Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  CHAPTER TEN

  Melvn didn’t have any idea who the first nigga was he was going to rob, but he did know that he wasn’t about to jack any civilians like himself. Hardworking, nine to five, clock punching men were going to be pardoned from his exploits. Yeah, they’d get a pass, but everybody in the street life was fair game as far as he was concerned. He was gone bring it to all of them niggaz that he ran across and show them no mercy.

  One day while out on a run in his cab, Melvin past by the same corner he saw the dudes in the doo-rag and fitted cap at that were interested in buying the bulletproof vest from off Crackhead Jerome. Only this day, the dude in the fitted cap was out there serving crackheads while homeboy in the doo-rag watched his back. It appeared to Melvin that although their little operation was small it was ran smoothly. Their little corner was on fire. They were selling crack one-hundred miles an hour up the block. He estimated that they were clocking between four-hundred to six-hundred dollars a day. Now that wasn’t much between the two of them once it was split down the middle, but if they were stacking their loot and they both kept it all in one place then Melvin would have a nice little bag on his hands once he put that gun to them. It was highly unlikely that they were saving their gwap though. Melvin reasoned it was because they were young niggaz. See, that day’s youth, very much like the youth of today, didn’t give a shit about stacking their chips. You know, putting their money away for a rainy day, so they’d have money for bail, attorney fees and ransoms in case a loved one was kidnapped? You know, all of the larcenous shit that comes with the game? Nah, these youngstas wanted to shine and stunt on their peers, so they were running to spend whatever cheddar they made as soon as they got it. Melvin would bet his last dollar that these two knuckleheads were blowing their paper on clothes, sneakers and jewelry. So his best bet was to run up on them, make them take them to whatever little money they had stashed and then have them tell him the whereabouts of their plug if they knew.

  Parking his taxi cab across the street, and in the cut from the D-boys, Melvin studied them and their routine. He did this for three days straight, and found out the dudes names that were working the corner. The one rocking the fitted cap name was Shivs and the one in the doo-rag name was Pooh. Melvin also took note that they never changed or switched up their routine. They set up shop at 6 o’clock in the morning and they closed shop at 12 o’clock midnight. They also kept the money they made from hustling stashed not too far away. It was inside of a beat-up old white mop bucket stuffed with a dirty towel with a piece of tattered wood propped up against it. Once Shivs had finished with all of the crack rocks that he had on him then he would go to that bucket to get some more work. Through his investigation, Melvin also learned that Pooh was the lookout man and the gunner. Well, they both had gats, but Shivs’ gun was there just in case they were overwhelmed.

  Melvin wasn’t much of a shooter, so he found himself at the gun range for two weeks straight. It was in that little time that he discovered that he was a pretty good shot. He had an almost marksman type aim, putting holes in whatever target he set his sights on. During this time, he went over his plan over and over again until it stuck inside of his head. Once he had everything down pact, he decided to make his move on a Thursday night.

  Melvin switched license plates with a 1990 Chevrolet Caprice identical to his own. This was just in case someone made his plates and gave it to the police while he was on his caper. After making the switch, Melvin parked his vehicle on the side street where Shivs and his homeboy were hustling. Having thrown on his cap, black sunglasses and black bandana over the lower half of his face, he double checked the chamber of his Colt. Seeing that it was fully loaded, he closed it and looked at his hand. It slightly trembled with nervousness so he grasped it. Slowly, he removed his hand and the hand holding the revolver still slightly trembled.

  “Fuck it,” Melvin said under his breath in regards to his trembling hand. This was his first time jacking a mothafucka so he understood why he was uneasy. He just had to focus on the task at hand. Get that money and get the fuck on, is what he thought to himself before jumping out of the Caprice. Melvin slammed the driver’s door shut and stepped upon the curb, looking all around him for any cops or possible witnesses. Seeing that there wasn’t anyone in sight, he continued down the sidewalk, sneakers creeping up the black spotted concrete. As he neared the corner of the block someone smoking a cigarette and riding a bicycle came flying past him. The man on the bike turned his head in his direction, brows furrowing seeing how he was dressed. Melvin’s heart was already beating fast, but after that encounter its pacing doubled. On top of that, the palms of his hands had grown damp. He started to hop back into his car and drive off, but he figured he was already en route, so he may as well go along with his plan.

  Melvin crept around the corner just in time to see Shivs serving a crackhead. He glanced at the street just in time to see Pooh jogging across the street toward the liquor store he was at when he saw Crackhead Jerome trying to sell his bulletproof vest. This was good for him because it meant that he only had that nigga Shivs to worry about. As soon as Shivs had made the exchange he looked to his left to see Melvin. Although he couldn’t see his face thanks to the light post’s bulb being blown out, he figured he was there to buy the poison that he had for sell.

  “’Sup, bruh? What chu need?” Shivs asked him. It was at that time that Melvin finally saw why he was called Shivs. It was because of the jagged scars going across his cheek and the one going diagonally across his neck. Melvin believed that he must have gotten them from prison. Although he didn’t know whether he’d ever been locked up or not, it was just a guess.

