Dirty Work: Part 1

Maserati Meek lit a cigar and took a few pulls. The pool held his gaze. He puffed out smoke and without looking at Kip, he said, “I need another job done.”

“Who, and how soon?”

Maserati Meek kept his gaze fixed on the calm water in the pool as he smoked his cigar. He then answered, “The contract is on Big Sean, and I need this done right away.”

If Kip was shocked, he didn’t show it. He remained dispassionate and continued to listen. He had just witnessed Maserati Meek give Big Sean a diamond watch. Kip wasn’t one to ask any questions. He needed the work. He needed the cash to keep coming in.

“I’ll pay twenty large for the contract.”

“I can’t do it for anything less than fifty grand,” Kip counter-offered. “My peoples gotta eat too.”

Maserati Meek nodded in agreement to the fifty grand. It was a deal. “When it’s done, I want the watch removed from his body. Keep it for yourself as a bonus, eh, my friend.”

Just like that, Kip was once again a hired killer. If the man wanted one of his own lieutenants killed, then so be it. For Kip, it was just business, nothing personal. It wasn’t the first time Maserati Meek had one of his men killed by Kip and his crew.

Lately, Maserati Meek had become a bit paranoid, maybe super paranoid. There was no talking over the phone unless it was a burner phone, and even that had its limitations. Everyone was searched, and he constantly had his home, businesses, and cars checked for wires, bugs, or any kind of electronic frequency.

Maserati Meek had been viewing Big Sean with suspicion and started to think he was snitching. Big Sean gave lame excuses for his disappearances, he couldn’t look his boss in the eyes, and there were times when he would get really nervous around Maserati Meek. Maserati Meek was trained to pick up on body language. He’d taught himself the art of finding a snitch. It was crazy, but he believed that he was a human lie detector.

Maserati Meek wasn’t aware there was another explanation for Big Sean’s odd behavior. He was having a covert affair with Nia, the woman he loved.

Kip turned and walked back into the house. He glanced at Big Sean, who was all smiles, enjoying the new watch he’d received, and he felt nothing at all. Big Sean was laughing it up with the other henchmen inside the house. He didn’t even know what was about to come his way.

Maserati Meek rejoined his men in the kitchen. Two hundred thousand dollars was handed over to Kip in a small black duffel. Kip took it, opened it, and quickly inspected the loot. The stacks of ten thousand dollars crowded over each other were joy in his hands.

Maserati Meek disappeared from the kitchen. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Everyone thought he needed his alone-time. It was usual with him.

Suddenly, he reemerged gripping a big black gun—a Heckler & Koch G36C, a high-powered gun that was meant to destroy whatever, absolutely.

Everyone stood around in shock. The room became tense.

He pointed the weapon at Big Sean and exclaimed, “You my bitch, nigga?”

Big Sean stood frozen in fear and wide-eyed. “Boss? What-what’s up?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Kip and Papa John thought they were about to see a man’s head get blown off right there.

All of a sudden, Maserati Meek cracked a smile and started laughing, subsequently exclaiming, “I’m just fuckin’ with you, my nigga! Lighten up, have some fun. I just wanted to show off my new toy to Kip.”

Big Sean released a nervous smile. He damn near pissed on himself. He sighed with relief. His boss had one twisted sense of humor. He didn’t get mad, and even if he had, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Along with drugs, Maserati Meek was heavily into the selling of guns, and not the average firearms. He had access to high-grade, high-powered weapons that he shipped overseas and kept some goodies for himself and his crew. He had the type of guns that Kip and his crew had never heard of. The Feds, ATF, and the DEA all wanted him with a hard-on, but Maserati Meek had always been one step ahead of the alphabet boys. It was one of the reasons he’d been farming out a lot of murders—to lessen the risk of anything connecting back to him.

Kip felt it was time to go. He had his money, and he had a contract to execute. “We’re gone,” he said.

“So soon, my friend? You don’t want to party tonight?”

“We good,” Kip replied.

“Okay, until next time then, my niggas,” Maserati Meek said. “And I appreciate what you do for me.”

Kip and Papa John turned away and made their way out from the home and away from the eccentric kingpin.

While they walked toward the car, Papa John looked at Kip and asked, “What he wanted to talk to you about?”

“I’ll tell you later, but it’s another payday for us.”

“A’ight, I see,” Papa John replied, already picking up on the hint.