All Eyes on Gunz 2

by Warren Holloway

“Oye, I got 155 for ten blocks. So with the dub you blessing me with, I’ll have to get you 3-1-0, which shouldn’t take long if the product is as pure as you say it is.”

  “Grade A, my nigga.”

  “Plus, I’ve been networking even more knowing we got to step our game up,” he said.

  I was feeling his drive knowing we could make millions together, especially with my ATL niggas.

  “When you get done with this, we’ll step it up to another level. It can only get better from here. Make sure you have baby bro Chino and Flaco handle business so you can be the boss of your city and up North, feel me?”

  “I’m on the same page you on, bro. Longevity is key to this game.”

  “Once we done here we going to handle this BI, and I’ll drop the product on you.”

  I told him where to meet me to get the work. As we started leaving the plaza, I saw Maryland state troopers exiting their cars, but me and Rico were already leaving as they were coming our way.

  “Yo, Rico, I’ll see you in twenty minutes,” I said so he could go his way.

  I needed to get my truck out of the valet parking at the hotel, which was the same direction the troopers were coming. I turned back around and attempted to go back into the building, until the trooper called out.

  “Excuse me, young man!”

  My entire body tensed up knowing it was about to go down. I pushed my shades up on my face and adjusted my fitted hat that kept me concealed from prying eyes. I turned around to see what they had to say. He held out the picture.

  “Have you seen this guy here?” he asked.

  He was more focused on seeing if I recognized the person in the pictures rather than looking at me, which was all good.

  “Never seen him,” I said, after placing my hand over my mouth as if I was thinking about it.

  “Thank you anyway. I guess the Feds got us on a goose chase,” the trooper said as he and his partner made their way inside of the plaza.

  That was the craziest shit ever to happen to me in all my life. This muthafucka had asked me if I had seen myself, not even realizing he was showing the wanted picture to the wanted man. It was a good thing I was preparing to leave this city. It didn’t take long before I cleared the suite, checked out, and then headed down the highway to see Rico.

  His car was parked just where we discussed. The cocaine-white CLS600 Benz stood out, so I pulled up behind him. We both got out of our whips at the same time. I had to show him the flyers that the troopers were passing out.

  “Check this shit out.”

  “That’s you, bro.”

  “The troopers we seen gave it to me and asked if I seen that nigga.”

  “Oh shit, that’s funny as a muthafucka. You don’t look the same with the hat pulled down, shades on, and a clean-shaven face. You incognito right now.”

  “Let’s handle this BI so I can get out of here,” I said as I headed back to my whip to get the work. Rico went to get his money.

  As I was reaching into the back seat of the truck, I noticed a car pull up behind my truck. Not good. I reached for my .44 Magnum snub nose and popped out the cylinder to see if it was fully loaded—and it was. I turned with the gun concealed behind the bag and approached Rico’s whip to let him know these niggas just pulled up, and it didn’t look right.

  “Yo, you see them niggas that just pulled up in that black Nissan Maxima 3.5 SE?”

  “Yeah, what the fuck are they doing?” he asked, which let me know he didn’t fuck with these cats like that, so it was about to go down.

  These niggas were either following me or him. Either way, I wasn’t about to let them get the drop on me. So I set the cocaine in Rico’s trunk that he had just popped to get his TEC-9 fully auto with a thirty-two clip with one in the chamber. Shots suddenly came through the air. I turned quickly and ducked behind my truck while closing in on these stupid muthafuckas.

  I noticed that the driver didn’t get out, so I aimed at him, sending thunderous slugs through the windshield that snapped his head back with brute force. His neck was broken as bullets violently entered his skull and killed him instantly.

  The passenger saw his boy’s brains all on the headrest, so he jumped out quickly. In that split second, my hood instincts told me to turn around. Right then, I saw this nigga Rico raise his gun and point it at me. Everything seemed to slow down in that fraction of a second or two as my mind raced while trying to process this ultimate betrayal. Instantaneously, as these thoughts entered my mind, my finger started squeezing the trigger and unleashing thunder as the .44 Magnum let fire and fury go slamming into Rico’s car. The slugs shattered his back window and driver’s side door that he had opened, before he turned and jumped back into his car and mashed the gas. At the same time, I hurried and put in a speed loader and fired off more shots at his car that was racing away, causing him to swerve as I knocked out the front window and taillight.

