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Triple Crown Collection
By Victor L. Martin
Urban Books, LLCCopyright © 2004 Triple Crown Publications, LLC
All rights reserved.
Just Doin' The Damn Thang!
"You gonna try to take her back by force, ain't cha?" Dough-Low said as he tugged on his seat strap.
"Well, I'm wit' ya all the way, dog. Fuck it. Whateva, whateva!"
Menage headed back toward Miami, reaching a speed of up to 175 miles per hour. When they reached Miami, he left Vapor on the speedboat and rode with Dough-Low in his Yukon Denali XL as they made up their minds to hit the strip on bikes.
At Felix's place, Menage mounted a 1300-R Suzuki Hayabusa and Dough-Low picked out a silver and black new generation Yamaha YZF-R1. Dough-Low sat on the R1 with his helmet visor up as he revved up the engine. "Yo, son, I'ma show ya how ta ride like the Double R," he yelled. Menage glanced back at him, knowing Dough-Low was trying to get him to smile and ease up. It was working.
"Don't underestimate me, Dough," he said as he turned back the throttle, revving up the bike's engine. Dough-Low flipped down the tinted visor and leaned his weight forward over the fuel tank. He gunned the engine on the YZF-R1 and let the clutch go with both feet dragging on the side. The bike's front end was about to rise, but Dough-Low held it down as it vanished in thick smoke, shooting forward with a whine. Seconds later, Menage did the same on his powerful Suzuki.
Spring break was in full swing on the South Beach strip. Menage and Dough-Low sat on their bikes watching all the action. Dough-Low was looking at all the niggas he could catch slipping, but today they were lucky; he wasn't in jack mode and he moved his attention to the thong contest across the street. All heads turned when a black Dodge Ram SRT-10 appeared. It was packed with girls dancing and stripping in the back as Too Short's "Shake That Monkey[" blared from its system. It was a sight to see as it slowly cruised down the street. "Damn!" was all Dough-Low could say as a dark-skinned girl tossed him her thong. Menage looked, but he showed no emotion whatsoever. For him everything seemed to move in slow motion with no sound. Girls in high heels and thongs walked by, touching his bike and asking his name, but it was as if they weren't there. Smacking their lips, they moved on. Even cars and SUVs with booming systems, turning corners on three wheels didn't grab his attention. Sweat ran down Menage's face and he ignored it and everything around him as he closed his eyes and thought of his girl. Nothing else mattered but her safe return. Fuck the chop shop, the money and the dream. All he wanted was Chandra. He thought about breaking rule number one-no speedballin', but he knew it would cost him his life as well as Chandra's if he rushed in with some lame ass plan ... if and when he found out where she was being held. He opened his eyes to clear his head. Something had to give.
Across the street, two girls were up on a stage rubbing their bare breasts together. The crowd went wild as they began to French kiss. Menage reached for his helmet.
"You ready to go?" Dough-Low asked. Menage nodded and started up his bike. He didn't know where he was going but he felt the need to just be on the move. Today it all had to go down and it scared the hell out of him.
* * *
"Yo, Dough, we got to come up with a plan," Menage said. He and Dough-Low were sitting on their bikes watching a quick, pick-up basketball game at Liberty Square Park on Martin Luther King Boulevard on Sixty-second Street in Liberty City.
"I know, but it all depends on where dem cats gonna be at plus we have ta wait till seven, right?" Dough-Low said glancing at the sky, thinking of the satellite somewhere above them.
"Yeah," Menage said looking at his watch. It was almost four thirty now.
"Don't worry, yo. We gonna hold it down. Don't even stress it!" Dough-Low wondered how Menage would act when the pressure came down. He knew Menage had something that he didn't — a conscience.
"Menage, is that you?"
Both men turned at the sound of the female voice. Coming up the sidewalk was Irish and some other girl. Irish was only eighteen, dark-skinned, five feet eight inches and 150 pounds. She wasn't fat just thick, and the slightly shorter girl standing next to her could've passed for her twin. They both wore DKNY bodysuits. "Hey, boo," purred Irish as she walked up to Menage and hugged him. Dough-Low watched the silky material grip her ass like a second skin. "You forgot my number or somethin'? What's really goin' on, nigga?"
