Heist 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heist 2

KIKI SWINSON

 

DE'NESHA DIAMOND

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

The Last Heist

KIKI SWINSON

1

Shannon

Every night before I closed my eyes and every morning before I left my prison bunk, I made sure I took out that fucking letter from my ex-husband, Todd, and read it a couple of times. It was fuel for my fire and my daily motivation to keep going although I was in this fucked-up predicament. I needed Todd's words on paper to remind me of what I had left to live for: revenge against his sorry ass, Jock's back-stabbing ass, and a couple of dirty feds and bastard-ass cops, all of whom I wanted to see brought to their knees in the worst way.

Todd's letter wasn't the only motivation I had to keep going. I also took a look at my son's picture each day and night to remind me that, aside from revenge, I did have something positive to live for. Being locked up, it didn't always seem like life was going to be worth living, but I knew I couldn't let my son grow up and have the kind of childhood I was subjected to. I often blamed my situation on how I grew up too. My mother was a full-fledged crackhead. I mean one of those crackheads that left her kids for dead, starving while she sucked dick in the projects for a ten-dollar hit. She was once a flying-high beauty queen that all the hood niggas broke their necks to get at, but once my father—one of the biggest drug kingpins in the city—got knocked and sent to prison for life, my mother turned to sucking that glass dick and she completely forgot about me. I didn't have it easy growing up, living with my grandmother and about a million cousins in a cramped two-bedroom project apartment. The thought of my son growing up like that made me want to fight harder to get out of prison.

I can't front, Todd was the reason I had even escaped my terrible childhood. He had given me a good life, but he had also ruined my fucking life on the same token. I mean, look at me now.

Here I am, Shannon Marshall, former fashion and swag queen of Tidewater lying in a prison bunk with unkempt hair that was in dire need of a perm; broken, chipped, and unpolished nails; ashen and acne-filled skin, and dead in the water without a person in the world who cared about my ass. You could just say I didn't have any other family aside from Todd. My family was all jealous, hating-ass bitches that were probably celebrating the fact that I was locked up. They always were jealous of me and the fact that I had snagged a man like Todd and lived the high life off his money. My turn of bad luck was surely making them happy.

My life had changed drastically over the past six months and for damn sure it hadn't changed for the better. Sometimes I think the fact that I was in the same predicament as Todd right now—sitting in prison with no hope of getting out—was karma for me leaving Todd and taking up with his right-hand man, Jock. Yeah, I fucked my husband's partner and best friend, but that's a whole other story. Like I said, I think my situation is karma, but other times I think this is just a temporary situation to teach me something. . . one that I will bounce back from and come out even better than before.

No matter what, though, I couldn't help but obsess about my past life. Sometimes it made me smile, but other times it made me want to cry to even remember it all. I had the type of life bitches in my hood was dying for. Those bitches would've probably sold their kids on the black market to walk one day in my shoes. Everybody wanted to be me and everybody wanted to have Todd in their beds too.

Yeah, my life was fabulous. I had gone from shopping almost every day in stores like Saks, Neiman Marcus, and Nordstrom. And, when I say shopping, I don't mean to buy one outfit or one pair of shoes, I mean damn near shopping sprees where I was buying six and seven pairs of high-end shoes and two and three leather jackets and two and three of the newest designer bags. I was living that life and I was definitely about that life. In fact, the day my life changed for the worst, I had been in Saks shopping with my best friend Satanya—who by the way is dead now and partly to blame for the way shit blew up. But, anyway, I went from the fabulous life of a celebrity to wearing a jail-issued jumpsuit, white half-size-too-small Keds, and sleeping on a metal bed with a paper-thin mattress and threadbare blanket that smelled like twelve babies had vomited on the shit. That was a far cry from the six-thousand-square-foot mini-mansion Todd and I shared, which was decked out in the finest Italian furniture, expensive art pieces, and top-of-the-line appliances. I closed my eyes and fought back the daily round of tears that threatened to fall every day when I woke up facing the dank, gray walls of my cell and smelling the funky pussy and piss smell coming from my bunk mate. Reality was a bitch but so was reminiscing over the past.

 

“Yo, Queen Shan!” I heard her voice before I could fully see her. Dee, one of my prison minions, was huffing and out of breath as she rushed toward my bunk with her eyes all bugged out and shit. “Queen! Queen, I gotta tell you something,” Dee said, winded.

I was still rubbing sleep and tears out of my eyes when she rushed in. I wasn't like the other inmates who got up all early for breakfast. I never left my bunk for that whack-ass breakfast they served. Nah, I ate from my commissary snacks every morning instead. . . no jail slop for me.

“What? Whatcha want this early in the morning?” I growled at Dee, seriously annoyed that she even dared to step into my cell this early. Dee immediately fell back a little bit. She knew better than to get on my bad side. She was a short, chubby girl that I had taken under my wing and used as one of my errand girls. What I had learned real fast about being locked up was that you had to command respect, either through force or through having shit. I had done a little bit of both. My first two weeks there I was weepy and real sensitive because I wasn't used to that controlling, horrible, dirty environment. But I learned real fast that bitches are ruthless and if I didn't become the old Shannon—street, ghetto bird, fucka-bitch-up-real-quick Shannon—I would be fucked out of the game up in the joint. So, I got with the program real quick and I fucked up a few bitches that were claiming they were running shit. Once that happened, I had solidified my spot at the top among the black crew inside. I even had them simple bitches calling me Queen Shan . . . short for Shannon. I'm laughing in my head now just thinking about it.

