Checkmate: The Baddest Chick (3 page)

They clinked glasses together and downed what was left of their drinks. “Here’s to makin’ paper!”

“Now, let’s go out there and make it happen,” Kola stated. “Show these clown-ass niggas just how good a bitch can do it.”

CHAPTER 2

C
hico sat snug in his brand-new, gleaming XJ Jaguar in front of the Pink Houses on Linden Boulevard. The luxurious car caught attention and turned heads from many passers-by as it sat parked on Linden Boulevard, with Chico the sole occupant.

Chico had felt uncomfortable and apprehensive being in the Brooklyn hood as he waited. He had the chromed Desert Eagle concealed in a stash box and a .380 under his seat. He nodded to a 50 Cent track, and was dressed like a don, looking suave and clean in a dark-gray YSL suit and sporting a pair of David Chu Bespoke Italian wingtips, and a Presidential watch on his wrist. He screamed ghetto wealth.

****

Since Chico’s return from North Carolina, his name had started ringing out again on the streets. He had established a strong, but temporary connect with the Johnson brothers, who had him supplied for a few months. But he needed a firm cartel connection. The Haitians’ product was unreliable and weak. Chico was also willing to invest his money into anything profitable, but with the continuing war with Cross and Kola, he knew that he needed a crew of killers in his corner to maintain his stronghold over the neighborhood. He got that from a young, wild kid named Two-Face.

Two-Face was a sixteen-year-old assassin from a small town in Mexico called Ahome. He’d migrated to the States when he was eleven years old. Two-Face came from a family of thugs and assassins that murdered anybody that got in their way—government officials, diplomats—and extorted drug dealers and raped women. His father was in the corrupt Mexican military, which was nothing but assassins with badges, and Two-Face’s family was associated with Los Zetas, a notorious Mexican cartel.

When Two-Face had turned twelve, he joined a ruthless Mexican gang and passed initiation by pumping two bullets into a schoolteacher’s head. He followed the petite and well-liked school teacher coming from school one afternoon, and rushed up on her, raised the loaded .45 he carried and pressed the gun to the back of her head.

Before she could react or scream, Two-Face shot her in the back of the head twice. He had received his first symbolic trophy—a tiny tattoo teardrop under his right eye that indicated how many people he’d killed.

The sixteen-year-old kid had gotten the name Two-Face for many reasons, but one particular reason was because he had the ability to become your friend, have you trust him with his boyish features and catching smile. But then with the blink of an eye, he was easily able to betray you and set you up, and kill you without hesitation. Two-Face was feared anywhere he went. In his hometown, they gave him another nickname, Body-Count. Killing was a skill for Two-Face. He had learned it through his father, his older brothers and uncles, who were all notorious in violence and warfare. They knew how to torture and steal, and wreak havoc wherever they rested their heads.

Chico had come across Two-Face during his short stay in D.C. He was conducting business out there with a few locals and kept hearing the name, Two-Face, in passing. It was like a constant tune in his ear wherever he went. Two-Face this, and Two-Face that. The name was notorious wherever he went in D.C., and it caught his interest.

Many figures in the underworld didn’t like or want to deal with Two-Face because he was young, too deadly, and out of order. The major heads in the city feared him, and so many of the young locals looked up to him. But Chico saw an opportunity, especially when he got word that Two-Face had two murder warrants out for his arrest.

Chico began asking around about him, and after a few days of searching, he finally came face to face with the young killer at a downtown bar in Capitol Hill.

“Yo, you the nigga lookin’ for me?” Two-Face had asked, his face full of scorn, and eyes narrowed at Chico.

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about you,” Chico replied coolly.

“Why the fuck you lookin’ for me? You know what I’m about?”

Chico was far from intimidated by the young thug, having seen his fair share of killers over the years, including himself.

“Yeah, I know what you’re about. I can use a nigga like you.”

“What the fuck you mean?”

