?”
“Nope. You’re not even going before a judge.”
“But hold up, don’t I get to make a phone call?”
“Negative again. No calls and no visitors.”
I opened my mouth to say something else, but he shut me right up.
“Listen. You can do this my way or you can do it the hard way, all right? My way? You got no priors. You get a nice private cell complete with the finest protection our hardworking corrections department can provide. In a couple of weeks you’ll be arraigned for carrying a small amount of crack cocaine, and the judge will offer you a ninety-day treatment program and eventually expunge the charge from your record. Simple.
“The hard way? You go down for theft, transporting drug money, money laundering, and every other RICO charge we can strum up against you. Plus, we’ll take our special protection off you. You’re a fine ass chick. Every dyke in the joint will be looking to wife you. And at some point, during the middle of the night, somebody might wanna have a little conversation with you. You know, some of that pillow talking y’all ladies like to do. Ain’t no telling who might slip in your bed and get comfy under your covers. Now, did you catch all that, or do you need to write it down?”
My situation was real clear and I submitted to it real quick. His way sounded a whole lot better than the hard way, and when he finally turned me over to the Black female correction officer I kept my mouth shut and walked inside the facility, not as Juicy Monique Stanfield, but under the bogus name of Yvette Williams.
$$$$$
“This shit is just unbelievable,” Salida snapped as she paced the floor in the cut room. Her strides were long and measured, like a panther that was just about to fuck up its prey. She lit another cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose.
To say she was pissed off wouldn’t have been saying shit. Salida hated stupid bitches. She could work with ignorance and she could even overlook incompetence, but stupidity just fucked her up all the way around.
It had been a real smooth plan, using Rita to get to Juicy. They’d had cars full of hoods at the airports, and almost a hundred young come-ups from the G-Spot roster had been spread out all over town just a’ waiting for Juicy to hit the streets. They had sent crews to every business that G had either owned or shook down. Pizza shops, cleaners, bodegas, restaurants and check cashing places, they’d put the word out on Juicy everywhere. The order was to snatch up any chick that so much as looked like Juicy and bring her ass in and collect a cash reward.
But even with all that street power they’d failed. Juicy had slipped through their fingers and was now locked up in jail, where not even they could get to her.
Salida smirked as she paced. They had already gone over the scenario three or four times, but she kept on grilling Monique because she knew the stripper was lying out of her ass.
“So,” she went in again on the greased-up bitch sitting next to her desk. “You’re trying to tell me that Rita spotted Truth right before Juicy’s plane landed?”
Monique nodded as Salida sat down at her desk and unlocked her top drawer and slid it open.
“I swear that’s what happened,” Monique said. “I warned him to fall back so she wouldn’t see him but that niggah is young and hardheaded! He was driving all up in their trunk on the way there, and when we got inside the airport terminal he was damn near stepping on the back of Rita’s shoes.”
Salida stared at her. She didn’t know what the hell G had been thinking when he hired Monique, but everything about her idiot-ass was completely wrong for the new direction Salida planned to take the G-Spot in.
There was no denying that Monique’s lush chocolate body was fuckable and built for comfort, but Salida was trying to create a whole new image for the G-Spot. She was about to brand that baby. Make it a real franchise. Get some white pussy up in the house. Some Puerto Ricans and some Asians too.
Monique started flapping her gums some more. “And you know what else, Mizz Salida? That dumb-ass boy got the nerve to holla about how he wanna be equal partners with us. You just can’t tell these lil pissy-tail niggahs nothing these days, ain’t that right Mizz Salida? These lil niggahs think they got the plans all figured out.”
Partners? The older woman glared at Monique with a look of pure disgust on her face. With us?
Salida lost it. She reached over and mushed the shit outta Monique. She rammed her dome so hard Mo’s neck snapped back and her head cracked against the wall.
“It was your stupid-ass who fucked up the plan!”
For a second Monique looked stunned, and then her hood instincts kicked in. She jumped outta her seat and reached down in her back pocket at the same time. She was about to flick her pocketknife open, but she pulled up short when she saw Salida’s hand resting on something cold and black in her top drawer.
“Oh, so you strapped, huh, Mizz Salida?” Monique breathed heavily. She wasn’t nobody’s punk, and bitches didn’t mush her everyday and get away with it. Not even old bitches. But Monique was a lot smarter than Salida thought she was. She knew if she bucked she was gonna be in a gunfight, and the only thing she had on her right now was a pocketknife.
Danger danced in Monique’s cold eyes, but there was a shred of fear there too. And it was that tiny slice of weakness that Salida honed in on.
“You don’t want none of this,” Salida said calmly. Even if she hadn’t checked Monique with her piece, Salida would have taken the young hoe’s pocketknife and stuck it down her throat. “I swear to God you don’t want none.”
Monique nodded as she stared at the .38 Special that was now in Salida’s hand. The door to the cut room slam-locked from the inside, and the only key that could open it was on a bright pink coil around Salida’s wrist.
But the old broad had it right. Monique didn’t want none. Salida had a crazy bug crawling around in her head. Monique could see it shining bright in her eyes, and regardless of her personal pride or anything else, Monique wanted to live to see another day.