CHAPTER 12
THEY GOT ME AT the fucked-up Dauphin County Prison in Harrisburg where the food is scraps, the conditions are shitty, and the guards need a bullet face-first. The nurses, on the other hand, have been looking out for me since I’ve been in the medical department healing from my bullet wounds. That shootout shit was crazy and had my adrenaline flowing, but it’s the life I chose and the life many of us live. This is our end game when it comes down to it. The crazy shit is that my cousins fell with me. I need them to be on the outside, since I owe all this bread out. These Spanish niggas are about the paper, so I got to get word to them, because I don’t want them to think that I’m on some bullshit.
As my thoughts were flowing and I was thinking about what I needed done, I heard my gate unlock. So, I got up and made my way over to the door.
“What the fuck do these idiots want?” I was thinking as I saw the captain and two guards approaching my cell.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back, inmate,” the guard demanded.
I didn’t resist, especially knowing my condition. Whatever it is they wanted wasn’t normal procedure.
“Take a seat on your bunk, inmate,” the guard continued with an attitude like I did something to him or his family.
I did just that. I sat down. When the two guards exited the cell, the captain came in.
“I’m Captain Mohamad,” he said introducing himself.
The first thing that came to my mind was that he was with them Arab muthafuckas that I saw at the Giants. Little did I know, he was the real-deal sleeper cell as a member of the Muslim Brotherhood. Realizing his possible association with these Arab niggas, I didn’t take my eyes off him.
“Mr. Anderson, I hear we have some problems.”
Before I could respond, this muthafucka put his hand on my bullet wound and placed pressure on it. The pain shot through my body. I was trying to cuss this muthafucka out, but he put his hand over my mouth.
“If you say anything to the Feds about what you seen or think you saw, then this pain you’re feeling will be the least of your worries. You won’t leave here alive,” he threatened me with a sadistic smirk across his face.
Little does he know, if I wasn’t injured or handcuffed, I would have been kicking his ass right now.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” I said, giving him a dark stare and allowing him to know that I didn’t back down from any man that bled like me.
But it made me think back to these muthafuckas shooting at me and my fam. It was crazy shit. These Arab niggas were more paranoid than me. He was looking at me shaking his head in disbelief as if I really knew what the fuck they were into.
“You’ll be sorry, my friend. I tell you this. Maybe your cousins will say different of what they know.”
“Leave my folks out of this. Like I said, I don’t know shit, and they don’t either!” I said as he turned away, ignoring me as if I wasn’t there.
The guards came back in and aggressively removed the cuffs before exiting the cell, leaving me to my thoughts on what just took place, as if I didn’t have enough to deal with.
CHAPTER 13
ON THE OTHER SIDE of the city, King Jose was coming through with his team of goons following behind his CLS 600 Mercedes Benz. His team was in four separate H2 Hummers that were all black with tinted windows concealing the murderous rage in all of their eyes. They were twenty deep and all in pursuit of tracking down Tommy Guns, fully armed, and ready to take care of business.
King Jose knew where Tommy Guns hung out because he had come to the city before to party with Tommy.
“Oye, he hangs out a few blocks from here. Go that way!” King Jose said as they turned off of Cameron Street going over the Maclay Street bridge toward Green Street, also known as Duck-Down Avenue. The street was nicknamed due to the many shootouts and drive-bys. King Jose called his goons in the trucks to make them aware of what this city was about and not to underestimate this city. King Jose saw a group of hustlas out and about, so he decided this was where he’d have his driver stop.
“Oye, pull over right there.”
As his gold Benz came to a stop, the H2 Hummers followed. All came to a halt before they all stepped out fully strapped with ARs and Tek-9s ready for whatever. Once his goons secured the area, he stepped out and looked around before walking up to Tommy’s mom’s crib and knocking on the door. The little niggas in the hood were looking on at them knowing whose crib that was: Tommy Guns’. As he waited on a response to his knock on the door, the young hustlers started approaching wondering what was going on. At the same time, they wanted to know who these Spanish niggas were.
Not getting an answer at the door made him even more upset, since he was thinking about his money and getting paid.
“Mira, kick that shit in!” he said while pointing at the door.
As soon as the door swung open, the men entered looking for Tommy Guns or anything that would tell them where he was. King Jose entered behind his men, only to see the mail on the floor. What stood out to him was a letter with the correctional jail stamp with Tommy’s name on it. Right then he knew he wasn’t taken for his money, but now he wanted to know how he was going to get paid. Because that type of bread wasn’t going to be unpaid no matter what happened to Tommy.
Just as he was reading the letter, he could hear the young teens outside of the house yelling, “Yo, what the fuck are y’all doing up in that old lady’s crib?”
They knew whose house it belonged to, and they all had respect for the old head.
“Yo quiero, mi chabo! That’s what the fuck I’m doing here!” he said, turning to face the young goons, only to see that they were strapped and ready to go.
At that same moment, King Jose’s goons saw this and shielded him as gunshots rang out.
