The Tale of the Blood Diamond Page 13

  Whatever was going on, it was information he was no longer privy to. He believed he’d proven himself over his short stint, and he deserved to be kept abreast of such vital issues and assemblies. Yes, he’d been only an intern the year prior, but he’d done nothing but excel and for that, he’d earned the right to be made aware of all things such as this.

  He checked his computer for updates, and even the original meeting notice had been deleted. He couldn’t accept this. That sparked a fury inside of him, so he went to discuss the matter with his supervisor. He wanted to help, to do his job — but he was being locked away and closed out. He resented being asked to leave, especially in front of all of those people, and he would find out, one way or another, what they were discussing.

  So here he was, inside of his supervisor’s office, sitting at the man’s desk, refusing to be swept away like an afterthought. He’d walked into an empty room, not realizing the man was gone for the day. That was unlike him — it was if he’d run off in a huff. In the interim, the open laptop was simply too irresistible to ignore. Demetrio made himself comfortable, and his own inquiry soon manifested to the point that he’d keep digging until he was age one hundred if need be.

  “Ahhh, here is something.” He placed his finger on the monitor, his weary hazel eyes beyond tired as he stared at the screen. “Zarkstorm…” It had been entered only a few minutes prior. All meeting records were kept in the database, but this one was for his boss’ eyes only. He stopped suddenly, fearing someone was entering. Realizing it was only the cleaning crew outside the door, he proceeded.

  What is so special about these guys?

  He continued to read. A few minutes later, Demetrio salivated at his beaut of a find.

  “One of the men invited to the meeting? Are you serious?!” He squelched his enthusiasm, biting into his fist as he continued to read.

  The ‘XXX Killer was one of those men’?! Oh my God, that’s like the unsolved mystery of all time. A fucking serial killer?! A fucking serial killer is having a meeting with the President of the United States?!

  He felt a mixture of elation and surprise. Soon, his thoughts dipped into dark territory as he took note of the name listed by such an announcement:

  Xzion Khrome.

  What an odd name. He must be foreign. This information could be worth millions to the right people…

  He tapped his chin and continued to read, though no further information helped him along. Looking from right to left, he pulled out a USB drive from his pocket and jammed it into the port of the laptop. Copying the files, he ejected the damned thing, and hot-footed it out of there, his steps slick, slippery and smooth. His jets were blazing. He believed he could soon give his resignation letter and be on a trip of a lifetime as a brand new twenty-four year old millionaire. Sailing away on an exotic yacht into paradise with two scantily clad women at his side who’d be begging him to make love to them from sun up to sun down. It could soon be in his grasp; all he had to do was drop a dime. So many people would literally kill to know who the ‘XXX’ Killer was, let alone find out he is now a trusted informant for the U.S. government.

  Maybe he was hired by the president all along?

  Such a notion really got his blood boiling, in a good way. This could be bigger than Watergate and the Monica Lewinsky scandal combined.

  Oh yes, a payday was coming. He didn’t give a shit what happened, as long as his pockets got lined. Besides, the American people deserved the truth. Capitalism was what the United States was all about; and if the president was breaking bread with a man that broke lives while dashing cocaine dealer dreams, then the people had the right to know. Yes, the decision was made.

  Now, all he had to do was figure out who to alert, and what price to ask. He’d treat it like an auction on eBay, and yes, there would be an outrageously high reserve.

  Let the negotiations begin…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lorenzo rolled to the left and slowly opened his eyes. The deep red, satiny sheets hugged his naked body, like a lady trying to stop her man from leaving in the middle of the night. He coughed, rousing a real warm entity next to him. The woman outstretched her hand and ran her long teal painted nails up and down his heavily tattooed bicep.

  “Baby,” she whispered. “You alright?” Her sweet voice trailed around him, stimulating his senses. He turned towards her and scanned her nude, deep caramel body. She had dips and curves in all the right places, and her bleach blonde hair with reddish streaks, like a lion’s mane, made her look exotic. Her deep, mahogany eyes sparkled under the dim recessed lights of his penthouse apartment master suite and if love had a look, the woman was the mirror to the shit.

  “Yeah, I’m fine baby. Hey, get me something to eat and drink and hand me that remote.”

