Dope Girl 4: R. I. P. Read online

  “Well, Dasia’s mom ain’t heard from her either,” Meisha frowned when she hung up from the call to New York. She knew it was a long shot since Dasia walked away from her mother and son and never looked back.

  Cameisha was about to catch an attitude when a text from Juan vibrated her phone. She frowned seeing it was a picture message, something he never did. She wondered again for the hundredth time, what his dick looked like and quickly opened the picture.

  “What?” Jackie screamed matching the look of terror on her race. Cameisha dropped the phone and backed away from holding her hands to her face like she was “Home Alone.” She was too shocked for words so Jackie picked up the phone to see for herself. “Samantha? Is she…dead? What’s going on Meisha?”

  “I don’t know but I’m ‘bout to find out!” she growled snapping out of it. She snatched the phone and dialed Juan on the speakerphone.

  “Still too busy to talk?” Juan asked smugly after letting it ring several times before picking up. The hint of sass in his voice made Jackie picture him with his hand on a hip and rolling his neck.

  “Did you kill my friend?” Meisha moaned.

  "Did you kill my woman?” he shot back.

  “Huh? What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t seen Angela in…”

  “Lies!” Juan shouted loud enough to wake Samantha from her right hook induced nap. “You and her argued last night. She went to see you and never came home. Her body was found this morning! My mother heard you arguing with her!”

  “Hey! Why did you hit me? A guy hit me like that once before because…” Samantha yelled to Cameisha and Jackie’s relief. It was short lived though.

  “Listen, Juan, I don’t know what’s going on but…”

  “What about the cocaine? Don’t know about that either? Your friend here says otherwise. You betrayed me! Qisas, an eye for an eye!” he cut in.

  “Wait! Please wait,” Meisha pleaded. “Let me come explain.”

  “Ok. Just stay right there. I’m on my way but say goodbye to your friend,” Juan said calmly.

  “He…hello,” Samantha said when he pushed the phone in front of her.

  “Don’t worry Sam, I…” was all Cameisha was able to get out before a loud gunshot rang out and the line went dead.

  “He killed her,” Meisha moaned and sank slowly to the floor. Her friend was dead because of her and she knew it. Jackie was devastated as well, but knew that wasn’t the time for mourning. She caught the threat in Juan’s statement and got in motion.

  “Self, grab the coke. Bad Ass get the weed and whatever else y’all keeping!” she instructed then turned to Cameisha. “Up, up, come on. Get up! We gotta go. Now!”

  Cameisha moved lethargically as Jackie led her out to the car. Self and Bad Ass hoped in the backseat seconds before Jackie pulled off. A gut feeling told her to bust a left instead of a right so she did. Just as she hit one corner, a carload of stern faced Columbians hit the other. They missed each other by seconds.

  The car pulled to a screeching stop in front of the building and they rushed inside with guns drawn. The lead man didn’t even slow down when they reached the door. Instead, he lowered his shoulder and ran straight through it. The gunmen fanned out searching each room like a drug task force. And just like the police, they planned to murder anything moving.

  “Aqua!” Cameisha suddenly realized. If Juan were coming at her, he would check there as well. She whipped out her phone and called her friend. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

  “Hello?” Aqua mumbled with a mouthful of Fat-Fat burger.

  “Aqua? Get the work from Samantha’s room and get out of there now!” she shouted urgently.

  “Modqri?”

  “Now Aqua now! Grab the blow and get out!” Meisha yelled while Jackie stomped on the gas pedal. She whipped in and out of traffic like a Manhattan cab driver.

  Aqua was a little slow, but knew danger when she heard it. She didn’t know what was going on and didn’t need to. Her first guess was police so the four kilos of cocaine were top priority. She rushed into Samantha’s lab/room and scooped up the bricks. The new mouse stole her attention momentarily. He was in his little wheel running his little ass off.

  “Oh!” she said remembering her Fat-Fat burgers in the freezer. Once she retrieved them, she hit the door. No sooner did she step away from the house a large brown truck pulled on to the street. The men all stared at Aqua as they passed her. She didn’t fit the description so they pushed on.

