True to the game iii, p.7
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       True to the Game III, p.7

           Teri Woods
 
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  Rik sat back and smiled as the waitress delivered his meal. Everything was going to be all right. He knew exactly where to get the money from to get those fucking Barranquilla Colombians off his back. The only question was how he would get it. Should I just ask her or should I just jack her?

  Resurrected

  Gena listened as Quadir finished his story. Still dazed and unable to believe that Quadir was alive, Gena couldn’t help but think about the series of unfortunate events. Meeting Jerrell at that gas station was the worst thing that could have happened. What was worse was that he was Quadir’s enemy, the one behind killing her beloved Quadir. He was nothing more than a monster. How could I have been so stupid? Gena couldn’t help but blame herself. Just then she thought of the baby she was carrying—Jerrell’s baby. Quadir must not ever know that I’m pregnant. What will I do?

  “So, you’ve been staying here, getting well?”

  “Yes. Amelia brought me here after I was released from the inpatient rehabilitation center at the hospital. Now, I have physical therapy here and I go to outpatient treatment.”

  “And Amelia, where is she?”

  “She’s at work. She’s always at the hospital.”

  “So, you said that you and her became involved after you saw me and Jerrell together.”

  “Gina, listen . . .”

  “No, Quadir, please, just answer me. You are involved with her, right?”

  Quadir was silent, trying to figure out her angle. He honestly didn’t understand her line of questioning, but the look on her face told it all. Her entire world had crashed all around her the night he died. Now, it would crash again when she learned that he was not only alive, but also in love with someone else.

  “Answer me, please. Please tell me the truth, please.”

  “Yes, Gena, yes. I love her.”

  “You love her?” Gena asked, as tears began to stream down her face. She broke down, seating herself gently on the end of an ottoman that was next to a chair. “I don’t understand, I just don’t understand. Why, Quadir, why? Why’d you do this to me? Why? I thought you loved me, please, I would have never been with Jerrell. I didn’t know who he was, please, Quadir. I don’t know what to say,” Gena said, trying with all her might to hold back the tears that just seemed to flow down her cheeks. She wanted to be strong; she wanted to have an ounce of pride. But she had none. The man she adored and loved more than life itself was standing there confessing that he was in love with someone else.

  “I mean, what is there really left to say? You and Jerrell were together, or at least you were with him,” said Quadir, full of frustration.

  “Oh, my God, I can’t believe what you’re saying. I just can’t. It can’t be this way. It’s not supposed to be this way, no,” she said, freaking out, shaking her hands in the air, trying to find the reason for everything that was happening.

  “Gena, please calm down . . .”

  “No, don’t tell me to calm down. You were dead, Quadir, gone. Why would your mother throw me out like that, if . . . did she know?”

  Quadir stood still, knowing what his mother had done.

  “Listen, Gena, my moms did what she had to do. She was only trying to protect me.”

  “Protect you? Protect you? Are you serious? That’s your answer? You just let her throw me out like that, with nothing. You left me with nothing. You died, and now you’re back, but you’re back and you don’t want me anymore because of Jerrell, and I can understand that. I can understand it all. I see it all real clear. Fuck me, right? Fuck me, right, Quadir?” she yelled at the top of her lungs, ready to break something.

  “Gena, please, it’s not like that. It’s not like that, really.”

  “Then what could it possibly be like?”

  “You don’t understand; you’re too emotional to understand right now . . .”

  “Please, Quadir, please, just leave me alone,” said Gena. They both stood in silence as Amelia’s BMW pulled into the driveway. The garage door opened and then they heard it close.

  “I guess that’s her. Amelia, the most fabulous doctor in the world. The doctor who brings people back from the dead. Wow, she must be something, really something. Not only does she save her patients, she fucks them too,” said Gena as she began to make her way back to her room.

  “Gena, wait, listen . . . Please, Gena, there’s something I need to tell you; please listen to me, it’s important.” Quadir followed her as she slammed the guest bedroom door in his face.

