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“I’m not letting this shit ride, T,” Mack warned. They sat in the plush living room of Terry’s condominium smoking blunts of their own.
“I don’t want to let them niggas get away with this shit either, but we can’t just run around killing muthafuckas on some nut shit. We’ve got more to lose now than we’ve ever had.”
Mack was well aware of all that was at stake. The last thing he wanted was to destroy the empire that was being built by Terry and himself. The problem was he had recently become a businessman in the legal field, but he had lived the street life since an adolescent.
One rule of the streets was if someone waged war against you, either back down or take them to war.
“Everything we have is because of the streets. We’re not ready to leave the streets alone, yet. If we don’t do nothing, you better believe we’re going to be the next in line to get hit.”
“Maybe we should wait it out and let the dust settle before we turn it up,” Terry suggested.
“Fuck that, cannon. Don’t let this money make you soft. If we don’t react, we’re going to open the door for anybody to test us. This is part of the game, my nigga. They violated us. If they want war, then war it’s gon’ be!” Mack paused for a moment to take a long drag from his blunt. “I know how you felt about Twan. We have to bury him. Reek will never be able to walk again. My man might have to do a prison bid in a fuckin’ wheel chair! I don’t know about you, but I can’t live with myself knowing I didn’t do nothin’ about this. This shit is personal. I’m going to handle it...with or without you.”
Silence consumed the room as they continued to smoke. “You’re not doing nothing by yourself, my nigga. We’re in this together.”
“I found out that the nigga who Reek killed was muscle for the twins,” Mack revealed.
“Who the fuck is the twins?”
“Kahdeem and Quadir. They get money in North Philly. I had to punch Kahdeem in the mouth at a concert a couple of months ago, but it wasn’t nothing too big, or at least I didn’t think so.”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about.” Their images became clear in Terry’s mind as Mack spoke. “They own that car wash at Broad and Lehigh Avenue, right?”
“Yeah, that’s them,” Mack answered. “They knew Twan was with us. I guess now that they’re touchin’ some money, they think they can try to run down on us.”
“Fuck it, let’s get them niggas out of the way.”
“I’m gonna show ‘em what happens when they play chicken with a Mack truck.”
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The electric-blue Audi RS7 pulled into Pit Stop Car Wash and Detail Shop, stopping in front of the office door. Quadir stepped out of his car into the brisk air, shaking the chill off. He was five feet nine, with a medium build and caramel toned skin. His well-kept shoulder length locks was the only distinction between him and his twin.
As usual, he was the first to arrive at the shop. It was 10:00 in the morning. The shop wasn’t scheduled to open for business for another hour. With a little time to kill, Quadir decided to smoke his morning blunt. He wasn’t quite finished rolling up the weed when he heard a light rap on the door. He got up to see a young, Hispanic woman on the other side.
He cracked the door partially open, and asked, “Can I help you?”
“Do you wanna buy this truck?” she asked. Her words were filled with attitude.
Quadir looked out the door’s window and saw a clean white and tan Suburban equipped with chrome twenty-eight inch rims. “It’s definitely nice, but I wasn’t looking to buy a truck at the moment.”
“You give me an offer and I’ll take it. I’m sick of this puta,” she ranted. “I do everything for him, and he gets that dirty bitch pregnant? Oh, hell no. I’ll give this fucking truck away before he gets back in it!”
It was evident that the lady was emotional because of a failing relationship. If the Suburban looked as good on the inside as it did on the outside, there was no question he could get it for a steal. “Do you have the title?”
“Damn right. I legally own this truck.” She spat.
“How many miles does it have?” Quadir asked.
“I think it has around thirty thousand miles,” she said. “You can check the truck out for yourself. I just want to get him and all of his shit out of my fucking life. I don’t want anything that reminds me of his no good ass.” She folded her arms and continued to rant in Spanish.
Quadir stepped outside and walked toward the Suburban. Before he was able to reach it, he felt the searing pain of fifty thousand volts erupt into his body. He went rigid and immediately fell to the pavement.
Unaware of what was going on, his mind raced to find clarity. Before he was granted that opportunity, he was tazed again, for a longer period.
The excruciating pain completely immobilized him. A pillowcase was thrown over his head. His hands and feet were securely bound. He was picked up and tossed into the rear of the Suburban by the two men who attacked him.
“Lock up the shop and take his car. Put it in your garage. I’ll be by to get it later,” the man instructed her. He, then, jumped into the SUV and pulled off.
The uncomfortable ride lasted less than twenty minutes. Quadir was rustled out of the SUV and carried into some type of confine. Once placed into a chair and tightly secured to it, Jihad and Shawn left him...