Who Shot Ya Box Set

by Renta

  To be trapped six feet under—locked in a pine box, I wondered how that kinda loneliness could come with an inscription of rest in peace? The temperature had dropped from the days predicted fifty degrees and the Heavens cast a dark shadow upon the city. All the mourners had departed, and the only ones left on the silent ground were me, the dead, and the groundskeeper tendin’ to another plot, the reaper never slept. I was dressed to the nines for that specific moment—to bid farewell to Lovey. A charcoal black three-piece Valentino suit covered my skin, as the ostrich skin, Salvatore Ferragamo Boots that adorned my feet carried me to my destination.

  A forty-two-inch gold cable designed by TV Johnny hung from my neck supporting the weight of the six-ounce diamond encrusted medusa head medallion that hung from it. The pain that resided in my eyes hid behind a pair of gold tented eyewear that lavished the Maybach monogram on each lens. I inhaled deeply from the pineapple Kush stick that hung from my lips and held the powerful smoke in my lungs until they felt like they’d explode, with a strained deliberation, I exhaled. I paused once I reached the large mound of dirt that separated me from my Queen.

  As I stood there staring at the moist earth, it felt as if icy fingers were squeezing my heart. I wondered if there was even a reason to have worn the glasses as a slow river streaked from my left eye. The animal in me cried for what the gangsta in me knew I’d neva get back—The love of an old woman that took her last breath for my sins. I didn’t attempt to wipe the salty water from my face as I pulled the first petal from the rose, and let it flutter to the pile of dirt.

  I dropped the blunt to the ground before I spoke, “Lovey, I know you want me to hold my head up, but this shit is too heavy of a burden. I—I don’t know what to do, baby. I don’t know how to hold my head when missing you is what’s weighing it down.” I pulled another pedal from the flower and watched it drift lazily to the earth.

  Tears wet my dark face as I searched for the words to express what it felt like to feel your soul trying to separate from your physical. “See, mama, I told you God wasn’t real why-why would He let this happen if He was—huh?” A gust of cold wind blew through the graveyard as if Lovey was trying to check me for questioning God, but the beast in me was beyond the point of containment.

  I peeled another pedal away and released it to the wind. “I’m sorry I—I didn’t show up to see you off, Queen, but this—” I got choked up and wave my hand around the plot as if she could understand my implication. “—this shit right here—baby how do I say goodbye to you, Lovey? How can I stop my heart from bleeding when the wound is so deep, mama? Huh! Tell me—talk to me, Goddamnit!” I crashed to my knees in despair and pulled the glasses from my face before flinging them through the air.

  My eyes were baptized in my tears as soft kisses from heaven slowly attacked me, the drizzle was soft—wet –and cold. I wondered was it true that it rained every time someone died? I dismissed the thought—that shit had to be coincidental because if it was fact, it would be the great flood of Noah all over again. Mu’fuckas died so consistently, we’d been drowned by now. Yeah, I reached down, took up a handful of the moist dirt and let it slip through my fingers, and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself digging and tossing dirt in every direction. I needed to hug her one more time before the earth hardened on top of her.

  “Hey, come on buddy, you can’t do that. What the hell is wrong with you, you some typa psycho?” Someone called and attempted to prevent my animalistic urge.

  He grabbed the sleeve of my suit jacket, and before he could wrap his mind around the fact that monsters truly existed. I’d drawn the Heckler and Koch mp7 and was seconds away from relocating his thoughts to the massive tombstone behind him, but Heaven sent an angel that intervened—

  “No Assata— he’s not worth it!” a feminine voice screamed.

  Without diverting my aim, my watery eyes flicked to a small figure running toward me. Armani rushed between me and the clown—out of breath, but beautiful. She stared at me through wet eyes, and I could tell the moisture wasn’t from the rain. Her heart bled in her stare as she reached over and took the still extended gun by the barrel, and gently took it from my hands.

  “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay!” She soothed me.

