Dirty Work Part 1 Page 4

  They had his jewelry and his dignity. It was time to go.

  Before they left, Devon glared at him and suddenly cold-cocked him with a right hook, sending the millionaire ballplayer stumbling backward and leaving him with a bloody lip. Devon shouted, “That’s for beating my Knicks last time,” and the men ran off, leaving everyone stunned and shaken up.

  Smash-and-grab, it was one way they operated.

  ***

  Finally, Jason left the club with the white groupie with the brunette curls under his arm. He had his prize for the night and was ready to enjoy himself. He deserved to be happy. He’d won the game for the Nets and was their golden boy—their Michael Jordan. His groupie was all over him as they left the nightclub, and he was all over her. He was a bit tipsy but still alert. This was his town, New York City, though he was from Brooklyn. Jason Miller was that goon in the NBA, the epitome of that old saying, “You can take a boy out of the ghetto, but you can never take the ghetto out of the boy.”

  Jason walked toward his burgundy Bentley coupe that cost $250,000. He hit the alarm button, and it deactivated. The area around Club Revolt was busy with people, cars, and the nightlife. He crossed the busy city street and was nearing his car.

  His white groupie was full of laughter and perversion. She was ready to please him anywhere at any time. If he had asked her to suck his dick in the middle of the street, she wouldn’t have hesitated in doing it. She was open for anything tonight. He knew he had picked the right one to take home. He was a few feet from his luxury coupe when, suddenly, out of the shadows, the threat came.

  Kip was cunning when it came to executing the element of surprise. Jason didn’t see him coming until it was too late.

  Kip hurried behind them, thrust the gun into Jason’s back, and said into his ear, “You already know what this is, playboy—Run ya shit!” Kip was so close to him, he could feel the man’s heartbeat. And he wasn’t intimidated by the athlete’s imposing height and his size. He had the gun and he had the wits.

  Jason scowled. “Nigga, you know who the fuck I am?”

  “Yeah, muthafucka,” Kip sardonically replied. “Why you think I’m robbing you?”

  The groupie was suddenly frightened and ready to scream.

  Kip said, “Tell ya bitch to chill.”

  Jason grabbed her and roughed her up and warned her to chill and be quiet.

  Kip then ordered him to take it all off. He wanted everything.

  “You really gonna do this?”

  “You think I’m a fuckin’ joke, nigga?” Kip pushed the barrel of the gun into Jason’s back harder, ready to blow his spine out. “Fuck around with me and catch yourself having an early retirement.”

  Jason Miller shook his head. If this had been back in the day, things would have gone differently. Jason used to be the one with the gun and doing the stick-ups. He knew the underworld very well and never thought he would become the victim.

  Slowly, he removed his watch and his jewelry and handed it over to Kip. “I’m gonna find you, muthafucka. I’ll bet everything on that, you clown-ass nigga.”

  Kip didn’t respond to his threats. In his line of work, it came with the business. Kip then told him to take off his diamond earrings. They were big and pricey.

  Jason had to take his time unscrewing them from his ear, the barrel of the gun pushed into his back.

  All this was happening on a city street in a busy area, and no one around was any wiser.

  “You got balls, nigga, doing this shit here like that. I’ll give you that, nigga. But I know plenty of niggas that had balls and were bold, and you know where they at now? Fuckin’ dead, nigga! Like you gonna be soon, you clown-ass, stupid muthafucka!”

  Kip responded, “You know, there’s a way to kill a nigga and still leave him alive. And you know how that happens? You take everything he has.”

  Kip quickly glanced around his surroundings and saw his opening. He then pointed the gun downwards and deliberately shot Jason in both of his ankles.

  Bak! Bak!

  Jason hollered from the pain and collapsed to the pavement, clutching at his bleeding ankles.

  Kip backed away slowly and then took off in a slow jog. That was for Eshon and Brandy.

  Kip reconnected with his crew, along with Eshon and Brandy. They had all done well so far tonight. Two down and one to go.

