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The next day
The sky was sunny, yet partially cloudy while rain fell in a light mist. The wind howled and whipped wildly, disturbing the collar of his button-down and the tails of his blazer. His eyes were bloodshot and rimming with tears that threatened to spill over and down his bronze cheeks. He thought he’d be able to hold himself together, but here he was falling apart. He’d been asked a hundred times by as many people if he was okay, and he held up a convincing front. But now his tears were threatening to betray him. At that moment he was glad he’d worn his black sunglasses, they were the only thing concealing his heartache from the others.
Tiaz and Bianca stood side by side, his fingers interlocked with hers. She sobbed and tears cascaded down her face. When they rolled over her mouth, she sucked her lips inward and tasted their saltiness. It was hard for her to believe she was seeing the love of her life for the last time. She just knew that they were going to live happily ever after like some hood fairy tale, but this was real life. This wasn’t some urban fiction novel. This was reality and real shit happened in it.
While Threat was alive he had made her his power of attorney which gave her the power to handle his funeral arrangements. Neither her or Tiaz had to come out of their pockets, because he’d stashed the money for his passing in a safe place. And the only one who knew its location was Bianca.
“Damn, boo,” Bianca whispered, swiping the tears from her cheeks with her thumb. “You said you’d never leave me, but you did. Far too soon.”
Bianca and Tiaz watched as her lover and his best friend was lowered into the earth, into the hole in the ground that was to be Threat’s final resting place. The further the coffin entered the ground, the bigger the hurt in their hearts expanded.
“I’ma get that nigga for you, Crim, I promise.” He balled his hand into a fist and squared his jaws, etching out the bone structure in his face. He was hot, heated, on one and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he claimed Don Juan’s life.
Bianca took her hand from Tiaz’ and took the time to open an umbrella. She was in a charcoal gray turtle-neck, which she wore under a Pea coat and an apple-jack the same color. Her long thick hair flowed from underneath the hat over her shoulders and down her back.
The Latina glanced at the thug, getting a profile of him, seeing a wet streak down his cheek. He was crying and that streak was the evidence. She frowned as she looked to him. Gripping his shoulder, she asked, “How are you holding up?”
“I’ma soldier, ma,” he replied in a flat-tone. Standing there plain-faced with his fists clenched tight, made him look like a statue chiseled out of stone he was so rigid. He may have seemed to be remaining strong to the people in attendance at the funeral, but Bianca could feel his pain. They shared it. She could see that he was in turmoil and she wanted to do nothing more than comfort him, like a mother would her child, and tell him that she loved him and that everything would be okay. But she knew that Tiaz was the type that liked to be left alone during trying times. He didn’t need anyone to hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. With his personality, it was best for him to be left to himself to deal with the tragedy.
Tiaz surveyed his surroundings and was impressed by how many people came out to pay their respects to Threat. All of the homies and even some of the enemies came out to show some love to the fallen street veteran. Raemar, Threat’s father, stood across the way from him in a Brooks Brothers suit. His wrists, waist, and ankles were all shackled. Red-faced white men sporting caps and windbreakers with Police scrolled across them, stood on each side of him. Their eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses and they were clutching shotguns in their palms. The tallest of the pair chewed gum. Their heads were on swivel during the entire ceremony, watching their surroundings.
Raemar was the head of The Empire, a drug cartel that had the game on smash back in the mid 80s to early 90s. His operati on was said to have grossed him an astounding thirty million dollars. The small envelopes labeled Frenzy had hoods in pandemonium, hence the drug’s name. Its potency had fiends falling the fuck out and brought new customers damn near every day. Raemar made enough paper to live like that nigga Sosa in the Scarface movie. With money came power and with power came influence. He had boss status and long dough. That brought women, lots of women. The kingpin had thirteen children by almost as many women. Threat was one of them. The little nigga hardly ever saw his dad. His grandmother took care of him. So, it was needless to say once a snitch brought Rae’s kingdom down and he was hit with that life sentence, Threat didn’t lose a wink of sleep. He didn’t give a fuck. He turned his back on his old man, like his old man turned his back on him. Karma was a bitch! The old head couldn’t blame him. His abandonment didn’t stop him from sending him a letter every week trying to make amends though.
Although Tiaz’ eyes were behind black sunglasses, the old head was staring directly into them. Raemar was expressionless, but his eyes were telling his son’s best friend everything he was thinking. He hated himself for not being there for his baby boy like he should have been when he was growing up, because if he had it was a good chance that he wouldn’t be attending his funeral right now. Oh, if he could only turn back the hands of time, but he couldn’t. It was out of his hands. He had no choice but to sit back and watch things play out how the Lord had designed it. Fate.
