Checkmate: The Baddest Chick (11 page)

By the time Chico was thirteen, he was a hardcore gang member and violent repeater in and out of the justice system on a continuous basis. He knew guns and selling crack. He knew the streets, and that the only way to handle a problem was through gunplay.

Chico committed his first murder when he was sixteen. He shot a rival dealer in the head over a corner. Chico was panicky afterwards, but it was a fleeting feeling. He had gotten away with it, and he soon knew that he was capable of doing anything. His reputation grew fast in the hood, and in due time, he was making tons of money and ordering hits against his rivals.

The streets were a hard and cold place. At first, the only thing Chico knew was the projects and violence. His first love, his girlfriend back then, Nikki, taught him about diversity and expanding into more positive things with his money. But after Nikki’s violent death, all that she tried to teach him went out the door, and Chico became more of a brutal gangster. Now, he had the money to buy three homes if he wanted to. He’d come a long way from the gangs and the corner shootouts.

Chico became lost in his own thoughts as he stood in the backyard of his lavish home. He thought about his cousin, Dante. He was truly missed. He thought about Nikki, his mother, and a few friends and homeboys he’d lost over the years.

Chico started to think about Apple. He had never forgotten about her. He couldn’t comprehend how Apple could just vanish without a trace so easily. He knew she was upset—maybe damaged goods with the incident with her face—but he was willing to look past everything.

Chico was upset about Apple’s disappearance, but he kept it in and moved on with his life. Blythe had his attention now. And it was Apple’s loss. He had business to take care of, a woman to support, and a war to win.

“Baby, why you just standing out here? Come inside and let’s enjoy our new home together,” Blythe said cheerfully. She walked up to Chico and wrapped her arms around him. They nestled together for a moment and both took in their backyard view. “It is lovely out here,” she said.

Chico remained quiet.

Blythe began to pull up his shirt and slowly massaged his abs. As she touched him, her hand brushed against the butt of his gun, which was tucked in his waistband. “You don’t need that tonight, baby. Nobody knows us out here,” Blythe said.

“I feel safe wit’ it on me.”

“But I’m with you. I have something safe for you to be in, baby.” She gripped the gun and began to pull it out of his waistband.

Chico was hesitant, but he allowed her to remove it.

Blythe gripped the gun in her hand and placed it on the table. She wasn’t a stranger to the deadly tool. She was from the Pink Houses. She could recall her brothers always having a collection of guns in their mother’s apartment. Growing up with three older brothers, with them all being in the streets, Blythe knew how to aim and shoot a gun like the best of them.

Blythe wrapped her arms around Chico again. She reached around his waist, fumbled with his zipper for a moment, and began stroking his dick with the softest caresses he’d ever felt from a woman. Chico moaned from her seductive touch.

“You like it, baby?” she whispered in his ear.

Chico’s moaning gave her the answer. He turned to face his beautiful woman.

Blythe smiled. She felt that he was the sexiest, most thuggish man around. And she wanted to please him to the fullest. Especially after the marvelous new home he had bought her.

Blythe took Chico by his hands and began pulling him into their new home. As they entered the kitchen, Chico took in her sexy attire from head to toe—she was barefoot in a pair of coochie-cutting shorts that exposed her camel toe, and a lace bra.

“C’mon, baby, let’s just enjoy this house together,” she said with a smile.

Chico pulled her into his arms, groped her ass, and the two began kissing fervently. He then lifted Blythe onto the granite countertop.

Blythe straddled her long, toned legs around him and felt his erection pressing against her. She wanted Chico inside of her. She moaned in Chico’s ear as his fingers undid her shorts and he reached for her treasure.

Chico fingered her, setting off a reaction inside of her, as she squirmed and panted like a winded runner from the stroke of his touch.

Blythe’s shorts came off and were tossed to the floor, followed by Chico’s jeans. He then slammed himself into her love box. She cringed and clutched Chico to her frame, feeling his large erection tunnel into her. Her legs trembled against him.

