Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  “Nooooooo!” Tamara screamed bloody murder.

  Melvin didn’t pay her any mind whatsoever, he had zoned out, realizing he had murdered a man. He stood there looking between his Colt and the lifeless eyes of the bald head nigga. It was his first time catching a body. All he could hear was his heart pounded inside of his ears and the constant screams of Tamara. She was staggering to her feet holding onto something tightly.

  “Jesus,” Melvin said to no one in particular.

  I killed him! I fucking killed him! Calm down, Mel, get a grip. These mothafuckaz in here know the game they chose and what comes with this shit. Fuck ‘em, let Jesus explain, Melvin thought to himself, yeah, that’s right, let Jesus explain it.

  “Noooooo! Noooooo! Nooooo!” Tamara screamed and screamed with his hands up trembling.

  Melvin wasn’t thinking about that bitch though, his eyes were on the prize. He pulled out the kilo that was wrapped in cellophane from out of the ruined couch cushion and tucked it at the small of his back. He then zipped up the bowling bag and snatched it up by its handles. He went to move for the door and that’s when thunder erupted.

  Pow! Pow!

  Melvin stumbled backwards from back to back gunfire, eventually falling on his back and lying straight out. Lying on the carpet, he saw Shivs lying near the door. He was still, and looking up at the ceiling, blood forming beneath him. Dead!

  Melvin winced, feeling the soreness in his torso. He was thankful that he had worn a bulletproof vest. Otherwise, he would have been a goner.

  A tear streaked face Tamara sniffled and lowered her smoking nickel plated .32, smoke wafting from its barrel. She let the small gun drop to the floor and ran over to her man. Getting down on her knees, she lifted him up by his neck causing blood to drip and brain fragments to fall out of the back of his blown out skull.

  “Oh, baby, what has he done to you?” Tamara cried aloud, rocking the corpse of her fiancé back and forth. Her big teardrops fell and splashed on the horror written across his face. His eyelids were stretched wide open and so was his mouth.

  Bow!

  A spray of blood came from Tamara’s head and she slumped over, looking like she’d fallen asleep while holding her deceased lover in her arms. Melvin pushed himself up from the floor and grabbed the bowling bag. He limped over to the front door while glancing down at the dead face of Shivs. Opening the door, he looked out to see a host of red and blue flashing lights heading in his direction, police car sirens blaring loudly. With the threat of getting caught looming in the air, he fled out into the night and left the bloody scene.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Melvin made his way inside of the house wincing in pain, Colt in one hand and the bowling ball bag in the other. Closing the front door as quietly as he could, he looked around the house from where he stood listening for his son. The house was silent so he figured that Tiaz was either asleep or out running the streets. With that in mind, he locked the door and placed the safety chain on it. Entering the kitchen, he sat the bag down on the kitchen table along with his revolver. He then removed his trench coat and sat it on the back of one of the chairs at the table. Next, he removed his shirt and took off the Kevlar bulletproof vest he wore underneath it. For the first time he noticed the two mashed up pieces of metal stuck to it, which were the bullets that Tamara had fired at him. He plucked the bullets from off the vest and smacked them down upon the kitchen table. Next, he placed the bulletproof vest down upon the kitchen counter and looked at the two bluish purple bruises on his torso he’d received as a result of the impact of the bullets. Touching the sore areas of his body caused him to wince. His forehead wrinkled and his nose scrunched up, as he squared his jaws.

  “Sssss, shit! Bitch got me good,” Melvin said of his encounter about forty-five minutes ago. Hearing footfalls attempting to quietly approach the kitchen, he looked up and saw a shadow nearing the doorway of the kitchen. Instantly, he went into defense mode, snatching a butcher’s knife from out of the wooden knife block. A gleam swept up the length of the blade and it sparkled at its tip. His eyebrows sloped and wrinkles formed across the beginning of his nose. He clenched his jaws and the muscles throbbed in them.

