Flippin' the Hustle Read online

  Once they made their way through numerous security checkpoints, and out the exit doors, Oateek stood with a trace of a rare smile. With a red, black, and green turban covering his silvery locks, Oateek ushered the foursome into a gold Land Cruiser and loaded their bags into the rear.

  After traveling for about thirty minutes, Jamaica’s modern designed landscape began to fade. As the roads became narrower, and the hills became steeper, Derrick knew they weren’t being chauffeured to a familiar US hotel chain.

  Staring out of the window, eyeing the tropical trees and rolling fields, Derrick began to understand why the British attempted to enforce their rule over the beautiful island.

  With the clear blue waters of the Caribbean ocean to his right, Derrick was only afforded sneak peeks of the body of water. However, just as they’d passed a highway sign announcing their entrance into the town of St. Ann’s Parrish, nature gave them a lesson of her beautiful humor. Up close and personal.

  As Oateek casually navigated the SUV down the interstate, instantly a blast of water came out of nowhere and drenched the truck. Everyone in the truck looked around in wide-eyed astonishment, except Oateek. He nonchalantly switched the wipers on and explained, “Waves from de ocean sometime get violent dis time ah da day.”

  Pulling into the driveway of an extravagant residence, Derrick couldn’t help but ironically compare the white house to that of the actual White House in the United States. Directly across the street in a large field, a huge group of shirtless men of various skin tones indulged in a feverish game of soccer. Derrick couldn’t help but contrast his violent thoughts of Brooklyn and life as an agent with the tranquil surroundings he was now experiencing.

  It wasn’t until they were exiting the truck that they heard, “’Old ah ball!” Suddenly they noticed Tony emerge from the group of soccer players, covered in sweat.

  “You ah must be me son’s guest,” a woman announced, appearing from the entrance of the house accompanied by Ox.

  Naria, Trina, and RJ all answered, “Yes” in unison, while Derrick stood speechless.

  He could not believe that Tony actually trusted them enough to bring them into the folds of his immediate family. The mere thought that they were in such close proximity to his mother showed what type of trust he bestowed upon them. The raw irony of the situation was that this ridiculously rich Jamaican placed more trust in him than the agency that employed him.

  “Bredron! Let da ladies do ah dem. Come,” Tony instructed, heading back across the street. “Watch while mi ah play ball!”

  *****

  Once the long game of soccer ended, the trio of Tony, RJ, and Derrick trekked back across the street to the exquisitely designed house. The tropical flowers that lined the oval driveway, together with the tall vine covered pillars, gave the house a natural setting.

  Leading the way through the large French doors, Tony spread his arms invitingly as they entered a large foyer with a shiny marble floor.

  “Mi fahda raise thirteen kids ‘ere. Dis house only span from ‘ere to ere,” he explained, giving a brief history on the house. “Oateek and me order brooder, Petah, promised mi fahda dat dey would always lookout fah mi ‘cause I’m dah youth of de family.” He escorted them through the first floor of the house onto a large patio in the rear.

  The beauty of the picturesque view nearly caused RJ and Derrick to gasp in awe. Beyond the white sand of the deep blue Caribbean Sea was a kidney shaped pool. Off to the left was a slight hill filled with every exotic fruit tree known to the island.

  Weaving through the lawn chairs situated in various positions around the pool, Tony made his way toward the ocean. “When I was just a boy, mi brooders took mi to dah sea and trew mi in de water.”

  Eyeing the aqua blue waters as far as the eyes could see, Derrick kneeled onto the white sands and took in the breath-taking view.

  Tony and RJ continued toward the water, detouring toward a stone walkway that led to a small dock where various watercrafts were anchored. Tony hopped behind the wheel of a high-powered motorboat. He started the engine and motioned them to join him.

  Derrick waved them on and watched as RJ hopped onto the speedboat, smiling like a young boy. Shortly thereafter, Tony sliced through the clear blue waters behind the wheel of the powerful boat.

