Flippin' the Hustle Read online

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Gregory, how are you doing this afternoon?” Agent Peter Latham asked, sitting opposite Damien.

  Damien shot him a dumbfounded smirk and remained silent.

  “Look, Damien, I’m not going to bullshit you. You’re in a hell of a situation. Not only did we find 1000 grams of heroin and a semiautomatic handgun, but at this very moment agents are en route to the address that’s on your driver’s license.” Pausing to judge Damien’s reaction, he added, “All I need is a name, and I can make them take a U-turn right now.”

  The thought of federal agents crashing the house he shared with his kids’ mother filled Damien with anxiety. He fidgeted with his hands in the handcuffs. He tried to think quickly, knowing his house was filled with drugs, guns, and money.

  “Damien, all it takes is a name, and I’ll make the phone call right now,” Peter Latham added in a persuasive tone.

  Looking down at his shackled feet in dread, Damien blurted, “Tree.”

  “Tree?” the agent repeated. “You gotta do better than that.”

  “You said a name. I don’t know his real name. They call him Tree.”

  The cop shook his head.

  “Damn!” Damien blurted. He took a deep breath, and then began to disclose everything he knew about the man he called Tree.

  Unbeknownst to him, the man known as Tree was in the very next room watching him through a transparent glass. Derrick’s plan had worked perfectly. After Damien had given up Tree and the Atlantic Avenue address, a raid was staged. However, not before Derrick made a quick call to Lil’ John to warn him of the impending danger. He still needed him to stay his course of action.

  Derrick knew that Lil’ John and some of his soldiers would witness the fiasco unfold from afar, and they would be the ones relaying this information to the streets. Derrick had arranged for Damien to be put on Diesel Therapy. For the next six months, he would never be in one place long enough to use the restroom, let alone a phone.

  * * * * *

  “How you know he did it?” RJ asked as he looked Derrick in the eyes.

  “My mans and them seen son get popped! Then like forty-five minutes later, detectives were running up in the spot looking for me. So you do the math!” Derrick explained.

  RJ’s disbelieving stare caused Derrick to pull his phone out and tap a phone number. Pushing another button on the intricate device, the phone could clearly be heard ringing on the intercom.

  “Yo, what’s up?” a male answered in an aggressive voice.

  “Lil’ John, this is Tree. I’m with RJ, and I want you to tell him everything that you told me.”

  “You ain’t gonna believe this shit, RJ.”

  “Try me,” RJ responded.

  “Damien is sour. Straight rat.” Lil’ John began to detail the events of that afternoon. Finally, he said, “I’m telling you, RJ, this dude is talking.”

  RJ sat there stone-faced, listening intently to every word. But only after Derrick hung the phone up did RJ speak. “They got to be coming for me next then,” he surmised in a dreadful tone.

  Exactly what I want him to think,” Derrick thought. But as he took in the atmosphere, he had an eerie feeling about the house that he, RJ, Lil’ Roy and Eli were assembled in. Not only was the residence sparsely furnished and seemingly vacant, there was a dank stiffness present. As they sat around the kitchen in rickety old chairs, Derrick was curious as to why he’d been brought to the location. His first instinct was that these men had somehow found out his true identity and were planning to murder him. Although his infiltration had worked to precision, thus far, there was the possibility that things could spin out of control.

  The snugness of his Teflon vest, and the bulge in the small of his back put him at ease.

  Suddenly, a soft tap at the door garnered everyone’s attention. Rising from his seat, Lil’ Roy ambled his small frame over to the door. He looked through the peephole, and then immediately began to unfasten the locks.

  Once the door was open and the tall dreadlocked man entered, RJ stood and announced, “Ox! What’s up, yo?”

  “Noting, star,” he replied, carrying a large Louis Vuitton bag over his shoulder.

  Derrick eyed the Lennox Lewis look alike closely. From the sound of his thick Caribbean accent, and his short locks, he guessed that the man was Jamaican.

