Prince of the City (16 page)

Malik and Lee were given the penthouse suite. As they entered the room, Malik couldn't believe his eyes. It was the type of shit he'd only seen on TV. He never thought he'd be a guest in a hotel room like this, nor treated the same as famous stars and entertainers.

After settling down, Lee and Malik went into their separate rooms and began getting ready for the party, which had already begun.

Forty minutes later, Lee arrived in Malik's room wearing a tailor-made gray silk suit with a pair of gray gators. “Damn Lee, what the fuck you got on? That shit's fly,” Malik said, checking out Lee's suit.

“This that Everett Hall shit, personally tailored. They make clothes for famous muthafuckas,” he replied while posing.

“How much it run you?”

“This one here cost me like sixty-two hundred.”

“What?” Malik's eyes widened. “Damn, nigga, I'm scared to ask how much those shoes cost.”

“Well, for your info, young nigga, these come from a store in B-More called Total Male, and they ran me like thirty-five hundred,” Lee said, smiling.

“Got damn! You're wearing a down payment on a townhouse.”

They both laughed.

“My suit only cost three thousand, and from the looks of you, I'm scared to wear it,” Malik said, knowing deep down inside that his suit looked just as nice.

“Yeah, but you're wearing that muthafucka like it cost a million. You look good, young nigga. You're shining like a star. On top of that, you got the cornrows in tight. I ain't never seen a nigga put on a suit and rock cornrows and make the shit look fly. You know you 'bout to make a fashion statement,” Lee said, admiring his young protégé.

“There's a first time for everything. Now, pop that bottle of Cristal you got over there.”

They both made a loyal toast and drank to their newfound friendship. Lee was the closest father figure Malik would ever have, and Malik loved and valued every moment they spent together. Malik was given his game by a woman and enhanced by a man. That man was Lee, a nigga who gave Malik a chance. For that alone, Lee had Malik's loyalty forever.

As soon as they got off the elevator and proceeded toward the long line of people trying to get into the show, females were constantly looking and whispering as if they were stars.

Peaches and Tracy smiled at each other after overhearing the females talking about Malik. As much as Peaches wanted to turn around and tell them the man they were talking about was the love of her life, she couldn't. So instead, she just listened to their flattery, knowing deep down inside that they would never experience the passionate lovemaking with the young nigga.

Malik and Lee walked straight past the crowd and were led into the party by a burly, well-dressed bouncer. Once they entered the party, gangsters came up with bottles of champagne and women brushed past each other to get a glimpse of the man throwing the party and his young protégé.

Malik and Lee were seated in the VIP section along with some of D.C.'s major players, the real big boys, those who sold bricks and those who got paid heavily to kill.

Each one of the gangsters paid their respects to one another with a strong embrace and a tight handshake. At one table was the young nigga who lived next door to Malik. Fat Troy and his crew had bitches practically trying to suck their dicks in VIP. Seated at another table was the OG named ‘O', who was accompanied by the dude Pretty Rick from Kennedy Street. And deep in the corner with some of D.C.'s baddest dime pieces was Malik's man from Southeast, Rock. All of Rock's women were bad, but none of them could fuck with Peaches.

Lee was the first to see Peaches walking around the party. After excusing himself from Malik and two fine-ass divas, he proceeded toward her.

“Hey, where are you going?” Malik asked Lee.

“I see somebody I know. I'll be back. Enjoy yourself.”

“Don't worry about him. We'll keep you company,” one of the females said as she placed her hand on Malik's dick under the table.

While Malik was busy with the two women, Lee was trying his hand with Peaches. “Ah, excuse me, miss. Can I have a word with you?”

Peaches turned in Lee's direction. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah, boo. I've been tryna get at you ever since I saw you on Georgia Avenue.”

“Your name is Lee, right?”

“Yeah boo, I'm Lee,” he responded proudly. Lee actually thought because of his status that Peaches would be interested in him.

“Well, Lee, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but you know me and Malik—”

“Look, whatever you and Malik do is between you two. I'm just tryna show you something worth your while.”

