by Renta
Kamicka Winslet was speechless as she turned to me for help. I looked down at the warrant and then back up at her; I couldn’t help nor argue. Winslet must have seen it in my eyes because she sprung from the couch with tears in her eyes.
“This is absurd—I haven’t killed anyone!” she shouted before her frantic eyes found mine. “Tell her, Harrison, tell her she can’t do this—we had a deal—remember?” she pleaded.
I looked over at Louding, he seemed amused as he ate slices of an orange that he must have taken from those people’s fridge.
“Get the boys to put out an all-points bulletin. Tell them we have a criminal on the loose in the Dallas, Fort Worth area, and he’s armed and dangerous,” I barked as Kamicka Winslet pled with her one-time good friend as she was being placed into handcuffs.
I couldn’t worry about her—we had bigger fish to fry. It had been confirmed that the man, Assata Lamar was, in fact, the same man in the picture with the deceased Tomorrow Kennedy. Though the mask would make it a hard case to fight in court—the tattoo of a Lion’s head that was on his neck would even the score.
“I’m sorry, Winslet, but you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain,” I responded as Kamicka Winslet was being led away.
Chapter Eighteen
The Devil Does Favors
~Ice Berg~
~Three Days Later~
“Mr. Simmons—you do know you’re under oath, right?” K. Sharp, my lawyer questioned the rat ass nigga on the witness stand.
His name was Nick Simmons, but the streets knew him as Funk. He was a hustla from East Dallas that I knew through mutual associates, but we’d never associated exclusively. That’s why I sat there shaking my head in confusion as he sat up there and fabricated a story of how I’d sold him ten bricks of heroin. It amazed me how niggas could spend their entire life portraying to be stand up guys, but when the time came for them to stand up—they placed their right hand on the Bible and told on every mu’fucka that was good to ‘em.
I watched Funk nod his head in acknowledgment of the question. “Mr. Simmons, you must speak into the microphone so the lady that’s typing can hear you clearly. Again—you do know you’re under oath?” Sharp repeated the question.
Funk’s eyes fell on me before he leaned closer to the mic and answered, “Yes—I know, I’m under oath.”
I never broke my eye contact with the fuck boy. They say the eyes don’t lie and as I gazed into his, a powerful reality drowned me within a sea of truth.
‘The only reason the eyes don’t lie is cause the eyes don’t have a mouth. It’s not the eyes that a nigga gotta worry about—it’s the morality of a mufucka that has the power to change a life!’ I thought before I was brought back to the present by the sound of my lawyer’s voice.
“Good—good, now that that’s established. I want to make sure we’re clear here. You just told us that on the night of January fifth, you purchased ten kilos of heroin from my client. Is that correct?”
Funk sat up straight in his seat, before making eye contact with my lawyer. “Yea—that’s the night I copped the work from dude,” he confirmed.
Anger exploded within my internal—I couldn’t understand how that bitch nigga could spit deceit from his lips. How he could try to fuck ova a man that he didn’t even know. Funk was the eighth witness the state used to nail my casket closed. The eighth lying sum bitch that lied after placing their hand on the Bible.
“Dude—can you point at who dude is and place a name with the accusation? You do know his name, right? Especially since he trusted you well enough to sell you ten kilos,” Sharp marked in a sarcastic tone.
Suppressed laughter could be heard around the room, but at that moment I found it hard to smile. “Yea—that’s him, right there in the baby blue suit. That’s Ice-Berg—he’s the one I got the drugs from,” Funk made being a rat official.
I gritted my teeth to keep from tellin’ the snake to suck my dick. I turned my head to make sure my circle was hearin’ that shit. My homie Big Compton put his fingers in the shape of the letter C and rubbed it over his chest to signify the love. Sharp strolled over to where I sat and shuffled through some papers on the defense table. Once he found what he was looking for, he began reading it to himself as he headed for the jury box. He nodded his head before handing the small stack of papers to the foreperson of the jury.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a copy of, Mr. Simmons report along with a copy of my client’s whereabouts on the night of the witnesses arrest. If you look closely at the dates and times on both documents—you’ll not only come to the conclusion that Mr. Simmons was nowhere near my client on the night of January fifth, but he’s also guilty of perjury!” My lawyer shouted as he power-walked over to the witness stand.
