The thugtress of harlem.., p.1
The Thugtress of Harlem 3, page 1
The Thugtress of Harlem 3
-Nadir
The Thugtress of Harlem 3
Copyright © 2024 by Nadir Simmonds
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or person, living or dead, is coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at wordtovince@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Afterwards
Also by Nadir
Chapter 1
Damn, I’m stressed.
Drac yearned for freedom, more so now than ever before. Confined to his cell, he lied on his cot, looking up at the ceiling. Thinking. Something he’d been doing quite often as of late. His mind raced with thoughts. He was unable to control his brain when it came to that aspect, so he accepted it and just kept on thinking.
The family was in shambles. Complete disarray. Peculiarly, Brick had taken over the family. Never, in a lifetime, would he have thought something such as this would occur.
How did this occur?
The cell cracked.
Drac hopped to his feet right away.
“Visit!” screamed an officer at the head of the gallery.
Who the hell came to visit?
Drac wasn’t expecting anyone. He’d spoke to Lady the night before. She was still out in California, her new place of residence, so it couldn’t have been her for the visit. He didn’t usually allow anyone else to come and see him, so he was confused as to who it was.
Nonetheless, he got himself together.
Shooting for the visit-room, he was surprised when an officer directed him to another section in the jail.
Fuck is going on?
He said, “Isn’t this for a visit?”
“Yep. An attorney visit.”
An attorney visit?
Drac had spoken to his attorney just that morning; he never mentioned he would be paying him a visit.
Brought to an area in the jail specifically for attorney/client visits, Drac was instructed to have a seat at a table.
The escorting officer departed the room, leaving Drac alone.
A few minutes passed before a white man, dressed in a three-piece-suit entered through the doorway Drac had come through. The man was definitely not his lawyer.
What’s going on?
He took a seat across from Drac.
“How’re you doing, Mr. DuPont?” he asked, folding his hands on the table.
Drac just stared at the man, refusing to say anything until one, he found out who the man was, and two, the reason for his visit. He needed some answers. Urgently.
The man continued, “I’m Mr. D’Martini, the head district attorney for the eastern district. I’ve come here to specifically offer you a great deal if you could help me out.”
Instantly, discomfort settled upon Drac when learning the man’s identity. He felt violated. Had he known the visit would be with a district attorney, he would have refused it back at the cellblock. Talking to the authorities about anything was against the rules he was raised under. Meeting with them was also against the rules. So he was ready to conclude the meeting before it started.
“Can I go back to my cell?” he calmly asked.
Mr. D’Martini cracked a smirk. “I knew that would be your response. But you must hear me out before you can leave.”
“Hear you out before I can leave?” Drac asked with raised eyebrows. “I can’t help you with anything, b. So you’re just wasting your time.”
Mr. D’Martini smiled while looking around and shaking his head. He then got serious, wiping the smile from his face and looking directly into Drac’s eyes.
“It’s either you help us with Big Bear or we’re going to sink your mother, Cheryl, for conspiracy. It’s your choice.”
Drac held Mr. D’Martini’s stare but remained silent. He badly wanted to ask what the man had on his mother but there was no way he could do that. That would make it seem like he was willing to assist the law in trying to sink his own father. Never in a lifetime. As he was taught to do since young, he would keep his mouth shut.
Mr. D’Martini continued, “Your mother had played an accomplice role in many of your father’s wrong doings along the years. We’ve finally been able to make a few crimes stick against her. But if you can help us with your father, maybe we can forget about the charges we plan to bring against your mother.”
Shaking his head, Drac continued to keep quiet.
Once again, Mr. D’Martini cracked a smirk. “Have it your way.” He got to his feet. “I’ll give you a few days to think about it. If you decide not to assist, then we’ll be putting out a warrant for your mother’s arrest.”
Drac remained silent.
“I’ll be seeing you very shortly.”
Ignoring the man, Drac looked off to another section of the room. Going back-and-forth with Mr. D’Martini was a no-no. Why would he argue with a district attorney? He had no wins in such a bout.
Eventually an officer escort came to retrieve Drac and bring him back to his housing-unit. On the way there, he crossed paths with a line of new inmates in the corridor. Surprisingly, his cousin, Brick, was present with the flock.
“How you doing?” Drac’s escort officer asked an officer escorting the line of new inmates.
“Bringing these new admits to the clinic,” responded the other officer.
Drac locked eyes with Brick, who stared back with a devilish smirk. It was clear his cousin wanted whatever beef he had to offer. His eyes said it all. Had the distance between them been much closer, Drac would have tried after him. However, they were too far apart, and he didn’t want to make an unnecessary scene. Now that he knew Brick was in the jail, he could plan a coup.
