by De'Kari
CHAPTER XVI
(Back of the Gardens)
It was a little after four in the morning. The club had been jumping like fuck. After the club, mothafuckas went to get some food and then it was off to Pussyville. The normal “Hood Shit”. Clark took the little broad Vanessa to the Homestead Suites in Sunnyvale and wore her little-ass out. The way she had that little-pussy popping on him, he wasn’t ready to call it quits just yet.
He had something else in store for her, but first he had to swing by his spot, on Camellia to pick up something. He ran in and took care of his business and then ran out carrying two black duffle bags. When he jumped back in the Scooby-Doo van, Vanessa instantly put her head in his lap. The windows were tinted so he figured fuck it and leaned his seat all the way back.
She was sucking his dick so good the nigga was holding his breathe. Vanessa was bobbing her head up and down on it while and turning and twisting her head. The result was a like a cyclone on his dick.
Just when he palmed the back of her head ready to really feed her his dick, his senses started going off like crazy, he felt like a thousand eyes were on him, like he was being surrounded. When Clark opened his eyes he literally almost shitted on himself. He was so scared that he farted in Vanessa’s face. She gagged, lifted all the way up and opened her mouth like she was getting good and ready to curse him out. Clark immediately covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his arm around her head.
“Sshhh!” He told her while looking around like a run-away slave. “Don’t say shit V.” He took his hand down from around her face.
“What the fuck is going on?” she whispered. Vanessa had neva seen so many police in her life.
“I don’t know”. Clark shook his head thinking about the two duffel bags he’d just thrown in the van.
Four kilos of coke and fifty thousand in cash was enough to get a life sentence and that’s what was in the two bags.
“But we aint moving so be perfectly still.”
Outside of his window it looked like a fuckin law enforcement convention. East Palo Alto P.D., Santa Clara Sheriff’s Department, F.B.I. and the D.E.A. were all storming his uncles house. There had to be at least fifty fuckin 50 cops. Clark didn’t want to move and risk someone seeing the movement behind the glass, but fuck it, he couldn’t be a bitch. He had to let his folks know what was going on.
First, he hit his big cousin’s cell phone, all he got was the voicemail. Next, he hit another cousin’s phone only to hear his voicemail. “Fuck!” He yelled in his head. He didn’t know what else to do. What could he do? They were already bringing somebody out in handcuffs. A little later came the “God Father”, his uncle in cuffs. Clark could clearly tell he had been sleeping.
All types of thoughts ran through Clark’s head, “were they really trying to hit his spot and ran in the wrong house by mistake? Was he next”?
Subconsciously he reached for his 40 and thought to himself he’d rock dis bitch like Red Rock Café before he went down, fuck that! There was nothing he could do but wait as they brought out bag after bag of shit. Faggott ass cops were like that. They just took shit for no reason. Shit that aint pertaining to shit. They took it just to fuck with you. And made it seem like you guilty of something.
He knew they would be stuck in that van all day, but it was better than the alternative. He looked over at Vanessa and whispered some encouragement.
“Shit bear with me until this pass through. Don’t say shit and I swear to God I’mma take care of you!”
Her response fucked him up. She just licked her lips, dropped her head and went right back to sucking his dick. Getting a nut couldn’t hurt, fuck it!
Clark didn’t’ know it at the time but he was actually witnessing one of the biggest raids in California’s history by either local law enforcement or federal agents. The raids were choreographed actually by E.P.A. P.D., Santa Clara and San Mateo County Sheriff, F.B.I., D.E.A. and A.T.F. Simultaneously they hit over 21 Northern California Cities in an attempt to dismantle what they called the most sophisticated and organized group, the Al-Qaeda Gang.
A gang who in the words of the F.B.I. was one of the deadliest gangs to ever come out of California. When it was all said and done, one hundred and eleven people would get locked up in the sweep. All behind one informant …… Ali Wali.
As he was getting ready to tilt his head back and enjoy the superb head he was getting, Clark thought he saw a familiar face. He strained to see but she was far away and there was just too much traffic going back and forth.