“Well, what's up with you and my girl Linda?” Peaches asked curiously.

“You know me and Linda cool. You also know Linda could never be a nigga's woman, not in her profession.” At that very moment Peaches became offended.

“And how do you know I ain't in the same profession?” she asked in a defensive tone.

“'Cause baby, if you was, a nigga would've been pulled you out and made you his wife.” He then tried reaching for her hand, hoping she'd fall for his charm.

Peaches smiled and thought, I wish Malik thought the same way. “Lee, I'm sorry. To be honest, I'm totally in love with Malik.” She pulled her hand back from his.

“Malik is young, sweetheart. What can he do with a woman like you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Yeah, 'cause a nigga like me need to know.”

“Well, for your information, Malik makes me have multiple orgasms even when he doesn't touch me.”

“Damn! Malik must be a bad muthafucka.”

“No, he's a good Peaches fucker.”

“I hear you, boo. But if you ever decide to stomp with a big dog, let me know.”

“No thank you. Malik's enough.”

* * * * * * *

Malik was in the elevator going up to his suite with two gorgeous divas, Monica and TJ. While Monica caressed Malik's dick, TJ was rubbing her hand over Monica's breasts. As soon as they got in the room, Malik popped a bottle of champagne and rolled a thick blunt of that sticky green. Then he sat on the sofa smoking his blunt while Monica played with his dick and talked dirty in his ear.

“You want me to suck this dick, don't you? You wanna see me swallow your whole dick, don't you?”

Malik just laid back smoking and drinking while TJ unbuttoned his shirt and began licking his chest.

“Hey Malik, you got any music?” TJ asked.

“Yeah, over there.” He pointed. “Just press play. There's a CD already in there.”

TJ got up off the sofa and went into the bedroom for a few seconds. She then hollered out to Monica to turn on the music. Monica pressed play and jumped back on the sofa to continue playing with Malik's dick.

As soon as the music blared from the speakers, TJ walked back into the room butt-ass naked with heels on and danced in front of Monica and Malik to Tupac's “Gangsta Party.”

As TJ bent over and spread her pussy lips open in Malik's face, Monica began sucking his dick, coming up every now and then to ask Malik if he liked what he saw.

“You wanna fuck her pussy, Malik?” Monica asked. “That pussy looks good, don't it? I tell you what. Why don't you watch me eat it first so it'll be wet for you?”

Malik was totally tripped out as he sat and watched Monica eat TJ's pussy from the back.

“Come on, Malik. It's nice and wet for you. Now fuck her while she eats my pussy.”

Without saying a word, Malik jumped up and began fucking TJ doggie style, while TJ ate Monica's pussy. The excitement was too much for Malik, and after hearing Monica's loud moans mixed with TJ's hard grunts of satisfaction, he exploded.

Malik then sat back and drank his champagne while he watched Monica and TJ go at it like professional porno chicks. When they got in the sixty-nine position, Malik got hard again and began fucking Monica while she sucked and ate TJ's pussy. The ménage a trois lasted about two hours before Lee came knocking at the door.

Knock, Knock, Knock . . .

Moments later, Malik answered while Monica and TJ stepped out. They both kissed Malik on the cheek and told him they'd had a good time. Lee looked on in amazement as the girls left.

“Lee, you won't believe what just happened.”

“Nigga, please don't lie on your dick and say you fucked both them bitches.”

“Like I said, Lee, you won't believe what just happened. Now, let's go back to the party,” Malik said as he hugged his friend and smiled.

Malik was in a totally different world. This part of the lifestyle was all new to him, and he was loving every minute of it. The more money he made, the more he became addicted to the lifestyle that could either get him riches, sent to prison, or ultimately killed.

 

Chapter 20

-HATE ME NOW-

 

 

fter Atlantic City, Malik was back in action. His clientele grew. Everybody was talking about the young, charismatic gangster who made a serious fashion statement in Atlantic City. Females talked about him in every hair salon, and niggas on every corner constantly asked about the young dude who was getting all the money. Some wanted to get down with him while others plotted to rob him. Niggas were broke and hungry and saw Malik as fat and wealthy.