  “Naw—it’s not okay, ma, it can’t be!” I exclaimed before turning back to the hole I’d dug in the pile of dirt. I resumed my task as I looked back at her. “Help me, Armani, I need to hug her, baby, just-just—” I couldn’t finish my sentence due to the fact that to formulate the words one more time meant that it was true. If I’d only get one more time to hug the woman that raised me. It would give substance to finality.

  A confused look tainted Armani’s face as she tried to understand my implications. I turned my back to her and began to dig with all I had, realization must have dawned on lady because she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around me.

  “She’s gone, baby, she’s—”

  “No!” I raged and pushed her away from me. “She ain’t gone nowhere, Mani. She—she can’t be! Can’t you see, ma—she can’t be—she wouldn’t leave me like this, baby! I—I just wanna hug her one more time,” I cried and resumed digging.

  Armani grabbed my wrists—using her soft hands with a firm grip. I turned my bloodshot eyes to her, streams of hurt poured from her eyes as the Heavens opened up into an all-out downpour. Armani took my muddy hands in hers and did the only thing she could to give me peace she released me and with manicured hands, began digging and tossing dirt away from the pile. We began the task in silence as the groundskeeper stormed off, but not before giving us fair warning.

  “I’m calling the police!”

  We paid him no mind as heaven cried, and what was left of the white rose drowned in the muddy waters.

  Chapter Ten

  The Deal

  ~Agent Harrison~

  I watched the numbers light up on the side panel as the elevator took me to the fifteenth floor. I’d just received the best news of my life! I hadn’t been home in days and I’d practically lived out of my office out in Quantico when I received a phone call that made all my efforts worth it. It was a wet Tuesday morning when the vibration of my cell snatched me out of a doze, so intense I had to peel my face from the pool of drool I’d made on my desk. Disoriented and exhausted, I snatched the cell off my hip and was jolted fully awake by the animated voice on the other end of the line.

  “We got him—we got the son of a bitch, Harrison! Can you believe it?”

  My heart hammered against my chest in anticipation. “Got who—what the hell are you talkin’ about, Forrest?” I snapped at the ecstatic DEA agent.

  “The drug lord, David ‘Ice-Berg’ Swanson—we got the cock sucker. My informant clued me in earlier this morning. So, get your head out your ass and get down to Denton Reginal Trauma Unit.”

  I was already out of my seat and heading for the door. I wouldn’t take more than an hour and a half to get from Virginia to Texas on one of the Bureau’s jets.

  “Trauma Unit?” I asked as I headed out to the hanger.

  Forrest laughed heartily. “Yea, someone tried to fry the motherfucker, now stop asking so many questions, and get down there and take the case from the state boys before they let the elusive son of a bitch elude us again.”

  Now, after all the leadless anonymous calls—the false sightings—after all the bullshit that had dulled my confidence in finding the drug czar. Here he was—a wounded fish to a starved bear. The elevator dinged open on my designated floor and the cool air filled the area. I stepped off and took a left at the reception’s desk, and another one at the sign that read: Burn Trauma Unit. The sights and smells of the hospital were antiseptic. It had been months since I’d been to a medical facility and I hadn’t missed the clamor and phantom feel of death that clung to the atmosphere.

  “Agent Harrison, I suppose?” the ranking officer guarding the door extended his hand.

  He was a tall, athletic man with sandy, blonde hair slicked back to give
him a polished look. I took his hand and shook it exuberantly unable to contain my excitement for who laid on the other side of that door. After the pleasantries were over with, I handed my identification to the good man.

  He inspected it thoroughly but still gave me an apologetic expression. “Thompson, stay here with, Mr. Harrison, while I go check this with the captain, would ya?” He leaned into the room and spoke.

  Moments later, a short, pot-bellied man stepped out of the room that my obsession was being held in. The sergeant turned his attention back to me.

  “I don’t mean to be an ass, Agent Harrison, but as you know, this is a high profile case and with the stunts the perp has pulled in the past—” He left the rest hanging in the air and shrugged his shoulders as if to say this was something he had to do.

