The Fix 2

Book 2: Fix

by K'wan

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Two lives . . . two paths . . . one tragic outcome.

The Fix 2 is in and the game is afoot!

The past few months have been a living hell for Persia. Seemingly overnight, she has fallen from grace and found herself scraping rock bottom, all in the name of two lovers--Chucky and cocaine. One was supposed to love her and the other take away the pain, but they've both fallen short on their promises. The last time she saw either one of them was the night she almost lost her life.

It has taken a bout of physical therapy and a stint in a rehabilitation center for Persia to be able to start pulling together the pieces of the life she almost ruined. She's living at home with her mother and stepfather and is refocused on school. For the first time in what seems like forever, she is finally able to enjoy life as an average teenage girl trying to graduate from high school. That's when they get the phone call that sends everything to the left.

As Persia struggles with her demons, her childhood friend Li'l Monk is embracing his. Under the tutelage of the vicious crime lord Ramses, Li'l Monk is quickly making his way through the ranks of the Pharaoh's army and creating a name for himself on the streets as a ruthless killer. Just as his father, Big Monk, had always predicted, he is walking a mile in his daddy's bloody shoes. As cold as Li'l Monk's heart is, however, he still has a soft spot for his old friends. When a childhood pal comes to him for a favor, Li'l Monk finds himself with blood on his hands and dirt on his name. When the double cross knocks him out of favor with Ramses, Li'l Monk is left with two options: kill or die.

K'wan delivers another instant street classic that is sure to keep him at the top of the charts.

Release date: January 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

New York City: 2008

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?” Omega asked, adjusting the rubber mask that was sitting cocked on the top of his head. The face was of the mask was molded to look like Arsenio Hall. Omega had to cut the back of it open to compensate for his dreads. His lips were half twisted into a disapproving scowl. He obviously didn’t want to be there, but his sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow him to let his friend go alone.

“Because Pharaoh wants it done,” Li’l Monk replied. He wore a wool ski mask, rolled on his head like a sailor’s cap. In the recesses of the shadows you could barely make out his face, but his cold eyes glistened faintly when the street lights caught them.

“Pharaoh didn’t ask us to do shit. Ramses just happened to mention that Pharaoh wanted someone dead. He never directly came out and asked us to get involved,” Omega reminded him.

Li’l Monk spared him a glance. “Ramses said that Pharaoh had a problem and would look favorably on the person who took care of it for him. In my mind, that’s just as good as asking. With niggas like Pharaoh and Ramses, you gotta read between the lines. They’re never going to come out and ask you to do anything, because they feel they shouldn’t have to. If you know the boss has a problem, out of loyalty to your cause, you handle it without being told to. That’s how a soldier moves.”

“Well, I ain’t no soldier. I’m a boss,” Omega said.

Li’l Monk laughed. It was a deep, grating sound that always made Omega squeamish when he heard it. “Don’t get to thinking that because Ramses gave us that block our opinions really count for shit. We got a little authority, but no real clout yet. Giving us that strip was like a pat on the head for a job well done, nothing more. Moving on this bit of work for Pharaoh, this is the kinda shit that’s gonna get us closer to a seat at the big boy table. Let me drop a jewel on you, my nigga, the trick to this shit is anticipating what the boss wants and taking care of it before he asks. Know your allies as intimately as you know your enemies.”

“What is that? Some kinda quote from one of those war books you’re always reading? The way you keep your nose buried in those things, you’d think you were about to go to war,” Omega joked.

Li’l Monk looked at him seriously. “Nigga, we deal in poison and death. Every time we step out of the house we’re on the front lines and can get pushed off the planet at any given second. You gotta be mentally and physically ready to kill or die at all times. Tighten up, O.” He patted Omega’s chest with one of his heavy hands.

“Damn, I was just fucking with you, Li’l Monk,” Omega said, rubbing his chest where Li’l Monk had patted him. Sometimes his friend didn’t know his own strength. Omega could tell that Li’l Monk was in one of his dark moods. Omega hated when he got like that. Normally, Li’l Monk was a gentle soul with a heart of gold, but when the darkness set in, he became someone else. “So, what’s the plan?” Omega asked, letting his partner know he was with him.

Li’l Monk lifted his shirt, showing off several neatly packaged bundles of cocaine. “We orchestrate a drug-related homicide.”