  ***

  Devon parked the truck across the street from the Gansevoort Hotel and left it idling. Kip had texted Jessica earlier and learned that she was in the hotel room still working Mike Blackmon.

  ***

  Inside the lavish hotel room, Jessica little by little removed her naked frame from the unconscious athlete’s arms. He was sleeping heavily and wouldn’t be awake for hours. Jessica had drugged his drink with rohypnol while he wasn’t looking. She didn’t even have to fuck him.

  With Mike out cold, she had plenty of time to go through his pockets and pick him clean of all his valuables. He had ten thousand dollars cash on him. His cash was now hers, and she took all of his jewelry and crammed it into her clutch and some into a pillow case she’d transformed into a carrying bag.

  Dressed and pleased, she smoothly strutted out of the hotel suite before dawn, made her way down to the lobby, and coolly made her exit from the opulent hotel and onto the city streets, where she found her friends waiting.

  Jessica climbed into the Expedition. As Devon drove off and headed back uptown, toward Harlem, she boasted about her score.

  Kip was pleased too. They had done it—They hit all three players at once and stole countless jewelry and cash from them. He couldn’t wait to tally it up and see how well they’d done.

  Five

  Feeling relaxed and mellow, Kip lit his Black & Mild and stared at today’s news on his flat-screen in his bedroom. Last night was a risk, but he needed the money. He needed to live. He had shocked the world with his bold robberies on three NBA players and the shooting of Jason Miller. It was breaking news that morning on every channel, and Club Revolt was under heavy criticism.

  The major story was this: Jason Miller was shot twice and had been rushed to the nearest hospital. He was expected to live, but his playing days in the NBA looked bleak. His season was over, leaving almost no hope for the Nets to make the playoffs.

  The news told Kip NYPD had no leads and no suspects. It was limited information, but it was still information. Having heard enough of his work broadcast on TV, he turned it off and stood up. His bedroom was quiet.

  He walked to his window and peered out, and it was another sunny, spring day in the projects. No one knew that he and his crew had done the robbery the night before.

  Kip did fifty push-ups and fifty sit-ups. He needed to keep his body in shape. He had to always stay fit and ready. Being frail and weak was a death sentence to him.

  He broke a little sweat while working out and then guzzled down a full bottle of water.

  Subsequently, he went into his little brother’s bedroom and saw Kid already in his wheelchair, fully dressed and playing Call of Duty online on his Xbox. Kid was the wholehearted gamer. He sat in front of his plasma TV with his headset and remote control, communicating with other gamers from all over the world.

  “You up and dressed, huh?” Kip said.

  “Yeah,” Kid replied, not looking at his brother but focusing on the game.

  Kip walked farther into the bedroom and noticed several hundred-dollar bills on the dresser. He picked it up and counted six hundred dollars. He looked shocked. “You won all this playing chess yesterday?” he asked.

  Kid glanced at him and smiled. “Like I said, you got your hustle, and I got mines.”

  “Damn! You definitely hustlin’, little brother.”

  “You can’t be the only one bringing income into this home,” Kid replied.

  Kip chuckled. He was impressed. “Do you.”

  Kip sat on the foot of Kid’s bed and watched Call of Duty on the 50-inch flat-screen. It was an intense game of guns and soldiers, no
t to mention it was loud and busy.

  Kid moved his avatar like a professional gamer and took on all enemies with a fierce machine gun.

  Kip couldn’t keep up with what was going on. It almost matched his real life. He then looked at Kid and said, “Look, I’m thinking about going to see Nana this weekend. You wanna roll?”

  The mention of Nana’s name put a frown on Kid’s face. “I think I’ll pass,” he said.

  “Again, Kid . . . you know she misses you.”

  “That old woman doesn’t miss us. The only thing she misses is the checks she used to get for keeping us,” Kid replied dryly.

  “Nana is a sweet lady. She has always been good to us.”

  “Because she got paid to care, Kip. And you keep her dolled up and living a lifestyle that she doesn’t deserve.”

  “Why you resent her so much, huh? If it wasn’t for her, they would have separated us,” Kip reminded Kid.

