Flippin' the Hustle Read online

  RJ quickly exited his truck just as lavish, diamond chain swinging recklessly, blinding those who dared to look.

  Catching up with a visibly jubilant Derrick, the pair embraced. “What up, son?” Derrick asked, showcasing his southern accent.

  “I see you got everything under control, yo,” RJ stated, eyeing the various women hanging on to Derrick. “Don’t forget about my sister.”

  “Oh,” Derrick replied, holding his arms open wide. “These are my lil’ mami’s from Morgan State. They are just going to roll for tonight.”

  With that said, the entourage headed into the crowded club. They made their way into the VIP lounge. RJ, if only for one second, felt a pang of guilt shoot through him, seeing the young women pulling at his sister’s boyfriend in such a manner. Not to mention the fact that she was at home pregnant with his child.

  * * * * *

  Naria sat in bed spooning scoops of cookie dough Häagen Daz ice cream into her mouth and chasing them down with barbecue corn chips. Engulfed in the movie Love Jones playing on the 42-inch flat screen, she felt a flutter of emotion run through her as the passionate scene played out before her.

  Reaching for the large glass of Pepsi on the nightstand, a sudden gush of warm water exited her vagina. Instantly freezing in shock, Naria stared down at her center, aghast. Sitting there as if she were paralyzed, a sharp pain rocked her small frame, nearly causing her to pass out. Struggling, she reached for the bedside telephone.

  * * * * *

  Derrick and RJ were deep in VIP, surrounded by beautiful young women and an endless supply of champagne.

  With his arm raised high above his head, Derrick pumped his fist to the pulsating bass line of Mobb Deep’s “Blood Money.” He rocked to the music. “This my shit!” he exclaimed. Suddenly, the vibration of his cell phone caused him to retake his seat between the two lovely college girls. Eyeing the number conspicuously, he quickly answered once he noticed his home number. “Hello!”

  “Derr . . . Derrick . . . My water broke.” Naria gasped.

  “What!” Derrick yelled, jumping to his feet.

  RJ immediately looked to his partner and asked, “What up?”

  “It’s Naria. Her water broke!” he answered, hastily making his way to the exit and leaving the college girls behind.

  * * * * *

  Racing through the halls of the hospital’s pediatric ward, Derrick and RJ frantically searched for the room where Naria was located. After finding her whereabouts inside of the delivery room, Derrick was accosted by a nurse and quickly outfitted in customary green scrubs and led into the brightly lit room.

  As soon as his eyes focused on the spectacle before him, he nearly fainted. There, in all her glory, Naria lay spread eagle with her ankles fastened in steel stirrups. Derrick eyed her stretched vagina in awe.

  It wasn’t until a masked man called out to him that he moved. “You must be the proud father of this big fellow.”

  Slowly, Derrick made his way to the bedside. There, Naria instantly latched on to his arm and didn’t let go.

  * * * * *

  Before the sun rose over the city, Naria had given birth to an eight pound, eight ounce baby boy who they promptly named, Carl Richards.

  Derrick eyed the radiance on Naria’s face. He felt a strong sense of love for her, even shedding a lone tear. Witnessing the miracle of his child being born also filled him with a newfound respect for Naria, in addition to God.

  * * * * *

  Just as Sefa finished leading the congregation in the evening prayer, he rose to his feet and quickly walked off in the direction of his office.

  As the chosen leader of the Masjid, it was also his responsibility to enforce all the laws of the Islamic community.

  The act of murdering a Muslim on sacred grounds was a sure fire death sentence for a believer or non-believer. Sefa had made it a priority to bring those responsible for the murders of Hakeem and Biggs to justice. Islamic justice.

  Flopping in his overstuffed office chair, he picked up the receiver. “As-Salaam-Alaikum,” he answered.

  “Wa Alaikum-as-Salaam. This is Ishmah from Devine Life in The Bronx. I’ve been directed to lead a team to you immediately. Insha Allah.”

