Dirty Work Part 1 Read online

  Kip smiled, knowing the type of parties the girls would throw. It was known in the hood that Judy and Cindy were both strippers and thots of the year—easy pussy for the right price, sometimes maybe no price. They were into drug dealers and bad boys and could suck a dick so good, they could deflate a rock with their porn-style talents.

  Cindy was up close and personal on Kip, patting at his chest, admiring his style, and talking into his ear. It was obvious that she wanted him. Judy too. But Cindy was into him more, though they’d never fucked.

  Cindy licked her lips and asked him again, “So, you comin’ tonight?”

  “I’m busy tonight,” Kip announced.

  “Aaaah, too bad, we could have had some fun. You know . . . we still can.” Cindy bit her bottom lip, toying with her long hair and eyeing his crotch.

  Kip chuckled.

  Making her way toward Kip and the dynamic whores of Harlem was Eshon. She marched toward Kip with a frown, seeing Judy and Cindy talking to her ex-boyfriend. Even though they weren’t together at the moment, she wasn’t about to let Kip fuck either one of the girls. Dressed in a short skirt that showed off her toned thighs and her long, defined legs and a Swarovski crystal top that glimmered like diamonds on her chest, she strutted their way, her high heels thumping against the pavement. Eshon was a truly beautiful woman. Twenty years old with rich, brown skin, a straight weave, and round chestnut-colored eyes, her body was thick in all the right places. Along with her looks, she had a voice like Jennifer Hudson’s, singing wherever she went.

  “Um, excuse me,” Eshon exclaimed to Cindy and Judy. “Do y’all bitches have someplace to be, besides up in my man’s face?”

  The two thots looked at Eshon with a matching attitude.

  Cindy said, “I thought y’all weren’t together anymore.”

  “Bitch, you thought wrong. Y’all two bitches need to walk off now before I snatch y’all weaves and leave both y’all bitches fuckin’ baldheaded.”

  Cindy sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t want any part of Eshon, who was both a beauty and a beast. Eshon was hood-certified and had a reputation for roughly snatching out hair weaves and leaving bitches bloody and dazed. She ran with Brandy and Jessica, and they were down for whatever. The ghetto had started to call the girls the “E and J Brandy bitches.” They worked hustlers like they were magic tricks, wore the best clothes, and dealt only with prize niggas. They got respect in Harlem.

  Cindy and Judy got the message. Both girls pivoted and walked away.

  Eshon stood there with her arms across her chest, looking at Kip like he owed her an apology.

  Kip barked, “Bitch, what the fuck is up wit’ you?”

  “What’s up wit’ me? What the fuck is up wit’ you? Really, them two thots, Kip? Cindy and Judy? I know you weren’t about to fuck wit’ them.”

  “And if I was?”

  “Them some nasty hoes.”

  “Yo, you ain’t my bitch anymore, so you need to stay the fuck out my business!”

  “So you just gonna do me like that, like you ain’t never loved me? Like I didn’t do everything for your ass?”

  “We ain’t together anymore, Eshon. You need to get that in your fuckin’ head!”

  Eshon sucked her teeth and glowered. “So you rather go from classy like this”—She gestured toward her nice and well-dressed figure—“to them ashy and nasty bitches?”

  Kip shook his head and sighed.

  Eshon and Kip had fucked around for years, but Kip was tired of the drama and Eshon’s jealousy and petty ways. He liked being a single man and wanted to fuck who he wanted without Eshon hating on him. But she was having a hard time getting over him.

  “Did you prank-call me last night?”

  “What the fuck I look like, Eshon? Huh? I ain’t got time for games. I ain’t on no childish bullshit. I’m tryin’ to get money on these streets.”

  “I’m just sayin’ Kip, somebody’s been calling me and hanging up.”

  “Bitch, it ain’t me. Step off wit’ that drama.” Kip nudged her out of his way and proceeded toward the truck, leaving her there looking dejected.

  She watched Kip walk toward Devon and Papa John, who were laughing. She marched off upset.

  Papa John climbed out of the passenger seat, so Kip could ride shotgun.

