Читать книгу The White House - JaQuavis Coleman - Страница 7

Chapter Two

Sounds of plates clinking and the ancient heating system filled the air. The small diner was dimly lit and the smell of fresh eggs and bacon flowed throughout the joint.

Draya, with her ponytail pulled neatly back and pearl earrings in her ears, was once again going through the motions, trying to get through her shift. As she wiped a table, the only thing she could think about was the stacks of opportunity she had seen Mr. Harris stuffing in his safe. She thought about the tuition that June would have to pay if he attended Michigan. She knew deep in her heart that if he stayed home and went to a community college, his chances of graduating would decrease. The environment that the city of Detroit offered would consume him.

Blink’s words stuck in her head and she was truly thinking about setting the whole thing up. As her mind raced, she saw a familiar face walking in. He was about six two, brown skin, with a medium build. He wore a leather bomber jacket and a Gucci scarf was neatly wrapped around his neck. Crisp jeans and large Timberland boots made the outfit complete. Draya instantly grew nervous, as she always did when he walked in. His stride was unique and it seemed like he was marching to the beat of his own drum. His freshly cut Caesar and crisp black goatee enhanced his nearly perfect face. The only flaw was the healed three-inch cut along his jawline. The man sat in the back corner of the diner as he always did, and from across the room he locked eyes with Draya. She couldn’t help but crack a smile, showing her pearly whites. It was her favorite customer.

She walked over to him with a menu in her hand, gently placed it in front of him, and pulled out her pad to take his order.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly.

“Good morning, Cassidy,” she replied as a big smile involuntarily crept onto her face.

“Why do you always call me by my full name? It’s Cass,” he said with a smirk and warm eyes.

“Well, I like Cassidy better. Now, what can I get you this morning?”

“I’ve been coming to this same diner at the same time for about . . . a good year. And you don’t know what I want?” he asked as he slowly slid the menu back toward Draya.

“Eggs over easy, turkey sausage, and . . . Texas toast?”

“Bingo.” He peeled off his coat and displayed a gold necklace with a diamond-encrusted Jesus piece hanging from it. They both shared a laugh and Draya started back to the kitchen when she felt a strong hand grab her wrist.

“Why do we play this game?” Cass asked.

“What game?” Draya countered, smiling from ear to ear.

“I’ve been coming here for a long time and we never get past this little exchange. I am feeling you and I know you feeling me. It’s obvious, to say the least,” Cass said with a charming, piercing stare.

“I’m feeling you?” Draya placed her hands on her hips. “How are you so sure?”

“Because you smile and turn red every time I come in here.”

As if on cue, Draya’s cheeks turned red. “Seems like you got it backward. You make sure you always sit in my section when you come in. If you ask me, I’d say you was chasing me,” she shot back.

“Okay, you got me. I am chasing you. Let’s stop playing . . . let me take you out sometime.”

“I have been waiting for you to ask me that for a long time,” Draya admitted as she smiled again and walked away.

Cass watched her waist sway from side to side. Her plump ass cheeks filled out her skirt and her large, thick legs were shining. Cass loved what he was seeing and was looking forward to learning more about this woman who he had been eyeing for months.

* * *

The sun was just coming up and Draya had one foot out the front door of the diner when she heard a horn beep. She shot her head in the direction of the pearl-white Range Rover parked to her left. She smiled: Cass had come back for her. She had given him her number a few hours before and told him what time she got off.

“What are you doing here?” Draya asked, grinning as she walked toward the truck.

“I couldn’t wait. I wanted to kick it with you. Can I take you home?” Cass asked.

“Sure.” She ducked her head into her collar to avoid the windchill, then walked over and jumped in the vehicle. “So, Mr. Cassidy, I never see you around here except for in the diner. Are you from here?”

Gripping the wood-grain steering wheel, Cass glanced over at Draya. “Nah, I’m from Cleveland. I just come here once a month to check on my uncle.”

“You check on him the first of every month, huh?”

“I never miss. He practically raised me. Never had a father so he stepped in, feel me?” He rubbed his goatee with his free hand. “He’s the only family I have left.”