Moving along with his escort, Drac made it back to his housing-unit without incident.
Chapter 2
Seeing Drac in the corridors rode Brick’s mind. Had it been in his younger years, he would have broken off from the line to attack the man, not giving two fucks about the presence of the correction officers. In the past, during short jail stints, he’d pulled some stunts worth mentioning, brave acts that raised eyebrows. On numerous occasions. Now older, he had more sense. He moved with more caution. If he got the chance to catch up to Drac, though, in an area like the jail yard or gym, he would, without a question, let him have it.
In for a minor infraction, a suspended license, he would be back out in no time. It was only because of his past record and reputation why the police took things to such extremes, sending him to jail. If he were anyone else, he would have been issued a summons and let out at the precinct. But nooo, because he was the big bad Brick from 119th Street, the police had to make an example. They had to prove their authority over him. It was cool, though. He understood their motive and played along, as he'd done countless times in the past.
Brought to the jail’s infirmary, he searched the faces of other jailers present, all sitting on benches in a waiting area, being monitored by a few correction officers positioned behind desks.
Brooklyn was in the house for sure. A rambunctious bunch from the stick-up borough held court on one side of the waiting area. Brick could hear them making mention of their neighborhoods: Flatbush; Bed Stuy; Brownsville; East New York, and a few other spots he was not too familiar with.
It was the same for the Bronx guys in the waiting area, talking out loud, making mention of their blocks and streets. 183rd. White Plains Road. East Tremont. And the list went on…
Everyone else was quiet.
No Harlem niggas around? he wondered. He understood that the Queens guys were not known to be tough, and usually kept things under wraps, garnering the name quiet Queens for themselves. And that it was rear to see a Staten Island dude in a New York City County jail that housed guys from all four boroughs, being that the particular borough had their own jail for its prisoners. But what about Harlem? If anyone from Manhattan was present, they surely were not vocal. Brick had to check that. Right away.
“No Harlem niggas in the house?” he mentioned loud enough for even the correction officers to hear.
The waitin
Everyone focused on Brick.
Poking his chest out, he waited on a response from someone. Anyone. He truly wanted to know where the Harlemites were. There should have been no reason why his people were afraid to speak up, to let be known where they were from.
A few seconds passed before one boy spoke up, a youngster.
Brick was instantly proud of the young boy for representing where he was from without any fear.
He asked, “Where you from in Harlem?”
“154th.”
“Okay. The westside. That’s what’s up.”
“The best side.”
Brick laughed.
When the two started their conversation, everyone went back to speaking in their own circles.
“I be in Polo Grounds. They call me Brick.”
“The real Brick from The Mob on the eastside?”
“We on the westside now too.” Brick corrected the boy. Once he took over Polo Grounds, he officially implanted his crew on the westside of Harlem, also.
“I heard a lot about you, b. Ya name ringing crazy bells in the streets.”
“Oh yea?” Brick asked as if he didn’t know. Of course my name ringing bells.
“That’s a hundred percent fact.”
The boy was sitting a few benches down from Brick and got up to sit closer.
He continued, “You’re a DuPont, also. Right?”
Brick quickly corrected the boy. “I run the DuPont’s.”
The family was currently under his control. Completely. From the eastside of Harlem to the west, he maintained a firm grip on the DuPont’s. Yeah, there were a few detesters against his reign, but nothing he couldn’t handle. If a nigga got in his way, he crushed them like a roach. It didn’t matter if it was man, woman, or child. The Mob had grown so powerful after he took over the family that nobody wanted any smoke with him. He’d become the man in Harlem, holding the spot Big Bear once held.
“I know,” said the boy, shaking his head.
“Brick?” called someone.
Turning to see who called his name, Brick was surprised when the young Harlem boy he was speaking with swiped him across the neck. He’d been coming to jail long enough to know what just occurred.
He got caught slipping.
He was cut.
Seeing the person who called him, another young boy, he automatically recognized it was a Young Gunner. A tattoo on the boy’s forehead, initialed YG, proved this. He didn’t know how he missed the boy when he was searching for familiar faces in the waiting area, but, obviously, he had. Nonetheless, he turned to the swiper, who was closest to him. The boy held a bloody razor and seemed like he was on the verge of cutting him again. However, before he got the chance, he charged at him.
A tussle ensued.
Brick dug into the boy with ease, rocking him from left-to-right with powerful haymakers.
Blood poured from an open wound on his neck, but he didn’t care. Murder was on his mind. Nothing else. Raising the boy in the air, he slammed him, back first, onto the bench.
The boy yelled, “Ahh!”