  Derrick heard the faint sounds of yelling over the fading engine of the boat. He turned and noticed Naria and Trina waving from a large second floor patio. He waved back, knowing the trip would be a memorable one. At that moment, he began to contemplate a fresh start at life in the Caribbean. He and RJ already had the needed identification to keep them out of the eyes of the authorities. And their bogus passports would easily allow their entry back into the states if needed. This just may be the solution to all the shit going down in Brooklyn, Derrick thought.

  * * * * *

  Derrick stood in the full-length mirror checking out his attire. He couldn’t help but continuously steal glances at Naria’s shapely rear end sprawled across the bed. “Come on, ma. Get up and get dressed,” Derrick stated in an encouraging tone.

  “I can’t,” she whined. “Between you, and the two flights in two days, I’m pooped.”

  Derrick began to sensuously massage her shoulders. “Come on, ma. You can get all the sleep you want tomorrow. But tonight, we got to let the island know we up in this bitch. Now let’s go!”

  The deep kneading of his hands on her back and shoulders made her response sound like incoherent gibberish.

  “What!” Derrick asked, continuing his sensuous assault on her.

  “Please! Just . . . ten . . . more minutes of this, and I . . . promise,” she stammered in obvious delight.

  * * * * *

  Gathered around the table located in the rear of the reservoir lounge, Quis, Biggs, and Hakeem all sported murderous glares. One of their loyal street soldiers had just divulged the name of three other people who were supposedly responsible for Biggs’ younger brother’s death.

  Quis looked to a visibly infuriated Biggs. “Okay, it’s your call. If you are trying to carry it any further, just say the word.”

  Biggs allowed the enormity of what Quis had said to sink in. “Okay, my little brother is gone forever, yo. If I didn’t do all I could to avenge his death, I don’t think I could look my mom in her eyes anymore,” he stated in a voice that cracked with emotion.

  Unbeknownst to Shay and the twins, a contract had been sealed on their lives, and nothing or nobody could stop the wrath about to befall them. Not even Allah.

  *****

  Oateek was chauffeuring Derrick, Naria, Trina, and RJ in the Land Cruiser. Following closely was a Range Rover driven by Ox, containing Tony and one of his many female acquaintances.

  They were en route to a nightclub in the neighboring town of Ocho Rios. The Jamaica that they had experienced earlier that afternoon instantly took on a different feel once the sun set. The dark winding roads suddenly seemed as if they contained death.

  Looking out of the passenger window, Derrick felt an eerie vibe exuding from the dark streets. It was the type of emotion that came with walking through a dark back-block in Brooklyn.

  As they traveled over a tiny bridge into Ocho Rios, the thunderous bass from a sound system could clearly be heard. The towering nightclub, fittingly called the Roof Top, immediately came into view.

  The bright lights flashing from the club, in addition to the loud music caused each of them to crane their necks, attempting to get a better view. However, it wasn’t until they were escorted to the top floor of the club that they got a full view of the Jamaican nightclub. And was it a view. On one side of the exotic club, the ocean could be seen in its entirety. Brightly lit vessels resting in the calm waters made the scene look festive. On the opposite side, the mainland could be seen. The darkness of the island was visible for miles, with only certain areas spar
sely lit.

  Tony noticed a man and jumped up. “Zo!”

  The man smiled and bellowed, “Shot face! What it is, rude buoy?”

  Embracing the man as if they were long lost brothers, Tony turned to the table. “Bredron, dis ‘ere es mi mon from long time ago, Zo,” he said. “I’m a big soccer star ‘ere in ah Jamaica.”

  This was the beginning of an unforgettable night of dancing, drinking, and one of Jamaica’s pastimes: smoking marijuana. Nevertheless, once the smoke cleared, all eyes in the club were bloodshot red and chinky, except Tony’s.

  *****

  On their fourth day in sunny Jamaica, Tony summoned Derrick and RJ to accompany him on an early morning ride. Neither Derrick nor RJ knew where they were headed. Yet, instinct quickly told Derrick that their visit had suddenly gone from pleasure to business.

