Dirty Work: Part 1

“I don’t have time. It’s been over a month now, and I still have nothing from you but promises and procrastination.” Frustrated, Curtis removed himself from the bed and reached for his clothing. He hurriedly got dressed.

“Baby, don’t leave me, please,” she begged. Nana jumped from the bed, desperate for him to stay.

Curtis ignored her, throwing on his shoes and grabbing his cell phone.

“How will I get home?” she asked.

“Call a cab.” With that being said, Curtis stormed out of the motel room and slammed the door behind him.

Nana stood there naked, looking downhearted from his abrupt departure. Tears started to well in her eyes. She didn’t want to disappoint him and felt she had to get him that money somehow. The only way she saw it happening was through Kip. She would have to tell him one of the biggest lies ever for him to come up with a hundred thousand dollars to help her boyfriend. And she planned on getting it done very soon.

Twenty-Five

Kip stood on the rooftop of his building, underneath a sky full of stars, on a warm spring night with his Timberlands crunching against the gravel beneath his feet. He smoked his Black & Mild as he gazed at an illuminated Harlem and the George Washington Bridge in the distance. It was a beautiful night with a faint wind brushing against his face. He seemed to be in a trance, enjoying his smoke and solitude once again.

He took another drag and spun his head, alert to his surroundings. Even on the roof of his tall building, he was on guard and armed with a .38 special. He stepped closer to the ledge and gazed over. It was a long drop to the ground.

Just then, his cell phone rang. Kip removed the phone from his hip and looked at the caller ID. It was Maserati Meek. Kip felt a tinge of apprehension. His last meeting with Meek didn’t feel right, and he didn’t trust him. But business was still business, and Kip needed some work. He answered his call, “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Meek said.

“When and where?”

“Same place, tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” Kip replied, keeping things simple.

The call ended.

Kip wasn’t going to make the same mistake as the last time. This time he wasn’t going alone to meet with Maserati Meek.

***

Kip stopped his Nissan Quest in front of Maserati Meek’s lavish place in Long Island, and he, Papa John, and Devon climbed out of the van. There was a fourth man with them too, a hood acquaintance named Maniac, who remained in the van holding onto an Uzi submachine gun. He was extra backup just in case shit happened.

Kip wasn’t taking any chances this time around. He was more on point and ready for anything. He said, “Maniac, if we ain’t out here in fifteen minutes or less, you already know what to do.”

Maniac nodded. He held the Uzi like it was his own child. When it came to crazy, he was up there with Devon. Just didn’t give a fuck.

&nbs

p; Kip told them to be on high alert. The three men walked toward the door, and until they rang the bell, Devon was still in Kip’s ear about robbing Maserati Meek. But, once again, Kip was against the idea.

Maserati Meek’s goon answered the bell. He stared at Kip and his cronies and allowed them inside. But before they could take a step farther into the house, he had to perform the routine body search to make sure they weren’t carrying any concealed weapons.

“You know, this is becoming a real bore between us,” Kip said.

“Doing my job, nigga!” the man said roughly.

“Yeah, a’ight,” Kip said.

Cleared of being a danger to his boss, they proceeded inside the place.

Immediately Maserati Meek met them. He smiled and said, “I see you brought your bodyguards with you, eh. Let’s have some fun then.”

Kip didn’t find him funny. The three men stood there expressionless, making sure things weren’t about to get real funny.

“We here; let’s talk,” Kip said, wanting to get down to business and make his exit without incident.