Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  J-Murda bent homegirl over and held her purple thong away from her bald pussy. Taking his tattooed freehand, he dipped into his Dickie shorts and withdrew his grown man. He spat a glob of saliva into his palm and lubed up his meat. Brown skin hissed and tensed up as the hoodsta split her walls apart with his third leg. J-murda buckled a little feeling the hood rat’s warm, wetness. A smile broadened his face and he licked his lips. He then tilted his head back and shut his eyelids. “Oh, my damn,” J-Murda said under his breath. “Cuz, this shit fiyah,” he spoke on how bomb her pussy was to him.

  J-Murda grabbed a lock of brown skin’s hair and pulled her head back, drawing a soft whine from her full lips. While his left hand held tight to her hair, his right hand cupped her right breast. He grunted like a guerilla as he fucked her from behind. Moans of pleasure and pain escaped brown skin’s lips as the hoodsta banged her out. His pummeling her from the back sent ripples up her buttocks. She had never been fucked like this before, and homeboy was laying the pipe down with a capital D. He had her ass with her eyelids squeezed shut, moaning, groaning and speaking in tongues.

  Seeing something moving in his peripherals, J-Murda turned to his left and found two dark figures ascending from the shadows, and moving in on the yard. Feeling death closing in on him made him sober up quickly. He reached for the .38 in his waistline and grabbed air. That’s when he realized he had dropped it in the bushes while he and little momma were freaking off. J-Murda felt around in the bushes trying to find his strap in the dark. Brown skin saw the smaller of the two figures invade the yard and she screamed in hysterics. The last thing she saw was flickers of fire in the dark figure’s outstretched hand before her chest exploded into a mass of crimson.

  As soon as J-Murda picked up his strap, he felt a sharp pain in the meat of his left butt cheek. That’s when it dawned on him that he had been shot. Gun arm erect, J-Murda turned around and was greeted with a chest full of hot lead. He fell back against the house and slid down to the ground, leaving a smear of blood behind him. J-Murda lay slumped up against the house, coughing up blood. His sight was blurring and he felt himself fading into the next life.

  The smallest of the dark figures stood over him victorious. He pulled his bandana down from the lower half of his face to reveal his identity. J-Murda vision came in and out of focus. It registered that in his mind that it was Tiaz and a taller man standing over him.

  “Ah, shit!” J-Murda managed to say with a mouthful of blood. He knew that this was definitely the end for him. He recalled what had happened in the alley that night and knew that the youngsta wasn’t about to leave the killing field without his life.

  “Ah, shit, is right!” Tiaz told him as he stared down upon him with murder in his eyes. His eyebrows were arched and his nose was scrunched up.

  J-Murda laughed manically and said, “I’ll see you in hell,” he then threw up his hood one last time.

  “Take these with you!” Tiaz spat with extreme prejudice. He pulled the trigger of his weapon and it bucked in his hand. Empty shell casings flew from it as flames ignited its silenced barrel. J-Murda’s dome burst like a rotten pumpkin. There was no way his ass would get an open casket funeral now. The sight before Tiaz’ eyes brought him great pleasure. It was like 2pac said Revenge was like the sweetest joy next to getting pussy. “Bitch ass, faggot ass nigga! Fuck you and yo’ dead homies!” Tiaz spat some more fire at him just cause. Melvin placed his hand on his son’s shoulder while looking down at the corpse he’d just created. “Come on, son, let’s go.” “Hold up, pop,” Tiaz pulled the bandana back over the lower half of his face and kneeled down to J-Murda, whose eyes were staring out of their corners at nothing. His mouth was wide open and his tongue was visible. “We need something to confirm our kill,” he snatched the Cuban link gold chain from around his neck which was holding onto the dead man’s name, J-Murda. The gold and crushed diamond piece was stained with blood. The blood on the piece made its diamonds look like rubies. Tiaz stood up and looped J-Murda’s chain around his neck. He turned to walk back to the getaway car with his father and all hell broke loose. The front door of the house swung open and an army of thug ass niggaz came pouring out. All Tiaz and Melvin saw, besides mean mugs, were close fades, cornrows, tattoos and gang banga attire. There wasn’t a soul amongst the cavalry that didn’t bare a gun of his or her own.

