Voorheeze & Clarkola

by De'Kari

  He really doesn’t give a fuck either!

  His number was called, so now it’s time for him to do what he do. His team is well known all throughout the Bay Area (natives call it the Yay Area). Hustla’s throughout the Yay tell stories of the hardest niggaz bitching up after meeting them. Hands mothafuck’n down! The name of each member of the team puts fear in the hearts of niggaz. But his name, his name puts fear in the hearts of goons and killaz! Straight up he is raw and uncut! His name will tell a mothafucka what he’s about.

  Tonight, niggaz will be reminded of what that is!

  Murda!

  He stopped at the corner of Clark St. and Bay Road. From here he can see the group of niggaz out on Illinois hustling. He counts at least eight or nine bodies. Bodies because in his mind they are already dead.

  He drives across Bay Road entering Illinois Street. To his left the wooden plaque reads Welcome to Nairobi Village. As he reads the sign, Murda thinks to himself, “It takes a Village to raise a child, but a child can destroy a Village”! He smirked at the irony. As Murda approaches he has caught the attention of the group out on the block. His count was close, but he was off by five. There are thirteen bodies on the block. The average mothafucka would rethink what he is about to do, considering how much they out number him. But Murda ain’t the average nigga, something these niggaz will soon find out.

  Knowing they outnumber him thirteen to one makes him excited, if that is possible. Some of the niggaz mean mug him like they’re just the hardest mothafuckas to walk the globe. Murda slows down until the black electrical van is in the middle of the group. Immediately hands go to their waists in preparation for whatever. After all this is E.P.A.

  “Brah I got eight!” Murda calls out through the open window as he bobs his head up and down smacking his lips as he awaits a response.

  “Nigga park that shit and get out! Nigga dis “Illa”, we aint serving no cars! Some big black nigga yells out.

  Murda throws the van in park and begins to open the door.

  “Not in the middle of the street you stupid mothafucka! The same nigga shouts out. Murda thinks he sounds like a lil bitch with his tough guy act.

  “My bad young blood.” Murda calls out as he fakes like he’s about to get back in the van. Instead his right arm comes up.

  Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot!

  The tech nine starts spitting. The sound suppressor not only blocks sound, but it stops the flames from coming out the barrel. The first nigga to catch some heat is the loud mouth mothafucka. Then Murda just sweeps the crowd. The moment he started firing he began walking towards the niggaz he was shooting.

  A couple of the niggaz were truly gangstas, they didn’t try to run like the rest of the bitch ass niggaz. They held their ground and tried to whip out their shit. These weren’t Village niggaz, or G-Town niggaz, or Midtown niggaz.

  These were P.A. niggaz, and P.A. niggaz didn’t do no running. Straight up!

  Unfortunately for them, they were dealing with a murderous nigga. So, they died too. A couple of bullets flew past his head yet Murda neva flinched. Ten seconds later there were thirteen bodies scattered across the pavement laid out in different positions.

  Murda climbed back into his van, he placed a new clip in the tech nine then put the van in drive and continued down the street.

  Boca! Boca! Boca!

  Murda swerved a little as a reflex, then threw the van in park. He snatched the Tech off the seat and looked for whoever the fuck just sent lead his way. It didn’t take but a second for his well-seasoned eyes to pick the mothafucka out of the night.

  Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot!

  He let the Tech spit.

  He shot through the passenger window as he as climbing out the driver’s side door!

  Boca! Boca! Boca! Tink! Tink! Two of the shots just missed Murda head and went through the windshield.

  Toot! Toot! Toot!

  He sent another burst at the nigga. To his surprise the nigga wasn’t crouching down like a bitch. He was standing on the side walk firing away. Police sirens could be heard but neither of the two shooters gave a fuck!

  Ced was getting tired of going shot for shot with a big ass van separating him and whoever the bitch ass nigga was.

