Port-au-Prince, Haiti
When Polo Mindor was in his hometown, his presence was always known. There was always a celebration when he was in town. If Polo ran for president, he knew beyond a doubt that he would be elected. He was very compassionate when it came to his hometown. He took care of the homeless and supported educational funds so kids could have a chance to become the people they dreamed of becoming in life.
He sat in the backseat of the luxurious, all-black armored Mercedes. As he watched the kids run alongside the car, waving their hands at the man they waited to see each month, it warmed Polo’s heart. It was the same home he shared with Black, whom he prayed to catch slipping, although the gods would never allow them both to spill each other’s blood in their homeland. Sitting beside him was his lethal yet trustworthy hit man, who Black presumed to be dead: Bo-Bo.
They were home to visit Polo’s 105-year-old grand-mother, Ms. Benita. She was a reputable voodoo priestess. Ms. Benita was a powerful woman who could tell the past, present, and future with her eyes closed. She not only foretold an individual’s future, but she could also heal the sick and curse the wicked. No other priestess was known to be as powerful, for she was a mutual translator, which allowed her to mingle with the ancient gods.
She lived alone and peacefully in the dark confines of her shack in the heart of the gutta. She was protected by an army of village soldiers who adapted to the city under her spell.
“Polo, Polo! Polo!” the kids shouted outside the Mercedes.
They were running alongside his car, excited to see him again. He held an AK-47 rifle on his lap, with his finger on the trigger, the same as Bo-Bo. Although he was home in the crowded streets, he still had to be ready for warfare. Black had his men everywhere, including their hometown of Port-au-Prince.
“Slow down, give me a moment with the kids,” Polo commanded his chauffeur, who immediately slowed the car from fifteen to ten miles per hour.
Polo gingerly looked at his surroundings to check for any activity or movement that was amiss. He waited until he was between a small abandoned building and fruit stand before he decided to halt the car. “Okay, stop here!” he instructed in Creole.
As soon as the car came to a stop, Polo pressed a button to roll down his window. Bo-Bo paid close attention to their surroundings. Behind his dark shades, he could clearly see everyone.
“Polo! Polo!” the kids continued to call out his name.
He smiled at the brave, bare-chested muscular boys who were around the ages of eleven. He could remember a time when he and Black had been so elated to see a drug lord named Pete come home from the States and shower the streets of Haiti with his love.
“Polo! Polo!” the shouts of a dozen or more kids grew intensely.
Polo pulled out a phat wad of cash from his Armani slacks and began peeling off sets of $300 and passing them out to each of the boys.
“Go give that to Mama, and tell her Polo gave it to her to feed the family,” he told every boy to whom he handed money.
When they got the money, they thanked him and ran off to do exactly what Polo asked of them.
“Thank you, Polo. We love you!” the kids exclaimed, highly gratified.
A little girl around the age of eleven caught his eye. She was standing behind the rowdy boys. She had a filthy face, tattered clothing, and a dirty doll in her arms. She had a streak of tears cascading down her face. Blood instantly began to pour slowly from her nose. Polo quickly concluded that the girl was very ill.
“Come here,” he told the girl in Creole as he waved the excited boys to the side.
The little girl slowly walked toward him, badly trembling and taking baby steps.
That is when Polo saw the bump on her stomach beneath her filthy dress and then the flashing red light.
“Go! Go! Go!” Polo screamed while rolling up his window in panic.
The Mercedes tires spun and burned rubber while attempting to flee from the danger.
Boom!
The explosion erupted loudly and shook the entire city, sending a tremendous load of blood and body organs onto the car, which was still intact due to the armor.
The Mercedes was finally able to flee the gruesome sight. Where gleeful children had just stood together excited to see Polo, they were now all dead.
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” Polo cried as he pounded his fist hard on the window.
“Fuck!” Bo-Bo exclaimed, shaken from the aftermath.
“She was a little girl, man!” Polo shouted angrily.
The chauffeur continued on his way to their destination, speeding through the streets of Haiti, until he halted in front of Ms. Benita’s shack.
“We’re here, boss!” the chauffeur spoke in Creole, without looking back at his upset boss.
Polo unabashedly dried his eyes with the towel he kept around his neck to wipe off the persistent sweat from his face caused by the extremely high temperature in Haiti.
When he went to look out the window, all Polo could see was the gruesome aftermath of the explosion. The excessive splatter of blood and guts made it impossible for him clearly to see through the window to check his surroundings. Although he knew without a doubt that danger couldn’t come anywhere near Ms. Benita’s vicinity due to her village soldiers and protection spells, he was still prompted to move with precaution.