  “Tell it to yourself!” Gena screamed, opening the door. “No, better yet, tell Amelia,” she said, slamming the door in his face again.

  She ran over to the phone on the nightstand and called a yellow cab.

  “Hello, yes, ma’am, I need a taxi.” Fuck, I don’t even know where the hell I’m at. “Never mind,” she said, hanging up the phone.

  Gena searched the room quickly for her clothes. She dressed, quietly crept down the stairs, and climbed out an open window in the library. She snuck away before Quadir and Amelia knew she was gone.

  Terrell walked briskly through the park, trying to make it to his meeting place and wrap things up before the rain started coming down again. He hated the weather this time of year, especially when it got locked in a rainy cycle. It was one of the reasons he had left the city. He hated the rain, and even more so, he despised the cold. The weather in his new city was as different from this shit as night and day. He had relocated to beautiful, sunny South Florida, and he loved it. He had vowed never to set foot in the city of brotherly love again, but now, business had forced him to come back. He had flown in to avenge his younger brother.

  Champagne pulled up to the park in her black S600 and backed into a parking space. She hated meeting Terrell; he was worse than his twin brother. At least Jerrell had a little bit of sense about him, even a little bit of class, compared with Terrell. They were both cold, heartless men, but Terrell was a straight-up animal. He was a brute, with no sense of social grace, no understanding, no limitations, no nothing. He followed his most basic instincts, as if he were a hyena or lion or some other wild-ass animal. The bad part about Terrell was his attitude. The penal system ate him up a long time ago and even though he had not been locked up for more than fifteen years, he still had an institutionalized mentality. He didn’t give a fuck and he didn’t care. He never would, just like most men who served time.

  Champagne could see him in the distance, standing and waiting for her. Goosebumps covered her body, and she felt creepy, crawling creatures up and down her spine. It was a feeling she got whenever she was around Terrell. She hated the way he looked at her, the way he stared at her body. He really was the worst. Champagne knew if he ever got the chance to sex her, he would. And she had no doubt that he would be as brutal as possible while doing it. Jerrell had told her plenty of stories about his brother. Terrell liked to take pussy. Jerrell never understood why the women didn’t press charges. Some would end up with black eyes and bruised bodies. But no one ever pressed charges. Jerrell figured the women were too scared. Either that or they had such scandalous pasts that the charges would never stick and they would just end up looking like the whores they truly were.

  Champagne looked at the sick, twisted grin spread across Terrell’s face. She could picture him beating the shit out of her, raping her, and then sadistically burning her body inside some giant cathedral or something. He was just a fucking weird, deranged, serial killer type, waiting to be set off—probably from the simplest of things, such as saying the wrong word, like “bananas.”

  Champagne walked to the center of the park where Terrell was standing and waiting. He pulled her close and hugged her. She could feel his hand sliding down to her ass as his fingers reached between her legs.

  “Hey, motherfucker, slow down!” Champagne shoved him away.

  “I’m grieving and distraught, and this is how you treat me?” Terrell asked.

  “Not distraught enough where you can’t grip a handful of ass though, huh?”


  Terrell smiled. “People grieve in different ways.”

  “Don’t put your filthy hands on me again,” Champagne ordered him.

  Terrell raised his hands in surrender.

  Champagne stared at him in silence for several moments before exhaling. “So, you all right?”

  “Fuck no, my brother’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, you know. I’m sorry for your family.”

  Terrell shrugged her emotions away. “What do you have for me?” he asked as he let his eyes roam down her body and stared between her legs.

  Champagne shook her head. “Never that. Don’t ever even think about that!”

  Terrell smiled again and looked up at her.

  Champagne opened her Louis Vuitton handbag and pulled out a photo. “This is the chick he was fucking with. He had me check up on her before he got shot up. I have no doubt he was with her when it happened. Her name is Gena Scott.”

