by Tranay Adams
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next night
A white man in an overcoat sat inside of Denny’s with his apple jack and a Grand Slam before him. He was sure the breakfast was lukewarm seeing as how he’d ordered it twenty minutes ago. Although he’d placed the order he didn’t have an appetite. In fact, he’d only gotten the food as to not garner any attention to himself. You see, he was there to meet with someone to make an illegal exchange. A very illegal exchange, if you know what I mean. To be precise, he was there to meet someone that was interested in buying the six bricks of raw cocaine inside of the trunk of his car.
The white man found himself glancing at his watch for the fifteenth time, within that hour, and all it did was make him more anxious than he already was. Figuring that he’d give homeboy he was there to see an extra five minutes, he took a sip of his coffee. Just as he sat the cup down on the saucer, Gary, the man he was there to conduct business with, entered through the double doors of the establishment.
Gary entered the restaurant looking nothing like the coke peddler that he actually was. At the moment, he was dressed up like a complete fucking dork. You know, glasses, plaid shirt, Khakis and dress shoes. He stopped just short of the eating area and pushed his glasses back upon his nose, taking in the full scope of the restaurant. Just as he saw the white man he was there to chop up business with, a waitress approached. They had a brief exchange before Gary pointed over to the man that he was there to see. The waitress glanced in the white man’s direction and went about her business, seeing if patrons wanted anything else to go with their respective meals.
The white man rose to his feet to greet Gary. Once the coke peddler reached his table, they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Gary then slid into the seat at the booth. “Sorry about the tardiness, but I couldn’t leave the house ‘til my wife got home to watch our son.” Gary told him.
“Don’t worry about it. I know how it can be; I have a couple of kids of my own, three to be exact. They’re a handful, which is why my wife and I hired a nanny,” the white man replied in a very proper voice.
“Now there’s an idea. I may have to consider getting the misses and me one as well.”
“I’ll advise it. Our Georgette helps us a great deal. Over the years she’s become like family,” he took a sip of coffee. “Well, I know you didn’t come here for my charming personality, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“My man,” Gary smiled and smacked his hand down upon the table top playfully, rattling homeboy’s cup of coffee. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, let’s get the ball rollin’. Show me what chu got.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He observed as the white man reached inside of his overcoat and pulled out a small envelope. Looking all around him to make sure that there wasn’t anyone watching him; he placed the envelope onto the table top and slid it before Gary. He gave him a nod and watched as he opened the envelope.
“This is some decent shit, right?” Gary asked the man suspiciously, holding the envelope open and staring up at him. He seriously hoped that the white dude had some phenomenal work on his hands because he was in desperate need. His plug had gotten knocked and he was sitting on his last brick. Once that was gone, he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do. So his only hope was to link up with someone that could hit him off with some decent shit to tie him over until he found a plug that could supply him regularly.
“My friend, I could sit here for centuries telling you about how I have the best dope in town, and what have you not. But I’d rather you try my product out for yourself and be the judge, you understand where I’m coming from?”
“Fa sho’,” he replied.
Taking his pinky finger, Gary dabbed it into the white powdery substance. Once he had the substance on his pinky finger, he slid it back and forth across his gums and tasted it. Instantly, his gums went numb like they had been shot with nova cane and a smile stretched across his lips. Gary liked the white man. Not only did he have some fire product on his hands, but he didn’t brag about it like so many other drug dealers around the city. Gary hated when niggaz talked up their drugs, because once you tried the shit you found out that it was garbage. This was true for most.
“I take it you like what I have to offer, is that safe to say?”The white man asked.
“Oh, yeah, most definitely,” Gary folded the envelope up and tucked it into his shirt’s pocket.
“Well, I showed you mine, now show me yours.” “Mine is outside in the car,” he told him of the money he’d brought along for the exchange.
“Alright then, outside we go,” the white man smacked his apple jack back upon his crown and adjusted it to his liking. Right after, the white man pulled out a small fold of money and peeled off a twenty dollar bill, dropping it on the table top. He then motioned for Gary to follow him outside to his car. ***
After Gary recovered his backpack from the trunk of his car, he followed the white man to a burgundy old school Cadillac Deville. Although the vehicle was forty-five years old, it was cleaner than a bitch and drove just as smooth. Stepping to the trunk of the car, the white man unlocked it with his keys. Taking a step back, he lifted the trunk of the Caddy. Gary was startled to see a young man lying in the trunk with a silenced Beretta pointed at his chest. The youngsta wore an orange bandana over his head and the lower half of his face. A pair of black sunglasses concealed his eyes from the world.
