The Dopeman's Wife: Part I of the Dopeman Trilogy Read online

  The Dopeman’s Wife

  Part I of the Dopeman Trilogy

  JaQuavis Coleman

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  BAD BITCHES - Prologue

  Part One: Trife Life

  GOOD GIRLS NEVER TELL - Chapter One

  PLAYIN FOR KEEPS - Chapter Two

  SPACESHIP - Chapter Three

  TIME CHANGES EVERYTHING - Chapter Four

  BIRTHDAY JUMP-OFF - Chapter Five

  BALTIMORE LOVE THING - Chapter Six

  MÉNAGE À TROIS - Chapter Seven

  ME, MYSELF, AND A BAG OF MONEY - Chapter Eight

  LIFE AIN’T SWEETIE - Chapter Nine

  SQUARE ONE - Chapter Ten

  SWEETEST REVENGE - Chapter Eleven

  AMERICAN DREAMIN’ - Chapter Twelve

  THE WHITE PARTY - Chapter Thirteen

  POLITICS AS USUAL - Chapter Fourteen

  REAL BITCHES DO REAL THINGS: MEET MILLIE - Chapter Fifteen

  A WOMAN’S INTUITION - Chapter Sixteen

  Part Two: Life of a Dopeman’s Wife

  UPGRADED - Chapter Seventeen

  CLUB 8-1-4 - Chapter Eighteen

  SMALL WORLD - Chapter Nineteen

  CREEPING WITH THE ENEMY - Chapter Twenty

  THREE MONTHS AFTER THE STORM - Chapter Twenty-one

  NOBODY UNTIL SOMEBODY KILLS YOU - Chapter Twenty-two

  TICAL’S DEATH - Chapter Twenty-three

  SEX, LIES, AND A TAPE - Chapter Twenty-four

  HOOD RAT - Chapter Twenty-five

  TICAL’S PLIGHT - Chapter Twenty-six

  REGRETS - Chapter Twenty-seven

  GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER? - Chapter Twenty-eight

  FAITHFUL - Chapter Twenty-nine

  GUNPLAY & CONFESSIONS - Chapter Thirty

  FOREVER - Chapter Thirty-one

  Questions for Book Discussion

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  First I want to thank the Creator for inspiring me to create these novels and giving me the gift of a vast imagination. It’s a blessing to have the ability to paint pictures with words, and I am forever grateful. I want to thank my gorgeous wife for being my backbone and being my number one hater, LOL. I’m the best writer in the house! All bullshit aside, you are my inspiration and my favorite author, and I am proud of everything you do.

  THANKS to Carl Weber for mentoring and being a friend. No, for being family. You have kept it 100 since the first day I met you in Detroit, and I appreciate realness. You taught me how to get to the money.

  Thanks to Natalie Weber for putting up with all my calls and questions. You are a wonderful person, and I am glad to have the privilege of working with you. Denard Breland, thanks for being real and family. Also shout-outs to Martha Weber. To Keisha Ervin, Silk, Jarold Imes, Erick Gray, Torrian Ferguson, Mark Anthony, and Michelle Moore. A big thanks to G-Unit Books and Ian Kleinart. What up, Liz!! To Amaleka McCall, you are ‘bout to blow, watch!! Shout-outs to my lawyer Harold Millhouse for beating those cases on my behalf; I owe you.

