Bitch! Why dont you answer your goddamn phone?! Nadine shouts from the other end of the phone.
Bitch, what ti is it? I grog with the oversized smartphone by my ear, rubbing my forehead.
Ti to wake the fuck up, bitch, Nadine says.
Fuck you, bitch.
Bitch, Im going to slap your ass red! Co down, Ive been under your apartnt for thirty minutes! Lets go have breakfast!
Putain.
I hope you choke on a dick one of these days, I reply to her, looking around the ssy room from the bed and opting for the first semi-clean top I could put my hands on. I grip the soft duvet covering my naked body and take in the cozy warm feeling of it, hoping to bring so of it with in the cold foggy Fall in Paris.
Seeing my face with make-up still on from the night before, I sigh.
Bitch, you look like you have seen the Devil, Nadine says to .
You always look like I should choke you, I reply to my hyperactive friend.
Wouldnt you like that? she says with a laugh, bumping her much wider hips against mine.
So, whats new? I ask her with a yawn.
Bitch, you just ca down and you are already talking business? Get so croissant if you want to hear anything from . And we are going shopping this afternoon. Your current look likes the nightmares that haunt those two cocksuckers of Dolce and Gabbana.
Always the Duchess, Nadine, I say with a smile.
You can bet your Muslim ass on it, Nadine says while maneuvering a cigarette to her mouth with four-centiters-long nails.
Do you have a lighter she starts mumbling with the cigarette between the pink glossyied lips when I have the thing already halfway out of my pocket. I love you so much, she adds, biting the sounds down.
I snatch a cigarette for myself and light it up.
You better start buying them for yourself, bitch.
If I start buying them, I beco a smoker. If I just steal them from you, Im just having fun, you know, I smirk.
Nadine is a black prostitute whose parents ca from Nigeria to make a better life for themselves. Her father was an architect back there. Right here, instead, hes in prison. He started dealing drugs when he couldnt find any job, not even in the most remoted village in France. Nadine brothers deal drugs and, in a way, they work for . Shes always been my friend and when I started my little shenanigans, she imdiately went along. Shes my fashion guru and my big sister, probably the person I love the most in the entire world.
We sit in one of the most expensive places to have breakfast at in the entire city, getting a bad look from all the waiting staff. Once they even asked us to leave because of our aspect. I kindly asked so of my subordinates to have a word with them after hours.
Two cappuccinos, two brioches, and Nadine lets the last word hang, waiting for to add sothing.
A water, and maybe so fresh-squeezed orange, I tell the nervous white girl who ca to us.
Maybe? the waitress asks.
It ans that you choose what to do, if you ss up, we ss you up, bitch, Nadine says with the smile of soone who owns the place.
Bring it, please, I say, waving Nadine quiet.
O-ok, the girl is basically crying when she goes back.
Nadine, you dont have to do that, you know, I tell her with a judging stare.
Oh, why not, bitch? If the girls going to cry, let her. And it was a joke, bitch.
I raise my hands, not willing to argue with this unreasonable woman. I love her, but she has her own views of the world and its not easy to challenge her on them. Or better, its very unpleasant and loud to do so.
She dishes outa fashion magazine like a teacher with a retarded student. She even put so post-it notes on so outfits I should buy. I start browsing the thing while she keeps smoking. We are sitting outside, both of us in furs. The one shes wearing its a gift from , sothing that she could have hardly afforded on her own. I helped her improving her clientele by miles, but shes still not racking in the sa kind of cash I managed to land my hands on.
I take out and rip a few post-its on the most obscene outfits but I keep most of them in. Nadine, for all shes a prostitute, has excellent taste. She wanted to give a shot to the fashion world, but even in our tis its not really sowhere where people like Nadine can easily get into.
Good stuff, I tell Nadine while putting away the magazine in my bag.
Cassie, bitch, I dont understand why you cant put a little more effort to look like the queen bitch you are.
They got Capone on tax charges, I say shrugging.
But your money, she looks around and puts her claw-ish nails on the table, hunching forward and whispering, looks legit because of that fucking internet.
How?
Subscription websites to launder money. As simple as that. Take a bunch of prostitutes, make a photographer profile on the most well-known websites, then its down to create a net of dummy accounts doing untraceable paynts. I didnt handle most of the technicalities, but I know enough to be sure that my inco looks like the next upstart making her way through the world thanks to selling sex fantasies to those who have the cash. In reality, only a small part of the paynts I get to my accounts are real. There are people paying for those pictures, but mostly its a net of fake accounts being created to pay the highest subscription possible. That creates a taxable inco. Plus, if you deal in things impossible to put a real value on, even if you post hot pictures that wouldnt really gather that following, who can prove otherwise? What are they going to do, a cross-analysis between the nude-content creators?