Omega shook his head. “You got it all mapped out, huh?”

“Don’t I always? You know how we do, Omega. I put them in the holes and you throw dirt over them,” Li’l Monk joked.

Omega didn’t find it funny. “Anyone have any idea why Ramses wants these dudes gone?”

Li’l Monk contemplated how candid he should be with his partner. When he saw who they had come for, he would no doubt be apprehensive, maybe even to the point of backing out on him. It had been an unexpected surprise to Li’l Monk too, when he volunteered them for the missions and Ramses revealed who the targets were. When Ramses had gone on to reveal the crimes the men had committed to put them out of favor with the Pharaoh, all doubt left his mind as to whether he should take them out. For Li’l Monk, it was personal, but Omega had no such connections, so would he feel Li’l Monk’s pain? Would he still be down to commit murder if he knew the true motives behind it?

“They raped a girl, and she killed herself as a result,” Li’l Monk said, giving Omega enough to motivate him, but sparing him the details.

“Rapists?” Omega asked, unable to hide the emotion in his voice. He had a special hatred for rapists. “Shit, why didn’t you say so? Let’s whack these niggas.” He drew his 9 mm from his coat.

“Glad you feel that way, because here they come.” Li’l Monk nodded toward the building across the street.

Out stepped two huge men, obviously security. Trailing them were three young dudes, wearing heavy jewelry. Clinging to the men like cheap suits were several girls of various shades and shapes. The groupies hung on everything the men said like they were quoting scripture. Every few feet they would stop and pose for pictures for one of the many people who flocked them.

When Omega saw who they had come to murder, his eyes got wide. “Wait, ain’t that . . .”

“Sure is,” Li’l Monk answered the question before Omega could finish asking it. Seeing his prey made his jaw tighten and the veins in the backs of his hands pop out as he clenched and unclenched his fist. His heart beat so hard in his chest that it threatened to burst in anticipation of the mayhem he was about to wreak on the downtown Manhattan block.

“Wait, I thought we were just coming to clip some regular dudes. We can’t get at them, at least not here. There’s too many people around and too many cameras!” Omega tried to reason with his best friend. He loved Li’l Monk like a brother, but wasn’t quite ready to go to prison for him. What he was planning to do was insane.

“The more cameras, the better,” Li’l Monk said over his shoulder while rummaging through a trash can. From it, he produced a black plastic bag. With a flick of his knife, he cut the bag open to reveal the sleek MP5K. “Let their adoring fans watch how ugly I do these thirsty niggas.” He pulled the ski mask down over his face and started across the street.

Omega called after him, but Li’l Monk was too far gone to reason with. He had two choices: leave while he still could and hope Li’l Monk didn’t land in prison, or watch his partner’s back to make sure he got out in one piece. He chose the latter.

Red Dog recording studio was located on the top floor of a loft that doubled as a nightclub on the weekends. For the past twelve hours it had been rented by Big Dawg entertainment so that one of their groups, Bad Blood, could finally finish their album. It had been a long and tedious studio session and all parties involved were happy that it was over.

“Yo, I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t even wanna see another recording booth again,” Lex huffed. His youthful face looked haggard and his eyes were narrowed to red slits from the weed he’d been smoking during their session.

“Don B. be on some slave master shit,” Jay said, stretching his aching muscles.

“If y’all hadn’t bullshitted around and got the album done on time, this might not have happened,” Tone said. He was the group’s manager and handler. They were a mischievous bunch, and he often had to shadow them to make sure they stayed out of trouble.

“Fuck that, I could’ve spit for at least two more hours. I was born to do this rap shit,” Pain boasted. His eyes were glassy and his nostrils were flared. While the rest of the group was tired, the cocaine in his system had him wired.

“I’ll bet,” Tone said, giving him a suspicious look. He knew Pain snorted; they all indulged from time to time, but lately Pain always seemed to be high off cocaine. He was hard enough to deal with when he was sober, but coked up he became an even bigger asshole. His behavior was starting to affect the public image of the group, and Tone made a mental note to himself to discuss it with Don B.

“Where the fuck is True? Why that nigga ain’t in here sweating like the rest of us?” Lex asked.