  She rose quickly, as if his requests were dire and the world would slide away if she wasted additional seconds. He sat back, relaxing against the off-white Mait-land Smith headboard as she moseyed out of the room, soon returning with a kamikaze sloshing about in a thick, low glass. In her other hand was a sandwich — curry turkey on rye. She switched real slow and silly as she clenched the remote between her knobby knees on her way back towards him.

  “Now that doesn’t make any sense, Adrianna. Why in the fuck didn’t you make the damn sandwich, leave it in the kitchen but bring me the remote control and the drink while I waited? Instead, here your silly ass is moving like a damn mermaid trying to walk on land…just stupid.” He grinned and she smiled back, not even realizing he wasn’t kidding. And even if she did realize it, it wouldn’t have changed her reaction; of that, he was sure. Regardless, Adrianna was his bottom-bitch, and this was her day off. She wanted to spend it with him, at his crib versus the house, so he granted her wish, much to the dismay of her sister-wives. She brought in the most money, even when she wasn’t trying.

  The reason being: she looked like perfection. She was a rare gem. She didn’t take drugs, didn’t drink. All the woman did was fuck and work out. She knew her body was her business, and she kept it in tip-top shape. It was a shame that Preacher hadn’t gotten a chance to really bring her into the fold. When Lorenzo met her, she had come by to meet with Preacher about a deal he had on the table. She’d just moved to Baltimore from Miami, trying to harvest a fresh, new start.

  Instead, Lorenzo opened the door, and once he laid eyes on her, he wanted the woman to never leave his sight. She could be ditzy at times, but he had love for her because she was dedicated, and he knew she loved the shit out of him.

  They settled into the scene again, getting cozy against one another as he took sips of his drink and found himself grinning. Today was his lucky day. ‘For a Few Dollars’ starring Clint Eastwood was playing. Lorenzo considered Clint Eastwood to be an original pimp. He very much appreciated tradition, and that was where he copped his style. The pimps his age and younger were wiling out. They were undisciplined, ruthless, and couldn’t control themselves under pressure. Some of them fell in love with their whores, while others allowed them to drink and get high too much. No, Lorenzo played by a different set of rules. Matter of fact, he rarely even called his women out their names. The reason being was because he wanted his showroom to always be high-class. If they weren’t called their natural born name, it was a nickname he’d given them, like pets. When they were referred to as a ‘bitch’, he was mad as hell, and they knew once the word left his mouth, the gig was up.

  He reached over to his dresser to grab a cigarette, lit it quickly, and pushed his half eaten sandwich to the side. As the movie continued to play, he shot Adrianna a lustful glance.

  “Well, since you here ’nd all, I think I’ll get a little more ass.”

  She giggled like a child, eagerness in her eyes as she clasped her hands greedily around his neck. He shoved his cigarette in the ashtray with one hand and pushed her down with the other. He moaned in her ear, just low and hungry enough to get her motor running. She trembled beneath him and he had barely touched her. Pushing her warm thighs
open, he surveyed her well-kept pussy lawn. The ‘grass’ was silky and jet-black, and the juicy slit that beckoned him made his dick salute the slippery night train that was coming his way. Arching upward on one hand, he grabbed the base of his thick cock and drove inside of her, taking his sweet time. The woman climbed the walls as if she’d never had a lover before. Her moans, whimpers and undulating hips convinced him that Adrianna was either full of premium shit, or she truly believed any cock offered from the man she worshipped was enough within itself to send her completely over the edge.

  “Mmmm, yeah….” He hissed as he pressed his body flat on top of hers, moving and grinding his hips, pushing in and out of her pussy with precision. Adrianna screamed out, her feminine silkiness coating his dick more and more with each thumping plunge.

  “Mmmmm, shit!” Lorenzo grunted, his teeth clenched as he turned away from her while every muscle in his body seized up. The orgasm was just what the pimp ordered. Breathing out of beat, his heart thumped and skipped until he’d fallen onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, listless. The woman was talking now, but he wasn’t paying attention. He grabbed his cigarette and popped it to his lips, silently singing smoky notes to a sad song. His phone suddenly rang, bringing him out of half-baked nonsensical thoughts brought on by a monster of a climax.

