by J-Blunt
Fifteen minutes later she had packed her and Princess’ suitcases and was working on Pop’s. A loud crash from somewhere in the house scared her. She stopped packing and grabbed the 380 Smith and Wesson from her purse.
“Princess, you good?” Queenie called, walking slowly down the hallway toward the living room. Nobody answered, but she could hear more than one set of footsteps in the house. Queenie stopped in the middle of the hallway and pointed her gun toward the sound of footsteps. A split second later two people dressed in black rounded the corner carrying automatic weapons. The 380 sparked as Queenie emptied the clip. Bodies crumpled to the floor, their consciousness turned off like a light switch.
Queenie was so caught up in the sight and smell of death that she wasn’t ready for what came next. Another figure dressed in black jumped out, firing a machine gun. The murderess reacted fast, diving into the bedroom as bullets tore into the wall where she had been standing. After a scramble, she ran to the closet and hid under a pile of clothes.
The floor creaked as someone crept into the room. Whispering Let her know more than one person was looking for her. She was certain they would find and kill her. She wasn’t scared of death, but she didn’t want to die. She was too young, only twenty years old. She wanted to spend more time with Pop and her sister. She wanted to see Jamaica, experience life.
When the closet door opened, she knew all of her wants and desires would die with her.
Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!
“Ah!” Queenie screamed as rapid gunfire exploded.
“Queenie! Queenie, where you at?” Princess whispered.
The pile of clothes moved and Queenie came out with wide eyes. Two bodies lay on the floor with blood pooling around them. Princess stood a few feet away holding an M-16, her eyes wide with fear and concern. “You good?”
“Yeah. Damn, bitch. I thought I was dead. You came through.”
“I told you I got you, sis. I ain’t finna let nothin’ happen to you. Now getcho ass up. We gotta get the fuck outta here.”
The sisters moved quickly through the house, Princess leading the way with the M-16. Queenie followed, struggling to carry the three suitcases. They were heading for the back door. The money and guns were in duffel bags waiting by the back stairwell.
They had just stepped into the kitchen when the back door came crashing in. Princess jumped into action, spraying the doorway with bullets. The person dressed in black that tried to run in the house was gunned down in a hail of bullets. Since the guns and money bag was near the dead body, the sisters had to pause to see if anyone else would try to come in the house. A few seconds later the kitchen window exploded. A small metal ball bounced off the wall and rolled across the floor. Pop Somethin’s love of war movies gave Queenie the knowledge of what the metal ball was.
“Grenade! Run, Princess! Run!”
Queenie dropped the suitcase and Princess dropped the rifle as the sisters ran toward the living room. The grenade exploded just as they reached the front door. A split second later a second explosion rocked the house’s foundation. The gas line on the stove erupted and tore the house apart. Luckily the twins were clear when it all blew up.
Gunfire sounded behind them as they ran through a neighbor’s yard. Because they were in their own neck of the woods, they were able to outrun their pursuers. A few blocks later they flagged down a ride.
Chapter 20
Pop Somethin’ ran his hands through his dreadlocks in frustration. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. Blood pulsed through his temples, the beating echoing in his ears like a steady drumbeat. When he opened his eyes again, Princess and Queenie were watching him from the couch across the room. The news they brought had crushed him, stealing his voice and tangling his thoughts.
“All the money gone?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“We tried to get it, baby, but it was too many of them,” Princess said.
“They had grenades,” Queenie added. “The house blew up. Everything gone.”
“Fuck!” Pop cursed, slamming his hand on the table. “That was everything we had! Four hundred thousand. Gone.”
No words could express the feelings shared by all three lovers. Everything they had worked hard and spilled blood for was gone, their dreams of Jamaica literally gone up in smoke. All they had was the money in their pockets, which wasn’t much. A little more than a thousand dollars between the three of them. The only car they had was Pop’s Maserati. The only place they had to lay their heads was C-Note’s playa pad. The only clothes they had were on their backs. The only weapons they had were Pop Somethin’s two Desert Eagles. One held four bullets, the other had two. An army was on their asses, and they didn’t even have enough bullets to defend themselves. Now it was two in the morning and they were holed up in C-Note’s playa pad trying to plan their next move.
