Angel's Revenge (6 page)

A team of four gunmen had robbed World’s people in Atlantic City of over a million dollars in heroin and cash and killed two
of World’s top dogs.

World got word that it was Roll who had robbed him and stuck him for the million dollars. Roll didn’t try to hide it either.
It was a slap in the face, a provocation for World to go to war, yet Young World hadn’t responded, and that was over a month
ago.

“Fuck Roll! I ain’t forgot about that fat muthafucka! I got other shit to worry about. You heard Ceylon. We got thirty days
to double our distribution or we cut off. I don’t give a fuck how many guns we got. We get cut off, it’s finished!” Young
World spat heatedly.

“What you mean ‘Fuck Roll’? It’s because of shit like that why we losin’ spots as it is! Muthafuckas think we soft. Fuck that!
We go all out and take all these bitches to war! Ceylon, Roll, and whoever the fuck else! That’s how we double distribution,
and if we don’t, we find another connect.”

Duke had it all figured out and was ready to get down for his crown or die tryin’.

Young World shook his head. Duke was letting his emotions speak for him, but Young World knew better.

The last three years had taken a real toll on his team, he and Duke the only survivors from the original clique. Except for
a few remaining Angel’s Charlies, the rest of his organization was bound by the dollar, or fear, not by loyalty. And they
were second-rate at best.

World felt trapped. It was like every time he solved one problem, two jumped up to take its place. He was like any other young
black man on the streets, trying to win by someone else’s rules, trying to play the game without understanding the nature
of power. He had forgotten the lesson Dutch’s game plan laid out. He loved Dutch for putting him in his present position.
But damn, why’d you have to die?
he thought.

“Look, yo,” World began in a calm tone. “Ain’t shit soft about World, son. I handle shit my way, period, point blank. I’m
the one gotta answer for this shit, and I’m in this to get paper. Niggas be on that ra ra shit. Fuck ’em. I’ll see ’em on
my terms, on my time. Until then…” Young World looked at Duke, “You either wit’ me or against me.”

He gave Duke the ultimate ultimatum, but Duke wasn’t prepared to go solo… yet.

“Whatever you say, Ock. Whatever you say.”

Young World turned up the system and Scarface’d his way back to Newark. He pulled up to Sammy’s Place off Broad Street where
Duke had parked his Hummer.

“On the real, Duke. I feel where you comin’ from, and I feel the same way. But I need you to trust me, aiight? Let me handle
this my way,” Young World said, throwing his car in park.

Duke shrugged and opened the door. “I got you, World.”

“Duke, we been through too much together to fuck up now, yo.”

Duke flashed a phony smile. “Fuck you need, a hug, nigga? I said I got you.” He chuckled and eased the tension between them.
They shook hands.

“I’ll call you later,” said World.

“One,” replied Duke.

“One.”

World pulled off with ease, thinking everything was love, but it wasn’t. Duke watched the taillights of the Mercedes disappear,
then turned toward the door of Sammy’s and went inside.

It was a small, sleazy joint but out of the way enough that Duke felt that he would see no one he knew. He had another important
meeting, one Young World knew nothing about. He had a meeting with the mob.

Vinnie Z and his fat henchman sat in the rear of the bar at a secluded booth. Vinnie was all smiles the moment he saw Duke.

Vinnie was the stereotypical young, cocky Italian, always grabbing his balls and using hand gestures with his syllables. They
had met when Vinnie tried to convince Young World that he needed the mob in his corner, not against him, but Young World refused.
Duke, on the other hand, saw his opportunity and seized it, sending word to Vinnie that they should talk, and this meeting
was a result of that message.

As Duke approached, Vinnie stood to greet him, giving him a firm and vigorous handshake.

“Duke! Paisano! How you doin’, eh? You look good. Mikey, it’s Duke. Say hello to Duke,” Vinnie ranted like Duke was a war
buddy.

Jabbalike Mikey just grunted inaudibly. To Mikey, a nigger was a nigger, and he didn’t want to be bothered. Vinnie felt the
same way. He was just a better actor. He knew young black guys loved the Mafioso persona, so Vinnie laid it on thick.

“Sit down, Duke. What choo drinkin’?”

