Frostbite (14 page)
Authors: Eric Pete
22
“Uh ... think you can spot me some more? Kinda need it for this place, bro,” he said as we sat in the parking lot, neon lights flashing through the windshield.
I handed Ivan another ten Gs. Asked, “What happened to what I gave you?”
“Gone at Harrah’s. Easy come, easy go, bro,” he said cavalierly. “Besides, it’s the tip of the iceberg anyway, right?” The tip I was worried about was the tip of his nose diving into that white girl. I wasn’t stupid. Harrah’s only accounted for some of the money he’d blown through.
And I cringed every time he called me “bro.” Other than Sophia’s pussy, I shared nothing in common with him. Where I was chess, he was hopscotch. A basic conman who relied on his looks and smooth tongue, but not a lot between his ears. Maybe I envied him for not having the burden of thought.
“Yeah. You’re right,” I responded, false smile evident. “And there might be more jobs after this.” Decided to curb my obvious dislike for the man. Play nice for my purposes. Make him think opportunities abounded.
“Word?” he greedily uttered. “My man! Uh ... I still gotta stay away from Sophia?”
“Yeah. But I think what’s inside will make you forget,” I said as I motioned toward the front of Fancy’s Gentlemen’s Club on Chef Menteur Highway. A steady line of customers was already formed at the iron-barred security door.
“Ain’t no forgettin’ Sophia. But I appreciate it,” he said, hopping out the car like a jackrabbit.
Despite the promise of money, knew he had no intention of staying away from Sophia. But as long as he believed that I believed him, he’d do what I said.
As I exited to catch up with an overeager and probably coked-up Ivan, I was still digesting what had me out here.
With 4Shizzle’s help, I’d learned many rap stars with New Orleans roots held reverence or at least begrudging respect for Braxton Lewis or “Bricks” as he was known in the dope game. A lifelong resident of New Orleans, originally from the Earhart area, but now living in New Orleans East, Bricks was rumored to be in bed with the Mexican cartels, supplying New Orleans and the rest of the Gulf Coast with the finest grade of Colombian white. Ivan would be a true fan of him if he knew.
Where Bricks messed up was when he let his temper get the best of him. After losing a game of pool at a sports bar, Bricks and his boys followed the unfortunate victim to a New Orleans Original Daiquiris and Bricks personally worked him over on the parking lot, putting two to the head for good measure in front of several witnesses. Of course, most developed sudden amnesia and refused to testify when they realized who it was, but there were still too many to intimidate or coerce.
Now it looked like Mr. Rodney Roy was one DA who couldn’t be intimidated or coerced either, putting together a serious case for Bricks where life in prison loomed. And with the trial scheduled to begin next week, this Braxton Lewis was the reason Mr. Smith needed the DA dead. Had to be.
But how was it personal for Mr. Smith, a guy who did clandestine things on behalf of the good ol’ U.S. of A. and who probably didn’t live in Louisiana?
His relationship to Bricks was a lingering puzzle piece that I couldn’t make fit.
But I would.
Avoiding the surveillance cameras on the outside getting a clear shot of my face, both Ivan and I rolled up in the joint sporting tailored suits, designer watches, and Italian shoes.
All black everything
as Jay-Z would say, dressed on another level compared to the other clientele and wanting to smell of not just money, but power. Before I picked up Ivan and dragged him here under the pretense of just showing him a good time, I had one of my stripper contacts in Vegas put me in touch with one of her girls here at Fancy’s. Had her get all the girls hyped over a big spender she knew was coming to town.
All black everything
as Jay-Z would say, dressed on another level compared to the other clientele and wanting to smell of not just money, but power. Before I picked up Ivan and dragged him here under the pretense of just showing him a good time, I had one of my stripper contacts in Vegas put me in touch with one of her girls here at Fancy’s. Had her get all the girls hyped over a big spender she knew was coming to town.
Although the shadows were my thing, sometimes it paid to be the firecracker in the library. A bright light drawing all the moths in, so I could find the right one and pick it off.
Center stage of the club was arranged as a cross in the middle of the floor. Ironically appropriate in heavily Catholic New Orleans. But for all the sinning taking place here tonight, it would take more than a few Hail Marys for absolution. Two strippers took the stage as we sat, regulars applauding as Mizz New Orleanz and DarkNLovely gyrated to Lil Wayne and later dropping and shaking to Waka Flocka Flame.
