Miss Opportunity - Ch. 12.1

Millsap, Mike-Mike and Franco sat in their favorite VIP room of the Urban Revue, drinking their favorite alcoholic beverages and watching the people dance in the club below. They’d had a long night of processing and distributing their newest illegal shipment and were now unwinding at a different location.

This VIP room was the perfect place to unwind. It had recently been renovated to function as a skybox. Millsap deliberately had it constructed this way so that they could see down into the club without actually being among the people in the club. And because they valued their privacy so much, the window that they looked out of now was actually a two-way mirror. Which meant that the generals could see out, but no one could see into the skybox.

The old generals used to occupy the northwest corner VIP booth downstairs. Yet with recent changes in the drug game as a whole and with a surge in sting operations from the authorities, the new crew decided it was better to remain out of the general population at their regular hangout spot even beyond the privacy factor. However, they would sometimes go down and dance among the crowd when they had dates since they were not completely antisocial, just cautious. Very cautious.

But that wasn’t the only way the new generals were different from the old ones. In one main way, they were completely different. For instance, whereas Bonz had been the main brains behind the operations of the old crew, Millsap, Mike-Mike, and Franco all brainstormed together on each facet of the operations now. In short, they were a tighter threefold cord.

Yet even with their obvious differences, the new generals shared some distinct similarities to their predecessors. Family problems, poverty, and bad influences had tainted their lives just like it had Bonz, Racker, and E-Blade’s.

Raised mainly by his grandmother, Mike-Mike was wise beyond his twenty-five years. He was considered a quiet dude by most people, yet he could be very vocal when he wanted to be. Especially when you put a microphone in his hands. Then the man couldn’t seem to shut up.

Although Mike-Mike was just as easygoing as his predecessor Racker at times, he was ruthless like E-Blade when crossed. Thus he had an abundance of respect on the streets.

Twenty-five-year-old Franco was raised in Enfield’s foster care system. The closest thing he had to a real family was the people in his crew. Franco was a major ladies man like Bonz, but having stepped into the shoes of E-Blade, he displayed the traits of a mastermind when it came to distributing their products on the streets.

Franco also knew how to keep the sales team motivated by offering bonuses, free vacations, and even cars. Cars that Mike-Mike supplied from the car dealership he owned. Because Franco practiced positive reinforcements and did not rule by fear, he was greatly beloved by those under him.

As for twenty-six-year-old Millsap, he had a bit of Bonz, Racker, and E-Blade in him. College educated, he was a shrewd businessman like his predecessor Bonz, accumulating wealth through various avenues, legal and otherwise. He had Racker’s sense of family, going out of his way to maintain close relationships with his mother and father, who’d long since divorced and still caused him grief in various ways.

Like E-Blade, Millsap did not take lightly any wrong that was done to him. Fortunately, he was more even tempered and would only succumb to the occasional bouts of hot-headedness. Those incidents usually involved someone Millsap deeply cared about. As a result, he was also highly respected on the streets.

On a lighter note, the new crew also practiced varying degrees of slang. No more one vernacular for all occasions. As with their clothing, musical tastes, and business ventures, they now kept their speech just as flexible.

When conducting legal business or dealing with new people, they usually spoke no slang at all. Light slang was practiced in casual social environments. Thick slang was practiced among each other, around those they truly trusted, and with those who practiced thick slang, as well.

Tonight was one of those thick slang occasions since it was just the three of them. They usually went dateless on their boys’ night out. However, that didn’t stop them from talking about women, which is what they were doing right now.

“Man, I heard that trick Cami came around here asking ‘bout you again yesterday,” Mike-Mike said, repeating what he’d heard from Stefan, the bartender who’d been on duty at the time.

“What was she told?” Millsap asked, taking another sip of Patron.

“Same old, same old.” Mike-Mike chuckled. “That you was out of town.”

Millsap smiled with approval. “And I’m gonna stay out of town when it comes to her, too. That chick is bad news. And I, for one, don’t want no parts of her,” he said, frowning at the end by even the thought of hooking up with Cami.

“Not even a little part?” Franco asked, walking over to the large pool table across the room. “I saw Cami myself at a party two weeks ago. And, man, that girl was fine as—”

“I don’t care how fine she is,” Millsap interrupted, heading to the pool table as well. “Any chick that will backstab her own cousin and then help that man backstab his friends ain’t got no place in my life.”

“I wouldn’t want her in my life either,” Mike-Mike agreed, following his friends across the room. It was time to play pool. “Now having her in my bed is another thing, if she’s as fine as you say she is, Franco.” He chuckled. He still hadn’t seen Cami yet, either.

Grinning, Franco nodded in confirmation. “Trust me. This chick is fine. So fine that I would’ve tried to step to her myself if she hadn’t been so focused on hollering at Millsap at the time.”

Millsap’s frown deepened. “Cami can holla all she wants. I ain’t never gonna answer that cry.”

“So I guess you won’t mind if I tap that instead then, huh?” Franco asked, putting in his bid for Cami’s body as he chalked his pool cue.

Millsap shrugged as he racked the pool balls. “Tricks are for everybody’s entertainment. Have all the fun you want with her,” he replied, unaware that he’d one day live to regret those words.

© 2008 by Suprina Frazier