Ghetto Girls

The sun shone through thick, dark clouds as the morning air brought the smell of a new day. The Navigator rolled into a parking spot outside the diner where Kamilla served food only. Lil’ Long and Vulcha found an empty table in her section. She smiled at the big-tippers, then brought their usual breakfast order. They chow down angrily. Vulcha kept his eyes on Kamilla as she undulated back and forth. He blew a smoke ring.

Lil’ Long puffed on a cigarette while Vulcha sipped water, swirling the ice. He smelled Kamilla’s perfume. She deftly took his empty glass and replaced it in his waiting hand, filled. He took a swallow and gazed into her eyes.

She moved to the next table. The hit-men arose and walked out, leaving heavy tips. They left the smell of new leather and cigarette smoke in their path to the Navigator.

He glanced at his watch as the sun’s rays reflected from its surface. Both Lil’ Long and Vulcha’s thoughts wandered. Lil’ Long rolled a coolie. Vulcha snorted the white powder with a straw. Kamilla watched them from the restaurant. Don’t they have anything else to do? She wondered as she positioned the shades of the diner to block the assault of daylight.

“Let’s see if these joints can cause damage,” Lil’ Long said, screwing a silencer on the tip of his weapon.

He eased the weapon between his leather coat and sweat-shirt. They entered the building, carrying empty boxes and got on the elevator. The duo pressed the number twenty-three. Using the boxes to cover their faces, the got off the elevator and searched for the stench of the underworld. Lil’ Long caught the familiar scent of breakfast. One of Hank’s burly body guards buzzed twice at an apartment door.

They had found their quarry. Lil’ long hit the polished floor and slid between the guard’s legs, squeezing off bursts into the second bodyguard, while Vulcha shot the man carrying the food.

“It’s breakfast?” Big Hank had asked through the door. But when he heard the gunfire, he ran out the back and down the fire escape, car keys in hand. He was sure no one had seen him. He had made a getaway, but he knew the shooters would be back. Big Hank began thinking of how to repay them.

Lil’ Long and Vulcha lay on the floor and surveyed the interior of the huge apartment. Lil’ Long pointed. He rolled up behind the third guard, who was sneaking up on Vulcha. Lil’ Long took aim, and then fell.

A fist from nowhere caught him flush on the face. Vulcha whirled around, and the room erupted with the explosion of his Tech Nine. The blast picked up the third guard and threw him back against a wall. He lay slumped over, blood flowing like the spray from a park statue.

“Vulcha, yo, this bitch clocked me as I wuz about to…Chill, bitch!” Lil’ Long struggled to subdue his attacker, a woman.

“Ain’t nobody else here ‘cept for these two other bitches. That muthafucka got away, sun,” Vulcha said to Lil’ Long, who was still struggling with the woman. Vulcha slapped her with force. She fell to the bloody carpet.

“So that’s it. Da muthafucka ran like a bitch. We got to find his bitch ass,” Lil’ Long yelled. Rage stirred within him. Vulcha was silent.

“B-b-bitch where d-d-did da m-m-mutha-f-fucka g-g-go?” Lil’ Long stuttered in his towering anger. He drew his face close to hers, then held her at arm’s length, staring in wide-eyed anticipation. She struggled, in vain, then she answered.

Lil’ Long released the girl and took a couple of steps back. He raised the gun with the silencer and pointed it at the screaming girl’s face.

“D-d-don’t m-mock me, bitch,” he said and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew, ripping the flesh of her face at close range. She fell, faceless, to the soiled white carpet. The action alarmed the other girls. They began to shriek. Vulcha spun the automatic weapon on them and squeezed the trigger. The gun chopped them in two and they dropped, silenced forever.

“Take his loot, take all of it. He had to have had a stash. Muthafucka wuz being paid,” Lil’ Long said.

“Yeah, all this shit had to have cost him some change,” Vulcha agreed. He started searching. “Probably chump change for that nigga.”

“I found da ice and his stash,” Vulcha announced. He held up a briefcase. In it was stacks of hundred dollar bills.

They slipped out of the apartment and onto the elevator, then walked down a flight to the lobby and left by the service door.

“That muthafucka ran. He ran like a bitch,” Lil’ Long said. Then he emptied the bag and began to tally the consolations. After a few minutes he looked up.