“Damn, homie, it’s like that?” Gary asked the man that he was interested in buying the kilos from. At that moment, he couldn’t believe the luck that he was having. Here he was thinking he was about to purchase some supreme dope and then he finds out it’s a mothafucking jack move. Goddamn it!
“Just like that, hand it over,” the white man, who was really Melvin, scowled and held out his hand for the backpack. He was speaking in his real voice now. Gary exhaled and passed him the backpack reluctantly. Once he confirmed that the money was inside of the backpack, he zipped it back up. “Lie down on your stomach and put your hands behind your head.” He ordered Gary with authority.
“Slow yo’ roll potnas!” A tall, muscular copper skinned nigga stepped up wearing a doo-rag with the flap over his head. His head whipped from Melvin to Tiaz consistently, daring one of them to make a move so that his toys could act the fuck up. This was Armageddon, Gary’s bodyguard and enforcer. His gloved hands clutched a .9mm each and their most dangerous ends were pointed at Melvin and Tiaz. You could tell from the outlining of his shirt that he wore a bulletproof vest underneath his white T-shirt. The dark green ink against his flesh showcased his loved ones names and his gang affiliation. “Drop them bangas, fa I put somethin’ hot in y’all bitches heads, man!” He head whipped back and forth between Melvin and Tiaz again. He didn’t see any of them making a move to discard their weapons and this pissed him off. He felt that he was the one that had the drop on them so they should have been following his orders. “I suggest y’all hoes do as I said, ‘cause I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”
“Son, hand Gary here yo’ gun,” Melvin told Tiaz. Although he spoke to his boy, he kept his eyes on the threat standing before him.
“Fuck that, pop, if we go down, then we go down squeezing,” Tiaz said, swaying his Beretta from Gary to the man with the two guns. They both were anxiously awaiting a reason to bust their guns and leave the other slumped.
“It’s alright, son. They have us dead to rights,” Melvin stated, never taking his eyes off the two men.
“Yeah, son, you heard yo’ old man, pass that banga over to my nigga Gary, ‘fore I leave both you hoes out here twisted!” Homie with the two 9 Double M’s urged him. He was a second away from letting his guns blow holes through niggaz out there, but he was trying to avoid the unnecessary bodies.
“But, pop,” Tiaz glanced at his father as he held that Beretta on Gary and homeboy with the two handguns.
“No buts, Junior, you unass your piece...now!” Melvin spoke angrily. This caused Gary to smile h
arder and wiggle his fingers for the gun that Tiaz had in his possession. Tiaz took a deep breath and handed the banga over to Gary. As soon as the lethal weapon graced his palm a strange sound broke through the air of silence.
Choot!
A bullet appeared to have came out of nowhere going through the nigga clutching the two .9mm’s forehead. His head snapped back upon impact of the bullet and blood misted the air. He fell backwards, releasing his toys and bumping his head on the curb. His ass was dead!
Gary gasped and whipped his head over his shoulder at the nigga he’d brought along to watch his back during the transaction, saying, “Armageddon!”
When Gary whipped his head back around to Melvin, a bullet went through his right eye and out of the back of his skull. He collapsed to the ground and dropped the Beretta. His good eye was wide open and his mouth was ajar. His right eye was blown out; a gaping black hole was there streaming blood.
Tiaz climbed out of the trunk looking all around with confusion. He didn’t have an idea as to where the bullet had come from. He thought it must have been a sniper’s bullet, but it was just him and his father out there. They didn’t have any one else watching their back. That’s when he looked to his old man and saw that there was a dummy arm occupying the sleeve of his overcoat. His real arm was actually hidden inside of his coat, aiming a silenced through his coat’s pocket. Tiaz smiled behind the bandana. His father was always one step ahead of everything.
“Come on, son, get that backpack so we can get ghost. The police will be here in a minute,” Melvin looked around for any witnesses, hearing the police car sirens nearing their location. Once Tiaz snatched up the bag, he slammed the trunk shut and hopped into the front passenger seat. His father slid in behind the wheel and fired up the Caddy, peeling away from the scene. ***
Melvin stood before the medicine cabinet’s mirror wiping the makeup from off his face from the night’s disguise. On the toilet’s lid was the wig and mustache he’d wore, which he peeled off not long ago. Once Melvin had finished removing the makeup from off his face and hands he took a shower. After taking care of his hygiene and throwing on underwear, he made his way out of the bathroom. On the bed sat Tiaz, counting up the money that they’d made that night from the jack that they’d laid down.
