by De'Kari
“Mr. Holliday, it is true I knew Mr. Thomas Smith and I too know Mr. Simpson, but you see, my friend, I don’t know you…” The tension was thick and anyone could feel it. Toure paid it no mind. “This business that you say we should discuss shall take place. However, if you want a meeting, your men must wait here.” As a finality of what he was saying, he smiled.
“Let’s go.” It didn’t bother Dok at all to leave his men. He could take care of himself perfectly well.
Inside the restaurant, seated at a table, Toure offered Dok a drink which he politely declined.
“So, my friend, tell me what you would like to discuss.” Toure asked then took a generous swallow of cognac.
The smell of the curry spices and the flavors that mingled in the air was making Dok sick. He didn’t know what was worse, the smell of the curry or the arrogance of the leech in front of him that was sucking his people dry. The fucking parasite.
“I’m not one to beat around the bush nor waste time, neither yours or mine.” Toure poured himself another healthy glass of the Cognac while Dok talked. “We’re undergoing a reshaping in how we are going to conduct our organization in the future. The sales of cocaine and heroin no longer fit our agenda.”
This got the Africans attention. “You tell me you no more sell the dope?” This had to be a joke, only the black bitch was not smiling. “You black beetch! You sell the dope till I say!” Toure was outraged.
“Look, man, now I ain’t about to be no more black bitches. Now, I came here tonight to give you an option. But, if you call me one more bitch, you can die with the rest of your people.”
Some of that arrogance disappeared at hearing of those words. Suddenly, Samori Toure noticed that it had actually gotten a little quieter.
“Sujaa! Sujaa!” he yelled out. Panic now traceably noticeable behind his cockiness.
“There’s no sense yelling for anyone, they’re all dead.” The way he spoke the words was so nonchalant.
Toure still tried to feign toughness even with sweat beading up on his forehead. “You listen to me, you black beech…”
Boca! Boca! Boca!
The 40 caliber Desert Eagle silenced all threats. “We don’t play with that bitch word, brotha.”
With that, their problem of a connect who wouldn’t let them go was over. Cocaine, crack, and heroin had destroyed his people for so long. Dok couldn’t see himself continually contributing to the problem. They had way more than enough money to take time to reorganize and come anew. Come fresh.
They could produce fifty kilos of crystal meth and 20pounds of fentanyl a week with the chemistry team they had. In time, that number would spread. The important thing was instead of feeding poison to his own people, they would be selling it in the white communities. For once his people would be able to breathe.
He calmly stood up and exited the restaurant. He hadn’t lied when he told Samori Toure that all of his people were dead. The three trucks were just a distraction. The main threat had snuck onto the premises during the serving of dinner. An entire BGF hit squad had taken care of all of Toure’s people and employees, except the women. They had been tied up in a storage compartment. The fire would attract the police and fire department. They would hear the women’s cries and screams and rescue them. Dok Holliday was old school; no women, no children were to be harmed.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter VI
Missouri City, Texas
The air in the room was humid like the air in the state of Missouri. The loud, wet smacking sounds of skin slapping against skin sounded like a kitchen sink being plunged.
“F…Fuck me d-daddy,” Bent over doggy style, she was throwing that ass back at him as he drove into her relentlessly. “Give it to me!”
He watched as sweat dropped from his face onto her huge, golden ass. He was fucking her long, deep, and hard. She had nothing to do with the frustration that he was taking out on her. That was the fault of the other bitch! The sight of his sweat landing on her ass gave him an idea.
He leaned back as he was stroking and spit a glob of saliva directly on her asshole. He took his thumb and started messaging her asshole. “Sssss…ummm do it!” He knew what she was talking about. Slowly he let his thumb slide inside her ass.
“Yes!” she screamed! “Now fuck me, Daddy! Hard! Daddy fuck me!”
She lifted her head in ecstasy. Her eyes closed with a smile on her face. Spiritual was indeed in Heaven. She had already cum twice and could feel another one rapidly building.
