by Keon Smith
“How long ago did she leave?”
“Her jet should have landed at Fulton County Airport by now. I’m sure she’s in a limo on her way to you as we speak if she’s not at Lenox Mall already.”
Tommy nodded just as a black car with tinted windows pulled up on the block. He was standing with his back to the car. “Aight, I’ll let you know when she gets here.”
“Don’t bother. I’m sure she’ll be there soon,” Clyde said before hanging up.
Montega grabbed the two Taurus 9mms out of the stash spot then opened the door. As Beauty came out of the store with a Mystic iced tea and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, she placed her wallet bag in her bag but stopped when she saw a man get out of a black car across the street from her boyfriend.
Beauty had recalled seeing the guy at her graduation with Samorah. If she wasn’t mistaken, his name was Montega.
What’s he doing here? she thought.
As he approached Tommy with his hands behind his back, the two big stiffs were the first to intercept. Montega whipped out the two guns from behind his back and blasted them in the chest. Each took two slugs to get the job done. Their corpses thudded to the ground faster than the shells of the pistols.
Tommy got low and tried to make a run for it. Montega chopped on him with a hunger to see him fall. Before Tommy could get a chance to pull out his weapon, he caught a slug in his back and one in his leg. He then collapsed in the middle of the street. Two more shooters came out of the house with Mossberg shotguns.
Click-clack-boom!
“Oh shit!” Montega hollered, ducking as the second shot went off.
The bullet just missed his head and slammed into Tommy’s red 600 Benz. Before the shooter could rack another slug in the chamber, Montega stood, aimed, and put three in his chest. The shooter went down in a blaze of failure.
The second gunman was on point. He let his shotty roar. The bullet struck Montega square in the chest, awaking his solar plex, causing him to swerve out into the street like a toy action figure. When the gunman saw that he hit his mark, he quickly rushed over to tend to his boss.
As soon as he hit the street, Montega was no longer on the ground. Before the henchman knew what hit him, his brains exploded out the side of his head. Montega held his chest in pain. Even though the slug didn’t penetrate his vest, it thumped him good and damn near knocked the wind out of him. Six inches higher, and he wouldn’t have a neck.
Beauty was in shock when she saw Montega rise from the ground. She dropped the bottle she had in her hand, and it shattered in front of her feet. The gamblers on the steps all took off as Montega approached Tommy in the street. He watched as Tommy crawled on his belly toward the middle of the intersection. Montega walked up to him, aimed the gun, and put a bullet in the back of his head without hesitation.
He turned him over, snatched the chain off his neck, then headed back to the car. Beauty quickly ran to her man’s side as the black car sped off. A hail of bullets came from henchmen who got to the scene too late. They heard bullets hit the car’s outer shell but got no effect. All they saw was the red taillights shrinking in the distance.
“No, Tommy, nooo!” Beauty cried, but there was no saving him. Tommy was already gone.
By the time Diamond’s driver pulled up to Tommy’s block, there were police cars everywhere, along with the homicide unit talking to Beauty. The news vans were posted at the corner of the block, and the whole neighborhood was full of spectators. Diamond spotted one of Tommy’s lieutenants standing on the corner. She lowered the window of the rented 600 Benz.
“What happened?”
“Some guy hopped out of a black ’96 Impala SS and started spraying. He killed Tommy. Blew his brains out all over the street. I just got here, but his shorty seen the whole thing. I’m waiting for the cops to skate so I can find out who the killer was. I doubt if she’ll tell them anything. She’s got a little street smart in her.”
Diamond arched her eyebrows in shock. She knew Tommy had been waiting for her. He was almost like a brother to her, and now he was gone. She rolled the window back up and had her driver take her to her hideaway so she could vent. Her day was not going the way she planned.
Ambition Of A Killer
“Who sent you?”