“Check it out, Haitian!” Polo ordered his chauffeur, who quickly exited the car and looked carefully for any signs of trouble.
When he saw none, he opened the bloody door with a towel and allowed Polo to step outside. He shielded Polo and escorted him inside his grandmother’s shack. He passed her men holding AK-47s, with Bo-Bo on his heels, walking backward and keeping an eye for any sight of their enemies, with his own AK-47 swinging from side to side. They were taking no chances.
* * *
“It’s time fo’ yo’ ass to get home, Joc. I ain’t playing’ with you either, nigga!” Lala shouted over the phone to Joc, who was inside Jake’s store getting his dick sucked by Keshia in the restroom.
Despite her getting her ass torn out by Lala, Keshia was still creeping with Lala’s baby daddy.
“I told you I’ll be home in a few. I’m doin’ something right now,” Joc said sluggishly as he took a swig from his bottle of Budweiser.
“Where are you, Joc?”
“I’m makin’ money,” Joc retorted while watching Keshia suck on his balls and artistically stroke his large dick.
Damn! This bitch can suck a dick! Joc thought.
“Joc, you have an hour to get here, nigga. I swear to God I’ma come lookin’ fo’ you,” Lala said sternly. “And when I find you, it won’t be nice either,” she threatened.
“Baby, I’m coming, okay!” Joc exclaimed as he hung up the phone while shooting his load down Keshia’s gullet and watching her swallow every drop. “Damn!” Joc exclaimed while holding onto the back of her head.
Keshia cleaned him up thoroughly and then tucked him back into his Boss jeans. When she came up from her knees, she looked herself over in the dingy rusty mirror. Joc admired her and lustfully wanted to pull down her black tights, bend her over the filthy sink, and fuck her hard from the back, just like he had done innumerable times in the same restroom. But he knew he couldn’t do it since she was on her period.
“Well, daddy, I guess you better get home before somebody beat yo’ ass!” Keshia said, fanning out her golden dreadlocks.
Smack!
Joc slapped Keshia’s succulent backside, unable to resist touching her enormous ass.
“Boy, we have an entire week. Don’t make it hard on yourself. Now let’s go ’cause it’s hot in this shit, and I’m burning up!” Keshia said while wiping her neck with a napkin that she had pulled from a napkin holder.
“Alright, let’s go!” Joc said as he walked out of the restroom and down the dark hallway, with Keshia on his heels.
“God damn it! I swear y’all muthafuckas done went over y’all’s time. Where is my extra fee at?” Jake asked Joc and Keshia as they walked up from the restroom.
“Shut up, Jake. We was not dat long,” Keshia said with a smirk on her face as she ran out of the front door in a hurry.
“Yeah! Dat’s why yo’ ass running,” Jake said to her as she hit the door.
“Shut up, Jake!” Keshia said again, letting the door slam behind her.
“She runnin’ ’cause she thinks Lala’s ass on her way up here.”
“Oh, is that so?” Jake said to Joc while peeling $300 off a wad for watching out for him and Keshia.
“Bet dat up, nigga. Now go! I got a game to look at,” Jake said, getting back to his NBA game on his portable television.
“Lebron’s ass goin’ home, nigga. He can’t do it by himself,” Joc said to Jake.
“What! You got Curry suckin’ yo dick too?” Jake retorted, causing Joc to erupt into laughter as he continued out the front door.
When Joc stepped outside in the chilly air, he saw his homeboy Meat Head standing out in the open by the store’s disconnected pay phone serving a friend.
Dat’s how muthafuckas catch a drug case, being muthafuckin’ careless, Joc thought as he walked toward this gray box Chevy sitting on twenty-eight-inch rims.
It was 2:00 a.m., and despite the block still being hot from Popa Zoe’s murder, shit was still running fast on the money tip. When Joc saw the black Mercury sitting at the corner, he first thought it was the police, until he saw the twenty-six-inch rims on the ride.
Damn, who is dat? Joc wanted to know, unable to make out the driver behind the tints.
The car made a slow right toward Jake’s store and crept slow, and that’s when Joc became alert. He quickly made a dash for his car to retrieve his big .357, but the moment he made it to the locked door and got the key in, shots erupted from the passenger side.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The shots hit Joc, instantly dropping him. Meat Head tried to scramble away, but he was shot in his legs, disabling him from walking or running.
B-Zoe jumped out of the Mercury passenger side with this Mossberg pump and ran up to Joc, who had taken shots to his side but was still breathing.