  “Go for the car!” Melvin called out to his son as he opened fire on the engaging crips, trying to lay some cover for his son. Tiaz ran from out of the yard, firing his Beretta as he retreated for the vehicle. One of the crips took a hot one to the chest and crumpled like a brown paper bag. Another one took a bullet to the thigh and abdomen; he tumbled down the steps and onto the pavement, screaming like a little bitch. “Ahhhhh, fuck, cuz, its hot! These fucking bullets are hot!” He cried out as he held his bleeding torso. His shirt turned burgundy from his blood absorbing it.

  Tiaz cleared the threshold of the yard with Melvin following close behind. Slowing to stop, Melvin turned around and let off two shots: the first bullet whizzed past one

  of the crips’ heads, while the other struck one in the neck. The nigga hollered out and smacked his hand over the squirting hole in his neck as he squeezed his eyelids shut. Melvin had turned back around, and was on his way out of the yard, when a crip in a Mariners’ fitted cap ran to the bottom of the steps and kneeled down on one knee. Clutching his handgun in both hands, the hoodsta closed his right eye and took aim. You could tell by the way he held his gun and positioned his self, that he wasn’t an amateur shooter. He had to have had a couple of bodies under his belt.

  Mariners fitted cap cracked off two rounds. The bullets ripped through the air coming at Melvin in what appeared to be slow motion to Tiaz. His eyes widen with fear seeing that his father was in grave danger because he wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest. Through all the chaos the only thing that Tiaz could see were those copper bullets. Everything else was blurry and in black and white to him. He didn’t even hear anything, it was silence. “Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa!” Tiaz breathed huskily, running as fast as he could to reach his father. He jumped on top of the short gate and leaped off of it, sailing across the air. He launched his body across his father’s back which was where the life threatening bullets were headed, “Aaahhhhh!” He hollered out in pain and squeezed his eyelids into slits. The bullets ripped his clothing into shreds and embedded into his bulletproof vest. Tiaz wasn’t the nigga that the dude in the Mariners fitted cap intended on popping, but he was just as good. Seeing that he had one of his homeboy’s executioners down, he gripped his weapon tighter and aimed it right between Tiaz’ eyes. “Get the fuck away from my boy!” A vengeful cry ripped through the night’s air. Mariners fitted cap was just about to deliver the kill shot when bullets flew out of nowhere tatting his chest up. He did a little dance and collapsed to the ground. His fitted cap landed not too far away from him. Tiaz looked out of the yard and saw his father. He was leaned over the rooftop of the idling getaway car with his smoking Beretta pointed in the dead crip’s direction. He had been the one that laid old boy down and saved his life. “Come on, son,” Melvin told him as he continued to fire on the few crips that were left. He was keeping them at bay so that Tiaz could getaway. Tiaz scrambled to his feet and ran out of the yard with his arm stretched across his body. His ribcage was aching since he’d been shot. He wasn’t for sure, but something told him that a couple of his ribs were broken. Once Tiaz had hopped into the front passenger seat and slammed the door shut, Melvin hopped in behind the wheel and pulled off. Bullets tatted up the side of the Regal and shattered its back window. Tiaz stuck his Beretta out of the window and ripped off shot after shot until his gun was empty. Vrooooom!