  Kid continued to frown. “But they didn’t. There was something about her that I never liked. She used us, and she’s still using you. She uses people, Kip.”

  “She’s a good woman.”

  “Good to herself.”

  Kid wanted to fart on her name. He had always believed that when he had gotten seriously hurt and paralyzed, she was elated. A crippled child would bring her a bigger paycheck from the state.

  “You’re supposed to be the kind and forgiving one,” Kip joked.

  “And you’re supposed to be the one who thinks several steps ahead and could see a setup coming a mile away. Too bad you didn’t see Nana coming.”

  Kip managed to chuckle. “Oh, you got jokes now.”

  “Anyway, go see the wicked witch of the west and give her my hate.”

  “I’ll give her your love,” Kip said.

  “Don’t go lying on me now.”

  The machine guns on the video game exploded louder. It seemed like Kid had turned the volume up, and his thumbs moved rapidly against the buttons on the controller. He didn’t even blink.

  Kip asked him, “You going down to the park today?”

  Kid nodded. “You coming to see me play?”

  “If I got time.”

  “It’s been a minute since you saw me play.”

  “I know. I’ll make the time.”

  “I would appreciate it, big bro.”

  Kip felt a tinge of guilt. He hadn’t seen Kid play a chess match in weeks. The streets mainly occupied his attention. But his brother was important, and chess was his love. Kip had been around and had been supportive of his baby brother, but he’d also been distant, doing capers and building a violent reputation.

  “I gotta go, but I love you, Kid,” Kip declared genuinely.

  “I love you too. Be safe out there.”

  Kip wasn’t afraid to kiss his brother on the cheek and show affection. After he did, he walked out his bedroom.

  Kip loved and respected his brother. They were both hustlers in the city, but Kip’s riskier hustle paid off a lot more. Kid was so good, he was making his own profit from playing numerous games with some of the best players. He was the master chess player, and there was a long line of challengers ready to try and beat him at the game. For so many, it was embarrassing to be beaten by a wheelchair-bound ghetto kid who played video games in his spare time.

  Kip took the elevator down to the lobby while clutching his bag full of goodies. Last night’s stick-up was lucrative, and he had a lot of merchandise to move. He and his crew had come off with three big-faced watches—one a platinum diamond Cartier and two gold Rolexes; three platinum chains; several diamond rings; a pair of diamond earrings; and over twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. Their total take could be in the hundreds of thousands, depending on how Kip moved the stolen merchandise. He was wise not to pawn off any of the athlete’s jewelry at any shops in town, knowing everything could be traced and that dealing with pawn shops left behind too many fingerprints. It would be the first place the cops would look for the stuff.

  Kip had a better way to fence the stolen goods. He had a guy named Maserati Meek who would probably want to buy it all from him. The first call Kip made that day was to him.

  The phone rang twice then Meek picked up with, “My favorite friend. How are you, Kip?”

  “I’m good, Meek.”

  “This call must be about business then, my friend.” Maserati Meek had a strong Middle Eastern accent. He sounded nasal and spoke from his throat.

  “Of course. When can we meet?”

  “Eh, today, my friend. Four this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be there.” Kip hung up.

  Kip didn’t like to prolong phone conversations or discuss business over the phone. There was no telling who was listening and who was watching. He was certain that Maserati Meek would buy the jewelry from him at a reasonable price, where he wouldn’t feel cheated. The stolen cash had already been divided up, with Eshon and her girls getting their percentage.

  With over seven thousand dollars in his pockets on another sunny and warm spring day, Kip took a deep breath of fresh Harlem air and exhaled. He had time to chill and think. Besides, after last night’s stick-up, they needed to keep a low profile. He was confident that they had escaped arrest. Surveillance cameras were in the area, but Kip had made sure to cover all angles, remaining covert and unseen, and Midtown was a busy place with many people. He was sure that Devon and Papa John were careful too. They didn’t need anything coming back on them.

  His meeting with Maserati Meek was in five hours.