Chico figured it was better to show him than tell him. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a wad of bills totaling ten thousand, and tossed it to the young killer.

Two-Face caught the rolled-up stack of money in his hands. “What the fuck is this for, homes?”

“Call it a down payment for your services.”

“How about I just kill you and take whatever else you got on you.” Two-Face lifted his shirt and revealed the butt of a 9 mm tucked in his waistband.

“And then what? I’ll be just another body under your belt instead of a golden opportunity for you. And then you’ll be ignorant.”

“Homes, who the fuck is you? You in my nest, yo. I run these streets.”

“And you’re a wanted man out here. I guarantee if you don’t leave here soon, you’ll be locked up.”

“And go where, homes? You know where I’m from, what I’m about?”

“New York. Come work for me. And believe me, I have plenty of work for you. That ten thousand in your hands, it’s only a start.”

Two-Face stood, thinking about the opportunity.

“My name’s Chico.”

“If you ain’t serious about this, or playin’ game wit’ me, homes, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“Oh, I’m serious as ever. Do I look like the type of nigga to play games? Especially when it comes to money? Who else would be willing to just hand over ten stacks to a kid?”

Two-Face nodded.

It was the beginning of a sweet and deadly business arrangement. The next day, Chico and Two-Face were on I-95 headed toward New York. After Two-Face’s first month in New York, he was already implicated in three homicides. And like in D.C., his name was becoming notorious in Harlem and the Washington Heights areas.

****

Chico glanced at the time as he continued to sit in his XJ Jaguar. “What the fuck is takin’ this bitch so long?”

It was getting late, and he didn’t like lingering in Brooklyn too long. He was unknown in that part of town, the Pink Houses, where Brooklyn held the reputation for being one of the grimmest boroughs. He picked up his phone and was about to make a heated phone call, until he noticed Blythe exiting the lobby.

She strutted toward the gleaming Jaguar with her sultry looks, wearing a pair of tight-fitting Seven jeans with pink stitching, a snug-fitting baby pink Benetton shirt that highlighted her ample breasts, and a pair of pink-bowed peep-toe ankle strap wedges.

Blythe had full lips, round hips, butter-like complexion and almond-shaped, cinnamon eyes that captivated any man with one stare. She was a queen in her hood—wanted and envied by so many people.

****

Chico had been dealing with Blythe for a month, and she’d become his new flavor. It was rumored that she used to fuck with the rapper Fabolous on the down low for a moment, and she was a high-end woman with an appetite for expensive things and having a good time.

The two met in downtown Manhattan, at an industry event and listening party for an upcoming rapper who was coming out under the Def Jam label. Chico was there with his friends, showing his presence and looking intimidating with this thuggish posture. But he was at the listening party only for pleasure. He was friends with one of the producers that he grew up with in the Heights, and had a personal invite.

Chico and Blythe locked eyes, and Blythe showed that she was interested in him with her pleasant stare and inviting smile. Chico casually made his move on her, spoke a few nice words in her ear, and things took off from there. Soon after, Chico began sporting his young, beautiful prize all throughout Harlem. He flaunted her in his new Jaguar, and bought her nice things, taking her shopping on Fifth Avenue and downtown. They were starting to look like the “it” couple in the hood. Blythe was a good look under Chico’s arm, and she was falling in love with her newfound boyfriend.

But unbeknownst to Blythe, Chico had simply started dealing with Blythe only to try and bring Apple out of hiding, have her come out from whatever rock she was hiding under. He was missing her, and she was still in his heart. It had been months since her disappearance, and no one knew or didn’t have a clue where she was.

Chico had gotten tired looking or asking around about her, especially with Denise, Apple’s mother, being so resistant and uncaring. Denise had tried to drill into Chico’s head that Apple had left on her own accord.

“Look, Chico, I don’t know where that bitch went off to. She just ain’t been around lately. Fuck her anyway! Bitch gonna kick me outta her swanky crib, like her own shit don’t stink. Nigga, just stop lookin’ for that tramp! ’Cuz I ain’t fuckin’ worrying! And neither should you.”

