Dream Weaver

by Nene Capri

  Dream Weaver

  A Short Novel

  By

  NE NE CAPRI

  Copyright 2011 © by Ne Ne Capri

  Nene Capri Presents Publishing, LLC P.O Box 743432

  Riverdale, GA 30274

  770-515-9164

  nenecapripresents@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1 - Bitch Nigga

  The elevator doors opened, and the tips of Devon’s shoes dug into the floor as he tried to resist being dragged to what he knew were his last moments.

  “Y’all ain’t gotta do this.” He spoke loudly and heavily as he struggled against the strong arms that pulled his body up the concrete steps toward the big, metal door. He looked up, a mixture of fear and sweat in his bloodshot eyes.

  The guy on the left gave the door a firm kick, and they threw Devon to the gravel-covered rooftop. Devon looked at the small black rocks embedded in his shaking hands and then jumped up, full of adrenaline, with a mind to bolt toward the door.

  “Nigga, make another move and I will make this shit shorter than we want it to be,” Trigga, Dream’s right-hand man warned as he pointed his shiny .45 directly at his head.

  “Y’all know I ain’t no threat. I swear to God, let me go and you won’t hear shit from me.”

  “We already don’t hear shit from you. You think we give a fuck about your lips bumping?” Larue asked as he pulled his tool from his waist. “It’s not the fact that you talk outta turn, it’s the disrespect we need to check yo’ bitch ass on.” Larue gripped his whistle tight, praying Devon would challenge his gangsta.

  “Larue, you can speak for me. Tell Dream I ain’t no threat,” Devon pleaded as his bladder threatened to release.

  “Bitch nigga, I already know you ain’t no threat,” Dream growled as he stepped from the shadow that was blacker than the night.

  Devon’s eyes widened as he looked death in its cold, black eyes.

  “Yeah, nigga, you thought I couldn’t touch yo’ bitch ass? You running around whispering in my people ears, trying to sow evil in my camp. Say that shit now, punk muthafucka’.” His deep rasp reached in Devon’s chest and squeezed his heart tightly.

  “Dream, it wasn’t like that,” Devon said as he looked at the three men. They were dressed in all black and wore wicked merciless, stares.

  “You calling me a fucking liar?” Dream asked, tilting his head to the side.

  “Nah, Dream. I’m just saying I ain’t got no problem with you.” Devon tried to buy himself a few more seconds of time.

  “Put this nigga over the edge,” Dream ordered.

  Devon ran toward them and was stopped by the end of Trigga’s gun. He hit him repeatedly in the face and mouth, sending teeth flying. The deep gashes over his eyes poured blood as they beat his body into submission.

  Larue and Trigga grabbed Devon under his arms and dragged him to the edge of the roof. The fluid that threatened to leave his bladder released and ran down his leg as a paralyzing fear moved through his veins.

  “Don’t do this shit,” he yelled as he was placed over the edge. Only the grip of his hands stood between his life and death.

  “Dream, please!” Devon’s voice echoed between the two twenty-story buildings as he hung from the roof by his unstable fingertips. He looked down and shook in terror at the thought of his body crashing to the pavement.

  “Muthafucka’, you bitch made. Killing you ain’t because I can’t control you. It’s the principle. See, this shit we in got levels to it. You tried to fuck me, and its only one dick between me and pussy.” Dream grabbed his dick firmly and then spit in Devon’s face.

  “Tonight you die, because a bitch boss is worse than a baby trying to eat a steak: even if it goes down, that shit is hard to digest,” Dream chuckled and dug his heel into Devon’s hand.

  Devon screamed in pain, and heat went from his hand to his toes. As his grip loosened he lost control of his bowels.

  “Did this nigga shit on himself?” Trigga asked, putting his finger to his nose.

  “That’s what happens when a nigga’s full of shit,” Larue slurred as the crease in his forehead deepened.

  “Dream, I got kids,” Devon cried out from his soul.

  “Good, maybe now they can grow up with pride,” Dream coldly stated. “Let this nigga go,” he said as he moved his foot.

