Chapter 20

Two-Face sat slouched in the backseat of the faded black Ford Taurus on 188th Street gripping an Uzi submachine gun. His two cohorts, Narco and Rage, two of New York’s most ruthless thugs, sat in the car with him, waiting and plotting. New York City and Harlem weren’t ready for the murderous Two-Face in their backyard. He had given a violent wake-up call to so many who’d doubted his brutality and murderous ways because of his youthful appearance, people were now afraid to speak his name.

Two-Face killed viciously with anything he could get his hands on: guns, knives, a brick. He even had a man twice his age mauled to death by a ferocious pit bull. The man, accused of being a snitch, was forced into a concrete basement in the gut of the hood and stripped naked in front of his peers.

****

The tall, lanky victim was shaking like a leaf on a windy day. “Please, Two-Face,” he said, “I ain’t do nothin’. C’mon, man, it ain’t gotta be like this. I ain’t say shit to any police!”

“You a snitch, homes. You fucked up, big time!”

The dog barked wildly, its echoing bark sending chills into the man, and its demonic eyes trained on its potential target. The powerful beast was eager to be released.

The other thugs surrounding Two-Face jeered at the snitch and spat on him, each of them looking to gain Two-Face’s respect and approval.

“Fuck him up, Two-Face!” one of them shouted. “Fuck that snitch up!”

The terrier was confident, robust, and bursting with energy. Two-Face gripped the ferocious pit bull by its chain leash. He had a hard time restraining the dog, which constantly yanked him forward, ready to attack.

“Two-Face, please . . . I didn’t do anything! I swear to you, man! I didn’t say shit. I didn’t say shit!” he screamed.

Two-Face locked eyes with the man, his gaze as deadly and intimidating as the dog’s. The black of Two-Face’s eyes showed a cruel, treacherous being that lived for the violence; a man without a soul.

Another thug shouted, “Do that shit, Two-Face! Do that shit!”

The naked man was cowered into the corner with his hands outstretched in front of him. The whites of his eyes dimmed with fear.

Two-Face sneered at the man. Without warning, he let go of the leash, and the dog rushed forward, slamming its victim into the wall as it tore its teeth into the man’s flesh, ripping apart skin and his fingers.

The victim’s blood-curdling scream brought the basement alive with laughter. The thugs stood around and watched pieces of the man fly in the air, and thick crimson blood began pooling on the floor. The assault went on for fifteen minutes, until the victim was left lifeless and his body contorted like a pretzel.

Two-Face smiled at his method of killing. It felt like Christmas day for him.

Two-Face’s violent killings had placed him on the police and task force radar. When the cops were finally able to attach a face to the name, they were stunned at how young and innocent he looked. They understood why he had gotten the name Two-Face. The precincts made it their priority to bring the young killer and his violent organization, along with Chico, to justice and try him for his inhumane crimes.

Word on the streets started to surface about Chico and Two-Face being at odds with each other. Two-Face began asking around about Chico. He wanted to know why his boss was so insistent about getting information about a prostitute and disfigured whore in Mexico. He wanted to know the connection.

Little by little, information started to come back to Two-Face about Chico and Apple. He learned of the events and incidents that took place before his arrival in the city. He learned about Chico’s undying love for Apple and her sudden disappearance without a trace. He knew Kola was her twin, and that they were warring sisters.

People were willing to tell Two-Face anything out of fear. Whatever information he needed, it was given to him. The streets started to fear and respect Two-Face a little more than they did Chico. Two-Face was the one on the streets putting in work. He had the young killers at his beck and call, while Chico was playing house with a Brooklyn bitch and the streets were seeing less and less of him every week.

The plan to bring Two-Face in for muscle and control had backfired on Chico. A few soldiers were starting to turn against him. Jason had forewarned him about this.

Two-Face had gotten a taste of the action and power in New York City and wanted more of it. With his name ringing bells in the streets, and having plenty of young thugs ready to follow his lead, Two-Face planned on taking over. He had gotten Chico the connect with his uncle’s Mexican cartel, and he was the one spilling blood on the streets, so he thought he should no longer be Chico’s subordinate. He should be the one wearing the crown.

The streets soon started buzzing about the situation between Chico and Two-Face becoming rivals, and people started to take sides.

Two-Face made the first move against Chico, declaring that certain corners were his to control and take over. If you went against him, then you would be dealt with violently. A few soldiers and workers still had loyalty to Chico, so Two-Face decided to make an example of them.

