by Sa'id Salaam
“I know who did it,” Yolo sang as she watched the news. She rubbed her growing belly proud of what was in it and who put it there. The baby inside seemed to respond by shifting and turning. Yolo watched the rest of the off the wall theories in amusement. Her boo wasn’t the only one making news though. You know who else was back at it again.
****
It took the doctor weeks to heal after the fierce battle with the chief of police. To the victor goes the spoils and he got his head back. The chief lost his though. After Doc killed him, he separated them and put them in separate holes in the backyard.
Doc was a wise man and had stashed away a good sum of money during his loveless marriage. When he grew tired of Texas, he headed back to Atlanta. After he secured his stash, he copped a condo in a downtown high-rise. The plush digs afforded whoever could afford it a magnificent view of the city. Especially the nearby clubs and bars. Once again, it was time to hunt.
“Well hello pretty lady,” Doc smiled at the pretty lady perched on the adjacent bar stool.
“Five hundred,” she shot back looking him up and down to see if he had it.
A woman can gauge a man’s net worth in a glance. Although that truth varies from white to black. Doc’s tasteful slacks and loafers put him in the 50k or better bracket. The watch, tan, and two hundred dollar haircut doubled that. Easy for white people but niggas…
A nigga will wear two hundred dollar tennis shoes with four hundred dollar jeans and a hundred dollar t-shirt and still ride the bus. Thousands in jewels but be dead ass broke. Fifty-thousand dollar whip and live in an apartment complex. Spend hundreds ‘turning up’ every single weekend but gotta ‘put something’ on the light bill, or just enough to keep the phone on. Turn up!
“Cut to the chase huh? I like that!” Doc cheered. He knew premium whores charged a premium price and didn’t mind paying it. Especially since, he was taking it back. They certainly wouldn’t need it where they were going. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s,” she agreed cheerfully and stepped down from her bar stool. The night was still young enough to turn a few more tricks. They walked out of the bar arm in arm like a real couple. “Head is extra you know,” she said reading from her menu of sexual add ons. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do as long as the price was right.
“I definitely want your head!” Doc gushed looking at her long slender neck. “I’m Doc, and you are?”
“Elaine,” she replied truthfully.
She had never adopted a whore name like the other girls who worked the bar. Most of them were named after a jewel or a flavor. Diamond, Sapphire, Emerald, and Vanilla. She wasn’t a whore; have her tell it. She just sold a little pussy. A little pussy and a lot of head. It seemed most customers wanted head. She hoped she wouldn’t need a jaw replacement when she got older. No worries there because she wasn’t going to get any older. Her last birthday was her last birthday.
“Nice!” Elaine exclaimed when they entered the condo. One thing about the Doc was he had good taste. The living room looked like a showroom dipped in leather and glass. The floor to ceiling windows exposed the whole city.
“Thanks,” Doc grunted as he led her into his second favorite room. The room he had dubbed ‘the playroom.’ He liked his trophy room best.
“Huh?” she asked of the odd interior. The entire room was covered in thick plastic sheeting and a lone video camera sat mounted on a tripod. “What kind of freak are you? That’s gonna cost extra!”
“I get a lot of squirters,” Doc admitted as he slipped his ISIS type mask on. He turned on the camera and grabbed a sword.
“That’s gonna cost extra too!” Elaine insisted of the long blade.
“Are you,” he asked while taking a swipe that took her head clean off. It did a somersault before landing at her feet with a thud. The body stood there for a few seconds as if unsure what it should do. Finally, gravity got the best of it and down it went.
“I believe we discussed something about some head?” Doc asked Elaine’s head as he picked it up. It didn’t say yes, but it didn’t say no either so Doc pulled down his zipper and got some head. With his nasty ass.
Once Doc finished he cleaned the head and prepped it for the trophy room. Inside the room was a glass display case. In it, were empty jars waiting to be filled and he intended to fill them all as soon as possible. Bonita of course had top honors on the top shelf.
