Wildin On Staten Island Page 7

  Whitey shook his head. That shit was outta the question. Slick’s plan was far too similar to what Honore and her posse were planning to do, and that meant they might fuck around and bump heads with the enemy by showing up at the same place at the same time. Hell no. Whitey wanted to beat Avi and Honore to the punch and get his hands on that diamond before they had a chance to get anywhere near it.

  He shook his head again and spoke to Slick in a reasonable white man’s tone. “Look partner, I don’t care what Handgun Goody promised you, there’s no way in hell those cats are just going to give Jewelz up,” Whitey predicted. “Even if we do manage to steal that diamond and hand it over to them, you and I both know the deal. Nine times out of ten this shit ends badly, Slick. Especially when it’s personal the way it is. A cat like Goody can’t just take the damn diamond and walk away. He’ll take the damn diamond and still murder Jewelz right there in front of you, just for the hell of it.”

  “Then them cowards are gonna have to murder me too!”

  “And they will,” Whitey said quietly. “If we fuck around and fail to play our cards the right way, they will.”

  “So what you got on your mind?”

  “Here’s the deal,” Whitey explained. “Forget about hitting anybody anywhere near the Sotheby Museum. It’s too risky. Dead that right outta your mind. But on the other hand, stealing a diamond off a Brink’s truck can be a suicide mission too, unless you do it the right way. Believe me, if we played this shit out like amateurs and just rolled up and blasted on the truck all willy nilly we’d be setting ourselves up to get caught in a double-cross two different ways.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for one thing the drivers would sound the electronic alarm indicating that the truck had been robbed. That right there would trigger a nation-wide manhunt all by itself. But even if we did manage to lay low we’d never be able to sell the Pink Lady diamond. Never. Not even on the underground market. With almost fifty-million dollars on the line that thing would be on the radar of every fuckin security agency in the whole world, man. I mean, we could always cut it up and try to dish it off in smaller pieces, but the true value in a gemstone like that is in the beauty of the entire piece.

  “Nah,” Whitey shook his head and said firmly. “We can’t just go at it like no amateurs. We have to find a way to hit the truck and take the diamond. Without anybody realizing we’ve done either one.”

  Slick threw his hands up in frustration. “Man, that shit sounds crazy. How the hell are we supposed to steal a truck and a fitty-million dollar rock without nobody noticing, nigga?”

  Whitey shot him a crafty grin.

  “We play a game, my friend. A game that’s older than the hands of time. It’s called a bait and switch. First we make sure the truck stays on its scheduled course. And then we make sure the Pink Lady gets picked up by the truck’s couriers and delivered to the Sotheby auction on time.”

  As Slick pondered the details, Whitey sat back looking like an alley cat who had just licked out some real creamy pussy. With Slick’s unknowing help, he was going to ass-fuck Honore and her crew until shit dripped outta that bitch’s eyeballs!

  And the fate of his boss Slick? Whitey grinned broadly and at the same time he chuckled coldly inside.

  No witnesses, no worries.

  Unfortunately, half-Slick wasn’t gonna make it out of the Sotheby museum at all. Whitey was gonna put a hot one in the back of his homey’s head and cancel Christmas for his slime as soon as the diamond was delivered.

  Noting Whitey’s confident smile, Slick stood up and took a deep breath, and then nodded at his boy skeptically.

  “A’ight, cool. I don’t care what kinda plan you come up with. I trust you, bruh. I know you gonna make sure this shit goes off real smooth. Only fuckin thing I’m worried about is getting Jewelz back. I gotta get her man, you feel me? So fuck that diamond! If I gotta roll up in that joint and blast my tools at all them niggas at the same time, then that’s what I gotta do!”

  “Suicide,” Whitey said firmly, “is not the answer. The answer is to go in with a solid plan, boss. A solid fuckin plan.”

  $$$$$

  Hymie Lovitz had gotten the pure shit scared out of him. The back of his drawers were brown and soupy as he stood trembling and sweating across from the two young men who lurked in the confines of his small, dim kitchen.