Duke sat down and unbuttoned his coat. “Naw, I’m good.”

Vinnie sat back, shaking the ice in his glass. “Okay. Duke’s good, so, ah, what’s good with Duke?” Vinnie inquired.

Duke took out a cigarette, and Vinnie produced a lighter. “You tell me, Z.”

“How’s Young World?”

“He just left. You shoulda said something. I woulda told him to come on in,” Duke answered sarcastically.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, your friend is an ass-hole. I can’t talk to him. You, I can talk to. You know why? Because
you’re a reasonable guy. You and I, we could have a good thing, eh?”

Duke blew cigarette smoke out his mouth before speaking.

“Maybe we can arrange a few things.”

“Definitely, because a guy like you needs friends like me, eh? I give you a place to lay your hat. I talk to people, they
talk to people, and we all sit down and eat, ba-da-bing?”

“Ba-da-boom.” Duke smiled. “I just hope some of these people you talkin’ to is judges and DAs ’cause niggas catchin’ cases
like snitches is sexually transmittin’ ’em.”

“Forget about it,” Vinnie warned with a gesture of dismissal. “My guys are good guys, and we take care of our friends. You
just gimme a call when it’s a go on your end, capisci?” Vinnie grinned greedily.

He was itching to get his olive-oiled hands on Young World’s territory and Duke was just the monkey to bring it to him. Dutch
had run the Italians out of the Newark drug game and now Duke was ready to bring them back in and play puppet in their tangled
strings. All Vinnie needed was a chance to implement his plan, and Young World was unwittingly about to give it to him.

Young World stood in the bedroom door and admired his sleeping beauty. She lay wrapped to the waist in peach-colored sheets
that accentuated her ebony skin tone.

He loved her.

Lana was the perfect hustler’s wife. She had been with him every step of the way, stashing money, holding work, and tucking
pistols when necessary. Although it took him two years, Lana gave him her virginity. They had been inseparable ever since.
Lana was his first love; the game was his second.

World loved being the man his position made him. And it wasn’t just the money. It was the power and respect, a respect he
knew he had to rep to maintain.

He walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture of him and Dutch at a Roy Jones fight. World admired Dutch’s finesse.
The smirk that framed his chocolate face told the world he knew he was that nigga. When Young World first met Dutch, he knew
he was destined to be a legend and he wanted to be just like him, the way he bopped, his sharp Newark accent, his smooth style.
But when Dutch peeped it, he checked him quick.

“I like you, lil’ nigga, word up. You a thoroughbred. You just been misled. I see you wanna be like me, but if you really
wanna be like me, don’t be like me. That’s why I am who I am because ain’t another muthafucka like Dutch.”

Dutch wasn’t his mentor. One-eyed Roc was. It was Roc who put him on, but Dutch would often come scoop him off the block and
sharpen his game. World knew if Roc and Angel hadn’t been locked up, he would’ve never had the opportunity he had now. So
he looked at it as a fate he was destined to fulfill. But he needed answers, and he knew who had them.

Roc.

He needed to go see Roc.

World cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner, but things were so damned hectic. It was hard enough to catch some sleep,
let alone think straight.

Young World slid open the drawer and gazed at its contents. Dutch’s dragon chain.

He lifted the heavy piece from the drawer and cradled it in his hand. The diamonds and rubies glistened and sparkled on the
twenty-four-karat gold nugget barrel link. Before Dutch, Kazami had worn the chain. Kazami, the wild African who everyone
feared until Dutch murdered him and took the chain. Afterward, Dutch locked down the streets. Ever since World had the chain,
he had worn it only occasionally. Now it was time to rep it to the fullest.

World kicked off his shoes, lay on the bed fully clothed behind Lana, and cradled her body to his. His touch instantly awoke
her.

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” she cooed sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, boo. It’s late,” World softly replied, his mind a million miles away.

“You hungry?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Naw, I’m good.”

They had been together too long for her not to recognize the troubled tone in his voice. She turned over and faced Young World,
tucking her right hand under her head.

“Everything okay?” she questioned with concern.

He shrugged, “It is what it is.”

“So, what is it?” She smiled, still probing.