Her back was to him but from what he could see, the height was the same and so was the shape., hair and side profile. But naw it can’t be he thought, I am starting to act just like that nigga Voorheeze, hell naw that aint her, he thought! Vanessa had her tongue circling around his head now driving him crazy. He closed his eyes, palmed her head and helped her go to work.
(Meanwhile in back of the Vill)
Most niggaz complained about their jobs, because either they didn’t like what they did or they figured they didn’t get paid enough for their services, but Murda wasn’t one of those niggaz. He got paid ten thousand every week whether he worked or not. And usually he got hit with a little extra when he did work. But honestly Murda didn’t give a fuck about the money, he loved his job. He was a little nigga and always had been. So, he’d been fighting all his life just to get a fair hand.
Finally, he just said fuck it! Since he wasn’t going to get a fair hand, he’d make his own hand. He’s been putting in work ever since. He walked out the back of the dykes and made a right on Illinois. On foot he followed Illinois Street all the way around to Tulane Avenue, looking for a victim.
This morning he noticed there was a lot of police traffic; marked cars and unmarked cars. But Murda didn’t care, they had their business to tend to and he had his. They were fine to do whatever they pleased as long as they didn’t get in his way.
A couple of houses up ahead he saw a few youngstas in the front yard. No doubt they were slanging (hustling). Murda got into character rubbing his nose, scratching his arm and looking down at the ground instead of directly in their faces. there were only two of them.
“Brah Brah, yall got some hard?” He asked, playing the role of a smoker looking for some crack.
“Damn O.G. what happened to yo clothes rogue?” The oldest of the two joked, they both started laughing.
Murda scanned the street discreetly with his eyes, watching for traffic.
“Naa what’s up O.G., I’m just fuck’n with you, what you need Brah?” Again, it’s the eldest who spoke. He appeared to be West Indian or something.
“Young’ un I need dat Young Nigga Mafia hard. I heard yall got that Butta.” Murda hungrily licked his lips.
“You know nigga! Da Mafia got dis bitch on lock!” This time it was the younger one who spoke up trynna be tough. Clearly, he was a poodle.
What’s the old cliché Murda thought, Young and Dumb, don’t know when to shut the fuck up. That’s okay though, he just gave Murda the confirmation that he needed.
“How much you got O.G.?” The older boy called out.
“I got a big face”, Murda replies. “100 reasons you no longer breathing.”
BOC! BOC!
He hit the lil dumb ass one first. He couldn’t have been no older than fourteen. The older one stared at his little brother, eyes wide open in disbelief as the entire right side of his little brother’s head is blown off. He turned his head back around to face the old dope fiend.
BOC!
His mind neva had time to register the muzzle flash before his shit got knocked smooth the fuck off.
BOC!
The first slug ripped half of his face off. Surprisingly he was still alive. The second slug however knocked the back of his head off and cut out all lights.
Murda picked up the sack of rocks and walked back the way he came. Walking as if nothing happened. He made it all the way back around to Illinois and almost to the Dykes thinking about how the nigga was still alive w
ith half of his shit knocked the fuck off, when he heard, “Hey you! Freeze!
Of course, he played it off and kept walking and started singing like he was crazy.
“I said freeze mother fucker!” Fuck his command!
Murda was paying attention to the sound of his feet, he could hear the pig getting closer. Murda kept walking. He pulled the crack pipe out of his pocket and started packing the stem, then he turned around so the cop could see him take a full pull. Just as he thought this made the cop lower his guard.
“God damn junkies”, he shook his head in disgust as he holstered his gun.
“Tis a fine, fine day sir, would you like a hit?” Murda stretched his arm holding the burnt pipe towards the cop.
“No, I don’t wa…”, he neva got a chance to finish the statement before Murda opened fire. BOC! BOC! BOC! BOC!
The cop fell on the pavement. Murda walked up and stood over him.
BOC! BOC! BOC! BOC!