When Tiaz looked up from where he was counting up that money, he saw his father emerging from out of the bathroom. He was rubbing the towel behind his ears and neck. In the background, he saw the bathroom, which was occupied by a hot fog as well as the medicine cabinet’s mirror. It was fogged up as well.
“What we looking like, son?” Melvin inquired, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed from his son.
Tiaz was sifting through the money and counting it under his breath. Having heard his father’s voice, he looked up at him and held up one finger, signaling for him to give him one minute before he answered. His father obliged him and went about the task of rubbing the wetness from around his neck and ears.
Once Tiaz finished the count, he stacked the bills up neatly and tangled a rubber band around them. He then tossed the stack of money over into a pile where he had the rest of the money.
“That’s ninety racks, pop.” Tiaz told his old man, pulling an ink pen from behind his ear and grabbing the small black book from off the nightstand. Inside of this book was all of the money they’d robbed and killed for. Every last dollar of the blood money was scribbled down inside of the little black book with the brass lock on it.
“Ninety G’s from this last lick?” Melvin frowned up as he continued to rub the wetness from himself. “You pay that nigga Nathadious off?”
Tiaz stopped jotting in the little black book and said, “Yeah, I went to pay ‘em off, pop.”
“You went to pay ‘em off? What happened?” Melvin questioned with concern.
Nathadious sat behind the wheel of his Buick LaSabre taking the occasional pull of his stinky cigar. His big black lips sucked on the end of the overgrown cancer stick and the ember tip of it glowed. Smoke wafted from out of his nostrils and he rolled a thick fog from off of his tongue. The entire time he indulged in the tobacco, he listened to an old B.B King song, The Thrill Is Gone. After taking one more pull from the end of his cheap cigar, he took it from his lips and played an imaginary guitar along with the man himself, eyelids shut. He was jamming. He was jamming like he was B.B King himself, sitting down on stage in front of a sold out audience of his adoring fans.
The thrill is gone
The thrill is gone away
The thrill is gone, baby
The thrill is gone away
You know you done me wrong baby
And you'll be sorry someday
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A loud rap at the passenger window startled Nathadious and he went to grab his gun from underneath the seat. Right when he’d raised his gun, he looked up to see Tiaz at the window.
“You slow, OG. A young nigga coulda been done bucked you down by the time you grabbed yo’ heat. Open up, man,” Tiaz clutched the door handle and waited for Nathadious to let him in.
“Young blood, you damn near made me have a heart attack,” he opened the door and slid his gun back underneath the seat where he’d gotten it. He then settled back in his seat, looking over at Tiaz as he opened the door and slid inside on the leather interior. Nathadious had his greedy eyes on the bowling bag that the young nigga was toting the entire time. He licked his lips hungrily when he seen it. Tiaz didn’t even have to say it. His cut for putting them on to the lick was definitely stored inside of it.
“My bad, my nigga, I wasn’t tryna scare you or no shit. Hopefully, what I got here in this bag will ease some of that tension for you,” Tiaz smiled and patted the leather bowling bag.
“Oh, I’m sure it will,” Nathadious looked at the bag in anticipation, rubbing his hands together. He reached over and unzipped the bowling bag while it sat in Tiaz’ lap. His brows furrowed when he didn’t see anything but darkness. That’s when his head snapped up and he met Tiaz’ scowling face. Right then, his eyes bugged and he gasped.
Blocka!
Blood speckled Tiaz’ face as he squeezed his eyelids shut. Half of Nathadious’s head exploded upon impact of the slug, launching his skull backwards. His dome banged up against the driver side window which was already splattered with his blood. His head turned to the side, displaying his bulged eyes and wide opened mouth. He expired with terror etched across his chubby, hairy face.
