Bankroll Squad (3 page)

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Every section leader of the Bankroll Squad was in attendance for the meeting at the Power Building. Kyla, of Negotiations/ Special Services, Catfish of Special Victims Unit, Prince Tron of Accounts and Balances, Brink of Aerial Transportation, Marco the Associate Director, Pam of Contamination Control, and their leader, their boss, the brain to the body, Malcolm Powers.

three

M

alcolm graduated from Georgia State University, majoring in psychology and minoring in Business Management. He hustled in order to pay for his expensive education and had every intention of leaving the “game” alone and getting a top-notch job once he graduated. But after he graduated, he realized that his dream job of becoming a psychologist would never be able to match the salary he was making by hustling. And he was only hustling part-time. By his calculations and with his connect, he figured that he could become a millionaire in 12 months maximum. Along his path to millions, other people with the same drive and motivation reached out to him for assistance. He couldn’t turn away everyone that approached him and still expect to continue maintaining the kind of business he was involved in; which at the time was coke and weed, so he put his ego aside and recruited a very small group of thoroughbreds to roll with him. To keep everybody happy, he kept everybody paid. To keep everybody paid meant that more money was required. He decided that the best way to maximize a group’s earning potential is to first get organized, and only after organization comes expansion. If everybody knew which role they played, then there would be less questions down the line. And less questions meant less talking; thus less talking meant more thinking. Taking a cue from his Business Management courses, he knew that a business or organization, no matter how big or small needed an identity. To have an identity was to have a name. He named his organization The Bankroll Squad. After making his first million, he soon realized that by taking control of a group of hustlers to get paid and then leaving them behind would be detrimental to his health. He had assumed a responsibility as a leader and there would be no easy, quick exits, no matter where he graduated from. To organize The Bankroll Squad, he created creative job titles for his employees. Brink, of Aerial Transportation, was simply the pilot that flew their private jets to pick up whatever was required, no matter where it was located. Marco, the Associate Director simply made sure that all of the “workers,” or associates were fulfilling the supply and demand in the streets for coke, weed, ecstasy, LSD, heroin, and crack. Pam, of contamination control took all of the dirty money and made it clean. She made it appear that all of the proceeds were derived from legitimate sources and also invested a lot of the money into gold bullions, which are 1 ounce bars of gold. She also placed millions of dollars into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.

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They sat in the conference room at a polished oak table. Malcolm Powers was walking back and forth slowly, with his hands behind his back. He had asked a question and did not hear the answer that he wanted to hear. He decided to ask it again, just maybe Catfish heard the damn question wrong. He glared at Catfish and tried again.

“Catfish. I received word that a guy named Waller was out in public blabbering on about us fronting him 10 kilos of coke. Have you heard about this?”

Catfish shifted in his seat nervously. He could feel his deodorant giving up as sweat rolled down his arms.

“Yes,” he answered.
Malcolm stood in place, staring Catfish down. “When do you plan on handling the situation since you’ve already heard about it?”

Catfish glanced at Tron for help, but Tron was paying no attention to Catfish. Tron was staring at the floor.

“I’ve already handled it Boss. I handled it today.”

