Killer Dolls, Part 1, page 8
part #1 of Killer Dolls Series
“See, don’t knock it until you try it,” Emilio said, looking at Aoki.
“Well, I would like to try a lot of new things,” Tisa said.
“Like what, Tisa? Some different dick?”
“Oh, you funny, Ri-Ri. Just Kevin Hart funny and shit,” Tisa spat back.
“And you just hot all year around.”
“You talkin’, huh? The pot tryin’ to call the kettle black, after your late-night rendezvous with Monty in the hood. Ain’t he ya boo thang now?”
“We’re not a couple,” Rihanna corrected.
Tisa chuckled and replied, “Says the rooftop—‘Hope you didn’t get too much gravel in your pussy while lying on your back.’”
“Ha! Ha! You so funny, Tisa,” Rihanna replied dryly.
“Def Comedy Jam, bitch,” Tisa quipped back.
Emilio couldn’t believe what they were bickering about. He was waiting for one of the girls to drop some dirt on Aoki, but they didn’t. He watched her as she sat, quietly, observing her friends make fools of themselves.
“So what about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” Aoki replied.
“What’s your story?”
“Me have no story.’”
“Sure you do. Everyone does.” He looked deeper. “Why are your eyes so sad? Start there.”
Aoki was at a loss for words. What were her eyes telling people? Did Emilio see her dead parents behind her black pupils?
“One day, maybe me tell ya. But ya start first. Tell me ’bout you.”
Within no time, Aoki found Emilio quite interesting. She wondered how AZ met him. Emilio wasn’t his average clientele; he was a gentleman and was charming and ambitious. But AZ knew how to network with people and draw them in. The man had personality, and he was always thinking outside the box. So Aoki wasn’t too surprised that he was in business with a college kid.
After the café, the girls said their good-byes to Emilio, but not before he and Aoki exchanged cell phone numbers.
“Call me,” he said.
Tisa wasn’t too happy about it, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to be seen as a hater. The girls went into the subway and got on the uptown train to the Bronx to deliver three ounces of cocaine to a low-level dealer named Lamont.
While on the train, Aoki thought about Emilio.
Tisa said, “You really gonna call him? He ain’t even ya type, Aoki.”
TEN
Yo, I got three hundred, my nigga. Three hundred down. Roll them fuckin’ dice and lose ya fuckin’ money, nigga!” Greasy Dee hollered at AZ.
Greasy Dee was a grimy nigga from Brownsville. He was tall, black, and sloppy. He and his friend Polo had a reputation for everything—stickups, drug dealing, armed robbery, and even murder.
“Lose?” AZ laughed. “You talk a lot of shit, nigga. You ain’t tired of losing money? I already got you for two hundred. Shit, ya money is better in my pocket anyway, nigga.” AZ shook the dice, getting ready to roll.
“Nigga, I’m tired of ya fuckin’ mouth. I’ma get my money back.”
“Not tonight, nigga. Not tonight,” AZ shot back.
The dice game was in full effect in the building lobby, which reeked of weed. The local goons crowded over the five hundred plus dollars on the floor, passing around blunts and guzzling forties.
The game had been going on for over an hour, with a lot of shit talking and cursing.
Heavy Pop stood in the background, watching his partner in crime work magic with the dice. Heavy wasn’t a gambler; he was a hustler.
Everyone was betting against the shooter.
AZ rolled the dice, letting them free from his hand coolly and confidently. All eyes were watching intensely, anticipating the outcome.
When the dice hit the wall, bounced off, and stopped rolling, AZ cheered. “Yeah, nigga, give me my fuckin’ money! How you gonna bet against the house? Nigga, don’t you know the house always fuckin’ win?” He snatched the loot off the ground and counted it openly, showing off.
Greasy Dee frowned. He was losing big in one night.
As AZ continued to clown him, Heavy Pop smiled and shook his head. “My nigga,” he uttered.
“Yo, fuck it! Run it back,” Greasy Dee said.
“Damn, nigga, you ain’t sick yet? Shit, when I finish wit’ you, ya mama gonna owe me her damn house.”
Everyone laughed.
“Fuck you, faggot!”