DIAMOND WHITE
ONE WEEK LATER…
Montega felt like a king as he lounged in the backseat of the silver Rolls Royce Phantom on his way to the beauty salon in search of Samorah. Carlos had checked him into a five-star hotel called the Intercontinental, which provided its own transportation service. Since Montega didn’t know too much about Atlanta, he decided to park the Impala and see how it felt to travel like royalty.
He had plans on hitting the strip club that night, but first, he wanted to kick it with the woman he had become so fond of—Samorah. She had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since she found out he did business with her brother. Montega may have been a rolling stone, but that still didn’t negate the fact that he had feelings for her. Maybe it was just the good sex, or maybe he dug her personality. Whatever it was, it had drawn him in, which always happened when females got too close.
Montega went into his pocket and pulled out a jar of Sour Diesel. He screwed off the top and caught the strong stench of its contents. Instantly, he started coughing.
“Ah shit!” He grunted as he clutched the right side of his chest where the twelve-gauge slug had slammed into his bulletproof vest.
He then lifted his shirt to see the red bruise and clenched his teeth at the thought of the man who shot him. “Muthafucka!” he growled out to no one in particular.
The Rolls Royce pulled up to the beauty salon, and Montega got out, dressed in Gucci. He was hiding his brown eyes behind a pair of Chrome Hearts shades. His watch said one thing; time is money. He strolled into the salon where all the stylists were busy. This was the place where most of the well-known sistas came to get their hair tossed. The endless waiting line of clients inspired Montega to one day open a salon of his own. His presence, however, was unescapable. Eyes began to aim in his direction and the whispers like, “Who is that?” began.
His smile was infectious. He attracted most of the women around him.
Samorah was seated in a salon chair with an apron on. She noticed him the moment he stepped inside. He approached her calmly. She cursed under her breath because usually she had a chance to escape, but not now.
“What are you doing here?” she asked dryly.
“I’m here to see you, of course,” Montega replied while removing his shades.
“Oh, really. What? My brother doesn’t have anything else for you to do? Now you decide to come bother me.”
“Behave, shorty. Only bosses give orders. I’m no soldier, and I don’t listen to nobody but the man in the mirror. Money, however, is a different story. Sorry I wasn’t born fortunate enough to have a large condo as a hideaway or a 2005 Lex or a platinum card with endless credit. I come from the bottom of the barrel. Just another crab trying to make it out, or more like a mercenary or an opportunist. Nonetheless, none of it has anything to do with me being here.”
The woman doing Samorah’s hair smiled as she got a front-row seat to view the little love affair that was going on.
Not even Samorah could stay angry with the handsome man standing before her, which was why she tried so hard not to box herself in like this. She knew, sooner or later, he would compel her into his good graces again. He was just too charming. Crossing her legs, she asked, “Mr. Opportunist, like I said before, what are you doin’ here?”
“I’m taking you out. What you think I’m doing here?”
“And what makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?”
“’Cause you miss me like I miss you.”
“I don’t miss you,” Samorah said, wickedly rolling her eyes away from him.
“You’re not a good liar, baby girl. I advise you to quit acting too. I like you better when you say things more realistic,” Montega replied.
“Oh yeah?” Samorah said, trying her hardest not to blush. “Well, I have to go to the car wash first.”
“We can do that too. I’ma just tell my driver to pull off,” Montega said before turning back.
“Who is he? He’s cute,” the stylist whispered.
“His name is Montega, and he’s from Philadelphia,” Samorah said, blushing.
“What is he? A rapper or something?”
“No,” Samorah replied while thinking, he’s a killer.
After getting her hair and nails done, Samorah took Montega to the car wash on Piedmont. It was a popular hand-wash joint called Cactus. He was so astounded to see so many expensive cars waiting to get washed. It almost reminded him of a club. When they got out of the car, he went to pay for the wash. He then ran into a few strippers who handed him a flyer of the club they would be dancing at that night.
Montega pocketed the flyer then headed back to where he saw Samorah talking with a guy who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. Seeing this didn’t make him the jealous type at all, so he went to grab some snacks. When he came back, the car was sparkling clean, and Samorah was waiting for him. “What took you so long?” she inquired.