I take another cigarette from Nadine while sipping on my orange juice.
Can I ask a racist question?
Bitch, you are a Muslim, what are you talking about? Nadine almost chokes on her croissant laughing.
You are such a bitch, I laugh myself, but how would you feel if they gave you one of those Nigerian nas? Or have you ever thought why our parents gave us French nas?
Nadine goes silent for a second, giving hopes that shes seriously considering the question.
Because they are dumb as shit, she laughs.
Oh, bitch, co on! Dont you ever think about changing your na to sothing more
More what? Nigerian? Bitch, Im not gonna get called no Ukelele, okay?
The orange juice goes out of my nose as Im literally dying of laughter. Nadine drops the cigarette on her expensive leather pants and starts swearing. We paint a terrible picture to the rest of the mostly white audience at the place, and, even while choking, I can see the owner bitching about us with so of his staff.
Fucking, bitch, are you trying to kill ? And what if soone from Nigeria hears you? Isnt that racist?
Bitch, if any of them are near , they are going to look at this ass, certainly not worrying about socio-political bullshit like you do all the ti, Miss Bastille.
Do you ever think of the British group that called themselves Bastille?
Bunch of f
Co on, I put my hands over my ears.
Bitch, you are too sensitive. You know how your job gets peopleyou know? Why you so sensitive, then?
Co on, I repeat.
Bitch, Im serious. Gotta get those tits harder, you know. And maybe bigger, too. But harder, for sure.
I raise a hand toward the waitress, ignoring Nadine.
Another croissant. And another cappuccino. Also, you know what, bring another orange juice, thank you, I look at the girl and smile.
I dont tip. This girl is waiting tables. If she thinks shes entitled to my money just because of that, shes wrong. Nadine and I co from the deepest viscera of this monster of a country. Basic courtesy should be extended to people only doing their work. But thats where it ends.
You got an appetite on you, bitch. Good for you, you need to flesh up those bones of yours, Nadine says, whipping another cigarette in her mouth.
So days I wish you hadnt passed this smoking thing on , bitch, I tell her, blazing up another cigarette with the butt of the last on.
So, bitch, lets talk business, she says, happy I waited for her to get her filling of chit-chat.
I gesture with the cappuccino in my hand and nod.
Got five properties good to go, she says in-between puffs of smoke, three of which in countryside around Nantes. One around Nancy. The last one is sowhere in the industrial zone of Lyon. If you put people working there, we are talking about twenty-three spot since we already have eighteen up and running.
Do you know that cryptocurrency can, on a level, be traced? Its not all dark web this and silk road that, as so people believe. When you are a big player, you have to deal on secret protocols, foreign countries, and many inconvenient things. The fact that Im rich in the open, for example, is purely for my own convenience. And to travel around with the excuse of wasting all these money left and right. But when it cos down to it, the real deals of money are exchanged toward China and Pakistan. Not much dealings in India. But the two previously ntioned countries provide with the workers needed to run illegal plants. People desperate for money that I can cover in literal gold.
Now, with twenty-three spots up and running, our supply of weapons skyrockets. The most isolated, basically basents running in the countryside, are where the bullets are made. Its one thing to manage a gun-fraand another to go around causing explosions in a city.
I look down at the flaky crumbles left on the table by the croissants just to raise my head a second later when I hear Nadine laugh.
Whats up, bitch? I ask with a smile.
Do you ever think about the fact that we are basically gang leaders?
Am. Not are.
Terrorists. Not gang leaders.
Yeah, we are two boss bitches, I say with I wink.
We laugh it over while I mull so of my plans on my own. No one has really figured out what we are doing inside our organizations. In the end, we do really just run gun manufacturing plants and sell the products. So news channels are even catching up with it after almost two years of running this trade.
But no one has figured out the endga.
I look down at Nadines body, butt naked on a hospitals bed. She died with a horrible hospitals gown on, sothing that she would have absolutely hated. Not in style, not covered in her precious gems and expensive clothes. She had died while they tried to remove a bullet to the chest. The surgery was not easy, and the hospital has always been overworked. There was a mistake dictated by how tired the surgeon was. Nothing to bla him or worse, kill him for.
I look at the body on the bed while her brothers are arguing about so stupid deal that she was supposedly involved on. She hadnt told anything about it. Our entire operation had a lot of scouts and spies among escorts and prostitutes. And Nadine had engineered most of that, she had been the boss bitch managing all of them with her snarling remarks and her sass.
I go out while the voices of those n are just white noise in the background, a sad soundtrack to yet another casualty of war.
The neons are flickering above my head, probably needing a change, and maybe so rest. Not unlike .
Reviews
All reviews (0)