Raemar cracked a barely visible smirk at Tiaz and gave him a slight nod. He returned the gesture. He and Threat’s old man were always alright. He remembered when he and his friends use to send them to the corner store for cigarettes and beer. When they’d returned, he would always tip them twenty dollars each. He recalled how he and Threat use to take everyone’s order on a little notepad when they shot dice or had card games. This brought a smile to his face, but it was quickly erased when he peeped a couple of cats he knew about to bust a move. His eyes widened and he looked alive.
What the fuck? These dishonorable ass niggaz, got the audacity to come at me at my homie’s shit.
“Noooooooo!” Tiaz shrilled, outstretching his hand.
Yuckkk!
Yuckkk!
The first officer’s sunglasses went at a funny angle on his face when a cat wearing a bandana over the lower half of his face, swiped a knife across his jugular.
“Gaaah!” The guard’s face twisted in agony as he slumped down to the ground. His partner was right behind him grimacing, as his neck was sliced open spilling a river of blood.
“Aaarrrhhh!” The other officer was shoved aside by a second man wearing a bandana over the lower half of his face. He stared down at the guard as his life’s blood drained from him, wiping his blade on the sleeve of his suit.
Tiaz drew his Beretta from the small of his back just as one of the men wrapped his arm around Threat’s father’s neck and pulled him backwards. He plunged his knife in and out of his kidneys, grunting with each stick that punctured his victim’s lower back. Raemar’s eyes went big and his mouth stayed stuck wide open, blood smearing his lips as he struggled to escape the hold. His eyes shot to his left and the other man stuck him rapidly, bloodying his button down shirt. His eyes squeezed shut and his lips trembled.
Boc! Boc!
The first bullet struck the man in his shoulder, while the other pierced his temple. He fell over onto the grass, arms and legs flopping about. Tiaz swept his head bussa around to the last man that had Raemar in his clutches. All he could see were his evil eyes which bled malice. He held the OG up using him as a human shield. The ex-kingpin was as limp as a cooked Ramen noodle in his arm. That’s because his ass was dead.
“Back up! Back up, or I swear ‘fore God, I’ma kill this mothafucka!”
Tiaz’ eyes zeroed in on Raemar’s face, he was deceased. This infuriated him. He gripped his weapon with both hands. Closed an eye and squeezed the trigger with rapid succession, causing it to jerk stubbornly in his hands.
Boc! Boc!
The first shot blew a hole clean through the man’s right eye, exiting out the back of his skull with a mist of blood. The second shot made a hole the size of a nickel upon entering his forehead. He was cock-eyed when he hit the ground.
Tiaz’ took in his surroundings; people were darting back and forth across his line of vision. Men, women and even children were screaming and crying trying to get the fuck out of the way, afraid of getting their lives snatched by a stray bullet.
“Get the fuck back!” Bianca’s yelling snapped his head around and he found her with twin Pythons pointed at a wall of niggaz wearing menacing expressions. Some had guns, some had knives, while others only had their bare fists. Either way, they were vying for a piece of the thug’s ass.
“KJ, L-Bone,” Tiaz barked a couple of his homies names. “Fuck this about? What the homies tryna get at me for, crimey?”
“Hunnit racks, homeboy!” KJ responded, mad dogging him.
“Don Juan put up dat paypa, and niggaz want it!”
“Oh, so it’s like that?” His face twisted as he looked around at all of the hard faces. He couldn’t believe the goons. He’d looked out for most of them on more than one occasion and this was how they chose to repay him.
“Nigga threw us a bone and we gotta eat!”
“Fuck y’all, all of y’all, ya disloyal mothafuckaz!” He jabbed his banger at the air.
A deep voice roared from his right. He turned his head just in time to see a big grey blur, before he was tackled and pain exploded in his side. He and the person that rushed him fell six feet and landed hard on top of the casket that held Threat. Thud! Tiaz grimaced so hard his eyes turned into slits and his face crinkled. When he peeled his eyelids open he saw a big, bald-headed nigga he knew by the name of Congo. He got his moniker on the account of him looking like and being built like a gorilla.
“You killed the homie Don Juan’s wife, cock sucka!” His beady red eyes bore into the thug’s as saliva threatened to drip from his thick bottom lip. He squeezed Tiaz by the throat with one hand and reached for his cowboy boot with the other. A sheathed knife was there. He yanked it out. Snikt! Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The rain fell harder, pelting Congo’s shiny Q-ball head and Tiaz’ face. The flickering light from the lightning danced across Congo’s face making him look like he’d gone mad.
“Yeeaahh, I’m gon’ split chu open like a key of coke, and get dat money!” His head slightly trembled as he brought the tip of the knife toward Tiaz. He gritted his teeth and clamped his hands around the big man’s wrist, struggling to keep the knife at bay as the rain hit his face and eyelashes.
