4
N
oble had lost his leg doing what he was born to do. Police work.
The stump of his thigh throbbed angrily as he remembered that shit like it was three minutes ago. And no matter how much he replayed the grisly scene in his mind, the truth was he had gotten ganked. Ambushed. Set up.
Noble was one of the few young cats who was well respected in the police department. He had competed against nine other officers for that prime undercover assignment. But when the contest ultimately came down between Noble and some shiesty-looking street cop looking to earn a rep, Noble had gotten the job.
Operation Green Ice was based outta Brownsville’s Van Dyke Projects, one of the most crime-infested areas of Brooklyn. Noble had inched his way in good with a power playa called Big Bump, and for five months he rolled like a slanger and pulled felonious drug capers with some of the major bosses on the grind.
A critical buy was about to kick off, and everything was going according to plan. The task force was right on the verge of taking down two high level shot-callers when Noble’s shit got flipped.
“Yo, this niggah foul.”
They were standing in the middle of an abandoned auto body shop, and the accusation came outta nowhere. Noble looked up and cursed inside when he saw which capo was bringing it.
It was that niggah Dent. A powerful street broker who worked with a connect out of some projects in East New York. He’d been suspicious of Noble from the gate. And now, with the goods spread out all over the table, the distrust in his hooded eyes was cold and deadly, and aimed straight at Noble Browne.
Dent nudged Bump, the dude who had brought Noble in. Bump stood with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and another one gripped tight in his fist.
“Yo, I’m telling you, Bump,” Dent spit. “Ya boy stinks, man. Like a sewer rat. Somebody betta check him.”
Noble had cold grilled that niggah.
This fool wanted to check him?
Wasn’t happening! Noble was wired up like a goddamn telephone pole. Nah, that shit wasn’t happening!
Playing the role, Noble swelled on Dent. His eyes were colder than a winter breeze as he spit, “You might wanna watch your fuckin’ mouth about who you callin’ a rat, son. Now, we can take care a this bizz and distribute this cash, or we can start tearing off some heads.”
Noble pressed his arm close to his side. He was comforted by the feel of his tool digging into his flesh, and the knowledge that there was a team of SWAT cops listening in and ready to blast niggahs out if shit got shaky.
“Either way,” Noble growled at the young connect, who as it turned out, had a damn good nose, “you better watch what you say to me, niggah.”
Dent was unfazed. That niggah just sneered. His lips curled down but his eyes stayed flat.
“You talk a good one ak, and you probably as G’d up as you come across—” Suddenly his tone dropped low and his knuckles tightened around his heat. “But believing a mothafucka’s words ain’t why I’m here today. I survive off wit, instinct, and the feelings in my own fuckin’ gut, and all three of them things is telling me you’s
A MOTHAFUCKIN’ COP
!”
Noble couldn’t tell who shot him first, but when that hot lead started flying from all directions it wasn’t hard to figure out that he’d been peeped and set up.
Falling back on his training, Noble had pulled his gat and started sparking off rounds too. The sound of gunfire exploding all around him was deafening, and with his cover blown, the SWAT team had moved in with their superior weapons and tactical skills, taking niggahs down hard and fast.
By the time the smoke cleared there were bodies strewn all over the greasy garage floor. Including Noble’s. He’d taken five hot slugs, three of them hitting him in his right leg, shattering bone, arteries, and other small blood vessels.
Them niggahs had blasted him good. His leg was shot out. There was way too much damage for even the most skilled surgeon to repair, and three hours after Noble got to the hospital his right leg was amputated five inches below his hip.
Rehabilitation had been a real bitch, but Noble had taken it on the chin, like he took everything else that life dished off. He worked hard on his physical therapy, and always went above and beyond what the trainers told him to do. It took a minute, but he persevered, and the next thing he knew he was being fitted with a prosthetic leg and was back on his feet.
But a one-legged narc was like a pit bull with no teeth, and to Noble’s disappointment, a couple of weeks later he received a certified letter ordering him into retirement with full pay and benefits, courtesy of the NYPD.
But Noble wasn’t going out like that.
