“How long you been fuckin’ Meek?”
“What? Homes, you can’t be serious.”
“You think I’m joking with you, Jessica? Answer me!”
Jessica looked blank, shocked that he knew. She had no response.
“Now this is how it’s going to go—If you want to live, bitch, then you’ll answer all my questions. Did you have anything to do with Kip’s murder! Did you know it was going down?”
She stood there for a moment, defiant. “Fuck you!” Jessica spat in his face, incensed.
He didn’t respond. His first intention was to kill her, but his heart wouldn’t allow it. She had always been his dream girl. He had dreamt about her plenty of nights. What he wanted was intimacy with her, but she was pushing his limits. Evidently, she wanted to die today. Kid wiped the gooey liquid from his face and contained his rage. Jessica was a disrespectful bitch.
Her eyes glared with hatred.
He stepped closer to her and said, “I want you to tell me everything I need to know about Maserati Meek.”
“You want me to betray the man I love?”
“Love—That’s cute, Jessica. We all know the only thing you love is money.”
“I do. So what’s in it for me? My services aren’t for free.”
“Besides keeping your life?”
Kid had to respect her game. He wanted to buy her loyalty, but it was only a word to Jessica. The only thing she was loyal to was the highest bidder.
He went into the duffel bag of cash and tossed her ten thousand dollars. “That’s a start,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate to take the money. “A start for what?”
“I want you to work for me, as my snitch.”
“Are you serious?”
“Does it look like I’m playing?” he returned seriously.
“Doing what?”
“Don’t worry, there’s something in it for you. I want you to tell me everything about Maserati Meek. I want to know his locations, his businesses, his trap houses, his comings and goings, his peoples. And for every spot we hit, I’ll hit you off with enough cash. You’ve been with the man for two months now, so I know you know something.”
“You gonna kill him?” she asked.
“Nah, I don’t wanna kill him, I just want to get rich off of him.”
Jessica had money on her mind and her own personal agenda. She nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Kid smiled. It’s what he expected to hear from her. Her greed was her core. She had to look out for herself. Maserati Meek took care of her, but she learned never to put all her eggs in one basket. He was at war, and anything tragic could happen.
Kid stood over her and grabbed her chin with his fingers. He held her face sternly in his hand and looked at her intently. “Listen, you fuck with me on this, and I’ll make you feel more hell than you ever felt before. I’m full of surprises, Jessica. Think about it—You thought I couldn’t walk, but I can, so imagine what other tricks I have up my sleeve if you cross me, bitch.” He released her and then said, “Now get the fuck out.”
Thirty-Seven
A white cargo van came to a stop at a red light on Atlantic Avenue and Logan Street in Brooklyn on a calm night. The driver sat smoking his Newport and waiting for the green. He drove conservatively, not wanting to attract attention, especially from the police. He was carrying over fifty kilos of cocaine in the back, smuggled in oil drums. The last thing he needed was an incident, or to have to explain himself to Maserati Meek. The driver’s head swiveled left and right, both directions cool and no threat. He had ten miles to go until he reached one of Meek’s stash houses with his product.
A panhandler made his way toward the van. His clothes were funky, and his dreads looked like they were filled with lice. “Change, change, spare change, please. All I need is some change,” he chanted, carrying a cracked coffee mug. He tapped on the window.
The driver yelled, “Yo, get the fuck away from the van, you bum!”