Dirty Work: Part 1

Pete looked cool and affable at the table, with his gold Rolex peeking from underneath his white cuffed shirt, but he was known to be a brutish muthafucka with notable power. He was arrogant and moved with confidence wherever he went, owning people like he owned buildings.

Soon, a man entered the backroom. He was stopped suddenly by security. He asked to speak to Pete. He came with urgent news.

Pete nodded to the security, allowing the man closer access to him. The man approached urgently Pete’s way. He lowered himself to Panamanian Pete and whispered into his ear. Pete’s demeanor didn’t change at all when he heard about the slaughter of his men in Brooklyn, though among the men killed was his cousin Lance, not to mention the missing $800,000. Pete simply nodded, understanding the verity of the situation. The man was dismissed, and Pete continued playing cards. Inside, he was filled with rage, sorrow, and yearning for vengeance. He sat stoic though.

Maserati Meek had struck first, and now it was war.

Twenty-Nine

The men divided the cash, each of them receiving a healthy cut. It was enough money to aid some serious issues each man was having in their life. Devon stopped his Expedition in front of the projects. The hour was really late, with dawn soon coming. The block was calm, people were asleep, and the projects were still.

Papa John yawned loudly.

Kip climbed out of the SUV and gave his goons dap. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he told them.

They nodded. Devon drove off, leaving Kip alone on the sidewalk, his gun tucked snugly in his waistband.

Kip started to walk toward the building lobby. He was the only soul outside at three in the morning. He could hear his own breathing. As he got closer to the lobby, an eerie feeling came over him. He turned around, only to see Jay P in all black, gunning for him with a .45.

“You bitch-ass nigga!” Jay P shouted.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Kip scurried for safety while trying to pull his own gun from his waistband to return fire. Bullets ricocheted everywhere. He made a dash for his building.

Jay P was reckless with it. He fired more wild shots, shattering glass.

Kip felt a sudden sting on his arm. “Ouch!” he shouted. He stumbled. He was able to return fire, but Jay P was already gone. He had been grazed in the arm, but it hurt like a muthafucka.

***

Kip was able to get himself patched up at Harlem Hospital on Lenox Avenue. While being treated, he received an unwelcome visit from detectives Albright and Yang. They had heard about the shooting and came to chat with him.

Kip scowled at their presence, having nothing to say to them. They tried to grill him on the shooting, wanting him to give a name, but he remained tight-lipped. Tired of the harassment, he let the detectives know how he felt about them. Once again, they had nothing and were forced to leave.

Devon and Papa John were already aware of the shooting, and they rushed to the hospital. Kip told them to wait outside. He didn’t want their faces seen inside the hospital.

Finally released from the hospital in the early hours of the morning, Kip climbed into the back seat of the Expedition, and they rushed home. Kip was extremely worried about his brother. He needed to move Kid. Their apartment was no longer safe. They discussed what happened, and each man thought the failed hit had come on Maserati Meek’s orders. Meek didn’t believe a word they’d said, and probably figured out they had stolen the money.

All three men went up to Kip’s apartment with their guns drawn and ready for anything. Kip cautiously put his keys into the lock and pushed the door open, expecting a gunfight, but there was nothing. The place was still and quiet. He rushed toward Kid’s bedroom with his gun still in hand and pushed open the door, only to find his brother still sleeping.

“Kid, wake up! Wake up!” Kip said, rousing his brother from his sound sleep.

Kid finally woke up, looking disoriented for a moment. The sun was still new in the sky and percolating through his bedroom window. He lifted his upper half from the bed, propped up on his hands, and quickly took in that something was wrong when he saw Devon and Papa John and the bandage around Kip’s left arm.

“Oh shit! What happened to you?” he asked fearfully.

“I got shot.”

“Shot?!”

“I ain’t got time to explain what happened. We need to go,” Kip said sternly.

“What? Go where?”

“I ain’t got time to explain shit to you, Kid. Just pack some things into a small bag and let’s go.”

Kid looked agitated and almost reluctant. He knew Kip wasn’t taking no for an answer. He packed a few things, including his chess set and his game systems, into an overnight bag. They were going to stay at an Extended Stay America hotel in Mount Vernon for a few weeks. The hotel had kitchenettes and was quite a distance from Harlem. Kip felt his brother would be safer there, and Kid didn’t object.