“You love this dick, don’t you?” He asked as his thumb fucked her ass in rhythm of his dick fucking her hot pussy.
“D…Daddy, yes! I… I love iiiitttt!” She screamed as another explosion ripped through her body. The shock wave of pleasure made her dizzy. She wondered how she could be dizzy with her eyes closed. Yes, indeed the dick was good.
He could feel his nutts tightening as they swelled. He used both hands and grabbed her by the waist. She knew that’s when the real fucking would begin, and it did. He was pounding into her pussy so hard that his balls were stinging her clit as they smacked into it.
His thrust was deeper now, more sporadic. “Gimme that fucking pussy!”
“It’s yours, Daddy! Ssss…It’s yours!”
“Aaargh!” At the sound of her surrendering, he finally gave up his seed.
The two of them collapsed on the bed in a heap of cum, sweat and satisfaction. The sweat was cooling their hot flesh.
As his chest heaved up and down with deep breaths, he told her, “turn on the air conditioner. God damn, a nigga dying in here.”
The last thing she wanted to do was move, but after the work that he just put in, how could she tell him no? She gathered the strength to climb her 5’2” body off of the bed to do as he asked. Her ass looked like two old school kick balls were used for her ass cheeks. The vision of such a lovely sight was causing his dick to slowly start rocking-up again.
She made it to the thermostat, finally, on a wobbly knee and still out of breath. God knew that if she died at that very moment, it would be okay by her. Since she was up, she made her way to the bathroom to wash the evidence of their love making off of her. His phone began ringing while she made her way to the bathroom. But she was lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t pay him any mind. When he’d first reached out to her, his request had been too bizarre to take seriously. Jump on a plane and fly out to Texas? He was crazy. When he told her that there was a first-class ticket at San Francisco International with her name on it, she new he was serious. All her life, she’d done the norm. Always what was expected of her and it got her nowhere.
So, she’d called her firm and took an immediate leave under vacation time, left a note for the Warden (her no good husband who was holding her hostage) telling him she had to fly to the East Coast on emergency company business and she’d hopped on the plane. That was a few weeks ago and she has been in heaven since. She thought as the sound of him answering his phone brought her out of her thoughts.
“What’s up, rogue?” he answered the phone, hating that he had to get up.
“Nigga, I hear that it’s so hot out in dat bitch that the lizards be doing pushups. ”Gunz joked into the phone.
“Shit, nigga, I don’t know bout no lizards, but a nigga damn near died just from fucking.” He was serious as a heart attack.
Gunz bust out laughing.
“Nigga, I’m serious, I damn near had a fucking stroke.” Although he was as serious as could be, he had to laugh. Plus, that was a good way to cover his uneasiness.
Gunz calling him on an unscheduled call meant either something good transpired or something bad, but something was up. He wanted to come right out and ask, but he was too gangsta to appear eager like a little kid. So, as the air conditioner cooled the room, he cooled his nerves.
“I ain’t gone beat around the bush, cuzzo, or keep you waiting on why a nigga called you. You all good, my nigga. Pack yo bags and come home. “Those were the words that Clarkola had b
een waiting to hear for two months now.
He took a huge risk that night he had flown in to go see his brother at the hospital, but he had to see him. In his heart, it was his fault that his brother had gotten shot. The guilt tore at him until he had no choice but to go see him. Considering that he didn’t know if the case Tieka was building on him before he killed her had gone anywhere or died out, he was on the run. Also, add the fact that he had killed a federal agent to his list of issues.
“Not to disrespect your gangsta or nothin, but you sure bout dat?” Hell, checking ain’t cheating. Not being cautious is how he found himself in this predicament to begin with.
“Naaw, no disrespect. But, you good homie. Shit’s been checked and rechecked. You straight.” Gunz didn’t take it as disrespect. Whenever you were talking ‘federal’ all niggaz got nervous. Even the hardest of niggaz.
