Chapter 20

When Caesar handed me the keys to my own room in The Loft, it felt like getting the keys to the city. No one that works in his crew got keys to the rooms, except me, Ace, Caesar and Cam. In a way, we were the pillars that kept this organization structured. Well, I was more of a pillar to my own success since my business ran parallel to Caesar's. He made it clear that I wasn't one of his soldiers so in an effort to show me that, he gave me keys to my own room. That way, I can handle business with Max and Phor without having to go around his men.

Anybody that wanted safe passage into one of the apartments in The Loft had to get through the body guards posted outside the door. So, it was only right that I have my own doorman watching out for me.

Usually, the bodyguards were handpicked by Ace. But the young nigga crouched outside my door right now was chosen by the one and only. Caesar let me have my pick at the young soldiers who didn't exactly qualify to be a coke runner, or a hitman just yet. They were allowed access to the building as a stepping stone to those levels. Apparently, Ace used to ride around the city watching his corner boys to see who was ready to get into more action. So far, I only knew Rico, Mad Max, and my new bodyguard, Fredo, qualified.

I ride the elevator up to the third floor. As I step off, I'm prepared to see Rico standing in front the entrance with an AK strapped to his chest. It catches me off-guard when a brown-skinned boy with a messy bush escorts me off the elevator instead.

"Where's Rico?" I ask.

"He ain't on the fourth floor?" The guy asks.

He's staring at me intensely waiting on my answer. By the look in his eye, I can guess that if Rico wasn't where he was supposed to be, he was gonna' have to answer to Caesar.

"Oh right. I forgot Caesar said 'There's a Rico on every floor'," I say.

The dude's face settles back into a poker face. He nods his head at my mistake as he guides me to what will now be my room.

"I'm Vonte, by the way. I'm the lookout for Floor 3."

"I'm Ca--"

"I know who you is, Boss," Vonte interrupts.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot at being called somebody's "boss". Once we reach the corner, we make a right and walk a little more. Soon, I can make out Fredo's tall frame standing outside my door.

We approach the door and I watch as him and Fredo slap hands. Both of them carry military type guns in their hands so their handshake is kinda awkward.

"You got somebody coming to see you today?" Vonte asks.

"Yeah, two girls. One's a redhead and she should be coming with a dark-skinned chick."

"Cool. I'll send 'em yo way. Nice to meet you, Candyce," Vonte says.

"Nice to meet you too," I say as Vonte walks back to his post.

I turn my attention to Fredo.

"Wassup, Candyce?" Fredo greets.

"Hey," I say.

I don't dare stick my hand out to dap him off. Instead we share a silent head nod as I unlock the door. Before I could push the door closed behind me, Fredo sticks his head in the doorway.

"Don't lock the door, aight? I'm standing out here so you don't gotta worry bout nobody coming in. I just need to be able to get inside if anything happens," Fredo says.

"Okay," I say.

He gives me another head nod and then pulls the door closed for me.

When the door separates us for good, I let out an excited squeal. The room doesn't look much different than the other room I've been in. The kitchen is still to my left. Only now, there's no Munch taking up half the space. The living room is what's most different. The living room is sectioned off by steps that leads into a 70s style conversational pit. The sofa is a rust red with regular decorative pillows covering it. The floors are wooded and the staircase railing is black. It leads to an upstairs that has a bedroom and no door, since it is a Loft, after all.

The decor is so nice it almost makes me wish I was living here instead of doing business here. Honestly, Ace could make so much more money if he rented these apartments out. Then again, there's always the risk of a grumpy tenant running their mouth to the wrong people. So, maybe it's best he doesn't.

Once I get over the layout of the place, I chill in the living room waiting for Max and Phor to show up. It's been exactly two weeks since I gave them the bags of Molly and Coke. Two whole weeks without so much as an update from them. I still didn't know if things went well, or if they were able to sell anything at all. I can only hope they stuck to the plan.

