Angel's Revenge Read online

“He in the bathroom.”

  Nitti winked at her, then crept along the wall.

  • • •

  After this shit all over, I’ma marry Lana, have some kids, settle down, do the family thing. He imagined himself a father, teaching his son how to dribble or having tea with his daughter.

  The weed made his thoughts funnier than they were, and he laughed out loud just as Nitti entered the bathroom. Nitti heard the laugh, checked under the doors and saw Young World’s Timberlands. He smelled the haze in the air. After spotting the gun on the floor, Nitti smiled. He had truly caught World with his pants down.

  Tank watched Tania and knew her trifling ass was up to something. He couldn’t figure it out, but knew something wasn’t right. He had seen her dancing and then stopping to make her way to the back of the club where she had no business. Then he watched her re-emerge seconds later, looking as if she had stolen something. Tank moved to the other end of the bar, trying to see down the darkened hallway. He saw the bathroom door swing closed, but he didn’t see Nitti enter it.

  Then he got a good glimpse of Jay, who was headed for the bathroom, too. Tank recognized Jay as one of Nitti’s people and put two and two together. In the blink of an eye, he snatched the pump shotgun from under the bar and hopped the counter.

  “Jay!” Tania screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the music. He saw her frantic expression too late. By the time he knew to look, Tank was aiming the shotgun directly at him.

  Jay didn’t ask any questions. He tried to go for his pistol, but a shotgun blast to the stomach folded him on impact. Tania and the other girls screamed and ducked, but Tank’s only concern was Young World. He ran for the bathroom.

  Inside the stall, World had finished shitting and was about to wipe his ass when he heard the muffled shot in the club. His ears easily picked out the sound of gunfire from the bass of the music.

  Nitti heard it, too, and knew he had no time to waste. He barged through the stall door. Young World found himself staring down the barrel of a .45 silencer. The game was over and he had lost his crown. He’d never know Lana as his wife or the mother of his children. He’d never know life without the game. He’d never know life at all.

  His last thought was of Lana. Stay with me, World. Please.

  Two shots caught him in the forehead and two more imploded in his chest. He slumped against the wall as Nitti pumped four more into his body. The lit blunt fell from his hand. He was still breathing and his eyes were still open when he saw Nitti’s gloved hand lift the dragon chain from his neck.

  “You wasn’t rockin’ it right.” Nitti smirked, putting the chain in his pocket.

  Tank kicked the bathroom door open, his pump ready to blast. He saw no one, just one of the stall doors swinging open.

  “World?”

  Tank pushed the bathroom door against the wall to make sure no one was behind it. He looked under the stalls and saw blood and World’s boots.

  “World!” he yelled, running over to the open stall. He grimaced at the sight of World’s bullet-ridden body and his pants around his knees. He never noticed Nitti, who had been standing on the toilet in the next stall. Nitti knew whoever had the shotgun had come for World.

  Just as Tank turned his eyes from World, Nitti leaned over the stall wall.

  “And behind door number two…” Nitti joked as Tank’s eyes widened in surprise.

  He fired a bullet into his head and Tank slumped to the floor. Nitti exited the bathroom, leaving an unsolved double murder.

  The news of Young World’s death sent shock waves through the streets, and everyone scrambled into position to best exploit the situation. Teams that had been under his control made new alliances or posse’d up to lay claim.

  Duke was no exception.

  After the failed hit on Roll, Duke took refuge with Vinnie Z in Hoboken, a town known for its mob ties and strong Italian community.

  “I can’t believe the fuckin’ guy died on the toilet,” Vinnie Z joked. “Since when do gangstas die on toilets?”

  “They don’t,” Duke replied, implying that Young World wasn’t a gangsta in his book.

  He showed no remorse for his slain friend and ex-boss. In truth, Duke was relieved at Young World’s demise. He was glad to be out of Young World’s shadow. He felt World had inherited a position he didn’t earn or deserve and being left leaking on a toilet confirmed it. It was time to make the moves necessary to solidify his position, and Duke planned on wasting no time. He planned on sending many of Young World’s team with him.

