FLIPPIN' THE HUSTLE

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Wahida Clark Presents Publishing

60 Evergreen Place

Suite 904

East Orange, New Jersey 07018

973-678-9982

www.wclarkpublishing.com

Copyright 2012 © by Trae Macklin and Wahida Clark

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data:

Trae Macklin

Flippin’The Hustle by Trae Macklin

ISBN 13-digit 978-19366494-4-0 (paper)

ISBN 10-digit 1936649446 (paper)

LCCN 2012913337

Urban- 2. Atlanta- 3. Charlotte, NC- 4. Brooklyn, NY- 5. Drug Trafficking- 6. African American-Fiction- 7. DEA- 8. federal agents

Cover design and layout by Nuance Art.*. and Baja Ukweli

Book design by NuanceArt@wclarkpublishing.com

Content Editor/Consultant Intelligent Allah

Sr. Editor Linda Wilson

Proofreader Rosalind Hamilton

Printed in USA

Acknowlegements

Because the book you are about to read is the result of years of my life in the streets, there’s too many people to thank. I’ll just send a shout out to every youngin’ that worked a strip for me, every runner, cooker, enforcer, connect and other person who risked there lives for me on the streets of NJ, NY and Philly. I hope some day that each of you make a safe exit out of the game like I did, because there is a lot more to life than the blocks we claimed.

And of course, I thank my parents for putting up with the sleepless nights I caused them. I’m amazed that you stood beside me through so much of my self-inflicted chaos that could have well spilled over into your lives. To my soldiers at war, Kay, Omar and Bo—I love y’all and I owe y’all eternally. Y’all helped me survive those streets.

On the streets I learned the importance of a team and I had one of the strongest teams out. And in the publishing game I’m moving the same way. WCP (Wahida Clark Presents Publishing) is a team, a family, a movement. To Wahida, thanks for helping me bring my world to the world at large. And thanks for establishing a force, from your authors NeNe Capri (The Pussy Trap 1 & 2) and Intelligent Allah (Lickin’ License 1 & 2) to graphic designer Nuance Art (book cover designer of Payback Ain’t Enough, Honor Thy Thug, Shit Just Got Real, The Response and The Letter, which I wrote to my wife Tasha). I’m proud to be with a team that’s dominating a different game—a legal game where we get paid to write about what you could lose your life for or get life for in that other game.

I save the best for last—my foundation, my strength, the reason I will never revert back to the goon I was—to my family. My wife Tash, through all the drama I put you through you remain firm by my side. We may argue and fight, but it just makes the lovin’ better afterwards. You are the ultimate woman. Remember, till death do us part. To my kids Shaheem, Kareem, Caliph—you are my future, my legacy. I’m making sure you will never have to fire a gun, dodge a bullet or sell drugs like I did. I was young and reckless when I gave my life to the streets. When I became a responsible man, I gave my life to y’all.

Dedication

This book is Dedicated to

My cousin Shaheem (RIP)

The Real Carlos and RJ

Marvin Blackshear (RIP) Hated to see you go

Chapter One

The most dangerous man in North Carolina stood before a federal judge. The scars on his face, his beady eyes that bulged from his sockets, his Schwarzenegger frame—everything about the pitch-black drug kingpin with a penchant for murder seemed menacing. It was the reason a slew of news reporters and extra security crowded the Downtown Charlotte courthouse. A helicopter even hovered above the building to prevent an escape. Charlotte, North Carolina, feared Rocky Branson and his clique like New Yorkers feared terrorist attacks. Rocky had led the Cook Mob on a five-year rampage that started with heroin sales and culminated in over a dozen murders and five kidnappings. But Agent Derrick Richards led a stronger, smarter team of DEA agents that had taken Rocky down in less than two years. Now they were present in court to watch him be sentenced.

The aging white judge asked, Mr. Branson, do you have anything to say before your sentencing?

Rocky’s muscles bulged from his tailor made suit as he turned to Derrick.

The agent smirked and winked at the vicious kingpin from about ten feet away in the front row of the benches.

Rocky slowly turned so the media and courthouse spectators could get a glimpse of him. He then faced the judge. Yes, your honor. Fuck you! he blurted. Then he turned and pointed at his arresting agent as the courtroom erupted in mumbles. And fuck Derrick Richards.

