A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (26 page)

“Something about ole boy didn’t sit too well with me ever since you started dealing with him. I normally check on you and your drops from time to time. I told you I had my eye on you and I
meant that. You’re still a woman, meaning you’re vulnerable just like any other female, as you learned today.”

“Well, this is one time I can say that I appreciate you being all up in my bid’ness,” I said, trying to muster a smile.

“Let’s get out of here before he wakes up and I have to put a cap in his ass,” Stacks said. “I already don’t feel right leaving him breathing, but now ain’t the time or place to handle this nigga. He has too many nosy neighbors. If shit gets out of hand, I’ll pay him another visit. The next time, he won’t be so fortunate.” As we walked out the door, I stopped dead in my tracks.

“What you waiting on? Come on, Taylor. Let’s get the fuck out this nigga’s house. What are you lollygagging around for?” he said. I didn’t say a word. I went to the coffee table and picked up the two keys Tate had bought from me earlier.

“He won’t be needing this product. I have a strict ‘right to refuse customer service policy.’ This nigga stepped out of pocket, and he might as well find a new vendor,” I said. I was dead-ass serious. I had the dope and the money.

Stacks laughed out loud. “Girl, you crazy. Let’s roll up out this joint.” We left Tate’s spot and I followed Stacks back to his crib. From that day, we’ve been inseparable. He had won my heart, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

I quickly came out of my daydream and popped back into reality. I turned my attention to Stacks and listened to him as he laid down the details of the master plan he’d devised. I was all ears. My baby’s livelihood depended on me keeping shit in check. There was no way I was going to let him down.

A
fter leaving the county, I made arrangements to meet Jetta at our restaurant. Jetta was Stacks’s right-hand man, also known as his street lieutenant. Since Jetta wasn’t on parole, he had a bond and would be my assistant, so to speak. I had picked up Stacks’s phone from his impounded property. Every contact I needed to run the bid’ness properly was stored inside it. Our restaurant, located in southwest Atlanta, was named “Big Mamma’s,” which is what people in the neighborhood called Stacks’s grandmother. She was a strong, sturdy woman who knew her way around a kitchen. Although she was pushing eighty-three, she was still light on her feet. Everyone from the mayor to diplomats frequented the restaurant to get a taste of her cooking.

When we bought the restaurant, grandma took charge and organized things. She knew about Stacks and me running the streets. She was the main reason I left hustlin’ alone and went legit altogether. “Them streets is mean and ain’t safe for no womenfolks,” she used to continuously say to Stacks and me. We ignored her as much as we could but she didn’t let up. “If you care about that girl, you’ll make her settle down. Your grandpa, God bless him, would have never allowed me to carry on like you let Taylor,” she would say to Stacks. Tired of her constant complaints, Stacks finally made me leave the game altogether. Instead of hustlin’ the streets, I enrolled in community college and took some business classes. Then I opened our boutique, helped run the car wash, and made sure things ran smoothly at the restaurant. Grandma stopped complaining and, to be honest, I was happy and content. Stacks and I had plans to get married, but we were still young and in no rush.

I sat in a booth in the back of the restaurant and waited for Jetta. I spotted him walking in the door and waved him over to where I was sitting. As he approached me, I could see that he had been beaten up pretty badly too. He was a redbone, so if you looked at him too hard, he’d bruise. He had a black eye that he sported proudly. “I see Detective Morgan fucked you up too,” I said, not really expecting an answer.

“Yeah, that’s one fucked-up-ass cop. He ain’t shit without that badge,” he said.

“I feel you. Listen, are you hungry? I was waiting for you before I ordered anything. I’m hungry as hell.”

“Shit, a nigga starvin’ like Marvin. I didn’t get out until five o’clock this morning. Stacks sent me a message to come straight over once I made bond. By the way, thanks for posting that for me,” Jetta said with sincerity. That was one of the reasons I had so much love for him.

“Not a problem,” I said. Stacks wouldn’t have it any other way. After we placed our orders, I started filling him in.

“Stacks is going to be out of commission for a while. But we ain’t taking no shorts. Y’all still gotta eat. With that being said, I’m coming out of retirement. I’ll be heading the operation, and you’ll be assisting me. I got to have a strong hand out there to make sure niggas don’t take me lightly. That’s where you come in. I plan on running this shit with an iron fist ’cause I don’t want niggas to think that just ’cause I’m a bitch, I won’t peel their cap back. I got to represent for my man, and I won’t have it any other way. I need you to ride with me on all the pickups so they can get used to seeing my face again. I know Carlos from Fourth Ward is always late with payments. I need to make sure he don’t try to game me out of our change. Since he’s the one most likely to try me, he’ll be the first one I’ll make an example of if he don’t come correct,” I said with authority.