  “I need for you to gemme everything outta yo’ pocket! And fork over whatever you got left in yo’ stash!”Melvin drew his peacemaker and held it at his side. He spoke with dead seriousness, so homeboy knew that he wasn’t fucking around. Still, it didn’t stop homie from trying him. Shivs went for the Glock in his waistline. “Ah-ah-ah,” he lifted his revolver so that it would be aimed at his forehead. Quickly, he glanced at the liquor store and saw Pooh paying for something at the counter, so he knew he had to hurry up. “Pull that shit out slow and drop it. And then kick it off the curb,” he gave Shivs instructions and he followed them. When he thumbed through the wrinkled bills, he discovered that it was a few hundred dollars. “Good. Now, gemme yo’ stash!”

  Shivs mad dogged him, clenching his jaws so tight that they throbbed with anger. He looked like he wanted to strangle his ass, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance with that pistol on him.

  “Nigga, you gone have to kill me out here, ‘cause I ain’t giving you jack shit!” Shivs spat, nostrils flaring and chest jumping, with each breath that he took.

  “Oh, I see you think it’s a game, huh?” In a flash, Melvin cracked his victim across the bridge of his nose with the butt of his revolver. The impact broke the bone there and sent blood squirting out in spurts. Instantly, Shivs grabbed his fractured nose and slicked his hands wet with his own blood. His NY cap fell off his head and landed on the side of his sneaker. “You see? You see what that smart ass mouth got chu?” He kept his peacemaker on Shivs as he kicked the bucket over, spilling its contents. Once he saw the Ziploc bag of off white crack rocks, he snatched it up and stashed it in the front of his coat. “Alright, Mr. Shivs, you coming with me,” he shoved his Colt into his back and led him to his vehicle, glancing over his shoulder to see Pooh receiving his change from his purchase. Once Melvin had his victim back at his Chevy, he forced him into the driver seat and ordered him to start up the car. Holding his revolver on him, he made him take him to his home.

  “If you wanna live through this, youngin’, you do exactly what I say when I say it. You don’t gemme a hard time and you’ll live to hustle again. Okay?”

  Shivs was mad as hell. He didn’t respond. He just sat behind the wheel frowned up and fuming. He looked crazy as hell with those scars on his face and his receding hairline. His nostrils were throbbing, and he
was gritting his teeth, vein bulging at his temple.

  “Nigga, do you hear me talking to yo’ black ass? Don’t make me nod you in this mothafucka, I’m not tryna have yo’ death on my conscience.” Melvin pressed his Colt against his temple, causing his head to tilt to the side.

  “Okay, man! What the fuck, bro?” Shivs called out in a panic.

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Now, who you buy yo’ shit from?”

  “What?”

  Wap!

  He cracked him upside the head with the peacemaker causing him to grimace and hold the side of his head. He lost control of the car and had to swerve it back over into the lane.

  “What the fuck, man? You gone make me crash this mothafucka and kill us both!”

  “Take me to yo’ plug’s house, nigga!”Melvin roared, spittle flying from off his lips and sticking to the side of his face. Since Shivs was a nickel and dime hustling ass nigga, he knew that his supplier couldn’t be that far up the food chain. He’d be someone that was fairly easy to get access to. And should this be true, he wanted all that mothafucka had...even the goddamn light bulbs out of the ceiling.

  “Okay! Alright, damn!” Shivs steered with one hand and touched his temple a couple of times with the other, trying to see if he was bleeding or not. Once he found out that he wasn’t, he shut his mouth and continued to drive. He went on to tell Melvin who his supplier was and one of the places he was laying his head. Satisfied with the information that he was given, Melvin settled down but kept his piece on Shivs.The rest of the ride was continued in an awkward silence.

  Melvin found out that the nigga that was hitting Shivs off with his drugs was his sister’s boyfriend. He’d set her up in a nice little spot on a hill over in Ladera Heights. From what Shivs told him he kept money and dope at the place. He’d slide through occasionally to check on things, but other than that he was rarely there, so his sister pretty much had the place to herself.

  45 minutes later

  Shivs stood outside the front door of his sister’s home. He wore his fitted cap pulled low over his brows to hide as much of his injuries as he possibly could. His head was aching thanks to Mevin cracking him upside his head, and his nose had swollen something awful having been broken. Bluish black rings had formed under his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. He breathed funny and talked even funnier, but that was the least of his concerns. At the moment, he had Melvin standing at his back with his peacemaker shoved into his back. His hot breath was on his neck causing the hair there to stand.

  “Alright, I want chu to knock on the door, should you try anything funny, I’ll blow you and that bitch’s brains out. Got it?” Melvin threatened. Shivs didn’t say a word. He just arched his eyebrows and clenched his jaws. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, mothafucka. So I suggest you answer me,” he gritted his teeth as he spoke into Shivs’s ear, pressing his revolver further into his back.

  “I got chu,” Shivs rolled his eyes, annoyed. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. When there wasn’t any response, he waited for a moment, and knocked on it again. While he and Melvin waited for someone to answer the door, Melvin glanced over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching them. There wasn’t anyone in sight.