Menage closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to be bothered with her. Now just wasn't the time. Irish was only good for sex and just fucking around. "I been out of town. What's up?"
"Boy, please. I seen your ass at the Limelight all up on that girl. I would've said somethin', but I was wit' my baby daddy," she said smiling. "Who dat?" she said directing her chin toward Dough-Low.
"My man, Dough-Low ... Dough, dis Irish."
"Oh, that's all I am, boy? Nah, I'm just trippin'. It's all good, though. I know you be out doin' your thing-thing, but you still could've called me. It's been ... uh ... two weeks, boy!"
Before Menage could try to explain, a blue Chevy '64 convertible pulled up carrying three wild-looking men wearing dreads. The girl standing next to Irish had the look of fear on her face. The Chevy came to a stop.
"Yo, what da fuck wrong wit' you, Passion!" yelled the driver. "Bring your hot ass over here. 'Round here fuckin' wit' these herb-ass niggas!" He and the man in the passenger's seat got out, but the one in the back remained in the vehicle. Menage looked at Dough-Low and then back at the two men.
"She ain't out here talkin' to nobody, nigga, you trippin'!" Irish said with her hands on her hips.
"Bitch, shut da fuck up!" the driver said giving Irish the screw face. "Now, which one of you lames tryin' to spit at my shorty?" Passion lowered her head and said nothing. "Oh, y'all can't speak English!"
"First off, dog, who the hell you beefin' at?" Dough-Low said as he got off his bike.
"Oh, so you wanna be a brave-ass nigga, huh?"
"Pretty much!" Dough-Low said.
"So what's up, nigga?" the driver said with his arms spread wide.
"Don't talk me to death."
Menage's adrenalin started to flow as he watched the guy still seated in the back of the Chevy. "What the hell y'all gonna fight for? Damn, J-Money, you stupid as hell. l swear!" Irish said slowly taking a step back. She was no fool. Nothing moved in slow motion for Menage any longer when J-Money pulled a pistol on Dough-Low.
* * *
Chandra was alive, but far from well on the boat with the mercenaries. When she tried to explain to Scorpion that she wasn't Felix's girl, he snapped and slapped her across the face so hard that it left a small cut under her eye. That was the last time she said anything about the mix-up. She sat on the corner of the bed looking at the floor in a daze. She knew she had to stay alive no matter what they did to her. Menage would come for her once he knew of her whereabouts, and he would do anything for she and their unborn child.
Chandra didn't hear Myrmidon and Scorpion walk into the cabin. She cringed when she felt Scorpion's touch on the back of her neck. "Now, is that any way to treat me when I'm keeping you alive?" Scorpion said as he yanked her hair, snapping her neck back. She held back her scream as the pain danced in the roots of her scalp. "I don't care if you are Felix's bitch or not. I'm going to get what I want!" he said. He caught Myrmidon standing in the doorway looking at Chandra's exposed legs. "Maybe we can have a little fun with her. I can tell she'll like it. If not ... well, I guess we'll just have to see what she'll do. But since it'll be her last fuck, she just might not put up too much of a fight."
"I'm having a baby," Chandra said hoping they would at least think of her child.
"Like I give a fuck. They say it's good to kill two birds with one stone. Ain't that right, Myrmidon?" Myrmidon only nodded and hoped that Scorpion couldn't read the mixed feelings he felt inside. Killing was his job, but rape ... that wasn't in his book. Myrmidon still thought of himself as a soldier with a code. But he knew he couldn't stop Scorpion if he tried to rape her. He needed to get paid and the woman before him wasn't worth a dime to him. He would make some excuse to leave when Scorpion made his move on her. The best he could and would do was order his men not to join in on the act. Scorpion wasn't a soldier in Myrmidon's book; he was more of a power-crazed government spook. Myrmidon licked his dry lips as Scorpion forced the girl on her back. She was strong, but Myrmidon saw the tears falling down her face. He knew she was about to break. He could easily put a bullet in the back of Scorpion's skull ... to hell with the money.