“I owe you, rogue. If it wasn’t for you…” he let the sentence trail off. There wasn’t a need to state what they both knew.
“Come on, cuzzo, don’t tell me the heat down there is turning you soft.” Gunz joked.
“Naa, nigga, I’m just saying thanks.” Wasn’t nothing soft about being grateful. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Off top, cuzzo, in a bit.” Gunz disconnected the line.
Clarks mind drifted back to that day. He had been tripping off of the wild sex from Spiritual. “L” had gotten locked up for stomping the shit out of the nigga at the club. He was on his way to take care of some business when two SUV’s pulled up blocking his path. He’d reached for his banga thinking it was them YNM niggaz until the tinted window rolled down and he saw Gunz face. Clark didn’t comprehend it cause Gunz was supposed to be in Philly.
“Ain’t no time to talk, cuzzo. Get in.” Gunz voice didn’t leave room to talk. Neither did the fact that they were on the middle of a busy intersection.
Considering the fact that Gunz didn’t rock like this – jumping out on niggaz in broad day light and it wasn’t a move – plus the fact that he was in Cali period made Clarks decision relatively an easy one. He jumped out of his brand-new Challenger and into the Range Rover while one of Gunz goons jumped into his shit.
It was then that he learned that the woman he had been sharing his bed with and was beginning to give his heart to, was a fucking D.E.A. agent who was trying to build a case against him. She was very close to having everything that she needed.
The first move was to fake his death. That had been Gunz’ idea. The moment lieutenant Urena filled Gunz in on everything, Gunz began formulating everything. With the help of a young robotic engineer the ambulance was rigged. The day of the shooting, Clark had taken two real slugs. One in the shoulder and the other in his upper thigh. Shit had to look read. Plus, that left real blood at the scene. The construction crew that sent the ambulance into the IKEA parking garage was actually his team.
The moment the ambulance drove into the parking garage, the rigged ambulance, with bodies that they had bought from Jones Mortuary, was ready to go. And go it did, right off of the University overpass and onto the 101 Freeway. The crash caused so much commotion that no-one paid attention to a second ambulance driving off.
Next, against Gunz wishes, Clark had to deal with the treacherous, trifling, skeezer that wanted to end his life as a free man.
As he heard Spiritual turn the shower water off, he thought back to the day he saw her go into the downtown government building. He’d followed her to San Francisco and watched. After he saw her go into the building he walked back down the street to her car. He’d used a slim Jim to get in and waited for her. She was in such disarray that she didn’t see him raise up behind her. Nor did she see the piano wire. She’d felt its bite as he pulled on it around her neck. The recognition, confusion, and fear that he saw in her eyes through the rearview mirror gave him a feeling that was euphoric and sweet as his first kill. Fucking Parasite!
“I hope it’s me that you’re thinking about that has got you smiling like that.” Spiritual told him as she walked her naked, heavenly body over toward the bed.
“You know you always gone put a smile on a niggaz face, the way you do what you do.” He responded as she brought him back to reality. He could neva get enough of how flawless her body was.
“I see you’re not lying.” Noticing his rock-hard dick that was saluting her physical perfection.
She didn’t waste a second covering it with her hot, moist mouth.
“Ungh! We’re outta here after this. So, make it good.” He laid his head back and got ready for the ride she was about to take him on.
**** N. D. ****
East Palo Alto, California Dok climbed out of the Challenger feeling proud of such a beautiful day. There were clouds in the sky, a few blocking the sun and there was a slight wind chill, but it still was a beautiful day to Dok Holliday. Somehow, Steve was able to talk the city into selling the infamous Rec Center to the Organization. For decades it had been notorious for the drug trafficking and usage on its grounds. The city desperately tried everything to clean it up, but nothing worked. Even a makeover and name change to YMCA didn’t help.
After finding out that the organization had plans for using the facility for children in the community, the city council decided to give the private sector a chance to see if it could achieve what the council couldn’t. Naturally, it wasn’t going to be a question. Already, the word was out that some BGF mothafuckas bought the center and were guaranteeing it would be safe for the kids at all cost. There was a clear message out that there would be a zero-tolerance mentality towards anyone using the facility or its grounds for anything drug related or illegal for that matter.