Chico’s plan was to be with Blythe and flaunt her around Harlem in an attempt to bring Apple back to him maybe because of jealousy. But days became weeks, and soon after, Chico found himself having feelings for the girl.

And she was more than just a pretty face with a terrific figure. She was enrolled in New York City Technical College for Legal Assistant Studies. When she told Chico that she wanted to become a lawyer, he knew that she could be just the type of chick he needed on his arm. If Blythe got her law degree she could very well be an asset to his empire. It was small details such as that which started to chip away at his feeling for Apple. Apple was street-smart and had the heart of a lion. But with Blythe, there was a full package. She was book and street smart; it was an unbeatable combination.

Blythe proved herself to be worthy when, one day, she was willing to conceal a loaded gun in her Prada purse when she and Chico got pulled over during a routine traffic stop. The officers became suspicious of Chico, but Chico kept his cool. He was riding dirty; something he had to do in his line of work although he knew it could cost him his freedom.

While one of the officers was ready to ask for Chico to step out of his pricey car so they could conduct a search of the vehicle, Blythe politely intervened in the conversation by saying, “Officer, we’re so sorry to have been speeding, but my fiancé and I are running so late for my doctor’s appointment. You see, I’m two months pregnant.”

“Congratulations,” the officer replied.

Blythe added, “But we just wanna be on our way, with no problems. Feel free to search us, or the car, anything if it will speed things up.”

Chico thought Blythe had lost her mind, but he kept an impassive look and went along with the plan.

Both officers glanced at each other briefly. Blythe looked so calm and collected, giving the officers a hearty smile.

The cop handed back Chico his license and said, “Just get there safe and slow things down.”

“Will do, officer,” Chico replied.

When the cops were back in their patrol car, Chico wanted to hug Blythe. But he looked at her and said, “You took a risk wit’ that shit. What if they decided to search the vehicle?”

“They weren’t going to,” she replied.

“And why not?”

“Because . . . it’s mind control, baby. I learned that in class. When you volunteer and give them the go-ahead to search your shit without them saying so, they already are thinking that it might be a waste of their time. Yeah, it’s a risk, but it worked, right, baby?”

Chico saw something different in Blythe from that day. She was gradually becoming something more to him than a temporary replacement for Apple. She proved that she was about something.

Blythe fucked Chico like the king he felt he was, grinding her sweet pussy into his erection, hugging his body close, and panting in his ear. She loved when Chico would suck on her nipples and finger-fuck her ass, simultaneously. She was a freak. When she was naked, her body was something great to see, thick and shapely in all the right places, ample and bouncy tits, and shaved pubic hair. Her pussy protruded from between her thighs like it was in 3D. The sex was phenomenal, and Chico couldn’t fight the love that started developing between him and her.

****

Blythe strutted to the car and quickly jumped into the passenger seat. “Hey, baby,” she greeted, leaning over and giving Chico a kiss on the lips.

Chico admired her stylish attire for a short moment. Then his face turned into a scowl. “Why you take so fuckin’ long?”

“’Cuz I gotta look nice. I’m a fly bitch, and it takes a while for me to get right. I can’t be rushin’ out my crib lookin’ like some bum bitch. You know that ain’t even my style, baby.” Blythe pulled down the visor mirror to admire herself. “But look at me and tell me it wasn’t worth the wait.”

Chico sighed. “You know I don’t fuckin’ like waiting for you out here too long. It ain’t my scene.”

“And who gonna step to you? Please. You always packin’, and your name ring bells.”

“Not out here like that.”

“Well, they know me, and niggas know I don’t fuck with nobody that can’t handle themselves or me when it comes to the streets and in their pockets. I don’t fuck wit’ weak niggas, Chico, so when they see me with you out here, these niggas know you about something serious. So you ain’t even gotta worry, baby. It’s all good.”