“Yo dawg, did you see shawdy in the light green with the fatty on the back of dat CBR?” the one Pete described as Mark D asked the kid named Corey, passing him the half gallon of Rémy.
“You talkin about ol’ girl with the burgundy hair?” Corey replied.
“Yeah her.”
“Yeah dat broad was fat.”
“Shit I like the one Black got in da room,” joined Roton. “Dat bitch belong in Black Tail magazine.”
“Wait til you see the thangs I got comin’ through for us later,” Kev now spoke.
“I hope they don’t look like them monkeys you had up in here two hours ago?” Corey warned.
“Man whatchu talkin about; them chicks was straight,” defended Kev.
“Yeah, straight garbage,” Mark D chimed.
Treacherous and I could hear every word as each one of them broke into laughter. Unbeknown to us, Pete had a suite reserved at the Anderson for us to better help execute the plan. He had called Treacherous a couple of hours ago and told us to meet him there. We had arrived just in time to see the female monkeys the crew were all laughing about and their man Black disappearing into the back room. From where we stood we were able to go unnoticed by anyone who might have passed by. We had been waiting for all five men to be visible before we made our move. Treacherous was supposed to text Pete once we had a lock on all five, then he would make his call. Another half an hour went by before the kid named Black reappeared. Treacherous pulled out his phone and texted Pete.
“Damn nigga, you was back there makin’ love or something,” Corey was the first to say.
“Never,” Black barked with a smile revealing a mouth full of gold teeth.
“You probably was back there doin’ a lot of kissin’,” Kev joked.
I could tell by the thick chocolate girl’s face she was somewhat embarrassed by the conversation the kid Black’s friends were having about her right in front of her. She silently made her way to the door.
“I’ma call you shawdy,” Black shouted just before she shut the door.
“Yeah, call her a bitch or a ho,” Roton quoted from an old Ice Cube song.
“Fuck what you talkin’ about Ro, dat was some super-good pussy right there,” Black spit.
“I bet you hit it raw too, didn’t you?” Mark D said.
“Are you serious? You gots to be shittin’ me, cut it out” Black replied back.
“Yeah he did,” Corey was convinced.
Everybody looked at Black all at once.
A smile appeared across his face. “What? I couldn’t help it. The condom was too small.”
Once again, all of them joined one another in laughter.
Their laughter was interrupted by the sounds of Corey’s ring tone.
“Yeah we in here. Okay, we’ll be ready. Suite twelve-eighteen.”
Based on his conversation Treacherous and I knew it had been Pete on the other end of the line, but Corey’s words confirmed it.
“Dat was the nigga Pete, he’s on his way over, bring the money out.”
“If we gonna rob him and kill the nigga anyway why we gotta have our money out?” Roton asked.
“Nobody answer him please,” Kev requested.
And no one did.
“Mark D, make sure when you pop dat nigga you hit ’em close so the shit won’t splatter all over the place and he out for the count,” Kev then said, reiterating the plan he had come up with.
“I got dis.”
“Black, you and Corey gonna wrap him up in dat plastic we got and get rid of ’em, Ro, you and me gonna secure the money and the dope.”
Kev was just about to say something else when they heard the knock at the door. We heard it too.
“What it is my nigga,” Black greeted Pete at the door.
“Black, what’s good?” Pete returned.
Everybody said their what’s up and gave their handshakes once Pete was in the room. He had a knapsack on his back, which everyone assumed were the drugs.
“Damn what y’all was growin’ that shit up in here?” Pete complained about the strong odor of marijuana that filled the room. Everybody laughed. They all knew how Pete felt about weed.
“You shot out cuz,” Mark D chimed.
“Yo that shit killin’ me,” Pete said, walking over to the sliding door. He stuck his head out and inhaled a breath of salty air coming from the beach.
“You niggas been partying, huh?” Pete said, observing the half of a half gallon of Rémy, an empty fifth of Grey Goose, countless Coors Lights and Coronas, and an almost full bottle of Patrón.
