by De'Kari
GORILLAZ IN THE BAY 3
Lock Down Publications and Ca$h
Presents
Gorillaz in the Bay 3
A Novel by De’Kari
Lock Down Publications
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Copyright 2019 by De’Kari
Gorillaz in the Bay 3
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.
First Edition August 2019
Printed in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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IN MEMORY OF LIL RELL
This book is dedicated to the memory of a real Neva Die Soldier. Tyrell Demetrius Hayes, a true friend, brother and comrade. We love and miss you, lil’ brah. Hold it down for us until we get there.
Sunrise: December 17, 1993
Sunset: September 13, 2015
Immortalized: 2015
Moja upendo. Ninakupenda mwezi!!!
One Aim, One Struggle, One Goal!
Neva Die
Part I
Resurrection of the Dead!
Chapter I
Stanford Hospital
The gurney came bursting through the doors. Paramedics frantically worked on the body that was strapped to it while shouting out information seemingly to no one in particular.
“We’ve got a multiple GSW (gunshot wound) victim in his late twenties. Victim appears to be a healthy African American male. Blood pressure is 107/65 and dropping. We need ER doctors and surgical doctors in the ER immediately!” One of the paramedics yelled.
As if by magic, a team of doctors and nurses appeared out of nowhere and took control of the gurney. They scrambled and fussed over the male victim with extreme precision as if they’ve been practicing their entire life for this very moment.
“We’ve lost him twice in the bus on the way over. The second time, a defibrillator was used to resuscitate.” The paramedic called out as she relinquished control of the gurney to the team of doctors and nurses.
As the doctors rushed Jason Voorheeze to the O.R. for surgery, they continued to spew out orders in a language that only they could understand.
“We’re gonna need Doctor Butler and five quarts of blood. The chart says the victim is “O” negative! Give me sixty cc’s of Demerol, thirty cc’s of morphine, two quarts of saline solution….” It went on and on, as the patient was rushed to the operating room.
French Tip refused to let them separate her from her brother. A second ambulance was called for Mama B. who had to be admitted to the hospital. She was suffering from severe distress and shock.
French Tip had to know about her brother. She didn’t think he was going to make it. She’d ridden with him in the ambulance and nearly had a heart attack both times when he crashed. But, thank GOD, He bought him back. Now, Tip allowed herself a small glimmer of hope that that he would pull through.
Eight long, grueling hours slowly passed. The waiting room was reminiscent of what it ad been just a couple of months ago, when Voorheeze had been shot the first time; long solemn looks in a sea of black faces. No one dared to voice the fears that settled deep within their hearts. Much like old fables and urban legends, whose power lies solely in those that speak them into existence.
French Tip was beyond numb. She felt death. Murder was nowhere around but death was present. Both of her brothers were gone, stolen from her. They were her protectors. Who would protect her now? Who would help her take care of her mother? The laundry list of questions that she had spun rapidly in her head. They’d built one hell of an empire, but at what cost? She could taste the death that was ever present, like a lingering virus.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the doctor walking in her direction. As he approached the waiting room, his feet dragged slow, like they were weighted down. His smock was disheveled and stained with blood. He looked like he had been to hell and back. It couldn’t be good news, n to with the look on his face. His entire demeanor screamed torment.
“Ms. Juniel,” he approached French Tip, giving her his sole attention. “Now, we are not out of the woods just yet” he cautioned. “It’s been a long and trying day for the all of us ,I’m sure. I’m sorry for the tragedy that has befallen your family. Thankfully, we were able to get your brother stable for now.”
French Tip jumped into the doctor’s arms; hugging and squeezing him tight. Everyone was loud and celebratory. The doctor had to wave his arms to get everyone’s attention. “There were a lot of complications during surgery; all of which were successfully tended to. However, the next twenty-four hours are crucial for him. Your brother still has a hell of a fight ahead of him.”
“Okay doctor. I understand about the fight, but for now, my brother is okay though?” she asked him, sounding like a little girl, who’d gotten in trouble and was now standing in front of the school teacher.
“Yes maam, for now he is okay.” Doctor Butler didn’t want to give the young lady any false hope. From what he’d been told, she’d already been through a great deal.
Cantelope walked over and hugged her cousin. They’d both been through a lot lately, but they were fighters, and fighters pushed on.
Doctor Butler said a few more things to them then retreated to his office. He didn’t know how many more seventy two-hour shift’s he had in him, but he knew the last one really took a lot out of him.