“Aaah! Aaah! Shit, baby!” she cried out.

Chico pumped in rhythm into Blythe. He felt her juices trickling, and her lips tasted his ear.

The two soon repositioned onto the cold, tiled floor. They were tangled in the missionary position.

Her manicured nails traveled down Chico’s sweaty back and rested against his moving ass between her thighs. “Fuck me, baby! Ooooh, fuck me, baby!” she chanted.

A moment for a quickie turned into an hour, and soon they both were lost in the rapturous haze of mind-numbing orgasms.

When Chico was done, he got up and walked outside into the backyard buck naked, leaving Blythe spent on the leather sofa, her hair disheveled and feeling very satisfied. He lit up a cigarette, took a few drags, and looked around.

Chico felt peace for a moment. He wasn’t known in Great Neck, which was a high-class, Long Island neighborhood many miles from his hood. This was what life was about for Chico—having his own and having respect, along with power, in the streets. The new product from the Mexicans had taken off like a rocket, and he wasn’t trying to come down from the high of his success anytime soon.

****

Chico started thinking about ways to get rid of Cross and Kola, his main competition in the streets. He clearly understood that, with them out of the way, he would be finally able to corner the market.

Chico and Blythe’s names were buzzing in the streets of Harlem. They were the talk of the town—the couple doing it big. The men in the hood envied Chico, and the women wanted to be with him. But some were disturbed and highly upset that Chico had the audacity to bring a Brooklyn girl into their mix and have her in his circle. The local ladies in the hood felt that it was the ultimate betrayal.

But Blythe moved through the streets of Harlem unfazed by the hate and negativity aimed at her. She drove around Harlem like she owned the place in her fully loaded powder blue Lexus IS with moon roof and cream leather seats; a gift from Chico. Blythe loved the car and often stunted in it with her Brooklyn friends.

Blythe drove down Seventh Avenue profiling, the windows down and her music system blaring Drake and Nikki Minaj. She had her best friend Vanessa riding shotgun, and her cousin TT was seated in the back. The girls were enjoying the warm, summer day in uptown. The streets were filled with people, and a few turned their heads to take notice at the young, pretty girls cruising in the high-end car.

Blythe smiled. She felt like she was on top of the world. It was her day out with her friends, and they chose to spend it chilling in Harlem. Her man ran the streets, so Blythe wasn’t worried about running into any trouble. And the haters thought twice about messing with her, because of Chico and Two-Face. The girls had gotten a pedicure and manicure at a popular Korean spot in midtown then went shopping on Fifth Avenue and decided to get something to eat at one of Blythe’s favorite spots uptown, Mamma’s Take Out & Stay soul food restaurant on Lenox Avenue.

Blythe pulled up to the restaurant where there was already a crowd of people waiting inside and out. Mamma’s was famous for their fried catfish, smoked salmon, rib dinners, peach cobbler, sweet potato pies, and macaroni and cheese. People from every borough and even out-of-towners flocked to the low-key, modest-looking storefront location restaurant with the weathered black-and-white awning and fading sign that read, “Mamma’s, We Feed and Please.”

Blythe stepped out of her car with a smile as she peered at the sign. It’d been a while since she’d eaten from there, and she was craving to taste her some fried catfish and a piece of peach cobbler.

The three ladies walked toward the place looking fresh. Blythe had on a pair of tight-fitting Citizen jeans, stylish high heels, and a form-fitting shirt that accentuated her ample breasts and curvy waistline. Blythe’s friend and cousin had on similar attire, but different color jeans and shirts. Each of the girls had their long hair flowing down to their backs, looking like video vixens.

As they strutted toward the entrance to Mamma’s, the ladies turned heads and caught hard stares, and the catcalls came from every direction.

“Damn! What’s good, ma? Can a nigga holla?”

“Yo, shorty, let me holla at you fo’ a minute.”

“Yo, ma, what’s up? The one wit’ the phat ass!”

“Damn, y’all fine!”