Someone had to be there for the kids of the ghetto. They had to have some type of safe haven from the everyday turmoil that was their lives. Dok and the Committee knew this. They had known it for years, yet no-one was able to rise to the occasion. Well a mothafucka was rising and his name was Dok Holliday. He smiled to himself as he walked up to Steve and shook his hand.
“It’s good to see you, my brother.” Dok’s smile was just as genuine as the truth of his words.
“Likewise. I see your people don’t waste any time.” He said referring to the ‘Sons of Khatari’ work trucks and crews that were already busy at hand getting the center ready.
The two young brothas stood there and surveyed the work for a moment. Passerby’s either slowed to stare at the work or honked the horn in recognition or in appreciation. Shit, the word was out that these brothas meant business. A dopefeind that was in the park getting high early that morning had learned the hard way. The months he would spend in the hospital healing would give him a lot to think about.
“Would you like to take a tour? Have me show you around a little?” Steve asked him after a while.
“Naa, my brotha, I already know what it’s going to look like when it’s done in my head.” He pointed with two fingers to his temple “I’ve had it all planned and mapped out up here for a long time.”
This wasn’t some overnight shit that had been thrown together. This movement was years in the making. Voorheeze might have lost sight, but he and T’Rida began this dream by accumulating the capital. This was all their dream and he would pick up where his brothas left off.
Steve could tell that Dok was mentally somewhere else. Wherever that maybe, he wondered if there were more brothas like Dok there.
“So, have you decided on a name?” Steve wondered.
“All our Community Centers will be called Elysian Fields.” Dok informed him without having to return from wherever he was.
“Elysian Fields? Steve had neva heard the name before.
“It’s Paradise, my brotha, Paradise!”
**** N. D. ****
Chapter VII
San Jose, California
He climbed up to the top of the third flight of stairs. Winter was just about over, but his nerves had him so hot. It felt like he was in the middle of summer. He was nervous because he knew when she saw him his mom wa
s going to kick his ass. Being her first-born son, he could only imagine the hell faking his death had put her through. So, before he resurfaced to the world, Clark had to fix things with Mama Beckum first.
His nervousness was evident by how softly he knocked on the door. When no-one answered, he knocked a lot harder. He couldn’t stop his heart from pounding. Deep in their heart every Gangsta was still scared of their mama. No matter how tough they were or how many bodies they had, they were always mama’s babies.
As he heard the alarm being disarmed and the deadbolts unlocking, he braced himself. He thought he would hear ‘Who is it.’ His response would lessen the blow. Instead, all of the locks were unlocked then the door swung open. For a moment she just stared at him. Her mind taking time to register. She was wearing her lounge-around gown and some house shoes. The moment passed, and all hell broke loose.
“Aaaaaaaaaah!” She screamed at the top of both lungs while she stood there shaking her head. “Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“Ssssssh! Mama, calm down.” He was looking around nervously. The last thing he needed right now was for one of her neighbors to call the police.
“Mama, calm down!”
“Clarence! Oh, my gawd!” She rushed into his arms not believing what she was seeing. She had to touch him to make sure he was real!
Once she felt her baby, the dam broke and the river of tears flowed freely from her eyes.
“Oh My God! My baby! My baby!” She just kept repeating over and over while a multitude of emotions swam through her.
Clark couldn’t’ do anything but hold her. He felt fucked up knowing that he was the cause of her sorrow. Even though faking his death was necessary along with not letting anyone know that it was staged. He still wished whatever pain she endured could be taken away.
Finally, Mama Beckum was able to gather her composure enough to stop crying. She broke free of his embrace and pulled back from him. Then, without warning, slap! She hauled off and slapped the shit out of him. The sound resonated through the hallway sounding like a baseball bat connecting with a fastball straight down the middle.