Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  “Problem?” He raised an eyebrow. “Who says I have a problem?” “You did. I overheard you on the phone.”

  “You’re a nosey mothafucka, bruh. I ain’t got no problem,” he stated sternly and turned back around to the bar, taking a sip from his glass.

  “I’m sorry, I guess I was mistaken. I apologize, have a nice night,” Melvin rose from the bar stool. Next, he paid for his drinks and dropped the bartender a tip on the bar top. He then grabbed his overcoat and Dub hat, adjusting it on his head. He then held up his fist in salute to Nigel and went on about his business, heading for the exit.

  As Melvin strolled toward the door, Chief took the time out to think to himself and take another sip of his drink.

  Maybe ol’ boy was the real deal? A hitta would be the perfect solution to my situation right now. He could pop that nigga J-Murda and I’ll have ‘em outta my hair for good. But on the other hand, what if this dude is One Time, looking to snatch my black ass up? I ain’t tryna go to jail, man, fuck! A nigga ain’t tryna get locked up, Chief thought to himself, rubbing his hand down his shaved head. He then shut his eyelids and massaged the bridge of his nose, licking his lips. If he was going to make a decision then he had to make one now before the man that could help him out of his situation was out of the door and gone forever. Fuck it! I gotta take a chance and roll the dice. “Ayo, my man,” Chief called out across the bar. Chief’s words froze Melvin at the exit with his back to him. He couldn’t see it, but Melvin was smiling from ear to ear. He quickly checked himself and brought his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. Afterwards, he turned around to the man he was talking to last at the bar.

  “What’s up?” Melvin inquired.

  “You gotta minute?”

  Melvin pulled back the sleeve of his overcoat and looked at his watch. He was fronting like he didn’t have much time, but that was bullshit. He really didn’t have shit to do that night. All he planned on doing was ordering takeout and watching reruns of Different Strokes. See, he just wanted homie to believe he was a man that always had something going. Therefore, he had very little time. That was the impression that he wanted to project.

  “Yeah, I gotta few ticks,” Melvin made his way back over to the bar and sat down where he was before, beside Chief.

  “Jack, right?” Chief asked of Melvin’s drink of choice. He’d noticed earlier that night that the man had ordered up a glass of Jack Daniel’s straight. He believed that homie must have had a cast iron belly to keep such strong liquor down because he didn’t know anyone that could handle that kind of alcohol without a chaser.

  “You got it.”

  In no time Nigel was back with Melvin’s drink of choice. He placed a napkin down and placed the glass of Jack down on top of it. Afterwards, he went about his duty of wiping down the bar top to leave the two men to their conversation.

  “First off, are you Five Owe?” Chief asked in a hushed tone.

  “Nah, I ain’t no pig,” he chuckled and then took a sip of his drink. “You know if you are you gotta tell me, right? Or it’s entrapment.” “Well, I’m telling you right now, I ain’t the fucking cops.”

  Chief’s eyes glanced at something across the bar and then they landed back on Melvin. He blew out his frustration in the form of a hot breath before going on, “Okay, alright. There’s this young nigga I need to be made a memory...” he cut himself short once Melvin lifted his hand and looked around, trying to make sure that no one had overheard him since he was speaking a little too loud. Once he saw that no one inside of the establishment was paying any attention to them. He told him to lower his voice and to proceed with what he had to say. “Like I was saying, there’s this young nigga I need to be made a memory. Son of a bitch has been running dick up in my wife, bastard done fucked around and knocked her up at that.”

  “Lemme guess, you want me to do them both?” “Nah, it’s just him for now. Like I said, my wife is pregnant. Now, I don’t know if it’s mine yet. If I find out that the kid is not mine then I guess you and I will be having this conversation again in the next couple of weeks.”

  “What if you find out that the baby is yours?”

  “Then wifey and I are gonna try to make this family thang work.”

  Damn, that bitch should be on her knees praying to God right now ‘cause homeboy gone for sho’ drop the bag to get her ass cleaned up if that kid isn’t his, Melvin thought to himself and then indulged in his drink.

  “I hear you.”

  “Fucking bitch, man, I’ma chef and got my own lil’ business. I’m doing lovely. I take good care of her, treat her like she’s fucking royalty, only to find out that she giving my pussy to some street nigga, young enough to be my fucking nephew. I tell you, man, these bitches are so ungrateful. You give ‘em the moon and they’ll complain about not having the goddamn stars to go with it.” Chief went on rambling like Melvin wasn’t even there. He sat his drink down on the bar top and directed his attention to the man that wanted to try his hand at contract killing.

  Fuck didn’t he just tell his wife to stop fucking with the young head? He could save himself a lotta money. I’m curious, but I’m not ‘bouta ask ‘em and fuck around and talk myself outta some paypa.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Chief began. “Why don’t I just have my wife stop fucking with ‘em, right? Well, I tried that approach and the lil’ mothafucka threatened to kill me if she cut ‘em off.”