Order in the court! The judge slammed his gavel.

Rocky grabbed his chair, hurled it at Derrick, and then charged the agent.

Derrick jumped to his feet, barely dodging the chair as three other agents rushed Rocky, who knocked the first one out with a right hook to the jaw.

Fuck off me! Rocky roared as a second agent jumped on his back and was flung away into a table.

Derrick punched Rocky in the face, drawing blood from his nose, just as court officers charged in and tasered the 6’6" giant to the floor. Derrick slapped handcuffs on the beast as his body lay on the floor, spasming like a whale out of water. When Derrick looked up, a horde of reporters and agents surrounded him.

You okay, buddy? an agent asked Derrick.

Derrick smiled and adjusted his tie, before wiping sweat from his baldhead. He pointed at Rocky, who was virtually unconscious. Ask him if he’s okay. He chuckled. Somebody get that creep to the hospital.

Reporters swarmed Derrick, asking questions about the incident and the case.

Can you tell us how you managed to infiltrate the notorious Cook Mob? a woman asked, jamming her microphone in Derrick’s face.

He smiled. Your question is multifaceted, therefore I’ll simply respond by saying no comment. He strolled down the courthouse steps exuding a confidence that left the sexy reporter moist. Hopping into his black Corvette, he disappeared into Downtown Charlotte’s midday traffic.

*****

Being assigned to Charlotte, North Carolina wasn’t Derrick’s choice of placement. Yet, after being there for several years, he’d come to like the area. In many ways it reminded him of Richmond, minus the murder of his brother Ray, for whom he vowed to seek revenge.

Derrick cranked his radio and ripped his tie from his neck, bobbing his head to the music. At 6’3", pecan brown, and an immaculate physique, Derrick was a real life Adonis. The sun glistened off his perfectly kept baldhead. He pushed the button which opened the Corvette’s half roof.

The vibration from his Sidekick jarred him from his thoughts. Eyeing the number on the tiny screen, he turned the music down and flipped his phone open. Hello.

Derrick! Congrats! Good job, man! Marvin Angel, director of the DEA Eastern District yelled.

Thanks, Marv, man, but without you, I’d probably still be filing seizures.

I doubt it. It was only a matter of time before you proved your worth to this agency.

Yeah, maybe you’re right about that, but right about now I’m going to enjoy my week off. I’ll—

"That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Derrick,’’ Marvin butted in.

Derrick sighed, knowing his boss was about to spring some task on him. What is it, Marv?

Okay, I can hear it in your voice.

What’s that?

Your mind is on more pressing things than work.

You think? Derrick said.

I’ll tell you what. Take a few days off, and come into the office afterward so we can talk. You’re definitely going to be interested in hearing what I have to say. Deal?

Days off with my speculating.

Marvin laughed.

What’s the chances of me getting some rest with that looming over my head?

You’ll work it out.

Springing assignments on me is becoming your forte. I have a life outside of the agency! Derrick yelled.

Of course you do.

Derrick shook his head. I’m on my way! He tossed the phone into the passenger seat and stomped down on the gas pedal. The Corvette bolted through the intersection. Snatching the steering wheel hard to the right, he left a trail of smoke in the direction of DEA headquarters.

******

Derrick burst into Marvin’s office, flopped down in a chair and nonchalantly replied, Here I am, so spill it.

Marvin smirked. Glad to have you here. Always could count on you.

It’s just what I do. You know why, don’t you?

Your brother. I can respect the motivation.

Derrick had disclosed to Marv how his older brother Ray had been murdered. Derrick yearned for revenge, but his brother’s death pushed him to join law enforcement. Derrick had a personal vendetta against criminals in general and murderers in particular.

Marvin picked up the phone on his desk and punched in some numbers. After a very brief exchange, he hung up and looked to Derrick. Look, Derrick. Over the last few years you’ve done an outstanding job with this agency, and apparently, some of the agency’s top brass have gotten wind of it. Marvin paused to judge Derrick’s reaction, but there was none. Don’t seem to be impressed.