French Tip stayed in the comfort of Cantelope’s arms for a little while longer. She needed to feel a sense of security. True enough, Doctor Butler had made it clear that her brother was not out of the woods just yet. At least she could find momentary ease in knowing her brother had a chance to live. Any fighting odds were good odds given who her brother was. Neva was he the type of person to bow down or to get rolled over. He would always fight and stand for something, so she knew he would fight for his life. The question was, would fighting be enough?
The upper echelon of Neva Die Dragon Gang was obsolete. T’Rida and Clark were dead. Voorheeze was laid up in a hospital bed fighting for his life and Gunz was half way across the country doing only God knew what. French had to decide fast because she knew they could very well be on the brink of a full-fledged coup or even worse a civil war.
She made her way to her mother’s room to check on her after telling Cantelope to let the rest of the regime know that there would be a meeting at the War Room in two days. She opened the door figuring her mother would be asleep at that ti
me of night, but felt it was necessary to update her due to the severity of the situation. When French sat down, Mama Beckum’s eyes fluttered open. She was trying to focus.
“My My Baby” was all she could get out. She was so drained. Sleep alluded Mama B. due to the amount of stress. She was wondering if the suffering and loss of her children could actually be punishment for her past sins? Could God be that cruel?
“He’s okay, Mama!” French Tip took her mother’s hand into her own.
“He made it out of surgery okay. It was a long surgery. There were a couple of problems during the surgery, but they took care of them. Due to the level of trauma that his body endured, the doctor felt it was best to put him in a medically induced coma”. French Tip took a deep breath. “The induced coma was the best option for recovery. Without doing so, there was a high probability of his body going into shock, which in this stage could prove to be fatal. Now he has time to heal and rest.” She made sure to sound confident as she filled her mother in. Heaven knows her mother needed some good news. A ray of sunshine in this dense storm they’ve been through.
“Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!” Mama Beckum cried out, her heart still broken over losing her first born. But, she wouldn’t’ be ungrateful, she counted the blessings she’d received.
French Tip just held her mother’s hand rubbing it. She was lost in her own thoughts. She knew that this was only the beginning of the trouble to come….
**** N. D. ****
11:47 p.m.
BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP!BEEP!
He sits in the dark raging like a body builder in the middle of Roid-Rage. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the dark confines of the hospital room.
The devil was a lie and he knew it. But, as he stared at the bandaged body with all the tubes and hoses running out of it, it was hard to ignore the devil and not do his bidding. He remembered reading “Thugs Cry” by Ca$h while he was locked up. A single hot tear slowly traveled down his face as he cursed the irony.
“Voorheeze where did y’all go wrong? We’re revolutionaries not gangstas! Brah, all that gangsta shit that was the old us. The new us, were Enlightened Visionaries. Did you forget that? Lil Brah, y’all doing just like them old ones did before us. We were supposed to be the ones to break the cycle. That’s why our umbrella didn’t fall up under them three letters. We might be up under the oath and the codes, but what we were building wasn’t…”
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps stopping outside of the door. He quickly opened the door to the bathroom and rushed inside. He didn’t know who was getting ready to enter the room, but he was not ready to see anyone. Just to be safe he took his FN off of his waist and held it, ready!
“Okay, just please remember to keep it down and hurry. No one is supposed to be up here, I could lose my job.” A female nurse spoke just above a whisper, yet the urgency was evident in her voice.
“Don’t trip, babe. You doin' a nigga a favor. I won’t get you in any trouble. Dat’s my word on dat. I’m in and I’m out”. The stranger told her after crossing the threshold. “Here.” He told her as he pulled out a large stack of one hundred-dollar bills.
She snatched the knot of money faster than a snapping turtle snatching lettuce. “Okay, thank you! But please hurry.” She spun around and left before he asked her for the money back or before something happened.
He looked like trouble and she didn’t want any part of it. When he told her, he would give her five thousand dollars, she thought about her sick daughter. She really needed the money and that’s the only reason the nurse agreed to break the rules.
BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP!BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP!
He just stood there looking at the broken and bruised body. He could see where the bullets struck from the placements of the bandages.
BEEP! BEEP!
The earie silence was only interrupted by the irritating sound of the machine as it beeped, sent a chill down his spine. Its florescent glow cast an odd hue in the room.
Finally, he slowly approached. Unbeknownst to him, the visitor that was hiding in the bathroom had silently cracked the door open. He was on point, poised ready to let his FN bark at the first sign of foul play.