“I went to grab a Snickers? Besides, I saw you havin’ a conversation with bol. I ain’t want to interrupt or nothin’.”
“Oh, that was some guy name Clark Bey. He’s from Baltimore. He wants to do some business with my brother.”
“Oh yeah? He look like he already doin’ business,” Montega replied, checking out the cherry-red Maserati.
Samorah shook her head and smiled, ignoring his comment. “So what did you have in mind, Mr. Opportunist?”
“There’s this nice bowling alley that Rodney said is aight. It’s called Ten Pin. You tryna go?”
“Well, I don’t see why not,” Samorah answered.
When they got to the bowling alley, Montega paid eighty dollars for the first game and got a private lane away from the others, which had an odd-looking bookshelf inside. A DJ played one of Lil’ Wayne’s latest hits while the waitress brought them drinks.
Samorah watched as Montega rolled back to back strikes. “You seem to be good at this,” she said, sipping on Don Julio and ginger ale.
“Me and my homie Razor used to go to this bowling alley in Philly called Lucky Strikes every Saturday.” Montega reminisced about the fun times he had with his best friend. “I miss my homie, man.”
“I wish I could bowl like you.” Samorah pouted.
“C’mon. I’ll teach you,” he said as he took her drink out of her hand and helped her to her feet.
“Wow, an expert in bowling. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t patronize me, shorty,” Montega said as he wrapped one arm around her waist from behind. He enjoyed the feel of her soft butt pressed against his print and the fruity smell of her hair mixed with the scent of her perfume. There was nothing like the smell of a woman to make a man feel like a man. “Now grab the pink ball. It’s lighter.”
Samorah reluctantly complied. Montega placed his hand on her wrist and went through the motion with her as if they were one. He took a step forward with her, pulled her arm back, and moved it forward.
Once Samorah let the ball go, it went straight to the side and into the gutter. “Well, Mr. Opportunist, it seems that you’re not such a professional after all, now does it?”
“You just some shit. I hope that doesn’t rub off on me,” Montega replied, finally getting her to laugh.
“Am I that bad?” Samorah asked.
“You bad, aight, but having skills in bowling ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” Montega brushed a strand of her golden hair to the side as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Just then, the bookshelf mysteriously opened, exposing a secret room. A couple emerged. They closed it and giggled as they walked off. “Oh yeahhhh? That’s how they do it here?” Montega said. “I wonder what’s back there.”
“Let’s go find out,” Samorah suggested with a devilish smirk.
Montega moved the bookshelf to the side and closed it behind them. Samorah faced him and pushed him up against the wall. She then unbuckled his jeans and squatted down.
“What you doing, shorty?” he asked.
“I’m taking a lunch break,” she replied, reaching in his boxers.
Montega watched as she pulled his shaft out and made it disappear in her mouth. He hissed breathlessly while sliding his fingers through her hair. The warm feeling got him fully aroused in seconds. He hadn’t touched another woman since he met Samorah. She seemed to please him in every way possible. He never thought he would ever find a woman to make him think only of her.
With one hand behind her head, Montega slowly pumped in and out of her mouth until she cleared her tonsils and let him go deeper. Pulling back, she watched as a string of saliva connected from the head of his member to the bottom of her lip. She looked at it then sucked on the head like a popsicle. It was all too thrilling for her victim, and before she knew it, he exploded in her mouth with a thick, warm ooze that she continued to devour until the very end.
When Montega snuck out of the secret room, he felt weak. He was exhausted and sweating constantly. “So what do you want to do now?” she asked as she followed him.
“I’m hungry,” was Montega’s response as he flopped down in a chair. Samorah placed her hand on her hip and thought, just like a nigga. She looked at Montega and asked, “Have you ever had a fried lobster?”
That night after coming from the Fish Market, Montega dropped Samorah off at her brother’s crib then headed for the strip club on Marietta Boulevard called D.O.A.