  “She set him up?”

  Champagne shrugged. “Only he or she could tell you that. I wasn’t there. But one thing’s for certain, she ain’t no innocent bitch. She’s down for fucking with a baller, so she could have set J up.”

  “Tell me everything you know about this bitch.”

  “She’s from Richard Allen. She lives with her grandmother; some old bitch they call Gah Git. She was fucking with the boy Quadir real strong until he got killed and, rumor has it, your brother was behind his murder, so it’s very well possible that Gena sought revenge against Jerrell for Quadir, or at least that’s what some people are saying. Who knows what makes people tick, you know?”

  “So, she could have been setting my brother up all along to get revenge for her nigga, Quadir.”

  Champagne shrugged. “I don’t know, but it does make a lot of sense. But only he or she could tell you that.”

  Terrell took the picture and examined it carefully. “I can find this bitch in Richard Allen?”

  “Richard Allen wouldn’t be a bad place to start. That’s where she’s from and it’s where her family lives.”

  Terrell examined Gena’s picture. Blood rushed to his face as it became twisted in a dark mask of pure evil. He was staring at the bitch who had set his brother up. This the bitch that was playing you, little bro, misleading you, smiling in your face and shit; don’t worry, I got you. I know she probably gave you the pussy just to throw you off, all so she could get even for her man. Mmm-hmm, I see you, bitch. He couldn’t help thinking to himself of all the things he planned to do to Gena. He decided right then and there that he was going to fuck her. He was going to tie her up and torture her, and fuck her in places that she never knew she could be fucked. He was going to make her beg him to kill her. She would plead with him to end her pain, end her life, end her miserable suffering. He was going to do things to her that he had never done to anyone else before. And he had done so much to so many people in his lifetime. But this one—this one was going to be special.

  Champagne saw the look on Terrell’s face and began to panic. His face was set in a deep scowl, and his eyes had become red and glazed over. The nigga looked like he was about to explode.

  Champagne backed away from him. “You can keep the picture.”

  Terrell seemed to not even notice her leaving. He was too deep in thought of all the things he planned to do to seek his revenge against Gena.

  Once Champagne was a safe distance away, she turned and hurried to her car. Bitch, ain’t you glad you didn’t say “bananas”!

  Lieutenant Mark Ratzinger lifted his hand calling for a round of beer. The bartender nodded, and Mark turned back to his associates.

  “Where are we at on this?” Ratzinger asked.

  “We’re tracking her.” Dick Davis told him. “She’s made some big purchases, but she hasn’t led us to the money yet.”

  Letoya Ellington shrugged. “She’s smarter than we thought. She must’ve kept an extremely large sum out to spend. The rest, she must’ve hid. And besides the car, and some jewelry, she hasn’t really spent big.”

  “She could not touch that stash for months,” Dick added. “Hell, maybe even years.”

  Ratzinger shook his head. “Well, it’s getter harder and harder to justify the money and man hours we’re spending tracking her. Pretty soon, somebody is gonna wanna know why we’re on her, and why we haven’t produced anything.”

  Cornell Cleaver nodded. “He’s right, guys. This thing can’t go on too much longer. We’re going to have to come up with something, and soon.”

  “Like what?” Ellington asked.

  Ratzinger shrugged. “Is she dirty in any kinda way? Can we swoop on her and press her?”

  The drinks arrived at the table. The detectives sat in silence as the waitress passed their beers around the table. The conversation resumed as soon as she left.

  “As far as we can tell?” Ellington shook her head. “Other than spending drug money, no. She’s clean.”

  “Can we plant something on her, bring her in, and then pressure her?” Cleaver asked.

  Ratzinger shook his head. “That means we would have to bring in a black and white.”

  “So? There’s enough money to go around.” Cleaver replied.

  “The fewer people we have involved in this, the better,” Ratzinger told him.