  “Kazak-Allah. Wa Alaikum as Salaam.”

  * * * * *

  Derrick cradled the tiny bundle of life in his arms tenderly. Staring down into his son’s bright eyes, he quickly recapped the last few months of his life. Things had definitely taken a drastic turn, but Derrick was experiencing happiness as he’d never known. Everything that he had ever dreamt of was now at his disposal. From money to cars, nothing was unattainable.

  The drug operation that Derrick was initially brought in to investigate had taken the shape of a multimillion-dollar corporation with him at the helm. As he directed most of the operations, his prior livelihood came as an asset to the criminal organization, inspiring its growth.

  Although he began to recklessly spend a small percentage of his proceeds from his illicit activities, he still used all of the training he’d received to thwart any type of government investigation, or at least so he thought.

  * * * * *

  Director Gold sat behind his desk, tapping away furiously on the desktop keyboard. Operation ‘Used To Be My Girl’ as it had been dubbed, had taken an abrupt turn onto a dead end street. Gold had taken a personal stake in the case. Had it been any other situation, besides an ex DEA agent’s involvement, the case would have been scrapped.

  Pressing the button on his phone, alerting his secretary, he spoke, “Tracy, can you get agent Peters in here!” His voice resembled more of a command than a question.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Gold, I’ll give her a call right now.”

  Less than ten minutes later, a strikingly beautiful black woman walked in looking no more than twenty-one years old.

  “Yes sir, Mr. Gold. What can I do for you?” the woman asked.

  “Have a seat, Dominique.” Gold motioned. Once she was seated, Gold said, “Yes Dominique, you know this case, operation ‘Used To Be My Girl’ has been giving us a few problems,” he said, pausing to judge the young woman’s response.

  Everybody in the agency had heard about their own who had gone bad. But no one wanted any parts of the investigation. By the wide-eyed look of dissatisfaction he received from Dominique Peters, Gold knew the young woman shared the same sentiment.

  Taking a deep, exasperated sigh, Gold decided to be totally up front with the woman. “Dominique, I need you on this one like I’ve never needed anyone before.”

  * * * * *

  Derrick had insisted to RJ that they run their drug operations like a business, allowing those beneath them on the hierarchy of hustlers to increase their earning potential, just as his and RJ’s earnings rose. This would in turn push them further and further away from the actual illegalities.

  To set things in motion for their smooth transition into the legitimate business world, Derrick purchased a financially strained car lot out in Queens. Within weeks of his purchasing the business, the property was littered with luxury automobiles. Exotic Motors became a hit with all the hustlers in New York. This would prove to be Derrick’s first mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Dominique Peters had vowed not to use her gender or her race in any way concerning her employment. At that very moment the exceptionally pretty recent graduate from the Academy was leaving Manhattan with enough Chanel, Dior, and Dolce & Gabbaña to open her own boutique on Fifth Avenue.

  She pressed her foot down hard on the pedal of the CLK 500, turning the volume up on the radio and singing along with Jagged Edge as they so fittingly crooned “Hey! Where the party at!” Ironically, that was exactly what Dominique was in search of, a baller.

  * * * * *

  As the black van pulled into the park
ing lot, only one person in the Masjid knew of the eminent destruction the persons assembled in the vehicle came to inflict. Sefa. However, once each man stepped from the vehicle, only one was a trained assassin: Ishmah.

  Sent to the Pakistani region as a baby, Ishmah was raised by Islamic extremist. By the time he was fifteen, the young boy was leading a band of guerrillas that could steal the life out of an entire village of non-believers. It wasn’t until his surrogate parents moved east, in hopes of a better life, that Ishmah tamed his violent instincts and submitted to his religion. Still, whenever the calling came down, the short stocky man, donning the customary Sunni beard, delved into his dark past.

  “As-Salaam-Alaikum!” Sefa bellowed as he approached the men.