Rather than joining Ivan and the rest of them at the stage’s end, where money was flying freely, I stayed seated. Waited for the moths.
“Hope you’re waiting for me to take the stage,” a woman in black leather boots and matching bikini uttered as she seductively sat in my lap and put her arm around me. Sister had a beauty mark on her left cheek, the left ass cheek.
“How’d you guess?” I asked, admiring her body. For real. She was a walking felony.
“Because you look like the type that knows what he wants ... and they ain’t it,” she said with a wink and nod toward her two coworkers on stage. I watched the other men watch her as she whipped her hair, two different shades of brown, around.
“Ralph,” I said as I took her hand and kissed it.
“You always a gentleman, Ralph?”
“If it helps me get what I want,” I flirted as I placed a hundred dollar bill in her bra. “Maybe we can see where it takes us later in the VIP.”
“All right, big money,” she said, removing the money as she stood up to leave. “If you’re still around when I finish my set, maybe we’ll see.”
As my friend took the stage, the DJ announcing her as Ron DMC, her own special entrance music played. Was a fusion of bounce and horns that got the men standing and hollering. I tried to just sit there and not be impressed, but she was bad. She strutted down the center runway, setting the titties free as she snapped her leather top off and flung it. Slid across the floor, rolling onto her back which she arched as she put her legs in the air and pulled off her panties. Those, she flipped overhead into the crowd. Must have been hard for the other dancers knowing Ron DMC could have their men if she ever wanted. She took to the pole, swinging around with such force as if she’d launch through the air. But she didn’t. Held it strong with a command that the other dancers would die for.
While the main show went on, Ivan was working on Mizz New Orleanz and some of her friends, drawing the easy pickings in with his advance for a job that wasn’t actually paying. But he was worth the money to be rid of him. A couple of others, including DarkNLovely, stayed back, feeling some of the other customers might be equally rewarding. Watched them play the game—a smile here, a touch there, all geared toward getting those dollars out those wallets. Several walked by, but none came up to me despite the thirsty faces. Was like I’d been marked with an invisible sign.
“’Bout to hit up the VIP, bro. You good?” Ivan asked with two lovelies on his arms. Probably wondering why I wasn’t copping a handful of ass or squeezing a breast or two.
“Yeah. I’m more than good. Talk to you later.”
Ivan left for his private session, casually flipping some of his bills behind him like a fuckin’ yellow brick road for the vultures to swoop up. As he got out my hair, I smiled at the woman on stage. With DJ Drama’s “Oh My” playing, she touched her toes while her ass quaked. Looking at me upside down and with money raining onto the stage, she smiled back.
I was back on why I was here when Ron DMC finished her set and came to see me, wearing nothing but a silk robe and her leather boots.
“Ready for that VIP?” she asked as she held out her hand, a fresh bottle of champagne in the other one.
“Sandy said she heard about you from her friends in Vegas,” Ron DMC commented while she worked her ass round and round in my lap. She had ditched her leather boots and fierce demeanor. Was all soft and sensual now for my entertainment.
“Yeah. So?” I mumbled, shirt unbuttoned and pulled from out my pants. Was ready to pull something else out.
“Nothin’,” she replied as she slowly stroked my dick through my pants with those incredible cheeks of hers. Up and down against a pole of a different sort as she bent over. Pants were damp, but couldn’t tell if it was more from me or more from her. She suddenly fell back, flipping her hair across my face to Kelly Rowland’s “Motivation.” Letting me hold her by the waist as she wound her body like a snake across the landscape that was me. “I like men of means. Motherfuckers with that swag. They make me cum. You wanna make me cum, Ralph?” she asked, panting in my ear.
“Yeah, yeah. I do,” I answered as I caressed her taut stomach, moving my hands downward across her thighs while trying to think. That’s it. Think. And not about my hard-on.
The puzzle.
Braxton Lewis had two siblings, a brother and a sister. The brother, Rontrell, was gunned down three years ago on A.P. Tureaud Avenue. Some people say the man Bricks killed at the daiquiri place was the trigger man in his brother’s unsolved murder. Guess nobody will ever know unless Bricks talked.
But Bricks also had a sister who was alive and healthy.
And possessing a healthy ass that could do all sorts of thangs.
Of course, she went by Ron DMC or Ron Da Mighty Coochie while working; Ron being short for Veronica.
Veronica Lewis.