  “Who is it?” Tamara, Shivs’s sister’s voice called from behind the door.

  “It’s me, sis...Wallace.” Shivs gave her the name on his birth certificate.

  “Who is that?” A very masculine voice came from the behind the door as well.

  “Wallace?” The man sounded like he couldn’t believe that her brother was there. “Fuck he won’t? I told that nigga about just poppin’ up! He know to hit my jack first!”

  “I don’t know,” she said like she wasn’t trying to argue with the nigga.

  “Open the door for this nigga, man.”

  At that moment, Melvin readied himself because he heard the safety chain being taken off and the locks coming undone. As soon as the door came open, he saw a bald head dude in a sky blue and green bowling shirt and leather gloves. He lifted his Sig Sauer and popped twice, gun jerking in his hand and empty shell casings flying in the air. The first shot went wild and hit the door while the other struck Shivs in the stomach. He doubled over hollering in pain. Melvin kicked him in the ass and he fell forward, hitting the floor, carpet burning the side of his face. Seeing something silver gleaming at the corner of his eye, Melvin kicked the front door and it slammed into Tamara. She grimaced, feeling the impact of the door against her face. The force behind it broke her nose and sent a jolt of pain to her brain. She fell to the floor and dropped her nickel plated .32 while in freefall. As soon as her body met the carpet, a second wave of bullets was sent in Melvin’s direction. He dove out of the way of the bullets and they went through the door, sending splinters flying every where.

  Looking from where he was on the floor, Melvin saw homeboy in the bowling shirt about to take another shot at him. Reactively, his peacemaker came up spitting fire at him. The man threw his head back and hollered in pain as fire ripped through his shoulder, splattering blood against the wall behind him.Wounded, the man held his gun to his bleeding shoulder and ran inside of his bedroom.

  Melvin got to his feet and kicked the front door shut. He then ran into the bathroom and slammed his elbow into the medicine cabinet’s mirror, creating a cobweb and raining glass shards down into the sink. Using his gloved hand, he picked up one of the glass shards and ran back into the hallway. Placing his back up against the doorway, he eased the glass shard out into the doorway so that he could see inside of the living room. When he did this, he found homeboy rummaging inside of the closet for something. Peering closer, he saw the first end of an M-16 assault rifle he was taking down from the top shelf of the closet.

  Recognizing that his life was in grave danger, Melvin dipped inside of the bedroom and put one in his calf. The bald head nigga hollered out, gritting his teeth and dropping the M-16. He went to pick up the assault rifle and he took one in his meaty buttocks. The wounded man hollered out in excruciation feeling the rip through his left ass cheek. Before he knew it he was getting grabbed by the back of his collar and a pistol was being pressed against his temple. He howled in pain feeling the hot barrel of the weapon against his flesh, sizzle his cheek like the ember end of a cigarette.

  “Where the money and drugs? I’ma only ask yo’ bitch ass once.” Melvin told him straight up, hoping he didn’t try his hand because he didn’t need a murder on his conscience.

  “Alright, okay,” bald head said, bleeding all over the carpet and shit. “It’s...it’s in the couch cushions, I’ll needa knife to get to it.”

  “Okay, on your feet,” Melvin pulled him upon his good leg and walked him like a limp dog inside of the living room. It was there that he found Shivs lying on his back and gasping for air, clinging for dear life. He didn’t pay him any mind as he pulled his Swiss army knife from his back pocket and triggered the blade, passing it to his victim. The bald head nigga looked at the knife as he held it in his hand, seeing his reflection in it. It was from this that Melvin knew that he was thinking about trying his luck, so he thought it was best that he warned him. “It ain’t even worth it, my nigga. Gone gemme what chu got and call it a night. You can live to hustle all of this lil’ bit up again. You feel me? It ain’t worth yo’ life,” With that said, the bald head nigga stabbed the knife into the fabric of the couch cushion, pulling it downward. His action caused the cotton stuffing to spill out of the opening he’d made. Using both hands, he ripped the cushion open further and discovered stacks of money inside.

  Seeing the bowling ball bag on the side of the couch, Melvin emptied the dark burgundy bowling ball out of it and sat it down on the arm of the couch. Carefully, he watched as his victim stuffed the stacks of money inside of the worn brown leather bag. A smile stretched across Melvin’s lips looking at all of the money that was being crammed inside of the bag. Through his peripherals, he saw homeboy cutting open the other cushi
on on the couch, revealing the top of something wrapped in cellophane. It was obvious a kilo of cocaine.

  Melvin was so engrossed with all of the money inside of the bowling bag, that he hadn’t noticed that the bald head nigga had pulled out a .9mm Taurus from the couch cushion he’d pulled all of the money out of. It wasn’t until he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye that he turned and looked. He was just in time to see the scowling man going to point his gun. Before the bastard could get off a shot, Melvin was putting one through his forehead. The bullet exited out of the back of his skull, sending itty bitty pieces of brain and blood splattering on the stacks of money inside of the bowling bag.