  “Yeah…” He sat up and lightly swatted Adrianna’s roaming fingers away. He shot her a glance.

  Damn nympho…

  “Yeah, man…” His friend, “Rewind”, a D.C. elementary school pal who had discovered him again once he returned to his home-grown stomping grounds after the death of Preacher. He took another puff of his cigarette, his throat thick with fog-filled lungs. “A party, huh? I don’t know, man… I was gonna try to chill today. I been workin’ non-stop for like a month.”

  The man decided to plead his case a little harder. Lorenzo knew why the man was bothering him, he wanted some primo weed and a couple of bad bitches. Everyone knew Lorenzo had some of the finest whores in the city and his marijuana connection was on point.

  “Come on, Lorenzo, maaaan! Look, I’ll make it worth yo’ while.”

  “How so, Rewind? You ain’t got shit I need.” Lorenzo chuckled, his eyes mere slits as he fought sleepiness. “Besides, we know what this is about. They don’t work for free. Shiiit, you act like my women are volunteers or some shit. This ain’t the Salvation Army. I’m tired of y’all thinking because it’s a party, you get a free ride. Nah, business goes on, Sunday to Sunday, no such thing as Done-Day. If it don’t make dollahs then it don’t make cents. Pay meeee, mothafucka!” He laughed.

  “How much you want for three of ’em? Cut us a deal, man! It’s our boy’s bachelor party, man! Come on!”

  Lorenzo never cared much for Grant. Grant was the unlucky son of a bitch getting married. He was a wanna-be, a postman delivering bills and paper spam no one wanted. Lorenzo shrugged his shoulders. It was an honest living, he could respect that, he didn’t diss squares… but Grant was such a phony, it grated his nerves. The fool pretended to be a thug; he wasn’t cut out for their life. It was insulting to the game and the only reason Lorenzo never came at the man sideways was because back in the day, Grant had been his friend, too. It had been a lonely world back then, and it was hard to come by people you could trust.

  “Alright, I will give you two of them with a discount, but it won’t be a deep discount because you are cuttin’ into my money, Rewind. I’m a businessman first, a friend, second. Now look, what time do you need ’em?” He stood from the bed and glanced lazily out the window.

  “’Round ten. You comin’ too, man?”

  “Yeah, but only to drop off my merchandise and I will be picking them up promptly at one in the morning. Not 1:05, not 1:15, but 1:00 a.m. on the damn mothafuckin’ dot and they better be dressed and have their cash. Pay half to me before I go, and the other half when I retrieve ‘em. And there better not be a bruise or a bump, not even a damn pimple. Condoms are a must, so don’t ask them for some raw shit. They don’t give any dome or fuck without rubbers. How I dropped them off is how I expect to find them. If they are not in the original packaging, then I will be charging a re-stocking fee.” He disconnected the call and glanced down at Adrianna, her naked body still sprawled across the bed as if she were a female octopus. He could see the hopefulness in her eyes — she didn’t want to be sent to Grant’s party. She wanted to stay up under him all evening, getting dicked down all day and night and catering to his ass. A part of him loved and hated her for it all at the same damn time.

  “Not you, baby,” he reassured with a crooked smile, causing her to break out into her own after she exhaled in relief. “Nah, you get the day off, like I promised you. Well, I’ll stop by, take a couple of the girls, make sure the shit looks legit, you know, ’cause I’m not leaving my women in some bullshit… in some shit where mothafuckas ain’t got no damn money and tryna get some ass for free. If it all looks good, then you and I will go out to a late movie and pick ’em up a few hours later.”

  Her eyes dazzled with delight. He knew what she was thinking. Not only did she get her man, she got to go on a real date with him — with popcorn, drinks, candies and a dark theater for her to disappear into his lap and make him almost sing with the scrolling ending credits…