“Vamos! Vamos! Get King Jose to the car!” the Spanish thug yelled out as they raced him to the car while ducking the barrage of gunfire.
At the same time, they returned by unloading their fully automatic weapons that roared through the air as slugs slammed into the cars around as well as the young thugs trying to defend their turf. One of the young teens hit the ground as slugs slammed into his chest and arm. He didn’t give up. His adrenaline was rushing through his body as he raised his pistol and continued firing off shots to assist his homies. Shit was getting heated as sirens could be heard in the background.
“Oye vamos policia!” Jose’s goon yelled out, mashing the gas and getting away with ease in the Benz.
The young bucks all rushed over to their downed homie and picked him up.
“You good? We got to get out of here. They coming. I could hear them,” the oldest teen said. “Go through the alleyway. My whip is back there in the parking lot.”
As they made their way through the side of the houses, the cops came with fast tires screeching in each direction, but they were gone, making their way to get their homie medical attention. At the same time, they were feeling good about holding down their big homie, Tommy Guns, even without his knowledge or consent.
CHAPTER 14
THE NEXT DAY AT the warehouse on Industrial Road, Amir and Rakman were inside overlooking their men loading up four different cargo vans with dynamite and C-4 explosives.
“We’re on the right track with everything going as we planned it to get America’s attention. This is going to be bigger than the last one we set, which crippled this country,” Rakman said.
“Allah u Akbar.”
“Yes, he is, Amir,” Rakman said. He then added, “Did you secure that situation with that black drug dealer the Feds picked up?”
“Yes, but I don’t believe that he knows anything based on what has taken place with him and his cousins. He is a simple drug dealer.”
“Take care of it!” Rakman said, abruptly cutting off his cousin. “There is a lot at stake, and we cannot afford to allow something like this simple drug dealer, as you say, sidetrack what we’ve planned. Many powerful people ar
e expecting us to fulfill this mission, and I will not fail!” Rakman said with his arms folded. “Allah u Akbar.”
Amir respected and feared his cousin, so getting things done meant taking care of all loose ends.
Amir was only twenty-nine years old and stood a firm five foot ten and weighed 175 pounds. He had a closely shaven beard groomed along with his close haircut. He too was a member of the Muslim Brotherhood as well as a follower of his cousin, standing firm in his beliefs to wake America up. To him, death is a privilege if he becomes a martyr in the name of Allah.
The Arab men were loading up enough explosives to level half of the city. This many explosives would get America’s attention and many more countries’ too.
As Amir exited the warehouse to take care of the business at hand with Tommy Guns and his cousins, Rakman began directing the team of Arab goons to their locations.
“Men, you all know what to do, as we have planned this for some time. Now get in your positions. Talib, you and your crew go to the governor’s mansion. Habeeb, you take your team to Three Mile Island (TMI). The last two vans will position yourselves at the capitol building, and make sure you two teams wear the uniforms provided. May Allah be with you all.”
“Allah u Akbar!” all the men chimed while exiting the warehouse ready to do their deed of becoming martyrs in the name of Allah. They sought the virgins in the afterlife as well as other things they believed would come to them upon their suicide missions in the name of Allah.
These Arab men were all brainwashed in their twenties by their mentors and what they believed to be true.
It didn’t take long before the men arrived at the capitol building in their uniforms, looking like maintenance men pushing dollies with C-4 plastic explosives and dynamite concealed throughout in light bulbs and toolboxes. They entered without any resistance or confrontation. They made their way through the capitol, placing the explosives in the bathroom vents, ceiling, trashcans, etc. Once they secured the explosives in their locations, the men began heading back to their vans, but not before a capitol police officer’s voice boomed through the air getting their attention while at the same time placing them on high alert.
“Hey, you guys! Hey, stop!”
At that very moment, each of the men closed their eyes trying to bring calm over themselves. They then opened their eyes as each of them leaned down to their toolboxes to get their Glock 9mms. They were ready to kill and die right then and there if the cop didn’t say or do the right thing by them.
The cop came up fast breathing a little heavy.
“Is that your guys’ vans out by the fountain?” he asked, allowing the moment of fire and adrenaline to come to a calm.
“Yes sir, those are our vans. We are going to move them now. We just came from repairing a few things.”
“Good, because we can’t be having anything blocking the fountains,” the officer said, not realizing his closeness to death in dealing with these suicidal maniacs.
As the men were making their way out toward the exit, the officer yelled out again, “Hey, guys!”
In this very moment, they all were ready to go, no second-guessing what he wanted. It was kill him time and then detonate all the bombs.
“Don’t forget to sign the book on the way out,” the officer said, reminding them at the same time yet spiking their level of adrenaline. The Arab men smirked, thinking about how the officer was about to get his clock punched early if he would have said or done something else.
Once outside they called up Rakman.
“My brother, it is done.”
“Allah u Akbar, and may He be with you in your last moments,” Rakman said, knowing his men would carry this out until the end.
“Allah u Akbar! I’ll see you in paradise after we complete stage two of this journey.”