  Vinnie handed him a glass of Henny and held his own up. “To the new boss of bosses, eh? Salud.”

  Vinnie toasted and they drank to new beginnings. Duke was now the nigga he’d been itching to be. All he lacked was Dutch’s dragon, and he planned on taking it from Lana. He didn’t realize that Nitti held the chain.

  With the mob behind him and the streets at his feet, he felt like the new Dutch. But the mob had been a front for Dutch, and Duke would only be a front for the mob.

  The news of Young World’s death reached Rahman, and he prayed an absentee Janazah prayer for him, a prayer for dead Muslims. Rahman was devastated because he felt responsible. He questioned himself and his decision not to assist Young World out of the bind he was in.

  “To Allah we belong and to Allah we return,” he whispered to himself, reciting a verse from the Qur’an.

  Lana was a mess. She refused to believe that her World was gone, no matter how many times it was explained to her. She waited for him to come home. She had yet to cry. Her mother and Peaches were worried sick.

  “We going to see World?” Lana asked with childlike innocence.

  Peaches looked at Lana’s mother.

  “Yes, baby. We’re going to see Shahid. But he’s not the same,” her mother answered.

  “Why not?” Lana seemed to sing, head cocked to the side. “Is he sick? I hope he’s not sick. I miss him so much.”

  Her mother tried to respond, but tears choked her. All she could do was pull her daughter to her bosom and hold her tight.

  “Don’t cry, Mommy. We’re going to see World. Aren’t you happy?” Lana smiled.

  “He… help her get ready, Peaches,” Lana’s mother said, shaking her head as she left the room.

  • • •

  The wake was held at Whigham’s Funeral Home in Newark. It looked like the president had died and it was his funeral instead of a local drug dealer’s. Young World was well respected by the street elite. The hustling community showed up in full force to prove it. Bentleys, Benzes, and multicolored SUVs double-parked in the streets for two blocks. Platinum, diamonds, and furs seemed to be worn by everyone.

  Inside, hustlers mingled and females flirted like it was club night. The life of a hustler was good, but sometimes death was even better.

  Angel and Goldilocks sat at the back of the room, both wearing full-length chocolate-brown minks and dark- brown Gucci shades. The whispers of Angel’s return burned up the grapevine, but only a few had enough heart to approach her.

  “I’m sayin’, you come home and don’t even holla at your peoples?” a hustler named DC playfully remarked as he approached Angel.

  “You know how it is, DC. Only fools rush in,” replied Angel.

  “I hear that, ma. At least you could give a nigga a hug and introduce me to your friend,” DC signified, eyeing Goldilocks’s tantalizing frame peeking through her mink.

  “The hug ain’t a problem, but, ahhh, I don’t think you’re her type,” Angel replied, squirming out of the embrace.

  “Why is that?”

  “ ’Cause you ain’t got a pussy,” Goldilocks calmly answered, showing no expression at all.

  “Damn, ma. My fault,” he said before turning back to Angel.

  “Fucked up how they did World and shit. I know them was your peoples, so I’d hate to be whoever did it,” DC said, trying to see where she stood. But Angel wasn’t ready to play her hole card yet.

  “That’s the game,
DC. A bitch did too much time to need this drama in her life. I’m just here to pay my respects.”

  “That’s gangsta,” he replied, not believing a word of it. He knew Angel too well. Drama was the bitch’s middle name.

  “Well, holla at me if you need anything, aiight?” he said before breaking away.

  Angel surveyed the room. A new generation of ballers and hustlers had cropped up in the short time she’d been gone. Many names had reached her, but no one impressed her in style or reputation. They were all just chasing the crumbs off the table Dutch left behind. He was more than a legend. He was a spirit that haunted the streets, and every gangsta would be forever judged by him.

  Just wait. We ’bout to take it to the next level. Y’all muthafuckas ain’t ready, Angel thought as she looked toward the rear door. She watched Duke make his entrance. He had two girls with him, one on each arm. Straight dimes that even made Angel look twice. Duke was outfitted in an all-white Armani suit and matching Gucci shoes. He had a gold-tipped cane, and his diamonds twinkled and winked like they were stars in the night sky.