“Oh yeah? You handled it today? Did you kill him?”
Catfish stared at the floor.
“No I didn’t because—”
“Well how the hell did you handle it if you didn’t kill him?”
Tron’s heartbeat sped up while listening to Catfish explain what happened. He thought for sure Cat was about to implicate him in the threading and he knew that Malcolm strongly disapproved of torture. His motto was “either they get lectured or deaded” and he stressed this to the Squad because in the streets the shoe could always be on the other foot.
“I went over his house and I knocked him out. Then I. ... I ... I threaded his mouth shut.”
“What!”
Malcolm walked to the water fountain and filled his cup up. He drank half of it, then he slung the rest of the water across the room. Then he kicked the shit out of an aluminum trash can. The trash can skidded briefly, then flipped until it hit the wall. It made a mark on the white, clean wall.
“Fuck,” Malcolm exclaimed,
“You sewed a human beings mouth shut ... What the fuck, do you think that it’s impossible to just cut the fuckin’ thread?”
“Naw, I know it can be cut, I just-”
“Do I pay you a million a month to be an amateur? No I don’t, I pay you for professionalism Catfish, and every since I’ve know you, you have always been the best problem solver in existence.... Do you know why I’m so pissed off at you Catfish?”
Catfish looked at Malcolm confidently.
“Yeah Boss, you don’t want me to turn a nigga’s mouth into a dishrag.”
There were light snickers around the table. Kyla found it amusing that she had fallen asleep in the van while Tron and Cat were sewing a real live person’s mouth shut.
“Catfish, I care about you nigga’. But I don’t approve of that stunt you pulled because there is no doubt about the fact that that nigga’ Waller is going to try to retaliate. The streets’ code is humiliation equals retaliation!”
“Boss, I doubt seriously that Waller will ever try any one of us.”
“Let’s just hope so Cat.”
Malcolm went to his desk and pulled out a manila folder. He started reading silently for a moment then set the folder down onto the table and looked at Pam. Pam had on a Cristian Dior skirt. A skin tight white skirt with red lipstick and red and white stilettos. Pam was gorgeous. So, gorgeous, in fact, that Kyla swore up and down that Malcolm had hired her based solely on her looks. This assumption was only partly true. Pam also did a good job of making it seem like his potato chip line was doing phenomenal sales. Granted, it was selling but just not the way Pam made it look. Every now and then though, like today, Malcolm would have questions about particular decisions that Pam had executed. Pam stared back at Malcolm with beautiful hazel eyes that could hypnotize a hypnotist if he stared into them long enough.
“Pam, baby,” Malcolm’s vocal tone mellowed down to an almost seductive octave.
“My beautiful Pam. How are you feeling?”
Pam smiled blushingly and fluttered her eyes. Kyla thought she was generic and always putting on a show.
“I’m doing absolutely terrific Daddy. How are-”
Kyla cut her off.
“Bitch quit muthafuckin’ flexin’ before I beat that ass!”
“You didn’t beat that white girl’s ass for taking your man.”
Kyla jumped up and tried to lunge at Pam but Catfish grabbed her and held her back. Malcolm slammed his fist on the table startling everybody at the meeting.
“Calm the fuck down!” He was talking loud now.
“Pam, what the hell are these two transactions with 250x besides them? Explain.”
At first Pam had a puzzled look on her face, and then she realized exactly what he was referring to.
“Oh yeah. Those were donations. By donating money, it cuts down on how much money you’ll have to pay around tax time Malcolm.”
Malcolm reached and picked back up the manila folder. He glanced at it again.
“So ... Pam, what organizations did you donate the money to?”
She looked at him with confidence.
“I donated it to R.U.C., Relief for Underprivileged Children and I made a donation to Barrack Obama’s presidential campaign.”
“Oh okay, that’s cool. All you donated was $250 to both of them?”
Pam squinted her eyes up. A few wrinkles appeared on her forehead before she responded.
“No not $250, I donated $250,000. Apiece.”
“You did what!”
Pam’s once seductive look had melted into the look of a scorned puppy; her face drooping and her mouth shaped in the form of a cartoon sad face.
“Malcolm, you told me that you trusted my judgment and direction, so why are you negatively charged up right now? You snapped on Catfish, then you snapped on me for no reason whatsoever. I would never misuse you or misplace any of your money, Malcolm. Think about it baby. This is Pamela Jones. I have nothing but respect for you, everything that you do, and everything that you stand for. I will die before I dishonor the Squad and I would resign from my job if I didn’t feel that my decisions were going to be adequate.”
A tear rolled across her beautiful skin as she spoke, and as the words decorated the atmosphere, Malcolm knew she was speaking the absolute truth. The words sank in like the Titanic; and Malcolm realized that at that very moment that he was taking out the woes and frustrations from his marriage out on the Squad. He had never been as inconsistent as much as he had been at that meeting. He walked to where Pam was sitting, and wiped a tear from her cheeks with a kiss. He was comforting her for his outbursts, but in actuality, he was the one that needed comforting. He took his manila folder and placed it back into the filing cabinet. He dismissed the meeting and grabbed the keys to his Bentley. Everybody got up from the table to leave as well, and they watched as Malcolm headed out of the conference room in a hurry.
“Malcolm,” Marco screamed.
Malcolm stopped in the doorway and turned around.
“Yeah, Marco?”
“What time are we going to Club Splash tonight? Or are we still going?”
Malcolm almost forgot about the club.
“Oh yeah, we’ll hit the club around 12:30 a.m. Thanks for reminding me, I’ll see ya’ll tonight.”
“Aight,” The men said in unison.
Kyla smiled weakly, then she started towards the door.
“Malcolm I don’t know if I’m coming, being that I’m sleepy, and I have a couple of things that I need to attend to. But I might ... I’m not sure yet.”
Pam, who always wanted to outdo Kyla in an attempt to keep Malcolm’s favor, decided to try to oneup her. When Kyla started getting close to the door where Malcolm was, she spoke loud and clear, interrupting any potential moments that could have developed between Kyla and Malcolm.
“I’m sleepy too, but I’m about to go finish working on bill consolidations for everybody, then I have to in-process yesterday’s proceeds that I received today. And when I finish that, I have to check the earning report of Frisbee Crispee; and see if it needs any alterations. And then ... I’ll be at the club”.
She rolled her eyes at Kyla and walked past her. Then she walked past Malcolm, who caught a whiff of her Cool Water for Women perfume. After she got past him, she knew his eyes would be glued to her ass. She was bow-legged and her ass jiggled with every step that she took. Malcolm stared at it. He swallowed as he thought to himself, “
Damn, that ass is perfect. It’s shaped like a heart
!”

