The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(47)

Glancing toward her collection of gaudy vehicles, Alexus spotted her paternal family standing in front of her limo, conversing in whispers. She sashayed over to Blake, her arms extended for a hug. He embraced her limply.

“Hold up a minute, bruh,” Blake said into the earpiece. He smiled a little as her lips touched his. “Let me call you back in a few minutes. Matter of fact, I’ll catch you at the park… yup, one hun’ed.” He hung up

“Who was that?” Alexus asked, kissing the Old English-written DOPE BOY tattoo that ran across the top of his chest.

“That was Douglass,” Blake said, “just callin’ to let me know that I’m getting’ a quarter mill’ to show up at a strip club in Indianapolis after the stadium show. I’m pullin’ in one point eight off that show already. A hundred off every ticket.”

Alexus flicked her eyes over to her attorney’s sleek gray Mercedes Benz GL320 SUV as it pulled into the driveway behind Kenny’s Panamera. “I, uh, kinda have an important business meeting to attend, so I’m not going to make it to your first show. I’ll fly down to Nap-town for the second one. Mercedes said she’s going with you, so I’m sending twelve bodyguards with—”

“I ain’t ridin’ wit’ no bodyguards.” Blake grumbled. “She’ll be a’ight. I don’t know why y’all worried ‘bout Jenny anyway. She way down in Mexico some-muhf*ckin-where.” He slid on the bulletproof vest, then fired up his blunt. “And besides”—he patted the golden assault rifle—“ain’t no water drippin’ out this Super Soaker.”

Papi appeared beside Alexus. He kissed her and Mercedes on their cheeks and said. “If anyone is sent to harm either of you, I assure you that Jenny will pay dearly for it. Blake, you take good care of my angels. And be a gangster about it.”

“I’m gangsta twenty-fo’-seven.” Blake shook Papi’s hand. Then the old drug lord turned and went back to Alexus’ limousine. He climbed in ahead of the other cartel bosses, and the limo sailed out of the garage. They were on their way to O’Hare Airport to board a plane to Hong Kong, a plane that was carrying twenty-two thousand pounds of uncut cocaine.

Bostic honked her car horn once, and Alexus placed another kiss on Blake’s lips before rushing off to join the attorney.





Chapter 27

Trintino Walkson, now a Senior Regent of the Gangster Disciples, entered Cup’s office at Redbone’s clad in a navy blue Armani suit and carrying a Gucci duffle bag. Due to his imminent face-to-face meeting with Alexus, a Colgate smile was pasted on his face.

“Three hundred and seventy thousand?” Reesie Cup said; eyes fixed on the camera monitor, he was studying the trio of SUV’s T-Walk and his crew had arrived in.

“Exactly.” T-Walk sat the bag on Cup’s brand-new desk—a gold-plated five-pointed star centered between two golden canes with a thick slab of glass laid over it. “Nice desk,” he complimented.

“Yeah… just got it last week, joe. Paid damn near a half a mill’.” Cup turned to T-Walk and pointed at the three-foot-tall cardboard box that stood beside his desk. “There you go right there. Forty bricks, and you owe me the other three seventy.”

“This better be that raw shit.”

“Ain’t it always?” Cup grinned.

T-Walk opened the box and took a look at the kilos of cocaine. They were individually wrapped in greenish-blue cellphone, just as they always were. He pulled out the key to his brand-new baby blue Lamborghini truck and used it to skewer one of the blocks of cocaine. He dabbed a bit of the powder on his tongue, and his mouth went numb.

“Is that the new Lambo truck?” Reesie Cup asked, gazing again at the wall-mounted camera monitor.

“Yup,” T-Walk said. “It’s the Lamborghini Urus. Got it squattin’ on chrome thirty-inch Asantis. That’s my folks Squirms’ Hummer on thirty-twos sittin’ behind the Lambo, and my nigga Lil Ant just bought that black Cadillac truck on thirty-twos.”

Cup nodded his head and unzipped the duffle, pressing a button on the cash-counting machine that sat next to his computer. “I watched that li’l video you put on YouTube. That was a dumb move. You know how trigger happy Bulletface is.” He fed a stack of hundreds into the machine, then leaned back in his hair and trained his eyes on T-Walk. His expression became quizzical. “I hope you’re ready for what’s comin’.”

“Nigga, we strapped up. Fuck Blake and every nigga ridin’ with that hoe-ass nigga. And you can tell him I said it, too. You think I’m going to just forget about that li’l nigga shooting’ up my Rolls? He shot me twice, fam. One bullet went through my shoulder and missed the jugular by an inch. Me not gettin’ at him would be like Obama not gettin’ at Osama.”

“I’m not sayin’ you don’t have the right to be upset. But timing is everything. Right now he’s responsible for most of the dope coming into the Midwest. You’re buying his product; I’m buying his product—think about all the money you’d f*ck up if you took Blake out of the game. Like I told you before, find me a cartel connect who can flood the streets wit’ snow like Blake can. Then I’ll have him taken care of.”

T-Walk grabbed a roll of duct tape from the corner of the desk and started ripping long strips from it, taping the cardboard box shut. His mind was jumbled with thoughts of how to do away with Blake. He looked up and followed Cups’ gaze to the camera monitor… and smiled.