“Because True laid his vocals for those songs two weeks ago. We were waiting on you slow muthafuckas,” Tone told him. True was the other member of the group, and the one with the most potential. He had knucklehead tendencies too, but he was much easier to manage than the rest. This was the reason why Don B. had picked True to be the first one of the group to drop a solo album. Of course there were some ill feelings among other members of the group because they felt like it was favoritism, and it was, but True had “star” written all over him and Don B. wanted to cash in on it.

“Brownnosing-ass nigga,” Pain mumbled.

“The car is outside,” Big Sam said, startling them. He was six five and at least 250 pounds, but he walked as light as a cat. Big Sam and his partner Jimmy were handling the security detail for them that night. They were two ex-college football players whose dreams of going pro never came to fruition, so they got into the security business.

“Good, because I’m ready to get out of here. Spending twelve hours with these yahoos is way too many,” Tone said, following Big Sam to the exit.

To get outside to their waiting truck, the rappers had to pass the line of people waiting to get into the nightclub. All it took was for one person to recognize them and they were soon mobbed by fans. Big Sam kept the dudes at a safe distance, while letting the women through so that the rappers could take their pick from the groupies. It was protocol when dealing with members of Big Dawg. They would select the ones they wanted and leave the stragglers to the security staff. Big Sam had gotten more pussy working for Big Dawg than he did his whole four years in college.

Tone stood off to the side, shaking his head at the thirst being displayed by the women. It wasn’t unheard of for him to take down a groupie or three, but Tone was more reserved and picky when it came to the women he slept with. The rap group had no such reservations and would stick their dicks in anything with a wet hole.

Tone had just instructed them to take their picks and get in to load into the SUV, when his phone rang. The women squealing like school girls over the rappers were making so much noise that he couldn’t hear, so Tone stepped back inside the lobby of the loft to take the call. As he talked on the phone, he watched in amusement as Pain took pictures of two white girls, who were kissing on a dare. Tone’s eyes wandered to the curb where he saw a young man appear as if out of thin air, on the far side of the idling truck that had been waiting for them. His face was hard as stone and his eyes so cold that Tone felt like the temperature had just dropped in the lobby. Something about the young man tugged at the back of Tone’s mind and he realized it was the same kid they’d gotten into it with at the club. At first he thought it might’ve been a coincidence and the kid Chucky had referred to as Li’l Monk might’ve just been there to enjoy the nightclub, but when he saw him roll the ski mask down over his face, he knew what time it was. Too bad he was too late to warn the others.

Lex was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a young lady, when he spotted the man in the ski mask step from behind the SUV. He went to shout a warning to his friends, but his voice was drowned out by the rattle of the MP5K. The powerful slugs tore one of his arms off at the elbow, and obliterated his kidney before any of the others even realized someone was shooting.

Big Sam went into action, reaching for the gun that was in the holster on the back of his pants. He was fast, but not as fast as the bullets that punched lemon-sized holes into his chest. Before Big Sam’s body had even hit the floor, Li’l Monk had already turned the gun on Jay, who was trying to flee. He tapped the trigger twice, striking Jay high in his back, flipping him forward.

While Li’l Monk was busy trying to mow down everything in the path of his machine gun, Jim had slid from the SUV and was creeping on him. He raised his gun, level with the back of Li’l Monk’s head, intent on taking him out of the game, but he would never have the chance. Omega’s 9 mm roared to life, splattering Jim’s brains on the side of the SUV. Li’l Monk was about to offer his friend his thanks, when Omega unexpectedly tackled him to the ground. A split second later, a bullet struck the car they had been standing in front of. Pain had drawn his weapon, and was firing at them as he tried to make his escape down the block. In the distance they could hear sirens approaching.

“Let’s get out of here!” Omega tugged at Li’l Monk’s jacket.

Li’l Monk jerked away. “Not yet,” he yelled, knowing this was his best and last chance to do what Ramses required of him. Failure was not an option. Li’l Monk shoved the machine gun and the bundles of cocaine he’d had under his shirt into Omega’s unsuspecting hands. “Throw these in their whip. Make sure they got blood on them before you plant them,” he ordered.

“You’re one crazy son of a bitch,” Omega told him.