He placed his hands on the edge of the highly polished wood and leaned forward in order to be eye to eye with the snake son of a bitch, Funk. “Mr. Simmons—how could you have gotten ten kilos of raw heroin from my client on the night of January fifth when he was laid up in a hospital bed suffering from a bomb blast? Could it be that the prosecution has coerced you into—”
“Objection—objection, your Honor, the defense is leading the witness. The witness isn’t—”
“Enough—” the judge banged his gavel. “Now, Mrs. Keen, you heard the witness confession just as I did. As much as I didn’t like it, the objection is overruled. It seems the prosecution is ill-prepared for this case. He interrupted her spiel. The judge’s eyes strayed to, Sharp. “Counselor, you may proceed.”
My lawyer nodded humbly but knew when to take his victories and run. “No further questions, your Honor,” he said before smoothing his tie and heading back to take his seat.
****
~Assata~
Silence was thick in the confines of the rented Toyota. The only stain upon the tranquility was the sounds of Goose pushin’ golden bullets into the thirty-round clip. I sat reclined in the passenger’s seat—a thick cloud of potent Kush smoke swirled from my lips as I stared out the windshield. The Heavens were a canvas, a beautiful picture of tinted reds, purples, burnt oranges, and pinks. It was that time of morning where the sun was on the verge of kissing the horizon, but night seemed to want to wrestle.
“After this shit, I’m hanging the tools ups, lil’ bruh. God has His ways of talkin’ to every man and He’s been talkin’ to me for a while,” Goose spoke before pushing the clip into its place and jackin’ one in the head of the .40.
My eyes traveled to my flesh—I knew the grime of the streets had a way of stainin’ a man’s soul. The typa dirt that a nigga got exposed to while in the trenches, that shit seeped deep into the flesh and turned hearts black. I saluted my brother’s need for change if a nigga’s moves become counterproductive—he’d forever have a failure’s story.
“Every man has to know his limits, Assata, the streets have an expiration date. Whether you believe it or not, homie, it’s something up there in that sky. It’s something that allows your insides—your brain, heart, guts—it’s something that created that shit to operate in perfect union.” Goose looked at me. “It’s something that’s given you more lives than a cat. Somebody got they hand on you, fam, and if you were smart, you’ll seek that somebody before your number is called.” Bro nodded his head at the little house we’d been camped outside of for the past four hours.
He had told me it was where the freak bitch Snow rested her head. We were there to get info on the Russians. Goose had laced me to what had gone down back at Lovey’s spot. It was common sense that if the feds were at Goose’s head—nine times out of ten, they were coming for mine as well. It was time to get out of the city before we were tossed inside a steel case. Goose was going back to San Antonio after this, and though I loved my nigga, I wanted to see the world. I was thinkin’ somewhere like—like, Tobago Trinidad or something.
“You ready?” Goose disturbed my thoughts.
I reached down, took the FN off the floor and admired it. The gun was so pretty that I kisse
d it before I nodded my agreement.
****
~Ice Berg~
‘I’m going home—I beat these white folks again!’ That was my thoughts as my lawyer leaned in and whispered, “They have nothin’ on you, Mr. Swanson, you are a lucky man.”
I smiled, I knew shit wasn’t sweet though. I knew how the feds worked. When they got you—they got you. There were ten more charges I had to beat, but none as big as this one. I was grateful.
“They seem to have one more witness,” My lawyer spoke with a frown on his face. He looked confused as he studied the discovery packet.
That set off alarms with me. “What’s up, Sharp, why you look so worried?”
He shook his head in confusion. “This—this witness they say his name is—”
“Does the State have anything else?” the judge interrupted him.