  Once inside, Kip barked, “Y’all are two stupid muthafuckas! Y’all smoking weed in public. I could see y’all asses a mile away puffing. What if I was five-O driving by? Huh? Y’all niggas tryin’ to get locked up before we do this shit tonight?”

  “Yo, my bad, Kip, you right,” Devon said.

  Papa John extinguished the weed. “I guess you ain’t smoking then.”

  “Yo, Papa John, it ain’t no time for your jokes,” Kip told him.

  “Yeah, you right.”

  “Y’all ready to do this thing tonight?”

  Devon answered, “Nigga, you know we ready.” He was itching to get this money. “We always ready.”

  Papa John reached down in his seat and slyly handed Kip some new burners for the night’s task—Glock 19s. Everyone received new guns because their old ones had too many bodies on them.

  Kip quickly inspected the Glock with the extended clip. It felt great in his hands. “Yeah, these are nice. I like ’em,” he said.

  “I’m glad you do,” Papa John said.

  “We good for the night? Is everything set straight?” Devon asked as he navigated the truck toward the Henry Hudson Parkway.

  Kip replied, “Yeah, we gonna pick up the tickets right now. Shorty on point.”

  “Cool.” Devon smiled, his yuck mouth showing in the rearview mirror.

  They headed toward the Bronx, moving through the neighborhoods of Washington Heights and Inwood, and crossing over the Broadway Bridge.

  Two

  Kip Kane climbed out of the Expedition on West 225th Street in the Bronx. He told his crew to wait there and walked alone into the Marble Hill Housing Projects. With the shopping center and Applebee’s right across the street, the road was swamped with afternoon traffic and pedestrians. Kip wasn’t worried entering an unfamiliar housing project. Leaving his pistol in the truck, he showed no trepidation as he walked toward his destination with his head held high. The area was flooded with local goons and police. Kip couldn’t risk having a stop-and-frisk implemented on him. NYPD patrolled the area heavily because it was close to a shopping area and a few eateries.

  He entered the building lobby, stepped into the pissy elevator, and pushed for the eighth floor. He ascended alone. The bell soon chimed, and the doors opened. Kip stepped out into the narrow hallway and made his way toward apartment 8E. He knocked twice and waited coolly. Soon, the apartment door opened, and a woman appeared. She was in her early forties with tan skin and blonde dreadlocks. She was dressed conservatively for the spring weather, wearing a vibrant, printed maxi-dress and some embellished thong sandals. Stepping to the side, she invited Kip inside.

  Kip entered the large, neatly furnished apartment. The woman was living large in the projects, with a 90-inch TV, Italian furniture, and high-end stereo system. Kip removed a bulging white envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and handed it to her. In return, she handed him an envelope, but it was thinner than his.

  Kip checked the contents and was satisfied. He had three tickets to the Nets against the Hawks that night. The seats were only a few rows behind the floor seats at the Barclays Center, Section 24. It was a costly area. She came correct for him.

  “We okay?” she asked him.

  “Oh, we good. These will do,” he said.

  His business completed, Kip turned and marched out of the woman’s apartment.

  He soon climbed back into the truck with his boys and said, “We’re good tonight. We in the house.” He showed them the tickets, and each man smiled. The game started at 8:30, and they wanted to get there early.

  To kill some time, the men went to eat at Junior’s on Flatbush Avenue and went over the
ir plan for the night. Kip had gotten good intel that a lot of NBA players were going to frequent a certain nightclub in the city. He wanted to know the name of the club. The trio ate and enjoyed themselves at Junior’s and ordered their famous cheesecake.

  While dining on dessert, Papa John suddenly said, “Yo, you remember when Puffy made them fools from Making the Band walk from Manhattan to Brooklyn for some fuckin’ cheesecake?”

  “I ain’t watch that stupid shit,” Devon said quickly.

  “Yeah, fuckin’ idiots! And for that faggot! Yo, Puffy would have gotten got for that stunt, fo’ real,” Kip said. “He got too much money to keep it all for himself.”

  Papa John added, “They probably sucked his dick for a record deal.”

  They all laughed.

  Soon, it was going to be time for them to get down to business.