“What, nigga? What the fuck you call me?” AZ exclaimed, puffing his chest out and tightening his face.
“You heard me, nigga—you a fuckin’ faggot! What bitch you fuckin’? Huh, nigga? Walkin’ around the block like you gangsta like that. You ain’t shit, nigga. Fuckin’ faggot! Booty-bandit nigga!”
Greasy Dee didn’t know AZ was gay in real life. But AZ felt so embarrassed and guilty, he just reacted without thinking.
AZ clenched his fists and swung at Greasy Dee, striking him in the jaw. Greasy Dee stumbled backwards, confused, but he didn’t go down. A fight ensued. Both men rumbled and tussled, throwing blow after blow.
AZ caught a few heavy licks to his face, but he wasn’t made of glass. He was a boxer and put his hand skills to use, striking his foe with a hard right hook and then a left. He wanted to beat Greasy into the ground.
“Yo, let them fight! Let them fight!” someone shouted.
AZ quickly took the advantage when he smashed a beer bottle over Greasy Dee’s head, and Greasy Dee went down.
Polo, Greasy Dee’s right-hand man, lunged forward, lifting his shirt to pull out his burner.
Heavy Pop was quickly on it, pulling out his own pistol and screaming, “Back the fuck up! Back the fuck up!”
The crowd froze up, including Polo and Greasy Dee. Everyone had their hands in surrender in the air.
Heavy Pop scowled. He pointed his burner like a madman at everyone, threatening to shoot.
“Yo, you got it, nigga,” Greasy Dee said dryly, backing away from the threat. “You got it.”
“Yeah, nigga, I know I got it,” AZ said, now pointing his own pistol at Greasy Dee.
For both Brownsville men, it was a no-win situation. AZ and Heavy Pop had the upper hand. Heavy made Polo surrender his gun. Plus, they took him for his gold chain.
“Nigga, bounce, and be lucky y’all leavin’ with y’all lives,” AZ said, talking that shit.
Greasy Dee’s frown was so intense, it looked like he was born like that. Both men reluctantly went to the exit, robbed and embarrassed.
One of the players looked at AZ and said, “Yo, you know it ain’t over wit’ them niggas. They some serious goons. Y’all should have bodied them Brownsville niggas cuz they ain’t gonna let this shit slide.”
AZ didn’t respond to the comment. He stood there silent and pondering. He knew he’d made a grave mistake by pulling a gun on Greasy Dee and Polo. But it was too late, and he wasn’t about to be humiliated and called a faggot in front of his own peoples.
There was another fact AZ kept hidden away from the streets—he wasn’t a killer. He pretended to be, but his heart didn’t run that cold. He was selling kilos but was grateful that the wolves didn’t come lurking at his doorsteps to take a bite out of him. What AZ had a reputation for was his hand skills—knocking niggas out. So the streets automatically thought he would buss his gun too, him and Heavy Pop.
“Yo, we out,” AZ said, almost a thousand dollars richer from the dice game.
The two men marched cautiously out the doors and toward the truck.
AZ had to cool his head. He lit a cigarette and sat behind the steering wheel. Heavy Pop was reclined in the passenger seat and chilling.
“You believe that shit? Nigga tryin’ to disrespect me and call me a fuckin’ faggot.”
“I would beat a nigga down myself for sayin’ that shit to me.”
After about a minute, AZ started his Yukon and drove off. He wasn’t tryin to fret about Greasy Dee and Polo. They were two clown-ass niggas living on borrowed time.
AZ had money to make. Business was good for them both. Peanut was trying to reach them for another sale; two kilos this time. The meeting was set.
***
The drive into Staten Island was at night this time. AZ drove toward the hood with Heavy Pop riding shotgun. They drove deeper into the hood and turned right on Prospect Street and saw about two dozen hood niggas drinking, smoking, and chilling in front of a bodega. It looked like an impromptu block party without a DJ and a permit.
“Damn!” Heavy Pop said. “What? Is it a fuckin’ carnival out this bitch?”
“I know. Shit is lookin’ crazy out here.”
AZ’s eyes darted around for Peanut in the crowd of hoodlums. He didn’t push his truck any farther down the block, but let it stay idling by the corner. He kept his gun close.