Myrmidon gripped his pistol. Scorpion had his fingers between Chandra's legs, amazed that she wasn't putting up a fight. Just as Scorpion stood up to take off his pants, one of the mercenaries banged on the door. Scorpion turned around and Myrmidon lowered his pistol and let the man into the room. "What the hell is it?" Scorpion yelled before Myrmidon had a chance to speak.
"We got a large contact on the radar screen. As of now it's just doing a race track pattern, but when we moved it seemed to have ... like followed us." Scorpion fixed his clothes and made his way past Myrmidon. Making sure Scorpion was gone, Myrmidon reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of ointment. He gave it to Chandra and left the cabin, locking the door behind him.
Scorpion looked at the glowing red dot on the small radar screen. He began typing commands on the Old Russian hardware.
"What is it?" Myrmidon asked standing behind him, peering over his shoulder.
"Just a second ... what we have here is a U.S. Navy guided missile frigate ... either the USS Reuben James or Samuel B. Roberts on an exercise."
"Let's hope so," Myrmidon said, not afraid to show his concern for the sudden appearance of the ship.
"Relax," Scorpion said. "If it was after us, we'd be long gone. Anyway, this game is over tonight. We'll call Felix and inform him that his girl is at the airfield in Homestead ... where you'll be waiting," he added looking at Myrmidon. "We'll allow him to talk to her over the phone while two of your men fly with me to the island. It's up to you to take out Felix at the airport. You two stay on the boat until it all goes down," he said pointing at two of the mercenaries. "Once I make the pick-up, I'll call and you'll all know the escape plan."
"What do we do with the girl when it all goes down?" asked one of the mercenaries who'd be staying on the boat.
"Kill her! Timing is important, men," said Scorpion looking at his watch. "Let's lock and load. I got a big surprise for our friend, Felix."
* * *
Dough-Low stood up on the cockpit of Menage's speedboat, reenacting the fight he had and won at Liberty Square Park. "Yo, it's true! I scooped that fool and boom! Clown gonna pull a burner on me that jammed!" Dough-Low had beaten the man until he was unconscious. Then he pistol-whipped him with his own broken gun. Menage had the shakes since he had to draw down on the kid who stayed in the car after carefully walking up and finding an SKS rifle between his legs. It was almost five now, and he looked down at his medallion and glanced at the chipped D that was struck in the hit. He ignored the sweat running down his back and the holster holding the two Glock-9s under his arms. Nothing mattered anymore. All he wanted was his girl, and he was unconcerned about any bullshit he had to go through to get her back. His mind was made up. He'd give his life for her safe return.
* * *
The CIA satellite finally slowed down on its high-speed trip from the Middle East. It was programmed to snap ten shots of the area where the signal came from, capturing Scorpion's conversation with Felix on tape. When it came to a stop, its high-powered camera lens zoomed in on a boat with five men loading a box onto a smaller boat tied next to it. The CIA wanted Scorpion out of the picture at all costs.
USS Reuben James (FFG-57)
Stanley Walters was seasick again. The CIA field officer was rushed to the frigate only two hours earlier by an SH-60F helicopter from Miami. The ride was quick but unpleasant; the dare devil pilot had skimmed over the sea close to 120 knots only seventy-five feet above the water. Standing next to him was the ship's commander, Lieutenant Commander Otis Atkins. His black skin seemed to shine in the sun's glare.
"Sir, may I use your phone to call Washington?" asked Walters, wishing he could get the heck off the boat. The smile on Atkins' face quickly faded.
"Son, you're CIA. Sure you can use a phone. Matter of fact, I'll have a Marine escort you to my personal phone in my office."
Atkins didn't like that his ship was called back from heading on a nice long trip to Spain. He knew it was bad news when the powers that be told him to welcome the spooky CIA Agent aboard. He knew well enough not to ask any questions, but it had to be big for the U.S. Navy to change his orders. Nothing major was on CNN and everyone wanted to know what the hell was going on. He knew one thing: it wasn't an exercise.
