by De'Kari
She smacked herself on the ass hard and smiled as it jiggled. Proud of everything her mama gave her! Vieira was going to go see her man!
**** N. D. ****
Sunnyvale, CA
The Brass Rail is a small old strip club in downtown Sunnyvale. If someone’s first encounter or at a strip club was the Brass Rail, they would wonder why niggaz went to the strip club at all. It was that bad. The lighting was bullshit, the service busy and the dancers, god damn! We are talking bullet holes and everything else. But it was a good place to conduct business. People minded theirs and stayed the fuck out of yours. Just the way it should be, establishment included.
This was why Gunz was sitting at one of the back tables patiently awaiting his guest. The mothafucka came thru for him in a major way but that still didn’t make him legit. If anything popped off, Gunz was ready. This red head chick, who looked like she’d shot half a gram of heroin into her veins just before she came out, approached him and asked him if he wanted a lap dance. He declined the dance but tipped her two hundred dollars anyway. She lit up. Without knowing it, Gunz had given her hope. In a world of shit, where it was “dog eat dog”, everyone was out for self. Gunz reminded her that not everybody was corrupt. There were still some good people out there. She felt like crying. Instead she quickly tucked the money away before Hindu or one of his spy snitches noticed it. Shit, she was keeping this for herself. He wanted everything with his fat ass. Shit, he acted like a fucking pimp.
Finally, his guest arrived. Gunz didn’t get up. Instead, he gestured for the man to take a seat. Gunz casually took in the man’s attire. Cowboy boots, jeans, thin button-down long sleeve shirt and a fucking cowboy hat, the fucking Mexican thought he was a white boy.
Gunz finally picked up the drink that had been sitting untouched at his table. Out of sight of the guest, three men stood up and made their way to the exit.
Gunz waved the server over, “Whata ya drinking, Cowboy? And before you say you ain’t drinking.” He leaned forward and stared directly into his eyes, “Trust me, you’re drinking.”
Lt. Urena was definitely nervous. He had been planning and hoping for this for a long time. Still, one couldn’t ever get totally ready to break the law. You just did it.
“I’ll take a Coors Light.” He nervously said as he looked around.
“What can I get for you handsome?” The waitress was probably the best-looking thing in the building and she knew it. Her confidence said so.
“Say, beautiful, let me get four double shots of Hennessy and a bottle of Coors.” He reached inside of his pocket “You know what, on second thought just bring me a bottle of chilled Henny, two glasses and a bottle of Coors.” Gunz tossed three hundred dollars on her tray. It wasn’t that he was a trick or flossing, Gunz was just one of the people who understood and respected every aspect of the game.
Shit, a hustle was a hustle. Who was he to knock someone else’s hustle! Some niggaz looked down on stripping and prostitution, not Gunz though. It took a lot of guts, self-will and a lot of other shit to strip and put up with the lame ass niggaz that gawked over them or the wannabe niggaz who felt like the women were pieces of meat or property because they dropped a few dollars on them. Mothafuckas didn’t understand that it was just entertainment. Strippers were dancers, like any other dancer. Only they danced butt booty ass naked!
The DJ announced the next dancer. A white girl, who looked like she was fresh from the trailer park, came out. Gunz’ attention was drawn to the front door. Two of the three men who’d exited suddenly returned. A sign that there weren’t any other police out there. The third one would remain outside just to make sure none popped up expectantly.
“Cop, this is yo rodeo, talk.” Gunz leaned back in his chair and waited.
Urena cleared his throat and fought to find his nerve. “It’s like this, I’ve been looking to approach you guys for a long time. Since before Thomas was killed. I just neva knew how nor ever found the opportunity. When I learned about Grear and the case she was compiling on Mr. Harvey, I saw it as my opportunity, my shot.” Urena was still feeling nervous, but he’d found his rhythm and he was going to rock with it.
The waitress had other plans.
“Here’s your order and your change, sugar.” She batted her eyes at Gunz when she spoke.