World looked his love in the eyes, their faces only inches apart, and asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”

“Changed?” Lana echoed with a wrinkled brow. “Changed how?”

“I don’t know, just…”

“Is this about earlier? If it is, you were right. I trust you,” she assured him, cutting him off from what he was about to
say.

“Not like that,” he began. “You think I’m gettin’ soft?”

“Soft? Baby, you know I keep it all the way gangsta with you, but it’s been so long since I’ve been around you like that to
know,” Lana replied, then added, “You locked me out of that part of your life.”

“But you lay with me, therefore you know my weakness,” World answered.

“Remember before Jazz died, y’all was beefin’ with Chancellor?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you say to him that a gun may get you power but a gun can’t keep you in power,” Lana explained, using the jewel against
him. He had heard it from Roc and now he better understood the difference between a gangsta and a goon. He had the goon part
down. He just needed to learn the ways of a true gangsta. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead.

“I’m sayin’, you my wifey or my godfather?” he joked.

Lana giggled and replied with the godfather rasp in her voice, “Just call me Vito Corleone.”

They both laughed. Lana caressed his face.

“Just do what you have to do to come home to me every night. Shahid, promise me you’ll never let them take you away from me.”

“I promise, baby. I love you, Lana.”

“I love you, my World.”

Duke slipped out of bed, stretched his arms wide, and embraced the morning sun. He had always been an early bird, a habit
he acquired from his days on the block. Duke was the type of hustler who worked harder, not smarter. His strength lay in his
endurance, not in his swiftness. A good trait for a soldier, but Duke wanted to be the general.

His mind went back to his conversation the night before with Young World. It had been a week since their meeting with Ceylon,
and Young World had been on his grind trying to meet the deadline. World had told Duke that he was going to see Roc, and of
course, he was in charge during his absence.

“Yo, Duke, stay sucka-free,” he added because he knew Duke’s love for drama.

Duke was a live wire for gunplay, which was the main reason Young World had cliqued up with him back in the day. Once World’s
man Jazz had been murdered, it was only right that Duke fill the position. But Duke wasn’t content being the man next to the
man. He wanted to be that nigga.

He glanced down at the two naked white girls in his bed and his mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he remembered the lusty
episode from last night. Duke had a thing for young girls and he found out that white women were real loose with black dick.
The two sleeping seventeen-year-olds were no exception. He had pumped them full of “E,” then pumped them full of his “D,”
and with his adrenaline pumping for what lay ahead, his bone hardened on the spot.

Both girls were blondes from their heads down to their pubic hairs, which turned Duke on. He slipped his fingers between the
legs of the shorter of the two, who had been sleeping on her stomach, and slid inside her forcefully, waking her up with one
pounding thrust.

“Arrrrgghhh!” she groaned in shock, trying to squirm from under Duke’s thug fuck. He pinned her wrists to the bed and spread
her legs wider until she was spread-eagled on her belly. All the moaning and shouting woke her friend from her slumber. She
opened her eyes and caught sight of Duke’s long black dick sliding in and out of her friend and it made her horny.

“Oh, Duke! Duuuuuke!” the first girl groaned, loving the muscle Duke was running up in her.

He felt the buildup in his balls and pulled out just in time to gag her friend’s throat with his load.

“Good morning to you, too, daddy,” the shorter blonde cooed, rolling off her stomach, sore and satisfied.

Duke used her shirt to clean himself off.

“Y’all gotta get goin’, yo. I got shit to do.”

Duke headed for the bathroom to clean up. After his shower, he dressed in his favorite Carolina blue Roccawear velour suit
and Carolina blue Jordans. He headed for the kitchen and found that the girls were gone. He fixed himself breakfast like they
usually did. They were at his beck and call, and because they lived in the same condominium complex, he had easy access to
their favors.

Duke sat down to his omelette and turkey sausage and mentally planned his day. For him, it was the most important day of his
life. His idea had been on the back burner for quite a while. So as soon as World said he was going out of town, Duke knew
the time had come. He figured if he pulled it off as he planned, they could easily double distribution in one day.

He was going to have Roll killed.

Roll controlled major spots in New Jersey, and Duke believed if you killed the head the body would die. Besides, if Young
World was afraid of an all-out war, this was the perfect solution.