Blythe and her Brooklyn crew didn’t even break their stride or a smile as they walked toward the soul food restaurant. The men calling out to them were a waste of their time. None of them were Blythe or her friends’ taste. Blythe just wanted to get something to eat from her favorite spot and head back to midtown and party at her favorite club.

The ladies walked into the crowded eatery and couldn’t make up their minds if they wanted to stay and dine in or take their food to go. TT wanted to stay, but Blythe didn’t feel comfortable lingering around the place longer than she needed to. She was starting to get bad vibes. There were too many eyes focused on them, and some were looking at Blythe and her friends for all the wrong reasons. She felt the hate coming from a few of the ladies in the place. She knew that some of the girls already knew who she was and who she was affiliated with.

“Let’s just get our shit to go and leave. We can eat at Chico’s place on the West Side,” Blythe said.

“A’ight, I’m down,” TT said.

Vanessa went along with them. The girls waited on line and couldn’t help but to roll their eyes and glare back at the men and women constantly checking them out. Blythe heard the snickering and noticed the dirty looks.

TT also took notice. She was the most hood of the trio. She carried a small blade on her at all times.

As the girls waited, a group of young girls walked by Blythe and her friends and one of them uttered, “Bitches think they fuckin’ cute!” as they started to exit the place.

Blythe tried to keep her cool, but TT responded, “What the fuck you said?”

“Bitch, what?” one of the young girls quipped back, halting her exit.

TT was ready for a confrontation.

Blythe sighed and said to her friend, “TT, just chill.”

“Nah, fuck them bitches!” TT shouted.

“Fuck you, bitch! Y’all bitches think y’all cute. Y’all dumb Brooklyn bitches better not get it twisted. Don’t come up to Harlem and get fucked up!”

“Bitch, we ain’t scared!” TT retorted, stepping closer to the group of girls.

By now, the confrontation had captured everyone’s attention in the restaurant. Everybody just looked on, wondering what was about to go down.

Blythe wasn’t in the mood to fight. She was looking too cute to scrap and wanted to leave with her weave intact.

TT jumped into the girl’s face and was ready to throw down with all four of her friends. But before things got heated, a security guard came between the two groups of ladies and broke it up. He had the Harlem clique moved to outside and allowed Blythe and her friends to continue standing on line for their food.

But Blythe had a funny feeling and was ready to leave. “Let’s just go,” she said to her friends.

“But I’m hungry, Blythe,” Vanessa complained.

“We can go somewhere else and snatch something up,” Blythe said.

Blythe continued to keep her eyes on the group of girls who had left and saw that they were lingering outside of the establishment. She already knew what they were waiting for. It was about to become a problem. She tapped TT and pointed outside.

“Fuck them bitches!” TT marched outside and began approaching the threat.

Blythe sighed heavily and followed her friend outside. Vanessa was right behind them, along with a few patrons from the eatery who were excited about seeing a fight outside.

TT marched up to one of the girls with her sharp blade in hand and was ready for any confrontation. “What you gotta say now, bitch?” she shouted.

The Harlem girls approached TT and quickly had her surrounded.

Blythe and Vanessa had TT’s back. They clenched their fists and were ready to show Harlem how Brooklyn got down.

“Yeah, ya man Chico ain’t here to have ya back now, huh, bitch,” one girl shouted. “You Apple wannabe bitch!”

“Fuck you!” Blythe screamed out. “And fuck Apple. My man don’t want her raggedy ass!”

“I bet you won’t say that shit in her face!” another girl shouted.

“Ain’t no shook hands from Brook-land. Apple and I can toss it up whenever, however,” Blythe yelled. She was so heated that they kept taunting her about Apple. It was bad enough that deep down inside she wondered what would happen if Apple showed back up. Where did she really stand with Chico?

As the group of girls screamed back and forth at each other, Blythe quickly took off her diamond earrings and removed her jewelry. She was ready to show them how Brooklyn threw down. But the sudden presence of a blue-and-white patrol car in the street and the blaring of sirens quickly halted any violence that was about to happen.