If you weren’t from around here or knee-deep in the case, you wouldn’t know Veronica was Brick’s sister. Or that she ran this business enterprise while her brother was indisposed. It was none of your business. To most customers, she was just the featured attraction.
But the fat fucker who guarded the entrance to the VIP area knew better.
He was the same one who tried to deliver the message to Taralynn.
23
I had to call Mr. Smith tonight when I left here. And with the result not yet achieved, he wouldn’t like my report.
Led me to do something rash.
Had to complete the puzzle.
“Any family?” I asked, opening my eyes to look down at her.
“You really trying to kill the mood, ain’tcha?” Veronica Lewis said, down on her knees and about to unbuckle my pants with her teeth.
“Just a little conversation. That’s all. You intrigue me,” I said as I ran my fingers through her hair, staring at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. Was easy. I could play roles too. Just imagined her to be ... someone else. “Indulge your customer,” I prodded.
Her mouth curled up. Looked like she was about to curse me out. Then she softened. “Two kids,” she said as she decided to undo my belt with her hands.
“Hmm,” I said, a bit of whimsy seeping across my face. “I’d like kids one day.”
“Well, why don’t we work on that now, baby,” she said as she unzipped me, taking my dick in her hand. She went to work, lapping up the pre-cum off its head with tiny circles of her tongue.
“Mmm. Damn, girl. Would love for you to have my baby,” I said, breathing heavily from her oral stimulation. “But ... but I need to know. You got a man?”
“Huh?”
“Your two kids. I don’t want to come between you and their daddy. Because I’d want that all to myself,” I played.
“Don’t worry. I’m very much single. My eldest’s dad is dead,” she said as she traveled up my shaft with that tongue. Then she paused to complete her thought. “And my youngest’s dad might as well be.”
“Because he has a family already,” I prodded solemnly. Was going somewhere dangerous, relying on my instincts and a wild hunch.
“You know it,” she said with a chuckle as she loosened her grip on my dick to reflect. “White motherfucker. But he looks out for us and keeps the checks comin’.”
“How’d you meet him? Here at the club?”
“No. He was doing work ... with ...” she said, her face tightening. Was on to me. And that this wasn’t her normal VIP session with a big spender. “Why you askin’ all this?”
“He looks out for your brother too? Right?” I pushed, tensing up.
“Huh? What the fuck did you say?”
“Bricks. Does he look out for Bricks?” I said, trying to force the puzzle piece into place with a sledgehammer as my environment turned dangerous. But I had to know.
Wiping her mouth, she sprang to her feet and backed up. Had a 9 mm with laser sight hidden on the side of the couch, which she now pointed at my dick. “Party’s over. Now who in the fuck are you, bitch? Furreal,” she asked harshly.
“Help ... from your baby daddy,” I said, referring to Mr. Smith as I hastily zipped my pants back up. Stayed seated though as the red dot from the laser sight still hovered there. “For your brother’s situation.”
“Nah. This some kinda setup. I don’t know you and you sure as fuck don’t know me,” she said as she switched her aim to the center of my chest. She held the nine steady. No way could I get to it without her getting a shot off. I was done with being shot.
“You don’t believe me,” I said as I stood up, my confidence flowing again despite my being a bull’s-eye for one pissed off stripper. “But I can prove it.”
“Well, what’s his name then?”
“Good one,” I said with a laugh. “You know better than that. Especially if you know what he does. He doesn’t deal in names with me. At least not his real one.”
Ron DMC smiled. Her tensed trigger finger easing as I’d passed that on sheer dumb luck. “True,” she agreed. “But why you here?”
“The way he ... spoke of you. I just had to see it for myself,” I said, dialing up the lust in my voice as I look her over from head to toe. “Well ... that and to tell your boy to leave the DA’s family alone,” I added, deciding to do some good while I was at it.
“Who?”
“Fat boy watching the hall,” I said, nudging my head. “Had to stop him the other day over on Magazine. I’m supposed to be taking care of this. And don’t need any of your people trying to flex.”
She backed up, keeping the handgun trained on me. Opened the door to our VIP room and stuck her head in the hall. “Ezell!” she hissed.
Big ol’ Ezell came running, surprised to see the scene in front of him—a naked, but gun-wielding employer ... and me.
Who he finally recognized.
“That’s him! That’s the motherfucker!” Ezell shouted as he rumbled my way. Punched me dead in my gut, doubling me over. Then a right hook that felt like a boulder dropped me atop those damn leather boots of hers.