While government benefits and free money was always cool, Noble had no need for that little-ass paycheck they were trying to dish off. At the age of twenty-nine he wasn’t nobody’s retiree. He was a cop, and he had paid for that title with his flesh and with his blood. Wasn’t nobody gonna sit him down like some old dog that needed to be put up on the porch.
Even with one leg Noble was still young and fit, his mind was sharp, and his pockets was crazy swole. So he got bizzy. Noble cashed in a couple of departmental favors that was owed to him, and a few weeks later the medical board reversed its decision and came up with a creative plan for his career path.
On paper, Noble would still be a cop and receive all officer pay and allowances. But on a daily, he would be on loan to the Traffic Enforcement Agency, where he’d pull duty as a traffic officer in midtown Manhattan. No, he wasn’t gonna be out there ganking kingpins and bustin’ bad guys no more, but he wasn’t gonna be at the crib chillin’ on the couch neither.
Noble gave it some thought and decided he was cool with it. He would have to give up his gun, but he would get him a whistle. Without further hesitation, he signed the agreement and reported for duty at the TEA.
Noble was back in uniform, and once again life was sweet.
5
“Y
ou stupid bitch!” the young chick barked. Eyes blazing, she burst outta the doors of Fine Headz with a plastic smock draped around her shoulders and wrap lotion slicking down her hair.
She snatched the parking ticket that Zsa Zsa had just slid under her wiper blades, then balled it up and threw it in the street.
“I ain’t paying that shit!” the girl spit. “The meter just ran out two minutes ago. All these goddamn criminals running around New York and your dumb ass is out here fuckin’ with
me
!”
Zsa Zsa Flynt rolled her eyes as the young guttersnipe clanked quarters into the expired parking meter and talked mad smack. Zsa Zsa didn’t care whether the chick picked the ticket up outta the gutter or not. If the fine didn’t get paid on time, the price was just gonna get higher every day. And once the city added on all those penalties and interest and shit, sistah was gonna wish she had just went on and paid the $115 and been done with it.
The young girl was steady beefing as Zsa Zsa moved on to the next illegally parked car. She straight hated her job. She wasn’t built for this shit. The nature of her grind was all about freezing in the winter, getting soaked when it rained, and burning the hell up in the summer.
For two long years Zsa Zsa had been pounding the concrete and choking on smog in midtown Manhattan. And like most NYC meter maids, she had been through it all. She’d been cussed out by all kinds of crazy sickos, had the shit smacked outta her by a rusty old white man, and had got bitten on the ankle by a poodle for writing his owner a double-parking ticket three days in a row.
Zsa Zsa had never wanted to punch no clock or be nobody’s employee. Matter fact, due to her creative skills, and the prize package she was holding, she didn’t feel she should have to work a regular job at all. With her half-Asian, half-black, hot beauty blend, and a sistah’s curvy body that had been turning heads since she was twelve, she felt she should have been draped over some boss’s arm and living her dream life. Instead, she was busy walking up and down the street in a monkey suit looking stupid and feeling unglamorous.
Zsa Zsa knew she was special, and not just because she was fine, neither. There were plenty of beautiful sistahs out there, but not many of them had the eye for fashion or the nose for business that Zsa Zsa had.
For as far back as she could remember there had always been a sizzling spark in her that was trying to burst into a flame. Zsa Zsa was into fashion and she wanted to do big things. If given the opportunity, she knew she could launch the next major black clothing line and straight shock the fashion world. Her designs were so cold her line could break out like Nelly’s Apple Bottoms, or Beyoncé’s House of Deréon, or even Kimora Simmons’s urban fiyah line Baby Phat. Zsa Zsa would do
anything
for the chance to live her dream life. All she wanted to do with her life was create amazing fashions that could be sported by everyday women, or styled by chicks who were rich and famous!
But even getting close to her dream was damn near impossible. For one thing, she was broke. And for another, she had a court order that dictated that she get a job and keep it for at least three years. When Zsa Zsa thought about how her life had gotten so turned around she wanted to kick herself up her own dumb ass.
Consumed by greed and open on her own good looks, Zsa Zsa had bellied up to a local drug boss who had a serious gambling jones. Not only did he distribute drugs, they had stayed at the racetrack cheering on his horses. And for a long time his hand was hot and he raked in big bank. But the minute that fool’s horse started losing he had turned on Zsa Zsa. He got it in his head that she was some kinda bad luck charm, and one night he locked her in his crib and tried to beat all the mo outta her.