  Angel watched Duke closely until he noticed her. Their eyes met through the crowd. Duke acknowledged her with a nod and Angel did the same in return.

  Duke walked up to the casket and peered down at Young World’s body. They had done a lot of work on him to have an open casket. Young World was sewn together like a stuffed rag doll, but he was dipped. He was to be buried in a black silk Versace suit with all his jewels except the dragon, which Duke believed Lana was holding. He turned away from the coffin to find Angel eyeing him. He knew who she was at first sight. He just hadn’t been informed that she was back. The bitch could change the game, he thought and wondered if Angel would be a problem. He had every intention of taking over Young World’s fragmented territory and hoped she wasn’t back to get in his way. For her sake, she better not be, he thought.

  Lana, her mother, and Peaches came in and scanned the room. People whispered as they watched Lana, the hustler’s wife. Duke walked up the aisle and hugged her.

  “Lana, I’m sorry, ma. I know how you must be feelin’. Sha was my man and I promise you we gonna ride for money. You ain’t got to worry about that.”

  Peaches sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She could see straight through his facade. She wanted to flip on him, but for Lana’s sake, she didn’t.

  “But, yo. I need to holla at you after the wake, aiight?”

  “Don’t worry, Duke. You can talk to Young World about it later.”

  Duke looked at Lana like she was crazy. Shortie’s fucked up for real. She looks good though, he thought as he eyed her bangin’ frame.

  “Can we see my World now, Mommy?” she asked, like a child wanting to open her Christmas gifts early.

  Her mother could only nod and lead her down the aisle to the casket.

  “I’m so sorry, Lana.”

  “I’m here for you, girl.”

  “Be strong.”

  The words spoken to her by her friends had no impact. Lana approached the casket holding her mother’s hand. She imagined that she was in church, wearing a Cinderella-white gown, heading for the altar where Young World stood holding his hand out to her.

  She peered into the softly cushioned casket at World’s face and slowly the room began to spin around her. The veil that protected her from reality had been snatched away, leaving her heart naked to the truth. There would be no wedding, no sandy beach honeymoon, no church. World was dead.

  Dead. The word echoed in her head and all she could do was stare. Lana’s mind flashed back to the day they met, their first kiss, the first time they made love, the pain, the pleasure, the tears, the laughter. She remembered the last thing he said.

  I promise.

  Her body began to tremble. Her mother gripped her tighter.

  “Steady, child. He’s with God now. You must be strong,” her mother said comfortingly.

  Lana heard none of it. Her trembles became a bodily earthquake, like the moment before a volcanic eruption. It started as a whimper.

  “No… nooooo…” she moaned.

  “Please, baby. It’s going to be okay.” Her mother tried to console her.

  “No, no it’s not! It’s not ever going to be okay. How can you say something like that? It’s not okay! Nothing’s okay!”

  Her mother pulled her close, but Lana shoved her away. The mourners stopped talking and socializing and turned their heads toward the casket and Lana.

  “You think you gonna take my World from me? You’re not. It’s not going to happen. It’s not going to happen!” she screamed.

  Her mother was embarrassed and covered her face with her hands to wipe her own tears. It was a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life, because she took her eyes off Lana long enough for Lana to dig into her purse and pull out a .25 automatic. It was the .25 Young World always made her carry.

  “You won’t take my World from me!” she screamed hysterically, pointing the gun at anyone near the casket.

  “Get away from him!” Lana yelled, aiming the gun at Peaches, who jumped back.

  “Lana, no! What are you doing?” Peaches begged through tears.

  “Get away!”

  Peaches grabbed Lana’s mother and pulled her away, but she kept reaching out to Lana.

  “Lana, give me the gun, baby. Please. He’s gone now. He’s with God!”

  “I want him with me!” Lana bellowed, backing toward the coffin.

  No one knew what was going to happen, but within seconds Lana had climbed into the casket, raised the gun to her temple, and fired a single shot into her brain. The gunshot reverberated through the stunned crowd. Her mother broke the silence with a scream.