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The Wolf was broke, dead broke and was in desperate need of a come up. He sat at the gas station in his girlfriend’s beat up Dodge Neon. The car was in such bad shape that whenever it was refueled, it had to sit still and cool off for about 15 minutes before the engine would start without catching fire. He was miserable, but he wasn’t alone, the Cowards were with him. Sure they had names, but Wolf called them The Cowards. Cowards shoot out of fear; and more times than not, a coward would kill you quicker than a gangsta’ would. A gangsta’ would have morals, principles, rules, and guidelines, and a coward would have fingers full of fear. Fingers full of fear, coupled with guns full of bullets led to morgues full of bodies. They liked to act like they killed because they were cold, hard, and heartless; when in all actuality they killed because they were scared and softer than tomato sauce. They were all broke, the Wolf and the Cowards.
It’s a lot of money in this city
, the Wolf thought, we should have no problem getting some of it. He lit his last Newport, and the Cowards reached for it as soon as he took his first puff. He exhaled, and smiled to himself because he thought how funny would it be to change their name from The Cowards to The Clowns. He ignored the fact that they were reaching for his cigarette, and took another puff.

“Pay attention!” He barked at the Cowards.

They were supposed to be scouring the scenery in search of a come-up. So far, they had spotted a gray BMW 330 that they intended to take free of charge, but when they walked up to the vehicle to ask the white woman “directions,” they noticed that it was a 6 year old child in the backseat. They did have a tidbit of a conscience, and within that tidbit, they had a tidbit of a rule. They didn’t rob or kill when children were present. They had also spotted a limousine, but the tints were too dark and there could have been a bodyguard present. They would be no match for a trained bodyguard, after all, they were cowards. They had spotted a black Mercedes Benz 550, free for the taking, but the police were in the area. The Wolf was out of cigarettes and was running out of patience. He glanced at his watch and took a deep breath.
I’ll have to try again later, I guess
, Wolf thought to himself. He figured that he should at least move on to another gas station before the manager started getting suspicious and called the police on them. They were all riding dirty; convicted felons with firearms. They drove away. Maybe about ten minutes later, they were at Prime Stop, the last gas station downtown before the 25 north and 25 south expressway exits appeared.
Everybody stops here ... I’ll give it an hour
, the Wolf thought to himself as he parked away from the security cameras. There are 30 gas pumps at this huge store, the Wolf quickly noticed, I’m bound to hit a lick soon.

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Kyla Brent was leaving the Power Building in her kandy pink Range Rover and was lost in her thoughts. Pam had just hit her where it hurt the most back in the conference room. There were dozens of unanswered questions unwilling to remain unanswered. She knew exactly what she needed. She needed closure. She needed to know why. Why ... and how.... How could Malcolm go and marry a fuckin’ white bitch? How does he live with himself knowing that he went completely against the grain? Is he doing this for get back? Did he marry her out of spite? Kyla knew she had faults ... a bad temper ... a stubborn attitude sometimes, but the love ... was always there. She has always and will always love Malcolm. Why can’t he see that? She thought to herself as her eyes flooded with tears. She wiped them off of her face as she drove through traffic. She knew she looked like a superstar in her Range Rover, and she knew she looked like a supermodel when she wasn’t in it. But no matter how good she looked, it never helped how she felt. She felt empty, betrayed, hurt. Her soul was hurting and it was nothing that she could do to comfort it. She was about 4 cars behind Malcolm, and about to get on 25 south so that she could go home when she saw him pull into the Prime Stop gas station. At first, she was going to continue going on about her business, but she needed to talk to Malcolm. It was almost as if she was possessed, the way she yearned for Malcolm’s touch ... Malcolm’s love ... Malcolm’s kiss. She wanted him and she didn’t care how long it took, she knew one day that she would be back in his arms where she was supposed to be.