Bloody Betrayal
Page 19
Pop Somethin’ hated churches. Being surrounded by sadness and fake Christians made him uneasy. He watched in amusement as the preacher gave the eulogy, the choir sang, and family members got up to the pulpit to speak on Uncle Larry’s virtues. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come. The only good thing was they would hop on the highway immediately after the repast.
Two hours later, family members kissed and hugged as they began filing out of the church. Pop, Queenie, Princess, and La’Qua were mixed in the crowd. As soon as Pop stepped into the Houston sun, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and goosebumps crawled all over his skin. His instincts had been honed by the streets and were akin to Spiderman’s Spidey Senses. Something was wrong. Danger was near. He could feel it.
His trigger finger twitched as the .50-caliber burned on his hip like it had a mind of its own, desiring to be pulled out and popped.
“Somethin’ ain’t right. Be on the lookout,” he told the women as his eyes darted back and forth over the family members, parked cars, and nearby buildings, searching for the cause of his discomfort.
“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” Queenie asked, picking up on his mood and keeping her eyes peeled.
“I don’t know. I got a feelin’. I told you not to leave yo’ shit in the truck. Hurry up and get to the rental.”
The F-150 was parked halfway down the block. Before they could get to it, Pop spotted the danger. Two tall, skinny, dark-skinned niggas wore wigs and sunglasses, trying to look like women. He knew it was Drama and Snot. They were a few hundred feet away, moving toward them, reaching under their shirts.
“There they go! Look out!” Pop called, pointing them out as he reached for the .50.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Fully automatic gunfire rang out, exploding the windows of the car Pop and his girls were walking by.
As he ducked for cover, out the corner of his eye Pop could see someone dressed in black stepping out of a black Caravan parked in the middle of the street, firing a chopper. Another figure was getting out behind him, also carrying a chopper. In the driver’s seat was a masked man firing a Mac 12.
In front of him, Drama and Snot had pulled pistols, but the gunfire across the street made them pause. And that was their mistake. The Desert Eagle roared like a lion, sending hot shit faster than the speed of sound at the Pop Squad members. Snot’s thin frame was lifted off the ground when two pieces of lead slammed into his chest.
Drama ducked behind a nearby truck. Pop assessed the situation quickly, not missing a beat. He needed another gun, so he turned and threw Princess the Desert Eagle. “Knock ‘em down, baby! Get ‘em off my ass!”
Princess didn’t hesitate. She came up from behind the car, letting the .50 caliber ride. The hand cannon exploded high-powered rounds toward the shooters near the van. The lead man caught bullets in the leg, stomach, and chest before falling to the ground.
As soon as Princess began letting loose, Pop sprinted toward Snot’s fallen body, eyeing the pistol at his side.
He was a few feet away when Drama jumped out from behind the truck, his pistol high. When he seen Pop racing toward him and realized the big man would be upon him before he could aim at him, he flinched and squeezed the trigger. The bullet whistled by Pop Somethin’ and hit Princess in the neck as she was ducking for cover.
Reacting on pure instinct, Pop lowered his shoulder and crashed into the smaller man like he was making a football play. Drama was lifted in the air and thrown a few feet before crashing to the ground.
Right after making the tackle, Pop did a tuck-roll, grabbing the pistol Snot dropped, cocking it, and sending a bullet flying from the chamber as he hit the safety. When he hopped back to his feet again, the pistol was erupting fire toward the shooters near the minivan.
The second man with the chopper never knew what hit him as a bullet smacked his temple, sending brains and gray matter spraying into the air.
Before he could get a bead on the driver, Pop had to duck again as Drama took aim at him. The bullets missed, slamming into the parked car. And that’s when Pop seen Princess. She was lying on Queenie’s lap, bleeding from the neck. Instant pain gripped his chest, feeling like he had been shot.
The sound of an engine revving and tires screeching pulled his attention away from his women as the Caravan sped away. After peeking his head from behind the car, he seen Drama was gone, too. When he looked to his girls again, Queenie was wailing at the top of her lungs while La’Qua lay on the ground, bleeding. Without even seeing her face, Pop knew Princess was gone. He felt it. The regret of coming back to Houston began to weigh on him.
He had taken two steps toward his girls when the hair on the back of his neck stood up again. The pistol was a blur as he spun around, applying pressure to the trigger. When he recognized who was standing behind him, a mix of emotions flashed through him. “What the fuck you doin’ here?” he growled, lowering the gun. “I almost killed yo’ ass.”
Shanice stood before Pop with a determined look on her face. “I want Queenie back.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? Get outta here, right now,” Pop snapped before turning to walk away.
“Paul!”
Hearing his government name made him freeze. He spun around and was shocked to see Shanice pointing a gun at him. When he looked in her eyes, pain, anger, and hate blazed at him. He no longer recognized her as his favorite little cousin that he was secretly in love with. The woman before him was a stranger.
“You took everything from me. Now I’m taking everything from you.”
Even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to shoot her before she squeezed the trigger, Pop tried to lift the gun anyway.
Pop, pop!
One bullet pierced his chest, the other his neck as he fell backwards to the ground.
The last thing Pop Somethin’ remembered was feeling the sting of bloody betrayal.
The End
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