“I don’t ever change sweetheart. Why should I collect it? That’s all you, beautiful.” It was a two-hundred-dollar tip. Honestly, it was nothing to Gunz.
Urena was using the time to ogle her body. Shit, he was drooling all over himself. He’d neva been with a black woman, but he’s fantasized about being with one for years. But, they intimidated him.
“Thank you, baby. Now, if you need or want anything, you make sure you give me a call.” Their waitress looked over at Urena, saw how thirsty he was and said, “that goes for your little cute cowboy friend, too!” She walked away shaking her booty.
Urena looked like he was on the verge of having a brain aneurism.
“You alright, cop?” Gunz didn’t give a fuck if he was or not. He was getting the man back focused.
Urena took a long swallow of his beer. Gunz cracked the Henny, filled both shot glasses up and pushed one over to Urena. “There you go. That there will help you get your feet back under you.”
Urena didn’t drink Cognac. He needed something to take the edge off though, so he picked it up and downed all of it. The taste was horrible, but he loved the burn of the alcohol as it flowed down his throat. Gunz poured him another.
“As I was saying, informing you about agent Grear was the golden ticket that I needed…”
“Cop scoot your chair back a little bit.” Gunz cut him off before he could finish the sentence.
Although he didn’t understand the request, but he did as he was told. He scooted his chair backwards, getting in the way of a man who was walking by. The guy stumbled over the chair. He dropped something in Urena’s lap. He did it so quickly and smoothly, no one saw it. The only thing the other patrons saw was a man bumping into someone and apologizing.
As Urena looked down into his lap, a look of confusion clouded his expression and a question burned question burned his tongue.
“That’s one hundred thousand dollars, an expression my gratitude for what you did for me. I’m sure that you’ll agree that’s quite fair.” Gunz downed the shot and refilled his glass.
“I think you’ve misunderstood me. Miss Grear… Agent Grear was a gift, a token of my commitment per-say. I wasn’t looking for a one-time payout, I’m looking for a good, cohesive, ongoing relationship.” Urena reached for the glass “believe me, I can be very vital.”
Gunz wasn’t impressed. He’d always been game tight. Fucking wit’ Voorheeze on that Safety and Security shit had only laced his boots tighter and made his tools sharper. He waited for Urena to finish the second drink.
“Randy look,” calling Urena by his first name definitely got his attention. “I know what you want. I knew your intentions when you called me in Philly. I know about your gambling debts to Big Henry and I know about your immense appetite for the ladies.” He downed his drink, not for the taste, but to let the information sink in. Gunz had been drinking Hennessy since high school. He could drink this shit all day.
“See, the money is a warning, Randy. The debt you owed Big Henry is taken care of. You don’t owe him shit. As expensive as that was, it, t in itself, was enough payment for that little bit of information you gave. The cash, well it’s to let you know that I don’t fuck around. I’m very generous with my money. I am just as philanthropic with my bullets. I could give a fuck if it was to some nigga who owed me seventy-five cents, a lieutenant on the police force, or the President of the mothafuckin' United States. I don’t like Donald Trump’s mothafuckin' ass anyway.” Gunz filled both glasses up again and then leaned back.
“Your personal phone is about to ring, Randy, pick it up.” Five seconds later Lt. Randy Urena’s phone rang. Nervousness swept over him again. His number wasn’t listed. H
e had been communicating with Gunz through a disposable he had.
“Hello?” He hesitantly answered. His eyes remained glued to Gunz.
The caller hung up.
Gunz called the server back over.
“As of right now yo debt is paid and the cash is yours, no strings attached. If you decide you still want to proceed with your original plan, call the number that just called you. Remember, Randy, I’ll erase you and everybody you think you love, if you cross me.” He stood up from the table.
“What can I do for yo fine ass now, sugar?” Their waitress finally made it over to their table.
Standing face to face with her, Gunz realized she was actually cute. If the owner would fix the cheap ass lighting, maybe niggaz would notice.