“This what we do dawg,” Mark D bellowed.
“Well, this is what I do,” Pete shot back taking, off the knapsack.
He unzipped the bag. “Y’all check this while I check that.” He pointed to the bag containing the money. Outside of Pete, little did they know that was me and Treacherous’s cue.
Mark D looked over to Corey for some sign of approval. They had all actually liked Pete and had to come to terms with what they set out to do. Corey tilted his head. Mark D knew what that meant. He studied Pete, who was focused on the money as he went for his silencer weapon.
“Yeah, this is what I’m talkin, about,” Pete announced, bent over on the coffee table, checking the stacks of money. He never saw Mark D raise his pistol to the back of his head.
Blood sprayed Corey’s face from the impact of the shot, but it wasn’t whose blood he would have expected. Treacherous slid through the terrace door that Pete had left opened for us first and I followed just in time to catch the kid Mark D draw his gun. Wasting no time, Treacherous released a clean shot to the back of Mark D’s head from his silencer-equipped Beretta. Before anyone could react, Pete had already drawn his hammer and shoved it into Corey.
“No happy ending mu’fucka,” he spat as he blew a hole in Corey’s chest. The two shots I let loose in rapid succession caught Black in the heart and Roton in the neck. Treacherous swung his gun around in their direction and pumped one more apiece into them. Pete walked up on Kev, who was now in shock from the sudden and unexpected bloodshed.
“Is this everything?” Pete asked him.
“Yeah dawg dat’s everything we had,” he answered.
“Good,” Pete said, then used his piece to brighten up the walls with Kev’s brain matter.
Treacherous walked over to where each body lay and lodged another shot into them.
“Let’s get the hell up outta here,” Pete suggested, snatching up the bag with the drugs and money once Treacherous had reached the final body.
“Nah, you stayin,’” Treacherous said to Pete right before he pumped three rounds into his face.
Even I did not expect that, but was not surprised. I knew my man had good reason. Without me having to ask, he said, “I didn’t like the way the nigga tried to challenge me in front of you at the rest stop.”
I had a feeling that was the case because Pete’s words didn’t sit right with me either when he told Treacherous he would remember that he gave him an invitation for a rematch.
Like always, Treacherous and I made it out in one piece and back to our bikes. We gathered up our belongings, wiped down the motel room, and cut our Memorial week short.
Chapter 12
Rich stood waiting patiently for his turn to review tomorrow’s pass list. It had been four days since the last he and O.G. had spoken and still he had yet to receive the mail O.G. had told him he had sent to him. It had been weighing heavy on his mind since the second day had gone by without him receiving anything other then what Teflon had sent. Unable to sleep that night, the next day after he hadn’t gotten O.G.’s mail at mail call, Rich attempted to call and inform him that nothing had arrived. Up until the time the phones had shut off for the evening, Rich made four failed attempts to reach his friend. He would have tried more times then that, but on that particular day the phone lines were extremely hectic due to it being the week of Father’s Day. It was not unusual for Rich not to reach O.G. as of the past
months. O.G. had told him the medication the doctor had him on caused him to sleep more often then he’d prefer, having him somewhat comatose, so Rich credited the not answering of the phone to just that. As he scanned the pass list for his name, Rich made a mental note to give O.G. a call when he got off from work later. After coming to the fifth page and scrolling down with his finger, Rich saw that his name was on the list to see his case manager, Mr. Brown, that morning. He knew the clock was winding down and his release date was nearing, so he assumed the scheduled appointment had something to with his final evaluation, progress reports, etc. Seeing his name on the list put a smile on Rich’s face. It had nearly been three decades since he had been in the real world and now here it was—he had survived long enough to return back to it. Rich passed the list to the next inmate and made his way back to his area to prepare for his meeting with his case manager.
“Mr. Robinson, you may come in,” invited Mr. Brown. Rich entered the case manager’s office.