“Yo’ boy is foul, baby,” Princess spoke up.
“I heard them niggas speaking in Spanish while I was in the closet. The only Latinos we connected to is Gonzo,” Queenie said.
Pop exhaled loudly, unable to find the words to speak. He shook his head from side to side like he was trying to un-hear the words spoken by his women. He was so close to his goal. Saving C-Note’s ass in prison had gotten him paid, and now it was all gone.
The vibrating of his phone on the table got the women’s attention. Pop acted as if he didn’t know someone was calling his phone. He stayed where he was, not moving to answer, so Queenie picked it up. She smirked after looking at the screen. “It’s him.”
That got Pop’s attention. “Answer it on speaker phone.”
Murder shown in Queenie’s eyes as she answered. “Hello?”
“Where Pop at?” C-Note shouted.
“Right here. He can hear you.”
“Pop, they burned down Lux, bruh! They burned down my shit.”
Pop Somethin’ just stared at the phone, not speaking.
“Pop, you hear? They burned down my club!”
The big man shook his head, staying silent, so Queenie spoke up. “Our house got burned down. All our money gone.”
“What?” C-Note asked, wondering if he heard her right.
Queenie got aggressive. “All our shit gone. They blew up our house!”
It was C-Note’s turn to get quiet, but it didn’t last long. “Pop, say somethin’. What we gon’ do?”
Everybody waited on edge, wondering if the killer would ever speak. It took a while. “Where you at?”
“On my way to get Shanice and her shorty. We gettin’ the fuck outta Texas. Fuck it. I’m goin’ on the run.”
“Come pick me up. I wanna ride wit’ you.”
“I’m gettin’ on the highway right now. I’m about to leave Dallas.”
“Turn around and come get me. I need to be there in case these niggas try to get at my cousin.”
“Damn, Pop,” C-Note breathed, giving in. “I’m on my way.”
“You want us to come wit’ chu?” Queenie asked after hanging up the phone.
Pop was quiet for a few moments. He looked around the living room, his eyes landing on the two machetes hung as decoration on the wall. “Nah. I got it.”
***
“What the fuck you got one of my machetes?” C-Note asked as Pop Somethin’ climbed in the passenger seat of the black Camaro.
“I don’t got that many bullets. If niggas get on our ass, I’ma cut they heads off.”
“That’s some real Jamaican shit, right there,” C-Note chuckled.
Pop didn’t laugh. Instead he pulled out his cell phone and brought a number onto the screen. He showed it to C-Note. “You know who number this is?”
“Nah. Whose is it?”
“You remember when I had to go to New Orleans to put in that work for Gonzo?”
C-Note nodded. “Yeah. You said you fucked Nurse Baccara fine ass. Is that her number?”
“Nah. This the number I called to let Gonzo know I took care of that
bidness. This Marco number. Gonzo bodyguard. I’m ‘bout to call him to see if he can put me in touch wit’ Gonzo. If you lie to me, bruh, I’m killin’ yo’ sister and nephews. Did you snitch on Gonzo?”
Terror shown on C-Note’s face as he took his eyes off the highway and looked at Pop Somethin’. The friend he had grown to love and trust had transformed into a monster. His eyes were red with anger, jaw clenched, lips snarled into a mug, nostrils wide and flaring.
“C’mon, Pop. You know I –”
A hard back-fist to the face made C-Note swallow his words. Blinding light flashed in his brain as his nose and lips began to bleed. The Camaro swerved as C-Note lost control. At sixty-five miles an hour on a dark highway, the end of both of their lives looked near. Fortunately for them both, Pop had quick reflexes. He grabbed the steering wheel and got control of the car. Smashing C-Note against the door, Pop Somethin’ slid into the driver’s seat and steered the sports car to the side of the road. After parking, he opened the door and shoved C-Note out of the car.
