One Hustler's World

by Nikita Stewart

  “Same reason why I just recently found out where you sleep. Same reason we need to knock on doors to find that bastard." Yolanda laid forth.

  Into the dining area, a crystal chandelier hung overhead. At the center of an 18th Century, French Directoire dinner table was a crystal bowl filled with over a dozen modified cigarillos.

  KT refusing the offer to smoke, took a seat at the table.

  Yolanda placed a chilled Mountain Dew in front of him. Next, she gave him two identical, lightweight Velcro strapped Kevlar vests. "Make sure you both wear one everywhere. Tell Angel to wear hers even to work."

  KT took off his silk shirt. Clasping the apparel over his tank-top, he relayed the gist of his hotel rendezvous with Terri. The horrid similarities between her & Angel's childhood and their connections to the infamous Pierre.

  Yolanda exhaled. "I somewhat understand why you feel the way you do. But that lil bitch problems hers, and hers alone. Don't ever forget, Terri's loyalties lie with the man trying to destroy you and yours. She almost did it for him. No matter what he did or continues to do to her, Terri needs to choose her life. You can't choose it for her."

  KT asked. "Is it true, she was under your wing?"

  “Briefly. I always thought something was off about Terri. Now I understand why. It all makes sense."

  “Not to me."

  “Mind you, she wasn't my pupil like you or Maxine. She was too young to learn those things. I was her babysitter, so to speak." Yolanda explained. "When Tiana told me to stay away from Terri, I did. At first, I questioned why suddenly, but I had to consider all the things I had going on at the time. I couldn't risk some big face chump going to the police because I befriended little Terri."

  KT recognizing the despair overwhelming her psyche, reached across the table. Plucking her chin, he forced Yolanda's weakened eyes to fall upon his own. "You did what you thought was right."

  “Even after she begged me to keep being her friend, I stayed away. All the signs of abuse were there. I was so concerned about my own dealings, I wouldn't even look... Now it’s all coming back."

  Had Yolanda continued to befriend the sexually abused child, would future untold torment have been avoided? Would Terri have grown into an independent beauty as opposed to the psychologically enslaved shell of herself?

  KT took Yolanda's hand. "You didn’t know and can't rewrite history. So, don't fret what you can't change." He counseled her. "Outside of bodying Pierre, I don't know how else to help her."

  “One war at a time."

  “Terri told me where he does a lot of business. According to her, he always shows up around the same time."

  Yolanda glared at him suspiciously. "After what we just got through, you ready to fall for another Okie-doke. For all we know, her ass could be providing disinformation. Putting you right where he wants you."

  “If somebody didn't jump the gun and twist Ski-Beau’s cabbage, I would've had something to cross-reference what she said against." KT conceding to her unchanged scowl sulked. "Just give me something that'll even the odds in case you're right.”

  Yolanda excused herself. Upon her return, she placed a black guitar case on the dinner table. Yolanda unclasps the locks. Raising the lid, she appreciated his astonishment. "This baby plays the kind of music made for a one-man band."

  “What is it?"

  “I'm not familiar with the actual model label, but US Special Forces call it a Colt Commando."

  As if KT were holding an infant child, he cradled the gray, lightweight weapon against his chest. "Looks like a baby M-16 assault rifle."

  “It’s referred to as the little brother." Yolanda gestured towards the cylinder drum magazine Velcro underneath the lid. "Each one holds a hundred rounds, and I got two more in the back. Unlike the M-16, the round drums place the Colt Commando in the class of a small machine gun."

  KT quipped. "I'm not even gone ask what you doing owning machine guns."

  While he practiced field stripping the weapon, Yolanda detailed how the Colt Commando fired 2.23 caliber rifle rounds. Similar munitions are used by the M-16 assault rifle as well as a variety of other weapons. The firing recoil was relatively light. The weapon’s shortened barrel reduces firing noise. It also produces a low muzzle flash, excellent for nighttime assaults.

  Yolanda, taking hold of the weapon, showcased the small knob near the trigger mechanism. Changing the knob setting, she displayed the fully automatic mode, semi-automatic, and lastly, three-round burst mode. "One trigger squeeze, three rounds fired."

  “No shit." KT retorted.