  ****

  The over-stuffed small apartment was bustling with anxious men and dank smoke. All Lorenzo cared about was the cash flow, and upon his brief inspection, he verified they had it. The costly liquor had damn near embalmed half the crowd, while the others stayed fixated, their gaze full of unconcealed yearning thrown towards the two brick houses on either side of Lorenzo. One woman, however, stood directly behind him: his prize, his ace, Adrianna. She laid her fingertips lovingly across his shoulder blades as he cocked his head to the side and whispered the agreement in Rewind’s ear. The chunky, brown man with the clean shaven face and smiling eyes grinned, nodding appreciatively as he slapped money in Lorenzo’s palm. He then took each prostitute by the wrist and led them further into their home-made den of iniquity. As Lorenzo turned to leave, an all too familiar husky voice caught his attention from the near distance. He turned to find himself almost face to face with Centipede, a lanky old-school playa that used to have the streets on lock in 1985. Centipede was an idol, but he fell prey to a horrid crack addiction. He lost his stable, his home, his family, and never quite recovered. Regardless, people still paid him respect because of the foundation he’d set in the pimp game of D.C.

  “Loooreeeenzoooo!” he clicked his tongue and gave a snaky grin as two beady, Georgia dirt colored eyes peered slickly behind a set of cheap, dark sunglasses.

  “’Sup, Centipede!” Lorenzo leaned in and gave the tall, frail man a hearty hug. He figured he’d wandered over to get some cash, and he was prepared to line the old G some of those Benjamins. It was like paying tithes at Church.

  “Heeeey Man, lookie here.” He ran his deep caramel hand over slick, permed hair with graying, wiry temples exposing his new-growth. “Funny you should be here tonight, man, ’cause me and tha guys was just talkin’. You know I saw you, Preachuh and Justice like my own sons.” The man touched his chest and veered back, putting on his sincerity act. Lorenzo nodded and smiled ever so slightly. “We wanna throw a party, you know, wit’ Preacher’s birthday comin’ around. We want to do something in his honor, man.” Centipede wrapped his old, dingy off-white fur coat a bit tighter around his gangly frame as if a cool breeze had blown. “Ya dig?”

  “Yeah, I got it, man. That’s cool.” Lorenzo was just speaking. He didn’t expect to hear about this shindig ever again but in an effort to not appear as a pauper, he knew Centipede had to pretend, for his own ego’s sake, as if he needed money for a good cause. His veins were the real cause, but he wanted to still live in a world of pretend — one where he was still on top, not a junkie, and had a big house full of hos and stacks of money a mile long.

  “So, it’s like tha shit fell in our damn lap ’cause word is, that XXX mothafucka is b
ack in town and they know who the fuck it is, you know? That means mothafuckas about to take cover again. People too scared to go after ’im, but regardless of what he did, we gonna celebrate your brother’s life, man…yeah, we got to, man.”

  Lorenzo felt his gut fill up with bubbles from the depths of an angry internal sea. He shot Centipede a look — one letting the man know he had his full mothafuckin’ attention.

  “Run that past me again, Centipede,” Lorenzo said steadily. He, too, was a seasoned actor. He could never let anyone know how hungry he was for that fucker’s blood. He needed to keep this on the low, so the prize would remain his, and his alone.

  “Yeah, man.” Centipede violently coughed into his closed fist. “Two mothafuckas got sliced, not even a half a block away from the damn precinct, man. And over there on Jackson, they found like fifty mothafuckas done the same way in a damn hotel garage. Heard it was a bunch of white dudes outta Russia, maybe a big drug ring. Was all over the news this mornin’, man. Check dis shit out.” Centipede smiled, like the shit was funny. “The damn cameras is snow, man. Ain’t no record of the shit, just like before. All this weird shit goin’ on around here. Everybody know it’s him. Don’t know if you watch the news much little man, but the world is on fire, man. We gotta start gettin’ right wit’ the man upstairs.”

  “Awww man, I know you don’t believe in that shit, in doomsday? Shit.” Lorenzo snickered. “This mothafuckin’ life we live is a damned doomsday on repeat! Apocalypse groundhog day, man…”

  “I believe in tha end of times, young blood. It’s the end of times, man…the end of times.” Centipede’s smile faded, and a look of seriousness took over. He didn’t look so high, so out of it, so in need anymore. Suddenly, there was a glimmer of the man that Lorenzo once revered — and it felt like 1985 all over again. Unexpectedly, the words pouring out of Centipede’s mouth sounded clear and crisp like fall leaves or biting into a freshly fallen apple from an orchard tree. It was like heaven and hell had come up in that tiny ass apartment and pulled Lorenzo’s coat.