I’ll be impressed when their perception of me equates to me reaching another tax bracket, and I get that transfer I’ve been asking for. Derrick had requested a transfer to Virginia to be with his mother, who was battling cancer. A large portion of his money went toward traveling to Virginia and paying hospital bills.

I’ve been given orders to offer you a position in a major area.

Derrick’s heart began to pound in his chest. Virginia, he thought. It was the only major area where he was interested in being transferred.

New York, Marvin said, snapping Derrick from his trance.

Fuck, Derrick mumbled with a disappointed look.

Did you hear me, Derrick?

Huh?

New York. The Big City of Dreams! There’s this crew of heroin dealers up there that’s causing a lot of problems for the police. They haven’t been able to infiltrate. Not one person. Marv went on to explain the gang’s notorious behavior. These scumbags don’t care who they kill or where they kill.

Derrick sat there stone-faced throughout his boss’ presentation of the facts. Murder, extortion, drugs, and the list of crimes the New York crew engaged in seemed endless. The crime that stood out most was the killing of a rival drug dealer in broad daylight across the street from a police precinct.

So they just murdered a dude in front of a police station on a sunny day?

Marvin shook his head. No. Not a dude. A woman who they suspected was an informant.

Damn.

To make matters worse, she never had any contact with law enforcement.

Derrick leaned back in his chair, staring at Marv in deep thought. This is a real live case here.

Marvin could tell his subordinate wasn’t happy about the assignment, which prompted him to add, Derrick, if you bring this crew down, I can promise you placement wherever you choose. Including Virginia. He tossed Derrick a sly grin and explained how his superiors had agreed to process Derrick’s transfer.

Derrick listened intently, and then asked, When will you need an answer from me?

In three days, Derrick. Three days. But it seems like a no-brainer for a guy who’s been pleading his case for a transfer to his hometown.

Standing slowly, Derrick flashed a slight smirk as he exited the office without a response. He had taken down some major crooks, but this crew was possibly the most vicious, and they were from a place foreign to Derrick. Going undercover to infiltrate their crew could be deadly. But allowing his mother to battle cancer with no family by her side, or the funds for medical care could be deadlier.

******

Derrick lay across Sheera’s bed in deep contemplation. Hearing her feet pad against the polished wood floor caused Derrick to turn onto his side. He was met with Sheera’s strikingly beautiful body clad in nothing but a white thong. Her long, jet-black hair flowed down her back. She tossed her head sensuously, removed a lock from her face and smiled.

Derrick eyed her bronze thighs, noticing how the thin fabric of her thong cupped her love nest.

Sheera climbed onto the king-sized Posturepedic mattress and straddled Derrick. This gave her ample breasts perfect positioning to swing in his face. You know I’ve got to get you back for your sarcastic response this afternoon, she teased, as she ran her palms over Derrick’s bare chest.

Oh yeah. So what are you going to do? Beat me? he joked, as his manhood responded to the warmth between Sheera’s thighs.

I’ve got a better idea, she said while licking her lips. Sheera then reached back and groped Derrick’s stiff shaft.

Derrick looked deep into her lust-filled eyes, and then threw his hands behind his head, signaling that he was hers for the taking.

Sheera maneuvered her lithe body down Derrick’s legs until her head hovered over the tent in his Ralph Lauren underwear. She slipped her fingers into the elastic of his underwear and smoothly slid them down his thighs and threw them onto the floor.

Once released from the confines of the fabric, Derrick’s veined shaft made a slapping thud against his washboard abs.

Sheera quickly grabbed his behemoth-sized penis and licked her pouty lips. Just before she attempted the feat of swallowing him whole, she eyed his genitalia in astonishment and whispered, I love you. Then she slid as much of him into her mouth as she could.

As the warmth of her mouth engulfed him, Derrick put his hands on the back of her head and guided her to a rhythm of his liking.

After several minutes, Derrick pulled her lithe body up to where they were face to face. He then placed a sensuous kiss onto her lips while maneuvering her body. Without any resistance, it was only moments before he had her on her back spread eagle. Momentarily, he contemplated committing the act of cunnilingus. Yet, the sight of her womanhood staring at him so invitingly caused him to forgo such an act. Instead, he positioned himself at her opening and prepared for entry.