“Death comes like da thief in da night, nigga! Smile for da reaper!” B-Zoe said as he then pumped two slugs into Joc’s face, leaving him disfigured and lifeless.
The two fiends who were in the darkness stayed where they were and watched the entire hit go down. B-Zoe ran toward Meat Head, who was crawling yet trying to get away, but to no avail.
“Give me a name, nigga, or you die!” B-Zoe said while aiming his pump at Meat Head.
“Man, I don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout!” Meat Head exclaimed, wincing in pain from his shattered legs.
“Oh yeah? So dis how we gonna die, huh?” B-Zoe said as he pumped two slugs into the back of Meat Head’s scalp.
Boom! Boom!
B-Zoe quickly hopped back into the car and then sped off the moment he sat down.
When Jake heard the tires peel out, he ran out of the store with his .357 in hand and immediately saw Joc, slain by his car, and Meat Head slain on the sidewalk.
“Lord have mercy! Damn, Joc!” Jake cried out as he rushed back inside to call 911.
* * *
Polo sat hypnotized on a comfortable throne-looking chair at the candlelit table, with his eyes closed. He was nude and wore a necklace of bloody chicken bones while his grandmother Benita recited her ritual tongues in Creole. She was also nude and wearing bloody chicken bones around her neck and over her sagging breasts. Pierced through her large, dark nipples was a set of black beads that fell to the ground. She was an extremely dark woman who stood five three and was a hefty 230 pounds.
“Grandson, a powerful man will soon come,” she spoke in Creole as she walked around the table toward Polo.
She removed the chicken bones from around his neck and then placed a necklace of black beads and a brown pouch as a charm. Inside the pouch were the ashes of Polo’s grandfather, who was a voodoo priest as well before he died at 101 years old.
“You shall overcome your enemy and stop him in his wrath. Oh, grandson, there surely will be wrath. But don’t be afraid. You shall overcome,” Grandma Benita warned Polo of her vision.
“Who sent the girl?” Polo asked unconsciously with his eyes closed.
“Who killed the little girl? She was eleven years old. She was sent to kill you by your enemy, Polo. Black is a heartless man who’s protected by the gods as well. He failed when he sent the little diseased girl from her shack to kill you. She was a sacrifice for the gods. The men still are lingering in a shack. I see four of them alone!”
“Where, Grandma?” Polo desperately asked.
Grandma Benita smiled as she drew a bloody circle on his forehead inside a bloody hexagon. It was the blood of a cat and a sheep combined. She was casting a protection spell upon him.
“Down by the little barn,” she began in a hypnotic state, “you’ll see a shack with very drunk men. There are four of them. You will hear them speak blasphemously of a powerful man, Polo,” Grandmother Benita said.
She then snapped her finger, awaking Polo from his trance. A moment ago, she was hearing the confines of Polo’s heart before he came to her shack. He had no clue that he knew exactly where to find the assassins; however, he never would have known consciously.
* * *
Polo and Bo-Bo left Grandmother Benita’s shack and hopped in the backseat of another armored vehicle. It was a smoke-gray Hummer with dark tints, and it had a submachine gun attached to the hood.
“Take me to the little barn, Haitian,” Polo demanded his driver.
“Yes, sir,” the chauffeur responded.
When they pulled up to the section called Little Barn, he racked his AK-47 rifle and then looked over at Bo-Bo, who firmly held onto his.
“Let’s go!” Polo said as they exited the Hummer.
Bo-Bo followed suit as they quietly passed by peaceful shacks with inhabitants who appeared to be asleep.
Polo turned right onto a filthy strip of a dirt road and saw black cats scramble everywhere. They stayed on the road for a short time and then meticulously turned left. As he walked in the direction of the shack, to which he was unconsciously determined to reach, he and Bo-Bo heard gleeful laughter. Polo stopped in his tracks when he heard his name followed by another round of laughter and blasphemies in Creole.
“Come,” he told Bo-Bo as they continued until they stood in front of the shack with the tan door.
As more laughter erupted, Polo kicked down the feeble door, catching the men sitting at a wooden table off guard. Polo and Bo-Bo released a deadly fusillade at his enemies. All the men caught slipping were left bullet-riddled and lifeless.
“No man can kill Polo. Tell Black and his gods that Polo cannot die!” Polo shouted in rage as he then released an extended clip of fifty on all four of Black’s Haitians. “Zo’pound, muthafuckas!” he screamed, with an impish smirk on his face.