The Demise (19 page)

Zyir followed Carter's gaze until his own eyes fell upon Miamor, who stood courtside cheering on the game that was going on between Fly Boogie and C.J. “I'm surprised you haven't choked that nigga out yet,” Zyir said.

“She's not mine anymore,” Carter said.

“Then how come you can't stop looking at her?” Zyir asked knowingly.

“Lil' nigga want to do business. He got the plug on the pills. Monroe is all in. Monroe wants to pull me back in.…” Carter let his words drift off. He really couldn't imagine getting back into the streets. They had burned him. He knew the streets had no love for him. The only thing they hadn't done was claim his life. If he kept trying his luck, eventually he would meet an early grave … just like his father.

“I ain't gon' lie. Shit in Flint ain't laying like that. Your bro would appreciate if you did decide to come back in for one last run,” Zyir stated. “We came up doing this shit. You can run this shit in your sleep. You've been gone for three years, fam, and spent five years locked up before that. Imagine how good it would feel to have that old thang back. The power. We ran this bitch before everything got hectic and I hate to admit it, but the pill shit is the new crack. Your man might be onto something with that.”

Carter was unmoved, but Zyir knew him well enough to know that even if he was contemplating coming out of retirement, it would be a silent brooding. Carter was the type to make moves, not announcements, so only time would tell if he was buying what Zyir was selling. “I'm just saying, give it some thought,” Zyir said convincingly. He felt like a piece of shit for going against the grain. Carter was more than an associate; they were brothers. Carter had groomed Zyir. He had taught him everything that he knew. They were family before either of them had ever even uttered the word “cartel,” and now it had all been reduced to this. Zyir realized that they were living their last days. The DEA had a hard-on for all of them, and after they made their move, their lives would never be the same.

*   *   *

Fly Boogie grabbed his keys from the valet and then waited for Miamor and C.J. as they said their good-byes. He stood patiently at the passenger side of the car as Miamor stood in front of Carter.

“So what's the plan? I guess we need to talk about arrangements for C.J.?” Miamor asked.

“I want him with me,” Carter said in a low tone.

She sighed because she knew this would be an issue. “Carter, that's not happening. You know that I will never keep him from you, but he's my baby. I need him with me,” she said.

“In L.A.?” Carter asked.

She nodded.

Carter sighed. “I want him every weekend. I'll come get him Fridays and drop him off at school on Mondays,” he said.

She nodded. “I don't have to tell you to take care of yourself,” Carter said, looking at her. They were both aware that everyone's eyes were on them. Sam, Fly, even C.J. was watching them closely.

“Carter, all you have to do is tell me to come home. Forgive me and tell me to leave him,” she whispered.

“That's not my place anymore,” he stated, his tone cold.

Miamor knew that she had placed layers of hurt onto him. She didn't know if he would ever see her the way that he used to. “It will always be your place,” she whispered. She turned. “C.J., come tell Daddy bye.”

C.J. ran up and stuck out his balled fist. Carter chuckled. “You dapping it out now, huh?” Carter asked, amused at how much his son had grown up.

“Yeah, all that mushy stuff is for suckers. Fly says it ain't gangster,” C.J. said.

“Fly says, huh?” Carter mumbled. He pulled his son in by the hook of his head and gave him a hug. “I'll be there every weekend to get you. Take care of your mama, a'ight?”

C.J. nodded, and Carter kissed the top of his head before he ran to get into the car.

Monroe stepped next to Carter and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Yo, Fly!” he called.

Fly turned around after helping Miamor into the car. “I put a little something in the trunk for you,” Monroe said.

Fly nodded his head and then hopped in the driver's seat and pulled away.

*   *   *

Fly rubbed his hands together as he popped the trunk. Monroe was about his paper and he was excited about the possibility of getting money together. He hadn't expected Monroe to send him back to Cali with a trunk full of bricks, but he was more than ready for the load … even if he had to drive them all the way back to L.A. himself.