We were briefly interrupted when the waitress brought our
food. Since Jetta was starving, he wasted no time digging in. “Ain’t no nigga gonna try you or get the drop while I’m around. You can bet your pretty ass on that. Stacks is my man, and since you’re his family, you’re my family. We’re down like four flat tires plus the fifth wheel on a caddy, feel me, ma.”

“I’m glad you feel that way ’cause I consider you a brother. In these streets I need to feel like I can count on somebody. Go ahead and enjoy your breakfast. I have a few things to handle, and then let’s meet at the car wash tonight at six-thirty. I plan on letting everyone know what the deal is so there won’t be any misunderstandings. Gather up everyone on the squad and let them know there’s a mandatory meeting. I want everyone there.” Jetta could tell I meant business and nodded, letting me know he understood exactly what I meant.

I got up from the table, said my goodbyes to my restaurant staff, and walked out the door. As I moved toward the parking lot, I took out my keys and pushed the automatic unlock button to my 600 Mercedes Benz. It was the “S” class, white on white, surround sound, and a navigational system. It was one of the luxuries Stacks had provided. There was no way I was going to give up “the good life.” I was going to handle the business as if my man were out there doing it himself.

In the meantime, I had other things to deal with. Detective Morgan was at the top of my list. Word had it that he was a sucker for a big butt and a smile. Since I had both, he might as well consider me “poison,” as Bell, Biv, Devoe put it so eloquently. I was going to make this silly-ass Dick Tracy putty in my hands. If Stacks knew what I was planning, he would be totally against it. But that wasn’t my concern now. Since I’m the head nigga in charge, I’m going to do this my way.

I
was sitting in the zone three precinct waiting for Detective Morgan to come out of a meeting. It was very busy inside. The secretary was aggravated because the phones were ringing off the hook and she was alone at the desk. Officers were jockeying for position at the coffee machine. The line there was about as long as the line at a good club on Saturday night. There were several boxes of doughnuts on the table by the vending machine. Everyone stopped and helped themselves to them. Some of them took more than their share.
Now I know why them motherfuckers so damn overweight. That’s why they can’t catch nobody unless they’re in a high-speed chase
, I thought to myself and laughed out loud. Suddenly a dark-skinned man, approximately 6′3″, with sparkling white teeth, beautiful skin, and features as handsome as those of the singer Tyrese appeared in front of me. For a moment, I was in a trance. The nigga was a stunner, but I had to remind myself that he was a pig and therefore also the enemy.

I was happy that when, not if, this nigga took the bait, it wouldn’t be as dreadful as I’d thought. Since he was good-looking, that meant he had his share of women throwing themselves at him. Luckily for me, I’m a bad bitch. I ain’t Halle Berry but I’d give that chick Gabrielle Union a run for her money. I ain’t never had a problem getting and keeping a man. I don’t take no for an answer, and if I so much as bat these pretty eyes, I’ll get my prey.

“Ms. Dixon?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me, but call me Taylor,” I said in a flirtatious and friendly tone. I noticed him giving me an approving once-over.

Got ’im
, I thought to myself. I knew this nigga couldn’t resist me. I was hell on wheels and I knew it.

“Well, Taylor,” he paused before he spoke, “how can I be of service to you?”

“Well, Detective Morgan, I’d love to speak to you about Stacks—I mean Felix Martin,” I said. He looked at me, unsure of the reason for my visit. I lowered my voice before I spoke again. “It’s somewhat of a personal matter but I think I can be of great help to you.”

“Come back to my office,” he said. “It’s a little more private and a bit more comfortable.”

I followed him to the back where his makeshift office was. It looked like a scene from
Law & Order
. The desk was old but sturdy. Nothing stood out. Even the phone was old as hell, only one step above a rotary phone. Several awards and plaques were on the wall. On his desk was a photo of a beautiful woman who could have easily been mistaken for a model. I assumed it was his lady. But Detective Morgan didn’t seem like the faithful type. I still had a chance. Not even a bitch could stand in my way. I took a seat in the vacant chair in front of him.