  I saluted him, I fully understood the precautionary measures the brass had to take with Mr. Swanson. After the sergeant went about his business, I turned to officer Thompson.

  “Has he made an official statement—you guys did Miranda him, right? Is he coherent?” I shot off questions in succession. I didn’t want any mistakes to be made this time around.

  “I’m not at liberty to speak about—” the pudgy officer began before his partner returned and interrupted him as he handed me my badge back.

  “Yes, we’ve read him his rights, we had to wait two days for him to wake up, and another day for his noggin’ to clear from being knocked around in the blast. He hasn’t said one word to anybody, that includes the doctors, but his status has upgraded from critical to stable condition.”

  I took my identification. “Am I cleared?” I asked as I put it back in my pocket.

  The officer nodded. “Yea; you’re clear, but let me brief you,” he said before pulling out a small notepad and flipping it open. “Our bomb experts said they found a small device charred beyond recognition, but they summarized that it was some sort of explosive element. The tech found traces of magnesium on it so that explains the combustible element.” He looked up at me inquiringly.

  I nodded to let him know I was following him, I knew that magnesium was an explosive element that is obtained from magnesite and dolomite and is usually used in structural alloys and incendiary bombs.

  “The tech assessment coincides with the medical examiner's thesis—they say whoever planted the device had been meticulous. The perp placed the device in the deceased hand and held it in place until rigor mortis set in and her hand locked onto the pressure sensor that would trigger with the slightest sense of deprivation.”

  I nodded as the sergeant went on to tell me how incoherent Swanson had been in the wake of emergency surgeries to clear the shrapnel. After being debriefed, my long wait was over—I stepped inside the room and merely the sight of the burned and wounded man was a relief. Ice-Berg looked like he’d had a head-on collision with an eighteen-wheeler. Though he lay adrift in a morphine-induced subconsciousness, I could tell he was in pain. His head was mummified in gauze, an IV was taped to his right arm and a catheter had been inserted.

  Three of his ribs had been broken and one had ruptured one of his lungs. To keep fluids from Drowning him internally, a translucent tube was inserted through his nose and pulled down into his stomach. He was in bad shape.

  As I watched him struggle for his life, a strange thought bottle through my mind. ‘Who the hell was Agent Forrest’s informant?’

  ****

  ~The Visitor~

  Russia stopped at the door with a pistol clutched in his left hand. “Who's there?” he demanded in his heavy Russian accent.

  “Guess!” the voice replied.

  A smile quirked at the corners of Russia’s lips in excitement; he knew his lover loved kinky games and guess who questions, but he wasn’t in the mood for games.

  “Who de fuck is ‘tis!” he growled, but the visitor wasn’t moved by the aggression in his voice.

  Instead, the visitor reacted in a totally different manner. “You open this fuckin’ door, right this minute, you, Soviet prick!” They demanded in a deep—sultry voice.

  A slight chill ran down Russia’s spine, he hurriedly unbolted the door and as soon as it swung open, a fair skin lady with a slightly muscular build reached back as far as she could and slapped him so hard that spit flew from his mouth. Dressed in skin-tight black leather, she stormed into the room and slammed the door behind her, her long brunette hair tossed over her right shoulder as she stood glaring at Russia.

  Unable to resist not having her in his arms for another minute, Russia rushed to wrap her in his embrace, but she wasn’t trying to hear none of it. Using a stiff kick, she planted a size thirteen heel in his chest and knocked him to the floor.

  “Did I fucking tell you to touch me, you-you scum!” she spat, her radiant eyes narrowed into slits. “Crawl to me; on your hands and knees like the dog you are!”

  Fire ignited in Russia’s gaze as he hurriedly complied, thinking, ‘This is so arousing—I’m glad I eliminated that piece of trash wife of mine. Now I am free to partake of all de forbidden fruits.’ Once at his lover’s feet, he looked at her through a mess of long blonde hair. “May I?” he pleaded.