He pulled up the trunk in excitement. “Oh, shit!” he shouted as he stumbled backward, in shock at the “package” Monroe had left him. Inside lay one of his goons, specifically the one Carter had checked at the party. His body was cut up in pieces and wrapped in plastic. He had paid a hefty price for his disrespect. Fly slammed the trunk in frustration. He was his own man now. He had power and money, but he would never be on the level of Carter Jones, and he knew that in order to keep Miamor, he would have to be. She had a thing for street kings.

 

C
HAPTER
13

Miamor stepped into her walk-in closet, but instead of shoes and bags, it was filled with handguns and choppers. She felt a presence behind her and turned to see Fly. His lean frame was covered in tattoos, and he gave her a sexy grin as he walked up on her.

“He has a mom who has a closet full of guns,” she said. “I'm going to ruin my baby.”

“Nah, ma,” Fly replied as he pulled her close, pulling her into him. “You're good. He's good. I'mma make sure of that.”

Miamor exhaled deeply. She wished that his words held as much weight as he would like them to, but truth was, they didn't. The only man she had ever sought approval from was Carter Jones, and Fly was a far cry in comparison. Every part of her wanted to fly to Colorado and get her man, but Carter had been clear.
He's not fucking with me,
she thought. Carter's rejection stung, but she had a man in front of her who wanted her. He had literally done the impossible just to be with her when he killed Baraka. He had returned C.J. to her, making her feel forever indebted to him. That alone made her feel like she was obligated to give him a chance. He wanted to be her man and in fact he was a good man. He just wasn't Carter.
No one ever will be,
she thought as she halfheartedly hugged Fly.

He noticed her lack of enthusiasm. In fact, he had noticed it ever since she had reconnected with Carter. He stepped back. “You a'ight?”

She nodded. “I'm fine.”

“I'm not Carter. All I can do is be me, Miamor,” he stated knowingly.

“That's all you need to be,” she reassured him.

“I've got the money, the power, but I can't compete with history. If you gon' run back to that man, do that now. Don't be here doing this with me and then one day I look up and you're gone,” Fly stated.

“I'm here, I'm with you,” she stated.

“A'ight,” he said as he kissed her lips.

“I've got to hit the blocks, but I can drop little homie off at school if you want,” he offered.

This was why she appreciated him. Fly was great with C.J. He was attentive and went above and beyond to connect with her son. She nodded. “You're good with him,” she said with a smile.

“I can be good with another one, too,” he said.

Her brow raised in shock.

“I want a baby, Miamor, and I want her to look like you,” he said as he boldly palmed the V between her legs.

He had caught her off guard and she didn't know how to respond. She honestly couldn't see herself having children by any other man than Carter. She had never even wanted children. She had made an exception for him. She couldn't commit the same to Fly. Her mouth fell open in satisfaction as Fly Boogie got on his knees and pulled her satin panties to the side, placing his face right in her pleasure. “This is my pussy, Miamor. Can't nobody make it feel as good as me,” he mumbled as he ate a full course of her, bringing her to an earth-shattering orgasm right there in her closet.

Fly may not have been her soul mate, but he knew exactly how to please her.
God, that tongue is golden,
she thought as she used her bloodred fingertip to wipe herself off his lips. He wasn't good enough to put a baby in her, but he was good enough to keep making her scream while he tried. She made a mental note to get on birth control. She wouldn't insult him by asking him to strap up, but having another child wasn't on the agenda—at least not for her.

*   *   *

C.J. rode in the car, silent as he watched the L.A. streets fly by in a blur outside his window. After being away from home for so long, it felt odd to be back.

“You quiet over there, lil' homie, you good?” Fly asked as he maneuvered the car through the busy streets.

“Yeah, I'm good,” C.J. said, poking out his bird chest. He liked riding with Fly. Fly treated him like he was his right-hand man.

“You ready for your first day?” Fly asked.

“Not really,” C.J. said. “It's the middle of the year. Everybody already has their crew picked out.”

“You worried about fitting in, huh?” Fly said.

Not wanting to seem like he was pressed, the young C.J. said, “Nah, I don't care. I'm just saying. Everybody already got they crew.” He kept his chin up, but Fly could tell by the look in his eyes that C.J. was nervous.