****
“So how in the world are we supposed to get at them now?” Bigs griped as Killa drove behind the heavily guarded convoy. George Zeigler and the prosecutor were being shuttled to an undisclosed location for safekeeping. It was now or never.
“Trust me, I got this,” Killa replied handing him a black box with two buttons.
Big Shawn looked back and forth between the red and green buttons before deciding to press the green one.
“No!” Killa shouted just in time. “Not yet.”
“What does it do? What are the buttons for?” he asked.
“A roadside bomb. The red button arms it and the green is to detonate,” he replied filling the car with silence.
“Where in the hell did you get a roadside bomb? I’m an arms dealer and I can’t get one!”
“I know a guy,” Killa replied offhandedly.
“I need the hook-up. These shits would sell like hotcakes. Introduce me to the source!” Bigs demanded.
“Um…see what had happen was…”
“You killed him,” Big Shawn finished, shaking his head.
“Had to yo. Dude was on some fake ass Jihad shit planning to blow up a mall or some shit. Trying to tell me that terrorism is a legitimate strategy of war in Islam. He a damn lie! Islam forbids terrorism. Even in war, you’re not allowed to target non-combatants! Not allowed to destroy crops or livestock so how the fuck you gonna blow up the mall!” Killa espoused. "The mall? I love the mall, they got some good shit in there!"
“How you know so much about Islam?” he wondered.
“I know a guy. Ok, get ready…red button now.”
Big Shawn pressed the red button causing a manhole cover to slide open as the vehicles approached. Inside there was a massive shape charge facing straight up.
“Wait for it, wait…for…it…now!” Killa shouted.
He pressed the green button just as the SUV holding the celebrity murderer and his accomplices ran over the manhole. The earth shook as the violent explosion shot up and into the truck blowing all of the occupants out of the windows and doors.
Zeigler flew out sideways and slammed into a building. The prosecutor shot fifty feet into the air before landing back on top of the flaming truck. That’s as far up as his slimy ass was going in the afterlife. It was all downhill from there.
“Yo that was dope!” Bigs cheered. “Who’s next?”
“I need to find that crazy bitch who killed my son,” Killa growled.
“The one you got pregnant? I still don’t see how…never mind. I got all my people on it and got nothing. That phone is routed through twice as many countries as yours is. We have to wait until she pops her head up.
“And when she does I’m going to cut it off. She’ll turn up sooner or later,” he guessed correctly.
“Speaking of turn up! Have you seen that interview by that dumb ass rapper Verb?” Big Shawn asked with a pained expression etched on his face.
“Nah, who dat?”
Chapter 8
I bare witness that there is no God but I
I’m the reason why I’m so fly
I’m the reason that time passes by
I am your Lord the most high!
“What the fuck?” Killa grimaced as he scrambled to turn the radio off. He was so flustered that he dropped the remote and was subjected to the perfidy for a few more seconds before he could turn it off.
The repugnant look on Big Shawn’s face when he spoke of the rapper Verb caused Killa to look him up. He was not ready. The man was the lowest of the low. A complete piece of shit. Sometimes when moving
one’s bowels it gets pinched off, others break apart. Every now and then, you get a good spiral going like soft serve ice cream. A good coil if you will. A complete piece of shit. That was Verb.
The song was offensive enough but the more Killa looked, the worse it got. He came across a recent interview that made things go from bad to worse. Dude had sealed his fate and he ain’t even know it.
It’s ya boy da Verb. Dey call me Verb cuz I be about dat action. All I do is drank, smoke, fuck, dance, rap, and sang. Dem’s all verbs! Oh and turn up! Dat’s a verb too…
Verb was born Vernon Russell in a small Alabama town. His low IQ technically put him in the mentally retarded category but he was handsome and cool enough to attract followers. Somewhere along the line, people lost their identities and looked for something or someone to belong to. As long as they could scream out their clique, gang, posse, or squad they were happy. Technically that’s called dick riding, but that’s another story.