  The truck backed in front of the house and opened the roll up door. Inside a Vulcan 20mm Gatling gun was mounted on a heavy-duty tripod. All of the occupants pulled ear protectors on their ears knowing what was to come.

  “Brr, brr, brr,” the six-barrel machine gun belched as it sent 100 rounds a second into the house. The ammo drum emptied in seconds and was quickly replaced by another. Another, and then another.

  The Columbian man manning the cannon took his sweet time as he methodically sprayed the house with the huge slugs. He used slow, even strokes to ensure each inch was shot the fuck up. Windows and walls broke and buckled under the pressure. A bright orange fire proved the gas line had been ruptured. Their job was done so the door came down and they pulled away.

  Aqua stepped as quickly as she could pretending not to hear the roar of the machine gun. She didn’t even flinch at the sound of the explosion behind her. The truck slowed when they reached her. A passenger extended a pistol and aimed it at the back of her head. He began to slowly squeeze the trigger until stopped by a downward glance.

  “Adios mio,” he said pulling the gun in at the sight of her baby bump. Most of it was Fat-Fat burgers, but it saved her life. He crossed himself religiously as they pulled off.

  Aqua marched casually munching on a frozen Fat-Fat burger as if she didn’t see her near murder. The girl had more balls than a lot of men. Still, once the truck was gone she collapsed on the sidewalk. That’s exactly where Cameisha and company found her when they arrived.

  “A-yo, who the fuck is this nigga you beefing with?” Lil’ Self exclaimed when they drove past the demolished house.

  “Nobody,” Cameisha barked defiantly even though she knew she was in trouble. In over her head with more than she could handle. Yeah, she was a killer with an uncle named Killa, but she was out of her league. Common sense told her to get on the highway and drive west until she reached the ocean. But when did Cameisha ever follow common sense?

  Chapter 6

  “Juan Salazar, age 30. Defacto head of the Salazar drug empire. Brother Manuel is five years his senior but mentally ten years his junior. He is the brawn to his brain. Marisol Salazar is the matriarch and she’s one dangerous bitch. She was suspected in a slew of murders in Columbia, some against her own family members. Somehow both she and the charges vanished, and she pops up here with a clean slate,” Detective Walton briefed.

  He pointed a laser pointer at the pyramid of pictures on the wall behind him. He relayed the latest intel on all of the players until he got down to the last picture on the bottom. This was the one piece of the puzzle that puzzled him. It was in the box with all the other pieces yet it just didn’t seem to fit.

  “Just how does the girl fit in?” a rookie named Brice asked when no info came on her. All heads in attendance snapped in his direction at the breach in protocol. Walton had a rule they all lived by. Shut the fuck up during briefings. Since he was new, he received his first and only pass. Repeat violators of the S.T.F.U rule found themselves back in uniform.

  Brice hadn’t taken his eyes off the pretty, young girl for more than a few seconds at a time since the briefing began. He paid close attention and could replay every word if need be, but something about the girl got to him.

  At 6’1”, 190 pounds, with caramel skin the 22 year old was a pretty young thing himself. The south side Atlanta native had made some good choices in his short life. He had chosen to work part-time in a supermarket while most of his friends sold drugs. He had chosen to graduate on
time rather than drop out. Again, he won when he picked college over prison. The police force would be stable employment with good benefits while pursuing a law degree. His eyes were focused on the Supreme Court as the final prize.

  After completing the police academy, he was quickly recruited by the drug task force. Walton personally picked him by looks alone, but he was also very qualified. Dress him in the latest fashions and he’d fit right in the underworld.

  “I’m not quite sure,” Agent Marks spoke up. He personally trailed her from the meeting with the Salazars and came up with nothing. “Typical girl stuff consisting of hair, nails, and Chipotle. Later that night they turned up in a trendy club and ‘Turnt up’.”

  “And I don’t buy it,” the veteran cop barked. “She was at an upper echelon meeting with the largest cocaine ring in the city! And of course our very own Anna Flores was there too.”