“You’re a good nephew,” Draya said. She felt cozy in his car but butterflies formed in her stomach as she tried to remain cool. She peered over at him and observed the way his jawline showed when he bit down on his teeth. He gave her a smile and pulled off.

Cass took her home and they sat in the parking lot for two hours . . . just talking about life. Draya was really feeling this mystery man named Cass. He had a sexy mystique and she was getting a good feeling about him. He was a great listener and seemed caring, but most of all . . . he was gangster. Draya was intrigued.

* * *

As Cass cruised the Detroit streets he smiled, thinking about how he was feeling Draya. He wondered what it would feel like to make love to her. Her body was enticing and she had such a pretty face. He quickly shook off the thought and got back to business. He had vowed to never get involved with any chick from Detroit. To him this trip was always about business. He only came to Detroit to get the shipment from his heroin connect. His uncle was his plug—the man was an underground legend in the city. Unstepped-on dog food, straight off the banana boat.

Every first of the month, Cass would come to the city and pay his uncle back for the previous shipment and pick up the new joints. It was a flawless system that they had going on. Cass was stationed in the next state over, in Cleveland, Ohio. He supplied the whole city and had a good operation set up.

Cass pulled onto Jefferson Avenue to one of his main trap spots in the city. It was a small house in the middle of a fairly quiet neighborhood. There were bars on each window and cameras at the front and the rear of the place. Cass’s uncle had the local police wrapped around his finger, so the house was secured and free to operate. The only people Cass and his crew ever feared were the feds or stickup kids.

He hopped out and headed to the door, which had a steel gate on the front. Cass tapped in a rhythmic pattern to tell the patrons it was a known visitor. Seconds later, the door opened and a tall, dark brolic man appeared. He had a full beard, a nice neat cut, and an ice-cold stare, but he quickly smiled when he saw who stood in front of him.

“Cass, my nigga,” the man said as he slapped palms with him.

As they moved into the midsize house, the smell of cooked crack filled the air and the latest Mobb Deep song pumped out of large speakers. This particular place was a half-and-half house, meaning you could buy crack or heroin. Cass looked around and smiled. Five young women sat at a table preparing the goods for sale. A girl stood in front of the stove working two pots, waiting for the powder coke to turn into crack rock, with a little help from baking soda. The operation was smooth and booming. Cass rubbed his hands together and nodded his head in approval. Not one girl looked at him or acknowledged that he had entered the room. He loved it. They were focused and straight about the business. He turned back to the man who had opened the door, still nodding his head in approval.

“You got this mu’fucka pumping, Gee,” Cass said. This was his head street general and as solid as they came. He had been working the city for Cass for years and was making a lot of money for himself too.

“No doubt,” Gee replied, glancing at the girls and nodding his head as well. Besides Cass’s uncle, who had been an important figure in the streets of Detroit for years, Gee was the only person he dealt with directly. Cass was like a ghost in Detroit. Niggas within the city knew it was an out-of-towner coming in and flooding the streets, but no one knew who he was. Cass wouldn’t have it any other way. He came to town once a month, dropped the bag off, collected his money from the previous trip, and left. The perfect hustle.

Cass motioned for Gee to follow him. He maneuvered through the front room and ended up in the back. As soon as they walked in, the smell of weed hit Cass’s nose, and he heard money running through a machine. He saw a tableful of cash and three handguns on top of it. He looked at the two young boys who were smoking while doing the count-up. Gee whistled to get the young boys’ attention. When they looked up at him, he threw his head toward the door. Immediately they rose up and walked out, giving he and Cass privacy to handle business.

“So, how we looking this month?” Cass asked as he sat down at the table of money.

“We right on point. We almost out of the last joints. Those were a good batch, man. The ones with the scorpion stamp on them were pure as fuck,” Gee answered, referring to the new fishscale cocaine that Cass had hit him with. Cass’s uncle had a new supplier and the dope was so pure you could cut it three times and still have a strong product. It had the whole city on fire. They had finally got the pure shit in.

“Yeah, those scorpion joints are official. I’ll tell Unc to keep those coming,” Cass assured Gee, smiling slightly.