Heat

By Marvlous Harrison

Nearly 20 years removed from the streets New York's most notorized and talked about dealer is back and he's back with a vengence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marvlous Harrison
• Release date: Mar 22, 2010
• ISBN: 9781465837530

Marvlous Harrison

Born and raised in the South Bronx, Marvlous has seen it all and done it all. He emerged from his tough enviornment as one of the most premeir writers in Urban Lit. With several books in print and a few more due to be released in 2010, he leaves everyone asking what's next.

Book preview

Heat by Marvlous Harrison

Heat

A Story

By

Marvlous Harrison

Copyright © 2009 by Marvlous Harrison

Smashwords Edition

Edited by James Harrison

Cover Design by James Harrison

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photo copying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from copyright owner.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblances to any events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Chapter

1

How much you think they holding? Jamik asked his identical twin brother Malik as they sat on Baychester Avenue in the Bronx in a burgundy Ford Expedition.

Old boy said they be carrying at least fifty gee’s, Malik answered as they both kept an eye out on the delivery men they were waiting to rob.

I hope so ‘cuz if not it won’t even be worth it. Not in this hot ass area, Jamik said skeptical that the delivery men would be carrying a large amount of money.

Trust me. If dude said they carrying it then they carrying it, Malik reassured him.

I hope so ‘cuz…

Listen, stop ya bitching. We gonna stick these white mother fuckers up and that’s that! Malik said annoyed. Damn, if I woulda knew you was gonna be so shook I woulda left ya ass home.

The twins were part of a well-organized robbery crew that specialized in robbing everything from ATM’s to check cashing places, to gambling halls. They even occasionally ventured off to nearby states and robbed unsuspecting banks.

Malik had been part of the robbery crew for a few months, but Jamik was new. They were ordinary stick up kids doing what they had to do to survive, never getting more than a few hundred dollars apiece. That was if they were lucky. An acquaintance of Malik’s put the thought of robbing armored cars in Malik’s head. Malik was a little hesitant at first until he was convinced they could make thousands of dollars apiece. From then on, the twins robbed an armored truck every few weeks or when they money got low; whichever came first.

They were smart at what they did. They didn’t just jump out like mad men ready to shoot anything that moved attracting unwanted attention. They were not only calculating, but they were good at what they did. They made sure never to spend more than two minutes at a robbery scene. They would spring when their target least expected it, get their attention, usually by shooting the armed guard in his bullet proof vest to prove they were willing to use deadly force if necessary, and then they would disappear from the scene as if they just vanished into thin air.

Today their victims were two middle aged, white men that made a once a week delivery to refill the ATM at the local grocery store. They were armed, but they were overweight and out of shape. The bulletproof vests they wore for protection barely covered their stomachs.

Come on yo, here they come now, Malik told Jamik anxiously as he snatched his ski mask from under the driver’s seat.

Shit, Jamik cursed as he fumbled around for his ski mask. Simultaneously, the twins jumped out of their Expedition and sprang into action.

The armed guards headed straight for the ATM, which sat outside the grocery store, never looking behind them.

Malik ran up to the lagging armed guard, and before the guard’s instincts had a chance to kick in, Malik hit the guard in the back of the head with the Desert Eagle handgun he was armed with.

Agh! the guard yelled out in pain prompting his partner to turn around ready to defend his self.

Don’t fuckin’ try it fat boy! Drop the money and put ya hands up before I leave ya fat ass on the pavement! Jamik threatened. He could tell the guard was contemplating shooting it out.

Boom, boom! The Desert Eagle barked attracting everyone’s attention, causing people to scatter for safety. Both shots hit the guard square in the chest with the second one penetrating the Kevlar vest. The guard crumpled to the ground as Malik rushed over to the fallen security guard.

Watch that mother fucker! he ordered Jamik as he recovered the money. Malik pushed the wounded guard over on his back with his foot and saw the puddle of blood forming around him.

He dead? Jamik asked from a few feet away as he kept an eye on the other guard.

I don’t know, Malik answered as he noticed the guard withering in pain. You dead fat man?

Help me…please, the wounded guard pleaded desperately.

He’ll live, Malik said as he snatched the money and the guard’s gun. Come on, let’s get outta here before the cops come! The twins jumped back in their Expedition, with Jamik behind the wheel, and fled the scene. Even though they were in a rush they didn’t just speed off, they knew that would attract more attention.

Chapter

2

On any given night from Thursday to Sunday, and certain days during the week, you could pull up to the intersection of East Tremont and Webster Avenue in the Bronx and you’ll find a line that stretched the entire length of a city block, sometimes longer. And everybody on that line was standing there for the same reason, to get inside Heat, the hottest club in the five boroughs. Heat was an old converted factory and in its heyday it employed hundreds of Blacks and Hispanics to hand sew Everlast boxing apparel. Since then it had laid dormant. That was until a young entrepreneur came along and turned it into the partying Mecca it is now.