  “My pleasure.” Trigga pointed his gun down at Devon.

  “No. No.” Devon repeated, shaking his head. He closed his eyes tight.

  Trigga let one off in Devon’s shoulder, causing his left hand to slip from the ledge. “Muthafucka,” Trigga shouted as he stomped the other hand.

  When Devon’s hand slipped, Trigga and Larue busted off, hitting him a few times in the chest as his body fell to the ground.

  Dream stepped to the edge and took in deep breaths as he looked at Devon’s twisted body against the blacktop.

  “What’s our next move?” Trigga asked, putting his gun back in place.

  Dream stepped back and matched gazes with Trigga. “We going after his whole fucking squad.”

  Chapter 2 - Under Siege

  Trigga pushed his whip through the streets of Harlem, looking at the changes the city was making. The mayor was on a cleanup champion, throwing up buildings and decorations, but—on the real—the facelift they were giving the town could only fool a tourist. The city was under siege, and the only thing that was truly on the rise was the body count. Last night’s murder was only a welcome mat to the death that was brewing, and his team had stepped through the door and wiped their bloody boots. Devon’s disrespectful-ass crew had sent out open invitations to get fucked up, and Dream was going to make sure they RSVP’d ass whoopin’s in epic proportions.

  Trigga pulled up to the barbershop and parked his car. His feet touched the hot, black tar as the sun caused him to squint his light-brown eyes. He bopped hard up to the doors as if he owned the place. He stepped through the doors, causing an eerie silence to spread through the packed room.

  “‘Sup, my nigga?” Trigga said as he extended his hand.

  “Sheeeit…I can’t call it.” Jay bumped fists with Trigga, then placed the apron over Pluckie’s chest and fastened it.

  “What can we do for you today?” Jay asked, grabbing his clippers.

  “I’m not sure yet. It depends on what this punk muthafucka got to say.” Trigga stood in front of Pluckie, staring at him with harsh intentions. The crease in his forehead said death had arrived, and the bitch nigga that sat before him was not ready.

  “Nigga, I don’t even know you.” Pluckie tried to play tough. “Take it down a little on the top and sides.” Pluckie turned his energy to Jay.

  “You about to get to know me though,” Trigga looked around the shop.

  Jay gave the nod, and two of his boys got up. One turned the television all the way up, while the other whispered to two females who had their young sons with them. They were ushered out of the door, and when the locks clicked and the blinds closed, sweat began to form in the pits of Pluckie’s arms.

  “What the fuck is this shit about?” Pluckie looked at the stone faces in the room, and everyone in attendance turned sideways on him.

  “You see? Don’t nobody got love for a bitch nigga. You made a big mistake making a move against Dream, but your biggest mistake was being part of a squad of dick-sucking, pussy-ass niggas. And for that, there is no forgiveness,” Trigga pulled his hammer from his waist and rested it at his side.

  “Nigga please, I don’t even know you. Jay, you gonna let this nigga co
me up in here and disrespect me?” Pluckie forced some heart to the surface.

  “Nah, he gonna let me disrespect you,” Jay said as he wrapped a black cord around Pluckie’s throat.

  Pluckie struggled in his seat, grabbing at Jay’s hands as the air was choked out of him. Devon and Derrick’s crew had ruled by fear and extortion, but the tables were turned, and Jay was going to give him his just due.

  Trigga stepped back and smiled as he watched Pluckie’s bloodshot eyes bulge from his head and his face turn dark with fear. Tears rolled down Pluckie’s face, and thick saliva formed at the corners of his mouth as his legs flared and his feet slipped from the footrest.

  Trigga smiled and raised his gun just as life was leaving Pluckie’s body. He pumped two in his chest. “I bet you know me now, muthafucka,” Trigga spat as he tucked his heat.

  Jay squeezed a little tighter until blood ran from Pluckie’s mouth and ears. When he released his grip, Pluckie slumped to the side and collapsed head first to the floor.