  Mothafucka broke into my home, where my boy lays his head! You done fucked up, now yo’ ass is leaving out of here in a body bag! Melvin thought to himself as he slowly crept to the doorway of the kitchen where he saw the shadow slowly approaching. Melvin and the shadow were about to collide, when he swung out of the doorway and grabbed whomever it was trying to creep on him underneath his chin. Backing up against the wall, he placed his hand on the intruder’s forehead and pulled it back. He then pressed the butcher’s knife against his throat.

  “You crept up in the wrong nigga’z house,” Melvin growled and moved to slit the intruder’s throat from ear to ear.

  “Pop, wait, it’s me...Tiaz,” Tiaz said wide eyed and mouth wide open. He was clad in his boxers and a holding a Beretta in his hand.

  Melvin’s forehead crinkled and he said, “Drop ya gun, drop it!” He ordered Tiaz and he obliged. He then roughly spun the young man around so that he would be facing him. He took him in from head to toe. Realizing who he was, the hostility drained from off his face. He then took a deep breath and released the tension from his body. “Son, what the fuck is you doing creeping around here like that? I almost killed you.”

  “Pop, I didn’t even hear you come in; I thought someone broke up in here. I was about to give you the business, for real for real.” He bent down and picked up the Beretta, which was lying at his socked feet. When he came back up, he frowned seeing the bruises on his father’s torso and the blood on his shoe that even his old man hadn’t noticed. He then looked to the bag and gun on the table. It was then that he acknowledged that his pop’s was tangled up in some street shit. Turning back around to his father, he examined his form looking for more wounds. “Pop, what happened to you?”

  Melvin took a deep breath and headed back inside of the kitchen, saying, “It’s a long story, son.” He walked back over to the kitchen table, sitting the butcher’s knife down and peeling off his gloves. When he looked up, his son was sitting his Beretta down on the seat of one of the chairs and grabbing the leather bowling bag. Melvin started to stop him, but he said fuck it. His son was a street kid and he knew there wasn’t any lie that he could spin to try to make him believe other than what he was already thinking at that moment. He decided then to allow things to play out how ever they pleased.

  Tiaz unzipped the bowling bag and revealed stacks on top of stacks of wrinkled money inside. The money had a beige rubber band on each respective stack to hold it in place. Some of the stacks of money even had speckles of blood on it. This was literally blood money.Tiaz pulled out one of the stacks and looked at it, turning it from front to back. He then dropped the stack of money back inside of the bowling bag and sat down in the chair, pulling it up to the table.

  “Pop, uh,” Tiaz began scratching the side of his head. “You mind telling me the deal here?”

  “I’m sure you can put two and two together, son. The evidence is laid out right there in front you. I’m not even gonna attempt to insult your intelligence with a lie. You know better than that, I didn’t raise no dummy,” Melvin told his son, as he rummaged through the cupboards. He came down with a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniels. He sat the items down on the table and grabbed a handful of ice from out of the freezer, which he dropped inside of the glass. Sitting down, he poured himself up a glass of the strong, dark alcohol.

  “Alright,” Tiaz folded his arms across his chest and nodded, as he looked over everything at the table. Coming up with an idea of what his father was doing now to make his money, he looked back up to him. “You running up on niggaz making them lay it down for yours. In other words, you out here jacking niggaz for a come up?”

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it,” he responded, pouring up a second glass of alcohol. Once he was done, he took the liberty to slide the glass before his only son.r />
  “Well, what’s another way?” The young man picked up the glass that was poured for him.

  “That I’m a hood I.R.S agent, I’m auditing drug dealers out here ‘cause they ain’t paying their taxes.”

  Tiaz smiled and took a sip of the dark liquor. It caused his face to wrinkle as he frowned up, turning his bottom lip upside down. The liquid fire poured down his throat and spread flames throughout his stomach. He sat the glass down on the table and wiped the liquor dripping from his lip with the back of his fist. Seeing his son frown up like that made Melvin grin and dimple his right cheek.

  “Aaahhh,” Tiaz patted his hand against his chest. “Pop, I don’t know how you drink that stuff. Goddamn!”