“Yeah, nigga! You gone find out who you cut, motherfucker!”
Continuing his assault, Brick drove blows to the boy’s face, head, chest, and ribs. Any open areas on his body.
By now, the officers were headed Bricks way, moving in a hurry. Before they reached him, though, the Young Gunner with the tattoo, attacked Brick from behind, slashing him on the back of his head.
Spinning around to take on the new slasher, before he got the chance, Brick was tackled to the floor by some officers. He hustled to get up, to break away from their deathlike grip, but could not. They had him pinned down, unable to move.
Fuck!
How had he allowed the young boys to get one up on him? Their skillful approach to the situation disallowed him the opportunity to see it coming. The boys really did their thing, he had to admit. But if he ever caught up to them, whether on the streets or in jail, he would not hesitate to let them have it. Their violation could never be settled with peace talks. It was on!
Brick’s neck was cut deeply. His head, too. Due to the severity of his wounds, he had to be rushed to the outside hospital for care.
Chapter 3
Venice Beach was a vibe, Lady loved it here. Finding a place on Rennie Avenue, a few streets away from the beach, she felt right at home. The atmosphere was beautiful, peaceful, serene. Far out of reach from the ghettoes of Los Angeles. Low-key. She couldn’t have chosen a better place to live, she told herself almost every day.
“Are you okay up there, Cheryl?” Lady called from a lower deck in her house.
Split into two sections, she occupied the lower level of the duplex home she purchased, while Cheryl occupied the top-floor.
“Yes!” Cheryl yelled down from a room on the upper deck.
“Okay. I’m heading outside for a few. Do you need anything from out there?”
“No. I’m cool.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Lady felt bad for Cheryl. Clearly, the woman was home sick, missing Polo Grounds. Cheryl almost never went outside; she chose to stay indoors and watch re-runs of Three’s Company. Confined to her room most of the day, she only came out to catch a quick bite, make small talk with Lady, or maybe, do something around the house. Other than that, she stayed in her room. No matter how much Lady tried to get her outside, she refused.
She’d say, “I’m cool, Lady. I enjoy inside.”
After a while, Lady let her be. There was no changing her point-of-view on things, and Lady would not attempt to force her to do anything against her will. She was Drac’s mother, and she would respect her, through-and-through.
Outside Jose awaited Lady in a full-black Suburban truck.
“How’s everything, Jose?” she greeted before getting in the truck.
“I’m well, Lady? Are you okay?”
Jose was of Mexican descent, reared in the mean streets of Los Angeles. A key player in a Hispanic street-gang with close ties to the Mexican Mafia, his pull in the streets was heavy. His connections in LA ran deep. People all over respected him for past deeds of violence.
Through Paul, Lady connected with Jose. He’d put the team together to get rid of Mark. One of his soldiers was the triggerman in the murder. Grateful for his deed to the DuPont family, she hired him as a LA strongman, whom she used to hold her down when she moved around the city.
“Yeah. I’m cool,” said Lady, getting comfortable in her seat.
“Where to today?”
“I wanted to check out a couple apartments in Baldwin Village.”
Jose raised his brows. “Baldwin Village?” he said with skepticism while starting the truck. “You sure about that?”
“Is there something I should know about over there?”
“That’s a pretty rough neighborhood. Lots of gang members.”
Lady had been purchasing property after property in the ghettoes of Los Angeles, just as Ms. Elma instructed her to do. Just like New York, a near transformation was on the horizon in LA, so it was important she act before it was too late.
She said, “Let’s check it out.”
She’d become somewhat of an addict when it came to purchasing property. In New York, she owned fifteen homes, with a few more near closing. For the short time she’d been in California, she secured six properties and was on the hunt for more. Real estate was surely up her alley; she planned on going as far as she could in the property buying game.
It was about a twenty-four-minute ride to Baldwin Village, but traffic made their journey longer. Lady hated LA’s daily, consistent traffic, but realized that it came along with the city. There was no going around it.
“They call out here the Jungles,” said Jose, coming to a pause at a stoplight at West Boulevard and Coliseum Street.
Baldwin Village was surely a ghetto; Lady couldn’t deny that. Crackheads roamed the streets. Gang members hung out on corners; a few tossed up hand-signs at Lady’s ride. Run-down buildings, and homes, made up the neighborhood. Gang insignia decorated walls. Graffiti warned visitors they were on Bloods turf. The neighborhood was far off in comparison to Venice Beach where Lady lived.
Jose asked, “You know that street you’re going on?”
Searching a purse she carried for a piece of paper with the address written on it, she found the looseleaf and read off the address to Jose. “3910 Coco Avenue.”
