Dirty Work: Part 2

The Kid was smart, and so far he had brought them ahead of the game and kept them alive with wits. Devon and Papa John had to respect him. He had many tricks up his sleeve, and they could see in his eyes that he was a lot more dangerous and deadly than his brother.

The two men were dismissed. They left the room. The Kid sat there for a moment, consumed in silence and stillness. It was going to be a long road ahead for them. He was willing to travel it for his brother—for his revenge. He wheeled himself toward the window and looked outside. A deep breath came to him, and he balled his hands into fists. Though departed from his brother physically, The Kid still felt Kip’s presence inside of him. He would see Kip in his dreams, and most nights, he could hear his brother’s voice, talking to him and guiding him. Some would say it was madness or that he couldn’t let go, but The Kid saw it as a sign that they would always be together, as one—even in death.

2

Two black Escalades came to a stop on Surf Avenue, and the engines were left idling in front of the iconic Coney Island amusement park in Brooklyn, New York. The first SUV carried armed Egyptian killers, and the second carried a crime boss with his beautiful lady, an armed Egyptian driver, and one bodyguard riding shotgun. The back door to one of the Escalades opened up, and Maserati Meek exited the vehicle first, followed by Jessica. Dressed in white shorts and a white button-up with his long, black hair in a bun, Meek stood elated on the sidewalk packed with people. The sun’s rays made his gold and diamond Rolex glimmer. He wanted to enjoy the beautiful day and have some fun racing karts.

Jessica flanked her man wearing a pair of floral skinny jeans, a tank top, and a pair of heels. She was Maserati Meek’s eye candy. She was in his ear about the upcoming event, the one where Kid and everyone else would be killed. Her mouth was salivating with the thought of Eshon, Brandy, Kid, and everyone else meeting their demise at the same time. She carried no forgiveness for anyone. They had all wronged her and embarrassed her, and now she wanted to have the last laugh.

Maserati Meek didn’t want to discuss business today. He told her that everything was taken care of, and that she should relax. Today was a fun day, a day to chill and enjoy the speed of a racing kart.

“We’re in Coney Island, eh. Look around, Jessica. Nothing but sun and fun,” he said.

She looked around, and it was the last place she wanted to be. She wanted to leave right away. She wanted to ride off into the sunset with him, but Meek had other plans. He acted like they weren’t at war with rival crews—like he wasn’t a marked man.

Maserati Meek walked toward the racing karts. His goons flanked him, and it drew some attention. Jessica noticed hungry looks from several women aimed at her man. Meek was handsome and rich, and they wanted to sink their claws into his soft, brown flesh and latch on. But Meek was hers, and she wouldn’t hesitate to beat a bitch down if they had the audacity to step. She rolled her eyes at the thirsty bitches and walked hand in hand with Meek toward the karts.

The line was short, the skies clear, and the people around were having a good time. Meek joined the line for the ride. He was all smiles. Soon, it was time to ride the go-karts. He climbed into a black one. He reached out for Jessica and uttered, “Come eh . . . enjoy this with me.”

She managed to smile. She climbed into a blue go-kart behind his, and two of his men climbed into similar go-karts. Three strangers climbed into the last three, and the race was soon to be started. Maserati Meek was in front, ready to take off. Like his life, he was in charge, the leader up front.

The attendant made sure everyone’s seatbelt was secured, and then he released the gateway. Meek took off down the track, hitting the first curve with his feet completely pushed against the accelerator. Jessica was right behind him, catching up fast. He slammed against the barrier and Jessica hurried by him. Meek soon got back right and slammed on the accelerator and took off; he was now in third place, but he didn’t plan on being third for long. He zoomed around the curve at top speed and came barreling behind Jessica. He was determined to win. The two went neck and neck around the track. Surprisingly, Jessica was good at this. Maserati Meek was impressed. Now they both were having some fun.

It was the last time to circle the track, and Jessica was in the lead by a hair. Meek was close—too close. He was gaining speed, and when they were parallel just seconds before crossing the finish line, Maserati Meek sideswiped her. Jessica went crashing into the barrier, and Meek crossed the finish line, coming in first place. She came in third.

Maserati Meek sprung from the kart looking victorious. His huge grin was splattered across his smug face. Jessica was upset.

“You cheated, homes!” she griped.

“You win by any means necessary, eh . . .”

She pouted.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said.

“You better.”

It was a different side of him, one that was almost confusing to her. How were men like him able to laugh and have a good time when they were crime bosses and cold-hearted killers? Maserati Meek seemed so cool and pleasant today. There was no concern about rival drug organizations or fearing retribution from Kip’s crew. How could he put it aside so easily?

“Let’s go for a walk near the beach, eh,” he suggested.

He took Jessica by her hand, and the two of them walked toward the boardwalk that stretched parallel against the crowded beach with his men close behind him. They moved coolly but with watchfulness. This world was far different from their home across the Atlantic. Their country was in turmoil, torn apart by political strife and civil unrest. A day at the beach and theme park rides were far and few between in their country.

“I love here,” Maserati Meek proclaimed. He gazed at the beach flooded with people and the calm, blue ocean.

Jessica remained silent. She couldn’t relax like him. She couldn’t escape from everything that had been happening. Her mind was forever bothered by what if’s—what if Kid and his crew were there, or Panamanian Pete and his killers, the feds? So many enemies. What did Maserati Meek have inside of him that allowed him to come off so cool and collected? The new faces surrounding them—their vibes were disturbing, but Jessica knew they were men from Meek’s country there to protect them and were proficient and efficient at getting any job done.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

They traveled farther down the boardwalk, mixing in with the regular civilians as best they could, but there were fleeting and lingering looks thrown their way. No matter how much Meek tried to fit in, he stood out. His man bun, wooly beard, urban attitude, and

his jewelry made it nearly impossible for him to blend in. The men with him wearing turbans in the summer heat were the epitome of being racially profiled—terrorists was their first thought.

Some fool even shouted out while in passing, “Remember 9/11!”

The comment didn’t bother Maserati Meek; he kept his cool and a smile. It was just a fool with his opinion, and even so, he could be a dead fool with one snap of Meek’s fingers. Besides, no Egyptians were involved in the 9/11 attacks. Today was a day of peace and enjoyment, no violence—not yet anyway.