6

Meyer’s condition was dire. He looked nothing like the notorious killer that he was known to be. He looked like a dying man. Getting through the first twenty-four hours was an uphill battle, and every passing hour looked bleaker. His body was struggling to breathe, so he was hooked up to a respirator. The trauma team had to keep suctioning blood that repeatedly accumulated in his mouth. All sorts of wires for monitors and IV tubes meandered out from his motionless body.

His fragile appearance brought tears to Lucky’s eyes. This was a man who walked through the city like he was Superman. Now he looked like he had fought Superman and lost.

Bugsy sat in the chair next to his twin brother’s comatose body in the ICU unit. He took his brother’s hand into his and said, “Don’t you die on us, muthafucka. You’re too stubborn for that. This is only a setback, you hear me, bro? This shit is temporary. You gonna pull through and we gonna be all right.”

Bugsy held back the tears. There was no time for that. His brother was going to fight. They had a business to run and a city to control.

Lucky decided to change the mood of the room. She wiped her tears and asked, “You know you gotta switch shit up now that Pops is down. Move the coke, relocate the trap—”

Bugsy kicked the shit out of her.

“Owwwwww!” she complained.

Bugsy placed his finger over his lips and gave his sister a stern look. She should know better. He took out his cell phone and turned on his iTunes catalog on shuffle. Kendrick Lamar’s “Loyalty” came blaring through. He then leaned in close and whispered, “You know those people could be listening. This whole room could be bugged.”

Lucky was feeling some kind of way about the kick. “You’re being extra right now. They can’t just bug rooms without a court order.”

Bugsy was irked that she would even try to justify her stupidity. “Assume that all this shit is tapped, bugged, cloned, with or without an order. Don’t talk business freely in your truck, your apartment, the elevator, nowhere. Stop thinking they play fair, because they don’t. At the end of the day, those feds are regular people—corruptible. Always remember how they got Gotti when he switched from holding meetings at the Ravenite Social Club to outdoor walk-talks.”

“Yeah, those fuckers brought in someone who read lips.”

Bugsy nodded confirmation that his dim-witted sister had gotten his message. He took her cell phone and typed a note and then erased it: i am not going to jail.

Lucky spoke, “Me neither.”

“Don’t sleep then. Stay woke and we should be fine. If they had anything on us, we would be knocked already. We’re good as long as we don’t get sloppy.”

A knock on the door halted their pep talk. The room door slowly opened, and Choppa peeked his head into the room. The sight of Meyer was heartbreaking, but he had business with Bugsy. He looked at Bugsy and spoke with his eyes that there was information that he needed to hear. Bugsy stood up and approached his lieutenant.

“What do you have for me?” asked Bugsy.

“I found her. Layla is in federal custody in the city. They raided her home too—last night. They took her down fighting and screaming.”

“What?” Lucky had overhead him. She was shocked to hear the news.

“It’s fucked up. I don’t know her charges, but she asking for her lawyer.”

Bugsy took the news straight-faced, but inside his head was swimming with, What the fuck is going on? What is happening? Who’s next?

Lucky was spent. She didn’t want anyone to go to jail—but and however, if anyone had to go then she strongly felt it should be Scott. He had a long run and she wasn’t fucking with him anyway. But, Layla? Lucky watched as her father flaunted two mistresses in her face and her mother still held her head up high. Layla was doing big things, holding court with the most thorough gangstas on the east coast. Her mother had just started to come into her own. Layla’s reign on top was short lived and Lucky felt terrible. She needed to do something!

“It’s gotta be a fuckin’ snitch,” Lucky said.

Choppa nodded. “She might be right, Bugsy.”

Bugsy sighed heavily. “I need to think.”

“What else you need me to do?” Choppa asked.

Bugsy pulled Choppa out of the room and whispered in a barely audible tone, “I want you to go out into the streets and let everyone know we’re not done—far from it—and you let our strength be heard and shown. The news of my parents and Meyer is going to spread, and muthafuckas are going to think this is their chance to start snarling at us and showing their bite. They try to buck at us, we buck back harder. You understand me, Choppa?”

Choppa nodded. “I’m wit’ you a hundred percent, Bugsy. I’m ready to fuck up anyone that disrespects this organization.”

Choppa’s eyes showed loyalty for the family and he was ready to set the streets on fire for the Wests.

“When you move, move like you’re being shadowed. Make those triple right turns and keep your eyes peeled on your rear– and side-view mirrors. When you speak, talk like those people are listening. If a nigga starts talking reckless over the phone, hang up and report back to me what was said. We got a snitch among us, and it’s up to me to smoke him out. And kill him.”

“Yo, I gotchu. We not going down without a fight.”

Bugsy corrected, “We not going down, period.”

Choppa left to execute the orders given to him.

Bugsy walked back inside the room and narrowed his eyes on Meyer, knowing that their empire was crumbling. Still, they had to maintain the façade of strength and power when so many pieces had fallen. Their enemies would come after them. Now would be the perfect time. Meyer was out of commission, and Scott and Layla had been indicted. Bugsy had to think four steps ahead of their rivals. He was the last man standing.

***

Choppa climbed into the passenger seat of the Durango and lit a cigarette. The driver, Pluto, handed him his pistol, and he stuffed it into his waistband. There were so many agents loitering around the hospital, watching everyone and taking notes, the hospital started to feel like a federal building. Everyone had to watch what they said and did. Scott’s arrest was making headlines, and a goon like Choppa didn’t want to be caught up in the shit storm for carrying his gun inside.