The U.S. Marine military police closed Atkins' door, leaving Agent Walters alone. He sat on the edge of the large desk and placed his call to D.C. Seconds later, the Director of Central Intelligence, Joe Troublefield, answered the phone. "Do you have a visual yet?" he asked quickly.
Stanley loosened his tie. "No, sir. We're waiting for the bird to get into position now." He looked at his watch. "Has the KGB released any pictures of our man?"
Stanley rolled his eyes. Mission impossible, he thought. "So how are we gonna get the go to loose a missile on him if we don't know if he's there or not?"
"I thought the same thing, but it's his voice. We have a one hundred percent match, and this can get real messy if we let him slip away. And about the girl ... it's more important that we take Scorpion out-quick and fast."
Stanley knew about the girl Scorpion was holding and he wasn't fond of taking her life just to take care of him. As soon as he was brought in on the case, he asked for the F.B.I. to send in the Hostage Rescue Team but his idea was shot down. He called Troublefield with the hopes that he would change his mind about a senseless missile launch but his mind was made up. Making sure Troublefield had hung up first, Stanley slammed the phone down on its hook and stormed out of the office, making his way back to the bridge as the ship maintained its steady pace.
* * *
"Well, well, well, I must say our government is up to something on this fine day," said the computer whiz who also operated Felix's radar post on his island.
"What is it?" asked his assistant as he stood up to look over his shoulder at the computer screen.
"If I'm correct, I think it's a CIA recon bird, whatever the hell that is. It got here fast and it's not supposed to be in this area. I'm going to break into its relay and frequency and see if I can see what it beams back down to good ol' earth. If I can do that, we'll have a head start on the trace, but once I tap in, whomever the bird belongs to will know that I'm online and that's not good," he said as his fingers combed over the keyboard.
"Can you do it?"
"Can a bird fly?"
"Dude, all birds can't fly ... well, most can!"
* * *
The two remaining mercenaries stood on the rocking speedboat as Scorpion and their leader, Myrmidon, along with their fellow mercenaries headed to Miami on the smaller boat. Down below on the speedboat, Chandra was no longer tied to the bed.
"Think we'll have enough time to do her?" asked the blond mercenary moments later.
"Sure, but I go first." They both rushed down to the deck below as soon as Scorpion's boat was out of sight.
* * *
6:12pm-Aboard Felix's Yacht
"Yes, I got it," yelled the computer whiz. "Gimme a pen so I can jot down the position, dude. And hurry up before I have to terminate the signal!" He glanced at the screen as the position of the call appeared. He was able to download two of the ten pictures the CIA recon satellite took before the break-in was discovered. He was shocked when he realized the call was traced only forty miles from the yacht.
"Call Menage and pass the info on to him," Felix said as he walked to his bar. He was now back on the island and out on his landing pad. Two trucks held his coke. "I don't like this at all," he said to one of his bodyguards. Felix was glad they now had the jump on Scorpion, but it was all up to Menage on what their next move would be.
6:13pm-Aboard Menage's Way
Menage rushed below the deck to pull out a map to find the spot where Felix said the call was traced to. Dough-Low looked over his shoulder as he loaded the weapons. Menage didn't know if the boat holding Chandra would be there or not, and he knew he couldn't ride up on them because they still had her.
"So what do we do, son?" Dough-Low asked.
Menage tore the map in half and balled it up. He looked at his watch. "Yo, let's just get as close as we can without us drawing attention and then ... man, fuck ... this is bullshit!"
Excerpted from Menage's Way by Victor L. Martin. Copyright © 2004 Triple Crown Publications, LLC. Excerpted by permission of Urban Books, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Just Doin' The Damn Thang!,
Chapter 2 - Passion in my life,
Chapter 3 - Nuttin' In The Dark,
Chapter 4 - Love's Taken Over: Catchin' Feelings,
Chapter 5 - Still Don't Know,
Chapter 6 - Same Ol' Bullshit,
Chapter 7 - Maybe If I Was There ...,
Chapter 8 - Clocks Everywhere!,
Chapter 9 - Last Night Stand,