“Uhhhh!”
The tip of the knife got deathly close, so close that he had to turn his head. He clenched his jaws and his eyes doubled, afraid that the blade would pierce his cheek. His eyes darted toward Threat’s coffin which was beneath him and visions of himself lying inside of it flashed inside of his head like lightning.
“Diiiiiee!” Congo grunted, smacking his free hand down upon the butt of the knife and adding pressure. The sharp tip of the knife was at his cheek now.
“Fuck you!” Tiaz slammed his knee into the brute’s balls, causing his eyes to bulge and excruciation to shoot through his family jewels. The pressure on the knife vanished and the thug made his move. He snatched the sharpened instrument of death from his enemy’s hand and kicked him in the chest. The impact from the blow threw him up against the wall of dirt inside of the six foot plot. He went to grab for his balls and he was rushed. Tiaz tackled him and slammed the knife into the side of his neck causing blood to go spurting out. Congo gasped and his eyes rolled around in his head. He pulled the blade out of his neck and looked at it, it was stained crimson. He was pissed now. He tossed the knife aside and went to rush his attacker. He got within two feet of him before he went crashing to the dirt. Dead!
“Back up, y’all back the fuck up!” Tiaz heard Bianca barking orders. He looked up and she was standing with her back to the six foot hole. Both of her hands were outstretched and gripping her twin revolvers, moving them around to keep the opposition where they were. Tiaz hurriedly climbed up the dirt wall and over onto the surface. He got up on his feet, brushing his palms off on his knees and looking about. It looked like there were a hundred angry faces with their eyes on them. Them niggaz looked like they wanted to put a bullet, knife, or a fist through he and Bianca.
The roughneck snatched up the Beretta he’d dropped when he was tackled and placed his back up against Bianca’s. He motioned his head bussa around making sure not a nigga jumped at him. If they did, he was going to send one through his forehead. Straight up splatter their shit.
“Man, fuck this...” One of the hard faces leaped toward Bianca and she sent one through his chest, dropping his bitch ass.
“Next one of y’all move gon’ find out if there’s a heaven for a gangsta!” Bianca shouted, waving her twins around ready to give any nigga stupid enough the business if he decided to test her G.
“I’ma get the car, can you hold it down?”
She kept her eyes on the crowd and said into his ear, “I got chu faded, T.”
Tiaz returned in the car. He swung over by Bianca and threw open the front passenger side door, she slowly backed up, keeping her eyes and her pistols on them fuck niggaz before her. She sat one of her toys on her lap and used her free hand to close the door shut while keeping her other burner on the threat.
“Go! Go! Go!” she told Tiaz.
He floored the gas pedal and the car ripped down the grassy hill with a surge of angry ass niggaz pouring behind them. Them fools threw knifes, shoes, hats and even took shots at them. Tiaz and Bianca slumped down in the front seats and bullets that sounded like heavy raindrops pelted their vehicle. Embers tatted up the trunk, shattered the back window and even blew off the side view mirror. Tiaz made sure to keep his chin tucked to his chest as he tried his best to steer blindly. He whipped his ride out onto the paved road of the cemetery and kept the pedal to the metal, gunning it up out that bitch. Once he felt like the coast was clear he eased up in the driver seat and stole a glance through the rearview mirror, adjusting it. Those wild ass niggaz were still chasing after them, but after a while they slowed to a trot and eventually stopped.
“We good?” Bianca asked from where she was slumped low in the front passenger seat.
“Yeah, we A1.” He sighed, heavily out of breath. His face then morphed with fury as he stared ahead. “I’m about to bring it to this nigga. You hear me?” He glanced at her and she nodded. “We turning the heat up on bitch-boy. If he thought he felt it before, he ain’t went through shit yet.”
“I’m witchu.” She scowled and nodded.
That same night
Duvall was posted up on the side of the 24 hour liquor store. He could barely be seen within the confines of the shadows and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was hustling so being virtually invisible to the police was quite alright with him. The night was winding down and he wanted to snatch as many dollars as he could before he took it in. His girl had some warm pussy and a hot meal waiting for him when he got home and he couldn’t wait to have his way with either of them. Duvall spat on the curb and took his 40 ounces of Olde English to the head. He brought the bottle down from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
A crackhead wearing a jean jacket two sizes too small and tattered Reebok Classics approached him with a handful of wrinkled dollar bills. Duvall quickly served the crackhead and sent him on his way. He went to stuff the wrinkled bills into his pocket and made someone at his left. Duvall frowned and clenched his jaws, thinking it was a junkie that owed him some paper. His facial expression and body language projected the hostility he felt for the advancing man and he didn’t bother to conceal it. He had it in his mind to pull out his joint and leave his noodles on the curb for the shit he’d pulled the last time he’d seen him. About two weeks ago, the approaching man had copped a couple of twenties off of him with counterfeit money.
