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Two nights later
Mufasa had gotten a call from Franklin requesting a sit-down. He was skeptical at first but the big man allowing him to arrange the time and place steered him. He picked the food court inside of an in-door shopping mall and they both agreed to bring only one other person with them. The King of the Streets picked the mall seeing how it would make both of them feel at ease since it was well lit and plenty of people would be present. Any man, unless he had a couple of screws missing, would be reluctant to start shooting with there being so many potential witnesses around.
“Glad you could make it,” Franklin extended his hand and Mufasa reluctantly shook it. “How’s the...” the words died in his throat when the kingpin lifted a hand calling for his silence.
“There’s no need for small talk. Small talk is for old friends who haven’t seen each other in a while. See, you and me,” he motioned a finger between the two of them. “aren’t friends, nor will we ever be.” He made that shit clear as he stared him right in his eyes with a dead serious expression. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Please,” Franklin said, motioning for him to take a seat at the table. He gave a nod to his bodyguard and he left them alone. Mufasa gave a nod to Zeus and he did the same.
Franklin and Mufasa’s sit-down lasted no more than a half an hour before they came to a mutual agreement. The two men rose to their feet, shook hands and parted ways.
A couple hours later
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled like the empty belly of a starving giant. The sky was so dark that the rain looked like it was falling out of a portal. The air was crisp yet cold and the wind blew strong, disturbing the pieces of trash scattered throughout the dock. A Crown Victoria backed up on the dock and two African American men hopped out. One wore his facial hair cut into a goatee. He had a baldhead and rocked a leather jacket. His partner in crime was a husky cat with razor bumped skin who wore his relaxed hair in a ponytail.
“Let’s hurry up and pop this mothafucka and dump ‘em,” Baldhead told ponytail as they stepped to the trunk of the Crown Victoria. “I got some new pussy on the line.”
“Yeah, right, nigga.” Ponytail unlocked the trunk and opened it. Inside there was Brolic wearing a strip of duct tape over his mouth. His wrists and ankles were also duct taped together. He glared up at the man. He was lying beside two boulders that were wrapped in silver rusty chains. It was then that the homo thug wished his hands were free so that he could break their necks with his bare hands.
“Boyyy, this nigga is as mad as a hornet,” baldhead chuckled as he held up the trunk and staring down at the hoodlum.
“Hoe ass nigga all in his feelings.” Ponytail twisted his lips. When Brolic’s eyes shifted to him, he scowled and clenched his jaws. “Fuck you looking at nigga?” He smacked the dog shit out of Brolic and he grimace from the vicious assault. Veins pulsated at his temples and his eyes reddened as his nostrils flared. He was dying to get a piece of his ass, but he knew he was living on borrowed time so he’d probably never get his chance.
The men had caught him slipping the night before. He thought he was riding with them to go put in some work on Franklin and his people like they had planned, but they turned the tables on him. One of them clocked him over the head with the butt of a gun and knocked him out cold while they were en route to their mission. The next thing he knew he was waking up in the back of a trunk of some car.
“I’ma rock this baby to sleep, you just unload the weights.” baldhead claimed whipping out his thang, thang from his waistline. He pointed it at Brolic and ordered him out of the trunk. The shiny head fucker talked shit to him as he made him walk to the end of the dock. Once he was there he cracked him in the back of the skull with the steel and dropped him to his knees.
“Turn around, homeboy, I want chu to look yo’ killer in the eyes.” baldhead grumbled with a wrinkled nose.
Brolic turned around to face his executioner on his knees. He stared him in his face with fire in his eyes that burned with an undying hatred. The look sent a chill up baldhead’s spine. Although he was the one that had the banger, the look he was getting sent chills up his spine. He was nervous all of a sudden, but then he remembered he was God with what he had in his hand.
“Yo, Reggie, you know how many stripes I’ma get for killing this nigga here?” baldhead asked over his shoulder.
“Fuck if I care? Finish him so we can get ghost.” He heard ponytail from where he was posted up by the car.
He smiled wickedly as he put the burner to Brolic’s forehead and pulled the trigger.
Meanwhile
Zonyai unlocked the door of his hotel room and carried Marbella inside over the threshold. The two of them had gotten married no more than fifteen minutes ago.
“Damn, fat girl, what chu gain a pound a minute?” Zonyai strained with Marbella in his arms.
“Shut up,” Marbella giggled and pecked him on the cheek. “Let me down, babe. I’ve gotta go pee.” Zonyai sat her to her feet and she scurried off towards the bathroom. “Order us some room service. I wanna big stack of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, oh, and orange juice.” She said over her shoulder as she bent the corner into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
Zonyai plopped down on the bed and loosened his tie. He kicked off his shoes and picked up the telephone. He punched in a number, waited a moment and said, “Hello, room service?”