Dude was so influential that smart kids deliberately did poorly in school to be cool. Suddenly dumb was the new smart. Luckily, for him rap music had dumbed down enough for him to excel. His nursery rhymes were just catchy enough to catch on. First, he became a local celebrity then moved to the ATL. He blew up and soon the youth of the nation were hanging on his every word. And check out the stupid shit he had to say!
…I’m bigger than Martin Luther King! Who the fuck is he anyway? What he ever do? Could he sang? Did he rap? He ain’t even have his own dance! Who name demself after a street anyway!
…Parents! Who da fuck is a parent to tell dey kid anything! Fuck a parent! Can dey sang? Do dey rap? You ‘posed to turn up but dey tryna make you turn down…
…School? Fuck school! What a nigga ever learn in a damn school? I ain’t never learnt shit in no school…
…Got bitches protesting a nigga fo’ calling bitches, bitches! Fuck is’ I ‘posed to call a bitch? Only two kinda people in da world, niggas and bitches. Oh and bitch ass niggas so dat’s what… Fo’? No five!
…The bible? Huh? Dem just words. I write words, I can write a bible! Shoot I shoulda been in da bible. I’ma write my own bible. I’m God!
“Oh I gots to kill this blasphemous bastard!” Killa assured himself. That was the most sickening shit he had ever heard. To make matters worse, kids around the country were following the dude. He had to be put into the past tense for the future of society. A purge.
Killa began his mission to rid the planet of Verb by doing his homework. He followed, plotted, and planned to murder the man and not make him an icon. He just needed to disappear without a trace. He also discovered that he needed a vagina to get close to him.
With Sincerity in hiding, there was only one other female he could trust. Killa pulled out his trusty satellite phone and made a call.
****
“Mmm…right there baby. Right there!” Cameisha moaned as Trigga made circles around her swollen clit with his tongue.
He had become quite proficient at easting pussy from plenty of practice. She was on the verge of erupting when the satellite phone rang. For a split second, the earth stopped rotating.
“Shit!” She cursed mourning the loss of a good nut and sprang to her feet. Poor Trigga had a confused look on his wet face. She would have to explain later because family came first. A frown contorted her pretty face wondering if the call was good or bad news. The frown flipped upside down when she saw the initials U.K. on the screen. “Uncle Killa!” she cheered confusing her boyfriend even more.
“You ok? Your voice is trembling,” Killa asked concerned about his niece. She might be a dangerous girl, but still a girl.
“Yes, I um…fine,” she sang slightly embarrassed. Killa caught on and shook his head in amusement.
“Sorry to interrupt but I need some help.”
“Say no more. When? Where?” Meisha shot back not caring about the who or the why. Anybody could get it. Anybody would get it when it came to family.
“A’ight. Meet me at the zoo in an hour,” he said and disconnected the call.
“Ain’t the zoo closed?” she wondered after glancing at the clock. She did a mental calculation before turning back to her man. “You got ten minutes, make them count.”
Cameisha spread her thick thighs offering the pretty, plumpness that lived there. Trigga plunged in and went to work. Long firm strokes that echoed in the otherwise silent room. He picked up the pace when he felt her begin to shiver and shake beneath him. Cameisha came with a brutal grunt. Trigga was right behind her and bust a nut of his own. He collapsed on top of her but there was no time to cuddle. They had two minutes to spare when she rolled from under him.
Cameisha grabbed her cell and called her right hand woman before jumping in the shower. After rinsing the sex off, she selected an outfit. She knew her uncle wasn’t taking her ballroom dancing and dressed appropriately. Black jeans, black sneakers, black hoodie, and black gat.
“And where you going?” Trigga asked since he was her man and all.
“Family business!” she shot back and then softened since he was her man and all. “My uncle needs my help bae. I’ll be back in a few, ok?”
“Sure shawty,” Trigga replied. He knew he had as much control over her as she did over him and accepted it. He lifted his head to accept the kiss on the forehead she offered then watched her ass as she departed.
****
“There he go,” Cameisha said seeing a flashlight flash on and off. She led her friend in that direction until they came upon a man holding the door open. The uniform he wore said he worked there and the tag on it said his name was Wali. “Thanks Wali,” Meisha said politely as they stepped inside.