Zsa Zsa was done. Dude was clearly mental, and she wasn’t the type to take an ass-whipping and come back for more, but old boy wasn’t tryna let her go. She moved out of her cousin’s house and went to live with her aunt, but he still followed her. He’d be hiding all up in the bushes and shit, or tapping on the windows at night, scaring the hell outta her auntie.
Zsa Zsa knew some loco shit was gonna go down if that niggah didn’t leave her alone, but she had never imagined how bad it would be. One night when she came home he was waiting on her aunt’s stoop talking about they needed to talk. He said if she took a little ride with him and let him explain himself, then they could both move on and he would leave her alone. Something had told her not to get in his whip, but he was chill tonight and looking sane in the face ... damn, was it a mistake!
As soon as she got in he locked the doors and took off driving faster than shit. He was laughing, Zsa Zsa was screaming, and people on the streets were scattering outta his way. That fool didn’t care who he mighta hit. Kids, women, old ladies ... It was like he had a death wish, and he wanted to take Zsa Zsa with him.
It wasn’t long before flashing lights were behind them and sirens were wailing in the air. Zsa Zsa thought about jumping out the car, but they were going too fast, and plus he had the doors locked. She knew he was crazy when he snatched her handbag off her lap. He steered the car with his knees and she saw him take something off the seat and stuff it inside her bag. Zsa Zsa figured it out when he rolled down his window and tossed her handbag clean out, but by then it was too late. That fool pulled the car over like everything was cool, and their high-speed chase was over.
But Zsa Zsa’s problems were just beginning. The cops had muscled both of them outta the car and smashed them into the concrete at gunpoint. They were taken straight to the precinct, and since his drugs had been found in Zsa Zsa’s bag, she’d gotten knocked and carted off to Rikers Island just like any other petty criminal.
But the judge had had a little mercy on Zsa Zsa after her drug test came back clean. He had believed her when she said she was not involved in the drug game, had never personally used drugs, and was definitely not down with selling them.
And it was all true too.
Zsa Zsa had been grateful when the judge offered to drop the charges and seal her record on the condition that she find employment within ninety days. She had taken the competitive exams for a couple of city jobs about a year or so earlier, and as soon as she was released from Rikers her auntie had hooked her up with an interview at One Police Plaza in the offices of the Traffic Enforcement Agency.
She had been relieved to get the job before her ninety days were up and she had to go back and face the judge, but even as she was going through the whole hiring process, Zsa Zsa had known the gig was only gonna be temporary.
For one thing, traffic enforcement agents might work for the police department, but they were
not
cops. And out of all the TEA employees, meter maids were the doo-doo on the bottom of the shoe, the most hated people in uniforms. Besides, did she really wanna be out there walking the damn streets writing tickets all day?
Hell no.
She wasn’t tryna wear out the bottoms of her goddamn feet! She was tryna start her own empire, not ruin her life with a thirty-year career.
So day in and day out, Zsa Zsa had been scheming on a way to accomplish her goals. If she was ever gonna have a chance to quit her job and do her own thing, she’d have to catch herself a good man. One who could sit her down and bring her inside out of the cold. A man who had the means and the moolah to set her up lovely, and help a flamboyant mami get her bizz up off the ground so she could rub shoulders with the stars.
Zsa Zsa sighed and glanced at the diamond-specked watch that the guy she was seeing had bought her. Instead of buying her all kinds of pretty
stuff,
what she really wished he would do was get down on his knees and ask her to be his
wife
!
She smirked. Dude was a winner and he had her heart and all that. And he was definitely a card-carrying member of the big dick club. But he had some shit about himself too. Papi knew he had options and choices, and he’d made it clear that he was seeing other chicks. He said he was gonna let them all know who he’d chosen on his thirtieth birthday. Well, Zsa Zsa wasn’t really the man-sharing type, but she had some birthday plans for him. Whoever he was banging, they couldn’t have been wiping it on him the way she was. Convincing Noble that she was the right woman for him was just gonna take some time and some skills, and Zsa Zsa was steady working on her plan.