  “So my lil’ man couldn’t make it after all?” RJ asked, retrieving the bag from the tall Jamaican.

  “Nah, but dem mon Tony send dem respects and says em ah link yah soon.”

  A’ight. That’s cool,” RJ said, dapping the man up.

  Once the Jamaican was out the door, RJ made his way back to the table where the others sat. He tossed the designer bag onto the top. “Fellas, there’s going to be a few changes.” He looked each man in the eyes. “As all of you know, Damien got busted a few days ago. Up until now, he hasn’t gotten at none of us. And on top of that, the Feds amazingly kicked up in the spot he was supposed to be making the drop off at,” he stated, pausing to judge his crews’ response. “Now, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure shit out. So here’s the deal. We’re no longer going to use this spot for any business, besides introducing niggas to Thunder and Lightning. Other than that, we no longer use this spot. In a couple of days, I’ll have a new location for us to meet up and mix the dope. Oh, and one more thing. Meet the newest member of BTB. Tree.” He gave Derrick a pound and smiled.

  Derrick caught the awkward glare of Lil’ Roy. He knew that he’d face some resistance on the inside of the organization, and he was fully prepared to deal with it. For now, he would allow the man to stick around and not face the same dilemma as Damien.

  * * * * *

  An hour later, as RJ and Derrick drove through the city, Derrick replayed the entire meeting through his mind. The identity of the strange Jamaican man was puzzling. Was he RJ’s heroin connection? If so, then who was Tony! These questions and many more were eating at him. Nonetheless, he knew that it would be foolish to bluntly ask. However, there was one thing he could ask RJ and not seem unusually inquisitive.

  Turning to RJ, who was behind the wheel, Derrick decreased the volume on the radio, and then innocently asked, “Ay yo, son, who the fuck is Thunder and Lightning?”

  Smiling deviously, RJ replied, “Let’s just hope you never have to meet them.”

  “Like that, huh?” Derrick grinned.

  RJ nodded. “You see that bag in the backseat?”

  Derrick turned and spotted the Gucci knapsack.

  “Grab it,” RJ said.

  The bag felt light as Derrick lifted it and put it in his lap. But not so light that it couldn’t be a kilo. Derrick’s heartbeat accelerated as he pondered if this was the moment he needed to bring RJ down. There would be no trump card he could pull to save him from the repercussions of directing an undercover agent to pick up a kilo of heroin from the backseat of his car.

  RJ said, “Open it.”

  Derrick tried his best to remain calm as he unzipped the bag. Oh shit, he thought. He couldn’t stop his lips from expanding apart as he stared at the contents inside.

  “That’s all you,” RJ said.

  Derrick continued gazing inside, finding it hard to believe RJ’s words. “You’re giving me this?”

  “Consider it a welcoming gift for joining BTB. You don’t have to count it. It’s fifty G’s.”

  Derrick salivated over the cash. His first instinct was to turn the money in. But he knew this was not the type of evidence that his superiors needed to bring down Derrick. Then, there was the reality that he needed money to pay his mother’s hospital bills. With his eyes still glued to the rubber-banded money in the knapsack, he peeked at RJ through his peripheral vision. He couldn’t help but rationalize the reality of the agency being a hindrance to his mo
ther’s health and RJ being a solution.

  * * * * *

  After leaving RJ, Derrick headed home. He burst through the door with the knapsack full of money in his hand. He made his way to his bedroom, and then emptied the bills on the bed. Staring at the cash, his mind flashed back to his mother’s doctor, and then to Marvin. He picked up a roll of twenty-dollar bills. “Fuck the agency,” he mumbled.

  Derrick began counting the money until he confirmed it was $50,000. He flopped down on the bed and laid back in deep thought. He was considering what it meant to steal from the DEA. What it meant to take blood money from a crook. There was an avalanche of guilt weighing on Derrick’s mind, but the more he thought of his mother, the more the guilt resolved.

