Ahmeek watched in silence as the medical examiner pulled back the sheet. He felt a bit of pride over the fact that Morgan had been the one to deliver them here.
She really laid these niggas down, he thought.
Little Morgan wasn’t as fragile as she pretended to be. The thought of her trapped inside the dance studio did things to Meek. The thought of the twins being there with her infuriated him more. He tried his best not to abuse his position in the streets. He tried to collect his paper quietly, building strong alliances along the way, only taking what was needed and never more, and respecting the worth of other men. It wasn’t often that Ahmeek encountered static, because the love the streets held was overwhelming. Any beef he had was usually drummed up by Messiah or Isa, and he came off the bench every time, but this time, somebody had gotten disrespectful. Now it was time for him to remind niggas why he had gotten the name Murder Meek. The Crew had been young terrorists in the city from the ages of fourteen. Meek had never been shy about laying anybody to rest, but after an altercation on the hoop court left a body on the blacktop when he was sixteen, Meek learned to control himself. He went away for five years for manslaughter. The only thing that had saved him was the fact that he was a minor and the video that surfaced proved he had been provoked. He only had to be locked up one time to know that he never wanted to go back, so instead of moving recklessly, he moved smartly. He listened more than he spoke, but sometimes his temper flared … times like these it felt uncontrollable. He hadn’t realized how far he had swum out in Mo’s waters until this very moment. She had drowned him because she had joined the very short list of names that he’d die behind. He looked down at the dead bodies and nodded as he handed the Indian man an envelope. Five thousand dollars was the going rate for an unauthorized viewing of the bodies, but it was worth every penny. Just one glance, and he knew who had sent them. There was no denying the affiliation of these men. The tattooed markings on their necks told the story. These were Beans’s men. Ahmeek’s blood boiled. There was no need to call anyone. No time to rally shooters. His temper had him flying through the city, headed straight to the source of the problem.
It was Sunday. Family day. There was no slinging on the Lord’s day. Niggas took a personal day on the Sabbath, so Meek knew not to take it to the block with this. Ahmeek pulled up to Beans’s home where his girlfriend, Tammy, lived with their two kids. He didn’t give a fuck. Beans had taken it to Mo’s safe place, so Meek was reciprocating. Couldn’t be the bigger person with a shooter like Beans. Keep that same energy as fuck. He pulled into the driveway and hopped out.
“Yo, Meek! What’s up? Can I wash your wheels, man? You only got to pay me five bucks! I’ll give you a discount!”
Meek smirked as he slapped hands with Beans’s twelve-year-old son.
“Yeah, hit them rims for me, playboy, and we don’t give niggas discounts ’round these parts. You know better. What I tell you about that?” he asked.
“My price is my price,” the kid answered.
Meek peeled out a band of money and handed the kid a twenty. “Your pops in there?” Meek asked.
“Nah, he out back with my mama,” the kid said.
Ahmeek rounded the house. The shadows of the overgrown bushes cooled the temperature, but he was still on fire. His temper was like a raging fire. Only one thing would douse it. Get back.
He pulled up on Beans and Tammy like he was invited.
“Heyyy, Meek!” Tammy greeted, seeing him first.
“What up, sis?” he answered.
Beans’s face fell as he sat up straight in the lawn chair and put the Heineken he was sipping onto the glass patio table.
“You smelling good, boy. What’s that you wearing?” Tammy asked.
It never failed. Women just loved him. They could be standing right next to their man and would still find ways to let Meek know that he could get it if he wanted it. He didn’t want it. Tammy was pretty as hell, but that pussy had been run down back in the day.
Meek gave her a kiss to one cheek and a friendly hug. “Nothing special,” he answered. His conversation was normal, but his eyes were lethal, and they may as well have been crosshairs. He had them trained on Beans. Tension filled the air.
“Yo, baby, go season that meat so I can get this grill started,” Beans instructed.
“Okay. Meek, you want anything? A beer or something?” Tammy offered.
“I’m good, sis. Thanks,” he said. He pulled out a chair and sat silently across from Beans until Tammy dismissed herself.
“Yo, bruh, just to let you know, the burner sitting in my lap. A nigga ain’t got no problem pulling the trigger,” Beans informed.
“You ain’t gon’ do that. Or perhaps your stupid ass will, cuz you’ve definitely lost ya’ fucking mind,” Ahmeek stated. “Little Bernard out front cleaning my rims. The beam already on him. If I don’t walk out of here, he don’t either. So tuck your shit and let’s talk before I put the play down anyway for the disrespect alone.”
Beans gritted his teeth as he put his gun back in his waistline.
“You butt-hurt over that ass whooping, clearly. That’s why you sent hitters to the dance studio?” Meek asked. “Help me understand. Help me help you, G, because the way I’m feeling, I’m about to send your whole family on a trip.”
“It wasn’t my order, man,” Beans conceded.
Ahmeek’s brow raised. That information surprised him. It meant he had enemies he didn’t know about.
“Who called the play?”
“Man, I need your word. You got to let the shit go, man. Nobody got hit at the studio. It was my fuckup. I’ll make that up, bruh. On my kids. If I give you the rundown, you got to give me the chance to get back right.”
“Niggas show you who they are, you believe ’em. You know my code,” Ahmeek answered. “You negotiating the lives of your kids right now, Beans. Yours is already off the table. Never will a nigga send bullets in the direction of Morgan Atkins and live to get clout from the story.”