“I know that ain’t Ravone,” Duvall said in a way that said Nigga, you know better than to be showing your face around here. “If it is, my nigga, you better have some money or some bullets for me, ‘cause yo’ black ass ain’t leaving off this block in one piece unless I got some paper in my hand or some slugs in my dome.” He looked him up and down with disgust.
“Relax, homeboy, I came to drop that on you and shop with chu.” He produced a healthy knot from his pocket and peeled off a few bills, making sure to keep his head out of the light.
Duvall snatched the bills from him and tried to get a good look at his face. It was too dark to ID him, so he said fuck it and shrugged his shoulders.
“This shit better be authentic, nigga.” He held the bills up into the dim street light and examined them. Seeing that the money was official caused a smile to stretch across his face. He licked his big chapped lips, and when he brought the money down, he gasped. His eyes were wide open and so was his mouth. He was staring face to face with a Beretta. Before he could utter a response the trigger was being pulled.
Boc!
His head bobbled about and the light left his eyes. Smoke rose from his forehead where the bullet was embedded as he slithered down to the ground. The few people that were standing around on opposite corners took off scrambling and running, like marbles from a punctured bag. Tiaz tucked the warm gun on his waistline and relieved his kill of his money, drugs, and cell phone. He took a couple of pictures of his dead body and sent them to Don Juan. He then tossed the cellular device aside.
Urrrrrrrk!
The G-ride came to a halt alongside the curb. Bianca leaned over the front passenger seat and threw the door open. Tiaz ran and hopped inside, closing the door shut behind him. He pulled the money and drugs out of his pocket, dropping it all on his lap.
“Bend this corner right here.” He motioned with his finger, pointing the street out through the windshield. When she bent the corner, the creatures of the night were shuffling about looking to secure their next fix, looking like the zombies in The Walking Dead. Tiaz pulled himself out of the window and sat on the sill. As the G-ride blew past the unsuspecting crack heads, he threw out all of the money and crack he’d stolen. They sent the streets into pandemonium. Fiends were running about screaming, hollering, and fighting one another trying to get their hands on the dollars and crack.
Duvall wasn’t the last to fall at the twosomes’ hands. That night a few more followed. Tiaz kicked in the door at the last trap and slaughtered the men there with a machete, while Bianca held them at gunpoint. He left them all dismembered and used their blood to leave his nemesis a message: I’ma raise hell ‘til I see a grave or a cell. This ain’t over, you bitch ass nigga. I’m just getting started.
Chapter Eight
The Next Day
Guru sat inside of Wing Stop hunched over a box of chicken wings and fries. He sunk his teeth into the wing of the fried bird and pulled back, tearing the meat from its bone like a lion. Guru sucked the crumbs off of his fingers before taking another bite and wiping his hands on a napkin. Once he’d wiped his hands off, he snatched up a couple more fresh napkins and wiped off the greasy lower half of his face. When he was done he balled up the napkin and set it aside before picking up his fountain drink and taking a sip of Coca-Cola.
Although any other day he would have been caught rocking a tailor-made suit and some leather Mauri shoes, that day he opted to wear something a little more comfortable. On top of his dome and cocked to the side was a navy blue Red Sox snapback with a pair of red socks on the front. His skinny form filled out a matching long sleeve, navy blue T-shirt. He didn’t have on any jewelry, save for the gold and diamond ring on his pinky finger. It twinkled under the lights of the establishment and was worthy of the boss of an organized crime family.
“Y’all niggaz don’t won’t nothing to eat, man?” Guru asked Shank and Tink, after stretching and yawning. They shook their heads no. The young wolves went wherever the OG went and were his own personal security. Though they didn’t speak much, violence was their strong point. They had enough bodies between them to open up their own cemetery. “Suit yourself, you missing out though, this chicken good than a mothafucka.” He was about to tend back to his box of wings when he saw Tiaz pull into the parking lot and hop out of his whip.
As soon as Tiaz crossed the threshold into the establishment, Shank and Tink moved in on him. It wasn’t until Guru gave the okay that they parted and allowed him to enter their boss’ personal space. He motioned to the empty chair across from him at his table. Taking his cue, Tiaz pulled out the chair and planted himself in the seat.
“You want a chicken dinner?” Guru looked up from his chicken box.
“I’m not hungry. I do need to holla at chu though.”
“What’s on yo’ mind?”
“I got into some shit and I’m gon’ need some heat.”
“Speak on it.”
Tiaz looked to Shank and Tink.