“Take care of my man nice and good-like, baby.” Gunz told her after counting out a stack ($1000) and handing it to her.
It was money well spent. He already knew what choice Urena would make. People with vices always made the wrong choice. On his way out Gunz walked passed the stage and the redbone that was on it. He couldn’t help thinking “Then again if the owner fixed the lights niggaz would get a good look at the rest of the barracudas that worked there.” Outside he climbed into the passenger seat of the black and red BMW X5 Drive 35i. The man that had bumped into Urena was sitting behind the wheel.
“You ready?” AJ asked his big cousin. “Let’s head to that meeting, family.” Gunz didn’t need to say anything else.
Since he’d been back, Gunz loved everything that A.J had done in his absence. AJ had actually grown into one hellavuh leader and commander. Everything he was given, AJ expanded. He’d created some new shit and from what he said, he had other plans in the making. Gunz really was impressed when he learned that AJ was still in communication with Joe, Dame, and the rest of the Case Niggaz that showed true love. Ultimately, Gunz knew that he would have to make a decision. Seeing the “Boss” moves AJ had made once he stepped up in position, there was no way Gunz would just step back in his place.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter III
Union City, California
With an eerie feeling, a less confident one than the façade that she put on, French Tip scanned the living room looking into the faces of those present. C-Murda, J. Styles, Johnny, Spitz and Stone Cold were all accounted for. AJ and the Oakland Chapter were M.I.A. She feared the fuckery had begun already. Her eyes met Cantelope’s, she couldn’t forget her sister. All of the Lieutenants and Capo’s were present. All of the Generals were gone and missing like a lost limb. French wondered if they could recover from the devastating blow.
“OK, y’all. We’ve waited long enough for them. At this point, we must acknowledge the possibility that our Oakland Section might have gone rogue.” Again, she locked eyes with Cantelope. She needed strength. “After our meeting, the necessary people will look into that. Whatever the outcome, we’ll deal with it accordingly. As for now, a more pressing matter must take precedence. We all know that we are now unfortunately an organization with a governing body that has been crippled.” The mood in the living room was grave. Sunken spirits are throughout the room. If Voorheeze pulled through, that would be a blessing, but their body count was irrelevant considering their losses.
Faint music could be heard being played in the back yard. “Everything will be business as usual….” The sound of people coming into the house interrupted her. Everybody whipped out their bangers, ready for whatever!
**** N. D. ****
Union City
He’s sitting low in the Dodge Challenger Demon. The windows are tinted, and he is parked a few houses down with a direct line of sight to the house and its occupants. He’s been there for close to three hours now. Patience is one virtue that he has more than enough of. He sat and watched each and every person drive up and make their way to the house.
He had to admit that considering the nice sunny day, the music and smell of barbeque is a hellavah guise. No matter how many people showed up, it would just look like they were having a little get together. The music was just loud enough to be noticed, yet nowhere near loud enough to be a nuisance. That was some smart shit.
Platinum Cookies weed smoke filled his lungs as he pulled on the blunt, continuing to observe. It had been far too long. Things have gotten so far out of hand. Sure, money was on point. Any nigga would be more than pleased with the amount of money that has been accumulated. But, he wasn’t just “any nigga.”
His calm demeanor and soft-spoken voice gave off the perception of an easy target or ordinary “Joe Blow” . The fierce, nerve twitching, soul touching look in his eyes did little to betray the level of destruction that was caged inside of his 5’10” 190lb frame.
He was a vanguard of his people, first and foremost. A god amongst men. He would build and assist with the construction of communities. But, to those who knew and understood what his catalog of tattoos represented and stood for, The Dragon concealed underneath his clothes was a warning of his true nature and intent. A regional commander in position and field General by rank, much like his brotha who has gone astray, his name was widely known and respected within the circles that mattered. He is truly one of the Black Guerilla Family’s greatest assets.