  Ced was just parking his Mustang and getting ready to hit the block when he heard the shots. As he walked down the street he could see the black van in the middle of Illa (nickname for Illinois Street) where the shots were coming from. When they stopped, and the van started down the street he figured fuck it! He’d neva seen the van before so he wasn’t worried about one of his niggaz being the driver. So, he figured the van must be shooting at his niggaz, with that thought in mind he lit that mothafucka up. The police sirens got closer!

  Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Still Murda was letting the Tech sing!

  “Fuck!” He yelled as he realized he was going to have to let the nigga breathe. He sprayed another burst then jumped in his van and made that first left on Michigan Avenue. He drove down until he hit Baylor Street and turned right. Fuck the speed bumps. He sped all the way down the street. At the corner he busted a left and headed towards the Dumbarton Bridge.

  When Clark reached out he didn’t give any specifications. He just gave him a location and told Murda to make a statement. Thirteen killed at once. Statement made.

  The Wolf Pack is hunting!

  (Earlier that day)

  The sound of his cell phone woke Clark up out of a good ass sleep. After their hard sex session somehow, he and Tieka managed to make it to the bedroom and fuck again before passing out.

  “Hello,” the sound of his voice is covered in sleep.

  “Nigga it’s two o’clock in the afternoon whatcha doing sleep, dad?” Tut’s high pitched voice came through the phone like electricity.

  Clark got out the bed so that Tuts loud ass voice didn’t wake up Tieka.

  “Nigga I’m up now what’s up wit it.” Clark sounded like an old cigar smoker.

  “Brah, I just got that intel back on dem two thangs we were looking for on dat Menlo thang.”

  “Oh yeah?” A couple months ago somebody killed the two niggaz who had gotten away from the failed robbery of the stash house on Sevier. Nobody knew who killed them and Clark wanted to know so he had his niggaz put their ears to the streets.

  “I’m telling you Dad, yo aint about to believe this one.” Clark could hear in Tuts voice that he was holding on to something heavy.

  “Speak nigga, dis ain’t no fucking game show! You trynna build suspense and shit.”

  “Aaight aaight nigga damn,” Tut choked on the weed smoke because of the laughter.

  “Dad it was some Mex from outta town.”

  “Fuck outta here! Ain’t no Mex gone slide thru Menlo and knock some shit down.” That shit was unbelievable to anybody.

  “I’m telling you, Dad, some lil Norte nigga named Beast. They say the little nigga out there in Redwood going ham, Dad. Say he the nigga dat got lil Mexico on fire.” Tut let the blunt hang off his lips and put his hand on his 40 as he watched a strange car roll thru the area.

  “You said Beast?” Clark was making sure he heard him correctly.

  “Yeah Beast, dad.” The car was turning back around so Tut came up off the hip.

  “My brother on his way to meet up with a nigga named Beast today. Let me hit that nigga and let him know what’s good.”

  “Off top, dad. It looks like I’m finna get off into some shit anyway.” Tut said placing his finger on the trigger.

  “You need me?”

  “Naaw, I’m straight, dad.” Clark could hear in Tut’s voice that he was focused.

  CHAPTER XIII

  (Over on C Street)

  The car was a four-door silver Volvo. Tut didn’t know who was in it and he really didn’t give a fuck. At the first sign of some outta pocket shit he was squeezing. He had an extended thirty, hanging off his forty, and he was going to let all thirty fly.

  The Volvo was a couple of houses down and s
teadily coming. The forty was already cocked all he had to do was squeeze, but something wasn’t right. He only saw one person in the Volvo. If this was a move there should at least be two people in the car. As it neared him, the Volvo slowed down, and the driver’s side window rolled down.

  “Fuck it!” He said to himself as he raised his hand ready to pop off.

  “Nigga if you was gone bust you should’ve been squeezed nigga!” JuJu’s head came sticking out of the window smiling.

  Tut lightweight was pissed off at JuJu for playing so he figured he would teach him a lesson. “See that’s what I’m saying about you Menlo niggaz Dad. Keep coming ‘round here thinking shit sweet until a nigga accidentally light that ass up!” he said raising his banger.

  Right then three more bodies popped up in the car. The entire Volvo was full.