“In front of the lion’s den,” Wali replied pointing the way with his head. A smile decorated his face as he watched both girls’ asses shift in the moonlight.
“Hey Unc!” Cameisha screamed when she saw Killa and ran to him. Ran into him actually, and embraced him.
“Hey niece,” he replied with a grunt from the impact. During the hug, he looked past her at her friend and ran his eyes up and down her fine frame. “And who’s your friend?”
“Oh that’s my girl Jackie. Jack, Killa, Killa, Jackie,” she formally introduced them.
The three killers meeting outside the cage were more dangerous than the killers inside the cage were.
“Hello Jackie, you got a man?” Killa asked shaking her hand while peering into the windows to her soul.
“No,” Jackie giggled shyly ducking her head.
“Uh huh! Yes you do! Ralphie, remember?” Cameisha reminded her of the man she just left at home to come meet her.
“Oh yeah,” Jackie laughed as she came back to her senses. Killa had that effect on women so he was wise to use it.
“Well if she’s with you I know she’s with you,” he said trusting his niece’s judgment. Lames hang with lames. Just as thorough people do. Birds of a feather and all that.
“No doubt! So who’s going bye-bye?” Meisha asked. She was ready to knock whoever off so she could go get back in bed with her man.
“You ever heard of this rapper called Verb?” he asked.
“I have! Dude is a fucking dumb ass! Son got a damn cult following. Got kids dropping out of school, using drugs, and disrespecting their parents!” Jackie shouted in disgust.
“You mean that dude with all the writing on his face? The one who said he’s the new God? Please let me murk this nigga,” Meisha growled causing the lions to stir as if they understood. All they picked up on was the violence.
“You no, me yes. I need you to lure him to me. I need to kill him,” Killa said almost somberly.
Cameisha felt him and didn’t push the issue. “Ok Unc. No problem,” she said matching his tone.
“You want me to wait with him while you go get him?” Jackie offered looking the handsome murderer up and down.
“Girl no!” Cameisha laughed. “Besides two asses are better bait than one. You can help me get the nigga.”
; “I don’t mind you know,” Killa teased his niece as they departed.
“Bye Unc!”
****
Getting next to the rapper proved to be easier said than done. For one thing, the dunce had a long line of groupies eager to donate their vaginas to his cause. That was despite his well-known aversion to condoms. He was an advocate of unsafe sex and deadbeat parenthood. His anthem to his 12 known baby mamas entitled “Not My Problem,” was a hit.
They dressed sexy the first time they tried to get next to the rapper and got nowhere close. Not with the half-naked sluts hovering around. One girl had cut holes in her shirt so her nipples came out. Turn up!
Jackie and Cameisha had to swallow their pride and dress sufficiently slutty to get noticed. They had to meet at the house to change since neither of their men would have allowed them out of the house like that. They suited up in matching Daisy Dukes and sheer half shirts. Both of their nipples peered through the fabric like an extra set of eyes. It was uncomfortable on so many levels, but it worked.
“Who y’all bitches?” Verb demanded when he spotted them in the club. Cameisha actually flinched from the abrasive word but luckily, Jackie had her arm.
“I’m Jackie and dis my gi…bitch Cameisha,” Jackie said trying to keep a straight face. She contained her laughter into a brilliant white smile against her lovely black skin.
“Jack!” Meisha exclaimed through clenched teeth at her using their real names.
“Ain’t like he gon’ live to tell anyone,” she said plainly right in front of him. She knew that he was a dumb ass that wouldn’t catch on. He was an inanimate object like a lamp or houseplant. She owned shoes smarter than him.
“I’m tryna fuck!” Verb announced like an official proclamation. It was his signature line and always worked. That time too.
“Okay!” Cameisha and Jackie sang like groupies.
“Let’s ride!” he said and stood. When he stood, his two bodyguards did too. Meisha twisted her lips ruefully, hoping they had life insurance. Hoping they had told their loved ones they loved them recently since they wouldn’t see them again.