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there was money to be made.
CHAPTER TWO JUSTICE
    I
pulled my silver Chrysler 300 into the Waffle House on Sugar Creek Road in search of the Honda I’d witnessed the two groupies leaving the club in. If a person didn’t know any better they’d think a block party was in progress outside of the restaurant. Women were prancing around as if they were in a fashion show and the niggas had their trunks popped open, blasting music. It was chaotic!
    I slowly cruised through the crowded lot, ignoring the niggas who were motioning for me to stop so they could holla. I didn’t see the car I was looking for so I assumed that the girls had probably gone to the Waffle House on South Boulevard, the one closest to the Embassy Suites hotel. I was silently hoping that the girls would indeed stick to the itinerary that I’d overheard them discussing in the bathroom earlier. If not, a monkey wrench would’ve definitely been thrown into my plans. After slowly maneuvering through the melee I exited the parking lot and pulled back onto the main road.
    “I’m kinda hungry. Why didn’t we go in?” Sapphire asked from the passenger’s side. She had no idea that at that moment I had ulterior motives for going to the restaurant and that food was the farthest thing from my mind.
“It was too crowded out there. We goin’ to another one.”
    I got onto the Interstate and pushed it, making the “Ghetto Bentley” purr as we cruised down 1-85.
A little while later we were cruising through the parking lot of the Waffle House on South Boulevard. This one was a lot less crowded and the parking lot was quiet and serene. It was nothing like the fiasco on Sugar Creek that we’d just left. As I rode past the front of the restaurant I immediately saw the two groupies inside. They were seated in a corner booth with menus, talking and laughing heartily.
I pulled around to the side of the building and spotted what I’d been searching for. Bingo! There was the Honda. To my satisfaction, it was parked away from all the other cars. By parking in such a secluded area the girls had made phase two of my plan a lot easier than I’d anticipated.
I parked on side of the restaurant, out of view of the patrons whom were inside and far enough away from the street so that no one could see us. I instructed Sapphire to go inside and order some carry-out.
“Get me one o’ those patty melt things with extra pickles and an iced tea.”
I dug into my hand bag for some money, handed her a few bills, and waited for her to get out so I could execute phase two.
Sapphire grabbed her bag, opened the door, and exited the car. I watched as she headed for the entrance of the restaurant. Once she was inside I reached over, opened my glove compartment, and searched for the tool I needed to carry out my task. After moving my .380 aside and rummaging through a few scattered papers, I finally found what I’d been looking for. I quickly grabbed it by the handle and clutched it tightly in my palm.
Moments later, my door was open and I was out of the car with my eyes scanning the area like a surveillance camera, making sure no one was watching me. Satisfied that no eyes were on me, I moved swiftly towards the Honda. My heels were click-clacking on the pavement with each step I took. When I reached the girls’ car I looked around again just to be certain I wasn’t being watched. Flicking open the switchblade I had in my palm, I bent down in those tight ass shorts and jabbed one of the back tires twice. The air rushing out of the rubber sounded like a nine hundred pound man was taking a fart. I waited for a few moments to make sure the tire had completely deflated before I moved inconspicuously back to my car unnoticed.
After about five minutes of being seated back inside my vehicle I saw Sapphire exiting the restaurant, carrying two boxes and trying to balance two large drinks. I looked past her and took a quick glimpse back inside the restaurant at the two groupies. I saw that they