He inhaled and exhaled the nicotine smoke and said to Pluto and others in the backseat, “Bugsy wants us to make a strong statement on the streets—let everyone know we ain’t fuckin’ crumbling. So whoever trying to come against us, we do what we do best.”

Pluto said, “I know a muthafucka right now that’s trying to jump ship and make his own moves.”

“Oh really? Who is this nigga?” Choppa said.

“Spank. Word on the streets is he copped a Dominican connect and he proclaiming to be the next boss. He’s undermining the organization and talkin’ that shit.”

“Spank. Sounds familiar, but I can’t place him,” Choppa said.

“Yeah, he used to run wit’ Meyer’s crew a year back. He broke off, left town for a minute, and came back like he a god in these streets. And wit’ so much goin’ on, niggas been overlooking this muthafucka. But he on the come-up and he talkin’ that petty shit ’bout your twins. It ain’t nuthin’ nice, my nigga.”

Choppa had heard enough. He vaguely remembered the man. But he was ready to carry out his first message for Bugsy.

“Let’s go handle this nigga. Bugsy wants to send a message, we send a message that this organization is still alive and dangerous, and those niggas that wanna run out or go against us, we cut their fuckin’ legs off,” Choppa said gruffly.

***

The next day, Choppa eyed Spank’s black Jaguar XJ parked in front of the barbershop on the Brooklyn Street from a block away. After doing some research, Choppa found out that Spank was moving five to ten kilos a month and encroaching on territory that didn’t belong to him.

It was late in the evening and the sun was setting, the streets were chilly, and a cold wind thrashed up the street and blew straight through the pedestrians walking, almost turning them into walking blocks of ice. The men in the SUV were swathed in their warm winter attire, pistols in hands, and assault rifles fully loaded. They donned ski masks to cloak their identities.

Four men sat in the Durango including Choppa, each armed and dangerous, hotheaded and itching to break bones. Spank was their primary target, and at six-one, high yellow with long cornrows, and wrapped in a long, brown leather shearling jacket, he wasn’t hard to miss. The man had a narrow face, broad shoulders, and intense eyes, and he moved with a tiger’s stride on the block. He commanded his respect and he wasn’t shy to violence. He had his cell phone to his ear conducting business, and he was flanked by one of his soldiers.

“That muthafucka right there thinks he’s Nino Brown of Brooklyn,” said Pluto.

“Nino Brown, huh?” Choppa chuckled. “Fuck it, we on this nigga right now. Let’s go fuck this nigga’s world up.”

Pluto put the Durango in drive and slowly crept toward their mark. The barbershop was on a one-way street, nestled in the middle of the block, and traffic was at a minimum.

Everyone in the Durango was ready to create a crime scene. They wanted Spank to go down in flames for the streets to see. They wanted it to be ugly and look ugly.

Pluto and Choppa fixed their eyes on Spank. Now he was leaned against the side of his Jaguar still on the phone and looking like the man of the hour while his soldier’s head was on a swivel. The stinging cold day was a benefit for the invading killers—fewer people outside meant fewer witnesses to the bloodshed, and the usual beat cops were nowhere around.

“Drive by real slow,” Choppa ordered.

Pluto nodded and moved the Durango at a steady pace to avoid attention. Spank’s goon remained alert. He was wrapped in a black double goose leather coat with the fur trimmed hood. His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were squinted for any trouble creeping. There was no telling what he was carrying, but he would be outgunned quickly. Choppa was going to make sure of that.

This was Choppa’s world—murder and violence was his forte. It’s what he woke up in the morning to be, and that was a cold blooded killer. He and his crew racked up homicides in every borough. But the recent death of his partner, AJ, sent Choppa into a deeper and darker spiral of chaos and not giving a fuck.

A few feet away from the target, and Choppa was ready to spring from the vehicle and attack—so were his armed thugs in the backseat. Choppa’s gloved hand was wrapped around a Glock19 loaded with hollow-point bullets. His eyes were fixed on Spank and his goon. Every split second counted. They had to quickly get the drop on them before Spank’s goon could pull out his pistol and shoot.

“Fuck it!” Choppa uttered.

Nearly a few feet away, Choppa thrust open the door and sprung from the vehicle with his gun in hand. His bloodthirsty cohorts followed, gripping an Uzi and a 9mm. Spank had his back turned to them, but his soldier immediately saw them coming. He frantically reached under his coat for his gun—but seconds mattered and Choppa had the drop on them.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Five rapid shots went into the soldier, pushing him back and violently spinning him around before he collapsed against the concrete. It was Choppa’s kill. Spank swiftly dropped his cell phone, ducked, and ran for cover behind a parked car. The man with the Uzi opened fire wildly but missed. Bullets tore into several vehicles and shattered car windows, the heated gunfire echoing through the streets.

Spank was in a full-blown panic. His man was dead. He searched for his pistol, but it wasn’t on him. He was fucked.

It didn’t take long for Choppa and the others to find him cowering and hiding between the cars. His eyes were wide with fear. He rose his hands up in a desperate plea for his life and stared at death. “C’mon, man, don’t do this! Don’t do this, please!”

Choppa simply smirked at him and coldly replied, “Fuck you, nigga!”

Choppa and his gunners opened fire, and Spank’s body was riddled with bullets from head to toe. His disfigured body twisted on the street as his blood pooled on the crimson stained asphalt. Folks in the barbershop were left aghast after witnessing the cold-blooded killing of two men. Spank was known, but now he was dead. They saw three masked gunmen flee the area and climb into a Durango. Everything happened so fast.

The Durango took off, and a block away, Choppa and men finally removed their masks and rejoiced in the killings. Message sent. The West organization was still strong on the streets. It was about to get ugly for a lot of people.