About 30 minutes slide by before Fredo knocks on the door twice. I sit up on the couch, looking for my sandals I kicked off to get comfortable. Fredo opens the door before I have time to locate them so I don't bother putting them on. I stand inside the conversational pit in my white all-into-one with my white toes to match. My hair is up into a bun on the top of my head so my hair isn't in my face when Max and Phor walk in.

They cower away from Fredo and his gun. He merely makes sure they're all the way inside before closing them in.

"What the fuck, Candyce? You got two niggas checking us into your place with them big ass guns on them?" Max says.

As someone who understands what it feels like to be greeted by not one, but two, niggas strapped up like they're ready for battle, I know how she feels.

"It's just a precaution. He didn't shoot you did he?" I ask.

Max lets out a loud sigh. She turns in a full 360 to check out the apartment.

"Is this you?" She asks.

Her eyes gleam as she waits for my answer. The loft is impressive but there was no way in hell I could afford a place like this without their help.

"Nah. A friend lets me use it to handle business," I say.

"Must be some friend," She says.

Finally, she steps inside the pit with me. Phora is a few steps behind her, dragging her feet really. I notice how she keeps her head down while Max throws her purse down with all the confidence in the world.

I raise my eyebrows at her, "I'm assuming shit went well at the stripclub?"

"I don't know. You tell me," She says.

In the next breath, she empties her Michael Kors purse onto the table. The stacks of money makes a thud as they fall onto the table. There are stacks of fifties, twenties and ones all crumpled up and tied together with rubber bands. I can't help the grin that takes over my face.

"Some of it might be sweaty. Lucky wouldn't let a bitch leave the floor to put the money up so I danced with it on me most nights," Max says.

God, I want to hug her. I refrain from it though 'cause I'm not sure if we're all the way there yet. I get on my knees to count unwrap the bands from around the money. She was right. Some of the bills have to be pulled apart since they're so moist. Normally, I'd be grossed out but as of now?! I don't give a fuck how she hands the money over, as long as she has it.

I'm in the middle of my count when Max speaks up.

"It's $5,500. Trust me, I counted."

"How? The shit all together was like 7 grand," I say.

Max shrugs, "So I overcharged them niggas."

I give her a look my mom would probably give me. I appreciate the extra money but upselling on cocaine and Molly seems a bit hazardous. I ain't want it to get out that our prices were fluctuating depending on who the dealer was. It's a good thing Phor sold at a different club 'cause New Orleans is small. Who knows how many people know Max and Phor hang together?

I finish the count without warning Max. Something tells me she wouldn't listen to me anyway so I let it slide. Like I said, we could use the extra money.

"$5,500 like you said," I say.

Max nods her head. Now that she's in the clear and on my good side, she stretches out on the sofa.

"Phor?"

I'm regrouping the money Max made so it takes me a second to notice how quiet Phor has been.

"Phor?" I call again.

"Huh?"

"You next," I say.

The only movement in the room is me slapping the rubber bands on the money. At first, I think I'm trippin'. After 2 more minutes of silence, I sit the money on the table and turn to face her.

Her posture says it all. Her head is down. She's playing with her thumbs in her lap and her knees are pushed together. Her demeanor is as if she's a kid in the principal's office. This can't be good.

"Phor, where's the money?" I ask.

Panic is starting to slip into my voice. My heart starts racing as my mind tries to think up reasons why she's so quiet. Did she get robbed? Did she not make any sells? My mind is jumping from one conclusion to the next meanwhile she's sitting there like she's a question away from tears.

After she put my mind through what feels like hell, she finally reaches into her purse and hands over two stacks of cash.

A sigh of relief escapes me. I was starting to believe she actually did get robbed.

I hold my hand out for the rest of the money but instead, she pulls out a large ziplock bag. Inside are smaller bags of cocaine all piled together. Beside them are the Ecstasy and Molly pills. These are the last two things I wanted to see.