  I would like to thank the city of Flint for giving me the life experiences and circumstances to pen these tales authentically. This is a message to the Flint Police Department: I DO NOT LIVE WHAT I WRITE ABOUT, SO LET ME LIVE. Thanks to Janay Coleman, Kamela Dixon, SHAY (my baby), Johnny Davis, Shelton Jones, Pooh Jay, Lil Recco, K. Gardin and TRE (one of my closest friends in life), FATRAT, Dotta (my brother), Jon and Christine Love, Sydney, India, Jazz, Mario, Jackie Hill, Cali, Tanya Jones, Margo, Lavelle Crump, Dorothy Crump, Shawna, Izzy, Amir, Jalen, Shawn South, Retta, Kim (Lady Scorpio), Glam, Virgo, Mistic, Token, Tazzyt2Bossy, The Reading Rendezvous, Toni (OOSA), Ebony, Lonnie, Anari, Ernest, Aunt Lean, Debra Thames, Quanisha, Tammy, Tony T, Chloe, Veronica, Denise Weatherspoon, Courtney, Unk Larry, Aunt Mo-Ink, Mike at Supreme Styles, Gabe, Dominae, and Lil Nique, Mr. and Mrs. Johnnie Coleman, Johnnie Coleman JR (OG) and Mr. and Mrs. Webster. Shout-out to my hood the Fifth Ward and all its soldiers. Jake, Naldo . . . Keep holding me down, y’all niggas my brothers ’til death. B-Block my other home: Blaze, Dunna, Pipes, 40, Quinn. Bridget Summerville (mama), and Frenchie. Can’t forget Lil Douggie—Hold ya head behind them walls. I hope my stories can provide you a brief escape. R.I.P AC, R.I.P. HEAD. Thanks to all my fans and readers. I appreciate all of the support, e-mails, and love that I get from you guys. THANK YOU! I can be reached at:

  [email protected]

  or

  www.myspace.com/quavo_writer1

  And to my Jersey plug . . . I would never mention ya name.

  Enjoy my story.

  ONE

  But the allure of the game, keeps calling your name To all the Lauras of the world, I feel your pain To all the Christies in ev- ery cities and Tiffany Lanes We all hus- tlers in love with the same thing . . . It’s just the life

  —Jay-Z

  BAD BITCHES

  Prologue

  “Run, bitch! Come on!” Nautica weaved in and out of traffic, trying to avoid getting hit by the cars on the busy Flint street. She gripped the Louis Vuitton bookbag tight and looked back at Khia, who was struggling to keep up in her six-inch stilettos.

  Khia quickly snatched off her shoes and ran full speed, catching up with her girl. Both of the girls finally reached Nautica’s car and hopped in. Breathing heavily, they both rested their heads on the headrest to catch their breath.

  Nautica looked in the rearview to make sure the shooter was nowhere in sight. “We did it!” She double checked her rearview mirrors before opening the bookbag on her lap and pulled out stacks of rubber banded hundred-dollar bills. She was a little shaky from the unexpected shooting, but the money made everything seem a little better.

  Almost instantly, both of the girls began to yell in excitement as they looked at their new boyfriend, Benjamin Franklin. About eighty thousand of them.

  “Oh my God! I can’t believe what just happened.” Nautica took a deep breath and stared down at the money. “So this is what eighty stacks look like.” A big smile on her face, she picked up one of the G-stacks and kissed it.

  “We set, mama. I can’t believe—”

  Before Khia could complete her sentence, the sound of gunshot blasts and shattering glass rang out. Glass from the back window flew on the girls as the shooter stood twenty feet from them and emptied his clip, bullets flying one after another.

  “Go! Go!” Khia yelled as she looked in the rearview and saw the crazed man shooting at them. She couldn’t see exactly who he was, but she wasn’t trying to stick around and play Columbo either.

  I thought the nigga was dead. Nautica scrambled to start the car and threw the shift in drive. As the terrifying sound of bullets thumping the car’s exterior serenaded the girls, she sped off, ducking down slightly and peeking over the steering wheel, trying to merge into traffic. The way the bullets were coming, she knew it was an automatic weapon.

  Nautica peeked into her rearview mirror again and saw Zion firing his gun. When she finally got far enough distance away for the bullets to stop hitting the car, she sat up and took a deep breath. Her heart beat rapidly, and she could barely drive straight because of her shaky hands.

  After Nautica caught her breath, she tried to laugh it off. “Fuck him!” she yelled. “We did it!”

  When Khia didn’t respond, she looked over at her and saw her staring aimlessly, her head propped against the window. “Khia! Khia!” Nautica yelled. She reached over and shook Khia, and her body fell over, and
her head flopped down on the dashboard, revealing a bloody hole in the back.

  “No! Nooo!” Nautica yelled. “Don’t die on me. We don’t die! Khia!”

  Nautica kept shaking Khia, but it was no use. The bullet had killed her on contact.

