Thirsty 2 (4 page)

The thunderous roar rang loudly in Carlos’s ears and the sickening thud of Dave’s body hitting the floor affirmed that the deed had been done. Carlos never looked back as he exited the warehouse and walked back to the Chevy, gravel crunching under his feet. Once back inside the vehicle, he started the engine and waited for Preme. Moments later, he saw Preme rounding the corner, limping as casually as if he had just finished taking a piss. Just by looking at him, no one would ever guess he’d just blown a nigga’s thoughts out of his skull.

As Carlos watched his loyal hit man approach the car, he thought back to the conversation he had three weeks earlier with his good friend, Lyle Jordan, the attorney whom he’d hired to represent Dave.

 “Yes, agents from the department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms visited Dave on yesterday,” Lyle had told Carlos over the phone.

 “Did he give them anything?” Carlos had asked.

 “I’ll let you see for yourself. I’m faxing the paperwork as we speak.”

 Minutes later, Carlos was reading what one of his most trusted soldiers said about him in an interview with the ATF agents. Carlos couldn’t believe it! He was angry and hurt all at the same time. Without a doubt, his hurt outweighed the anger by untold volumes. It didn’t take much thought about what had to be done. He arranged for a crackhead to sign the bail bond documents for Dave to be bailed out. The bondsman never questioned the skinny, baldheaded guy with the bag full of money as he filled out the necessary paperwork. No paper trail could lead back to Carlos because six hours after the guy signed his John Hancock, he was found in an abandoned apartment with his throat slit.

Carlos had given Dave a chance to come clean with what he had done when he questioned him about getting any visits from the Feds, but Dave had said “no” and that was all Carlos needed to hear. No pleading his case, no explanation for his actions—Nothing! Dave just flat out denied it. In addition, that fueled Carlos’s anger even more.

Once Preme was back inside the Chevy, Carlos pulled away from the warehouse and headed to Big Rob’s stereo shop located behind the U.S.A. flea market to return Rob’s Chevy. The ride was silent and uneventful. Carlos was somewhat torn between the feelings of dread and that of satisfaction. On one hand, he hated to have had to send the young man he had taught the game to dance with the devil. However, he felt as if what he’d done had been absolutely necessary.

After a short drive, they pulled into Big Rob’s parking lot. They exited the car and entered the building. “My shit ready?” Carlos asked as he and Preme entered Rob’s office. Big Rob was seated behind a large desk eating a sub sandwich dripping with mayo. His long dreads were tied back into a ponytail and his platinum grill was gleaming in between bites of the sandwich. Rob’s humongous frame and dark complexion made him resemble a silverback gorilla.

“Where my Donk at?” Rob asked.

Carlos tossed Rob’s Chevy keys on his desk. Happy to have his keys back in his possession, Rob smarted off, “Your shit
been
ready hours ago. Fuck y’all been? Shootin’ da shit and flossin’ my shit all over M-I-Yayo?” He was talking in between bites of the sandwich.

“Yeah, shootin’ some shit,” Carlos responded as he and Preme glanced at each other. He retrieved his own keys from Rob’s desk. “My shit better be proper or I ain’t paying,” he teased.

Big Rob followed Carlos and Preme out to the parking lot where Carlos’s 2012 Tahoe was parked. Carlos started the truck and followed Rob’s instructions on how to open the concealed stash boxes, which were in the back floorboards. He nodded his head and smiled in satisfaction once he saw the two large empty compartments. Carlos noted that each hollow box could accommodate at least six keys.

After paying Rob for the installation and tipping him for the use of his Chevy, Carlos and Preme exited the lot in the Tahoe blasting Rick Ross “. . . I’m not a star . . . Somebody lied, I got a choppa in da car. . .”

Rob had no idea that his car had just been used in the commission of a murder; he was just glad to have been tipped so generously.

Carlos headed to the Embassy Suites in Miami Lakes to pick up the two girls they had left there earlier that morning when they arrived in town.

