by J-Blunt
“I’m Queenie.”
“I’m Princess,” the sisters said as they stepped into the apartment building. It had thick, blue-carpeted floors, and all the doors were open like it was a house with four rooms instead of a four-unit apartment building. The apartment/room in back turned out to be a studio. Two niggas were in the booth recording, and one was at the controls. When Lib walked in, all eyes flocked to his guests. Queenie and Princess waved as they went to sit on a couch.
“Who dat?” the controller asked. He was chubby and light-skinned with a short, nappy afro.
“Queenie and Princess. Ranell sent them. He on his way.”
The controller looked at the women. “I’m Geo. Y’all drink or smoke?”
Queenie eyed the ounce of lime green on the table. “We smoke.”
Conversation flowed as they smoked. When the rappers finished recording, they came out to meet the guests. When the men learned they were strippers, a good time was had by all, and the Grind Squad members forgot about Ranell. Nobody noticed Queenie take her phone to the bathroom. After a few text messages, she rejoined the party.
“Damn. Here go Ranell fool ass,” Lib said, reading a text. Anxious to get back to the stripping twin sisters, he went to unlock the door without looking outside.
The Desert Eagle came flying in, breaking his jaw. Lib fell to the floor, clutching his mangled face. Pop Somethin’ stood over him, the hand cannon pointing at Lib like a sword. “Get up, nigga! Don’t say shit. Walk to the studio.”
Ranell led the way to the back apartment like a cow being led to the slaughter. As soon as he stepped into the room, the Desert Eagle barked. A chunk of Lib’s skull exploded, blood and brains staining the carpet where the body fell. Geo and the rappers froze, their eyes and mouths wide with terror.
Queenie and Princess stood to dress.
“We ain’t got time to play games, niggas. Where D.D. at?” Born Ready asked, waving a Tech-9.
One of the rappers took the first try. “We ain’t heard from D.D. in a minute, nigga”
Pop-pop-pop-pop! The Tech-9 sounded as four bullets took his voice box.
“Where D.D.?” Born Ready asked again, waving the murder weapon.
The remaining rapper and Geo looked at each other, wondering who would be the first to snitch. Their indecision made the Tech spit again. Two bullets to the face cost the rapper his life.
“You the last man standin’. Yo’ name Geo, right? You D.D. brotha? I know you know where he at. You let yo’ niggas die for nothin’,” Born Ready said.
Surprise showed on the chubby, light-skinned man’s face. “Uh. He. He at the compound. Y’all won’t be able to get in. We heavy over there.”
“Where the compound at?” Pop Somethin’ asked.
The snitch hesitated. Born Ready waved the Tech.
After a five-minute confession, they learned the compound was a subdivision on Druid Hill Road. It was Grind Squad headquarters in Atlanta. The house was a stronghold and usually kept about ten people inside. Since Grind Squad was getting ready to press S.O.D., 20 to 25 people were inside.
After getting what they needed, Born Ready executed the final Grind Squad member before leaving the house.
Chapter 20
Born Ready fumed as he paced the living room, walking from the front door to the kitchen so many times he created a trail in the carpet. The phone in his hand was the cause of the contempt. S.O.D. was moving on. G-Slim was on the other end of the line delivering the news.
“We ain’t finna fuck wit’ chu like dat, nigga. You fucked wit’ B-Real. Dat nigga dead. You ain’t from ‘round here, brah. We ain’t finna follow you.”
“C’mon, G-Slim. I put in work for S.O.D. Y’all gon’ put me on my ass after all that shit I did?”
“Yeah, nigga. You an outsider. Only reason we fucked wit’ chu was ‘cause B-Real vouched for you. We don’t let new niggas in. We talked enough. S.O.D. movin’ on. Do you.”
Born Ready slipped the phone in his pocket and fell onto the couch.
“You knew that was gon’ happen,” Pop spoke up.
“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t want it to be over like this. Shit was sweet as fuck. Damn, I was almost a millionaire,” Born Ready sighed regrettably.
“I’m leavin’ wit’ almost half a ticket. I ain’t got no complaints.”