“Yo, call this dude because I’m not about to go out there and look for this nigga,” Heavy Pop said.
AZ pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Peanut’s number.
Peanut answered, and the first thing he said was, “Yo, that’s you at the end of the block?”
“Yeah, it’s us.”
“Yo, park the truck and get out. Come have a drink wit’ us and chill.”
“Nah, we good,” AZ said. “We would have you rather come to us.”
“Oh, okay. I feel you. Too many niggas on the street for y’all.”
AZ hung up. He looked ahead and noticed Peanut coming their way, a red plastic cup in his hand.
Peanut climbed into the backseat of the Yukon and greeted AZ and Heavy Pop with glad hands. “My niggas,” he said, smiling.
“Y’all having a party or something?” Heavy Pop asked.
“Something like that. We havin’ a little memorial for my nigga Raze; it was his funeral today.”
“My condolences,” AZ chimed.
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking?” Heavy Pop asked.
“I got a l’il beef wit’ this Harlem nigga, but it’s all good. Me and my goons gonna see that nigga real soon. Let the streets talk back wit’ that big boom and let them Harlem cats know they can’t sleep on Staten Island niggas. Y’all feel me? Niggas be thinkin’ Staten Island is pussy out here, but we ain’t. Our guns pop off too, y’all feel me?”
“Yeah, we feel you,” AZ replied halfheartedly. He couldn’t care less about Peanut’s beef with a Harlem nigga.
“Yo, y’all can roll out fo’ a minute so we can talk,” Peanut said. “I don’t want all these niggas in my business anyway.”
AZ and Heavy Pop agreed. The Yukon was put into reverse, and they drove away from the busy area. They rode two blocks away and parked somewhere with less traffic and fewer people.
Peanut immediately went into negotiation mode. “Yo, I wanna cop two bricks from y’all, but I need that favor.”
“Favor?” AZ responded with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, let me get them on consignment for now.”
“What?” Heavy Pop uttered.
“I’m sayin’, my niggas, the block is kinda hot right now wit’ this war goin’ on wit’ this Harlem nigga. The paper has kinda slowed down a little, but I’m still grindin’ out there. But you got my word, AZ—I’m gonna have ya money, no doubt. I just need these two bricks to keep the machine goin’. I’m a real dude, yo; you can trust me. I ain’t gonna shit on you.”
There was a pause and a little hesitation from AZ’s end. He barely knew Peanut, but he did come through with his last sell. He looked at Heavy Pop for advice.
Heavy shrugged. “That’s your call, my nigga.”
AZ sighed. He turned around in his seat and stared at Peanut. Peanut was waiting for an answer.
“Look, I ain’t comfortable wit’ this consignment shit.”
“Yeah, I know. But you know where I’m at every day. Y’all niggas can come see me anytime. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’m a local nigga, and I’m a real nigga.”
“Here’s what I can do for you—I’ll give you one ki on consignment.”
Peanut mulled it over and then said, “Yeah, that can work.”
The two shook on it.
AZ wanted to continue his business relationship with Peanut. He’d worked hard at building his clientele and spreading his product from Queens to Staten Island.
AZ stopped at the corner of Bay and Prospect Streets. It looked like more and more niggas were converging on the street to join Raze’s memorial.
“Y’all my niggas,” Peanut said, giving the two men dap before climbing out of the truck.
AZ didn’t drive away immediately once Peanut was out of his ride. He looked at the goons crowding the entire street and said to Heavy Pop, “Yo, you think we can trust him?”
“I don’t trust anybody.”
AZ sat for a moment and sighed. The one thing he didn’t want to look like to his clientele was weak. He felt that he was doing too many negotiations with people and maybe it was time to slow that shit down. He wanted to make his peoples happy. He was a businessman, or he tried his best to be. He just hoped that no one forced his hand to react violently.
AZ drove away from the area trying to believe that he’d done the right thing. He lit a cigarette and tried to ease his mind. They crossed the Verrazano Bridge and were back in Brooklyn.
His cell phone rang. It was Aoki. She confirmed to him that all their deliveries had gone through smoothly. AZ was happy. He said, “That’s my girl.”