Both of our attention shot to the prosecutor. She stood with a smug look on her face. As the words slipped from her lips—my heart cracked. I was as baffled as ever by the name I didn’t know if the devil did favors, but I needed a few. “Yes, Your Honor, we’d like to call our last witness to the stand, his name is James Swanson.”
****
~Goose~
We crept to the door of the quiet lil’ house. We’d sat outside the spot for hours and there seemed to be no life inside. As soon as we pulled up to the door, we knew something was wrong. A purse and small gun were on the ground and what looked to be a single heel was strewn a few feet away. Me and Assata looked at each other with the same kinda expression on our face. ‘What the fuck happened?’
I shrugged at my brother before placing my ear to the door—silence. I checked the doorknob to see if it was locked and it turned with ease. I cracked it open before making sure my bro was ready. He clutched the FN with his gloved hand—his dark eyes hungry for blood. I pushed the door open and spun to the side just in case the reaper was sitting in wait. When no shots came our way—we threw caution to the wind and stepped passed the point of no return.
****
~Ice Berg~
“Can you state your name for the record?” the prosecutor asked.
I was in shock—so many memories ricochet through my mental. Us as lil’ niggas—the sacrifices—the blood on our hands. At that moment, all that shit was in vain. A lot of times, the history between people is what strengthens the bond, but it’s not enough to strengthen the loyalty. The Bible spoke on shit like that—the betrayal of my brother.
“My name is James Swanson,” Nuts spoke in a whisper. My nigga couldn’t even look at me—guilt and betrayal was the last stage of unforgiven sin.
“Mr. Swanson, can you tell us your relation to the defendant—who you are, and why you’re here today?” DA Keen asked as she strode over to the jury box and handed the foreperson a packet similar to the one my lawyer had shown him.
“My name is James Swanson and I am the younger brother of David Swanson, also known as Ice-Berg,” my younger brothers head was down as he spoke.
I took in his appearance—my little brother had lost a lot of weight. He was in a wheelchair and it was plain to see his confidence was shattered. My heart was a vessel of jagged pieces as I took in my family’s condition.
‘This is my flesh—the son of my T-Jones. I introduced him to the game and now look—he was trading not only his nuts but also my life for a chance at what I robbed him of, His life,’ I thought before I was brought out of my thoughts by the sound of the voice I thought I’d never hear again.
“I’m here today to testify against my older brotha.”
****
~Assata~
I’d just checked the last room and was on my way to find my brotha. We’d split up so we wouldn’t be an easy target, but all I’d found was empty rooms and a vague pungent smell that only got stronger as I crept through the dim house. I made it to an open door at the far end of the house—the foul odor was thick there. Peepin’ in, I was shot back to the day me and my uncle Brains stormed the Russian’s house in search of the same woman that my brother now stood over. Snow was a bloody mess and the closer I came to the scene, the more I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Her pussy looked mutilated! Snow’s nipples were gone and there were various other parts of her that was missing.
Blood was everywhere—whoeva did her in was a lunatic. The foul odor wasn’t the smell of death, but of loosening of bowels. Piss and secretion stained her blanket. The weird part was that whomeva did the deed to shawty wanted her to suffer. The soft rise and fall of her chest was the clear indication that the madman wanted her to bleed out. Torture was her companion and though I didn’t know how she felt, I could only imagine how many times she’d prayed for death.
Goose leaned over her—he touched her arm and she jumped in agony. Her blue eyes cracked open and though death knocked at her door, the woman’s soul just didn’t seem ready to leave. Her eyes found Goose before they strayed to me, what seemed like shame—disgust—some sense of repulsion played over her features.
“Un—untie me,” she croaked.
For the first time, I noticed that her wrists were bound to the headboard—her ankles to the end bedpost.
“The house clear?” Goose asked.
I nodded before using my free hand to undo her ankles. Goose freed her wrists. As soon as she was free, Snow attempted to close her legs, the room exploded with the agony of her pain.
“Ohhh my, Goooddd!” she screamed.