“Yeah, when you put it like that, it don’t sound bad. At least we leavin’ wit’ somethin’. Fuck it. Sun don’t shine forever. I’m goin’ back to Houston. Where you goin’?”
“We thinkin’ ‘bout Florida. See some beaches an’ shit. Try to make a few moves before I go back to the island. I still ain’t hit my goal.”
“And what’s that? What island you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Pop smiled. “The only one that matter. Jamaica. I was trynna check a mil and go home. Open up a hotel and lay back and enjoy the good life.”
Born Ready looked impressed. “That don’t sound bad, nigga. What them Jamaican bitches like? They cut off niggas’ dicks if they get caught cheatin’?”
“I don’t think they no different than the females here. Fuck over the wrong one and that’s yo’ ass.”
“Jamaica got them old African roots,” Born Ready laughed. “Warrior women tribes an’ shit. Sacrificing niggas to the gods.”
“Fool-ass nigga!” Pop laughed. “What bullshit-ass white-washed history book you read that in?”
“I’m just fuckin’ wit’ chu, dawg,” Born Ready said, standing. “I gotta get to the crib and pack. We on the first thang smoking to H-Town.”
Pop stood to walk his comrade to the door. “I’ma move a li’l faster than you. We out this bitch right now. That body count up there. The sooner we out, the better.”
After a handshake and hug, Born Ready stepped outside. The vibrating of his phone stopped him. He didn’t know the number, so he answered on speaker. “What up?”
“This Born Ready, right?”
The voice stopped the goon in his tracks. When Pop seen the reaction, he moved closer to the phone. Based on Born Ready’s reaction, Pop knew whoever was on the phone was important.
“Yeah, this Born Ready. Who dis?”
“We never officially met, but this D.D. The one you missed.”
Born Ready and Pop’s eyes met. Neither spoke.
D.D. continued. “So, I guess you know who I am, right? You got that otha nigga wit’ chu? Pop Somethin’?”
“I hear you,” Pop spoke up.
“You niggas almost pulled it off. I gotta hand it to y’all. If we was any other organization, y’all woulda beat us. Took me longer than expected to get this number. But now that I got ch’all attention, lemme say this. We comin’ for you niggas. And I know ‘bout them twin bitches, too, Pop Somethin’. I got prices on all y’all heads. Hunnit Gs a pop. Killas out here lurkin’.”
“Y’all can have this shit back. I got what I came for,” Born Ready said. “I’ma be gone by the mornin’. But since we talkin’, tell me what you did wit’ my brotha body so I can take him home.”
“You gotta ask the nigga standin’ next to you. He was the last one seen wit’ ‘im. They left Kitty’s together the night he came up missin’. Look him in the eyes and tell me what you see.”
Pop Somethin’s eyes were dark and hard as steel, and they also promised violence to a degree the average man wouldn’t understand. Born Ready got the confirmation he needed. He knew it all along. He just needed proof and opportunity. They had fallen into his lap at the same time. Pop Somethin’ wasn’t strapped, but he was too close for Born Ready to pull his pistol and get a shot off. The master chess player knew Pop was just as dangerous without a gun if he could lay a hand on a nigga.
“What car you want the money in?” Queenie asked, walking outside with a duffel bag with $200,000 in it.
Pop took his eyes off Born Ready for a split second. Queenie didn’t realize what was happening until Born Ready grabbed her, using her as a shield as he pulled the 9mm Smith and Wesson from his waist.
The dreadlocked grim reaper tried to think of something that would give him an advantage. He wasn’t armed, and Born Ready had a gun, his girl, and his money. And he didn’t’ have much time to think because as soon as Born Ready created enough space, he took aim at Pop Somethin’.
Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!
The big man anticipated the move, diving into the house as the bullets tore into the front door. Pop was on his feet in the blink of an eye, moving for the AR-l5 under the couch. After grabbing the chopper, he ran outside. Born Ready was in the passenger seat of the green Aston Martin. Queenie drove, the Smith and Wesson to her head.
To Be Continued…
A Gangsta’s Code 3
Coming Soon
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