CHAPTER 2

A BOSS'S LAST WISH

The smell of liquor, asshole, and cheap body spray reminded Ameen of why he left Memphis. Before he met Silas Roosevelt, his life was off balance. He was petty hustling, in and out of jail, and had more shootouts under his belt than he did dollars.

After barely beating a murder case that would have landed him life without the possibility of parole, he decided to take the advice of an older man who saw his potential.

Silas. One of the biggest gangsters in Tennessee.

Silas and Ameen’s dad were old friends. They ran the blocks together in the 80s to push out the white competitors that Silas felt like was stepping on his toes in the dope game—all pro-black and shit.

When Ameen’s dad took a bullet to the back and left behind Ameen, his mom, and a younger sister, Silas felt obligated to step up to the plate and care for them.

Some people say he felt guilty because he was the real killer of his best friend.

Some people believed his love for Ameen was genuine because of the child his crack fiend baby mama took from him. And like Ameen, some people didn’t know what to believe. All anybody ever knew was that Silas was a dangerous man and nothing to be fucked with.

Ameen was a lot like him—loyal, smart, protective of those he loved, and a true hustler. That’s why, in his absence, Silas appointed nobody other than Ameen to take over the one task he wished to fulfill before he was killed: find his daughter and keep her safe.

“I’m looking for her. I was told she works here.”

Ameen held up a picture of Renae in front of the bouncer at Purple Diamond and waited for a response. At first, the man stared ahead—-didn’t move a muscle to take a look. It wasn’t until Ameen slid him a hundred dollar bill that his eyes shifted and he took a look at the picture.

“Spenderella.” He sucked his teeth. “Yeah. She closing the show tonight. You better hurry up and get in if you wanna catch her before her set over.”

Ameen peered into the club and saw a sea of people he used to fuck with before his new life. They were still gang banging, drug dealing, and knocking up every chicken head from around the way—things that he grew away from when he started working for Silas.

“You the police or something?” the bouncer asked, interrupting Ameen’s scan of the club. “Why you looking for Spenderella? Or you some kind of stalker? One of them control freaks who can’t forget about her after that first dance?”

If looks could kill, the bouncer would have dropped dead. Because the last thing anybody had to worry about was Ameen stalking them. Especially a stripper who worked at Purple Diamond.

Ignoring his questions, Ameen proceeded to enter the club.

But not before the bouncer pressed his large hand into Ameen’s chest to stop him.

“It’s $20 to enter. $50 for VIP.”

Ameen’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lip curled to express his frustration. “Nigga, I just gave you $100 dollars. You better let me in this fucking club, cause I’m pretty sure it ain’t a single hoe in here worth more than that.”

He pushed the bouncer's hand away from his chest, dusted the spot where it used to be, and entered the club without looking over his shoulder again.

“Nigga, do you know who that nigga is?” A fellow bouncer stepped in to stop what could have been a bloodbath. “That’s Silas Rooselvelt right hand man. You lucky that nigga didn’t smoke yo ass.”

All eyes followed Ameen as he walked through the club, looking for his only chance at redemption.

He was like a ghost after he clicked up with Silas. According to the old Memphis tale, anybody who was recruited by Silas got blessed with a supernatural power that made them untouchable.

Another thing Ameen was blessed with, was quick wit. It didn’t take him long to spot Renae. From what he remembered about Purple Diamond, only the baddest hoes closed out the show on a Friday night, and from the looks on all the niggas faces in the club, Renae was the baddest that Purple Diamond had ever seen.

“Ay, that lil hoe bad, ain’t she? I wonder how much she charge to fuck.”

A couple of young hood rats not too far away from Ameen could be heard making slick talk about Renae. When he thought back to his days of hanging in the strip club, he was sure he’d said worse things about some of the women. But something struck him that night—-something random.

He wanted to believe it was his loyalty to Silas that made him cringe at Renae’s reality. But deep down, he knew it was something more.

“Ay, hold up, homeboy.” Kano’s rough and cracked hand stopped him from getting any closer to the stage. “If you want a private dance, that's gon cost you.”

Ameen looked at Kano like he was a crumb on the floor. That’s what he looked like, anyway. And as fine as Renae was, the streets always wondered why she let a dusty, crusty, cockroach looking motherfucker like Kano pimp her out.

“Yeah, that belongs to me,” Kano said. “You must be new here to think you can just walk up on what’s mine without paying that tax. You feel me?”

“Nigga …” Ameen glared at him with the stare of death. “If you don’t get the fuck out my face, I’ma show you how a made-man collects taxes.”

Even though his dick got hard watching Renae dance, he felt bad for her because he knew the crusty nigga was her pimp.

And not to mention the lost look in her eyes while she twerked and gyrated in the faces of hungry niggas who only appreciated her body.

As he stood watching, fantasizing about her grinding on him the way she did the pole, they locked eyes for a minute. When she dropped to the floor and spread her pussy for the club to see, Ameen was the first to look away.

He felt guilty for lusting over his boss’s daughter. But he told himself that if she ever locked eyes with him like that again, it would be the first time he crossed the line between him and Silas.

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