****

Two-Face sat in the Taurus playing around with the Uzi while waiting for those loyal to Chico to enter the 188th Street building. He kept a keen eye on the block as they sat snug and obscured, parked between a dark van and a Ford truck. It was nearing eleven p.m., and foot traffic was light.

After the men sat for an hour waiting, Narco asked, “You sure about this, Two-Face?”

“What you mean, Narco? You tryin’ to back out on me now?” Two-Face asked. “Huh, homes?” He leaned forward, the Uzi almost aimed at Narco in a threatening way. “You got doubts?”

“Nah, you know I’m down, one hundred and everything, but Chico . . . I known the nigga for years, and he ain’t somebody to play wit’. We fuck this up, and he’ll fuck us up.”

“Fuck Chico! I’m tired of that muthafucka!” Two-Face spat. “He don’t run the show no more.”

Narco decided to remain silent. He knew Two-Face was a psychopath. Narco had killed before, but Two-Face took death and violence to a whole other level. He was the new terror, while Chico was becoming the old.

A short while later, a Dodge Magnum crept down the block and stopped in front of the building they’d been staking out. It doubled-parked, and two men stepped out and walked toward the building carrying book bags. Two-Face knew they were filled with money or coke.

The two men, Donny and Lennox, loyal workers for Chico for years, refused to go along with Two-Face’s command. They weren’t about to be bullied by some young, baby-faced thug, who wasn’t even from Harlem.

Two-Face glared at Donny and Lennox, both men in their late twenties, and deadly figures in the underworld. They strutted toward the building, keeping a watchful eye on the block.

“Let’s do this!” Two-Face said, opening the car door.

Donny and Lennox walked through a darkened area toward the lobby of the six-story building, its entranceway pushed back from the street and towered by walls. When the men were near the door, Donny pressed the call button for the apartment they were going to.

Two-Face and his goons slowly ran up near the front entrance. He peeked around the corner, the Uzi gripped firmly in his hands. Rage held a sawed-off shotgun, and Narco carried an Uzi also. They wanted the hit to be messy.

Two-Face looked at his goons and nodded. Before Donny and Lennox could enter the lobby, the trio charged from around the corner and opened fire. The shotgun exploded, pushing Donny back into the glass, and then the sound of the two Uzis exploded into the night, cutting down both men.

Two-Face ran up to the bloody bodies and snatched the book bags from their lifeless hands. He looked down at the bodies and smiled. He then ran back to the car and sped away. It was a clear “fuck-you” to Chico and his peoples.

****

Chico had had enough of Two-Face. He was back in Harlem with a full force, but his actions were subtle. The one actual advantage Chico had over the ruthless Two-Face was more money and influence in Harlem. Even though Two-Face was feared, many still considered him an outsider, and the enemies began to pile against him. Chico offered fifty thousand dollars for word or information on Two-Face’s whereabouts, knowing some greedy, desperate individual would take the bait, and one week later, he got word of where Two-Face was holed up. He knew he had to be careful coming at the young killer, because he was also cunning and deadly.

Two-Face was snatched from outside the Bronx apartment he was staying in when he walked out the lobby during the late hours of the night to get into the idling Taurus on the street with Narco waiting behind the wheel. Chico’s men had been waiting for Two-Face’s exit, and once he showed his face, they rushed him, throwing a sack over his head, beating him down viciously, and then tossing him into the trunk of a car. Narco had been part of the setup. He wanted the fifty thousand, and he wanted to show his loyalty to Chico.

Two-Face was taken to a remote location far from Harlem, where he was subdued with zip-ties around his wrists and his ankles chained to a chair, shirtless and barely conscious after the brutal beating. The sack was snatched from around his head, and Two-Face found himself in a basement.

Two-Face looked fiercely into the face of each man. “You fuckin’ wit’ the wrong vato, homes. You have a death wish?”

“Fuck you!” one of the thugs shouted. He struck Two-Face with the butt of his gun.

Two-Face didn’t flinch from the blow. He quickly absorbed it with a grin. His mouth began to fill up with blood. “You touch me like that again, and I’ll cut your throat, muthafucka!”

The thug scowled at Two-Face, but he didn’t attack him again.

Two-Face squirmed in the chair, trying to free himself, but he was bonded tightly. The blood trickled from his mouth, and his teeth were stained red. Two-Face wasn’t frightened. He was cursing and threatening everyone, promising them a gruesome death if they didn’t let him go, but the half-dozen men in the basement looked unmoved by his threats.