An hour later, Carlos and Preme stretched out along the rear seats as the girls took turns driving back to the Queen City. As they rode, Carlos’s thoughts turned to what Sapphire had said about Justice returning to Charlotte for a visit. He was more than ready to see her again. On numerous occasions he had started to go to Chicago to find her, but after his calls and texts went unanswered he figured he’d just wait her out and let her come around when she was ready. He thought about all the drama that surrounded the misunderstanding of the robbery of his stash house, and he sincerely regretted his past actions. He had tried so hard to make amends, especially with Sapphire. He had gone above and beyond to do all he could for her and they had become close over the past two years.  However, he still felt as if he hadn’t done enough. He would not be satisfied until he could speak with Justice personally, and know without a doubt that she had forgiven him.

Carlos also reflected on the real robbers that had caused all the animosity between him and Justice. J. T., Cross, Joy, and Red. All were dead except one. Red! No one in Charlotte had seen or heard from him since the Feds had arrested him in Chicago. Carlos was more than certain that Red had been following Justice at the time to body her for slumping his cousin J. T., but he never got the chance to carry out his plan. Lucky for Justice, the feds nabbed him before he could get his revenge.

Carlos vowed to one day handle Red, but he had no idea how close he was to that day coming to fruition.

CHAPTER FOUR

On 14
^th
Street off the notorious Peachtree Street in the heart of Atlanta, the Sheraton Suites hotel was quiet on this Thursday night. Just after
9 P.M.
Hotlanta’s nightlife had yet to begin. On the 3rd floor, no one would ever guess what was transpiring. In room 313, Loon, one of Atlanta’s biggest hustlers, in size
and
status, was being duct taped and gagged along with his lieutenant Jo-Jo. They were both just as naked as the day they had entered this world. Soiled condoms dangled from their limp penises and the smell of sex lingered in the air. The two had literally gotten caught with their pants down!

“A bad bitch is always a nigga’s downfall,” Red, the taller of the two robbers mocked. He smiled broadly behind the ski mask while taping Loon’s thick ankles together. Red was dressed in black jeans, all black Nike’s, and a black T-shirt along with black driving gloves. After securing the tape around Loon's ankles and wrists he looked over at his partner and stated, “Tell them broads they can come out now.”

After taping Jo-Jo’s wrists and making sure he couldn’t budge an inch, Chris, the shorter robber with dreads, smacked him in the mouth with the pistol, immediately drawing blood. Chris stood up and kicked Jo-Jo in the stomach with the toe of a black Timberland boot and left him lying on the carpet squirming in pain. Red looked over at his partner in crime and shook his head with a smirk because he had already anticipated Chris doing something to cause the victims pain. Chris was by far, the more violent of the two.

As Red watched Chris, he silently hoped Chris’s dreadlocks hanging well beneath the ski mask wouldn’t later become an identity issue. For that very reason, Red kept his wavy haircut low. But just as abruptly as the thought of identity had entered his mind it left.  This was not their first jack and they had never had a problem with someone identifying them before.

The dreadlocked robber stepped over Jo-Jo, walked out of the bedroom area, and tapped on the bathroom door with the butt of the pistol. Chris heard whispering voices and shuffling beyond the door.

“Y’all go ‘head and bounce, shawty,” Chris commanded in a syrupy southern drawl mixed with Atlanta slang.

Moments later, the door slowly opened and out stepped one of the finest specimens of ebony femininity God ever created. Sasha’s onyx skin was accentuated by a mane of satiny black hair that hung down to the middle of her back. Her stomach was flat enough to iron on and the waist she possessed was so tiny it looked as if it was straining to carry her gigantic ass. Directly on her heels was an exact replica. It was her identical twin, Tasha. Both girls were still naked and made no attempt to hide their bodies as Chris stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

As they entered the bedroom area, eight eyes watched in silence as the naked twins collected their clothes and accessories, which were scattered about the unkempt room. A thong was carelessly thrown on the floor between the two queen-sized beds. A bra was strewn across the lampshade above the nightstand. Stilettos were lying on the dresser. Sasha, the eldest twin by five minutes, reached down to pick up her Chanel skirt lying only inches from Loon’s face. As she and Loon locked eyes, Sasha winked at the obese hustler with a devilish grin.