“Have a seat.” Mr. Brown extended his hand in the direction of the chair, which sat in front of his desk. Mr. Brown was a tall, bald head by choice, clean-shaved, slender but built brown-skinned man. He was ex-military and it showed in his posture. He had army memorabilia spread throughout his office from pictures to plaques. Mr. Brown also had framed awards and degrees he had received throughout the years. The picture of him, wife, and two children placed on his desk displayed that he was a family man. Out of all of the other case and unit managers in the institution, Mr. Brown was the only one Rich had never heard any other inmates complain or talk about negatively. He had a reputation within the facility of being a fair individual and Rich was pleased to have been assigned to such a person.
“How’s everything this morning, Mr. Robinson?”
“No complaints,” Rich answered.
Mr. Brown smiled. “Robinson, you know that’s been your answer to that question since you’ve been on my caseload.”
“That’s how it’s been for me since I’ve been on your caseload,” Rich replied.
“I always liked you, Robinson.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I see your time is soon to be coming to an end,” Mr. Brown then stated, reviewing Rich’s prison folder. He had already read Rich’s entire file this morning, but out of force of habit he always thumbed through inmates’ folders when speaking with them.
“Correct.”
“It says in a few months you’ll be eligible for the six -month drug program so once you complete that you’ll be eligible for the one year time off of your sentence and six-month halfway house.” Mr. Brown had only confirmed what Rich had already known.
He had long ago calculated the estimated time he would do if he had gotten accepted into the drug program.
“Mr. Robinson, you’ve been out of society for nearly two and a half decades. That’s a long time,” Mr. Brown sympathized. “In all the years I’ve known you I’ve never asked, but I’m curious to know what your intentions are when you get back out there?”
That was an easy question for him to answer, thought Rich. He only had one intention.
“Just to stay out there and never come back under no circumstances.”
“Yeah, I would hope so, but what does that consist of?” Mr. Brown knew by his eyes that Rich meant what he had said, but something in his tone made him want to know more.
He found Rich to be a very interesting man, especially after he’d found out that he was the father of the young man by the name of Treacherous Freeman that he had watched on the news some years back during the standoff with him and the police. It showed in Rich’s file that upon being apprehended for the bank robbery he had committed, he was a single parent and he and his son lived together. Mr. Brown remembered one of the inmates telling him about the speech Rich had given in the dayroom the uneventful afternoon they had all gathered in the dayroom and he watched his son attempt to elude the law, then ultimately be gunned down on national television. The speech intrigued Mr. Brown, who came from a household with two loving parents and couldn’t imagine being raised any different. He always asked what the inmates who were soon to be released what their plans were once they got out, because that was his job, but in this particular case he really wanted to know.
“I just want to live my life,” was all Rich had offered.
Mr. Brown was disappointed. He was hoping for more. Knowing the conversation was not the basis of the two of them meeting, Mr. Brown moved on.
“We received a call the other day from a Mr. Muhammad Bashir, Esquire,” Mr. Brown informed him.
The name meant nothing to Rich. He had never heard it mentioned before anywhere.
He sat there in silence with a puzzled expression on his face, waiting for Mr. Brown to continue.
“Mr. Bashir was inquiring as to whether you had received any papers from his firm. Important papers that needed to be addressed expeditiously, as he put it.”
“Are you sure he has the right man, Mr. Brown?” Rich interjected.
“Yes, he does. We in fact received the papers yesterday. They were sent to you by a Mr. Orlando Goines.”
Hearing O.G.’s government name caused Rich to lean forward.
“What papers are you talking about, Mr. Brown?”
“Legal papers.”
“If they were legal papers, then why was my mail intercepted?” Rich wanted to know. He was full aware of the institutional policy about mail being subjected to random review or under investigation for suspicious activities. He also knew that normally that applied to gang members or affiliates or anyone who might be accused of selling contraband in the facility such as drugs. Rich knew he didn’t fall into any of those categories.
“The mail was put on hold, Mr. Robinson, because the contents didn’t go through the proper legal mail procedures, such as having you sign for it, etc. And due to Mr. Bashir explaining the importance of the content, your package was retrieved by the mail sergeant.”