  As they rode in silence through the bumpy roads of St. Ann’s, they came upon what looked to be a small vacant house on a river. However, the closer they got to the house, it began to take the shape of a small barn of some sort. It wasn’t until Tony had parked near the rear of the shack, that they saw it was actually a boathouse.

  Making their way through the many goats that loitered the small lot, they entered the shanty barn.

  Only after a few minutes of their arrival at the boathouse, the faint sound of a watercraft could be heard. The closer the engine approached, the more rapidly the waves became in the still waters.

  A sporty speedboat appeared inside the boathouse, and then its rumbling engine shut off.

  Tony turned toward Derrick and RJ. “It’s show time!” he announced.

  Lying on the beautiful white sands, eyeing Naria as she sashayed her apple bottom toward the hypnotic colored waters of the ocean, Derrick’s mind was totally at ease.

  This was their final day on the island, and neither of them could think of any better way to spend it. The rays of the bright sun, in addition to the cool breeze blowing in from the Caribbean, seemed to felicitate the mood amongst the vacationers.

  Looking over to a visibly relaxed RJ, Derrick couldn’t help but revisit the scene that played out before them just the day before.

  Although Tony didn’t fill them in on what was about to take place, once Derrick saw the two Latino men operating the speedboat it was evident.

  As soon as the boat came to a stop, one of its passengers said, “Que pasó? Buenos dias.”

  To Derrick and RJ’s surprise, Tony replied inquisitively “Dónde está la heroína?”

  In response, the two Latino men quickly went into action. Removing a piece of the vessel’s shell, they began to toss blocks of tightly wrapped packages onto the floor of the boathouse.

  Once the two men finished emptying the various compartments, both Derrick and RJ stared at the enormous amount of drugs scattered about on the dusty wooden floor. It was far more than either of them had ever witnessed in their respective lines of work.

  RJ whispered to Derrick, “This is why we can’t leave the game behind.”

  Tossing his cell phone into the boat, Tony said, “Necesito la verification.”

  Catching the phone in mid air, one of the passengers in the boat tapped the keys, and then placed the phone against his ear. After firing off a succession of unintelligible Spanish into the receiver, he tossed the phone back to Tony. He started the engine on the boat. Then, as swiftly as they had come, the duo’s escape was just as smooth.

  Once Tony, RJ, and Derrick counted and stacked the neatly wrapped packages, there were seventy-five kilos of pure Columbian heroin piled inside the shanty barn. Derrick was back in agent zone. The sight of the drugs represented the ultimate bust. It would be an easy takedown of RJ and one of the most memorable cases in the agency.

  “Baby! Are you going to get in?” Naria yelled, jarring Derrick from his thoughts.

  Eyeing Naria’s curvaceous body wrapped in her two-piece Chanel swimsuit, Derrick slowly pulled himself up and headed for the water. But the sight of the drugs and the feelings they evoked was a reminder that he was not yet totally certain whether he wanted to run with RJ, or honor his commitment to the agency. It was an eerie feeling that he did not like. A feeling he had no control over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alonzo and Alfonzo Coleman, commonly known as the twins, had a vise that only the identically featured brothers knew of. Heroin. Ever since RJ had been out of town, their steady flow of drugs had abruptly been cut off. This caused the pair to venture out into New York’s streets for their next hit. It didn’t take long for the word to filter through the city that the twins had become their own best customers.

  Pulling their black Yukon in front of the group of men standing on a corner, Fonzo, the larger of the identical twins, hopped from the passenger side.

  “Yellow tops!” a young man no more than fifteen yelled.

  “Red tops right here!” another man yelled.

  Approaching the two competitive hustlers, Fonzo pulled a crispy Benjamin from his pocket and said, “I’ll just take five of each, yo.”

  Eagerly, both men ran to retrieve their stashes behind bushes and under stairs. A suave older hustler stepped up and said, “Ain’t you one of the twins?”

  “Yeah. Why? Wassup?” Fonzo replied defensively.