  “You read my mind,” Melvin drunk the rest of his alcohol and sat the glass down. It tripped him out how Chief told him what he was thinking. It was like he was a psychic or some shit like that.

  “Now, how much is it gonna run me to send this lil’ gangbanging ass nigga on this vacation to Satan’s house?” He finished off his drink and sat the glass down as well.

  “Twenty-five grand...half up front,” he told him with dead serious eyes.

  “Jesus, twenty-five stacks? What’re you saving up for early retirement?”

  “Shouldn’t we all be?”

  “You goddamn right we should, lemme pay for this drink and we’ll finish this conversation outside,” he rose from off his stool and dropped a few dollars on the bar top. He then smacked his hat on his head and threw up his hand, bidding Nigel a farewell. Afterwards, he headed out of the establishment with Melvin on his heels.

  Melvin and Chief walked down the sidewalk with their hands in their pockets, talking in hushed tones about the business that they had on the table.

  “I can get chu that upfront money by tomorrow night. The other half, I’ll slide that to you once the job is done. Is that all right by you?”

  “That’s perfectly fine.”

  “Great.”

  “Here’s what I’m gonna need from,” Melvin began, “A photograph of this fool, and any information on places that he frequents.”

  “Places that he frequents?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. I know you wouldn’t want me laying homeboy down anywhere around yo’ house, now would you? Trust me, that shit would look realllll suspicious seeing as how I’m sure your next door neighbors have seen this dude running in and out of your home. You can’t tell me that they haven’t put two and two together and figured out that the misses is serving him slices of that good old putang pie. If you know what I mean,” he nudged him and gave him a look that said You know your neighbors know your wife is banging homeboy.

  “You’re right,” Chief nodded in agreement. “The next time he comes over to the house I’ll have my old lady snap some pictures of ‘em, or I can hide somewhere and get ‘em myself. As far as the places he frequents, I’ll have to ask Janella about that. I’m sure she knows something. She’s been banging his lil’ young ass behind my back for the past five years, that fucking whore,” he balled his hand into a fist and clenched it tightly, causing veins to form in it. He then gritted his teeth and his eyebrows arched, nose scrunching up. His wife had hurt him bad by fucking around on him, but he still loved her. That was one of the reasons why he was goin
g to try to make things work between them. He just hoped and prayed that the baby she was carrying was his, because if it wasn’t, then he was going to be taking out a contract with Melvin on her ass too. He couldn’t see himself raising his woman’s side nigga’z baby; he’d look like a goddamn fool. No way no how! Fuck that! “You gotta light, bruh?” He asked as he reached inside of his overcoat and pulled out a pack of Newport 100s, smacking the bottom of the pack in his palm.

  “Yeah, I got one here somewhere.” Melvin fished around inside of his pockets and then patted himself down. Feeling a small rectangle shaped bulge inside of his overcoat, he reached inside and pulled out his lighter. He then took the liberty of lighting the tip of his client’s cigarette, watching him suck on the end of it and blow out a cloud of smoke.

  “Where do you want me to drop the bag off to you?” Chief asked as he continued to walk beside Melvin, taking casual puffs of his Joe.

  “The Bar Fly...meet me here on Thursday. That’s two days from now,” he told him. “Be here sayyyyyy eight o’clock?” He looked at Chief to confirm the drop off location.

  “Thursday night at eight, it is.” Chief stopped and turned to Melvin and shook his hand firmly.

  ***

  “This of ‘em, pop, this one of them niggaz!” Tiaz tapped his Beretta against one of the many photos of J-Murda he held in his hand. Chief had met up with Melvin to drop off the bag for the kill and the photographs so he’d know what his prey looked like. As soon as Melvin got home he showed his son the money and the photos he was given. “One of the niggaz that what?” Melvin’s forehead wrinkled. He didn’t have a clue of what his son was talking about. “One of the niggaz that packed me and Threat out in that alley,” Tiaz sat the photo down upon the table top before his father and he picked it up. Melvin looked over the photo with a concentrated expression fixed on his face. He then looked up at son and said, “Are you sure this is him?”

  “Positive. I’ll never forget that mothafucka’z face...never,” he paced back and forth across the kitchen floor looking at the photograph with his gun down at his side, pressing its red safety button on and off. “I’ma roll witchu on this fa sho’,” he handed his father the photograph back and he continued to look over it. “I gotta be the nigga to push his hairline back. You feel me?”

  “I got cha, son,” Melvin nodded and pulled his son in under his arm. “And don’t worry; he’s all yours once we’re on ‘em.”

  “Good looking out, OG.” Tiaz dapped up his father.

  “No problem,” Melvin sat the photograph down on the table top and sat on the edge of it. “Listen, I was thinking, when we go to hit this fool we should be dressed up as the other side just in case somebody sees us out there. Besides, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to cover our asses, ya never know.”