  “Wa Alaikum-As Salaam Rahman Allah!” the men crooned in unison.

  Giving each man a brief hug, Hakeem stepped back and said, “I am glad you all made it safely.”

  “Al hum du il’lah!” the men chanted.

  To anyone who witnessed the interaction between the Imam and the five men, one thing was evidently clear—they were planning to work together to execute a master plan.

  * * * * *

  Two things had evidently become clear, Exotic Auto was definitely the place to buy a car, and the adjacent car wash/auto detailing business was the spot to get the car cleaned.

  Even though the season was easing toward winter, RJ’s detailing business, suitably named Fresh and Clean car wash, had luxury cars lined up and down Queens Boulevard.

  Pulling into his own business, Derrick hopped out of his Porsche, dressed as if he was an Italian crime boss. Outfitted in an Armani suit and a pair of Brooks Brothers’ shoes, Derrick rushed into his office. He slid the Gucci shades from his eyes and entered his office. His two o’clock appointment was already seated in the waiting area.

  “Hi, you must be Tonya. I’m Derrick,” he announced, extending his hand to the pretty young woman.

  “Yes. I’m Tonya Sears. Nice to meet you, Mr. Richards.”

  While Derrick shook the young woman’s hand, he wondered if the CLK parked in his lot was hers or someone else’s.

  Derrick led the woman into the confines of his office and she took a seat. “What college did you say you graduated from?” he asked.

  “Um . . . I didn’t say on the phone . . . but I . . . um graduated from HU.

  “Oh really! Is that Hampton U or Howard U?” Derrick asked.

  Dominique’s mind raced frantically as she attempted to recall which college he had attended, according to the DEA’s file.

  “Um . . . I went to Hampton University,” she finally replied.

  The two continued to chat like old friends, until Derrick said, “Well, it’s evident that you’re qualified for the position. In fact, you are overqualified for this position. But I’m going to give you a shot. You’re hired,” he said, holding his hand out.

  Dominique gripped his hand and smiled. She was in . . .

  *****

  Naria pumped her legs furiously, attempting to keep up with the treadmill. Sweat freely ran from her pecan brown skin as her heart rate fluttered. Peering to her left, the sight of her healthy baby boy playing on the comforter encouraged her to push herself harder.

  It had been nearly three months since she’d given birth to Carl, and she’d been desperately trying to get back down to her normal size seven. Although Derrick gave her the utmost attention, he hadn’t touched her sexually in what seemed like ages. In a quest not to lose the fire between her and Derrick, Naria vowed to turn her body back into its normal shape and size.

  “That’s right, Carl, smile for mommy!” Naria huffed, pushing her body to the limit.

  * * * * *

  Derrick peeked out of his office window as the thunderous bass rattled the pictures on his wall. Noticing a cream colored Bentley Arnage with Florida plates sitting in front of RJ’s detailing business, Derrick slammed the blinds down and made a beeline for the door. He was absolutely fed up with RJ’s careless attitude, who ran the car wash as if it was a who’s who of drug dealers for the east coast.

  He passed his secretary in a hurried manner, causing her to ask, “Mr. Richards, is everything all right?” only to be answered by the office door being slammed.

  The closer Derrick got to RJ’s establishment, the short figure standing with his back to him began to look familiar.

  Once he was within earshot, the Jamaican accent could clearly be heard. It could only have been one person.

  “Ya mon, Tree! What it tis, bredron?” Tony asked.

  "Oh shit! What’s up, son? I ain’t even know it was you,” Derrick replied, quickly changing his attitude.

  “You ah must of whips pun de lot,” Tony stated, motioning toward Derrick’s car lot.

  “Nah, you got the hot whips, B,” Derrick remarked, eyeing the Bentley closely.

  “Wit’ out you amah mon ‘ere, Robert, none of dis would be possible, bredron,” Tony stated. “Tonight, I won’t take no for no answer.” Without any further words being spoken, it was settled. They were going to DC.