Guru picked up on him not wanting to speak in their presence. “Yo, Shank, Tink, y’all take the employees and chill out front for a minute. Me and my homeboy need to chop up some game.” The bodyguards retrieved the employees from out of the kitchen and made their way outside. The employees went their separate ways while the muscle posted up just outside the doors of the establishment.
Guru wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin. He balled up the napkin and tossed it aside, then folded his large arms across his chest. “What’s on your mind?”
Although there was no one inside of the establishment besides Tiaz and Guru, he still took the time to look around and make sure no one was listening to what he was about to say. Seeing that the coast was clear, he leaned closer to Guru. “You know my man, Threat, took a bad one, right?”
Guru frowned and leaned forward. “Threat’s locked up again? Shit, I know they threw the book at his lil’ wild ass, that boy there just like a pit bull.”
“Nah.” Tiaz shook his head. “They took my man out.”
The OG made his hand into the shape of a gun and he nodded his confirmation. This let him know that their mutual friend had been murdered. Shocked, he looked away and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. We’re losing more and more homies every year.” He locked eyes with the roughneck. “Who laid the homie down?”
“Nuh uh, he’s mine.”
“I feel you, youngsta. I know how close you two were.”
“Right.” He nodded. “That was my mothafucking brotha. So I’ma represent and get down for him, but I’ma need some heavy artillery if I’m gon’ get some get back, you feel me?”
Tiaz wasn’t a dummy. He knew that if he told his big homie that Don Juan was the nigga that he planned on bringing it to, that he wouldn’t put him into contact with the cat he needed to see for the firepower, so he made sure that he was discrete. Niggaz in the hood loved Don like they loved hood rat pussy. He was a ghetto celebrity in his own right.
On more than one occasion he brought the neighborhood kids school clothes and shoes, paid mothafuckaz gas and electric bills, and blessed niggaz with work on consignment. He played the game like a politician making sure he was in favor of the people, so even the homies that fucked with Tiaz tough, would more than likely turn their backs on him if they knew he had an issue with him. He couldn’t blame them though. How could they bite the hand that fed them? When it came to making a decision on whose side they were on, it was going to be a no brainer on who they’d pick. Tiaz understood this and he couldn’t do anything but respect the game.
“Alright, well, if you tryna get cho hands on some Commando, Rambo type of shit I could plug you with my man Remo. He’s got some shit, some really nice shit.”
“Cool.” Tiaz rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to feast his eyes of the toys Guru’s people would have.
“Let me hit ‘em up.” He stuck a toothpick into his mouth and took the cellular from off his hip. He found the number he was searching for and pressed dial. “Yoooooo, Darlene, how are you doing, sweets? Good, good, good. Listen, is Remo in? What?” His face tightened at the center and he looked up at Tiaz who frowned. “Okay. You be sure to tell ‘em to let me know if he needs anything. Alright now, take care.”
“What’s up, G?” Tiaz questioned, concerned.
Guru blew hard, saying, “My man got picked up by the feds last night.”
“Sheeiiiitt.” He slammed his fist down on the table, startling Guru’s chicken box.
The OG lowered his head and stared down at the table as he massaged his gray stubbled chin, thinking. Suddenly, his head shot up and he snapped his fingers like eureka. “I know where you can get chu some tools from. Mothafucka right in our backyard, I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before.”
“Who?” Tiaz asked anxiously, sitting up in his seat.
“Gatz.”
“Gatz? Last time I remember he was slinging them piece of shit 9s.”
“Nah, he’s got his weight up since you been gon.’ From what I hear he’s hooked up with some Arabian mothafuckaz. He gets shipments on some pretty nice stuff too, or so I’ve been told.” He picked up his fountain drink and took a sip. “I could hit ‘em up, but you and Gatz are good money, right? Y’all square?”
“Aw, hell yeah, me and the homie always been straight.”
Tiaz rose from the table at the same time that Guru did. He stepped around the table and embraced him with a gangsta hug, patting him on the back.
“Good looking out, G.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, arm over his shoulders. “Look here, you don’t hesitate to shout me a holla if you need some back up for this cock sucka’s program you ‘bout to get with.”
“Fa sho.’”
“Alright then.” He patted him on his back and watched him take his leave. He then motioned Shank and Tink back inside before getting back to the business of devouring his chicken dinner.
***
If Wicked was going to track down Don Juan then he was going to need some information on him. The only person he knew that could help him was this BBW he used to knock down back in high school by the name of Diana. Diana was a fairly attractive, brown-skinned chick with eyes the color of almonds and a short haircut. She’d been in love with Wicked’s crazy ass since middle school. He was her first love and she was his first nut. She fell in love while he fell in lust. But how couldn’t he? She had a sex game like a porn star and an ass he could hitch a trailer on.