In the summer of 1995, Malik traded in his Caddy and bought a brand-new silver S500 V12 Mercedes coupe right off the showroom floor. That frustrated niggas, especially the ones over in the Southeast Jungle. For some reason, the hustlers in Southeast thought uptown niggas didn't grind as hard to reach brick status. They thought uptown hustlers were given bricks as graduation presents while they stood on the corner day and night ducking bullets and police. Little did they know, Malik had earned his the hard way just like them, and he was originally from the Southside just like them.

As Malik sat down contemplating an even bigger game plan, his phone rang.

Ring, ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Malik, it's me, Peaches. We need to talk.”

“Not right now, Peaches. I'm busy.”

“Malik, this is serious. Please baby, we need to talk.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, not really. Not until I talk to you.”

“Well, what's holding you up? Talk then.”

“No, not on the phone. We need to go somewhere private.”

“Where you at?”

“I'm at the Embassy Suites on Wisconsin Avenue.”

“Damn! What the fuck you doing up there?”

“That's irrelevant right now, Malik.”

“Can you meet me somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“It's about eleven o'clock, so we can have lunch. Meet me at Houston's restaurant down Georgetown.”

“I should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Okay, but if this shit ain't important—”

“This is a life or death situation.”

Instantly, Malik's antennas went straight up. “A'ight. Are you sure you okay though? Do I need to bring Prince?”

“Who the fuck is Prince?”

“Nothin', Peaches. Don't worry 'bout it. I'll be there in fifteen.” Malik put on his new clothes and grabbed his new gun, which he had also named Prince. After the Sonny James incident, Malik got rid of the original Prince and crowned another in its place. The new Prince was a silver sixteen-shot Smith and Wesson .45 caliber with a black rubber grip.

Malik hopped in his new Benz, placed Prince on his lap, fired up his blunt, and went to meet Peaches.

Thirty minutes later, Malik spotted Peaches standing in front of Houston's looking good in her Moschino jean outfit. As Malik pulled up, all you could hear was a song from Biggie's CD thumping its beat throughout the area. When Malik rolled down his window, the first verse of “Juicy” made Peaches smile as she looked at him sitting behind the wheel.

“It was all a dream. I used to read Word Up magazine.”

“What's up, Peaches? This joint looks crowded. You wanna go somewhere else and eat?”

“No, not really. This will probably ruin your appetite anyway.”

“Well, don't just stand there. Get your ass in, girl.”

Peaches got in Malik's car and sank into the soft leather seats.

“Damn, Malik! Now this is a serious-ass car.”

“Okay, cut the bullshit, Peaches. What did you call me early in the morning for?”

Peaches turned down the volume on Malik's system. “You're in danger.”

“What the fuck you mean I'm in danger?”

“Like I said. You're in danger.”

“Explain to me what's up and tell me everything you know.”

Malik knew Peaches was serious. At first, he thought she was calling to tell him that Lee was trying to get at her at the party. He already knew that, because Lee told him and he gave him the go ahead. After all, Peaches wasn't his girl and never would be.

“Do you know a guy named Tank from over in Southeast?”

“Nah boo, I don't think so.”

“See Malik, you don't even know your own enemies.”

“What the fuck are you talking 'bout? I ain't got no beef with nobody but the nigga who killed my parents, and I don't even know who that is. Now, who the fuck is Tank, and why is he my enemy? And how the fuck did you find this out?”

“Calm down,” Peaches said, jerking back.

“Maybe I would calm down if you stopped bullshittin' and spit it out.”

“Okay, it's like this. Tank is one of my clients, and last night we spent the night together at the Embassy Suites. I picked him up from his friend's barbershop on Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue, and when we woke up, he called his friend to come get him. When his friend came in I went—”

“Hold up, Peaches. What's his friend's name?”

“Will you let me finish first?”

“Go 'head then,” Malik said, eager to know more.