  “You just got them virgin taste buds is all. I got chu by a few years, catch up. Then you and I can have a drink together.” He took another sip of the liquor.

  “Mannn, I’m cool. I’m not fucking with that shit no more. I’m good, O.G.” The young man pushed his glass of liquor back before his father.

  “I’m starting to catch a buzz and these wounds are beginning to feel numb. I guess this Jack is starting to kick in.” Melvin took another sip of alcohol and sat the glass down. He then turned around to face his son, nestling his hands in his lap. “So,” he took a deep breath. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah, why did you take it to the streets? Why this?” He asked curiously.

  Melvin glanced up at the ceiling, taking another breath and looking back to his son. “I lost my job down at the Staple Center...working as a cabbie wasn’t gone be enough to take care of home. So I had to do what I had to do to make ends meet, and here we are.” He picked his glass back up to continue to indulge in his alcohol beverage. “Anymore questions?”

  “Yeah, can I get down with you?” Tiaz asked, smiling from ear to ear.

  For a time his father just sat there staring at the young nigga as he looked at him with hopeful eyes.

  “As much as I’d like to have someone watching my back while I’m out there, I gotta say no, son. It’s too risky, unh unh.” He shook his head.

  “Aww, come on, pop, lemme roll witchu. Two heads are always better than one,” he rose from his chair and approached his father to plead his case. “Trust me; had I been there tonight to watch your back, you would have never gotten shot.”

  “Nah, junior, I already lost your mother. I can’t even begin to fathom how I would feel if I lost you out there in them streets, especially if I was the one that brought you in. I don’t need that kind of shit on my conscience. No, sir,” he shook his head no. “I’ll just have to manage on my own.”

  “Pop, you said it yourself; you need someone out there to watch your back. Why not have me, someone you trust? Someone that you know that’s not gone turn around and pop you in yo’ back once y’all done securing that bag at the end of the night. Let’s keep it in the family. I mean, I see what chu saying about me putting my life in danger by getting down with yo’ cause, but look at it this way, OG. I’m gangbanging, I put my life on the line day in and day out. My life is always in jeopardy and at risk in my occupation. So ask yourself, what’s the big difference if you decide to let me get down with yo’ operation? Hell, I’ma do what I want to do anyway, just like I was when you were working that square gig. You stay on the move, so you can’t be around all the time to watch me. You feel me?” Tiaz stared into his father’s eyes with his fingers interlocked with one another, pleadingly.

  Melvin just sat there staring into his son’s eyes, thinking things over. He had some valid points, so it was hard for him to debate them. He could stand firmly on what he said, but when he thought about it again. At least if he took him along on the capers he’d be able to watch him closely whereas if he was in the streets he’d be on his own. Thinking about it that way, he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let his son roll out with him on heists.

  “Alright,” Melvin nodded.

  “Alright? I can roll?” Tiaz asked like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

  “Yes,” he went to take another sip of Jack. That’s when an excited Tiaz embraced him abruptly, causing him to spill some of the hard liquor. “Damn, junior, you made me spill some of this shit on my jeans. Fuck,” he hurriedly rose from where he was sitting, looking down at the wet spot on his crotch.

  “My bad, pop, I’m just excited. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he hugged him again, and lifted him up, causing him to wince from his wounds. Sitting him down, he kissed him on the cheek, and the older man smirked, happy that he could put a smile on his son’s face.

  “It’s just me and you, pop. Me and you,” Tiaz moved his finger between himself and his father, “I love you, man.”

  “Alright, son,” he smiled and shook his head before taking a sip of Jack.

  “Man, pop, you gotta nice lil’ bag here,” Tiaz said, as he looked through the bowling ball bag of dead white men again.

  “That ain’t all I got,” Melvin told Tiaz and reached inside of the pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out Shivs’ gold chains, watch and ring and handed them to his son.