ELEVEN
The callous rain fell nonstop all afternoon, the steady downpour sounding like tap dancing shoes on hardwood floors. AZ was in a good mood. He and Heavy Pop were on their way into New Jersey to meet with a new connect named Oscar, a businessman and a drug dealer with connections to the Gulf Cartel. He was known in New Jersey as the Smiley man. The Smiley man was legit and cunning, and he only dealt with the heavyweights.
AZ needed a new connect. The Colombian he was dealing with had troubles in the legal department, and AZ felt it was best to cut ties with him for a moment. Oscar’s name had been mentioned. Oscar was ready to link up with him and talk, after he had his people vet AZ. Oscar had the goods, and AZ had the cash. Oscar was also unequivocal that he didn’t do business with anyone for anything less than five kilos.
Heavy Pop was driving, moving the Yukon through the streets of Brooklyn. AZ was on his cell phone conversing with a female.
“Oh, word? You tryin’ to see me soon, huh?” AZ said, smiling. “And what you gonna do when I come over there?”
Her response made AZ laugh.
“I like the sound of that,” he said.
Heavy Pop headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge. The streets were wet and tense. Sometimes the rain became so heavy that, even with the windshield wipers at full throttle, it was hard to see.
AZ continued talking Love Jones into his cell phone, pimping hard.
Heavy Pop smiled at his friend. “Yo, ask if she got a friend.”
AZ grinned. “Yo, my dude wants to know if you got a friend for him.”
Heavy Pop was waiting evenly for her reply.
AZ said, “Is he cute?—Yo, I don’t judge niggas. That ain’t my thing. She would have to see for herself . . . a’ight, that can definitely work . . . we can do that then.” He ended his conversation with the female and said to Heavy Pop, “Yo, she’s down.”
“My nigga! I just hope she’s cute.”
“Pussy is pussy. Right, my nigga?”
“As long as she easy on the eyes—I ain’t tryin’ to put my dick in no gorilla-lookin’ bitch.”
AZ laughed.
As they continued driving, AZ’s cell phone rang again. He looked at the caller ID. His mood changed to somber. He didn’t answer the call. It was Connor calling him. It had been a week since their spat. AZ knew he was probably calling to apologize and ask to see him again. AZ definitely wasn’t about to answer the call with Heavy Pop present. He allowed Connor’s call to go to voice mail.
“Who that, my nigga?”
“Just some stupid bitch I ain’t tryin’ to see right now.”
Right after AZ had Connor’s call go to voice mail, a text chimed on his cell phone. AZ opened it. It was from Connor, saying:
baby, pls dn’t ig my calls. I’m sorry bout the other night, I know I can get emotional sometimes, but I love u and I miss u. I want 2 c u, 2nite if possible. call me & I promise I’ll give u a special treat 2nite. . Xoxxoxoxox
AZ missed him too, but he didn’t want to be exposed. He kept a poker face while reading Connor’s text repeatedly. Connor gave the best blowjobs ever. The way that nigga sucked dick was mind-blowing.
AZ deleted the text message. The last thing he needed was a stupid coincidence of that text message being seen. He sat back and said to Heavy, “Let’s go make some money today.”
The Yukon came to a stop at a red light on Eastern Parkway and Troy Avenue. The heavy rain made the streets empty. AZ’s mind was in a different world. Why did Connor have to call him? He couldn’t stop thinking about that man. It’d been a week too long. He wrestled with the idea of driving to Riverhead later that night to see him. The vehicle sat idling at the red light. Both men were quiet. It was a long trip to New Jersey, especially in the rain.
A black Denali pulled up next to their Yukon and sat idling at the red light too, windows tinted. Neither man paid any attention to the vehicle.
AZ removed a cigarette from his dwindling pack and lit it. Before he could take a decent drag from the cancer stick, gunshots cracked into the air all of a sudden, sounding loud like thunder and shattering the passenger window as bullets tore into their truck.
“Oh shit! Oh shit!” AZ hollered, ducking for cover from the gunfire as shards of glass rained down on him. “Drive, Heavy! Fuckin’ drive!”