  Yolanda cut a sharp eye at him. "Don't worry about ballistics. My source also provided detachable barrels, extra firing pins, handles, you name it. Just bring it back, and I'll clean it up."

  “How many of these you holding?"

  “Two. One for you... one for me."

  KT quickly shot down the notion. "I know you out for blood, but Pierre, my problem. It's better if I deal with him myself. You just make sure my alibi Superman strong."

  “You can handle yours, just like I can handle mine. But in case you haven't noticed, we both short on allies. While they both have Lord knows how many people ready to ride."

  KT caressing his forehead was lost within his thoughts. With his brother Big Suge on the lamb and Hot Rod dead, his options were indeed limited. He glared at Yolanda then said. “We do it my way. No arguments. No jockeying for power."

  “We know our roles.”

  “First thing we need is a___.”

  “A throwaway car." Yolanda interrupted him. "I gotta few stashed away. Now, let’s go sightseeing."

  You shall judge of a man by his foes as well as by his friends

  -Joseph Conrad 1857-1924

  CHAPTER 29

  We hear war called murder;

  It is not; It is suicide

  -Ramsay MacDonald 1866-1937

  Kingston Avenue

  East Ocean View, Norfolk, Va.

  11:52 pm later same day

  For the third time today, a gray Ford Windstar turned onto East Ocean View, Norfolk's Kingston Avenue. The same crowd of men was congregating near the Kingston Avenue/Hillside Avenue intersection for the third time today. Red bandanas were fastened around several wrists, necks and dangling from an assortment of jean pockets. This signified a shared affiliation.

  Two blocks over, the Ford Windstar pulled alongside the curb. Nextel two-ways were checked one last time. Two watches were synchronized. A Colt Commando action bolt was engaged, chambering a round. With a gloved hand sliding the Ford Windstar side door open, a dark, stealthy figure vanished into the cool, late evening darkness. The dark figure keeping to an earlier charted course dashed between two ranch-style homes. The figure cleared a small backyard fence. Reemerging on East Ocean View's Warwick Avenue, the figure surveyed the area. Everything was quiet. The dark figure ran across the street and slipped between two more homes. Another small backyard fence was cleared.

  The dark figure crept alongside an abandoned, single-family home then crouched behind a patch of overgrown bushes. Nylon cloaked eyes studying the Kingston Avenue activity, a sky blue Lexus SC 400 coupe pulled alongside the opposite curb.

  The driver's door slowly opening, the interior light fell upon a large, light brown complexioned man. His large Gortex boots impacting the asphalt, a red bandana was tied around his neck.

  The dark figure noticed how the man held the gleam of a military commander. The dark figure braced the Colt Commando small machine gun against his shoulder. On one knee, he aimed. The shot wasn’t clear. Just as the dark figure came from around the bushes, the Lexus passenger door opened. The dark figure froze. A short, dark-skinned woman emerged. She looked around nervously when the tall, light brown-skinned man snatched her by her arm. Dragging her towards a two-story apartment building. Once they vanished inside the hallway door, the dark figure set his Nextel two-way to his mouth and whispered. "I need five more minutes."

  "That's all you get." A feminine voice returned.<
br />
  The dark figure watched the Bounty Hunter Blood gang members. He scoffed at his inability to act. Pondering the consequences of his failure, was a concern for a lost soul worth sacrificing his vengeance?

  His thoughts were disrupted by the vibrating Nextel. The dark figure set it back to his face. “Go ahead."

  “If you still can't move, call it off."

  “He went inside the building.”

  “Which apartment?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Trying to find out too dangerous and might take too long. So fall back.”

  The dark figure put his Nextel two-way away. With his weapon at the ready, he bolted from behind the bushes, across the street. He yelled. "What's cracking slobs!"

  Several awe-struck men froze. Several others dashed between the adjacent apartment buildings. The dark figure’s weapon roaring gloriously, he unleashed a burst of 2.23 caliber hellfire. Blood gurgling screams serenaded three of the fleeing men falling upon death's doorstep. Two others made it behind the apartment building.