****
Marbella wiped herself, flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet. Next, she washed her hands under the flowing water and dried them off on one of the hotel towels. She gave herself the once over in the mirror and checked her teeth to see if there was any food stuck in them. That’s when she noticed her wedding ring on her finger. Holding her hand out before her eyes, she parted all of her fingers and admired it. She’d been staring at it since it was slipped on her finger at the chapel. A smile broadened her face as she admired the platinum band. She couldn’t believe that she was married. Although it was for the second time, she truly felt that this time it was going to be forever unlike her first one.
The smile melted off of Marbella’s face when her eyes shifted up to the mirror. She saw something in the reflection of the mirror that made her heart skip a beat. Fear emerged in her eyes and her lips trembled; her entire body quaked. She swallowed the ball of nervousness in her throat and shut her eyelids, waiting for the inevitable.
Bloom!
The impact of the blast slammed Marbella’s forehead into the mirror and cracked it into a cobweb. She rolled off of the sink and hit the floor with a thud. The broken glass of the medicine cabinet’s mirror rained down inside of the porcelain sink. Bloody faced, eyes staring out into space, she lay sprawled with her mouth wide open. A gloved hand reached down and touched the pulse in her neck, confirming her death.
****
The blast from inside of the bathroom occurred as Zonyai was emerging out of the kitchen and cracking open a Pepsi. He stopped in his tracks and his forehead wrinkled. He listened closely trying to see if he’d hear it again and that’s when it reoccurred from the flat-screen. His head snapped to the television and The Terminator was on cable TV. Zonyai shrugged and took the Pepsi to his lips, guzzling it. When he brought the can down from his lips, his eyes met an intruder. The man was in a ski-mask and suede brown jacket. He braced a double barrel shotgun against his shoulder as he held it on him. Terror surfaced in Zonyai’s eyes but he quickly recovered his G, staring the stranger down like a mad dog. His eyebrows arched and wrinkles formed across the beginning of his nose. He clenched his jaws so tight that the bone structure became visible in them. He refused to show fear in the face of death. Nah, fuck that. He was letting his nuts hang low. Zonyai took one last swallow of Pepsi and sat the can down. As soon as his hand separated from the blue can thunder erupted.
Bloom!
Flames roared from the barrel of the shotgun and flipped Zonyai. The impact took him up out of his prosthetic leg. He landed awkwardly on his back, wheezing for air, eyes moving around lazily as moisture accumulated in them. His grill filled up with blood. He swallowed it but it filled with more. This choked him and caused him to gurgle. The man sat down on the carpet and laid his weapon down beside him, pulling off his ski-mask. It was Mufasa. He had tears in his eyes that were on the verge of running down his cheeks. Taking his street son under his arms, he pulled him closer and laid his head in his lap. He listened to his wheezing for a time as he stared up at him accusingly.
“Shhhhh, it’s okay. I’m here, son.” He told him in a hushed tone as he rocked him back and forth in his arms. Zonyai tried to say something but the words wouldn’t form. He coughed up blood and blinked his eyes like they had hair in them. “I know...I know. I’m so sorry.” Mufasa spoke honestly. His voice cracking under his emotions and tears rolled down his face, trickling off of his chin. He wiped the tears away with the back of his gloved hand and continued to hold Zonyai until he gave his last breath. “Haaaaaaa!” With him having expired, Mufasa shut his son’s eyes with a brush of his gloved hand. He then pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. Next, he punched in a number and watched as each digit appeared on the screen. The phone rang twice before someone answered. “It’s done.” He told the person that had answered and disconnected the call.
In the end Mufasa’s greed got the best of him. The deal Franklin proposed was just too sweet to pass up. He offered him fourteen grand a kilo instead of the original seventeen he was letting him get them for. With the new deal Mufasa stood to make a ridiculous amount of money; there was one catch though: he’d have to give up the whereabouts of Zonyai and Marbella in exchange. Mufasa knew that if Franklin got his hands on the lovebirds he’d torture them long and slow until they met death. So he would only agree to the deal if he could be the one to take care of them. Franklin bitched and complained at first but finally agreed to his terms.
Mufasa knew his people would back whatever play he made, no questions asked. But Brolic was another story all together. If he ever caught wind of him sanctioning the hit on his best friend, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d come after him guns blazing. And that’s exactly why the kingpin ordered him to be hit before he carried out Zonyai and Marbella’s executions.