Dope Girl 4: R. I. P. by Sa'Id Salaam

Author:Sa'Id Salaam [Salaam, Sa'id]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Urban Life, United States, African American, Urban
Amazon: B00RWVOSW6
Publisher: Black Ink Publications
Published: 2015-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

‘Hoes ain’t shit but bitches and tricks. Only good for fucking and sucking dicks!’

“Trigga! Ugh! Turn that moron off!” Cameisha shouted. She didn’t wait for him to comply and reached over to turn the car radio off herself. If the song wasn’t bad enough on its own, Trigga had been rapping along with it.

“What? You don’t fuck with Verb? He’s the hottest rapper in the game!” Trigga laughed in his defense.

“Dumbest rapper in the game! I can’t with that dude. That song hurts my soul,” she said dramatically clutching her chest. “He gave an interview saying he’s the new God and he ‘bout to write a new bible!”

“Damn, I ain’t know he was doing it like that,” he replied. Trigga might not have been the brightest or most religious, but was offended by the blasphemy nonetheless. As he should be.

“Boy I’ma set the block on fire with twenty keys!” Cameisha cheered, rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist.

“Um…ten keys,” Trigga interjected as a reminder that half of the hundred grand in the suitcase was his. It didn’t make them partners, per se, but it was a joint venture.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied with a forced smirk. She would much rather run the show completely. Still, ten kilos each represented a million dollars in their household.

The rest of the ride to the airport was made in quiet contemplation. Trigga parked in the long-term lot and led the way into the airport. The couple then scanned the airline signs looking for a flight to Belize. They say proper preparation prevents poor performance so this last minute, off the cuff mission, was doomed from the start.

“Oh, I know!” Cameisha said suddenly and popped herself on the head like she should have had a V-8. She pulled out her phone and hopped on the internet. “Ok, Atlanta to Belize…roundtrip…leaving today…tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Shit, we need to come back tonight!” Trigga exclaimed as she entered their parameters into the phone.

“Ok, let’s see,” she said taking his dumbass suggestion. And flying to Belize and returning the same day with twenty kilos is a dumbass suggestion indeed. “Nah, gotta be tomorrow.”

Mistake number one was booking a one day trip to the Caribbean. Who does that but a drug trafficker? If you were balling hard enough to just fly to Belize for a night, you’d take your own plane to do it. Mistake number two was paying the two-thousand dollar fare in cash.

“One minute please,” the pretty clerk smiled as she handled the transaction. The keyboard clicked from her rapid input of data so they had no way of knowing she entered the code for suspected drug activity. At the same time the tickets printed, photos were taken, and a file created. Various law enforcement agencies would receive the file to check against their open investigations. Cameisha and Trigga were now on the radar.

“She liked me,” Trigga joked as they walked away with their tickets.

“That’s because you’re so pretty,” she teased back and cackled like an old witch. That set off one of the famous sessions of playing the dozens.

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