“Ezell, stop!” she shouted as his massive foot was about to come down on my head. He complied. “Now ... talk quick before he stomps yo’ ass out.”
“I’m on this job,” I said, still sprawled out on the floor and looking up at the both of them. “And y’all need to back the fuck off. How else would I know to be there when big boy was trying to intimidate the DA’s wife? Bush league. Coulda blown everything up.”
“I’ll bush league yo’ ass, bitch,” Ezell said as he raised that damn foot of his again.
“Ezell, stop dammit!” Veronica scolded. “Now show his ass outta here.”
Ezell yanked me to my feet and almost out my shoes. Veronica grabbed her robe and got in my face, but lowered the 9 mil as she did so. “Tell your boss to let me know what he’s doing next time. Oh ... and to send me double next month if he wants to see his kid or get another taste of this. That skinny wife of his is one dumb bitch,” she said with disgust.
“Can I come back to see you?” I asked, still playing my role.
“If my brother goes free, you can cum back all you like, baby,” she said, licking the tip of her 9 mil. “Now get outta here and go do your fuckin’ job.”
Fat boy escorted me from Fancy’s, slapping me upside my head for good measure as I stumbled past some clientele.
“Hmph. I know what Ron said, but don’t you come ’round here no mo’,” he chided not so subtly. Then he threw my suit jacket at me for good measure.
I left Ivan inside. He could party a little while longer.
I had a call to make.
The puzzle now solved in my mind.
Bricks was an
asset
of Mr. Smith’s I guessed. Probably for intel he provided on the Mexican cartels to the CIA or whoever in exchange for certain elements in the government looking the other way with his dope biz. But Mr. Smith got too close to Bricks and his family. Way too close with Bricks’s sister. And I could see why. Now he had a little biracial bundle of joy bouncing around New Orleans. A bundle whose origins might see the light of day and cost Mr. Smith his job, and the U.S. government a heap of embarrassment, should Bricks find his way inside the walls of Angola prison and start blabbing. Or if Veronica simply got pissed off enough.
asset
of Mr. Smith’s I guessed. Probably for intel he provided on the Mexican cartels to the CIA or whoever in exchange for certain elements in the government looking the other way with his dope biz. But Mr. Smith got too close to Bricks and his family. Way too close with Bricks’s sister. And I could see why. Now he had a little biracial bundle of joy bouncing around New Orleans. A bundle whose origins might see the light of day and cost Mr. Smith his job, and the U.S. government a heap of embarrassment, should Bricks find his way inside the walls of Angola prison and start blabbing. Or if Veronica simply got pissed off enough.
So Mr. Smith was caught by the nuts, having to help Bricks, but not wanting to be implicated in any way. Then I came along on Mr. Smith’s radar. The perfect wild card with no connection to Mr. Smith or Bricks. Perfectly disposable.
I picked up the phone, a genuine smile of my face for the first time this evening. Ready to make Mr. Smith play my game for a change.
But first, I reached into the ashtray. Snagged a remote and pushed the button. A tiny microphone was now turned on and transmitting. A microphone I’d stowed inside Ron DMC’s hair as I caressed it in the VIP. Right as I looked into those eyes, pretending they were Collette’s. Eventually it would fall out, get vacuumed up whenever they cleaned the place. But for now, it was recording.
Now I dialed.
“You’re five minutes late,” Mr. Smith said. Could imagine him somewhere in Virginia, stepping out onto the porch in the middle of a diaper change or something. “Did you do it yet?”
“No. But I have a question to ask you,” I said, winding up for the big pitch.
“No. No questions. I want answers and you’re not giving them to me. The DA should be
reassigned
by now. So maybe the news I have for you is coming at the right time.”
reassigned
by now. So maybe the news I have for you is coming at the right time.”
“What?”
“There’s been an accident. In Dallas. No ... wait ... Frisco,” he said as he facetiously corrected himself. “Yeah. That’s it. An Officer Derrick Kane was struck by a hit-and-run driver tonight while on duty. Broken leg and a concussion, but he’ll live. Shame you can’t protect her. Tick tock, son. Tick tock,” he said just before hanging up.
Warning understood loud and clear.
I sat there, boiling over.
No way Mr. Smith was going to just let me off the hook after this. It would be either another job or the graveyard. Because he was the type of person who used people like ...
Well ... like me.
So it was settled.
I would kill the DA.
Then I would find Mr. Smith and kill him.
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