  “Hold on, pop, I’ma be right back.” Tiaz left and came back with a loupe, which was something that jewelers used to check the clarity of diamonds. The young nigga held the loupe to his eye and went over every stone in the jewelry. “Pop, some of these stones in here are cloudy, but I know someone that will take the dope and jewelry off you.”

  “Cool. You hook me up with a fence and I’ll cut chu in on a piece of the action.”

  “You gotta deal, OG.” Tiaz smiled and dapped up his father. Tiaz took another look at the Colt peacemaker that his old man had used in the robbery/homicide, the bruising on his torso as well as the blood that was on the stacks of money inside of the bowling ball bag. His forehead creased with lines, as he couldn’t help but wonder. “Pop, did you have to kill some people tonight?” He asked as if all of the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. It hadn’t even dawned on him that his old man may have popped somebody over that bag he brought home when he asked about it earlier.

  Melvin locked eyes with his son for what seemed like an eternity. It was through his eyes that he communicated to his offspring that he had indeed murdered some people. Breaking his son’s gaze, Melvin took another sip of the Jack and sat the glass down on the table top.

  “Come on,” Melvin stated, pulling the bowling bag closer. “Help me count up this bag so I can see how much we working with here.”

  “We?” Tiaz raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, we, as in you and me, son, We a team now, so whatever we get we break bread with one another.”

  Tiaz pulled out a chair and sat down excitedly, rubbing his hands together greedily. He loved shooting the shit with his old man.

  “Damn, pop, we gotta get us a money-counter, it’s gone be a minute for we count up all of this shit.”

  “Got cha,” Melvin pointed at his son. “Next time we’ll make sure we have one of those, ‘cause God knows I don’t feel like running up all of this money.”

  Melvin chopped it up with his son for a while before heading off to his bedroom with a glass of Jack in his hand. He stripped down to his boxers and picked up a tube of A & D ointment, sitting his glass down on the dresser. Sitting down on the bed, he removed the cap from the tube and oozed some of it out onto his finger. He then rubbed the ointment in on the bruises that he got as a result of being shot back at the home invasion. At this time, he couldn’t feel the tenderness of his bruises because the liquor had him feeling real nice. Seeing the portrait of him and his wife on their wedding day sitting on the dresser, he picked it up and stared down at it.

  “I know you may not agree with me bringing our son into this game, but the way I see it I’d rather have ‘em with me so we can watch one another’s back. At least this way I can keep a close eye on ‘em and know exactly what he’s doing. Well, most of the time at least. I promise you that won’t nothing happen to him that won’t happen to me first. I’ma protect our b
oy at all costs, baby,” he took a deep breath as his eyes pooled with tears, obscuring his vision. “God, I miss you, woman. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you so, so much. There’s notta ‘notha woman out there for me. I vow to give you the rest of my life. Another woman will never ever warm the other side of our bed. I swear before God Almighty when I lost you, I lost a part of me that I will never get back again. And the only reason that I haven’t came to join you is ‘cause our son was born. But fret not, my love, ‘fore we will be reunited again, and I swear on a stack of Holy Bibles to love you even more than I have ever loved you on this earth...if that’s even possible.” Tears slicked down his cheeks and dripped onto the portrait, splashing on the glass of the picture frame. When he turned off the lamp light, the illumination of the light post out on the street shined in through the window. This gave him a blue hue. Turning on his side, he held the wedding portrait against his chest and curled into a fetal position. Melvin tucked his chin to his chest and shut his eyelids. His lips quivered and tears cascaded down his face. He whimpered in great emotional pain.

  “My baby, my sweet, sweet, sweet, darling Kimberly,” he continued to cry as his entire body shuddered.

  Melvin cried more than the day he cried when his wife died until he’d fell asleep, dry white tears on his face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE The next day

  Melvin and Tiaz had just left a cat that they sold off the jewelry and the block of yayo to. They busted the bag down the middle, splitting it 50/50. Although Tiaz wouldn’t accept the money at first, his father insisted and he finally submitted. If one eats then we all eat, Melvin told him.