“Crazy like a fox, now handle your end while I handle mine.” Li’l Monk drew a Desert Eagle from his pants. The gun was old and worn, but reliable, and familiar to Li’l Monk’s hands. It had been a gift from his father, Monk, when he first decided to take it to the streets. He knew that gun as well as the back of his own hand. Li’l Monk slowed his breathing, like his father had showed him when he was first teaching him how to shoot, and took aim. As he exhaled the last rhythmic breath, he pulled the trigger.

The impact of the bullet took lifted Pain off the ground and he flew about six feet, before rolling to a stop against a parked car. Pain wanted desperately to get up and run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He watched, with terror-filled eyes, as the masked man stalked toward him. It was a wrap, and he knew it. Pain watched in surprise as the man lifted his mask so that he could see the face hidden beneath. “You?” Pain was shocked.

“Yup, me.” Li’l Monk reached down and gripped the waist of Pain’s jeans. In a display of his brute-like strength, he yanked with so much force that Pain was lifted off the ground as Li’l Monk tore his pants off. It only took one of his massive hands to wrap around both of Pain’s ankles and push his knees to his chest. The way Li’l Monk had him positioned, it looked like he was about to sexually violate him, but Li’l Monk had a violation of a different kind in mind. “Since you like to stick your friend in women, uninvited, I’m gonna stick my friend in you uninvited.” Li’l Monk jammed the gun roughly in Pain’s ass.

The moment Pain saw Li’l Monk he felt the stop clock on his life began to tick. He knew that he was going to die, but he had no idea how horribly.

“Please, don’t,” Pain begged.

“Did you show Marty mercy when you and your boys raped her?” Li’l Monk asked.

Pain was silent.

“I thought not.” Li’l Monk pulled the trigger, covering his hand in blood and shit.

It had rained all night and most of the morning, but at long last the sun was finally trying to peek out, though only in spurts. Considering how brutal the winter had been, a little rain wasn’t too bad. It signaled farewell to winter, and hello to the coming spring.

Persia sat, elbows on the table, and chin resting on her knuckles, watching the leftover raindrops trickle down the classroom window. She imagined herself outside, splashing in the puddles left behind by the rain, like she used to as a kid, but instead she was stuck in fourth period math class. Had this been a few months ago, when Persia was still attending Martin Luther King Jr., she’d have likely ditched, but this wasn’t public school, it was St. Mary’s and her parents were paying a hefty sum every month for her to attend the prestigious Catholic school. In addition to the tuition, they had to pull some serious strings to get the school to let her in after her brief fling with the NYC public school system. When Persia was allowed to reenroll in St. Mary’s, Father Michael had made it very clear that he would be on her ass this go-around. If she messed up, not only would give her the permanent boot, but she wouldn’t graduate on time with the rest of her classmates. This was her last and final shot.

It had been a wild year for Persia. She had attended private and Catholic schools all her life, so just before senior year she convinced her parents to let her transfer to public school. She had been attending school with the same circles of people for eleven years and desperately wanted a change of scenery. Her parents were against it, but Persia made a very convincing argument. She had always gotten good grades and never had problems in school. She just wanted to spend her final year of high school in a more relaxed environment. Reluctantly, they agreed and that was the beginning of the end.

At the beginning, public school was a dream come true for Persia. The teachers weren’t as strict, the work was easier and she got to see her friends from the old neighborhood every day. Up until the time she was five, Persia had lived in Harlem with her mother, Michelle, and her biological father, Face. Face was one of the biggest drug dealers in Harlem, and a man of great respect on the streets. The hood loved Face, but no one loved him more than his little girl. Instead of tricking his money off on cars and jewelry like his friends, Face had made sound investments, one of them being the huge house he had moved them into in Long Island City. Persia was afforded all the things that her parents never had, including a top-dollar education in a new school. She missed her old friends from Harlem, but still got to see them on the weekends. Face busted his ass day and night in the streets to make sure Persia and her mother were taken care of, up until the day he went to prison for killing a man. It was in self-defense, but with Face’s rap sheet it was easy for the jury to paint him as a monster. They wanted to give him the long walk, but Face’s lawyer was able to plead him out to fifteen to twenty-five years.

When Face went to prison, it left their family incomplete. Persia and her mother, Michelle, weren’t hurting for money. Face made sure of that, but him missing from the picture still created a void in their lives. A few years into Face’s bid, that void was fill. . .