The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(70)

Rita crossed the room to her office door and locked it.

“They have guns, Rita. Locking the door won’t—”

Another barrage of gunfire echoed into the office.

Frederick snatched the revolver out of Rita’s hand as she stepped back around to her computer.

“They’re in the elevator!” She said.

“Turn off that desk lamp. The computer too,” Fred replied. He pointed the gun at the window he and Rita had just desecrated and sent a bullet through the center of it.

Rita yelped at the sound of the gunshot. The window shattered, and most of it got sucked out into the frigid night sky.

“Come on, Rita. I need you to hold on to this shirt sleeve and let me lower you to the window underneath us. Here’s your gun. Shoot out the window, swing yourself into the room, and run to that elevator, you hear me?”

Outside of Rita’s office, the elevator emitted an audible ding as it reached her floor. Without thinking, she mashed her lips against Frederick’s and gave him a passionate two-second kiss.

“Go now,” Frederick urged.

Rita coiled one end of the makeshift rope around her fist, holding the pistol in her other hand, and reluctantly walked over to the window. With the other end of the makeshift rope secured in Frederick’s mighty hands, he held on tight and quickly lowered her out the window.

Which is when the grim reality of the situation set in.

Dangling from an outfit eighty-six stories in the sky was not Rita’s idea of a good time. Ice-cold winds battered her against the building. Flung her from left to right. She had a hard time aiming the gun, but somehow she managed to shoot a hole in the glass a millisecond before a powerful gust of wind slammed her through the window. She landed on her back, and her head smacked the floor hard enough to leave her thoroughly dazed.

But she wasn’t too dazed to hear the machine gun blazing upstairs.

Turning to look out the window, she caught a brief glimpse of Frederick Douglass’ bullet-riddled body as it plummeted to the ground far below.

“NOOOO!” she screamed hysterically. “God, please!”

“God cannot hear you from here,” said a voice that sounded like an evil Sofia Vergara. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Him.”

Rita looked up, and through teary eyes, saw Jenny Costilla standing in the doorway.





Chapter 45

Every once in a while, Trintino Walkson abandoned his ridiculously expensive suits for the gangster attire he’d worn back when he was riding around the Midwest in his canary yellow Chevelle, selling ounces of coke and crack to the corner-hustlers.

The parking lot in front of his Michigan City nightclub was packed full of vehicles when he pulled up in his dark blue Range Rover Evoque. He eased into his parking space between Squirm-G’s white Hummer and The Swagger’s front entrance, then stepped out clad in a brand-new Pelle Pelle ensemble that matched the color of his Rover, its 30-inch rims, and the sparkling blue diamonds in his Cartier watch and six-pointed star earrings.

“GD Folks!” Squirm shouted as he got out of his H2 and walked around to T-Walk’s side. “We got that nigga, G. Folks n’em just caught him in traffic on the west side of Chicago. Say they tore that Bugatti up.”

Demonstrating the Gangster Disciple handshake with Squirm, and checking out the incredibly fat ass of a brown-skinned girl who was standing in line to get in the club, T-Walk smiled and said, “That’s the kind of shit I like to hear. About time that nigga got taken care of.”

He turned to Squirm. “Is he dead?”

“He gotta be dead. Regg and Ant emptied two thirties at dude. Close-range too. Ain’t no way he could’ve lived through that.”

“Call and make sure. And have somebody get on Facebook and Twitter; they have to be talking about that shooting. If he’s dead, it won’t be a secret for more than two minutes.”

Suddenly, a fight broke out between two of the girls who were standing in front of the line. T-Walk watched in amusement as the brawl quickly turned into a three-on-one handicap match. The three attackers—Tiffany, Jessica, and Makayla, a troublesome trio of brown-skinned dime pieces from 10th and Lafayette, T-Walk’s old neighborhood—were landing brutal punches and knees to their victim’s rapidly swelling face.

Squirm’s twenty-man crew of GDs swarmed around him and T-Walk to get a better view of the fight. All of them wore Gucci and Pelle Pelle outfits; blue diamond necklaces with blinging six-pointed star pendants; Gucci sneakers, shades, and bandanas. One particularly large GD named Gusto stepped in front of T-Walk and Squirm, essentially shielding them from any potential threats.

Shaking his head incredulously, T-Walk turned and strolled into the club, smiling his brilliant Colgate smile at what looked like at least two thousand men and women. After stopping to take pictures and network with a few people he made his way to the glass-enclosed VIP section at the rear of the club. Tasia was sitting at one of the tables behind a stack of her books. She had an unpleasant look on her face.

“Where are Alexus and Mercedes?” Tasia asked in a chilly voice.

“They, uh—it’s a long story,” T-Walk replied as he slipped into the seat beside her. “Cereniti’s not coming either. They’re all in Chicago at that old Michael Jordan mansion.”

“Blake’s mansion?”