Her Fallen Crown

HFC | Chapter II

Chapter II | Street Cred

Loud cursing and laughter could be heard from across the street. A small crowd was forming a line to get into the exclusive club. It's been a popular spot for the past couple of years. Every known business man and woman in St. Louis has tried to get in. The owner is specifically strict on who can and can't get in. There's a dress code and a certain look for others. If your name holds weight in the streets, there might be room for business. If the price is right. Phaedra sat on the curb, watching the crowd grow in minutes around the venue. After leaving Chef, she walked as far as her feet could carry her.

The bus stop across the street from the club was where she chose to relax. The sun was setting when she arrived. It's now ten o'clock at night. Phaedra squints her eyes to someone nearing the rear entrance with what looks like a pan of food. Her stomach begins to growl causing her to shake her head. Every other place along the strip is closed and she didn't have any money. Begging, stealing or scavenging for food was way below her standards. However, she wasn't that bossed up woman that St. Louis feared any more. The owner sits in his office, counting his green manually. He then sends the money through the counter to confirm his count.

"Give me a hoodrat chick! Give me a project chick! One that don- Aye Cotton, my love!" He hears one of his employees holler from the other room.

"Leave me the fuck alone Spriggs! Damn!" Cotton says. Shaking his head, the owner records the number down in his accounting book. Not taking his attention off his desk, he raises his eyebrows to his employee entering his office.

"She always fronting on a nigga. She know she want me." Spriggs says and pops his invisible collar, stepping further into his boss' office.

"What did I tell you about haggling the dancers?" His boss questions while rubber-banding the money, stacking it with the others he counted earlier.

"Ain't nobody haggling nobody. Man it's all love at the end of the day." Spriggs says, sitting in front of the desk. He kicks his feet up and his boss knocks them off while frowning.

"Don't get your ass beat. Since you all jolly and shit, did you do what I told you to do?" Spriggs nods.

"I'm always jolly, you know this. But the money was collected and the new supply was issued. You don't trust that I can do my job?" He laughs and sits up in his seat.

"I trust you can do your job. You just play around too fuckin' much for me." His boss says, returning to count his money. Every night a goal is to be met and if it's short, somebody wasn't seeing the light of day. The club would be opening in thirty minutes and he wants to get all his other work out the way. Spriggs nods his head to the music he's listening too, adjusting his wireless earbud in his ear. His boss vastly thumbed through the bills in front of him with great focus. Commotion coming from the kitchen caused him to lose count which frustrated him. He shuffled the money in a vertical manner, beginning again. The commotion grew even louder now with pots and pans falling to the floor.

"Get the hell out of here! Spriggs!" The cook calls from the kitchen as she fought the intruder.

"Ayo, go see what the fuck goin on. If it ain't one thing it's a mothafuckin' nother." The man orders to Spriggs, mumbling the last statement to himself. Spriggs leaves the office, meeting up with a few other security. The owner presses the button under his desk that closes and locks the door. He didn't want anyone seeing where his safe sat. It's not that he didn't trust his people, some things you need to keep to yourself. A knock along with a struggle appears on his door. He presses the button under his desk again, granting access. Spriggs along with three other people enter, hauling in a woman struggling to get loose.