I don't have a chance to berate her 'cause excuses start to pour out of her within seconds. I listen to her ramble on but the only thing I'm really hearing is the receptionist at Entergy saying we only had two more weeks to pay our light bill. If we didn't come up with what we owed in back payments, we were gonna be sitting in the dark come next Friday. What the fuck am I gonna do with $1,000?

"Phor, just stop!" I say.

Her lips clamp shut quickly. Max sits up on the couch.

"Where's the rest of the money?" I ask.

"I told you! I couldn't sell that much in one night!" Phor yells.

"One night? Fuck you mean one night? You said you had three clubs booked!" I yell.

"Private events, Candyce! Which means smaller crowds. How was I supposed to sell when everybody and their mama could see me?"

I put my hands to my head to massage the migraine forming at my temples. I had too much riding on this drop. To think about it, maybe I had too much riding on this. I put entirely too much faith in Phor and that's on me. I should have known better.

"Phor, you really gonna sit up there and give me excuses when Max made five times as much as you and almost half of what she was supposed to make?" I ask.

Phor's mouth opens and closes while she tries to find the right words without whining. I'm pacing the pit now, thinking up solutions to this problem. A problem that could have easily been avoided if I never brought her in to begin with.

"Alright, Candyce, chill out, okay? I made more than enough to cover what she didn't sell," Max says.

The fuck was she talking about? That's not how shit works. How was I gonna go back to Caesar with the full amount of money and nearly half a bag of product? He'd never front me again.

"That's not how shit works," I tell her.

"I'm hosting another club tonight," Phor interjects.

"Another private event?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes with a look of disgust.

"I'm saying, I could try again tonight."

"Try?" I ask.

"You know what I mean, Candyce! There's supposed to be football players coming in town for the game. It's gonna be packed so I can probably sell a lot more," Phor finishes.

I shake my head. We're at the point of no redemption, if you ask me. Clearly, I was stupid for trusting that Phor would handle business. I'll be damned if I make that mistake again.

"What's the name of that club again?" I ask.

My headache eases while the wheels in my brain start to turn. I know Caesar and I came up with this idea so that I could make money and keep my hands clean. But nobody ever got anywhere without getting a little dirty.

If damage control meant hustling myself, it's what I'm willing to do. 'Cause this hopeless feeling in my chest ain't it. At least I know I can count on myself.

"It's called Legacy," Phor says.

"Send me the address," I say.

"You gonna sell it?" Phor asks.

"You ain't selling it so yeah, I have to."

Max chuckles lowly.

"I missed the joke," I say.

"I can tell," She laughs.

She rises from the sofa, sliding her purse onto her shoulder.

I'm about to call Fredo in to escort them out when Max reaches across the table. She picks up a stack of money out of her pile and is about to put it into her purse when I stop her.

"What you doing?" I ask.

"Getting my cut," She says.

"That's not how this goes."

Max sighs deep, "Candyce, you keep talking bout that's not how shit go. I worked my ass selling that shit so I'm getting my cut."

"Nobody said you wasn't. You just not getting it right now. I told you when we started if you didn't have patience that this wasnt the job for you. Phor left us a half of bag of shit to sell."

"What that gotta do with me?"

"We're. Not. Done. Yet. How you want a check when yo shift ain't even over yet?"

Max stares at me with the meanest mug I've ever seen on a bitch. How is that this is our first trial run and both of them were already fucking up?

Max stomps up the stairs and towards the door without another word. Phor follows behind her like a miserable, helpless puppy.

"Call me when you have my money," Max calls.

The door opens and slams shut. I stare at all the money on the table. How is it that this is the most money I've seen at once and it's still not enough?

I drop down into the sectional. I stretch my body out so that one foot is on the floor and the other is on the sofa. For a split second, I start to second guess myself. This first drop tells me alot about our hustle. First, that it could work. All the money from Max proves it. But, it also tells me that my plan only works with the right people. Phor was proof enough of that.

I'm not sure what that means for my business in the long run. For now, it means I can only rely on myself.