“Awe, man,” C-Note moaned as he hit the pavement. “C’mon, Pop. Don’t do me like this.”
Beside the highway was woods and brush. Pop grabbed the machete and drug C-Note by the ankle into the woods. When they were far enough from the road that they couldn’t be seen, Pop began ripping at C-Note’s pants.
“What the fuck you doin’, bruh?” C-Note resisted, holding onto his jeans. A punch to the face made him loosen his grip.
After Pop took the pants, he used them to tie C-Note to a tree. C-Note began to cry. “C’mon, Pop. Please, bruh. Don’t kill me. Please. I got money. Five hunnit Gs. It’s yours. Just let me go.”
Pop finally spoke up, his words harsh and accusing. “Gonzo fed us, nigga! Put us on anotha level. Showed us how bosses make moves. Fuck wrong wit’ chu, nigga? We had it made.”
“I know, Pop. I know,” C-Note sobbed. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be around for Shanice and the baby. I would do anything for her, bruh. I love her.”
“When it rains, you s’posed to look for rainbows, nigga. You let the storm scare you, nigga. Fuck you doin’ playin’ wit’ sharks if you can’t swim? Didn’t you learn that shit when we went to Mexico? You damn near got me killed. I’m broke ‘cause of yo’ bitch ass.”
C-Note just lay there sobbing.
“Where that money at, Note? I need that.”
“Let me go, bruh. I give you all that shit, just let me leave wit’ Shanice.”
“Nah. It don’t work like that.”
“C’mon, Pop. You gon’ kill me if I tell you. Just let me go. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me to more. I’m gone. I’ma give Shanice the money. That’s my word.
“Yo’ word ain’t shit, nigga. And you don’t deserve to live. You a bitch. A coward. Do the right thing and gimme the money so I can take care of yo’ shorty and Shanice.”
“C’mon, Pop. Please, bruh. Don’t kill me.”
“I don’t got time for this shit. Gimme the fuckin’ money!” Pop exploded, pushing the machete through C-Note’s stomach.
“Ah!”
“Where the money at, nigga? Gimme the money!” Pop screamed.
“C’mon, Pop. Let me live, bruh. Please. Let me live.”
“Fuck you, nigga. You dead. You gon’ have a shorty out here. You gon’ gimme the money or not?”
C-Note could feel the life draining from his body as he looked up at Pop Somethin’. When he tried to speak, blood began spilling from his mouth. “C’mon, Pop. I just –”
Pop ripped the machete from his guts, and swung it at C- Note’s head. The blade sliced through his neck, decapitating C-Note and getting stuck in the tree. C-Note’s head rolled from his body into his lap, eyes and mouth wide open. His body jerked and spasmed as blood shot out of his neck like a fountain. Pop untied the pants from C-Note’s arms and wrapped his head in them. Then he pulled out his phone and called Marco.
“Shooter, you got some fucking nerve calling my phone,” Marco answered.
“Where Gonzo?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. Don’t you ever say his name again, you stinkin’ nigger. Our farm in Mexico got hit. You and your boyfriend gave us to the feds. We have connections. You see what we can do. I’ll kill your whole family if I have to, but you filthy niggers are dead. You hear me? Dead!”
“It wasn’t me. It was him. I just found out. I wanna talk to the boss. I wanna make this shit right.”
“You know how you can make this right? Tell me where you at so I can come kill you.”
“I’ma do you one better. Tell me where you at so I can come to you.”
The response threw Marco off momentarily. “You serious, punta? You want to come to me?”
“Yeah. Whatever it take to talk to the boss. I didn’t do that bitch-ass shit. I ain’t no snitch. I wanna talk to the boss. And I’m bringin’ C-Note wit’ me.”
There was another pause on Marco’s end of the line. “Okay. I’ll play your game. I have to see if you really are as tough as you think you are. I’ll send my people to get you. Tell me where you are.”
To Be Continued…
A Gangster’s Code 2
Coming Soon
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