With sleep still clouding my judgment and an attitude that could kill a bitch, I cocked my head to the side and looked at Dee with an evil glare. My growling stomach made it easy for me to be mad and agitated that early in the morning.

“I . . . I . . . just heard something going around,” Dee huffed, putting her hand over her heaving chest like she was about to faint. She could see that the look on my face was clearly telling her to get to the fucking point or else we was going to have a problem.

“They . . . they . . . saying that somebody in here got a kite from outside . . . and . . . and . . . it ain't good.” Dee gulped. I let out a long, exasperated breath.

“Get to the fucking point, Dee!” I snarled. She licked her lips, something she does when she's nervous. I bit my bottom lip, something I did when I was getting ready to spaz out.

“They . . . they . . . saying that there is a hit out on you up in here, Queen Shan,” Dee finished breathlessly. I let my tense shoulders fall. I rolled my eyes and inhaled like I had just gotten the most annoying news ever.

Not again,
I thought to myself. What Dee was saying wasn't news to me. Todd had made several attempts to have me jumped, shanked, beaten up, etc. He was a fucking loser point blank. I stretched and yawned like I wasn't fazed at all. I couldn't let my little soldier see me sweat the bullshit. There was a good possibility that this time he could've gotten the right people to carry out his hit, but I wasn't about to let on that I was one bit nervous about it. Acting tough was one hundred percent of what got me through each day inside, so I wasn't about to change it now. I jumped down from my bunk so that I could meet Dee eye to eye.

“Dee, calm down. I ain't worried about Todd and his threats. These bitches ain't about shit. That's the same fucking kite Todd been sending since I got here. That nigga sore about me and Jock and all the shit that happened. I already told you and the whole crew, I ain't worried about his fake-ass hits. He ain't got shit and damn sure can't pay nobody to put a hit out on me,” I said calmly, although my heart was drumming against my chest bone like Questlove from the Roots was hammering out a song on it. I'm telling you I should've been an actress, because the entire time I had been locked up, everything I had shown was all an act. Inside, I was a shaken, scared little girl dying to go home before somebody pulled my card up in that prison.

Dee's expression eased once I said what I had to say. She believed everything I told her, no matter what it was. I was happy about that because if not, I would have to keep explaining myself to her. As Dee and I got ready to leave my cell, I could feel my stomach was churning with a mixture of anger and fear. I knew that anything was possible and at any time the threats from Todd could materialize into some hungry-for-a-name-ass-bitch attacking me in the shower while I was wet and helpless or while I slept or when I had my back turned in the library researching my case. I had seen it happen to a few of the hardest butch bitches in here; a few of which I hadn't seen return once they were carried out by the medics.

“Don't worry about me, Dee. You worry about going to that library and getting your read on . . . I wasn't playing when I said you need to learn how to read before my appeal comes up,” I said seriously, hoping that changing the subject with Dee would also make me feel better about my potential threat.

Dee lowered her gaze and hung her head slightly. She was the most loyal of the little crew I had put together inside the prison, but she was also the dumbest. It pained me to know that at almost thirty-five years old, Dee couldn't read or even write her own name. She had spent so many years in different jails and prisons and no one had ever encouraged her to even learn how to write her name properly. A damn shame, if you ask me. I had finally taught Dee to sign her name without just using a typical illiterate person's X; now I was forcing Dee to learn how to read. The fact that they had
Hooked on Phonics
in a women's prison library was startling to me, but I quickly realized why. Dee wasn't the only grown-ass woman locked up that couldn't read or write. Surprisingly, a few of the white girls in there were just like Dee, if not even worse. Growing up in the hood, I always thought all white people were rich, could read, and lived like kings and queens. Shit, coming to prison and growing up taught me differently.

“C'mon. I'm going to hit the chow hall with you,” I told Dee as we made a beeline for the crowded chow hall. Her eyes lit up with excitement because it was rare for me to set foot in that place. Whenever I didn't have what I wanted or enough, I just acted like a tough girl and took from some of the weaker inmates. The power I had inside the prison, I had never felt while I was on the outside. It was all an act, but even that was about to change.

I sat down in the chow hall while Dee got her breakfast of cold hardboiled eggs, lumpy oatmeal, and stale square institutional bread that was rough enough to scrub pots with. I kind of felt like a sitting duck in that chow hall. I was very aware that all eyes were on me, but my mind was so far off in another place I wasn't thinking about those restless-ass bitches. I kept telling myself that the threat wasn't real, but the idea of it was nagging at me like a fly buzzing in my ears.

I couldn't stop thinking about the nerve of that bitch-ass nigga Todd to put a hit out on me like I was one of his street enemies. After all I had been through at his fucking hands? I had stuck by his worthless ass through prison bids, baby mama drama, cheating, and him sending me on the streets for money. I think he must've forgot that it was me who he had sent to the front line to set up a heist just so his selfish ass could get money to pay for an attorney. What real man asks his woman to be involved in crimes for his own selfish reasons? Well, Todd is obviously not a real fucking man.