He stood next to the bed. Shoulders drooped in defeat, head bowed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He thinks it was at Grandma Beckum’s funeral. He’s unsure. But as he stands gazing down, tears flow and fall onto the hospital bed freely.
“Look at you. Got me standing here crying like a little bitch. I bet if yo ass could see me, you’d die laughing.” He reached out and gently brushed the back of his fingers across Voorheeze’s cheek.
The guy in the bathroom was less on guard due to the real tears that he saw the nigga crying, but that banger was still on deck just in case.
“It’s all my fault, rogue! I should’ve told you, but I couldn’t, nigga, there wasn’t enough time. Fuck!” He smashed his fist in the palm of his other hand. After he taking a deep breath he continued.
“I swear to God though, nigga, I got you. I’ma take care of everything, don’t you trip!” He leaned down and kissed Voorheeze on the fore head.
“I love you, rogue.” He turns around and quietly walks out of the room closing the door behind him.
The door to the bathroom slowly opened all the way and the first visitor stepped out. It was too dark in the room for him to make out who the other nigga was. There was a brief moment when he had bent down to kiss Voorheeze forehead. The hue of the florescent light illuminated his face a little, still he was unable to make out who the other man was.
So, distracted in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the young nurse as she opened the door.
“Oh, um excuse me, who are you? And what are you doing here?” She asked him as she turned the lights on. The nurse was coming to tell the other guy that it was time to go. She didn’t expect to see someone else.
“Sistah, please do not be alarmed. I assure you I am not a threat and I don’t mean you or brotha any harm.” He spoke in his most docile tone while making his posture non-intimidating.
She looked him over. He looked harmless and he was so cute with that smile, those innocent eyes and them gold teeth. “Okay, but you can’t be in here you’re gonna get me in trouble. I can’t afford to get fired. I need this job.” She stepped aside making a gesture that he had to leave.
“Thank you, my queen, I won’t cause you any grief. “He reached in his jeans, pulled out a knot and handed her half of it. “I just needed to see my brotha and make sure he was okay.”
“How many brothers does he have?” She asked as she accepted the money, neva saying thank you.
“What do you mean?” He paused in mid stride as he asked the question.
“There was a guy here not too long ago. He said that he was his brother too.” She wasn’t paying him no mind. The young woman was focused on trying to guess how much money he’d given her. It was more than the other guy gave, she could tell by its thickness.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter II
The Next Morning
Chief Vieira was in a state if confusion beyond her control. She’d sat at the vanity in her room staring at herself in the mirror for the past three hours, looking at the same face. The same puffy red eyes that ran smeared mascara down her face. The same worry and stress lines. The same runny nose. Most importantly, the same eyes that were sad, lost, frustrated and confused!
The image hasn’t changed, and it wasn’t going to. She wasn’t a drinker. The same glass of Chardonnay that she’d poured hours ago was still sitting untouched. She was supposed to be at work hours ago, but couldn’t find the strength to get dressed. She sat in her bra and panties. Her ample breast straining at the material of the bra begging to be freed.
When she’d first met La’Mont, she had no idea of the life he lived. The sex was great. It was the best she ever had. As their affair continued and she got to know him, he was a ve
ry nice, caring, giving, and understanding person.
She rubbed her finger around the rim of the glass as she thought. He was an excellent listener. All in all, he was the perfect gentleman, even if he was a little rough around the edges. Since they had only been seeing each other a relatively short time, she’d had no time to think about, let alone realize that she was falling in love with him.
The tears began flowing again. Stopping them was useless. More would just take the place of the ones she wiped away. What was she going to do? The aching of her heart was driving her insane. She was near the point of delirium.
She had to know what happened to him. She couldn’t take it any more! She’d nearly had a heart attack when the news got out about the shooting at the church. The initial report was that he had been killed. Then a report came that he may have survived.
Finally, she got up. She decided she would get dressed and go see for herself. Hell, she was the police, he was a high profile suspect out on bond who had been gunned down. She had every right to stop in on him.
As she passed her floor to ceiling mirror, she stopped and looked at herself. She was not fat. Her breast were huge, and her ass was massive, but it looked good. She used to feel self-conscious about the size of her ass. All white girls did. After she met La’Mont, he’d changed that. He pointed out to her that she was perfect.
“God made seven colors in the rainbow so that those colors could produce an endless supply of color, but for every color there was somebody”. When he spoke those words, she was breathless. La’Mont told her he thought her big ass was sexy and made her clothes look better. Even if he didn’t have her body feening for him, her mind was.