by De'Kari
The Halo moniker was designated for the specific strike unit of the Hit Detail, those designated to make the kill. If for some reason they couldn’t, any member of the detail could execute the hit with approval from Alpha-One, but Halo didn’t need approval.
Scooter stood up and kept his distance. He made sure to give Clark his space. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Following him would be easy. Not too many people came dressed to the event wearing hood shit.
As he was moving, a sexy ass light-skinned sistah stood up in front of him.
“Hello there, handsome.” She had the sexiest eyes he had ever seen. “I hope you’re not leaving. I’ve been watching you all night hoping that I would get the chance to speak with you.” She was 5’6” with a body like Yadi Da Body.
On any given Sunday, she could get the business, but not today. Today he was on some mob shyt and nothing got in the way of that.
“Damn, beautiful. I’m sorry, but I’m happily married. In fact, I am on my way to meet my wife now. She was running a little late.” Scooter side stepped her without waiting for a reply. He had a nigga to smack.
He neva saw the disappointment on her face nor the spark of fire inside of her beautiful eyes.
**** N. D. ****
Richmond, California
The room looked like a mini command center for Nasa. Ten twenty-five-inch T.V. monitors covered the entire wall. There was a table in front of the wall that resembled a huge mixing board in a music studio. Speakers were mounted in various places throughout the room.
The man seated in a chair monitoring it wasn’t worried about any sound escaping because the entire room was sound proofed. Even if any sound did escape the room, he was the only one in the entire building.
Young Zair was only twenty-five years old. However, his gun play in the streets was legendary. Within the organization it became clear when he was just a young pup, how extraordinary his analytical mind was. It was clear that he would be a military strategist.
He was currently Active Commanding General of the War Council. He was in charge of every single Military Cadre and oversaw all military operations.
He watched intently as the EGU Forces carried out one of the most controversial operations he’s ever overseen. He was at odds over the committee’s decision to execute Clark because he was Voorheeze older brother. Voorheeze was Zair’s big brotha. He felt that he was betraying his brother by overseeing operation to kill Clark.
Zair had always been loyal to two things. The first being, The Family and the second was Voorheeze.
For over two hours he’d watched the monitors. He listened and followed closely to the communications of Mtambo and his Cadre. The time was drawing near for the execution. If Clark didn’t give them the opportunity to carry it out before the designated moment, they would take it then.
It seemed like the opportunity presented itself when he watched Clark get up and walk towards what he agreed would no doubt be the bathroom.
He watched the Cadre move strategically in stealth towards the target. Rell was already in the bathroom taking up his position. Scooter followed Clark.
Zair still kept his eyes divided amongst the other monitors. French Tip was on stage looking so elegant. She looked the opposite of the true killer she really was.
“…Now, I need you to give your greatest effort and help me…” She was saying up on the stage.
Zair turned his head just in time to see Clark enter the bathroom. Scooter wasn’t that far behind him. Just as something else stood out to him, her words grabbed his focus.
“…I give to you ladies and gentlemen…My best friend.”
The cameras left French Tip and showed the curtains as he stepped through looking like the god Zair remembered.
“God Damn!” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. But now was not the time to question, he had to act!
**** N. D. ****
Meanwhile
Scooter made his way for a middle-aged white man who was exiting the restroom as he approached. Quietly, he opened the door preparing to enter. He noticed two things when the door opened. His brother stood at the sink in his disguise washing his hands, while Clark was at the urinal taking a piss.
Rell gave Scooter a signal to seal off the restroom, which he did.
“Halo-One to Alpha-Team. Halo-Two is in position. Execution in less than ten seconds.” Scooter informed everyone just as he noticed the little honey coming his way.
The moment Scooter backed out the door, Rell spun on his toes. Pulling out the garrote, he silently made his way towards Clark, who was so busy concentrating on what he was doing he was clueless to the enemy behind him.
Five more steps…four…Rell brought his arms up ready to loop the garrote around his neck! Three…..held his breath. Two….
“Dragon to EGU stand down! I repeat this is Dragon to EGU Command stand down. Abort the operation.” An unexpected Zair’s voice came over the earpiece.
The moment Rell put the garrote in his pocket, Clark noticed a reflection in the stainless-steel handle of the urinal. He spun around with fire in his eyes and his hand on his banga which was already coming up off his hip.
Immediately improvising, Rell hung his head and faked like he was drunk. Swaying side to side.
“Me bad my bredrin! ‘Cuse me. The blood clot spirits done ran threw me, bredrin.” The Jamaican accent was on point. Along with the dreads, it got the job done.
“Nigga, I ain’t wit dat faggot shit! Next time watch where the fuck you going or de blood clot bullet gone run through ya!” He mocked the Jamaican accent as he pushed his way past the nigga.
Rell was raging on the inside. He was there! He could taste the niggaz death on his lips. Stand down? What the fuck Zair had meant, stand down? Rell was so furious t spun backwards kicking and breaking one of the mirrors, but he would neva question a command.
Outside the bathroom, Scooter was wondering what he was going to say to the little sexy thang who had followed him from where they were seated. She must’ve been thirsty to still push even after he told her wifey was here.