Wicked circled the block of the Hope Street Department of Motor vehicles four times looking for a parking space. Figuring he’d have better luck laying low inside of the parking lot and waiting for someone to leave, he drove back and did just that. It was taking a while so he sparked up the pinch of blunt he had left in the ashtray. As he sucked on the end of it, smoke manifested, filling the interior of the car with a foul stench. He cracked a window to let a little cool air inside. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes seeing an old Chevy pickup backing out of its parking stall. A crooked grin formed on his lips and he flicked the piece of the blunt out of the window, sending embers flying. He cranked up the engine and was about to swoop into the stall once the pickup was gone. He got about five feet away when an Infinity truck with blaring speakers slid right inside and murdered its engine.
“No the fuck this nigga didn’t.” Wicked couldn’t believe he’d gotten jacked for his stall. He squared his jaws as lines formed across his forehead, hopped out of his ride and approached the driver just as he was getting out of the SUV. He was a tall light-skinned nigga rocking an LA snapback and light jewels.
“Say, homeboy, you didn’t see me waiting to get this spot?” Wicked dripped with attitude, just waiting for old boy to pop off at the mouth.
“Yeah and?” He looked him up and down like ‘Nigga what the fuck you gone do?’
Wicked took a deep breath and thumbed his nose, thinking clearly, this dude doesn’t know who I am. He lifted his shirt and revealed that thang-thang on his waistline. The sight of that steel made the bitch bleed up out of homeboy, his eyes got big and his mouth trembled. He kept his eyes on the weapon as he raised his hands, swallowing the nervousness in his throat, knowing a parking spot wasn’t worth his life. There was something about the look in Wicked’s eyes that let him know he’d have no problem taking it there.
“Say, say, say, bro, I...”
“Get cho punk ass in the car and get up outta here!”
Smack!
His ashy palm went upside his head. He ducked back inside of his truck and backed out. Wicked watched the backlights of his SUV as it pulled out of the parking lot, smiling victoriously.
That encountered reminded him that he was truly one of the hardest niggaz walking the earth. See, he needed that. He felt like a bitch ever since he’d taken an order from Roots.
“Humph.” He returned to his ride and pulled into the stall. Snatching his key out of the ignition, he stuffed them into his pocket and headed for the entrance of the DMV. When he crossed the threshold he couldn’t help but notice that the place was packed out. This wasn’t anything new. The Department of Motor Vehicles was notorious for being overly crowded. He wasn’t studying it though, because he didn’t have to wait on the line to thin.
Wicked glanced at the woman he’d come to see, giving her a nod. He saw her whisper something to one of her co-worker’s and grab her purse. He nodded to the women’s restroom and ducked off inside. She was right on his heels. She looked both ways to make sure no one had seen them enter together before closing the door shut, locking it. When she turned around he was leaned up against the sink with his arms folded across his chest.
“’Sup, sexy?” He cracked a smile, still looking like his namesake.
“Hey, baby.” She smiled as she approached, flipping her hair out of her face. He collided with her, tonguing her down so hard the sounds of saliva could be heard sloshing around inside of their mouths. “Ooh.” She cooed and smiled, feeling his strong hands cuff, then squeeze, her big old ass. When he pulled away they wiped the extra spit at the corners of their mouths, grinning as they did so.
“You got that for me, boo?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, reached inside of her blazer and pulled out a manila envelope. He took the envelope and opened it, pulling out several documents, all of them loaded with Don Juan’s personal information. He looked through a couple of them, coming across one of them that was a copy of his driver’s license. After studying some of the info, he stacked the papers neatly at the edge of the sink and slid them inside of the manila envelope. He then tucked the envelope at the back of his Levi’s 501 jeans, pulling his shirt over them.
“Thanks, baby.” He tilted her chin up with a curled finger and kissed her again, this time passionately. Muah! He kissed her lips once more before headed for the door. He stopped short once she called him back. “’Sup, boo?”
“Umm.” She twisted her manicured nail at the corner of her teeth, seductively, dying to get a taste of that thick dick of his. “Do ya think I could getta quickie before ya leave?”
Wicked didn’t even have to think about that one. He hadn’t had any ass since he’d been home. Her request immediately caused him to rock up.
“Yeah, I can break you off.” He smiled devilishly, unbuckling his belt and watched her slide off her purple panties. She kicked them off of her high heel and turned her back to him. Facing the mirror, she hiked that enormous ass of hers up. Diana became wet watching her man through the restroom mirror, approaching her from behind and stroking his hardened meat from its base to its head. He licked his lips in anticipation of feeling her wet, warm passage hug his dick. Stepping to her rear, he smacked her violently on her wide dimpled rump.