  “Na ain’t bout to be no lighting dis mothafucka up!” Mall calls out from the back seat. “Fuck around and have dat ass doing da Harlem shake out in dis bitch.”

  “Aaight Dad! I see you niggaz in a real good mood. What’s up?” Tut lowers his shit.

  “Brah we got da deep on one of dem niggaz so we ridin” JuJu lifts the Mac-11 off his lap for emphasis.

  “Say no more Dad! I’m ridin!” Tut ran and jumped in his bucket, an all-Black 2000 Toyota Eclipse Super Charger.

  Their target lived in the new apartments off University Ave. and Sac St. Considering the tension between Sac St. and Menlo, JuJu was certain this shit could get ugly. He picks up the phone and calls his childhood homeboy.

  “What’s up playa.” Micky answers on the first ring seeing JuJu’s number.

  Mickey is a MMN (Menlo Park, Midtown Norteno) nigga but at the end of the day JuJu knows it’s all Norte.

  “What’s up Rogue, my niggaz just got word that y’all got a snake sliding on the under in them apartments on the corner of Sac St.”

  “That ain’t possible rogue. We keep our grass cut short.” Mickey knows it’s a scrap that’s been creepin through over there.

  Him and his niggaz was getting ready to move on him tonight. He couldn’t expose game to JuJu. They were niggaz and all, but he wasn’t bout to discuss a body with nobody.

  “Call your peeps, Rogue, and let ‘em know we comin thru. We sliding down Runnymede Street right now Rogue back to back”! JuJu hung up the phone before Micky could respond.

  He knew the lil nigga would want to politic about it, but now wasn’t the time.

  When they reached University, they made a right. The plan was to flip a U-turn at the corner of Bay Road and come back up University and park on the corner of Sac Street. But shit don’t always go as planned; especially in “Lil Bitty Bhag Dhag!”

  Out of nowhere JuJu just pulled over to the right.

  “Rogue, dats da car right there!” He yelled out pointing to a four-door blue scrapper on deuces across the street at Pal-Market store.

  Mall, Stone and D-Roc didn’t hesitate to hop out the whip with big shit in their hands. They started across the street. JuJu was mad that he had to be the driver on this one. He loved knock’n shit down.

  Tut didn’t know what the fuck was going on but his forty sat nicely on his lap ready with his head on swivel.

  They had just reached the island in the middle of the street. Cars did any and everything they could do to get out of the way of the three masked gun men in the middle of the street with machine guns.

  Shit this was E.P.A. and mothafuckas already knew what time it was!

  Three Mexican dudes came out of Pal-Market lost in their own world. They were oblivious to the death that stared right into their eyes. Spooky’s instincts told him to look up. He had been talking to his girl about what he was going to do with her when they got back to the spot.

  He had his left arm draped around her shoulders. When he saw the three niggaz in the middle of the street he froze, and time stood still for a second. Then all hell broke loose!

  Faaat! Faaat! Faaat! Faaat!

  Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

  Braaaaat! Braaaaat! Braaaaat! Braaaaat!

  All three shooters opened fire at once! The big Mexican didn’t know what was happening. One minute he was drinking a Jarrito, the next thing he knew the bottle exploded and a sharp pain tore thru his throat as a bullet from the Mac-11 ripped a chunk of his throat off.

  Something smacked into his chest then his shoulder, his arm and his stomach! He was getting hit all over! Even when a missile from D-Roc’s AK-47 flew thru his face and exploded out the back of his head, he didn’t know what hit him. His body tumbled to the concrete; dead before it fell.

  Spooky finally broke free from his momentary paralysis and grabbed his banger off his waist. But he was too late. The force of all the AK bullets Stone sent his way knocked him off his feet and through the big plate glass window in front of the store. Cars were going in all directions trying to get away, some crashing in to each other.

  Like horses being freed from the starting blocks the last dude and the chick took off with no hesitation. The chick ran up the sidewalk toward Sac Street while dude ran in the street.

  Bullets were flying everywhere.

  JuJu and Tut broke into action. They both hit the gas and cut the wheel to the left. The cars jumped the small island.