  The Regal ripped up the block and left debris in its wake. Melvin glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw a couple of crips run out into the middle of the residential street. They pointed their guns at the back of the fleeing car and opened fire. Bullets pinged off the bumper of the getaway car, puncturing its trunk with
several holes. This caused Melvin to duck down further and mashe the gas pedal further, accelerating the vehicle’s speed. The engine of the car growled as it ripped further up the street. It got so far that the crips appeared as dots through the shattered back window. “I think...I think the coast is clear, pop.” Tiaz said in pain where he was slumped down in the seat. He’d gotten down when the shots came just like his father had. Melvin slowly rose up in the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror, looking through it. He didn’t see any more of the crips. They’d gotten a long way from the house that they’d laid the murder down at. “How you feeling, junior?” Melvin asked his son. He glanced back and forth between him and the windshield. “My side is killing me, but I think I’ll be straight.” “Lemme see,” Melvin unstrapped the left side of his son’s bulletproof vest while he unstrapped the other. He then lifted the front of the vest up. He frowned when he saw the bad bruising on his son’s ribcage. “I think your ribs may be broken, I’ma call a doctor friend of mine up and see about him coming through the house to check you out.” “Okay. Thanks, pop,” he gritted his teeth in pain. “Thanks for what?” Melvin frowned. He didn’t know what his son was talking about. “Saving my life back there.” “No thanks needed. You’re my son and we’re partners. We suppose to have one another’s back, right?” “Right.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Alright,” Doc said. He’d just finished putting ointment on Tiaz’ bruises and wrapped bandages around his torso. The youngsta’s injuries weren’t as bad as Melvin had thought. He’d be okay. All he needed was a few days to heal up and he could get back in the game. Melvin already knew better though. There wasn’t going to be any down time for his son. No, sir, he was going to be ready to get back into the thick of things ASAP. “You’re all set.”

  “What’s up with them pain killers though?” Tiaz said as he brought his arm down from the old doctor wrapping up his torso. He winced feeling the pain from being shot. Although the Kevlar vest he was wearing stopped the bullets, he was still feeling the consequences of being shot.

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” Doc grabbed his brown leather bag from off the kitchen table that looked like a bowling bag and unzipped it. Reaching inside, he pulled out an orange pill bottle and tossed it over to the young nigga, who quickly popped the seal and downed four of them. He then turned on the faucet and let warm water fill his palm to wash the pills down. Shutting his eyelids, he threw his head back and swallowed the pills, his throat rolling up and down his neck.

  “Take it easy there, cowboy,” Doc reacted to Tiaz throwing back so many pills at once. “That’s Zydone, shit is addictive. The dosage is on the bottle there.” He motioned for Tiaz to turn the pill bottle over. “Fuck around and be staggering around like those zombies outside.” He stated, referring to the crackheads that were wandering throughout the hood at night.

  “Fuck that!” Tiaz said. “My mothafucking chest is killing me.”

  “You act as if you haven’t been shot before,” Melvin said to him from where he was leaning up against the kitchen counter with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Aye, you can have your nuts stomped for the 2nd time, that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to it, now does it, pop?”

  “Can’t argue with that logic,” Doc interjected, storing his things away inside of his brown leather bag and closing it. When he turned around he saw Melvin reach into his pocket and pull out a roll of $100 dollar bills. He was just about to peel off a few Benjamin and pass them to the doctor until he put his hand up, stopping him.

  Doc motioned Melvin over and he stepped before him. The doctor leaned closer to him and spoke in a hushed tone so that Tiaz wouldn’t hear what was being said. “I was thinking maybe you could, you know...” he thumbed his nose and sniffed, “hook a brotha up with a little something, something.”

  “You play witcho nose now? I thought chu was still fucking with the weed,” Melvin inquired. See, Melvin’s side hustle had always been weed. In addition to being a cab driver and a security guard. He was also the weed man. Quiet as it was kept; he met the good doctor at a party over on the West side by Dominguez University. He use to serve him and his little fraternity brothers ounces of weed. Back then he knew that Doc was going to make PHD because he was on his studies, so he made sure to keep in touch with him. This was because he knew that one day that this plug would come in handy. He was right because here he was, standing inside of his kitchen with the nigga now. “When you start fucking around with coke?” “Ah, nah, it’s not for me,” Doc lied. “It’s for some colleagues of mine. They’re supposed to have some big pool party over in Malibu. You know these rich white folks