  Both men were hulking and strong like schoolyard bullies. The fact that they had busted up in his house was scary enough, but the prehistoric killer-look glinting in the black man’s eyes soaked the front of Hymie’s trousers and sent a stream of hot piss trickling down his scrawny leg.

  However, it was the white man, with his clear blue eyes and clean-cut smile that had the old man’s heart galloping like a thoroughbred as his pacemaker kicked in and tried to slow that shit down.

  “I-I-I’m finished with the jewelry business,” Hymie explained breathlessly as he pointed at the countless packing boxes and stacks of newspaper that littered his small kitchen. He had been wrapping up his late wife’s favorite china when the two thugs appeared out of nowhere, terrorizing him and his precious daughter. And what they were demanding that he do right now was utterly preposterous.

  “I mean, I’d really like to help you, gentlemen,” Hymie blabbered. “I really would! But I’ve already put a padlock on my shop and we’re moving to Florida in a couple of days. Besides, this thing is beyond me. The Pink Lady is one of the world’s most exquisite premier jewels. It would take a great deal of time and skill to replicate a diamond of that magnitude and quality, even once! Fabricating two identical copies would be nearly impossible to do by one old man in such a short period of—”

  In a flash Whitey reached out and gripped the old man by his throat, strangling off his words. The man gurgled for air as Whitey’s stony eyes slid over to the homely-looking female who lay sprawled halfway up against the refrigerator where he had knocked her mousy ass.

  “Go get your fucking keys,” Whitey said, his gaze slicing into the old man’s daughter like his eyeballs were made of razor blades.

  “We’re gonna go to your shop right fucking now, and in the next forty-eight hours you’re going to make me two diamonds, muthafucka. Two. In forty-eight hours. Not forty-nine. And unless you want me to wake that ugly bitch up and put some heat on her pale white ass, you’d better work hard and you better work fast.”

  $$$$$

  It was the longest forty-eight hours of Slick’s whole life.

  Jewelz. Jewelz. Jewelz.

  She was all he could think about. She was the only thing he cared about. She was all his heart could bear.

  Slick paced the floor in the back room of the boarded-up jewelry store raging inside. He felt like shit for putting Jewelz outta his crib, and he was filled with the dark fury and certain knowledge that he was gonna flatline Handgun Goody. Yeah, Goody and every fuckin brother he had left, had to go. Jewelz had ran him some bullshit about how that grimy nigga loved her, and how he would never harm her, but Slick knew better than that and he was gonna cold slump that entire set!

  Standing on his left, Whitey was amped and on edge too. He stood by edgy as fuck as the fabricator sat hunched over his worktable trying to save his and his daughter’s lives.

  The old jeweler wore magnifying glasses and had two bright spotlights shining down on a large but rough diamond as he carefully examined a 3D computer-generated replica of the Pink Lady diamond.

  Hog-tied over in the corner was his daughter. She was bent forward over a chair with her dressed pulled up in the back and her drawers pulled down. Her stringy hair fell around her face, obscuring the mouth that was tightly bound and the eyes that bulged with fear.

  From a small table right beside her, Whitey had aimed the open end of a blow-torch at the left cheek of her pale ass. Every thirty minutes an orange-blue flame shot from the tip and sent a tortured shriek flying from her mouth as it singed her tender flesh into blisters.

  They had been locked away in the jewelr
y shop for over twelve hours now, and the old man had been working furiously the entire time. Whitey had promised to set them both free if he fabricated the diamonds to ultimate perfection, and the old man was working frantically because he was desperate for his child to live.

  “Remember,” Whitey reminded him. “Your daughter’s ass is on the line,” he said as another blast of heat hit her blackened skin and the smell of Kosher-fried tush rose into the air. Sweat dripped from the old man’s chin and tears fell from his eyes at the sound of his child’s pitiful cries.

  “That’s what I like to see,” Whitey chuckled gleefully. “Cry, you son-of-a-bitch, because this whore’s jiggly ass is literally on the line.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Beast Mode

  Almost forty-eight hours after the foursome had entered the Fulton Street jewelry shop, Whitey stood beside the workbench holding two brilliantly fabricated replicas of the Pink Lady diamond in the palms of his hands.