  “You got it, pop.” He dapped up his old man again. Money was the motive.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Melvin and Tiaz followed J-Murda from his house in Norwalk to a party on 65th and Gramercy. When they got there, Melvin parked eight cars down the street from the olive green house that the party was taking place. He and Tiaz were slumped in the seats of a stolen ’83 Buick Regal, their getaway car. Tiaz had stolen the vehicle himself and replaced the license plates in case the cops tailed them and decided to check the placard.

  Melvin and Tiaz were dressed in black from head to toe. Tiaz had on a hoodie, red bandana, red Dickie’s and All Star Chuck Taylor Converses. Melvin donned a beanie, a red bandana, black jean jacket and boots. Melvin gripped a Beretta and so did his son. So far the pair had spent a total of four hours staking out the olive green house waiting for J-Murda to make his exit. Tiaz had grown impatient, and all of

  his bitching and complaining was getting on his father’s nerves.

  “Damn, pop, this nigga taking a long as time,” Tiaz complained from the front passenger seat. “I wish he’d show his face so I can blow that bitch off and get it over with. I’m tryna collect that bag,” he said, clicking the safety button on and off his Beretta.

  “Son, you are some kind of impatient, you know that?” Melvin looked to his son smirking. “You gotta fallback and stay calm. We’ll get ‘em, all we gotta do is wait for ‘em. Trust me, he’ll come out. And as soon as he does you’ll get your chance. I promise you that.”

  “You right, pop.”

  “I know I’m right. With age comes mistakes and lessons learned. Experience is the best teacher. Niggaz can’t tell you about shit that they never been through. Most will try, but few will listen. You know why? ‘Cause people aren’t trying to listen to a mothafucka that ain’t never treaded through the waters that they have. You feel me?” Tiaz smiled and said, “I feel you, pop. That’s why you my OG. I fucks witchu.”

  “I fucks witchu too, junior,” he focused his attention back on the windshield, watching the house that J-Murda went inside of. “I’m for real OG. You not just my pop’s, you my rider, my homie and my nigga, I love you,” he dapped up his old man. “I appreciate that, son. I feel the same about chu.” “Pop, can I ask you a question?” When he asked this, he found his father pulling back his sleeve and looking at his watch, frown fixed on his face. “Sure, son, shoot,” he sat up in his seat and focused his eyes on the house that they were staked out of.

  “Not to get all mushy and shit. But I gotta ask, how come every time I tell you I love you, you never say it back? I mean, I know you do, but I gotta admit. Sometimes it would be nice to...”

  “Shhh,” Melvin hushed Tiaz, holding his finger to his lips. “I think that’s him,” he nodded to the windshield at J-Murda. He’d just exited the house party with a cute little brown skinned number under his arm.

  “Yeah, that’s his bitch ass,” Tiaz’ eyebrows sloped and wrinkles formed across the beginning of his nose. He clenched his jaws and showcased the muscles in his face. Unbeknownst to him, he’d gripped his Beretta tightly. He wanted that mothafucka J-Murda bad. In fact, he couldn’t wait to open up his face with a magazine of some hot shit. “I’ll never forget that dick sucka’s face for as long as I breathe! And I’ma make sure my face is the last one he sees before I give him his tombstone. That’s on the gang!” Tiaz went on to check the magazine of his gun. He’d done so before he brought the weapon along, but he wanted to be extra sure. The last thing he wanted was to not have enough bullets to finish the job that he came to do. Nah, once he started firing, he wasn’t going to let up until he was sure his enemy’s cripping days were over. Straight up! “Alright, son, here he comes. It’s time to move.” Melvin pulled his bandana up over the lower half of his face so that it would be covering his nose and mouth. Looking to his son, he gave him a nod and then he opened his door. He jumped out on his bending knees and held the door open, allowing his son to come out right behind him. Once Tiaz had vacated the vehicle, Melvin shut the door as quietly as he could. He then gave his offspring the signal to follow him. Together, hunched over, they made their way around their car and headed towards the house that J-Murda had just left.

  ***

  J-Murda emerged from the olive green house well under the influence of the drugs and alcohol that were the party favors at the function. He was fucked up, but not as fucked up as homegirl under his right arm. She was pissy drunk and trying to walk with legs of spaghetti.

  Although J-Murda was high, his dick was fully functional. As his eyes toured every inch of the cutie under his arm, all he could think about was blowing her back out. He wanted to hit her raw, too, even though he knew he shouldn’t with all the diseases that were going around today. He kept having flashes of the brown skinned girl gagging on the end of his dick while he mouth fucked her. His hardness bulged in the crotch of his navy blue Dickie shorts as he rolled the thought over and over in his head. He couldn’t have fucked her in the house because the homies had every bedroom in that bitch sewn up with a broad of their own. And he was too horny to wait until he got her back to his place or a nearby motel. So he led her drunken ass over into the rose bushes in front of the
house. With the stature of the bushes and it being dark out, the young nigga had enough cover for them to get busy.