“I’ll greet you with open arms,” Rakman said, before hanging up the phone and thinking about how it was all coming together.
CHAPTER 15
TURNPIKE TITO AND HIS team of Latino goons were all just rolling in, getting off at the I-83 bridge. They were ready to track down Tommy Guns to get paid their money. Turnpike Tito was rolling in style in his new sky-blue Bentley GT coupe with a white leather interior, chrome 22s, and a sound system all to his likings. Tito’s goons were all on custom Hiabusa 1300ccs outfitted with compartments to conceal their fully automatic 9mm Uzis. Twenty goons on bikes followed behind Tito as he mashed the gas, gliding over the bridge and making his way off the ramp into the Downtown area where all of the restaurants and nightclubs were located.
As he drove down the street with the motorcycles roaring behind him, he made a call to Big Ivan’s phone. There was no answer, so he called Tommy’s number. No answer. This only added fuel to the fire. He made his way uptown driving past a lot of people before he noticed a bar on 6th Street called Roebucks. It was a little after 9:00 p.m., and the traffic to the club was picking up inside and out.
Turnpike Tito noticed this, so he made an abrupt U-turn. His goons did the same, revving their engines and rumbling the streets, which was getting everyone’s attention within earshot. He came to a stop across from the bar and double-parked his whip. He hopped out, while his goons followed when they saw their boss crossing the street.
“I’m looking for Big Ivan and Tommy Guns,” he said, looking at the crowd that was standing around drinking out of plastic cups, some smoking weed or rolling up blunts.
They were all looking back at him like he was crazy coming up asking for two hood legends like he was the cops or something. They knew he wasn’t the cops, but niggas in the hood don’t just volunteer people’s whereabouts. It’s the code of the streets. He knew this, so he decided to add a little more incentive to make them talk.
“I got three stacks right here if somebody tells me where I can find them.”
“I need that money. My baby needs clothes, and I need to turn up tonight. What you really want to know?” this brown-skinned sista said, who stood five foot even with a blonde wig, green contacts, tight jeans, and a cut-off T-shirt pressing against her breasts to show off her perfect nipples.
Tito smiled briefly seeing her push her way through the crowd, only to greet him with a smile and her hand out.
“Give me the money, and I got you.”
He handed the money over to her. He knew that neither she nor anyone out there would be able to go anywhere as long as his goons were standing by ready to put in work.
“Them fools is at the county jail at 501 Mall Road. They was shooting out with the FBI,” she said, taking her fingers through the stack of money and fanning it out.
He was looking on at her pissed about what he was hearing, so he snatched the money from her and turned, walking away. All of her happy hopes dissipated when it was taken away.
“What the fuck is wrong with you taking the money you said I could have it in exchange for where they at?”
“Your information is useless to me,” he said, walking back to his car.
She wanted that money badly, so she wanted to run behind him and claw his ass up, but she knew the Spanish goons he was with wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“I can get you in contact with him,” she yelled out to him, now getting his attention again. “My sister is a guard at the prison.”
She made her way over to the car where he was. She knew that he was interested.
“What’s your name, mami?”
“Jasmine Davis.”
“You get me in contact with him, and you will be rewarded. Take this money to give you a little motivation and know that there is plenty more where that came from if you do the right thing,” he said as he gave her his number.
“What’s your name, pretty boy?”
“Llámame Tito. My name is Tito,” he said, turning to get into his car.
He then mashed the gas and headed to the Downtown area to party. Lucky for him it was Latin night at the Dragonfly nightclub. Turnpike Tito was now feeling a little better about where his associate To
mmy Guns was. He knew he didn’t get burnt for his money. Now he just had to figure out where the money or product was.
CHAPTER 16
BACK OUT AT THE prison, I was lying up in my cell chilling and thinking about the shit this nigga King Jose did at my mom’s spot. Truth be told, that nigga would be dead if I got close to him after he kicked in my mom’s door like he had lost his fucking mind. At the same time, he didn’t even show any type of respect for me or my gangsta. So, he was officially burnt for his bread and all. I had that shit in the tuck. I had to send word to my cousins to let them know what was good in case this nigga Jose tried to send somebody at them through one of those gangs and shit, like MS13, Latin Kings, or Los Zetas. All them crazy-ass niggas that were about they work no matter what the deal was as long as they got paid for getting it done.
“Anderson,” a voice called my name, bringing me back to the reality of this hell hole.
I looked over at the door and saw a female sergeant standing there. Good thing it wasn’t that Arab captain that came through.
“What’s good?” I said, getting up to make my way over to the door. “I got a message from this nigga named Tito. He’s in town and wanted to know where you were.”
“How did you get this message?” I asked, being a little paranoid.
“My cousin, Jasmine, from Uptown, said he came through. He was deep with a team looking serious in search of you and your folks, Big Ivan and Ace.”
Damn, this shit was crazy! These niggas both came looking for me like I was the type that burns people. I wasn’t into that. I was a money chaser.
All Eyez on Gunz Page 6