  “We owe you. Tell Dream if he needs anything, just say the word.” Jay extended his hand.

  “You already know. Keep your ears open for that bitch-ass nigga Derrick. If you hear anything, you contact me first,” Trigga instructed, tucking his gun back in his waist.

  Jay nodded as Trigga turned to the door. When the door closed behind him he heard the faint sound of the bells ringing, and all he could think was, Game time.

  Chapter 3 - Assume the Position

  Derrick was on the run, and Devon was barely six feet under. Dream had Derrick’s woman bent over the edge of the bed, giving her something she could feel. She had been chasing Dream for years, and when he wouldn’t slow down for her, she fell into Derrick’s bed and gave the nigga two sons. At first he thought she would be too stressed to let him slip in, but he was wrong. She jumped on his dick like it was the cure for cancer. Dumb bitch, he thought as he handled the pussy like it was his.

  Dream stroked to the sound of her cries as he eyed the many memories of her and Derrick around the room. Memories he planned to change into nightmares, one by one. Dream pulled her into him with every forceful blow. He fixed his gaze on the picture of Derrick on the nightstand and pulled her back, harder and faster, as an evil snarl formed on his face.

  “Ahh...Dreeeeam,” Chyna moaned as the precision of his stroke touched parts of her insides that no man had ever touched.

  Dream looked down at her ass cheeks jiggling with every motion and felt a strong surge rise in his gut. He continued to pump, bringing on his nut. He pushed, faster and faster, until holding back was not an option.

  When he could no longer hold back, he pulled out, snatched the condom from his dick, and stroked it until he began to release. Dream held Chyna tightly in place and nutted all over the tattoo at the bottom of her back that read “Derrick.”

  Dream made a wicked smile as he watched his seed run from her back down the crack of her ass. “You’re the best,” he said, smacking her butt and wiping his dick with the sheet.

  Chyna fell forward and looked back at Dream as he walked to the bathroom.

  Dream hopped in the shower with a slick smirk on his face. Not only was he going to take everything Derrick had, he was going to be fucking his woman good while he did it.

  Chyna walked into the bathroom and slid open the shower door. Her mouth watered as she eyed the dark piece of chocolate that made a bitch cum on sight. The six-inch scar on his chest only highlighted his chiseled frame.

  Dream turned and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “What the fuck is you doing?” Dream asked as he slid the soapy cloth over his chest.

  Chyna stopped in her tracks. “I was going to wash you up,” she said softly.

  “Stand out there and do it.” He passed her his wash cloth. “Don’t confuse a good fuck with wife status.” He put his arms out to the side so she could proceed.

  “I just wanted to make you feel as good as I do.”

  Dream just looked at her with a blank glare.

  Chyna lowered her gaze and began lathering him up. A feeling of disgust went through her body as she felt his hard stare and his cold seed resting between her butt cheeks. She had jumped feet first into a tank of sharks, and she was about to get eaten alive.

  “Hurry up, I got shit to do,” he said coldly, turning his back on her. The one thing he did not have was respect for a bitch without loyalty. He was about to make her do everything she promised herself she wouldn’t.

  Dream got dressed, had her cook him a big meal, and then bounced before the food could touch the plate. She was there for one purpose only. He needed her to smoke Derrick out so falling in love was not on the agenda. Dream hopped in his car and rolled out.

  Chyna held back the tears as she slammed the hot pancakes, sausage, and cheesy-egg omelet into the garbage. She banged the lid closed and rested her weight up against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked herself aloud, putting her head back on the wall.

  * * * * *

  Dream walked down the dark alley and into the back door of the abandoned building, stepping hard as the sound of broken glass being crushed under his feet echoed into the night. As he ascended down the rickety iron staircase, his eyes fixed on a bound and gagged Trion lying on the hard, concrete floor.

  Trigga stood firm over Trion’s bloody body. The hours of torture had worn more on his spirit and his mind than his body. He was about to pay the ultimate price for his loyalty to Derrick. He was about to pay with his life.