I mean, I've never been a drug dealer before but it can't be that hard right?

...

The line for the club Phora told me about is wrapped around the corner. People are so eager to get inside they've hiked their dresses up higher than necessary and even started to cling to the football players. It's a sight for sore eyes the way these hoes are embarrassing themselves to get a sliver of attention from football players.

Their desperation works in my favor anyway. After waiting in the backseat of the lyft to spot the crowd, I finally get out and join them. Except I refuse to stand in that line like a lame. I bypass everyone in the line and head straight for the bouncer at the entrance. He's tall, Mexican and has a bald head. But more importantly, he likes to sniff a little coke here and there. Or at least, that's the intel I got from Phora.

He looks like he's about to show me to the back of the line before I can tell him what my business is. Before he has a chance to send me away, I think quick on my feet. In my experience, the element of surprise usually works best.

So, I step into his personal space until my chest is touching the top of his stomach.

"Pauly!" I say.

I stand on my tippy-toes to kiss below his ear.

"I have a gram of coke in my purse if you let me in," I whisper into his ear.

When I back away, Paul the Bodyguard has a stern look on his face. I almost think I made a mistake pointing him out but he's the only Mexican out here. The other guard next to him is black so there are no chances of a mixup.

I pull the baggie out of my purse a little so Paul can see that I'm not lying. His dark bushy eyebrows retreat to the corners of his face as his face relaxes. He smirks at me while he unhooks the red rope to let me through.

Whew, that was easy enough, I think.

I exchange the bag from my hand to his as I cross the seal of the door.

It's not the smoothest exchange I've seen but the whole purpose of tonight is to recruit clients. The more people notice me and Pauly's business out there means the more people will know who to cop from tonight.

I clasp my gold clutch back together. Near the entrance, there's two more guards on either side as I walk in.

I give them both shy smiles but they barely pay me any attention. That's okay too 'cause I don't need my face recognized by every guard in here. That's just bad for business.

Once I'm passed Thing 1 and Thing 2, the layout of the club comes into view. Indigo lights dance around the club. Legacy itself is huge. Exotic dancers hang from the ceiling on metal contraptions. As a reformed stripper, I say exotic dancer for a reason. The way these girls are twirling around in the air, I just know they're the type to correct people when they call them what they are: strippers. Boujiee ass hoes.

Another look around the club and the private sections are obvious. The sections are against the right side of the dancefloor. V.I.P. sits above the dancefloor, connected by black marble steps that looks like it has the stars trapped inside. The seats are indigo like the lights and soft and plush. The couches in V.I.P. are circular and facing towards the dancefloor.

One glance at V.I.P. and I already know where the money is. Girls are lined up outside the red ropes, waiting to be invited in by someone. And by someone, I mean the football players. I'm not into sports at all, but I recognize money when I see it. By the bottle girls shuffling in and out of these sections, I know they're the stars.

As much as I want this night to end, I don't head straight to the private sections. My adrenaline is running high right now. From getting passed Pauly to making it all the way inside with half a bag of coke and Ecstasy pills, my mind is racing. Apart of me is wondering if I can actually pull this off or if I should. But the devil on my shoulder reminds me that I ridiculed Phora for not being able to do it, so I have to stand on that. Besides, I really need the fucking money.

I use the bar as a scapegoat while I wrestle with my thoughts.

"Can I have a Hennesy straight?" I ask.

The bartender looks me up and down. I stare back cause what the fuck is taking him so long? He continues wiping a glass clean like I'm not standing there.

I sigh and throw my fake ID on the counter.

"I don't have to look at this to tell it's a fake," He says.

"You ain't even look at it."

"I don't have to. I can tell by looking at you that you not twenty-one. Maybe eighteen but I doubt that too."

I don't try to argue with him even though I want nothing more than to slap my real ID down to show him he don't know everything. Instead, I roll my eyes, ready to give a little to settle my nerves.

"How much for a Hennesy straight?" I ask.

"Are you deaf?" He asks.