  Studying the bright screen, he glanced at the computer-generated model of the replica and then back at a high-resolution picture of the original diamond that had been enlarged to five-hundred percent. To his amazement the stunning gemstones looked absolutely fuckin identical.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Whitely nudged the exhausted jeweler proudly as the man sat with his craggly white head slumped down on his chest. “You put in some real quality work, old man,” Whitey praised him.

  “You’re happy with it?” the exhausted jeweler muttered as his droopy eyes lit up with hope. “So now you’ll stop hurting my daughter and let us go?”

  Whitey nodded solemnly. “Of course I will. I gave you my word, didn’t I?’

  “Ay, we gotta hurry the fuck up,” Slick told him, holding out two white satin jewelry bags as he motioned for Whitey to give up the jewels. He glanced at his watch. They were gonna have to move fast in order to intercept the Brinks truck and get to Goody’s maintenance warehouse in time for the hand-off.

  Slick swiped his hand roughly over his face. His eyes were bloodshot and blurry but his whole fuckin body was wired. He had been on a hunnid for forty-eight hours straight, but he wasn’t tired and his game wasn’t slippin neither. He was in assassin-mode. Focused as fuck and mission-ready. All he could think about was finding Jewelz and body-bagging Dirty Mike. That’s the only thing in the whole fuckin world that he knew.

  Minutes later it was time to roll. Slick had just tied the old Jewish man up and left him laying next to his moaning-ass daughter, and he was heading toward the front door of the jewelry shop when he heard the shots ring out behind him.

  Pop! Pop!

  Slick whirled around in time to catch sight of a flash of heat flying outta the muzzle of Whitey’s burner. There was a brief pause, and then the elderly jeweler and his daughter both crumpled facedown with their wigs twisted completely back.

  Slick stared at his manz, and Whitey just shrugged.

  “No witnesses, no worries, chief,”

  Slick took a deep breath and nodded. “A’ight. Let’s pack these bitches up and get outta here,” he said as Whitey nestled each diamond deeply into a satin-lined velvet box and then slid them both into the white silk bag.

  Whitey stepped over the dead bodies and glanced at his watch. “Yeah, let’s move. We have to catch that truck, my friend. That commuter flight is gonna be landing right on time and we can’t afford to miss it. Once the airline signs that diamond over to the truck driver we’ve gotta run down on his ass and go get that shit, man.”

  Slick smirked and waved him off. “Fuck that diamond.” He gave zero fucks about the money. “We gotta get to Staten Island and go get Jewelz.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Run Down on ’Em

  Cookie Townsend maneuvered the military-style armored vehicle expertly through the crowded parking lot of the busy strip mall. It was close to lunchtime and thoughts of some sweet white pussy and a strawberry milkshake were heavy on his mind.

  Behind him on the other side of the bullet-proof partition, Lil Smitty, his messenger and road dawg, was chillin in the back compartment scribbling notes and logging in the cash pick-up they’d just gotten from a large supermarket.

  They’d been driving all over Staten Island since 6am, and so far they’d made stops at a couple of banks, two hotels, a commuter airport, a Wal-Mart, and two supermarkets.

  Cookie was locked in with his eyes sharp and focused as he drove. He was an ex-Marine who had been driving for Brinks for over ten years and he was damn good at what he did. He rubbed his protruding stomach as he eyed the row of restaurants and small shops in the strip mall and tried to decide which one to hit up for lunch.

  Company policy prohibited drivers from leaving their vehicles under non-emergency conditions, but Cookie was a vet at this shit and he knew how to work around the rules.

  For years he had played Brinks’ game by the rulebook and he either brought his grub from home or starved his ass off on his twelve-hour shift. But then a couple of older cats had hipped him to the hustle and showed him how this shit was really done.

  Spotting a small mom-and-pop joint that sold burgers and fries, Cookie exited the parking lot and drove around the corner. He pulled up in the alley behind the store and parked in front of an eighteen-wheeler that was being unloaded by two young white guys.