Murda hated cops! He turned around and walked nonchalantly back to the Dykes where he disappeared.
The Pack was hunting……
(Union City)
Voorheeze was sitting in the living room with two AK-47’s on the floor in front of him, two FN Herstals with extended clips by his side and an AR-15 in his lap. His eyes were glued to the news. The only time his eyes left the screen was to check the surveillance monitors or to pick up the plate of coke he was snorting.
Danika was laid at the other end of the couch staring at him like he had lost his natural mind. He hasn’t said one word to her since his sister called 45 minutes ago. When she called, he turned on the tv in the room. A few minutes later he dropped the phone and kept watching the news segment. When it went off he bounced and grabbed the small arsenal and turned the tv on in the living room.
Voorheeze’s phone kept ringing nonstop, he finally broke it. He refused to talk anymore. Now he just sat there snorting powder, watching tv and the monitors, and fuckin with his guns.
The news was saying in one of the largest busts in California history only the so-called suspected leader was still at large, but everyone else was apprehended. They had photos of the so-called leader, blasted on every channel. Voorheeze’s heart went out to him because he was a good nigga and he didn’t deserve to go down like this all behind some bitch nigga who couldn’t hold his own. The fucked-up part about it was he wasn’t even a member of the Al-Qaeda, so how in the fuck was he the leader.
“Babe you wanna talk about it?” Danika was trying to get him to focus on something other than the news and the dope.
“What’s there to talk about? That’s my family right there. My niggaz getting gaffled up and I can’t do shit about it.” He responded in a raised tone, but it wasn’t aimed at her.
He just hated that he couldn’t help. The game lost some real solid people today!
“I know Daddy. But why you got all these guns out? That happened hours ago?”
He looked at her like she had gone bonkers for real.
“Of course, it was hours ago. What the fuck dat mean?
“LaMont I know you don’t think yo peoples gone snitch on you.” This time she had a “nigga please” attitude in her voice. Danika was from East Palo Alto and she knew Al-Qaeda niggaz were solid.
“What? Fuck no! My people aint about to go out backwards.” He turned the volume down on the tv. “Look they say they got one hundred and eleven people. To my knowledge it aint even one hundred and eleven niggaz in the Al-Qaeda.”
“That means they done snatched up a bunch of nobody ass niggaz in the process. Sort of like casting a large net. You only want certain fish but you gonna end up catching a bunch of others as well.” He paused to let that soak in.
“The other mothafuckas are the ones I’m worried about. There is only one organization that they can tell on that’s bigger than the Al-Qaeda. You wanna guess what organization that is?” He knew that she realized it now, he could see reality sinking in from the look on her face.
“Neva Die”, she mumbled under her breath.
“Let me see your phone”. He needed to check on his lil sis.
He dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up, but it rang until the voicemail came on. After getting voicemail for the second time he sent a text message.
Cantelope it’s Voorheeze, hit me back ASAP on this number right here.
When she called him back a few minutes later, he could tell she had been crying.
“What’s up cousin?” He spoke gently.
“Hey LaMont”. He could tell she didn’t want to talk by the sound of her voice.
“Cuz, we just gotta get to the bottom of this and find out what happened. I promise you if it’s any fuck shit we gone handle it.” Voorheeze meant everything he said. Cantelope was like a sister to him. Her pain was his pain.
“Alright Imma call you if I find anything out cousin.” With that, Cantelope was off the phone. She didn’t wait for his response, she was in too much pain.
The conversation with Cantelope brought him out of his trance. He looked over at Danika and could see worry on her face because of his behavior. So, he decided to open up fully to her. Over the months he had shared some things with her and she’d seen enough to know the get down. She just didn’t know the magnitude of the get down. After their conversation she would know everything. Well at least everything that Voorheeze knew. At that time, he wasn’t aware that the entire organization was brought down at the hands of one snitch.
“You know what?” Let’s go have some fun?” Voorheeze jumped up. There’s no sense letting the day go on being all fucked up because of something he couldn’t control.