As she approached he started to speak, but she kept gesturing with her eyes for him to look down. When he did in her hand was a paper that said “We’re being watched.”
This caught his attention. Just then the bathroom door opened up and Clark walked out. He was so pissed he didn’t pay any attention to Scooter who wasn’t in disguise.
“Where’s that wife that you were on your way to go get?” She asked once Clark was out of ear shot.
“Oh…I…uh…” Scooter fumbled over his words , with a confused look on his face.
“Look, sweetheart, there’s no need to try making up excuses. I know she’s not here. Look just take my number and call me. Trust me, you won’t be sorry.” She handed Scooter a folded piece of paper while removing the black scorpion diamond pin she was wearing.
Next, she gave Scooter a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Zair, I stand firm in the spirit of George Lester Jackson…” she recited something for five seconds. When she was done reciting it she continued to speak. “The entire auditorium is under surveillance. Abort your mission and leave. There are over one hundred Federal Agents here.” She released her hug and bent down. When she stood up she had the pin in her hand.
“Oh look! My pin came off. Trust me, honey. Give me a call. I’ll teach you a few things.” And with that she turned and left.
“Who in the hell was that?” Rell asked his brother he came out of the bathroom.
From what she just said, getting the fuck out of there was more important then learning who in the fuck she was.
“Alpha-Team this is Dragon. Execute immediate evacuation orders. Again, I repeat evacuate immediately.” Zair had terminated the mission and given new orders.
Rell and Scooter just looked at each other before carrying out the order.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter XXIV
#880 N. passing Dixon Landing
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nbsp; Driving felt foreign to Voorheeze as he cruised down 880 headed to the war room. He was glad that he chose to the drive the 300 instead of the Lambo. That was just too much power right now for Voorheeze to be trying to wrestle with.
He’d just left his mom’s house. He had to spend some time with her before taking care of business. He wanted to go straight to Lisa once and for all, but he knew this bullshit that was going on had to be taken care of before things got too out of hand.
Clark was his blood brother, but Jama was what he believed in and represented. Neva Die was his life, what he ate, slept and drank. His brother was going to have to respect it. By the same token, Dok needed to slow his fucking roll! Voorheeze didn’t know what Dok was thinking, a nigga ain’t gone come in regulating shit. No nigga!
Being in the coma this time around had a completely different effect on him. His fire had been reignited and shit was gone burn! The battery pack was fully charged.
Learning that Sutton and Young Nigga Mafia had been erased really pissed him off. He couldn’t slide for himself. Knowing that Batman slid for him and did the damn thang was cool though. Somebody needed to feel his fire. Somebody needed to burn.
His phone started vibrating just as he was passing the Tennyson exit. The caller I.D. told him that it was Vieria. She’d been blowing him up since the fashion show. How was he to know it was televised? Better yet how in the fuck was he to know that she was watching it?
“Yeah, Babe.” He answered praying she wasn’t looking for a fight.
“How could youuuu!” she cried through the phone.
“Vieira. Look ma, I’m sorry, I really am, but the truth is the truth. You and I had beautiful moments, but I’ve loved this woman since I was a child. I neva knew where you stood. You neva put nothing on the table. So how was I to know you were catching feelings?”
She couldn’t answer that question. Not only was she too caught up in her emotions, but she knew his words were true. She just didn’t want to accept them.
“Vieira. I care about you a lot, but we’re going to have to have this conversation face to face in a little bit. Right now, I’m about to have a serious meeting.” He didn’t’ like seeing any woman hurt, especially one who was by his side like she had been. It stemmed from seeing his mom hurt so much as a child.
“So, you are going to break my heart and run? You really expect me to believe you’re going to call me back?” She asked through the tears.
“I’ve neva lied to you and I’m not gone start now.”
Reluctantly she said “okay”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” He placed the phone back down inside of the cup holder.
He turned on the radio trynna take his mind off the bullshit.
Lil Boosie and Webbie came to life thru the speakers. The custom speakers beat hard while Boosie asked niggaz “Do you got a problem?” This song was the prelude to what was coming.
He pulled up to the War Room twelve minutes later. In True Religion jeans, throw back Jerry Rice Forty-Niner jersey and all black Timberland boots, he looked nothing like the smooth well-dressed gangsta everyone was’ used to. The twin chrome 45’s with extended clips on his waist said otherwise.
This was his first time at this location. Before the coma, the house on Santa Elana was the War Room. He took a moment to look around and check his security, then made his way up the walkway.
Inside of the house everyone was present. The room got quiet as all idle chatter stopped. Everyone’s head turned and faced the natural leader of the Family. The moment was surreal.
“Brother!” French Tip rushed into his arms.
Voorheeze hugged his baby sister all the while keeping an eye on Dok Holliday. He noticed a few faces that he didn’t recognize and assumed they could only be apart of Dok’s Cadre.
Scooter and Rell he recognized. Although they were grown, he could still see the kids they were when he and Dok were cellmates in Santa Rita so many years ago.
He broke off his embrace with his sister and walked straight towards Dok. The way Scooter’s body tensed up didn’t go unnoticed by Voorheeze.
“Bredren!”