  Six

  Eshon walked around her apartment in her panties and bra singing her heart out. Thinking about Kip, she belted out Jennifer Hudson’s “If This Isn’t Love.” She continued as she walked into her kitchen, matching Jennifer Hudson’s stellar voice.

  It was a sunny day, and the only thing or person she could think about was Kip. She wanted to spend the day with him. She wanted to nestle inside his arms and make love to him. Last night was eventful, despite the incident with Jason Miller. Once again, she showed Kip that she was there for him always. He paid her and her girls three grand from the cash they took off the athletes. Eshon was ready to go shopping with her cut.

  In the kitchen, she made herself French toast and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Her attention shifted from Jennifer to Fantasia, when she started to sing “When I See U.” While she stood over the stove, her voice traveled throughout the apartment.

  Eshon had the place to herself. Her mother was at work, her father wasn’t around, and she didn’t have any brothers or sisters. The only sisters she had in her life were Jessica and Brandy. She’d grown up with Brandy, knowing her since the fifth grade, and Jessica came around when she was fourteen years old, bringing that L.A. swag and gang attitude to Harlem.

  At first the girls were skeptical of Jessica with her West Coast demeanor and pretty features. Brandy, in particular, was extremely envious of the girl. Jessica proved to everyone that she wasn’t just a pretty face and a stuck-up bitch. Jessica was a pit bull in a skirt and a fighter, and she planned on making her bones in Harlem just like she had in L.A. It took a while for Jessica to fit in and adapt to Harlem, but once she did, she became one of the girls.

  With breakfast made, Eshon turned on the television to NY1, a twenty-four-hour news channel that aired only in the five boroughs. She stopped short in what she was doing when she saw Jason Miller’s mug displayed on the television. She searched for the remote and increased the volume. Right away, she heard the news of Jason Miller being shot twice last night, but he was in stable condition. The news anchor went on to inform the public that two other NBA players were robbed last night but weren’t harmed.

  Eshon’s eyes were glued to the TV. She had no idea that Kip had shot him. He didn’t say a word about it. She was shocked. Did he do it for her? Was he protecting her honor? Eshon was floored. She was happy that he had done it. She hated that muthafucka and felt he had it coming. He was arrogant and disrespectful to women—especially black women.
>
  She smiled. She wanted to have Kip’s baby. She knew he cared and it would only be a matter of time before they got back together.

  ***

  Eshon met up with Jessica and Brandy on West 133rd Street. She wanted to enjoy the sunny spring day and hit 125th Street with them to do some shopping.

  “Hey, girl,” Brandy greeted with a smile and a hug.

  “You looking special today,” Jessica said.

  “Thanks.”

  Eshon felt special. Her smile was white and she was glowing. She was hoping to run into Kip today. She was always thinking about him and trying to look pretty for him.

  The girls climbed into Brandy’s old gray Chevrolet Malibu and headed toward the shopping area. Though Brandy schemed and robbed with her crew from time to time, she still held down a job, making ten dollars an hour at a cafeteria in the city to occupy some of her time and give her some pocket change on the side.

  “Y’all heard about Jason Miller?” Eshon started with the talk.

  “Yeah, he got shot last night,” Brandy said.

  “He was a bitch-ass nigga fo’ real,” Jessica added. “Homes deserved that S.O.S.”

  Brandy and Eshon looked at each other and asked, “S.O.S.?”

  “Shoot on sight,” Jessica informed them.

  The girls laughed.

  “Eight years in Harlem and still that L.A. shit comes outta you.”

  “I’m never gon’ forget where I come from.”

  “We all won’t,” Eshon said.

  “Kip did that for you?” Brandy asked her.

  “Maybe,” Eshon said.

  “That’s love right there, Eshon,” Jessica said.

  Eshon sat in the front seat feeling like she was voted prom queen. She broke out into a Fantasia song right there. Lyrics from “Truth Is” spilled out.

  Brandy rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. Eshon was always singing and showing off, no matter where they were. She had to let everyone know that she could sing.

  “Okay, Whitney Houston, this isn’t a concert hall, and we ain’t an audience of seventy thousand.”

  “Don’t hate, Brandy,” Eshon replied.