She sighed again and wiggled her aching toes around in her ugly work shoes. She was dying to dip into the Chinese restaurant across the street and get off her feet for a little while, but she had an appointment to catch that she’d been dreading all week.
There was a whole fleet of meter maids walking the streets of New York City, and a few of her ditzy blond-haired coworkers were some sho’nuff sistah haters. Them white girls been dropping big dimes on Zsa Zsa for ducking into pizza parlors during work hours, or for getting her shop on when she was supposed to be out there burning the skin off the bottom of her feet and writing parking tickets.
For the third time in six months, a supervisor had run up on her chilling with her feet up in a sandwich shop, and Zsa Zsa had sworn up and down that she only went inside a restaurant or store if she had to use the bathroom. The supervisor was a young Puerto Rican guy, and he had been more interested in Zsa Zsa’s tits than the words that were coming outta her mouth, and she’d been able to wiggle her way outta that infraction.
But just recently one of them jealous coworker bitches had managed to mess her up again. Juicy Couture was having a crazy sale, and Zsa Zsa had dropped a fat scoop of cream on fashion wear that fit her toned body to a tee. She was rushing outta the store carrying sick shopping bags when she ran right up on two white female supervisors.
She was busted! One of them white hoes had set her up! Since it was her third malingering infraction, Zsa Zsa had been ordered to report across town to see the boss man. Of course she was nervous and pressed about it, but she was hoping to just get written up and maybe docked a little bit of pay, and perhaps it wouldn’t go no further than that.
She glanced at her watch again, then looked around at the cars parked at the meters and wondered if she was being watched. Yeah, envious eyes were probably crawling all over her, just waiting for her to mess up so they could stab her in the back and try to get her fired. She hated white chicks!
On the real, she did have time to write at least four or five more tickets before she needed to catch the crosstown bus to see the chief, but bump that. Zsa Zsa had a check that was about to burn a hole in the bottom of her designer purse, and she needed to get to the bank.
Clipping her ticket pad to her waist, Zsa Zsa eyed a black Nissan that was double parked at the corner. The driver couldn’t have been worried about being seen chillin’ in a no-parking zone because ridiculously loud music was blaring from his windows. She moved a little bit closer.
A ruff-looking dude with a red doo-rag on his head sat behind the wheel with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Zsa Zsa glanced around to see if any other meter maids or maybe even a street cop was anywhere nearby. When she saw none, she smirked, then rolled her eyes, then turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. All that “enforce the law at all costs” shit was a bunch of bull. She wasn’t about to roll up on no hood niggah in midtown and get the shit slapped outta her.
Instead, she eyed a dirty white Taurus whose meter was real close to expiring. She had ticketed this car many times before, and couldn’t believe the owner was too dumb to come outside and feed the damn meter.
Well, whoever owns this nasty-ass whooptie, they about to get another damn ticket!
The meter still had close to ten minutes on it, but Zsa Zsa wasn’t about to wait around for somebody who was in the habit of letting their flag go up. The driver of this car was a serial illegal parker, and whoever it was, they didn’t deserve no sympathy. She whipped out her pad and got to writing.
The bank was only a few blocks away from where her boo worked directing traffic, and after sticking the ticket on the gritty windshield, Zsa Zsa fell in with the crowd of frenzied walkers as she broke out to cash her check.
Like everybody else on the streets of New York, Zsa Zsa kept to herself. She walked like she was about the bizz, her hips rolling hard with her stride. And even though she was dressed in a monkey suit/play-cop uniform, her flowing hair and bomb body still attracted mad attention.
She walked up to Fifty-ninth Street and peeped her man standing in his grid square with his arms waving and his white gloves gesturing. Even from the back he was fine. Tall, built, nice muscled-up ass ... you couldn’t even tell he was missing a leg.
Her boo had been shot in the line of duty and had most of his right leg amputated. And although it had been kinda awkward in the bedroom at first, Zsa Zsa had forgotten all about that stump the moment she felt his snake sliding all up in her.
In fact, she had been so impressed with his sex game and so proud of him for having the balls to get his leg shot off and still get back up on his feet, that after she rode his dick until it faded into the sunset, Zsa Zsa had stood up on the bed and proclaimed Noble Browne her wounded warrior, and then she reached down and gave him a butt-naked high five!