  Tut jumped out the car and let the forty talk.

  BOCA! BOCA! BOCA! BOCA! BOCA!

  He cut the last dude down and jumped back in the Eclipse. Mall, Stone and D-Roc jumped back into the Volvo and JuJu sped down the sidewalk! He would be damned if he was gonna miss this opportunity.

  The little chick was running and screaming. Yelling shit in Spanish and English. Fear gripped her heart and had her running extra fast.

  “Help! Help! Please somebody help me!” She neva saw the car as it barreled down on her.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  JuJu let the Mac-11 go. As the bullets riddled her body she dropped only to be run over by the speeding Volvo.

  Just like that, both cars raced down University and hopped on the freeway. JuJu and them headed one way going toward San Jose while Tut was headed for the San Mateo Bridge.

  “Hello?” The voice answered the line.

  “Aye Rogue, I’m on my way to Oakland I’mma stop off and get me a nice hot cup of coffee.” Tut said into the phone. Just that fast he was exiting 101 onto 92 East getting ready to cross the San Mateo Bridge. He needed a new paint job fast!

  “Aight I’ll let them know.” Voorheeze said before hanging up the phone. Then he called the Koffee Shop to let them know that Tut needed his shit painted.

  **** N. D. ****

  (Later that night in the Gardens)

  An all-black Dodge Caravan drove down East Bayshore. It crossed the intersection at Pulgas Avenue. There weren’t any vehicles behind the Caravan making it much easier to pull over and turn into the Light Tree Apartment complex.

  The driver pulled into the first parking spot. No one said a word. Everyone knew the plan. When they were ready, the first guy opened the door and three stepped out.

  They looked like identical triplets of death as they made their way to the back of the complex. All three wore all black all the way down to their combat boots. Long jet-black dreadlocks flowed down their backs. The only difference between the three was there was two males and one female.

  The female carried a Galil, which is the smallest assault rifle in the world. It’s low recoil and lightweight makes it perfect for a woman. The two niggaz on the other hand, both carried AK-74’s. One with a 300-round drum, the other a 180-round clip.

  As the three crept into the small alley that lead to the back driveway, laughter and shit could be heard. Since the female was in command of the hit, she was leading the way. She stopped abruptly, lifting a closed fist in the air, signaling for them to stop. She braved a look around the building and was so giddy she almost couldn’t contain herself. There were thirty or so people all out in the back of the complex, grooving and doing their thang.

  She
turned to her team and gave them another signal. In unison they stepped from around the building.

  Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat! Taat!

  The three assault rifles letting off at the same time was a sound like no other.

  Complete pandemonium broke out as everyone tried their best to get out the way.

  Blockka! Blockka! Blockka!

  Above the saw-like roar, the sound of a hand Cannon could barely be heard as someone tried to display their gangsta. Sadly, that was the dumbest shit they could do. All three shooters directed their sights in that direction. In three seconds, forty plus rounds hit his ass! That didn’t scare everybody off.

  Bocca! Bocca! Pop! Boom! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Bocca! Bocca!

  A few Niggaz were returning fire showing no fear, but most were trying to get the fuck out of there.

  Hearing the horn sound, the three of them back-peddled while shooting. One by one they jumped into the Caravan. Just before she jumped in, Terry screamed out “Mafia Bitch!” Then she let out another burst of bullets as the driver hit the gas and did it moving.

  **** N. D. ****

  (The next day)

  “I want yall to feel good about what you’ve done so far, but I don’t want you getting so caught up with yourselves that you forget that this is only the beginning!” Sutton surveyed his team as he spoke.

  There were over seventy young Wolves gathered in the backyard on Illinois Street.

  “One thing about them and their wanna-be Mafia shit, is they adhere to and abide by those wanna-be Mafia rules.”

  His hazel eyes glistened with fire burning in them! “Niggaz wit us, Anybody can get it! And we aint listening to shit!”

  The backyard erupted with shouts and cheers at his words.

  He waited for the noise to die down before he spoke again.

  “Now that shit dat sis and her team did…” He was careful not to use any names.