  ***

  It was the second quarter of the game, and the Barclays Center was erupting in cheers and boos as the Nets battled it out with the Hawks in a fast-paced game. The crowd at the Barclays Center was loud and fierce. Almost everyone was standing from their seats, their attention held by the game. The Nets were down by four, but it was a good game and a close game. Jason Miller was in control and dominating Lamar Patterson on the court, and the arena was screaming out his name. He was worth the millions he was being paid. The spectators watched as the Nets applied full-court pressure on the Hawks.

  Seated in Section 24, only a few rows behind the floor seats, were Kip, Devon, and Papa John. They watched the game and cheered for the Nets, but they were really watching certain players intently. It was amazing—nothing but millionaires dribbling a basketball up and down the court and entertaining the large crowd.

  Kip thought about these players’ endorsement deals, million-dollar contracts, and the exotic cars they drove. He wanted that same wealth for himself. He wasn’t born with talent and towering height like most of these players. He had to rely on his wits and bravado to get paid. The boys politicked with a few people in the crowd, especially the moneymakers, and pretended to be like them—sheep—when they were really wolves lurking for their next big score.

  The arena erupted in a thunderous roar as Jason Miller executed a 360-degree dunk over a lone Hawks player, tying the game before halftime.

  Kip and his cronies lifted themselves from their seats and followed the crowd toward the concession stands. It would be fifteen minutes before the next half started. After spending a small fortune on hot dogs, chips, and sodas, they returned to their seats and were ready for the next half to start. Kip had what he needed: information on tonight’s after-party and the location where most of the NBA players were going to be partying. Club Revolt in midtown Manhattan was the place to be after the game.

  The fourth quarter was winding down, the Nets trailing by four points again. The Nets had possession with twenty seconds left on the playing clock. Their point guard Donald Sloan brought the ball up court and attempted a three-pointer but missed. Jason Miller grabbed the rebound and followed up with a slam dunk.

  The crowd went wild.

  There was now ten seconds left in the game, and Atlanta had the ball. Jeff Teague threw a chest pass to Kyle Korver, but Jason Miller came out of nowhere and intercepted the pass and threw up a hasty three-pointer, sinking it just before the buzzer sounded.

  Barclays Center erupted with deafening cheers. The Nets had won, and the team went berserk, and so did every fan in the building. It was a great game and a needed win for the Nets to keep their playoff hopes alive.

  Kip and his crew didn’t stick around for the celebration. They left right after the final seconds and headed toward the Expedition. Kip wanted to get to the club early. He didn’t want his victims to see him coming.

  ***

  Club Revolt in midtown Manhattan was a vibrant and fashionable club filled with sexy women, ballers, and shot-callers. The expansive nightclub featured a public party lounge with a large-scale dance floor as well as several intimate suites. It was a sleek place with a full bar and bedecked with 46-inch LCD flat-screens throughout. Club Revolt exemplified elegance through its rich and polished décor.

  “Work” by Rihanna and Drake blared throughout the club, and the floor was packed with dancers. VIP was in full swing and occupied completely with the celebrities and ballers popping bottles and even pills, and keeping companionship with the sexily dressed females.

  In the mix of the party were Kip and his crew. They stood right by each other at the bar and were watching everything, Kip being the most vigilant.

  Security was tight with bouncers everywhere inside the club. Each bouncer was dressed in black with “Club Security” stamped across their shirts, and each one stood over six feet tall. They were looking to prevent trouble inside and outside before it started since Club Revolt had a reputation to uphold. Club Revolt was a place where the celebrities, rappers, and athletes felt safe to show off their wealth. There was bling shining everywhere. Club hostesses with their short black shorts and sexy tops regularly moved through the crowd with expensive bottles of champagne with sparklers to serve the VIP.

  Kip found his mark. In fact, he found a few marks inside the club. He steadily watched three ballplayers from a distance. They were living it up in VIP with the sexily dressed ladies and downing champagne like it was water. The two Atlanta Hawks players he watched were wearing six figures on their wrists, hands, and necks, giving “icy” a whole new definition, but they were heavily guarded by security. Though there were some fine black females in Club Revolt, the two players seemed mostly interested in the white girls with their shorts dresses, blonde hair, and petite figures.