  love to fuck with the nose candy.” He smiled and nudged him like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “Unh huh,” Melvin responded, giving him the side eye. He gave him a look like, Nigga, if you don’t knock it off with that bullshit. “I’m serious, man. Come on now, you know me for like, forever. Only thing I ever fucked with was weed.” “Say, bruh, ain’t no judgment here. I don’t really fuck with powder like that, so you’ll have to give me a minute,” Melvin told him. “You wanna relax in the living room while I make a few calls and see what a couple of partners of mine may have on deck? Otherwise, all I got to offer you is a couple of zips or cold cash for yo’ services.” “Damn, man, I sure hate to hear that. I was really looking forward to getting my hands on some white girl. These people are really counting on me to come through for ‘em,” he looked to the floor and placed his hand on his hip. Holding his bag at his side, he licked his lips and thought about someone else he could probably holler at to get his hands on the drugs that he needed. “How much of it you looking to get your hands on?” Tiaz butted into the conversation. He’d just slipped his wife beater over his head and straightened it out. “A couple of ounces, youngsta, hell, about four would do me just fine.” “That’s one-hundred and twelve grams. I can fade that,” Tiaz told him. “How much you charging for this job you did?” “I tell you what, lemme pay you for two of those ounces and we’re square.” “It’s a done deal, homeboy,” Tiaz shook the good doctor’s hand and went off to retrieve the drugs. He gave the doctor the narcotics when he returned and he paid him for two of them like he promised. The doctor then stashed the drugs inside of his bag and zipped it back up, grabbing it by its handles. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” Doc shook hands with Melvin and Tiaz. “Lemme gone and get out of here before my wife starts blowing up my phone.”

  “Alright, I’ll see you out to yo’ car.” Melvin told him.

  “No need, Mel. I’m good. I took precautions,” he flashed him the holstered pistol on his hip “Mines is registered. I gotta license to kill, nigga. You better ask somebody.” He smiled and winked at him as he continued out of the door.

  Melvin cracked a grin and saw the doctor to the front door, locking it behind him. “Boy, aren’t chu full of surprises. Now, where in the hell did you score that cocaine from?” Melvin asked his son as he returned to the kitchen. “That’s what I got off a lil’ lick me and Threat did some time back.” Melvin nodded his head as he received the news and sat down at the table, across from his son. He watched as he counted up the money the doctor paid him with as he began talking to him. “I been thinking, maybe it’s about time we hang up our guns.” When he said this, Tiaz stopped counting the money and sat it down on the table. A serious expression went across his face as he stared his father in the face. “Now, why would we do that? We been running up one hell of a check on our run, pop. Remember when them ends wasn’t meeting and we were starving about to get thrown out on our asses? Well, I don’t know if you have noticed, but the ends our meeting like a mothafucka now,” he went back to counting his money and listening to his father. “I hear you, and we have had a hell of a run. We made a hell of a lotta money too, enough to move outta the ghetto and get ourselves a house in a better place. I’m talking about a place far better than the slum that we live in. We could open up our own b
usiness, wash our money and live life legitimately. I’m talking about a life where we wouldn’t have to worry about watching over our shoulders for the law or some dope boy coming back for revenge. You know what I’m saying, son?” “I feel what chu saying, pop,” Tiaz claimed. “But I’m not ready to leave the hood, this is all I know. Why is it that every time black people get some money they wanna leave the hood, huh? It’s been good enough for us all this time. Now all of a sudden it’s not ‘cause niggaz gotta lil’ money? Besides, we ain’t nearly made enough paypa yet. When we get some life changing money, then let’s chop it about us stopping.” “Come here, son, I wanna show you something,” he motioned for his son to follow him as he headed out of the kitchen. Tiaz and Melvin entered the master bedroom. Melvin opened the closet door and pulled the drawstring. There was a click sound and a light shined brightly inside of the small space. Melvin moved the few clothes hanging on the rack inside and exposed a black safe. He opened it and revealed stacks and stacks of money inside. The safe was nearly full of money. Reaching inside of the safe, Melvin pulled out the black book that they recorded all of the money they made in. He unlocked the brass lock that sealed the black book shut and opened it. Licking his thumb, he flipped through the pages until he found the page that he was looking for. Turning to his son, he motioned him over and showed him the book. Using his finger, he pointed to the amount they made out in the streets jacking and killing. In total they had made $538,000 dollars in cash.