Chico entered the room, and the two giants glared at each other for a moment. There was silence.

Two-Face suddenly shouted, “You a fool, homes. My uncle is gonna fuck you up!”

“Not before I kill you,” Chico replied.

Two-Face fought to free himself from the restraints, but to no avail. His eyes burned with anger. He once again glared at the men he thought were his soldiers, including Narco. “I’ma kill you all! I swear.”

Chico pistol-whipped him and shouted, “Where is she?”

“Who, homes? That bitch that me and my cholos fucked in Mexico? Yeah, we had a good time wit’ that ugly bitch, homes. Wore that pussy out.”

Chico struck him again, and then again.

Two-Face’s face started to bruise and swell, but he took the beating without whining or begging for it to stop. He continued his defiant stare at Chico. “I can do this all night, homes. I’m built for this, pussy. I fuckin’ come from this. You don’t scare me.”

Chico hit him one last time and then fell back.

Two-Face smirked, his face bloody and battered, a few teeth loose. He knew his fate was inevitable. “I shoulda killed you in D.C., muthafucka!”

“Yeah, you should have. I gave you a chance, but you choose to stab me in the back and fuck my girl.”

“I ain’t know she was ya woman, homes.”

“That’s irrelevant now. But know somethin’, you little bitch—This is my town, my business. I’ve been in this game for too long to have a snake like you pull it from underneath me. You thought it would be that easy? But, hey, you proved your usefulness, and now your services are no longer required.”

Chico raised the pistol to Two-Face’s head. Two-Face didn’t recoil, as he continued to stare at death boldly. Their eyes connected, and both men knew what was to come next. Chico knew that Two-Face was too stubborn and defiant to talk about Apple’s whereabouts in Mexico. The only information he was able to get was, she was held captive in a border town.

“Fuck you, homes!” Two-Face screamed with his last breath.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

The force from the pistol sent Two-Face and the chair crashing to the floor with a thud.

Chico walked over and put three more rounds into the body. He then turned to one of his goons and said, “Dump that nigga’s body back in Harlem and blame it on Cross.”

****

The thugs dumped Two-Face’s body near the projects on 155th Street with a bloody note attached: You kill one of ours and we kill one of yours. For Edge.

Two-Face’s death was big news throughout Harlem. It stirred a lot of speculation. Many people in the area didn’t buy that Cross was able to get at him so easily, and they believed that it was Chico who had punished him for his betrayal.

It was midnight when Chico stood alone on the rooftop of one of the project buildings in Harlem and peered at the vibrant neighborhood. The view was phenomenal from where he stood—the flowing traffic, the illuminated buildings that stretched from block to block for miles—not to mention the late-night sounds of the city.

Even though he had gotten rid of a threat, and was making tons of money, Chico felt empty. Apple was still on his mind.

Just then his phone rang. When he saw Dario’s number on his caller ID, he thought it might be good news. “Speak to me.”

“We had a problem.”

“What the fuck you mean there was a problem?”

“We found her, but then lost her.”

Chico barked, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“She was in a small town call Los Mochis, Mexico, about three hundred miles from the border on the west side. I had my peoples track her. It was perfect. But we arrived too late. The place was shot to shit, and the girls said she was already taken.”

Chico was fuming. “By who?” he shouted.

“We don’t know. They went in fast, killed a few men, and took Apple with them. But the place was run by a guy named Shaun. He’s from your part of town. You familiar with that name?”

Chico thought long and hard about it. He vaguely remembered a Shaun. “I’m not too familiar wit’ that name.”

“Well, word is, she was abducted from up there and brought down here to become a sex slave. This Shaun, they say, had some kind of vendetta against her. He wasn’t one of the men found dead, so that means he’s still out there.”

Chico was still upset that they hadn’t found Apple, but the information was valuable to him.

“What you want me to do, Chico?”

“You keep looking, but I’m coming down there.”

He was determined to find Apple and bring her home. He needed her in his life again. Just knowing that she didn’t leave on her own free will had reignited his true feelings for her. The thought that some nigga named Shaun had abducted her on some vendetta type shit had him questioning his own manhood. How could he have left her vulnerable? That wasn’t what real niggas did. He vowed that when he got her back he’d do everything in his power to make it up to her.

“You sure?” Dario asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”