  The third player Kip watched was Jason Miller from the Nets. He stood solo in the club with no bodyguards and no entourage, a bold move on his part. He thought he was secure with his street credibility and hood upbringing. He was a multi-millionaire with his new NBA contract and endorsement deals, but he also had a reputation for being a thug and a hothead, on and off the basketball court. Jason Miller was a product of Brownsville, Brooklyn and very proud of it. Basketball had taken him out of the ghetto and a life of crime to a life of luxury.

  Jason stood in the club ice-grilling anyone that stared at him for too long. Completely standoffish, he was a mean fucker with monstrous height, standing six seven and muscular. He clutched a Moët bottle and drank straight from it like a goon.

  Kip looked Jason’s way. He was definitely the prize; his jewelry alone was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Kip hated him already.

  “Who we on tonight?” Papa John asked.

  “Yeah, Jason Miller and them two Hawks players in VIP,” Kip replied in a low voice in Papa’s ear.

  Papa John wasn’t expecting to hear three. “What? You want to get all three of them fools?”

  Kip nodded.

  That wasn’t the plan originally. They were to single out one fool in the club and set him up for a robbery, take everything he had, and leave. But Kip was being greedy. How were they going to rob three NBA players at the same time, especially when the two Hawks players had security?

  Devon was with Kip. He felt it could be done. He needed the money too, and the more of it, the merrier.

  Kip looked at a skeptical Papa John and said into his ear, “Look, nigga, we need the money, and this is our one moment to get paid from these rich niggas.”

  Kip needed the cash for his Nana. Her rent was due, and it was ten thousand dollars a month to keep her comfortable in the opulent retirement home upstate. Plus, he had other expenses to take care of. Tonight, Jason Miller and the two Hawks players were going to get got. Kip was certain of that.

  “Look, I’ll be on Jason, and y’all two niggas stay on them fools.” He motioned his head toward the Hawks player. “I’m sure y’all can get them niggas despite security around. We done hit fools like them before.”

  They both nodded.

  The night was still young, so the party at Club Revolt wasn’t ending anytime soon. For the trio,
it was about blending in and playing things cool until it was time to light the fireworks and get on with the show.

  Kip was focused, but his two counterparts decided to order champagne and keep up with the Joneses inside the club. They gazed at the lovely ladies, especially Papa John, who thought he had seen a number of future baby mamas roaming around that he wanted to sex down and make lucky number seven. And Devon threw back drink after drink.

  Kip didn’t indulge in drinking. He wanted to stay focused and clearheaded. He said sternly, “Y’all niggas really need to chill wit’ the drinks.”

  Papa John said, “Nigga, we just having some fun.”

  “We ain’t here to have fun, we here to get paid tonight. Don’t forget that shit! You think we got room to fuck this up?”

  Papa John and Devon knew Kip was right. A drunk or tipsy stick-up kid was an arrest or murder waiting to happen, so they cut back on the alcohol.

  “Y’all niggas keep an eye on them,” Kip said. “I gotta make a call.”

  Devon nodded.

  Kip turned around and walked toward the bathrooms. He pulled out his cell phone and looked for her number. He found an empty stall to occupy and called her. Though he had shunned her earlier today, there was no doubt in his mind that she would be there for him. Three rings later, she picked up.

  “Now you call me?” she answered. “You got some fuckin’ nerve, Kip.”

  “I need you tonight,” he murmured, getting straight to the point.

  “Why? Where are you?”

  “I’m at Revolt in the city, me and my crew.”

  “You doin’ a lick?”

  “Yeah. So I’m gonna need you and your friends’ help on this one.”

  Eshon sighed. Though she was hesitant in answering, she had already made up her mind. She was coming to help him. She loved him, and she wanted to be his everything, even if it meant breaking the law. “A’ight, give us about two hours.”

  “Two?”

  “You want us lookin’ right, right? So don’t rush perfection, Kip. And you owe me.” Eshon hung up.

  In Kip’s profession, two hours felt like a lifetime. But what could he do but wait for his backup to arrive? He walked out of the bathroom and connected back with the nightlife.