  “I’m Internal Affairs. I can get us a couple of dirty patrolmen to pull her ass over and plant the shit. That’s nothing; we do it every day,” Cleaver told them.

  “I can break her in the confession room,” Ellington added.

  “Break her? She hasn’t committed a crime. Police 101, guys, remember your first day at the academy. An innocent person isn’t going to confess,” Ratzinger pointed out.

  Cleaver leaned forward. “I say we get her in the room, let her know how much time she’s facing, and we get her to trade her freedom for the goddamn money.”

  “And if she doesn’t confess?” Ratzinger asked. “What if she doesn’t break? What if she requests an attorney? What if some hotshot lawyer walks her ass out of the station and is on the phone with Internal Affairs the next day? What happens then? Anybody thought about that shit? Jesus Christ, guys! Think! We can do better than that shit!”

  Davis leaned back in his chair. “What about a boyfriend? You think she’d give it up to a lover?”

  Ellington smiled. “I don’t think you’re her type, Dickie.”

  “Not me, asshole. I’m talking about bringing in a young detective friend of mine to seduce her ass.”

  “And you think he looks hot enough to seduce her?” Ellington laughed. “Dickie, I’m going to have to watch you.”

  “Fuck you, Toya!” Davies groped himself. “This is all dick, and it loves nothing but pussy.”

  “Okay, at least you guys are thinking,” Ratzinger told them.

  “Hey what about the big fish you caught, what was that guy’s name, umm . . . Rick or Rik,” Cleaver said. “What about him?”

  Ellington shrugged. “What about him?”

  “She offered to help him once, didn’t she? Maybe she’d be willing to offer it to him again.”

  Ellington nodded. “Maybe.”

  “We just have to make him need it.” Davis smiled.

  “We’ll bust his ass, as soon as he jaywalks.” Cleaver added. “We can plant some shit on him, juice things up for the judge so his bond is through the roof, and put the word out on the street.”

  “How can we guarantee that she’ll get the word, or even give a shit?” Davis asked. “And how can we be sure that she’ll even make the offer again, or that he’ll accept it?”

  “Look, we just need to come up with a way to get her to lead us to wherever she’s got it stashed,” Ratzinger told them. “What about the grandmother? Any medical bills? Any creditors? Anybody close to her that she would loan a large sum of money to? That’s what we need to start looking for, see who she’s close to. Start tracking friends and family. See who she hangs out with and calls all the time. Real police work, ladies and gentlemen, time
to show why each of you made detective.”

  Ellington lifted her beer into the air. “To making detective.”

  “Detective!” The others lifted their glasses to toast.

  “Let’s hurry up and put this bitch in the poorhouse,” Cleaver added.

  The others around the table laughed.

  Manhunt

  Terrell walked to the door and pounded on it forcefully. He hated being in Richard Allen, especially on a day like today, when he had business to take care of. There was always some stupid-ass niggas wanting to stare you down or eyeball you like they’re hard. And when you played the game with them, it almost always led to a gunfight. He had no time for that kind of bullshit today. No, today he was on a mission. He needed to handle his business and keep it moving. Gah Git opened the front door.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for her.” Terrell held up the photo that he had of Gena.

  “Her?” Gah Git eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t know who that is.”

  “Your granddaughter.”

  “I don’t have my glasses on. You got a name?”

  Terrell smiled. “Gena. I’m looking for Gena.”

  “Oh, well, Gena don’t live here no more. What’s your name? If she calls I’ll tell her you came by. If you want you can leave me your phone number for her.”

  “I heard that she does live here.”

  “Well, you heard wrong, son.”

  “You wouldn’t be trying to play games with me, would you?” Terrell asked. “She’s not inside hiding or anything like that, right?”

  “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Now, I said she ain’t here and she don’t live here, and don’t you come back here no more,” Gah Git said, trying to slam the door in his face, but Terrell stuck his foot in the door.

 
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