Moments later, the sound was deafening. The motel door swung open with a devastating crash and two masked men entered. With lightening-fast speed, BG reached for his gun and trained it on the two masked intruders, who also had guns drawn. Big guns, with silencers.
Carmen sat up on the bed, and pulled back the sheets over her breasts. BG sat up stupefied. He did not want to make any whimsical moves to anger the intruders. He thought who ever these guys were they probably just wanted money. Their actions were marked by brilliance and he desired to know who the masked men were. He gathered mettle and sat there sure the men only wanted money.
“We finally meet again.” One of the masked men said. BG instantly recognized the voice.
“Last meeting, too, my nigga,” Ben Laden said.
“This is how it’s gonna end.”
Dre removed his mask and the former partners were face-
to-face. They analyzed their dilemma, and recalled the other’s bad deeds. One of them would be quashed in that room. Maybe, both of them.
“Carmen, I suggest you get out of harm’s way,” Dre said.
BG delivered a crashing blow to Carmen’s face. He should have known that she was a snake. She reached to catch the blood leaking from her lips, as BG wrapped a bicep around her throat, choked her, and then put his gun to her temple. The adroitness of his move impressed Dre, but he remained placid. “This little bitch set me the fuck up, huh?” She scratched at his arm, and fought to catch her breath.
“Your nut ass wouldn’t be shit without me,” said Dre.
“I’m the fucking quarterback, remember? I lead. I direct. I put you on the game, faggot!”
“Now, I’m the FedEx of Cocaine.”
“I’mma kill this bitch,” BG said, squeezing harder on her throat.
“Let her go, BG, before—”
“Before what, pussy?” BG jerked and flung Carmen to the floor. He squeezed off a shot aimed at her head. Nothing happened. A click and rotation of the barrel. He tried to shoot again.
Carmen gained her breath and composure. She then reached into her toiletry bag, jumped up, and threw bullets hard into BG’s face. “I’m thinking you’re gonna need these,” she said, massaging her throat.
“Just kill me already,” BG said, looking at Dre. The words suggested dejection and gloom. “Can you fucking kill me, please?”
That was a catchy request that Dre intended to fulfill, but not at that moment. It provoked the answer, “No, how many bullets did Chino get popped with? Six, mutha fucka. You got at least double that coming.”
Ben Laden shot BG in the leg. “Startin’ with that one.”