Rich had noticed the manila envelope on the desk when he first walked in, but thought nothing of it. Now that he had been made aware, he could see O.G.’s handwriting on the package. During the time Mr. Brown was updating him as to why his mail sat in front of him, he couldn’t help but notice him say, “the importance of the content” twice. His words weren’t sitting right with Rich.
“So what did my friend send me that you guys felt I couldn’t receive through regular mail?” Rich calmly asked, but on the inside he was becoming irritable.
Mr. Brown smiled and cleared his throat. For a brief moment he let silence fill the air before he spoke. He was trying to find the right words.
“The contents consisted of a copy of a letter for power of attorney and a copy of will.”
His words wasted no time to register in Rich’s mind.
“When?”
“Four days ago,” answered Mr. Brown. He knew what Rich was asking. It was apparent that he hadn’t known of his loss.
Mr. Brown could not have known his words had just felt like a sledgehammer smashing Rich’s heart. It was just four days ago since the last he had spoken to O.G.
Rich let out a chuckle. “You son of a bitch,” he cursed under his breath. There was no doubt in Rich’s mind that his friend knew he would be breathing his last breath after their last conversation on the phone. He shook it off. He knew his friend was now in gangster’s paradise and had to suffer no more. Rich knew he’d miss his only friend, but told himself he’d see him when he too exchanged life on earth for a better place.
“I need you to open the package up in front of me,” Mr. Brown informed Rich, snapping him back to reality, handing him the big envelope.
Rich opened it. Inside were the contents Mr. Brown had stated. He unfolded them and shook them out for Mr. Brown, then handed them to him one at a time as he did so. In addition there was a ten-page letter from O.G. Taking a quick glance at the letter, the first line only confirmed what Rich had believed to be true. By the time you receive this scribe
I will have already purchased my ticket to the biggest gangster party in history and entered the building.
Those words alone put a huge smile on Rich’s face. He folded the letter back up.
“I can take this, right?” he asked.
“Of course, this is yours to keep also.” Mr. Brown handed the will back to him.
“I just need you to sign these papers so we can have them faxed to Mr. Bashir.”
Rich put the will with O’G.’s letter.
“I need something to sign with.”
Mr. Brown handed Rich a pen. “Aren’t you going to read it first?”
Rich looked at him, then took a quick look at the first page of the paper.
In any event, if something were to happen to me, I leave sole control and power of attorney to my only friend, Mr. Richard Robinson.
“I don’t need to read it,” Rich told Mr. Brown.
“Okay. Mr. Bashir left me with his fax number, so let me get these over to him and give you these back and then you can be on your way.”
“No problem.”
“And by the way . . .” Mr. Brown paused. “My condolences,” he offered once the fax went through.
Rich nodded. “Have a good one.”
Later that night, when the day had wound down for everyone, Rich laid in his bed and slowly read his friend’s final words. He found out O.G. had left him his house, 5,000 dollars, and a safety deposit key containing what he felt to be his valuables. After he was finished, Rich pulled out his notepad to write Teflon and tell her that he had just lost his only friend.
Chapter 13
It took everything in her power for Teflon not to shed a tear for Rich after reading his letter, but she felt his pain. Outside of herself, Treacherous and his mother, the only other person he had ever spoken about that he loved and respected was the man he had only referred to in his letters as his friend O.G. Teflon out of all people knew what it was like to lose that one person you loved. She was still dealing with her thoughts and coping with her feelings over the loss of Treacherous after all these years. She knew there was no specific or set amount of time to grieve over a loved one and she was fine with that. Besides, she had no intentions on ever trying to bury how she thought and what she felt. She had told herself when she made a decision to live for awhile longer until the two of them met up again, she would carry a torch for her only true love. Rich’s letter sent Teflon’s mind back to a place where she hadn’t revisited since she was a juvenile, causing her to reminisce on the first time she and Treacherous had met. She went into her locker and retrieved a brand-new notepad, sat on her bed, cracked it open, and began to write.
Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 2 Page 8