“What’s up, big brah!” The two embraced in a might bear hug. It had been nearly twenty years since they’d last seen each other face to face.
“You look healthy, young god.” Dok told him as they stared at each other.
“What happened to the mane?” Voorheeze was referring to Dok’s signature dreadlocks that were gone.
“As the times and the enemy evolve…” Dok began “so must we too evolve.” They both finished Jonathan Jackson’s quote to his brother George together. Soledad Brother’s was a mandatory read for them.
The next fifteen minutes were spent getting reacquainted with and introduced to everyone. Almost a year is a long time not to be around someone. Especially in the street life.
After the reintroductionss were out of the way, Voorheeze turned back to face Dok.
“Big Brah, let’s address the elephant in the room and get this shit out of the way. Brah, how could you go to war with my brother? My mama’s son?” From the moment he heard about it, Voorheeze couldn’t believe that shit.
“Peace be still, Bredren. It wasn’t like that. I tried to avoid this as much as possible. Clark continued to push our hand.” Dok knew this was coming. Years ago, they’d sworn an oath to each other. They were family till the death. So, their family was family.
“Push your hand? A child will always challenge his parent that’s why we discipline. You don’t try to kill yo child! Or your brother’s child!” Voorheeze temper was escalating.
The room was completely quiet. This wasn’t what everybody expected. Scooter slowly eased his way into position to have a better shot, in case things went bad. No-one saw DJ do the exact same thing on the other side of the room.
“Gloved hands were used with your brother. I tried to prevent blood shed. Then he killed Kiumba. The Central Committee gave the order. I’m sorry, bredrin, the Dinosaurs made the call.”
“Fuck you mean, the Dinosaurs made the call? Nigga dis is Neva Die! We make the fucking call!” Voorheeze was seething. “Or have you forgotten that?”
No-one knew the shit he had been through and why he felt the way he did about “The Dinosaurs”.
“Again, Peace, be still, Bredren. Watch your tone and have respect for the “Old Ones.” Dok could tell his brotha was hurt so he overlooked the outburst. But everything had it’s limit especially disrespect.
“Fuck is you saying, Dok?” Voorheeze hands went to his waist line. “You might be big brah but, nigga, don’t forget who you’re talking to. My gun play is bar none ,nigga, and my body count is official. Remember that next time you wanna give me a warning!”
The room was divided. If things ended badly, shit was going to get ugly. There was no illusion as to where the lines were drawn. Dok had been leading them this year, but Voorheeze was their leader.
The members of Dok’s Cadre were indeed Neva Die, but they were still loyal to the Guerilla Family. Voorheeze’s Dragons were loyal to each other.
“As far as them ‘Old Ones,’ nigga I don’t march to the beat of their drums. Them mothafuckas don’t know shit about loyalty unless it’s to each other.” Voorheeze finished.
“Brah ,what you talkin ‘bout?” Dok was lost. Where was all of this coming from?
So Voorheeze filled him in. It all started in Solano. Voorheeze had just become a level II and was up for transfer. Rico was appointed temporary overseer of the yard. 14 comrades were removed off the yard by Inmate Gang Investigation Unit or I.G.I.
A nigga who was no good dropped a kit to the police saying Voorheeze has given the order to kill officer Jones. The validation process began. Five people were given validation packets. When it was all said and done, it was discovered that Rico was debriefing (snitching by dropping out) and planned it all Voorheeze beat Validation and was ordered to give a detailed report to the committee which he did.
A year and
a half later, Voorheeze would find himself at San Quentin. Once there here he would learn not only did the Central Committee not deal with Rico, but Rico had ordered Red and DM to spread lies about Voorheeze saying he was debriefing.”
From Folsom to San Quentin, Voorheeze name was drug through the mud. Needless to say, he reached out once again to the Central Committee who ordered him not to indulge in any act of violence as a method in dealing with the civilian population adhering to the rumors. The Committee said that they would deal with it.
Months later, the Committee hadn’t done a thing. When he called his committee contact the number was disconnected. He was left hung out to dry all on his own.
Right then he began to hate all that he represented, all that he had stood for. These niggaz or his brothers that turned their backs on him. These were his teachers, his elders. The ones he idolized.
They had broken the very oath they’d created and sworn to. They had faltered at his side. So, fuck them! ,he decided. And fuck everybody with them.
Three days later he was four days to the house and stabbed a nigga fourteen times. He sat in the hole nine months waiting to see if the D.A. was going to pick up the case.
His brotha from another, Mike Vegas, got on some gangsta shit with the snitch to make sure they didn’t. If it wasn’t for a Brookefield soldia, Voorheeze would be doing life.
Guilt tore thru Dok like a Ginsu thru a banana. He was at Folsom when he heard the story. Instead of giving Voorheeze the benefit of the doubt, he listened to Red and DM. Worse than that, he himself had cut Voorheeze off and they had been closer than brothers. They dreamed up Neva Die together.
In a rare moment of emotional display Dok began “V., Bredren, I didn’t kn…”
“Nigga, fuck yo apology! I don’t want yo mothafucking sympathy. You needed to know the truth, so you’ll understand.” Voorheeze spoke thru clenched teeth.