  * * * * *

  Ishmah and the rest of the sheriff team were assembled in a small room inside the mosque. As if they were a military tactical team, they looked over maps, pictures, and even phone records. Although the persons responsible for spilling the blood of two Muslims hadn’t been identified, it wouldn’t be long before their identities were uncovered.

  “Raheem, you and Sahih take the east side of the city,” Ishmah ordered. “Jabrill, you take the area within a three mile radius of the Masjid, and Tareek, you and I are going to take brother Hakeem and brother Biggs’ old neighborhood.”

  “I know in my heart that the men responsible will feel the wrath of Allah in its most powerful way . . . Insha Allah!” Ishmah said, and then rose to his feet.

  * * * * *

  Derrick and RJ were enjoying their evening at one of DC’s most glamorous nightspots. Club Climax was within a rock’s throw of the Capitol building, yet it attracted some of the area’s most infamous crooks.

  Looking around the exclusive club, Derrick noticed some of the most influential people he’d ever been in the company of. NBA players were scattered throughout the packed club, and even some Hollywood actors moved their bodies to the pounding bass of the District’s signature Go-Go music. Glaring to his left, Derrick watched in bewilderment as Tony whispered into the ear of a woman standing nearly a foot taller than him, who closely resembled the R&B diva, Amerie.

  Leading the way up to the club’s third level, Tony settled onto a large couch overlooking the entire club. “Dis where me ah like to come an’ get a piece of mind,” he announced, getting comfortable on the cushiony couch.

  Derrick thought it ironic that he’d come to such a busy environment to get a piece of mind. But then again, he’d done strange things to get a piece of mind himself. But as he took in the atmosphere of the club in totality, Derrick began to wonder if he was slipping? Was he in the type of hotspot that the authorities kept their eyes on to get leads on hustlers? Derrick knew the answer to his questions before he posed them. But the reality was, he had slipped into this dangerous lifestyle so gradually that he was a fixture within it before he realized it. He had become consumed by the very culture that his brother had warned him about and he had warned RJ about.

  * * * * *

  Gold sat across from Dominique in the confines of her government rented condominium.

  “I really feel that the guy Derrick stormed out of the office to meet with had some type of significance to both Robert and Derrick,” she said.

  Gold was in a daze, hungry to take down Derrick.

  “Did you hear me, Mr. Gold?” Dominique snapped.

  “Um . . . yeah . . . yes,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, I was just brainstorming. But please, call me Douglas.”


  “So . . . um . . . Do you want me to follow the leads I’ve gathered on the driver of the Bentley?” she asked.

  “Certainly. I want you eyeballing everyone who comes in the establishment.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Just as smoothly as Tony had appeared, he vanished, leaving behind millions of dollars worth of drugs. Derrick and RJ went about their normal routine of cutting and bagging heroin, and then distributing the drugs to their redistributors.

  When Derrick wasn’t at the shop or at the apartment in Queens, he was spending time with Naria and their newborn son. Fatherhood was a totally foreign experience to Derrick, being that he never knew his own father. Nonetheless, his instincts quickly picked up where experience left off.

  Sitting in the middle of the floor of the large den, Derrick, Naria, and Carl had all the signs of a happy family. Derrick held his son high, yoo-hooed and gye-gyed like a newborn himself. Naria lay sprawled on the white-carpeted floor eyeing Derrick and Carl. The spectacle they presented caused her to beam proudly. At that moment she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

  Derrick peeked at the woman responsible for bringing the reflection of him into the world. He felt a familiar tingling in his groin area. It had been at least two months since he’d touched Naria sexually. The pain he’d witnessed her endure during the delivery had caused him to retreat on every occasion that he’d even thought of entering her. However, the manner in which she lay smiling, with her shapely body spread across the floor became too much for Derrick to handle. Lying Carl on the comforter, he made his way over to Naria without breaking the intense eye contact they held. Once he was within reach, Naria opened her arms to welcome him.