“Look, you in what? Third grade, lil' homie? Elementary school is simple. Whoever has the freshest gear gets the most girls and has the most friends,” Fly said. “Simple as that.”

“Oh, yeah?” C.J. asked, intrigued.

“Most definitely,” Fly confirmed. “But first we got to get you out of them button-ups and schoolboy slacks your mama got you in. How about we play hooky today? I'll upgrade your clothes and you can spin through the hood with me today. Sound good?”

“Yeah, that sound good,” C.J. said, excited.

Fly turned the car around and headed for Compton. “You ever held a gun, big man?” he asked.

“No,” C.J. answered.

“Well, there's a first time for everything,” Fly said as he reached under his seat and placed a gun in C.J.'s lap. “Hold on to that for me. That's for you. You riding through the hood with me means you're my right-hand man. Can you handle that?”

C.J. picked up the gun, the weight of it feeling heavy in his hands. He turned it sideways and pointed it at Fly. “Like this?”

Fly snatched the gun from C.J. “Never point a gun at me, C.J. Never,” he said. He placed it back in the boy's lap. “Now pick it up, hold it straight, finger off the trigger. Only time you put your finger on the trigger is if you ready to shoot something, you understand?” Fly asked.

“Yes, sir,” C.J. replied.

“Chill on that ‘sir' shit. Save that for your old-ass daddy,” Fly said slyly. “Now wrap your hand around the handle and place your free hand underneath for support.”

C.J. did as he was told, but his hand shook, showing that he was intimidated.

“You scared? What you scared of? You the one with the gun. You're the man as long as you got that,” Fly said. “You see that red dot on the side?”

C.J. nodded.

“That's the safety. Red means dead … that's all you have to remember. You see red and it's ready to fire,” Fly said. “Now flip the safety and keep that on you for a little bit. The longer you hold it, the more comfortable you'll get with it.”

Fly pulled up to a house in the middle of Compton and parked on the street. “I won't be long. Stay in the car. Keep your eyes open, lil' man.”

C.J. watched Fly until he disappeared inside. His eyes scanned the block while gripping the gun in his hands. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would beat out of his chest. Excitement and anxiety had his head on a swivel as he surveyed everything moving around him. He was so ready to prove himself that he would have popped off on anyone who walked by. Luckily it was early morning and nothing on the block was moving besides the early morning fiends out to score a hit. C.J. had never even been on this side of town. He was born into privilege. He had no idea about the way the other side lived. Being in Compton was like being in a ghost town. He wouldn't admit it, but he didn't like it. After what felt like forever, Fly came back out, carrying a book bag. He slid into the driver's seat and passed the bag to C.J.

“What's inside?” C.J. asked.

“Open it up,” Fly said.

C.J. unzipped the book bag and inside lay thousands of pills. From Xanex to Percocet to Adderall, the colors popped out at him. Each prescription was in a different clear Ziploc bag.

“That's a quarter-million dollars in your hand, lil' homie,” Fly said.

“Looks like candy,” C.J. said.

“It's nothing like candy. You never use the shit you sell. That shit will fuck your head up,” Fly warned.

C.J. was intrigued by the fact that every single pill inside the bag was worth cash money. If there was one thing he had inherited from his father, it was the love for the flip. Hustling was in his genes. Fly saw the look in the young boy's eyes and he grabbed the backpack and placed it in the backseat. “Now put your seat belt on. Let's get you fresh.”

*   *   *

Fly Boogie pulled in front of the shoe store and parked curbside. He pulled out a wad of money and peeled off ten crispy hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to C.J. “This is enough to buy whatever you want,” Fly said casually. “Put your money in your pocket. Never let another nigga count your pockets.”

C.J. nodded. He was soaking up every word that Fly said. They hopped out and walked into the store.

“Hey Fly,” one of the sales girls greeted him. He was a sneaker head and would come through and easily clear out the store. They knew him well, especially the pretty, young girls in the store. “This your son?” the girl asked.