“Uhh! Uhh!” He frowned, the smacks growing louder and louder. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, gasping and sucking her lips inward. They were louder than a mothafucka inside of that restroom, but neither of them gave a damn about getting caught because the sex was just that good.
“Mmmm.” She murmured, liking that kinky shit. Rough sex was the best to her. She threw that ass back, bumping against his endowment. His shit was so hard that it jumped occasionally like it had a nervous twitch. He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his dick and then spanking her on her behind with it. He beat each of her cheeks, going back and forth as if he were playing a drum set. She looked over her shoulder at him, sliding her tongue along the outline of her full lips. She bounced up and down, making her ass applaud, trying to entice him. He rubbed her buttocks and slid his hand up and down his steel slowly. He then drew back and slid gently into her gaping pink hole. Her shaved lips swallowed his member and she contracted her walls around it.
Smack!
He whacked her butt with his ashy palm telling her, “Throw that ass back, momma, I wanna see that pussy eat this dick up.” She sucked on her bottom lip and looked over her shoulder as she threw that thang back into him. Her coochie making his wang disappear and reappear, getting wetter with each glide. “Sssss, ahhhh.” He tilted his head back and rolled his eyes, mouth hanging open. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Faster.” He smacked her booty, causing her to wince and moan, but she did as he commanded though. She loved when he gave her that thug love. Looking down, he admired his stroke being gobbled up and spat back out. He flipped the end of her blazer up so he could get a good view of her cakes. Wicked frowned in ecstasy, feeling his rod swelling with jizz, he gripped each of her butt cheeks, causing the meat to bulge between his calloused fingers. “Hold still, baby, I got this.” Her movements ceased, he spread her ass apart and pushed them up. He thrust himself in and out of her roughly, watching her pussy’s vanilla pudding glaze his diamond hard dick.
“Ooohhh, shhhhhieeett, that’s it, work it, baby, work this mothafuckin’ pussy!” Her eyes shone white and she bared her teeth. He got a good grip of her short hair and pulled her head back, he looked at her watching him fuck her in the reflection of the glass. His face was twisted hostilely, he was beating that bitch back up and she was loving every bit of it. The blissful smile on her face and her fluttering eyes made this apparent.
“Arrrhhh!” She growled.
Still, staring at her through the mirror, he smacked her on her buttocks and talked that shit. “You like that rough shit, don’t chu! Don’t chu, you freaky mothafucka you!”
“Yes, yeess, yeeesss, I fucking love it!”
He harped up saliva and turned her face to the side, spitting on it twice. The hot goo splattered against her face as he worked her bottom, the nappy hairs of his V slapping against her cakes. Diana tried to lick some of the spit off as it rolled down her cheeks with her nasty ass.
“Arrrrh!” Wicked gritted, feeling his nut build up in his pipe. He kept at it until the last possible minute. “Here I come, here it go!” He snatched his glistening beef out of her and jerked it. The head of his meat swelled and shrunk as his dick was pumped until finally, Ahhhhh! His cream oozed and pelted her brown booty. He smacked her on the butt again and rubbed his flaccid penis in the glaze he’d stained her with.
“You did that, boy.” She smiled at him through the reflection in the mirror.
“You ain’t gotta tell me, I was there.” He smiled with a forehead beaded in sweat.
He grabbed some paper towels for them both and they cleaned themselves up. After getting dressed and straightening themselves out, they exited the restroom minutes apart from one another.
Diana was going back to work, while Wicked was off to put another notch under his belt. Don Juan’s life was his to claim.
***
Don Juan stood in front of the dresser’s mirror tying his tie and adjusting it. Smoothing the slight wrinkles out of it, his eyes came across the wedding portrait of him and Kiana sitting on the nightstand. He made it through the reflection in the mirror’s glass. In that instant the weight of his guilt hit his shoulders like a three hundred pound barbell. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, blowing hard. He ran a hand down his face and stopped at his nose massaging it. Taking his hand away, he looked up at his reflection. His eyes were pink and rimming with tears.
“I’m sorry, Ki.” The tears shot down his chocolate cheeks. “I swear on my soul, baby, I am so sorry. If I could trade places with you, my right hand to God I would.” He pressed his forehead against the mirror and closed his eyes. His shoulders shook as he sobbed quietly, tears splashing on the dresser. He sniffled and lifted his head up. Staring at the broken image of himself in the mirror, made him realize that he was broken just like it. He had tried so hard over the years to keep his life from her to keep her safe, but in the end it had not been enough. His dealings in the streets had come right to their door, claiming her life and putting their son in the hands of a ruthless thug.
Hearing a knock at the door took Don Juan back to the here and now. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his suit’s jacket and cleared his throat.