  Part One: Trife Life

  GOOD GIRLS NEVER TELL

  Chapter One

  Six Months Earlier

  “May I take your order?” Nautica said as she stuck her head out the drive-thru window at the run-down chicken spot. She popped her gum and reluctantly took the customer’s order. Nautica ran her hand through her short, wrapped, black hair, the hint of cinnamon highlights complementing her caramel brown skin. Nautica shifted her weight from one foot to the other for better comfort. Although she worked at a food joint, she felt that heels and perfectly manicured nails were appropriate. She made six dollars an hour from Red’s Chicken Shack. Well, that’s what her paycheck reflected. Actually Red’s Chicken Shack paid her much more than her paycheck read.

  She looked at the clock and saw that it was time to get money. She and Khia had been working there together for about two months and had already figured a way to embezzle money from the place.

  Khia walked past Nautica and winked as she headed to the manager’s office, where TaQuan was. Khia stood about five foot four and was bright yellow with pretty hazel eyes. Though small in stature, Khia was as feisty as they come. She had a beauty mark that rested perfectly above the right side of her lip. Her hair was honey blonde, and her petite figure was just the opposite of Nautica’s.

  Nautica watched her girl enter the office and close the door behind herself. Nautica knew that was her signal for their lick to go in motion.

  TaQuan was a thirty-year-old manager who was slightly overweight and overly gullible. Khia had been flirting with him since she got there, seeing him as a sucker she could get money out of. When Nautica found out that there was no way for him to keep track of the cash count, her hand began to itch; that meant money. His only way to prevent theft was the camera that sat right above the drive-thru cash register. TaQuan would sit in the office all day and watch the girls run the spot while he snacked on chicken throughout the day.

  They had a simple plan that worked like gold every time. At a certain time, Khia would go in the office and briefly distract TaQuan so that Nautica could hit the cash register. They didn’t get rich off the little scheme, but with that and their nightly stripper job, they got by. They did it at least once every time they worked and split the take at the end of their shift.

  Nautica looked at the clock, and as soon as the second hand hit twelve, she took out a couple of twenties from the drawer and stuffed them in her bra.

  A few minutes later Khia left the office, a smug smile on her face. She went over to Nautica. “Do you know that fat-ass nigga whipped out his dick?” she whispered, hands on her small hips.

  Nautica couldn’t help but to burst into laughter. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh. “Yeah, right, girl. What did you do?”

  “What you mean, what I do? I told that nigga he need to step his dick game up and laughed at his ass. That mu’fucka had about three inches at the most. It looked like a li’l Bob Evans breakfast sausage.” Khia put up her pinky finger and waved it around. “Did you get the dough?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Nautica patted her bra. “I got ’bout three this time.”

  A car rolled up to the window, interrupting them. Nautica turned around and stuck her head out the window to take the customer’s order. She looked right in the face of the infamous Zion Gardin, pushing a cocaine-white Benz with matching leather interior. With the roof completely gone, Nautica got a chance to see the lavish insides. His carpet was even white, obviously custom-made. Just to top it off, his luxury car sat on shiny chrome rims.

  Nautica’s words got caught in her throat as she looked into Zion’s big brown eyes. Naturally, she displayed her pretty smile and tried to say something, but nothing came out. She had heard about him and had seen him in the clubs a few times, but she never could get close to him because he was always in VIP, surrounded by groupies and his entourage.

  “Are you going to take my order, ma?” Zion rubbed his neatly trimmed goatee and smiled.

  Nautica immediately noticed the guy in his passenger seat. It was bumpy-face Loon, a goon that she went to school with. She remembered how wild and ill-tempered he used to be. She took a quick glance at Loon and then focused her attention right back on Zion.

  “Yeah, I got you. Can I take your order?” Nautica asked.

  Zion stared into Nautica’s eyes. It was an awkward silence. He forgot about the food, and the only thing he wanted was Nautica. Her neatly arched eyebrows, caramel skin, and big brown eyes were many men’s weakness.

  “What’s your name, ma?”

  “My name is Nautica. What’s yours?” She gently bit the tip of her nail, trying to display her perfectly manicured nails and look cute at the same time.

  “You know my name, ma,” Zion said arrogantly.

  Nautica immediately noticed his swagger and loved his Southern drawl. She wanted to frown at his cockiness, but it only turned her on. He was right. She did know his name, along with every other chick in the city. He was what you called a hood superstar. Every girl wanted to be the chick that rode shotgun with him, because everyone knew he ran the city and pushed heavy coke. That meant he had major paper.