  The remaining gang members held their hands up high. The dark, nylon masked figure kicked a discarded grocery bag towards a youngster and said. "Run everything. Run they nuts, ass cracks. You better hit 'em all up." Once the youngster retrieves the bag, he continued. "Try to run. You MIGHT make it, but the big homies won't."

  The youngster filled the bag with pre-packaged cocaine baggies, cash, and two handguns. He sat the bag down then stood alongside his gang brethren.

  The dark figure took the bag and said. "This trap belongs to 7-4 Hoova now. We see a slob flag on this here, Crip nation, yawl slobs, join the dumbasses who tried to run... Now get behind the building."

  The dark figure watching the terrified group retreat behind the building. He noticed a silhouette peering out of a 2nd story window. He raised the Colt Commando and opened fire. Twelve rounds destroyed the windowpane. He turned the weapon on the Lexus then switched the firing mechanism. He held the trigger down. The ignited small machine gun recoiling against his left shoulder, he obliterated the luxury coupe with a tremendous burst of fully automatic hellfire.

  ∗

  Brentwood Forest Townhouses

  Bancker Road, Norfolk

  1 hour later

  They sat at the tinted glass dinner table of the newly leased 2 bed, 1½ bath townhouse. Yolanda took a sip of her V8 Splash then said. "Angel, it's one thing to find a new place this fast. And I understand the rush to furnish. But why purchase the same furniture all over again? When somebody needs new furniture for whatever reason, they usually go in a different direction.”

  Angel concurred. "Ask Mr. Scared of Change."

  KT finished off his V8 Splash. "For a king to call his castle HIS castle, it has to be to said king's liking. And I am king."

  “Casual talk aside, you laid it all on the line, and for what? Some work and a few thousand." Yolanda jeered. "Going tip-for-tap doesn't help us one damn bit."

  “Say what's really on yo tongue.”

  “You should've fallen back like I said. Now Pierre knows you're out for blood."

  KT shot back. "Long as Terri stay stupid, his ass know 7-4 Hoova Crip out for blood."

  “Get serious. The only idiot involved in all this is the idiot who believes Pierre stupid enough to believe that shit.”

  Angel eyed him suspiciously. "I still don't get your connection to this girl. Or why she would tell you where to find Pierre, then show up on his arm. That was crazy or well-thought-out."

  Interjecting, Yolanda described Pierre's mental stranglehold on Terri. His niece was either forced to accompany him or endure his wrath. "Look, Angel, I've known Terri for some time and had a direct line to find her. The rest you already know."

  Angel backed away from the table. Her arms folded, she replied. "Why would this Terri bitch all of a sudden decide to betray Pierre? Unless she is having sex with somebody here. That person's pillow-talk probably convinced her to betray Jesus.”

  KT took his agitated fiancée into his arms. "I told you the night all this went down, some chick came at me hard out the blue. Her pussy was literally on a platter. The setup was so obvious. All I could do was fall back."

  “So, you didn't sleep with her?"

  “Beautiful, bet the farm on my love. Every time I'm around you, what am I trying to do?"

  Angel filled the townhouse with her brilliant, tension-defusing smile. "What don't you be trying to do?"

  KT slipped his left hand between her thighs. Massaging her womanhood, he whispered. "Good as this stuff is, I'll be a fool to trade you in."

  Yolanda chimed in. "Who knows what made Terri finally decide to give up her uncle. What we do know is, this Pierre bastard treats her like garbage. Since early childhood, she's been under his thumb, basically his slave." She placed a black guitar case on the dinner table. She demonstrated how to exchange the Colt Commando barrel & firing pin. Watching KT practice, she commented. "This Pierre guy should be underground for at least a few days. Until he can figure out how you were able to show up at his Ocean View trap spot. So for now, we focus on my problem."

  ∗

  Springfield Avenue

  Campostella, Norfolk

  3:18 am later same early morning

  Courtesy of information supplied by the now-deceased Tech, for the 3rd time in 1½ hours, a gray Ford Windstar cruised throughout the Campostella, Norfolk, lower-class area. Nearing the Campostella Road/Springfield Avenue intersection, the minivan pulled alongside the curb. The driver broke the silence. "No tip-for-tap. Handle yours and get back."

  The action bolt was engaged, chambering of a round. A dark, stealthy figure vanished into the early morning night.