Putting the blunt out in the ashtray, he decided it was time. Gunz and A.J. had pulled in about twenty minutes ago. That was more than enough time for things to settle down. He took a deep breath to still his spirit. These were gangstas that he was going to confront, but they were his people first and foremost. So, he needed things to go smoothly. He opened the door and climbed out of the Hell Cat. He loved this damn machine they called a car.
When he’d left brothas were driving scrapers. He had a “94” Buick LaSabre on 24-inch rims. He was young and stupid, just like everyone else. He crossed the street and made his way to the War Room. By the time he made it to the front of the house, so had five other brotha’s. Four of the five looked like the starting defensive line for the San Francisco Forty-Niners. All six made their way to the front door.
**** N. D. ****
Meanwhile
The BMW X5 turned onto Santa Elena Way. A.J. was still driving while he and Gunz talked. Things had gone well overall for the family, even with the losses considered. But, it was time for some things to change. One thing both Rida and Voorheeze always preached was evolving with the times. They needed to evolve, or they would surely fall. The tragic misfortunes that they’d experienced made now the perfect opportunity to make those changes.
Gunz knew that the Guerilla Family did well in the area of development and strategic planning along with disciplined structure. Being Oakland born and raised, Gunz had witnessed the Guerilla Family’s get down first hand.
But, Gunz was and forever would be Deep East Oakland. After the love Rida and Voorheeze had shown him, he would rep Neva Die Dragon Gang to the fullest! No questions asked. They got out of the SUV and made their way to the front door. There was the sound of music coming from the back, but Gunz knew only one person was in the back on the grill. He took note of the Dodge Challenger Demon with the tints a little way down the street, making sure to register it in his head. Any car with tinted windows automatically drew his attention.
The only mothafuckas who sat behind tints were mothafuckas that didn’t want to be seen. Well, the only people that didn’t want to be seen were the exact people a nigga needed to see.
They walked in the house. Naturally, Gunz entered first. Gunz had only been to this new location once but knowing that this was a cover for his folks, it felt like he was coming home. Philly had been treating him good, but, damn he missed the Bay.
“We will be business as usual…” He heard someone say as they walked in, but whoever it was stopped in mid-sentence.
They turned the corner after A.J. locked the door and was greeted by a room full of killas all holding bangers pointed at them.
“Well, god damn! If this is how y’all welcome a nigga home, a nigga just might stay out on the East Coast a
little longer.” Gunz joked with a smile on his face.
A huge smile crossed French’s face.
“Boy, don’t be walking up in here like dat ass won’t get cooked!” Cantelope joked “acting like we ain’t Gorillaz in here.”
“Shit, you already know dat I know bout them ‘Gorillaz in the Bay’ but shyyyt when Godzilla in dis bitch King Kong turn monkey real fast.” They all laughed at Gunz’ joke. The sapphire eyes on his iced-out dragon chain were as blue as the waters in Figi while the rest of the diamonds throughout the body of the dragon reflected on the floor like a strobe light.
French Tip remembered one of her brothers saying, “and remember one monkey don’t stop the show, homeboy.”
A.J. chimed in “Sis, got you wit that one, cuzzo.”
The atmosphere in the room was vastly different from the start of the meeting now that Gunz was back. Without question, the Mobb was still intact. They all embraced. Gunz had been gone for two years, so the emotions were strong. They spent a little bit of time catching up.
“Alright, but look y’all, we gotta make some changes.” Gunz didn’t know how everyone would feel about him being gone for so long and coming back giving orders. At the same time, he couldn’t be anything less than himself. “I know some people ain’t gone like the changes. Shit some mothafuckas are scared of change. There are only two things you can do to sinking ship. Abandon ship or fix the problem. We gone…
“System disarmed.” Sounded on the alarm system.
Gunz came out with a big ass .44 Desert Eagle in his hand faster than the system could finish the alert. He looked directly at A.J., “I thought you locked up?”
A.J.’s .45’s was cocked and locked, one in each hand. He didn’t know who it was coming through the door, but he felt sorry for them. “I did” was all he replied.
****
Meanwhile