****
~Nutz~
“On the day of October sixteenth, me and a woman named Destiny Kendricks were stopped and surrounded by FBI agents. The car was filled with drugs and guns—there was no way we’d escape and there was no way to beat the odds. It turned out that not only was Destiny Kendricks an informant that had collected numerous wiretaps on me and my circle, but she was also the wife of former District Attorney, SaMage Kendricks,” Nutz relived the moment that led to his current predicament.
I didn’t know the specifics because during that time I was overseas. I watched my brother clutched the sides of the wheelchair. I knew him—spent my life teachin’ him the ways of the gutta. Nutz spirit was broke—the love between us was too thick to ignore. I leaned over and whispered words to my lawyer that made his back stiffen and his eyes go back. We debated as my brotha spilt his guts to the same people that would attempt to slice both of our throats. My lawyer was heated with my decision, but what the fuck could he do. I turned my head so I could see the eyes of the woman that held both of us in her womb, and once our eyes collided—I knew I was makin’ the right decision.
“Can you please tell us what happened after you were stopped, Mr. Swanson?” the bitch of an attorney asked Nutz.
He still hadn’t raised his head—I hated that shit. “I—I killed her, I blew Destiny Kendricks brains out,” he spat.
****
~Assata~
We sat and listened to the white woman tell her tale of how the crazed doctor had sliced her up and ate her bleeding flesh. I cringed at the thought of that shit—what kinda cat did that? It seemed as if Snow was avoiding eye contact with me. I didn’t get it but didn’t give a fuck. It was clear to anybody with a familiarity of death that she was ‘bout to check out. She convulsed—cried out in between her words and the flow of blood from her many wounds allowed us a front row seat at the death place.
“I—I have information on how you can find the, Tiger. His home—his family here in the states,” she whispered as she laid curled up in the fetal position.
My heartbeat quickened—revenge surged through me as I awaited her next words. “Where? You know we need that. Help us, and whateva you ask is done,” Goose vowed.
He and Snow stared at each other for was seemed like a lifetime before she relented. “Kill me,” she whispered with tears in her eyes.
Goose looked surprised, yet, I understood her request. A woman’s lower lips—her physical attributes are what makes her a female. Snow knew that her time was up. Goose looked at me—he wasn’t g
rasping her reasons, but I just wanted the Tiger.
I aimed the FN at her curled form. “You got our word—as soon as you give us what we came for, I’ll honor your request.”
Snow finally turned her cold blue eyes at me. The darkness in mine must have told her the truth of my promise. “In—in the closet. It’s in the safe behind my clothes. The code is twelve-three-zero-twelve-sixteen-five,” she revealed.
As soon as the words slipped from her lips, Goose bolted to the closet. Snow and I studied each other—her beauty was still evident even when smudged by tears and dried blood.
“Got it!” Goose shouted from the other room.
Snow nodded with a sad smile. “I wish I could have sucked your dick, but bad girls die young,” she said.
I laughed at her brazenness before blowin’ her mu’fuckin’ brains all over the pillow.
****
~Ice Berg~
“I was hit fifteen times and assumed dead, but they detected a faint heartbeat. I woke up twenty-eight days later—chained to a hospital bed,” Nutz had tears in his eyes as he spoke. He laughed bitterly. “They chained me to that bed without a reason. The doctors told me I was paralyzed from the waist down.”
The prosecution had had enough of his life story—they now wanted what they brought him in for—me! “That’s such a tragedy, Mr. Swanson, and I hope that you’ve learned something from all this,” she said as she strolled over to the jury box and made eye contact with the twelve people that would determine my fate. “That packet is a discovery of evidence. It shows you the kilos of heroin, and pharmaceutical pills that was found in the hidden compartments of the car,” she said before turning and walking over to where my brother sat. “Mr. Swanson, can you tell us where you came into possession of this quantity of drugs? From my understanding, those are uncut kilos of heroin that has the stamp of Los Zetas.” She cast the bait.