  His lover smiled down at him happily, before doing a complete transformation. She first peeled the itching wig from her head to reveal a short crew cut. She then shimmied out of the leather get up she wore and discarded her foam stuffed bra. She continued the transformation until she was no longer a she but a he! Drug enforcement Agent Forrest stood tall in all his glory.

  Russia rushed to his feet and took him into his arms. The two had met years earlier, during an international sting operation that was conducted on the Russia Black Mamba Cartel. Agent Forrest had been a part of the Rainbow Coalition for years and had instantly recognized traits in Russia. So, one cold afternoon Forrest decided to throw caution to the wind and reveal not only himself and the plans of the US Drug Enforcement Agency, but also, he opened dark doors that no man could come back from once they entered them.

  In the heat of a strong kiss, Russia contained himself. “Later—later for ‘tis, my love, tell me what’s happened,” he requested in his deep Russian accent before he took Forrest’s hand and led him to one of the two overstuffed chairs.

  As he took the over chilled glasses of Scotch, Agent Forrest explained how after they’d tracked down Pablo and murdered him, they’d found Bella’s number in his phone and began texting her under the pretense of it being him. She trusted her cousin and never questioned his reasons for wanting to meet at Ice-Berg’s house for an emergency meeting, but her trust proved to be her undoing once she arrived and was abducted by him and the few members of the BMC.

  The Tiger had gone to the extreme in torturing info out of her, and in the end—she’d broken and told them about Ice-Berg’s surgeries and what she knew about, Assata. After The Tiger squeezed as much as he needed out of her, he slit her throat and handed her over to the crazed Doctor V. The demonic doctor drained all her blood before slicing her open and removing her internal organs. The sick son of a bitch seemed as happy as a punk in a dick factory as he sewed her closed and explained why he’d done what he’d done.

  He said it was imperative that they minimize the stench of rotten flesh because if Ice-Berg caught a whiff of death he’d know something was amiss and run for the hills before their plans could be carried out to completion. So, they placed Bella in the bed as if she was sleeping and embalmed her in that position before placing a pressure sensor impregnated with magnesium in her hand. The Tiger had held her hand closed over the device until her muscles contracted and held it in place, the next time her hand opened, it would be a deadly Fourth of July.

  The plan seemed foolproof, but somehow Ice-Berg had survived the blast and was now a hazard to them all. Russia smiled in spite, of the botched hit, he was already a wanted man, so Berg could do little else to him. Within the midst of hearing the sordid details, lust danced in Russia’s eyes. No one knew of his dark secrets of strange fetishes—so he thought, but little did h
e know, someone was on to his Sodom and Gomorrah ways and had hired a private investigator to track him.

  The PI had been following him, capturing his every move on film before making a call. “They’re in the room and things seem to be quite—” he paused to find the words adequate enough to elaborate on the strange erotica he’d just witnessed. “—quite unnatural.” He winced, recalling the strange behavior of the two.

  Across the globe in America, Snow smiled at the disgust heard in her private investigator's tone. Being a pansexual herself, she recognized the traits in Russia. When his dick stopped rising for her, she knew there was something imbalanced within him, so she hired the PI to investigate.

  The results proved to be very interesting, to say the least. “Nice work, e-mail me the photos and your money will be sent to the account the same as always.”

  ****

  ~Goose~

  ~A Week Later~

  I’d been following Kamika for the past few days. The woman truly had no life: work, gym, and more work were her daily activities. A creature of habit was a danger to themselves because it gave the hunter an easy job. Yet, there was one change to Kamika’s activities, and that one change would be used to my advantage. There was a juicy big breasted woman that Kamika seemed to be quite close to. They went shopping and out to eat on the regular, I could tell they had a bond forged by gossiping. The other woman seemed to never shut up, and I planned to use that to my advantage.

  I watched her enter the Walmart after getting a food basket. ‘Good—she plans on being there for a while,’ I thought.

  I gave her a few minutes head start and pursued my prey. From my observation those few days, I could tell the detective needed some excitement in her life, and I was the cat to give it to her. In fact—she’d thank Jesus for this shit I was ‘bout to expose her to.