  “Yo, what you want, homey?” Lil Smitty asked as he reached for the door handle.

  Cookie shrugged. They had eaten from this joint many times in the past and the cheese fries were good as fuck.

  “Yo just get me the usual, man. A double cheeseburger and some a’ them cheese fries. I want my burger well-done, and make sure they put a whole lotta cheese on them fries and don’t let them stingy bastards short you neither.”

  Cookie reached under his seat and whipped out his iPhone as Smitty got outta the armored truck and jetted through the back door of the restaurant. Getting caught with a phone on the job was a violation of the rules too, but Cookie wasn’t worried about it. There were no cameras in his truck and after ten years of stellar performance wasn’t nobody monitoring his moves or playing him close neither.

  With Smitty gone for the food Cookie knew he had about ten good minutes to himself. He needed to get him one off real quick and ten minutes would be plenty of time.

  He hit a FaceTime number on his favorite list and then leaned back in his seat as the phone rang and the connection was made.

  A live image popped up on the screen and a hot Asian chick pressed her face close to the camera.

  “Hey Papa-san,” she purred. “You’re late. You know I can’t stand to be kept waiting…” She had short black hair and she looked like she was straight off the boat from Japan, but she purred in a sexy kitten voice that was straight outta west Philly.

  She angled the camera and stepped back, and Cookie gasped at the sight of her flawless skin and flat ass, covered by a bright yellow corset.

  The Asian hoe stepped deeper into the room and Cookie saw a skinny blonde chick with pale skin and big tits laying on a narrow cot that was covered with a red blanket. Her heels were up against her ass, and her legs were cocked open wide, and if Cookie squinted real hard he could see straight up into her pussy.

  The blonde was wearing a similar corset as her friend, but hers was jet black. She was stretched out flat on her back playing with her pointy nipples, and it looked like her gigantic implants were about to explode at any minute.

  Cookie was a regular to this shit. This was his normal timeslot and he paid for their services in advance every week like clockwork. Both chicks knew the drill, and since they also knew he didn’t have much of a lunch break, they got right to work.

  Cookie undid his belt and opened his pants. His dick was already half-hard from anticipation and the sounds of their practiced porno moans and slurps and groans was enough to get him the rest of the way there.

  With his four-inch joint gripped in his hand, he sat back to watch the show. The blonde hoe spread her legs and started playing in
her pussy, getting herself wet. The Asian chick smiled for the camera, then began licking all over the blonde chick’s 40 DD’s.

  The sight of that darting tongue all over those erect pink nipples turned Cookie straight the fuck on. He jacked his dick and moaned, and his eyes got even bigger when the Asian chick slid between her partner’s legs and started licking her shaved muff like a kitten at a bowl of sweet milk.

  “Yeah…” Cookie muttered, sweat popping out on his nose as he squeezed his dick and his fist pumps became faster and more feverish. “Eat that pussy up! Eat that shit the fuck up!”

  The girls were really moaning and performing for him now, and Cookie was so busy digging in his drawers and jacking his dick that he got the shit shocked outta him when his door was snatched open and Lil Smitty was standing there holding his lunch.

  “Here, nasty!” Lil Smitty frowned as he pushed the bag of greasy smelling food at him. “Them fuckers charged extra for all that cheese man—”

  Cookie got the shit shocked outta him again as without warning, Lil Smitty slumped to the ground. Suddenly Cookie felt the cold barrel of a .45 snub-nose jammed under his jaw.

  “Give it up chicken-choker,” a white dude barked as he reached across Cookie’s body and slid the keys outta the ignition.

  “Yo, yo, yo!” Cookie screeched, dropping the phone and throwing his hands up in the air as his dick went limp and he almost shit in his pants. He gulped against the cold metal that was pressing into his throat, knowing in his heart that his worst fuckin nightmare was about to come true.

  “Yo, be easy, white boy,” he said with his voice trembling. “Whatever you want outta this bitch you can have it. It’s yours, homey. Just be easy, dammit. Be easy!”