Loon couldn’t believe the audacity of this scandalous bitch! Only minutes earlier he had dug her back out while she clawed at his shoulders, screaming his name. Now here this bitch was assisting in having him robbed. Or was it Tasha? It really didn’t matter if it was Sasha
or
Tasha because as far as Loon was concerned both bitches were as good as dead. He wrinkled his brows and stared at her with pure hatred. If looks could kill . . .

Minutes later, Sasha and Tasha exited the room dressed just as they had entered hours earlier. As soon as the twins left, Red and Chris began rifling through their victims’ possessions. Several thousand dollars were retrieved from pockets of trousers and iced out platinum jewelry was snatched from necks and pulled from wrists and fingers. Once they had relieved the men of all their valuables, they placed the takings inside a plastic hotel bag that had hung inside the spacious closet.

The robbers were about to exit the room when Red waved his pistol in Loon and Jo-Jo’s direction and taunted, “A lil’ piece of advice for you niggas.
Never
let a friendly fox into your hen house ‘cause one day that fox is gonna get thirsty and hungry and have’ta eat.”  Red laughed.

Hearing this, Loon closed his eyes and thought about the two friendly foxes who had just exited the room minutes earlier wearing Chanel and Prada. He felt like kicking himself in the ass for falling for the banana in the tailpipe as he had done.

With that said, both robbers exited the bedroom area and headed toward the front of the suite. Once they were out of Loon and Jo-Jo’s sight, they simultaneously removed their ski masks and gloves. Red’s light brown face glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration as his hazel eyes sparkled in the light. He looked over at his partner as she shook out her dreads, untangling them. Christina then removed the oversized sweatshirt she had been wearing along with the super tight sports bra that had struggled to conceal her ample breasts. The shirt she now wore hugged her so tightly it looked like a second skin and her braless nipples looked like miniature erasers fighting to cut through the thin fabric.

She saw Red gazing at the imprint of her nipples and playfully elbowed him in the ribs while stuffing the sweatshirt and bra into the bag along with the money and jewelry. She wiggled out of the baggy jeans she wore to reveal a pair of skintight jeans that clung to her thick thighs, wide hips, and round ass. Since she had no change of shoes, the boots had to remain.

Red had seen this sight a thousand times before, yet Chris’s beauty never ceased to amaze him. After she stuffed the jeans inside the bag, they opened the door to the suite, stepped out into the hallway, and out of Loon and Jo-Jo’s lives.

Minutes later, Red and Chris were strolling through the lobby of the hotel hand-in-hand as if the robbery in room 313 had never taken place. They strode past the front desk chatting away like any ordinary couple, instead of the two vicious robbers they actually were.

CHAPTER FIVE

You know I’m leaving next week for Charlotte. You sure you gonna be okay?” Justice asked Toni.

“You already know I got it,” Toni responded.

Toni and Justice were seated inside Justice’s office going over the checklist Justice had given Toni. Justice was reluctant about leaving Toni alone to handle the club, but she semi-satisfied herself with the realization that she wasn’t going to be gone that long. What could go wrong in a week or two? But then again, this was Toni she was talking about and she was not convinced that she could handle whatever challenge Precious and Virgin threw her way.

“You know the liquor order gotta be in Monday before noon and make sure the girls that’s coming from Atlanta know about the tip out and— ”

“Yo … you know I already know all that,” Toni cut her off. “How long I been doing this?”

“You right. But . . .”

“But nothing. You need to stop worrying so much. You were gone for
three
weeks when you went to DC. And when you got back, what had happened?” Toni asked with confidence.

Justice could not help remembering her trip to DC and when she returned home she came back to a remodeled office and a substantial profit. Toni had done well and Justice had no complaints whatsoever. It also helped that Precious was sick and that Virgin had decided to be MIA at the time.  She just hoped that this time would be no different.

After their discussion, they exited the office and walked toward the club area. While doing so, they passed the dressing room. The dressing room door was cracked and Justice glanced inside and was met with the sinister smirks of Precious and Virgin. As if in slow motion, Justice rolled her eyes and kept it moving. She was silent, but if someone could have read her thoughts, she would have been arrested on the spot.

 Toni peeped the exchange, but didn’t say anything until they were in the club area. They took a seat at the bar and ordered two apple martinis. “Why you still lettin’ them bitches work here?”