“Argh! Fuck!” Tiaz squeezed his eyelids harder and gritted his teeth, pressing his finger inside of his ear. His eyelids snapped back open, hearing the strange reoccurring siren in both of his eardrums. He didn’t know that firing his gun in such close quarters would cause him such pain. He was suffering for it now, but it was a lesson learned. “Fat mothafucka!” The young nigga pulled his hand, which was clutching a Glock, free from out of the opening he’d cut inside of the bowling bag. He flung open the car door and fell out onto the ground, dropping the bag. The shot that rang out inside of the confines of the vehicle had disturbed his equilibrium. Having struggled to get back upon his feet, he slammed the passenger door shut and wiped the specks of blood from off his face with the back of his hand. Looking up, he was just in time to see Threat pulling up in his grandmother’s Cadillac. As soon as he stopped beside him, Tiaz ran around the car and hopped into the front passenger seat. Afterwards, he slammed the door shut and ordered him to drive off. As he sped off, Tiaz continued to squeeze his eyelids shut and grit his teeth, holding his fingers inside of his ears to block out the strange siren.
“Nigga was shot dead when I got to the meeting place, so I fell back and kept the money,” Tiaz lied with a straight face.
“Damn, you never know when the Grim Reaper will come knocking at cha door,” Melvin shook his head. He felt like it was a goddamn shame that someone had murdered Nathadious.
“You ain’t never lied, OG,” Tiaz gathered up the money and stored it inside of a safe at the back of the closet. He then
rose to his feet and walked back over to the bed, picking up the overcoat that his father had sewn the dummy arm into. He turned the overcoat from front to back, examining it carefully. He had to admit to himself that his old man was pretty clever having come up with an idea like that one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three months later, Melvin and Tiaz had robbed everyone from corner hustlers to neighborhood dopemen since they started getting money the ski mask way. In no time they had stacked up more money than they could ever dream of sticking niggaz up. They set hoods on fire with their exploits, leaving niggaz shaking in their boots and the streets gossiping about their get down. With the streets being as hot as a firecracker, Melvin and Tiaz decided to take a one month hiatus to let things cool off. Although Tiaz wanted to keep getting money, Melvin wasn’t having it. He knew that it was in their best interest to fallback because the greedy got caught and football numbers. Melvin sat at the bar hunched over a glass of something dark. After he took a sip of his alcohol beverage, he looked at the glass and hissed, feeling the liquid fire engulf his belly. The liquor was as strong as a donkey’s hind legs, but it was well needed with the way he was feeling, which was depressed. Although most people may have felt that everyday above ground was a good day, he wasn’t so sure that he felt the same, especially since he didn’t have his wife to live his life with. Besides his son, there wasn’t anything he had worth living for. In fact, it hurt him immensely every morning and night that he woke up or laid down, realizing that his wife wasn’t lying beside him. A life without Kimberly wasn’t a life to him at all. He desperately yearned to be in her presence. And it killed him to know that, that day may not be coming any time soon. No matter how badly he wanted it. Melvin downed the last of his drink and held up his glass. “Nigel,” Melvin called out the bartender’s name. He came walking over cleaning out a beer mug with a rag. “Another?” Nigel asked. “Yep.” “Coming up,” the bartender headed off to pour up the drink that the patron requested. When he left, Melvin looked around the establishment; everyone was either shooting pool or enjoying conversation over cold beers. Seeing someone approaching through his peripherials, he turned around to see Chief coming from around the corner, where the hallway and pay phones were located. Melvin recalled seeing the stocky bald head dude on his way to the men’s room. He slowed his walking to ease drop on his conversation. In doing so, he overheard him talking about a cat that had been banging his wife, and how he’d pay good money to have him knocked off. “What can I get for you, Chief?” Nigel approached the stocky bald head man that had just sat at the bar beside Melvin. “The usual,” Chief grabbed a few of the cashews out of the bowl on the bar top and threw them back. Munching on them, he took a look at the establishment. While he was taking in the full scope of the scenary, Nigel was coming back with the drink he’d made for him. He sat a napkin down and sat the glass down on top of it. Hearing someone at his rear, Chief spun around on the stool to find his drink waiting for him. He thanked the bartender and indulged in his alcohol beverage. “Hey, how you doing? Dewayne. Dewayne Chapman,” Melvin outstretched his hand in greeting. Chief’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know what the man was being so friendly for. He was hesitant to shake his hand as he wondered if he was friend or foe, so he ran his face and name through his mental database. When he didn’t come up with any beef associated with either, he reluctantly shook his hand, firmly. “Chief. Chief Jackson,” he introduced himself, giving him his government name. “Pleasure to meet chu.” Chief nodded and said, “Look here, Dewayne, your notta faggot, are you? If so, you may as well keep that shit moving some where over there. I like pussy, that’s it.” Melvin chuckled. “Nah, homie, I’m not gay. I just figured maybe I could help you with your problem.”