  “Oh, I just remember you, man. But since I know you get money and all, I’m a give you fourteen pills for a ball,” the suave hustler said, retrieving five bags from each young hustler and tossing four in for himself.

  “Good looking out. I’m about to go trick this fine ass Puerto Rican bitch,” he stated anxiously, slapping the bill in the hustler’s hand.

  As he slid back into the passenger seat, he could feel sweat running down his back. Turning to his brother, he said, “We got fourteen pills for a hundred, man.”

  Smiling with greed, Fonzo replied, “I just hope that shit is good.”

  Once the twins pulled away, the suave older hustler inwardly beamed. He’d just made the easiest twenty-five thousand dollars he could have possibly ever dreamed of making. The four pills of dope that he’d tossed in contained a mixture of the chemicals that was a sedative so strong that shortly after consumption their hearts would immediately experience coronary failure. It gave a new meaning to killer dope.

  *****

  As Flight 173 from Miami International skidded onto the runway at LaGuardia, Derrick’s mind was working furiously. So many questions swirled in his head that he was unable to think straight. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d had any contact with anyone from the agency, and making contact with them was something he wasn’t looking forward to. Nonetheless, he knew it was destined to happen, and he’d rather it happen sooner than later.

  Looking over to his left, he was met with Naria’s penetrating gaze. “What is it, Naria?” he inquired in a delicate tone.

  Her pupils moved from side to side as she attempted to capture every detail of him simultaneously. Unable to hold her gaze any longer, Derrick planted a soft kiss onto her lips. Naria’s tongue came alive as she tried to devour him. Breaking the intense kiss, Derrick witnessed a single tear roll down her cheek. Placing his forefinger under her chin, lifting her head up, he firmly asked, “Naria, for real, what’s wrong?”

  Wiping the tears that now freely cascaded down her honey brown skin with the back of her hand, she confessed, “I . . . I . . . Nothing,” she said. Then softly, she mumbled, “I love you,” before burying her face into his chest.

  Derrick cradled her in his arms until her body relaxed against his. He had anticipated this happening, and his feelings for her were rapidly growing. But Derrick wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, and having Naria as a part of it on a major level could be a problem for both of them. She was still the sister of the man that he was being paid by the government to take down. Already she had lost one brother to the str
eets, and Derrick hated the fact that he might end up being responsible for Naria losing her remaining brother to prison.

  *****

  Derrick calmly sat across from Director Gold as the middle-aged white man ranted and raved near hysteria.

  “Richards! What the fuck possessed you to go running across the fucking world with a gang of drug lords! I mean, isn’t your job even a priority to you? Or are you just doing as you damn well please?” He paused to catch his breath. “Answer me, dammit!” he barked.

  Derrick leaned back casually and watched the man’s antics in silence.

  “Richards! I’m taking you off this fucking case! And I’m sending you back to slow ass North Carolina with the rest of those stupid nig—”

  Derrick lunged across the desk at Gold. “Motherfucker!” Derrick yelled as he landed a blow to the middle-aged man’s face, leaving a red lump under his left eye. Derrick swung a second time and Director Gold charged him, wrestling with Derrick. In seconds, Derrick had him in a chokehold and Director Gold’s toupee was on the carpeted floor as he gasped for air.

  “Let him go, Richards!” one of the three agents who barged in the office yelled, before breaking up the melee.

  * * * * *

  RJ packed his black Charger and waited for Shay to emerge from the house. While he was away in Jamaica, Shay and the twins were supposed to be investigating who was responsible for Lil’ Roy’s murder. Now that he was back, the verdict was supposed to be in.

  “What up, man?” Shay asked, hopping into the passenger seat. “You’re looking good. You needed that vacation.”

  RJ saw past all the flattery and asked, “So who did it?”

  Sighing in frustration, Shay explained, “First of all, the twins overdosed on some bad dope or something. Them niggas was up in their little spot for five days rotting and shit. Then, come to find out the niggas from out Flatbush supposedly put a hit out on Lil’ Roy for killing Biggs’ little brother, so . . .”