Heat consisted of four floors that spun different genres of music on each, catering to the latest sensations. The first floor played hip hop and R&B for the younger crowd. The second floor spun reggae music for the Caribbean people who loved to grind on the dance floor. The third floor spun salsa and meringue music for the Spanish people who frequented the nightclub. The fourth floor, if you were lucky enough or had enough money to get that far, played all types of music, courtesy of the hottest deejay in the city. This floor was reserved for the high end partiers and their entourages. On any given weekend you could find some of the music industry’s hottest acts or the NBA’s best talent partying in the V.I.P. section.

The first and third floors had large stages for whoever was performing that night. There were state of the art sound systems on each floor that gave the partiers the ultimate listening experience accompanied with plasma televisions that showcased everything from the performer on stage, the hottest videos or other floors.

Easy, the genius behind Heat, did this to entice partiers to visit the other floors to avoid overcrowding on any particular floor. They even splashed in segments of the fourth floor so people would know which celebrity was partying upstairs.

There were two V.I.P. areas on each floor, which consisted simply of sectioned off areas surrounded by maroon, velvet curtains and black velvet ropes. There were no walls, just the curtains, but that didn’t stop people from trying their hardest to reserve the space. Each space was manned with a well-dressed bouncer to keep partiers in line and unwanted guests out of the sections.

The fourth floor V.I.P. areas were different. There were two separate sections just like the other three floors, but they were bigger and more extravagant. Instead of velvet ropes to section off the areas, they were encased in glass and sat along the back wall of the club. There were velvet curtains, which were closed for optional privacy. The rooms were furnished with lavish plush leather sofas, with matching tables, and a sixty inch plasma television. The rooms were equipped with audio feeds from the deejay booth so they heard what everyone else heard, but other than that the rooms were sound proof. Nothing going on inside the room could be heard outside of it.

To give the floor an exotic look there were two glass encased pedestals which featured go-go dancers dressed in thongs and neon body paint. There were also neon lights above the glass encased pedestals that switched colors every few seconds and sometimes pulsated to the beat of the music. Not too many people could honestly say they walked pass the go-go dancers and didn’t notice them.

As for the mastermind behind the success of Heat, Easy was the product of a Bronx drug king pin and a Harlem social worker. He had all of his mother’s intelligence combined with his father’s hustler’s ambition. His father’s reign eventually came to an end at the hands of the Federal government costing him twenty years in prison. He made sure while he was in prison Easy and his mother was not only protected from anyone thinking it was the best time to get revenge against him, but also Easy would never want for nothing. He went to the best schools and somehow always ended up at the same place his parents tried their hardest to keep him from, the streets.

Easy was a true Harlemite and his love for the lime light proved that. He partied hard at the hottest clubs and everywhere he went everyone knew him. It wasn’t long before a small time party promoter realized his potential and quickly convinced Easy to join forces with him to promote parties. It didn’t take long for their parties to start selling out on Easy’s name alone, and just like many other partnerships the promoter began to get jealous. Before they knew it, they were arguing over money bringing the partnership to an abrupt end. The partnership lasted a little over a year, but the knowledge Easy gained from it would last a life time. When they parted ways Easy started off small, packing venues every other weekend, but it didn’t take long for someone to plant the seed in his head that he could run his own club. Easy took that as a sign and immediately started stacking his money to open his own club.

Easy scouted a few places in Manhattan that were too expensive. Not wanting to risk the money in his trust fund, he decided to scout cheaper places with more potential in other boroughs. He quickly realized he needed help, someone with money. His first instinct was to turn to his father who could quickly put together enough money, but he didn’t want to ride his father’s coattail. With nowhere else to turn, he went to a local drug dealer who was on his way up in the drug game when his father was on his way out. He always immortalized Easy’s father so Easy knew he would jump at the opportunity to do business with him. Together they made a fortune with him supplying the money and Easy doing all the work.

Easy didn’t mind though. He was a marketing genius and used every trick possible to keep the gigantic night club packed week in and week out. He did it so good that he began attracting the underworld’s attention and before he knew it he was getting visits from Mob figures. Once they found out who his father was they quickly backed off. They had more than respect for him; they had an admiration for who he was back in the day and how he chose to go out. He didn’t snitch or cut a deal with the government for less time. He took what came to him and beat the system at its own game. With this Easy laid his ground work. He used his father’s influence to get performers to perform starting with local acts. When he was able to land a big name R&B act he made sure every female in ear shot knew it was lady’s night and every lady was free for the entire night. This caused them to come out in crowds. He let them in a little at a time so every guy who drove by saw all the ladies standing on line. This immediately peaked their interest. He had open bar for a certain amount of time several times throughout the night, which also attracted people. It took a lot of hard work and dedication, but in no time the club was selling out. Not long after, A&R’s and managers were blowing up his cell phone to get their artist in the club to perform.

On this night in particular, Fat Joe was performing. Fat Joe was a Bronx born and raised rapper who never passed up an opportunity to perform in his borough. Easy was posted up at the bar on the first floor, accompanied by his right hand man Danger, watching the show. Danger, whose name fitted him perfectly, was the head