Beans bit back fear and lifted his chin slightly, but Ahmeek sensed the terror. Any man would feel it when facing the grim reaper. He didn’t judge Beans for the tremble of his chin. It was natural. At the end of the day, every man feared death.
“It was Messiah, man. After the L I took on the truck that was robbed, he said he would give me a better split if he was back over seventy-five. Said he needed you out the way, though. Told me to get at everybody you love and clear the throne so he could get his seat back. He replaced the money I lost.”
“You a lying-ass nigga, Beans. Messiah would do a lot of things, but he wouldn’t send you at Mo. He would never fucking touch her.”
“He sent me at you, and everybody know how you feel about her. Weaken the king, then kill him. We were supposed to hit everybody you fuck with. He never named her, but she’s first when it comes to you.”
The news rocked Ahmeek. Touched him right behind his gangster, where he kept the sentiment for his family. Messiah lived there. His entire chest ached. He was unmoved on the outside, but his heart exploded inside. He felt like someone had snatched his stomach out. He bit into his bottom lip, nodding as he finally put together a clear picture of the puzzle in his mind. He gripped the sides of the chair, fighting emotion, but he showed none. Rage and devastation swirled in him. It was a hot-boy summer, and he was about to cool niggas off. It was time to make it rain. Bullets. Murder Meek wanted to change the forecast and make it rain bullets. This feeling, this news was the worst thing he’d ever felt. It was worse than Mo cutting him off. It hurt more than the discovery of Messiah’s empty hospital room all those years ago. It ached more than the day his father got locked up. This shit was the worst pain he’d ever dealt with.
“This is what we’re gonna do. You gon’ go inside and find a real quiet spot. You gon’ put your fucking pistol in your mouth and pull the trigger. I’ma sit right here until I hear the shot. You got three minutes. One to say goodbye to your son. One to kiss your bitch. One to build up a little courage, cuz the shit gonna feel impossible to do. It’s going to be the scariest shit you’ve ever done, but you gon’ eat that bullet, or baby boy and wifey gon’ pay that price for you.”
“Meek, man…”
“Nah, G. Too late for all ’at.” Ahmeek pulled out his phone and set the timer. He turned the screen to Beans. Three minutes and not a second more. “Make the most of it.”
Beans stood from the table, and Ahmeek sat there watching the numbers of the timer wind down. It went ten seconds past the deadline. Tension filled him. He didn’t want to execute Beans’s woman and child, but he would if it came to that. Before it even became a consideration.
Boom!
“Beanssss!”
The sound of Tammy’s wails filled the air, and Ahmeek stood. He walked back to his car, catching Beans’s son before he rushed into the house.
“Yo, sit here. Sit on this step and don’t move, you hear me?” Ahmeek said. “Don’t move until your mother comes for you. Shit might get hard for you. Shit might hurt a lot after today. You or your mother ever need something, you come see me. You hear me?”
Beans’s son nodded as tears filled his eyes.
The sound of sirens filled the air, and as Ahmeek turned around, he saw a Range Rover pull up behind his car. The window rolled down, and Ethic’s face appeared. Their eye contact was brief, but in the stare down, Ahmeek sensed acceptance. Ahmeek had gotten there first. He had put in work on behalf of Morgan. Ethic’s presence wasn’t needed. Ethic gave a subtle nod as if he were drawing conclusions in his mind, and then the window rose as the Range Rover disappeared down the block.
Whatever Ethic had come to do had already been done, but Beans was only the middleman to the problem. Ahmeek had to go to the source. Messiah had crossed a line, and he had to come to terms with the fact that a man he considered a brother wanted him dead.
Knock-knock.
Aria turned toward the door of her apartment, and her heart stalled. She knew who was knocking, and she dreaded dealing with him. She walked over and pulled the door open to find Isa standing in front of her.
He was so tall that her neck stretched all the way back just to look at him.
“You know niggas died behind you, right?” he asked.
She nodded. He crossed the threshold, picking her up by the pits of her arms so that she was eye level with him as his lips covered hers.
“Who I got to see about this face?” he asked.
“No one,” she answered as he set her on the island in her kitchen. She could barely look at him. “My brother snatched me to prove he could, Isa. He doesn’t think you will keep me safe.”
“You know better than that,” Isa stated.
Aria was silent, and she looked off only for Isa to cup her face and pull her gaze back to him.
“I’m leaving town, Isa.” She slid her engagement ring off her finger, and Isa took a step back.
“Man, put that shit back on your hand before I get upset,” he stated.
“I can’t, Isa.” Her brow furrowed, and her pretty eyes glistened as she looked at him. “He’s my family. He’s all I’ve got. If I stay here, he’ll cut me off. He’s always been there for me.”
Her words might as well had been bullets the way they went right through him. He staggered a bit. “And you’re choosing him over me?” Isa asked.
Her silence cut him even more. The fact that she seemed so sure was alcohol over the wound.
“Fuck it, then,” Isa spat. “Pussy was trash anyway.”
Aria’s neck snaked so far back it felt like it would break. She hopped down off the island and marched toward the door, opening it for him. “Then you shouldn’t have a problem letting go. Since you in your feelings, get the fuck out,” Aria said.
Isa loomed over her, pausing to stare her down, but Aria wouldn’t look at him.
“Little-ass girl, man,” he scoffed before walking out.
Aria slammed the door behind him, and damn if her eyes didn’t betray her, but she refused to let a tear fall. There was no point in crying. She couldn’t stay, and although she knew Isa was being crass because he was hurt, she would rather have an angry goodbye than a regretful one, so she would take his insults. It only made her feel better about choosing her brother over her man.