  For the 3rd time, black, rubber-soled boots dashed between two homes, crossed asphalt, and darted between two more houses. The small fence was quickly cleared. The dark figure dropped into the target's backyard. Nylon masked eyes surveying the rear of the two-story residence, the dark figure crept along the wall. The dark figure found the fuse box and slowly raised the lid. He deactivated the home's electricity. A small dog barking in the elevated distance, several hoarse, Lord-chastising voices chimed from inside the residence.

  Moments later, a door was slammed in the distance. Approaching footsteps resonated. A flashlight beam grew in the darkness. A short, steel-faced man jogged into the dark backyard. Taken aback by the raised fuse-box lid, he froze against a metallic object nudging his left temple. His soul pierced by a deep, dark voice, he whimpered. "I... I don't know__."

  “How many inside?" The dark, penetrating voice repeated.

  “Who the fuck is__" The man’s response disrupted by a blunt instrument slamming into his midsection, he doubled over. The oxygen knocked from his lungs, a second blow to his jaw sent him face-first into the dirt.

  The dark figure kicked the agony-stricken man onto his back. He spoke at a calm whisper. "Try that tough guy shit again. You eat a hundred rounds. Now how many people inside?"

  “Two."

  “Two... that's it, two people?"

  Blood & shattered teeth spilling from the man’s mouth, his trembling lips slowly curled. The man chuckled. "Two... many." He raised his left hand, displaying a small handheld device. The small digital screen illuminating a received signal, a boot slamming into his forehead sent the man into dreamland.

  The dark figure snatched the man’s LG phone. Placing it to his ear, scurried movement resonated throughout the open telecommunication line.

  A faint creak pierced the elevated distance.

  A second-story window was eased open. A large silhouette leaned out of the windowpane and took aim. The dark figure spun around as a thunderous roar ripped into the night. The dark figure retreating from the rounds exploding into the dirt. Rounds nipping at his heels, he dove behind a small doghouse.

  The vicinity was peppered with 9mm hellfire. Wood splinters sliced at his nylon mask. On one knee, the dark figure brought his Colt Commando back into play. He unleashed a long burst of fully automa
tic return fire. Exploding bricks and shattering glass chased the silhouette from the 2nd story windowpane.

  Within seconds, frantic voices blaring from inside the residence, three of four 2nd story windowpanes were occupied by enraged gunmen. The doghouse was bombarded by an onslaught of gunfire.

  The dark figure stayed low. With his Colt Commando perched on top of the doghouse roof, he fired blindly. Amidst the gun battle, a horrifying yelp serenaded an obese man falling from a 2nd story windowpane.

  The gunfire paused. The dark figure took a deep breath. Scrambling to his feet, another burst of gunfire chased him back behind the crumbling doghouse. He plucked wood splinters from his nylon mask, he noticed a tree trunk and three-foot-high pile of bricks along the opposite side of the backyard. The small perimeter fence was ten yards away yet seem like ten miles.

  Trapped, the dark figure set his Nextel two-way to his mouth. "I'm pinned down."

  "Where?"

  "Backyard. They shooting from upstairs. I need you to draw their attention so I can fall back." Bracing his Colt Commando around the doghouse edge, he sent another burst of blind return fire towards the residence...

  With a lengthy gun battle raging in the distance, the Ford Windstar driver's door was eased open. A slim, dark figure vanished around the Springfield Avenue corner towards the mayhem. The slender figure crouched behind a parked car perched a Colt Commando against a narrow, right shoulder. The action bolt engaged, chambering a round, the slim figure fired upon the residence's front.

  Gunfire erupts in the nearby distance catching everyone off guard. The doghouse collapsing, the dark figure fled. Gunfire chased him over the rear backyard fence. He crawled behind a tree then set his Nextel two-way back to his mouth. "I'm good. Go ahead and fall back."

  "Okay, I'll meet you at... YOU, DROP THE WEAPON!" A wickedly stern voice erupted in the telecommunicated distance.

  The slim figure slowly removed her hand from the weapon’s trigger then turned around. Two dark blue-uniformed men aimed identical handguns at the shooter. The slender figure placed the Colt Commando on top of the parked car.