  Chapter Eight

  Derrick pulled the newly acquired convertible Jaguar from his garage. Once the sun beamed down, he pushed the Jag to maximum speeds, enjoying the bright spring weather. The fact that he was currently on his way to a cookout that RJ was having in the park may have attributed to his festive mood.

  RJ had invited everyone, ensuring that it would be a gala event.

  Derrick chose to attend the event alone, partly because he and Asia had pleasantly parted ways. After giving Asia some drawn out story of how he had problems with committing, she agreed to give him some time. Nonetheless, the sex that Derrick had been putting down left Asia like an addict going cold turkey with withdrawal symptoms.

  Derrick pulled up beside RJ’s Mercedes Coupe and hopped out. He stepped from between the two luxurious convertibles, noticing that he had already accumulated a small fan base. Standing off to the side, a group of thirsty females eyed him. Unsure of whether they were included in RJ’s gathering or not, Derrick accepted their prolonged stares with a smile and continued on his way. He slid the Fendi shades over his eyes and made his way through the masses of people, until he noticed RJ, Lil’ Roy, and a few other familiar faces in the crowd.

  “What up?” RJ asked as Derrick walked over and gave him some dap.

  “Ain’t nothing,” Derrick responded, before showing some love to Lil Roy and the rest of the crew. Derrick looked around the large table filled with all types of condiments, nearly losing his breath at the familiar face that stared back. He tried to remain calm as the exotic specimen casually made her way around the table to where he stood.

  She extended her hand. “Hi, I remember you. Your name is . . .” She paused and placed her hand on her hip. “Um . . . Tree. Right?”

  “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m . . . um, Tree,” Derrick replied nervously, eyeing the beautiful woman through his tinted frames. “And you’re . . .”

  “Naria! My baby sister!” RJ’s voice boomed over her shoulder.

  Naria slapped at RJ playfully, and retorted, “Yeah, yeah, little sister, whatever! Remember, you’re only ten months, nine days, and I forgot the hours older.”

  Derrick eyed the interaction between the two, recognizing they had a solid bond.

  “Well, let me leave you two alone,” RJ said and then walked off.

  The pair stood staring at one another in silence until Naria asked, “So where’s Asia?”

  Derrick smiled bashfully, and then ran his hand over his baldhead.

  “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad,” Naria said with a giggle.

  “Worse!”

  After only a short time, he and Naria were carrying on as if they’d known one another for years. Oblivious to anyone else present, their conversation persisted.

  The more Naria talked, the more Derrick realized that her intelligence matched her beauty perfectly. They exchanged experiences of attending HBCU’s. While Derrick had attended John C. Smith University, Naria had graduated from Morgan State. She was now the marketing manager for a local computer programming firm.

  He was so engrossed in his conversation with Naria that he nearly forgot his mission. The beautiful woman that he was so taken aback by was the sister of a notorious drug kingpin, and quite possibly, she could be one of his conspirators.

  Derrick sat at the picnic table enthralled with Naria’s Caribbean Ocean-colored eyes, her soft honey brown complexion, and her naturally S-curve shaped body.

  “Would you like to take a walk, Tree?” Naria asked, snapping him out of his appraisal of her.

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” he replied, sliding his long legs from under the picnic table.

  Just as Derrick pulled himself to a standing position, the distinct sound of automatic gunfire erupted.

  “Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat!

  Instinctively, Derrick dove across the table and slammed Naria to the ground, while simultaneously snatching two hysterically screaming children. As the scene became more chaotic, Derrick eased up with his gun raised and ready to fire. He peered over the table in the direction the gunfire had come from. His eyes darted around frantically.

  Had anyone paid any attention to him, it would have been evident that he was either a trained killer or a police.

  Moving about the scene cautiously, Derrick yelled, “Everybody a’ight!”

  Gradually, people began to come to their feet. Derrick noticed that both RJ and Lil’ Roy stood unharmed. However, Lil’ Roy looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

  Suddenly, there was a loud cry. “I’m hit! Oh my God! Robert, I’m hit!”