  All eyes turned to the picture of Anna. Even though she worked in the Medical Examiner’s office, she was sill supposed to be on their team. One of the good guys, but there she was hobnobbing with the bad guys.

  “What’s the deal with her?” Toshiba Watkins asked scrunching up her pretty face. The thirty-year-old woman was a ten-year veteran of the Atlanta police department.

  “Nothing, a fucking waitress. She feeds information to the clan but we’ll be cooking the food. We can control what they get,” Walton replied since it was now the question and answer part of the briefing.

  “What ever happened to the doctor? The one she was dating, the pill guy?” Marks inquired.

  Brice listened intently to the information on a boyfriend with a tinge of jealousy. Again, the veteran cop caught his interest in the girl and smiled internally. He wanted him to take interest in her. Planned on it actually.

  “A patsy, a sap, a real sucker. He was squeaky clean and took the rap for her. Now he’s serving time for it,” Walton relayed.

  “But why? Why go through all that? Why lose everything?” Brice asked with a pained expression.

  Again, all heads snapped in his direction at the inane questions. Toshiba smiled warmly at his innocent naiveté. It was refreshing to see a youth uncorrupted by the ways of the word. Dangerous, but refreshing.

  Detective Walton smiled too, for the same reason. He came over sat on his desk, and gently explained. “Son, have you ever had some really, really…good pussy?”

  ****

  Bilal didn’t get much time since he didn’t have much of a case. He was sent to a comfy federal prison camp that looked more like a college campus than a jail. Of course, he decided to be an author like everybody else who goes to jail. It should have been and would have been an easy bid if not for his brother. Every day that Bilal refused to join him, he turned up the pressure. Pressure busts pipes you know.

  “Yo’ brudda on da phone,” Mo announced as he barged into Bilal’s cell without knocking.

  That was a sign of disrespect, but that was the point. Technically cell phones are illegal contraband but money moves mountains. With the right amount of cash to spread around an inmate can have all the comforts of home. Wine, women, weed, whatever could be bought or sold. Suave had the bread to spread, but his little brother wanted no parts of it.

  “Tell him I don’t want to speak with him,” Bilal said rolling his eyes. The epicene move made Mo’s dick jump, with his gay ass.

  “Tell me yourself, you little bitch,” Suave said confirming that the call was on speaker. “That’s exactly what you sound like. Exactly what you acting like, a bitch!”

  “What…ever!” Bilal said making Mo rock hard. A large erection poked straight out in his sweat pants.

  “The whatever is you gon’ do what I told you to do! The second you come home. If you get released on a Monday and that bitch is dead by Tuesday!”

  “You leave Cameisha alone!” he yelled directly into the phone. Mo moved it down a little so it would be closer to his dick. “You touch her and I’ll…”

  “You’ll what? Cry? Call the cops? You a snitch too now? ‘Sides I’m not going to touch her, you are. Please don’t think you can’t get touched in there. Mo, tell him he can get touched in there.”

  “Mm hm, shole can,” Mo said licking his lips at Bilal. He even gave the lump in his pants a stroke so there would be no misunderstanding. “Fuck around and get fucked around.”

  Bilal stumbled away from the big man and his big lump. He didn’t want to get fucked at all and especially by that. The call ended but Mo stood there surveying him up and down. He looked at him the way a man does a woman, or the way a man who likes men does a man he likes. Mo liked men.

  ****

  “So what do we do with her?” Manny asked looking down at Samantha balled in a fetal position, but breathing.

  “Take her to the green house. She will show us how she alters the cocaine. Won’t you?” Juan demanded.

  “Y…y…yes,” she replied taking the first breath since Juan fired a shot into the ceiling. She opened her mouth to speak again, but a sharp pain reminded her of what happened last time she spoke. For the first time since she was three, she settled for a one-word answer.

  The Salazar clan owned real estate all over Atlanta and the surrounding counties. Some were legit rental properties while others housed family and associates. A series of stash and safe houses were also maintained. They were referred to by color rather than location.