  “Greed is the worst sin of them all,” Dream said as he approached.

  Trion’s body shook as he tried to lift his head. He peered through the small slits in his eyes and met the face of horror. It was him, the one everybody called “the Dream Weaver.”

  “This nigga done shitted on himself. Derrick’s whole team is bitch made,” Trigga announced as Dream took his place in front of their victim.

  “Why don’t you do all of us a favor and just give this nigga up?” Dream spoke slowly, his voice raspy.

  Larue bent over, snatched the tape from Trion’s face, and pulled the dirty rag from his mouth.

  “I swear I don’t know shit. Derrick was the only one who handled the money. Please don’t kill me, I swear, I don’t know shit,” he mumbled, saying a little prayer to himself and clutching his fingers tightly together.

  “You want me to believe that you was his go to man, but you have no knowledge of his daily operations?” Dream asked, pulling a small paring tool from his pocket.

  “Dream, I swear to you, man. I don’t know anything. He just gone, man!” Trion yelled out of fear and desperation. “Please, man, have mercy,” he begged.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” He reached out and grabbed Trion in a choke hold and squeezed tight around his windpipe.

  Trion grabbed at Dream’s arm, struggling for air. “Relax, have no fear,” he whispered as he jabbed the paring knife into Trion’s right eye. Dream twisted it from side to side, gutting the eyeball from the socket.

  Trion shook and screamed as he felt his eye being torn from his skull. His body began to convulse when he saw the blood, muscle, and veins dangling from his detached eye. Trion turned his body side to side in an effort to be free. His other eye rolled back in his head as the pain took its toll on his body. Dream put his hand on Trion’s throat and squeezed.

  “Don’t resist it. Let me have your dreams,” Dream said as he stuck the small, sharp object into the back of his skull. He stuck the knife in and out of his flesh. The crack of bone and pouring blood filled Dream’s body with an electricity that fueled his hate and anger.

  Trion struggled against him as blood poured from the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, as his body jerked and trembled.

  “Give me your dreams,” he whispered into his ear as he watched Trion take his last breaths.

  Dream clutched his throat harder until he felt no movement. He rose up, dropping his head to the ground. Trion’s head slammed ha
rd against the pavement. He slid forward, scraping the side his face and forehead as his body came to rest. Blood poured from his eye socket, settling in a thick puddle under his face.

  Dream glared down at Trion’s lifeless body, and even though he was happy he had gotten another one of Derrick’s team, he would not feel at ease until he had Derrick. “Let’s roll,” he said to Trigga, tucking the bloody instrument into his hoodie pocket.

  * * * * *

  Trion’s murder was the welcome mat that opened the door to their reign of terror. Trigga and Larue hit the streets, combing every lead they had. Derrick had gone ghost, now they needed some underground eyes, and they planned on making it very uncomfortable and sometimes fatal for everyone he knew and loved, until somebody gave the nigga up.

  Dream moved around the game-room safe box, collecting piles of talk and hush money. He was spreading that shit from Boston to Virginia. If that nigga stopped to pump gas, he needed to know about it. Dream tucked the bills neatly into a small duffle bag, then locked the safe tight. He moved through the game room swiftly, passing out a few instructions, and then he was gone.

  Dream drove the streets, looking at every face he could fix his eyes on, sometimes stopping his car to get a better look, and not taking a chance on maybes. The biggest problem was that nigga, Derrick, had stuck his hand in his pocket. To be honest, Dream was mad about the loss of money, but he slept well at night by charging it to the game. Each man knows how the story ends. And to a real man there is nothing more disheartening than to know another man can either fuck your bitch or go in your pocket. But, the thing that had sealed Derrick’s fate was that he had touched Dream’s family, two violations that are unforgivable and, in his world, punishable by death.

  Dream turned the corners on a mission. He pushed onto the expressway and headed to Chyna’s house. He had a feeling there was something she knew and wasn’t telling. He needed it to slip from her tongue, and he needed to do whatever it took to get her to give him everything.