“Da muthafucka wuz holding thirty Gs an’ change,” he announced. When he looked up he caught a glimpse of a slick, black Mercedes.

“Muthafucka, you can’t even deal wid this, kid. C’mon, remember a couple of weeks ago when you jacked that bitch wid da car and crashed? You a non-driving ass, who need-to-take-your-ass-to-driver’s-ed class, muthafucka.”

“That’s your job, muthafucka. Your gig, nig. You think you’re all that, so I let you play yourself, see. Don’t wanna embarrass your ass.”

“Yeah, be sitting with your heart broken. Like damn, mo’fucking Lil’ Long got mad skills. He should be at Indy and shit. Akking like you chicken head.”

They both laughed and Vulcha lit a cigarette, guiding the car through the light traffic. As they exited the highway, they spotted Kamilla alighting from a cab.

“She live up in this hood?” Lil’ Long asked. “Back this shit up, Vulcha. Let’s pay that bitch an afternoon visit.” Lil’ Long gave Vulcha a tap on his raised fist.

Kamilla hurried to her building. She was weary as she
got off the elevator and headed for her apartment. She arrived
as quickly as possible. Hank Boller, former lover, pimp and
father was waiting. He had always been there for her, she
reflected. Now he sought something more than money in return.
As Kamilla fumbled with the keys, she heard his voice inside.

“Ya just have to leave the city for awhile,” Hank heard the caller on the other end say. “These kids are ruthless and they work for really connected peoples. Take some time in Florida, try Texas. I hear Houston is getting real pretty. Stay warm cause these kids, they gonna burn out like streetlights, Hank.”

“Well, they just get replaced, like light bulbs. There’s a lot of hungry kids out there. Right now, these two are bright stars. They’ll burn out, soon enough. Take a vacation. Call me in a couple months. Bye,” the voice said with finality.

“Bye!” Hank shouted into a dead receiver. He slammed the phone down. Kamilla walked in. Lil’ Long and Vulcha busted in behind her. Hank tried to run. Lil’ Long pounced like a ravenous leopard.

“Hey, hey, you did that once. Your ass is not pulling da same shit twice. No sir. How are you?” Lil’ Long pointed the gun at Hank’s throat.

“Sit down. Please sit,” he continued. “We have a little change from your stash, an’ we know you would like to have it back for da bitch…I mean lady, of course.” He looked meaningfully at Hank, then Kamilla, and then Vulcha, who stood motionless at the door.

“Well, she’s actually for da homey wid da lovesick look standing over there.” Lil’ Long pointed to Vulcha, whose frame was blocking the door.

“Since we, me and you, got further biz to address, I suggest we do it outta sight of these love birds. Give ‘em privacy, you feel me?” Lil’ Long smiled at Vulcha and Kamilla with the same goofy look. He winked as he and Big Hank headed out the door.

Alone with Vulcha, Kamilla was uneasy and fearful. Vulcha lay back on the huge, soft bed and smiled. She’s mine, he thought. No more pimp-daddy Hank.

Lil’ Long walked slowly behind Big Hank, who kept trying to eye him as he talked about his other girls. Now Lil’ Long’s smile was genuine. They walked around the corner to Big Hank’s car. There, Lil’ Long pulled out the brown paper bag full of money.

“Ya know, I never did get my guns back from you and them big-time muthafuckas you wuz wid. That shit pissed me da fuck off.”

“Listen, if it’s da money, then here, take the bag. I think that’ll get you some more guns. Many more...”

Big Hank felt better when Lil’ Long reached over and opened the door. Lil’ Long began speaking to himself.

He then fired twice into Big Hank’s sweating face. His head exploded with the hiss of the gun, the silencer muffling the noise. Hank’s cranium was splattered all over the window and the dashboard. Lil’ Long retrieved the moneybag. Then he lit some matchbooks and tossed them into the back seat. He ripped Big Hank’s shirt, avoiding the blood on it as much as possible, and walked to the rear of the car. He stuffed the shirt into the muffler. He lit the shirt and walked away, the brown bag swaying gently in his hands.

The car exploded as he rounded the corner. He hailed a cab and showed a twenty-dollar bill as he got in. The cab driver took the money and instructions from Lil’ Long. Then, Lil’ Long closed his eyes, and with a sense of accomplishment, leaned back.