  Derrick and the others rushed to the screaming voice, only to see Trina, RJ’s girlfriend clutching her side. Derrick knew that BTB would be going on a rampage to mete out revenge on whoever was brazen enough to harm RJ’s girlfriend.

  * * * * *

  There was complete pandemonium in the halls of the university hospital’s shock trauma unit. People moving about aimlessly as the police attempted to question those who were at the scene of the shooting.

  RJ sat alone in a corner of the waiting room. His eyes displayed the rage that was boiling inside of him.

  The entire time that they’d been at the hospital, Naria had stayed latched on to Derrick. Her arm was intertwined into his everywhere he went. When the doctors allowed her and RJ to go in and see Trina, she insisted that Derrick come along.

  Eyeing the murderous rage in RJ’s eyes, Derrick broke free from Naria and walked over to him. “You gonna be a’ight?”

  “Some niggas just shot my girl, yo.”

  “I know, man, but she’s gonna be a’ight, son. It was ju—”

  “Them niggas shot my girl, yo! And I ain’t gonna sleep until all of them niggas is dead!” RJ hissed.

  “How are you gonna find out who did it?”

  “I’ve got my ways. Now you rolling or what?” RJ stood. Without waiting for a reply, RJ exited the waiting room.

  As Derrick followed him out of the door, Naria grabbed his arm. “Tree, please look out for my brother.”

  Giving her an understanding nod, Derrick quickly caught up with RJ, but he found it odd that Naria was asking him to look out for her brother, when RJ was more than capable of looking out for himself. Derrick’s fear was that someone else would have to look out for RJ’s wrath.

  *****

  Behind the wheel of RJ’s SL55, Derrick noticed the hunger in the eyes of the men standing on each corner they passed. Drugs had definitely taken their toll on New York’s inner city. He and RJ had been cruising the streets for nearly two hours, in silence. Every time Derrick asked him where it was that he wanted to go, he would curtly reply, “Just keep driving.”

  Both of their cellular phones had been chiming incessantly since they’d exited the hospital, yet both men chose to ignore them.

  However, once RJ’s phone rang once, paused, and then rang again, he quickly answered it.

  Derrick immediately picked up on the strange act, and listened to the context of the conversation closely.

  “All right, yo! Give me five minutes and I’ll be there,” RJ sta
ted, and then tossed the phone onto the console. Turning toward Derrick, he said, “Go through Grand Avenue. I got to meet my niggas.”

  Derrick followed RJ’s order. As he navigated the Benz through Brooklyn, he was under the impression that the men they were headed to meet were the men that he already knew. However, once they reached their destination, he would be introduced to an entirely new crew. The Assassins.

  Derrick pulled the Benz behind a black SS Impala parked in front of the house that supposedly contained Thunder and Lightning. Derrick eyed a group of men standing along with Lil’ Roy and Eli.

  Casually, he and RJ exited the car and joined the men on the sidewalk.

  RJ walked into a barrage of hugs and daps, while Derrick received ‘ice grills’ from everyone present.

  Turning to a dark skinned man with a mouth full of diamonds, RJ asked, “So, Shay, what’s the consensus?”

  “Only them little niggas Taz and Meechie be on that bullshit, yo.”

  “A’ight! But who did it!” RJ blurted.

  “I’m almost certain them niggas did it, but as far as which one? Well, I’m a have to put the twins into action for that,” he stated, motioning to the two identically featured men standing beside him.

  “Fuck the details. Even if one might be responsible, they both get it,” RJ declared.

  “If we snatch one of ‘em up, I know they’ll tell who was responsible. Especially when my niggas get at ‘em,” Shay commented in a smooth demeanor.

  “I know where them niggas be at, too,” Eli said. “Right over in Flatbush.”

  RJ was becoming even more frustrated by simply talking about the situation. “A’ight! Fuck all that! We gonna roll over there and pay these bitches a visit, yo!” He then walked off in the direction of his car.

  * * *