“As I was saying, Stacks, my ex, was arrested last night. As much as I hate to say this, I’m not surprised you whipped his ass during interrogation. I’m actually glad you did. That nigga used to beat my ass night and day. I had to buy so much makeup from MAC to cover the black eyes and bruises he used to give me, I could have owned the company,” I babbled. I wanted him to relax and let his guard down.

“So you say Felix is your ex? You don’t seem like the type who’d deal with a filthy low-down Negro like him. And speaking of the whipping, he and his crony Jetta deserved it. I plan on taking him down. I’ve been trying to nail his ass to the cross for years. I got his ass on a humbug,” he said braggingly.

“A humbug? How so?” I asked. It was easy playing this nigga.

“Well, I’d been staking out a well-known drug dealer named Bulldog who runs Decatur. We’d been waiting to catch the thug
dirty coming off I-20. We knew the make and model of the car he was driving and the time and place where everything was going down. The only thing we didn’t know was who the supplier was. So imagine my luck when your ole boy, Stacks, shows up on the scene. But then we had one fuckup that we hadn’t accounted for.

“What was that?” My anticipation of his answers was getting the best of me.

“Bulldog got away with the dope, so I have no product to put with the bust. All we could get Stacks on was a gun charge. Since he’s a convicted felon, that’s an automatic charge,” he continued. “I couldn’t let all our investigation hours go to waste. I tried to rough him and his partner up to find out who their supplier was, but that nigga wouldn’t roll. So I had to settle for the illegal firearm charge. One less knucklehead on the streets.”

I was fuming inside but I played it cool. My years of living in the streets had enhanced my acting skills. You couldn’t tell the difference between me and Angela Bassett. I was worthy of an Oscar. I opened my legs briefly to let him get a glance at my nicely trimmed pussy. I noticed that I had his eyes looking exactly where I wanted, so I shifted in my chair, a move I took directly out of Sharon Stone’s
Basic Instinct
handbook. She would have been proud. That nigga took the bait. He might have been a cop, but he wasn’t immune to pussy. His eyes perked up and his dick stood at attention.

“Listen, Taylor, maybe we can help each other. I’m not sure how busy your schedule is this evening, but I’d like to talk to you in a more comfortable setting.”

“Sure, no problem. I know a lot about Stacks. Maybe my info can help you nail him,” I said. I had no intention of helping this nigga. I just wanted to string him along.

“I have a meeting at six-thirty, but it shouldn’t last too long. If you like, we could meet around, say, ten-thirty,” I said, feeling like I’d achieved my goal. He was panting like a lapdog. This shit was too easy.

“Uh, I’d like that a lot. Judging from our encounter, you seem very intriguing,” he said.

“Well, I guess you’ll soon find out.” I got up and noticed his eyes traveling from my long legs to my breasts.
Yeah, I got this motherfucka
. I love it when a plan comes together. I walked out of the precinct feeling on top of the world. I reached into my jacket and turned off my tape recorder.

O
ur car wash was downtown on Peachtree Street. It used to belong to the rapper Erick Sermon. He made it a known hot spot because he used to sell rims out of it. Everyone who knew anyone frequented the spot. When he put the word out that he was selling it, Stacks didn’t hesitate. He had a vision of turning it into a car wash. There were no black-owned high-end car washes, but Stacks saw no reason he couldn’t be the first. I felt like we were the Jeffersons because we really moved on up. Once word got out that Stacks had converted the shop, money started coming in hand over fist. You know how niggas like to show off their cars. What better way for a baller to front than to profile his ride at a black establishment on Peachtree Street? Niggas was in there so deep, it was like Black Hollywood, only we were in the “A.”

As I pulled into the lot, I noticed everyone’s cars. It looked like a scene from an old classic gangsta movie. Frog, Rick, and Delano loved to drive fixed-up hoopties. Frog drove a candy-apple-red ’62 Impala. Rick profiled an all-white-on-white ’72 Caprice. Delano drove his heavy Chevy. Since I didn’t see Zoot’s ride, I figured he rode shotgun with one of them. I noticed several other
cars on the front street. Jetta, Carlos, Sweet Meat, and Jake were parked on the side. I parked and quickly stepped inside the building. There was a lot of commotion but when they saw me, the room grew silent. “Gentlemen, I’m glad to see that everyone could make it on such short notice,” I began.