“What you got in mind Daddy?” Danika was just happy that he was out of the funk he’d been in.
“Shit let’s go do some fun shit.” He told her as he smacked her on her ass as they walked down the hall towards the bedroom.
When Danika first got dressed she came walking out she was in some little sexy get up. Voorheeze told her to throw some sweats and tennis shoes on, reminding her they were going to have fun not win a fashion contest. She changed her clothes and put on something comfortable, but it wasn’t sweats. She put on some tights.
They jumped on the freeway and it seemed like only minutes later they were exiting at the Great Mall Parkway. A moment later, they arrived at the Great Mall. Voorheeze could tell by the look on her face that Danika thought they were going shopping. But that wasn’t happening, he was thinking with a smile on his face.
They found parking towards the back of the parking lot since everything else was full and made their way to Dave & Buster’s. She had a big smile on her face once she realized where they were going. Inside was jam-packed with a mix crowd. Some young, some middle-age and some old. They made their way to a booth in the back by the arcades. They both ordered a drink and finger food, then took off towards the games. They were having a ball playing games and being silly.
Three and a half hours flew by without them realizing it, they were having so much fun. Voorheeze only dipped off in the bathroom twice to get high so he wasn’t too gone. The atmosphere was live. They nearly played every single game in there.
Voorheeze was playing Street Fighter doing his thang while Danika stood there watching and some nigga walked up to the game without even saying excuse me and tried to Deebo his way past Danika.
“Hold up bitch ass nigga! You don’t see my woman standing there?” Voorheeze let the controls go and was instantly turned up. He stepped right in the niggaz face, fist balled, ready to rock. He turned from happy-go-lucky to a monster that quick. It was frightening.
The nigga that he was talking to was bigger than Voorheeze by at least 60 pounds. A big, defensive end looking nigga. First, he looked at Voorheeze like he was crazy until he saw the look in Voorheeze’s eyes.
“What you talking bout homie?” The big nigga asked.
“Fuck you mean what I’m talking bout? Nigga my Queen right there and you bumped into her like a hoe on the s
trip.” Voorheeze was so close in dude’s face, he was literally spitting in the niggaz face.
A small crowd had formed.
“Bitch ass nigga! Apologize to my woman!” Voorheeze was ready, Fight or Fire it didn’t matter to him. The stench of fear from the nigga was strong.
“I… I.. I’m sorry.” The nigga stumbled as he looked around confused. He didn’t know what Voorheeze was talking about, he apologized to wrong person.
“Not her! Nigga that’s my woman!” Voorheeze told him as he pointed at Danika.
“I.. I.. I’m sorry Miss.” The big ass nigga hunkering down and saying he was sorry was like that big olé nigga in the Green Mile saying, “Isa sorry Boss.”
Voorheeze turned back to his game as if nothing ever happened. He placed his money card in the game and began playing. Just that quick he had forgotten about the issue. For the rest of the time they laughed, played and teased each other for the entire three and a half hours. Back in the booth they caught their breath and chatted about the night. Danika was teasing him about his anger and told him how sexy she found it that he would defend her honor without question.
Voorheeze senses was telling him that he was being watched. Without being obvious he scanned the area with his eyes. First, he didn’t see anything. Then he found it. A white boy who had police written all over him, was over at the bar staring them. Voorheeze played it off, focusing on Danika, but on the low he was keeping the cop in his sights. In his mind he was wondering; Is it feds? How many of them are here?
After finishing their drink, they got up to leave. Just as he expected, the cop got up and followed them. He whispered into Danika’s ear while handing her the keys to the Lambo, instructing her to go get the car. There was a large group by the doors allowing him a chance to make his move.
When the cop made it thru the crowd, he was standing outside looking around wondering where the man he was following went. He wouldn’t have lost sight if it wasn’t for the fucking crowd, he thought to himself.
“You know me or something man?” Voorheeze slipped thru the crowd outside by the patio section and was now standing directly behind the cop. One hand on his shoulder and the other pressing his cell phone into his lower back, faking like it was a gun.