“Who is it?” He called out.
“Lil’ Stan. Are you ready? The homies waiting for you.”
“Yeah, gimme a sec.” He straightened himself out and gave his reflection one last look. Opening the dresser drawer, he picked up his gun, opened his suit’s jacket and holstered his weapon. With that done, he opened the door and found his second-in-command holding his son. He took him into his arms and kissed him on his chubby cheek. The little dude was wearing a suit identical to his father’s. They were matching from head to toe. Ever since Tiaz had launched that attack on his home, Don Juan was even more protective of his son, even to the point of being obsessed with his safety. He considered leaving the child at the house with a nanny and one of his men to watch over them, but felt that his baby boy would be safer with him.
“Come on, DJ, let’s go send yo’ mommy off.”
***
Bianca pulled up across the street from Gatz’ house and executed the engine. Tiaz looked from the head bussa in his palm to his front door as he check the magazine of his weapon, making sure that mothafucka had a fully loaded clip. Click! Clack! He chambered a silver hollow tip bullet into the black gun and tucked it inside of his jacket. He looked over to his accomplice.
“Keep this bitch running,” he told Bianca after surveying his surroundings. Although Don Juan said he was good until the funeral, he wasn’t going to throw caution to the wind on his word. He was a gangsta like he was, which meant he was willing to do whatever he had to do to come out on top. Fuck his word! He rationalized, grabbing two extra magazines from out of the console and smacking it shut. He leaned aside and stuffed them into his jacket’s pocket, eyes still focused on the front door of Gatz’ place. He could be walking into a setup and if it was so, he wanted to have plenty of ammo to get himself out of a tight squeeze. “If shots start flying, you gimme three minutes and then you pull yo’ ass up outta here.”
“No.”
“What?” He leveled his eyebrows and narrowed his eyelids.
“I’m not leaving you behind, we’re a team.” She informed him. “First sign of trouble and me and this bitch coming up in there laying down bodies.” She stroked the Magnum revolver in her lap like it was a Persian feline.
“Gangsta to the core, my brotha knew how to pick ‘em.” Tiaz cracked a slight smile, holding out his fist.
Bianca smirked and dapped him up. “I’ll be back.” He hopped out of the car and jogged across the street, looking over both shoulders.
Tiaz knocked on the door and called out Gatz’ name for about five minutes. When didn’t answer he pressed his face against the window and cupped his hands around his face, peering inside hoping to see him. He could barely make out anything through the slight opening of the curtains, so he made his way around the side of the house, looking to try the backdoor. He was just about to head up the steps of the back porch when a foul stench assaulted his nasal passages. He whipped his head around and found the garage. He darted right over and knocked on the door, calling his name.
“Gatz! Gatz!” He called out. “Yo,’ it’s Tiaz, homie!” He waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. Noticing the light shining out through the lining of the aluminum door, he grabbed the handle and lifted it up. When he saw Gatz strapped to the iron table with bug eyes and a wide mouth, he was taken aback. He glanced over his shoulder and hurried inside, closing the door back. He approached the table and looked upon him. Flies were swarming all around him. There were some on his eyelids, nose and mouth, all drawn to the repugnant odor. Nearly every inch of him was covered with gashes and his clothes were soaked with so much blood that he looked like he was wearing the color from head to toe. Tiaz smacked a hand over his mouth and narrowed his eyes, walking backwards. The stench nearly made the roughneck gag. The gun merchant was dead and stinking worse than a sack full of sweaty assholes.
Bump!
Tiaz stepped into the side of the refrigerator, he whipped around to it and recognition flashed inside of his head. He remembered when he’d last bought some guns from Gatz. He specifically recalled him showing him his merchandise which was stored inside. He pulled open the freezer and the refrigerator, rummaging through the weapons and the boxes of bullets. He withdrew two M-16 assault rifles and few boxes of bullets for them. After lying out a sheet on the floor, he laid the weapons and ammos down upon. He rolled the items up and tucked them under his arm. Opening the garage door, he turned around to Gatz crossing his heart in the sign of the crucifix.
“Rest in paradise, homie.” He smacked his hood over his head before ducking off outside and making his way down the path.
After securing the weapons, Tiaz hopped back into the rental and into Los Angeles traffic. He scoured the streets looking for a ride identical to the rental. A smile stretched across his face when he found one, a ‘97 Nissan Pathfinder with a crash bar. He parked six cars down from the whip that was identical to his own. He hopped out of the rental and jogged over to the Nissan Pathfinder. He kneeled down and unscrewed the license plate with a screwdriver. Returning to the rental, he swapped its plates with the stolen one and hopped back inside of the SUV. Bianca pulled off. They were on their way to execute their mission.