With only a portion of his penis inside her, she cried out, Oh my, God! Please! Oh . . . my . . . God! Der . . . Derrick, please! Sheera yelled as he slowly eased into her.

The sight of her peach shaped vagina being stretched to its limits only encouraged him to grind harder. Once he pushed his shaft into her up to the hilt, he could see her juices trickling down her thighs.

Der . . . Derrick! Please! Please, daddy! Cum for me! she cried out on the verge of tears.

This only seemed to incite Derrick’s sensuous assault on Sheera’s pussy even more, as he began to pound into her with powerful thrusts.

Baby plea . . . please cum in me! Daddy, I want you inside your pussy! she whined as her core began to tingle uncontrollably.

Her tone sent Derrick over the edge. His body convulsed violently as his thick seed escaped into her warm tunnel.

Chapter Two

Derrick sat poised in the tactical room of the Drug Enforcement Agency’s field office. His eyes were fixed on a large screen as it displayed photos that were meant to enlighten. But it was nothing Derrick hadn’t experienced before. The pictures of a battered and bruised body of a rival drug dealer, to those of a teenaged heroin addict’s bloated body, a result of consuming a lethal dosage of the drug was nothing new to him. But one photo touched him. A picture of a thin, twenty-two-year-old woman who had been gunned down with three shots to her head in front of a Brooklyn police station. He had already known he had to bring the Black Tar Boyz down, but this photo of the innocent young woman was a harsh reminder.

Birthed in New York’s crime-infested borough of Brooklyn, the BTB had gained their moniker and their riches through the sale of half-capsules containing the deadly mixture of horse tranquilizer and raw heroin.

The organization’s leader, Robert RJ Jordan had somehow stumbled onto the potent mixture and its synergistic effect through trial and error. The corner of Grand Avenue and Fulton Street had definitely evolved along with the organization. The brownstone buildings and trees that lined the strip remained. But now, instead of careless hand-to-hand street dealings, the group’s members had formed an elaborate state of the art ‘Drug Store’ on the corner. There wasn’t an abundance of information about the houses the crew occupied on Fulton Street, but Derrick was sure in due time he would get the full scoop.

Suddenly, some of the organization’s financial proceeds popped up on the screen. The report stated the organization was generating nearly $1.5 million a week. However, Derrick immediately took into account how the government overestimated drug dealers’ assets when estimating an organization’s actual worth. Yet, when the screen switched to some of the crew’s tangible assets, he could almost see why the government felt that the crew’s yearly intake was almost $80 million. Outfitted in the shiniest rims and gadgets available, there were pictures of nearly every luxury import imaginable—everything from the traditional BMW to a Maserati and Aston Martin. The homes that were displayed could have easily belonged to professional athletes and entertainers. The crew was the only one in Brooklyn, and one of a handful in New York City, who managed to reel in the type of money that underlined the height of the crack era.

So, Mr. Richards, as you can see, we have a real monster on our hands. Now, my question to you is can you bring it down? Deputy Director Douglas Gold asked.

Even monsters can be tamed.

The director nodded.

With a cocky smirk, Derrick replied, The question isn’t if I can bring them down, but rather when would you like them brought down?

Director Gold shot Derrick a curious look. Mr. Richards, what exactly are your plans?

Derrick leaned toward Mr. Gold and beckoned the man closer. In a conspiratorial tone, he said, First of all, please allow me to reintroduce myself. I’m no longer Derrick Richards. My name is now Tree.

Tree? Director Gold appeared somewhat confused.

The BTBs are gonna love the big spender named Tree. The nickname/streetname/moniker was what some people had called his brother, Ray because of his height. And Tree is gonna take this entire clique down.

******

Derrick pulled into the driveway of the two-story home located in a quiet community just outside of New York City. Before exiting his Corvette, he noticed the agency had fulfilled his request with the much-needed drug dealer accessories.

A white 760li BMW sitting on 22-inch Lowenharts was parked in the driveway. Also, a candy apple red Cadillac Escalade ESV riding high on 24-inch Niches sat in front of the residence. Derrick could think of nothing but his brother’s lavish lifestyle. He had always wanted to be like his older brother, so he was tempted to dive into the drug game early on. But Ray had lined his pockets to quell his temptation. Nevertheless, Ray’s