  “Yeah, you right. I know your name. Can I take your order, Zion?” she asked smiling.

  “I want Nautica.”

  “Sorry, that’s not on the menu.”

  Zion smiled and looked at Loon. He whispered something to him, and Loon immediately hopped in the back seat. “Wanna ride with me?” Zion licked his lips as he looked at Nautica.

  Nautica put on a fake frown. “I don’t even know you.”

  “I know, I know. But we got to start somewhere, right? Right now is perfect, feel me?”

  “I get off at eleven.”

  “I can’t wait until eleven. Let’s ride and get to know each other.” Zion put both of his hands together in a praying position. “Pretty please.”

  Everything inside of Nautica was telling her that she shouldn’t do it, but she didn’t want to blow the chance of hooking up with a boss. There was a shortage of successful black men in Flint, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

  Khia nudged her back and whispered, “Girl, go! I will tell TaQuan you got sick or something.”

  Without even thinking, Nautica snatched off her apron and climbed out the window. Zion helped her jump into his car. Before she even got seated, Zion turned up his music and pulled off.

  “Get at me later, fam,” Loon said as he jumped out of the car and headed into the Terrace project apartments, one of the seedier areas in Flint, and also Zion’s terrain. Nautica was familiar with the area and knew that it was like a city inside a city. Crackheads and heroin users filed in on a daily basis to get their fix from the housing projects. There were strips of apartments all connected to each other, most of which were abandoned. Every sale of heroin, crack cocaine, and weed made inside the projects was a product of Zion’s. Zion was what you’d call a jack-of-all-trades, and he had the whole drug game on lock within the projects. The dealers camped out in the abandoned apartments and served the fiends like they were running a drive-thru service. McDonald’s didn’t have shit on Terrace projects.

  Zion hadn’t said anything yet to Nautica. He was waiting until he dropped Loon off to officially start their rendezvous.

  Nautica was nervous as hell, as she twiddled her thumbs and felt the wind blowing through her hair. Through her rearview, she saw the kids yell and run after Zion’s whip, trying to get up close to the spaceship that Zion called his car. A hundred-thousand-dollar car was rare in the hood, and Zion was the closest thing to a celebrity that Flint had seen. Everyone threw their hands up greeting Zion as he rolled by.

  I could get used to this shit, straight up! I suppose to be on this nigga
arm, Nautica thought as she glanced over at Zion as he gripped the woodgrain steering wheel.

  Zion slowly bobbed his head to Jay-Z’s “American Gangster,” which lightly pumped out the stereo. “So, what you say your name was again?” he asked, his eye on the road.

  “Nautica.”

  “Nautica. I like that name. So, Nautica, why haven’t I ever seen you around here? You know. Flint ain’t but so big.”

  “I don’t know. I guess you weren’t looking hard enough,” Nautica joked as she sunk more into the leather seat and got comfortable. Zion had never seen her, but Nautica had definitely seen him. How couldn’t she? Every time he entered a room, he was like a magnet for the ladies. He actually had visited the club she stripped at quite frequently, but without her costume and high heels on, Nautica looked very different.

  “Guess not.” He smiled. “I like yo’ style, ma. You are very attractive, and I want you to roll with me today, you know, so we can feel each other out.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good to me. I want to get to know you too.”

  “That’s cool. But only under one circumstance.”

  “And what may that be?” Nautica shifted her body to face him.

  “You don’t repeat or mention anything you hear or see while you with me today.” Zion gently tapped his lips with his index finger, as if he was telling her to be quiet.

  “Okay. I can keep a secret. Good girls never tell.”

  Nautica watched in amazement as Zion made runs all over the city. He would just roll up on dudes from different blocks, pick up his money, and toss it in a duffle bag that sat in his backseat; it all seemed so unreal to her. This nigga is really getting it, she thought, discreetly checking out the scene. Nautica was definitely impressed by his hustle.

  It took him nearly three hours to make all of his runs, and they talked the whole time, about life, the future, politics, and books. Nautica was surprised at how many novels Zion had read. He knew all about street fiction’s classic titles and could hold a conversation about any book she brought up. He explained to her that he’d been locked up for two years and reading was all he did then.