In Atlanta, most of the strippers danced at different clubs every night. Tonight was D.O.A., and the club was doing numbers. Montega sat in a booth by himself with a bottle of Don P, watching how the strippers in the ‘A’ got down. As he sipped on champagne, he noticed a crowd of guys at the booth opposite of him. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Their smiles were golden from the caps they had on their teeth. They looked to be from B-More. That’s when he spotted the guy from the car wash—Clark Bey. He was the center of attention. Montega watched as they threw money around as if it were on fire. He didn’t realize it, but he had a smile on his face. He knew that one day, he could be the bigshot in the booth if he played his hand right. One day, he could be larger than him. That was if Shug didn’t kill him first.
In an upscale neighborhood thirty minutes north of Atlanta called Alpharetta, Diamond ran on the treadmill inside the exercise room of a swank mansion while Bain flicked through the TV channels. When the news came on about Tommy Gun’s murder, Diamond huffed over the humming of the treadmill’s motor.
“Do you mind turnin’ to something else, Bain?” she complained.
She was still coping with the fact that Tommy was dead. Everything had happened so fast that it was hard to investigate. She had no idea why he was killed, but she was determined to find out who was responsible. She would start off by rounding up all of Tommy’s men. Once she collected some facts, she would have them all executed for failing to protect him.
As she soaked her spandex tights and sports bra with sweat, Diamond picked up the pace.
Outside, in the dark and quiet neighborhood, two black minivans pulled up to the front. The sliding doors opened, and several men and women wearing all black got out. They were armed with high-tech machine guns. Besides the silver collars around their necks, they all wore ski mask with eyes that had seen death on plenty of occasions.
“Remember what the Colombian said. She’s worth more alive. So be light on the trigger,” one of the masked women instructed her team before chucking a burning cigarette butt.
The assailants were experts at picking locks and scrambling alarm systems. Their specialty was kidnapping and contract killings. The first thing they did was take out the security, who were surrounding the perimeter, using a sniper from the roof top of another home across the street. The rest of the group moved in for
the kill.
After Diamond finished her run, she grabbed a towel and headed for the exit. “I’m gonna run some bath water,” she said before walking out of the room.
On her way down the dimly lit hall to the bathroom, she stopped for a second and frowned. Thinking she was tripping, she continued down the hall. When she walked into the bathroom, she started the shower and got ready to remove her clothes. The sound of running water muffled other noises as two assassins quietly crept up the steps and toward the bathroom.
Slowly, as their heels pressed onto the marble floor, one got on his hand mic and whispered, “She’s upstairs. I think she’s in the bathroom.” The second, who was a female, followed behind.
When they crept down the hallway, they stayed close to the wall. The first stepped out the bathroom door and signaled for his partner to go in. His partner tightly clutched his Heckler & Koch MP5 SD6 and slowly walked inside; the other one followed while armed with the same weapon. It was a silencer submachine gun with thirty standard 9mm parabellums. The suppressed barrel was accessorized with thirty holes for the gas to escape, reducing muzzle velocity to a subsonic speed. The victim wouldn’t even know what hit her. Neither would the neighbors.
When they were both inside the bathroom, Diamond, who had both her hands and feet planted against the small, confined, four-cornered wall above the door, jumped down onto the last assassin’s back. She reached for his Bowie knife in his breast pocket, shoved the blade against the skin of his neck, and quickly slit his throat. The sound of gurgling came afterward.
Diamond knew she wasn’t hallucinating when she smelled the scent of cigarettes that fumed from his clothes. As blood shot out to the white floors, Diamond moved in on her next victim. The masked woman quickly spun around with her gun leveled. Diamond swatted the barrel left but slipped under her arm with her hand clutched on the gun. She grabbed the assailant’s left hand as well and twisted up her arms before kneeing her in the gut and jamming the knife into her rib cage. The woman let out a roaring scream as she bent over. Diamond never released her left hand. She twisted her wrist then flipped her onto her back and plunged the knife through her chest and into her heart. “Sleep tight, bitch,” she whispered.