  All I could think about right now was murdering that nigga and his whole family. But first it was time to kill the other nigga who had come with him. I came around the truck behind this nigga that thought I was still focused on Rico. I placed my gun to his head. In the moment, he thought he could turn around fast enough to beat me to the draw. I squeezed off, twisting him and his body back around before he dropped to the ground.

  “You is a stupid muthafucka trying to take me out of the game,” I said as his body hit the ground, before I fired off another shot into his head out of rage.

  Then I dumped into my truck and mashed the gas, allowing the V-10 engine to thrust me down the highway to see if I could catch up to this nigga Rico. His whip was faster and he already had the lead, but I had my anger. Within a few minutes, I realized I couldn’t catch him, and I figured his team was riding behind him anyway, so I called up my ATL nigga, Ra Ra.

  CHAPTER 12

  “ATL’S FINEST!” RA RA ANSWERED the phone.

  “Yo, my little nigga, I need you to get the squad and come up to PA. This nigga tried some bullshit.”

  “Say no more. We on the next flight,” Ra Ra said before hanging up the phone to call the rest of the crew.

  He called Geez, knowing the five-foot-ten, two hundred-pound thug was about his BI. Geez was a dark-brown-skinned nigga wearing the 360 waves and light sideburns that shaped up his baby face.

  Then he called up Fat Money who stood five foot eight, weighed a husky 230 pounds, and was always eating while riding around getting that paper, which is how he got his nickname.

  Little D was the youngest of the squad who stood five foot five. He had an explosive demeanor that made him appear to be six six. He was only eighteen, but he was a fast learner and a ride-or-die little homie. He always rocked the braids, so the chicks he dealt with loved playing in his shit. He was light skinned with good hair.

  Ra Ra was in the hood waiting on his team to come through, so he sat on the hood of his BMW M6. Fat Money pulled up first in his new all-black S55 AMC Mercedes Benz tricked out with custom features and the chrome package.

  “What’s good, Ra Ra?” he asked while stepping out and giving him dap.

  “The homie called sounding urgent about something that went wrong up North, so we got to fly out ASAP.”

  Just as Ra Ra dropped the news on Fat Money, Little D and Geez could be heard driving up as they revved the engines on their Hiabusa l300ccs they copped for fun, speed, and power. They both came through popping wheelies, trying to outdo the other. They let the bikes down and came to an abrupt stop by Fat Money’s whip.

  “Yo, Little D, you look like you was about to hit my whip, fool.”

  “I got this, shawty,” Little D said.

  Ra Ra then explained the situation to them as he did Fat Money.

  “If we going up there, how we going to get on the plane strapped?” Little D’s crazy ass asked.

  “We ain’t, fool! He’s going to have shit for us. You think he don’t got folks with guns to sell up there?” Ra Ra said. “So if y’all ready, we at the airport now.”
>
  They jumped into their cars and drove away as Little D and Geez took off behind them on the bikes.

  Once on the highway, Ra Ra and Fat Money opened up their fast cars. When Little D and Geez saw this, they opened up their bikes and did a comfortable and easy 140, passing Ra Ra and Fat Money, who were already doing 120 with ease. But they were no match for the bikes.

  “Damn, them muthafuckas is fast!” Ra Ra said, seeing the bikes coast past him and Fat Money.

  “I gotta get me one of them!” Fat Money yelled out when he saw his homies breeze by.

  It didn’t take long before they all made it to the airport. Fat Money and Ra Ra arrived after Little D and Geez, who were already posted up and waiting on them to get there.

  “About time!” Geez said. “The cars look good for the ladies, but when it comes to getting away or going somewhere, these bikes is where it’s at.”

