Free Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick by Nisa Santiago Page B

from Apple to his first love, Nikki, who was killed ten years earlier. He was eighteen then. He was incarcerated on drug charges and beefing with a rival crew for control of a profitable drug corner in Washington Heights. Chico’s name had been ringing out since he was fifteen, and Nikki had been his sweetheart since they were fourteen.
    One night, while he was doing time on Rikers Island, five rival gang members rushed into his home looking for money and drugs. They found Nikki asleep in the bedroom. They raped and beat her repeatedly for hours and then shot her three times in the head. The horrendous crime sent shockwaves through the hood. It was a clear message to Chico—they were coming for him next.
    Dante hit the streets in his cousin’s name and found two of the men responsible for Nikki’s death in a week’s time. He made sure they suffered before hacking them into pieces with a machete. Chico was distraught for months and spent most of his time on Rikers Island in isolation. After a year on Rikers, he came home a more ruthless man, vowing to never let anyone take anything away from him again.
    ***
    Chico watched Dennis emerge from one of the project buildings and approach the parked Impala with wild-looking eyes. Slim and grungy-looking with unkempt hair, he had a devastating addiction. Crack had controlled his life for years, and he was willing to do anything for a payday, even if it meant selling out a friend. He could taste the hundred dollars Chico was paying him for information. It was going to be put to good use in a crack pipe.
    Chico rose up in his seat. “What you got for me, nigga?”
    Dennis smiled, showing the few teeth he had left. “I got good news, Chico.” He fidgeted near the Impala, looking around nervously. He then grabbed the car door with his greasy hands.
    “Nigga, get ya fuckin’ dirty hands off the car. You fuckin’ crazy!”
    Dennis jumped back, his eyes widening with fear. “I’m sorry, Chico. I’m sorry.”
    Chico stepped out of the car and glared at Dennis with a cold stare meant to send chills into him. “Where he at?” Chico sternly asked.
    “Joe in the stairway now gettin’ high,” Dennis said in a nervous tone.
    “Which one?”
    Dennis pointed to the first building directly across the street. “He on the third floor smoking now.”
    Chico stared at Dennis for a moment, making the fiend even more uncomfortable. He just wanted to get his money, run off, and get high.
    Chico reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off five twenties and slowly handed it over to Dennis.
    When Dennis went to reach for his reward, Chico pulled the cash back. “Nigga, if ya lyin’ to me, I’ll kill you.”
    “I’m not lyin’, Chico. He up there in the stairway now, alone and gettin’ high.”
    Dennis was beaming after Chico handed him the hundred dollars. It had been the most money in his hands in a long time. In fact, he felt like he had won the lottery.
    “Get the fuck outta here!” Chico exclaimed, and Dennis took off running.
    Dante exited the car with the .50 concealed in its holster. He stared over at Chico. “You want me to take care of this alone?”
    “Nah, I wanna be there for this.”
    Both men walked toward the building and entered the cold, empty lobby. They walked straight into the stairway and slowly headed up the stairs. Dante had his Desert Eagle in his hand and Chico had his .45 cocked and ready. They got to the third floor and found Joe slumped against the wall with a crack pipe in his hand. He looked up at Chico and didn’t say a word.
    “You Joe?” Chico asked.
    Joe remained quiet.
    Chico approached him closer and glared at him. He glanced at Dante, while Joe just sat there.
    “Joe, Joe . . . who’s Joe? I’m good, though. Nah, you good,” Joe mumbled incoherently, the crack pipe dangling from his fingers..
    Joe’s eyes were sunken, red, and spaced-out. He was wearing a thin, tattered jacket and dirty, torn jeans and had a