  “Somebody get an ambulance!” Peaches yelled.

  Lana’s bleeding head lay on Young World’s neck. World, Lana, and their unborn seed were gone.

  Angel stood outside the funeral home as the EMT workers wheeled Lana’s white-sheeted body past her to the ambulance. People lined the sidewalk, stunned and amazed. It was one thing to stand by your man. It was another to ride and die for a nigga. No one could believe what Lana had done and everyone was talking about the tragic event that had unfolded in the funeral parlor.

  Angel waited for Duke until he emerged from the building. When his eyes met Angel’s, she subtly beckoned him. He quickly crossed the span between them.

  “Crazy night, huh?”

  “Crazy world.” She shrugged.

  “Love makes a nigga do some crazy shit, right?”

  “And what ’bout you?”

  “Naw, how ’bout you?”

  Angel grinned and blew out Newport smoke. “Kinda fucked up how World went out, yo.”

  “Word, and you can believe it ain’t over. Niggas gonna bleed for this. We gonna rep son till the last man’s standing.”

  “Come on, Duke. Who you think you talkin’ to? I can see it in your eyes. Now World’s out the way, you the man. What you care about some bitch-ass nigga that got nodded on the toilet,” Angel asked, wiping her eye with the palm of her cigarette hand.

  “You bein’ real disrespectful to my man. Watch yo’ fuckin’ mouth,” Duke warned, fronting like he really gave a fuck.

  “Dig, Duke. If you wanna stand around and bullshit behind a fake-ass vendetta, then you wastin’ my time. Don’t worry, I ain’t here to cause you no problems. I just want the bloodline represented right. So either you the man for the job or you ain’t.”

  “Yeah, I’m the man. But what kind of job you got in mind?”

  “Let’s ride and discuss the possibilities,” Angel suggested, throwing her cigarette into the street.

  Duke glanced around, weighing the proposition. Angel was Dutch’s main shortie. To have her come fresh out the joint and ride with him would let the streets know that his shit was official. But something about her vibe wasn’t right. Angel read right through his hesitation.

  “Nigga, it’s cold out here in more ways than one. Them same niggas that got World
see you the same way. But wit’ me, you fuckin’ wit’ a vet, and niggas know it. The name Angel rings bells in these niggas’ hearts. So what’s it gonna be?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. She waved her arm and Goldilocks pulled up in an ’85 Cadillac Fleetwood. Angel approached the car and opened the back door.

  “You rollin’ or what?”

  Duke walked over and got into the backseat. Angel closed his door, got into the front seat, and signaled for Goldilocks to pull off.

  “I double-checked that account personally. The check deposited on October 4 did not clear the system because of insufficient funds. So when the customer checked his account and saw those as available, they actually hadn’t cleared the account. They were merely posted on the account. Mr. Hamel doesn’t seem to understand.

  “Uh-huh,” she added.

  “Exactly. The check he deposited was no good and he should receive it in the mail within seven days once our system kicks it out.

  “You’re welcome,” she added before she hung up the phone and removed her Cartier frames. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and thumb. Being a bank manager wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But she put up with it because she was ambitious and had her eyes on bigger and better.

  It wasn’t only about the money. It was mostly about the challenge of being a thirty-four-year-old black woman making her own way in the lily-white world of finance. For the last year and a half, she had dived headfirst into her career, trying to fill the void Dutch’s death left in her heart. She relived their last time together and her aborted trip to the courtroom over and over. She went through the shoulda, coulda, woulda stages and finally left the what-ifs for the reality of what was. Dutch was gone, and as painful as it had been, Nina had to continue with her life. Her career filled the void.

  Until she met Dwight.

  He was a mechanic and worked at a local body shop. She met him when her BMW needed body work after a minor fender bender. He was a regular Joe, not into the streets or the game or the fast life. Dwight was a hardworking man. He worked a seventy-two-hour, six-day workweek and watched football on Sundays. He didn’t feel intimidated because she earned more than he did, nor did he try to exploit it and live off her. He viewed their relationship on equal terms and respected her independence.