  “Me and Money definitely getting bikes when we get back. Now let’s get our tickets,” Ra Ra said.

  As they boarded the plane to head to Harrisburg, I was back in the city myself. I needed to come back to secure some things. I was riding heavy with twenty of the fifty kilos I had grabbed from the stash house.

  I made my way deep into the hood. The Southside projects were known as the South Acres, and for the mass violence that occurred out there. One thing I did know was that cops really weren’t for chasing niggas through the rows of projects. That shit could easily be a setup.

  The hood was alive with everybody cooking out, partying, and playing with water hoses for the kids and adults that just wanted to cool down. Niggas were blasting the music from their cars.

  I came through looking for an old friend from before I went on the run. He was someone I knew was a gun runner in the hood and other cities.

  As I was coming through the projects, I could see this classic old-school 1976 Boxville Cadillac with gold spokes, two-inch white walls, and a rag top that made the candy-apple-red paint job pop. The boom-erang on the trunk also set it off. My old friend was drying the Cadillac. I pulled up to the side of his car.

  “Move that piece of shit!” I said fucking with him, getting his attention too, since everybody in this hood knows who he is and what he’s about.

  Cash is his name, Dominican born, with a bald head. He stood six foot two, weighed a fit 225, and wore a full beard that was cut close.

  Upon hearing me tell him to move his car, he started to reach for his gun on his waist-line, until he raised his head and saw my face.

  “Como amigo, you almost got yourself shot. Que pasa, mi hermano? I know you didn’t risk coming back here to look good in that truck,” he said, knowing I was on the run.

  It was stupid for me to be here, but my plan was to be in and out.

  “Urgent business. I need to deal with a problem I have. Enough on that. How’s the BI treating you?”

  “Business is moving, but not as fast as I would like it.”

  “Well, I’m here to spend,” I said, getting his financial attention.

  “Park your truck right here and follow me,” he said.

  I did just that, and then followed him into his crib. As we walked to his house, he nodded his head to his lookouts, so they knew to be on point and alert him if anything went down. They knew to secure the crib front and back, so no one could go in or out without Cash being present. Once in the house, he locked the doors behind him.

  “Hermano, que to quieres?”

  “I need something that’s going to make this muthafucka realize he shouldn’t have run off with my thirty bricks.”

  “Ahi Dios mio, hermano. I feel sorry for the person you’re after,” Cash said while making his way into the closet to grab the green military bag full of guns.

  He came back into the room and lay out all of the guns on the floor. He definitely had the heat. He had ARs, H&Ks, MP5s, AKs, and a crazy selection of handguns. What stood out was the 10mm Taurus with modifications, making the handgun fully auto when holding the trigger.

  “Tu gustan anything, hermano?”

  “I like all of this shit, but I’ma go with the 10mm Taurus. Give me two of them for myself. Let me get two of them ARs, six Glock 40s, and extra clips for all of the weapons.”

  I pulled out a brick of the cocaine and placed it on the table. Cash looked at me like it was food stamps or something.

  “Espera un minute, hermano. Cash only.”

  “The brick is worth more than the guns, Cash, and you know this. Plus, for supplying me with bullets, I’ll give you another brick, and you’ll be able to triple the cost of these guns.”

  He gave me this look. I knew that if we hadn’t done good business before he would not have done it, plus he knew I was not going to ask for something unless it was important.

  “I don’t usually do the bullets for anybody, but I know you can’t just go to Walmart or someplace to get this shit, so I’m going to do this for you, hermano. Besides, it’s a great deal for me since business is slow. I’ll have mi primo push this shit.”

  Cash put all the guns I ordered in a bag with the ammo, and then he turned and handed me the bag. “Don’t come back, hermano, because you’re hot and I don’t need that around here. Besides, they’d deport me, hermano.”

  I laughed while acknowledging him. Cash opened the door and stepped out. I followed behind him and walked back to the truck as he did the same before wiping his car down. I passed off the brick, and he tucked it into the trunk of his car.

  “Adios, mi amigo!” Cash said as I pulled off.

