The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(15)

There would be no partying this time around.

He pulled over next to Bee Kay’s, a gray stone convenience store on the corner of 9th Street. The white Hummer H2 on chrome thirty-two-inch rims that parked beside Squirm-G’s Magnum was his also, and it was occupied by three Glock-toting Gangster Disciples.

“So…this is Bulletface’s ‘hood, huh?” Squirm mean-mugged the eight teenaged dope boys that were standing on the corner in front of the store’s door. Then he turned and looked at the throng of young black hustlers who were standing in clusters on 9th, and on Patrick Street, as well as in the alley that separated the two blocks. Lime-green 70’s-model Chevy Caprice convertibles on large chrome rims lined both streets. Squirm counted fourteen of them.

“Ain’t no way in hell these niggas done bought all these whips wit’ drug money,” said Lil’ Ant, the man seated next to Squirm. He had six thick braids running from his hairline to the nape of his neck, as did Squirm-G. Ant was a short, dark-complected GD from Miller Projects in Gary. He was dressed in a blue leather Pelle Pelle jacket over baggy Girbaud jeans and a fresh pair of white-and-blue Jordans.

Squirm-G was brown-skinned, 5’11”, and shaped like Bruce Lee. He had on a black Gucci jacket, a Gucci skullcap, Pelle Pelle jeans with a Gucci belt, and Gucci sneakers. An eighty-thousand-dollar platinum necklace, full of blue diamonds, hung from his neck. Attached to it was a blue diamond-encrusted six-point star with the letters GDN embossed across it in tiny black diamonds.

Last August, Squirm-G, Lil’ Ant, and two others had gotten seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars apiece for shooting a man to death, a man who’d been scheduled to testify against Bulletface in a case involving numerous murders.

But now T-Walk, a close friend of Squirm’s, had a million dollars on Bulletface’s head, and Squirm-G was thirsty for more cash.

“Folks, on the BOS,” Squirm-G said, opening and raising his Lamborghini-style driver’s door, “if I see that nigga Bulletface, I’ma put six bullets in his face. All y’all gotta do is murk these otha niggas. I’m finna go in here and grab some blunts, see if I can find out where dude stay at.”

“Man, G, we ain’t gon’ find that nigga out here. Wit’ all that money he got, that nigga in Hollywood some muhf*ckin’ where.” Lil’ Ant opened his door. “You know what it is, though. We catch that nigga, we wet that nigga.”

“On GDN,” Squirm-G said, chuckling diabolically as they stepped out of the car.





Chapter 9

Tall and lean, with a Drake-like complexion and green eyes, Fly was sitting on the trunk of his lime-green 1973 Caprice convertible, taking sips from a bottle of Mountain Dew and staring coldly at the two strangers who were getting out of a blue Magnum.

A sexy twenty-year-old redbone name Tiff-Tiff was sitting beside Fly. She turned to him and said, “That is them niggas right there. They been askin’ where they can find Blake. That dark-skinned boy offered me and Danielle five hundred apiece to tell him where Blake stay at.”

There were four young goons standing near a row of bushes a few feet away from Fly’s Chevy. All he had to do was give the word and they would grab their AR-15 assault rifles from the bushes and open fire.

Hopping down from the trunk of his Donk, Fly shouted to the two men before they could enter the store.

“Ay, what the f*ck y’all niggas want?”

What transpired next surprised Fly.

The guy in the black jacket looked at Fly, then draw two chrome semiautomatic .45-caliber pistols from inside his jacket and, aiming one gun at the group of teens on the corner before him and the other at Fly, opened fire.

More gunfire erupted as Fly dropped flat to the ground. Heart racing, he scrambled for cover on the other side of his Chevy. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard numerous guns blazing simultaneously. A shower of jagged glass shards cascaded down onto his head and the shoulders of his 8732 sweater. Hood chicks screamed; unarmed dope boys fled. Somebody shouted, “Shit, they shootin’ from that Hummer, too! Get the choppas!”

Fly pulled his .357 and rose up shooting, just as his goons began squeezing off shots from their AR-15s.

But the two men were already back in the Magnum, and they, along with the Hummer, were gone a few seconds later.

Jogging across the street, Fly fixed his eyes on the four wounded teenagers that were stretched out on the sidewalk in front of the store. His stomach tightened when he realized that Lil Mike, a close friend of his and Blake’s right-hand man, was lying dead in a pool of blood, with three dime-sized holes in his face.





Chapter 10

“Don’t you dare answer that call,” Rita Mae Bishop said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “In fact, why don’t you do us all a favor and shut it off until we’re finished eating dinner.”

Future’s “Tony Montana” ringtone was blaring from Blake’s iPhone. He grabbed it from his waist and turned it off without even looking to see who the caller was. “My bad, Momma. Forgot it was on.”

It was then that Rita decided she’d had enough of her chicken salad. She pushed the bowl aside and addressed Blake in her usual gentle tone. “I need to ask you a very serious question, and I need an honest answer. We clear so far?”

Blake grinned at his mother-in-law. “Absolutely.”