  The white house was the one out in Gwinnet County that he let Cameisha and company use. It was now a smoldering ruin thanks to the Gatling gun. The brown house down south in Henry County was used to process the cash. It held millions in drug money on a regular basis. The green house was a gated estate in Vinings. It was pretty plush for a prison and where Samantha would be held.

  “Juan?” Manny began once the room was cleared. “If the altered cocaine is killing people, why are we making it?”

  “Killing who? Exactly who is dying from the drugs?” he shot back. The way he tilted his head proved a point was forthcoming after the answer.

  “Drug users, addicts?” his brother answered unsurely.

  “Black, drug users and addicts! And the police think it was from the black dealers. We’ll make the money and let them sort it out!”

  Chapter 7

  The sight of how badly the white house was shot up consumed everyone’s thoughts as they rode back towards the city. Meisha was more angry than sad about Samantha’s presumed murder. Sure, it was her fault, but the way her selfishness was set up it wouldn’t allow her to acknowledge it. Jackie knew it too, but the way her loyalty was set up she didn’t do ‘I told you so’s.’

  “At least no one knows where this place is,” Cameisha sighed when she pulled into the condo unit’s underground parking. She and Trigga had a pact that absolutely no one knew where they laid their heads at night. It was a good rule to have.

  “Fo’ real though,” Jackie said with a sting in her voice. She understood it, but knew she was as trustworthy as they came. Her friend heard it, but let it pass. It was a moot issue now that they were there.

  “Yo, this shit is ill!” Bad Ass shouted when Meisha opened the door and stepped aside so they could enter. He rushed over to the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city and looked over the city.

  “This is nice!” Jackie co-signed as she stepped onto the hardwood flooring. A tan leather sofa and loveseat contrasted quite nicely against the dark wood.

  “Where’s the microwave?” Aqua wanted to know. She had no intention on eating another frozen Fat-Fat burger. A glance around the condo answered the question for her when she spotted it. She stuck two burgers in and hit the button. Next, she hit the stainless steel fridge in search of something to wash it down with.

  “Yo! It’s only one bedroom!” Lil Self called from the one bedroom. He came back up front and asked, “Where we ‘posed to sleep?”

  “Well I stay with my man so y’all can’t come there,” Jackie threw out before anyone asked.

  “Don’t act like y’all nigga
s ain’t never slept on no floor! It’ll only be for a second until we figure something out,” Cameisha replied.

  “Trigga won’t mind?” Aqua asked with Fat-Fat juice running down her chin.

  “He won’t…we ‘bout to see,” Cameisha started, stopped, and continued when in walked Trigga. “Hey bae! …What’s wrong?”

  “My momma died…what’s going on?” he replied. A frown of curiosity crossed his face at the room full of people. The broken rule could only mean disaster struck.

  “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” Aqua wailed, rushed over, and snatched him into a bear hug. Fat-Fat grease, sauce, and cheese smeared against his face while all the air was forced from his lean body.

  “I uh…” was all he could get out. Luckily, Cameisha had been hugged by Aqua before and knew what he was going through.

  “I’m sorry bae, Aqua let him go so we can talk,” she said saving him from passing out.

  Trigga sucked in a gulp of air when he was released then followed his girl into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and sat down. Cameisha paced for a second trying to figure out how to best spin the story. Another life was lost because of her bullshit but she was too immature to admit or accept that.

  “Samantha’s dead. Juan killed her. Tried to kill me too but…where you going?” she asked when Trigga jumped up and headed for the door.

  “Finna go murk that nigga,” he replied as if it were just that simple. Just walk up to Juan Salazar and shoot him. The President would be easier to touch now that the Columbians had circled the wagons.

  “Bae, he’s out of our league. You gotta see what they did to the house. I think he got a Black Hawk helicopter or something.” That was enough to sit Trigga back down.

  “Why? Why would he kill your girl? Why would he try to kill you? I know the money straight, you ain’t snitch, so why?” He had to know.

  “He claims I killed his girl last night.”