  As I was driving ready to leave the South Acres, I saw this nigga JD who originally introduced me to D.C., the undercover federal agent named Derick Corrnick. My blood started feeling like it was boiling, because this nigga right here was the reason I was on the run right now. He didn’t see me or even know what type of whip I had, so the surprise was mine to own this moment.

  I turned my music down to focus on the move I was about to make. I drove up past him and pulled into a parking space as I waited for him to walk by.

  I pulled out old faithful, my .44 Magnum with one speed loader left.

  “This skinny muthafucka is running these streets like snitching is cool out here,” I said.

  I was pissed off with every step he was taking. Especially with him walking out the South Acres, which was a hood that was known for its violence and gunshots all day and every day.

  I let him walk past my truck before I got out, which allowed me to be behind him.

  “Yo, you bitch-ass nigga!” I said to get his attention. He turned around and saw that it was me. Like he was seeing a ghost, his eyes widened in fear as his mind tried to tell him to get the fuck out of here. “You set me up with that fake-ass hustla. That nigga was a Fed.”

  He put his hands up and covered his face as if he could stop the slugs if I fired on him. Suddenly, he realized that death would come to him if he stayed around. So he turned and ran away, but not fast enough. I fired off two roaring rounds that raced through the air and slammed into his flesh, flipping him in a forward motion that he was already going in.

  I didn’t wait around. I jumped into the truck and took off. I headed to the airport to meet my little niggas from the ATL.

  Little kids from the hood came over to JD and pointed at him.

  “Look! He’s dead with all that blood,” a seven-year-old boy said to his friends.

  “Nah, he’s moving,” the eight-year-old boy said.

  At the same time, JD let out a gasp, which scared the shit out of the kids, so they took off running. The sirens could be heard coming since someone called for the ambulance when they saw the downed man.

  CHAPTER 13

  I ARRIVED AT HIA at 7:00 p.m., where I waited for Ra Ra and the rest of the team to come out of the airport terminal. This is the last place I wanted to be, with all the heightened security after Amir Hussein did that dumb shit like he was going to blow shit up.

  There’s my little niggas, I was thinking, after seeing them come th
rough the doors. I blew the horn and then rolled down my window.

  “Over here, little homies!” I yelled out.

  They all came over and got into of the truck. I drove off quickly. I wanted to head to York to take care of this business.

  “What’s going down, Tommy Guns?” Little D asked.

  “These Spanish niggas I was dealing with took me for thirty bricks. The crazy thing is, these are the same niggas that broke me out of jail. I blessed them with bread, so it don’t add up,” I said, thinking this nigga Rico may have been on some solo shit.

  “We gonna ride with you no matter what. But first, where’s the heat at?” Geez said, obviously talking about the guns.

  “They’re in the back. I got a few things y’all might like, plus six Glock 40s and plenty of ammo.”

  Geez opened the bag in the bag and saw the twenty bricks.

  “Yo, Tommy Guns, you got heavy block in this bag.”

  “Not that bag, the other one got that war-ready shit up in there,” I said.

  He found the bag and took out the guns.

  “Geez, give me that one right there, the AR-15. I can put some work in with this shit,” Fat Money said while removing the clip. “Give me a box of bullets,” he added, all ready to load up.

  “Geez, hand me one of them ARs and a box of slugs. Me and Money are going to terrorize shit!” Ra Ra said.

  Little D and Geez took two Glocks a piece with some extra clips. I already had the twin l0mm Tauruses with extra clips and ammo.

  “Yo, Tommy, you know where to find this nigga that did that dumb shit?” Fat Money asked.

  “Yeah, right now he’ll be over at his sister’s crib with the work. By now he probably called up his little brother and homies. I want y’all to know they ain’t going down without a shoot-out, so stay fully loaded and don’t hesitate to kill these niggas. Because they will take you out,” I said, wanting to make sure my ATL niggas made it back home, because I would feel bad having them come this far not to make it back home.

  “It’s whatever, big homie. We came here to take care of business,” Little D said, all hyped up and ready to hang out.