I stopped and recognized the beauty of the cloudless sky. Cold wind scrubbed my face, and my hands dug deeper into my jacket pockets. With a numb nose, I inhaled a deep breath. The air was crisp in my lungs. Today made me feel great to be alive.
The oncoming traffic came fast, so I waited.
Sarah spotted me and smiled, pointing to her hair, meaning she noticed I did something with my hair.
The light must've changed because the cars stopped. I was about to step out into the street, to cross, when I saw something.
A shiny black Mercedes. The car pulled out and stopped in the middle of the road.
Immediately, I thought the car appeared fishy. Four men sat inside the Mercedes, all wore dark hoodies.
The guys in front sported pistols. The two in the back most likely had pistols as well. They stared at the lunch crowd on the sidewalk, the opposite of my position.
I unzipped my jacket, but I was too late.
In a cacophony of gunfire, the day had been interrupted. All four men fired into the crowd, Sarah and Timmy were in the crowd.
Instinct took over.
No questions about the why or the who. The men in that car needed to stop or die. The why didn't enter my mind. Later.
Instinct commanded me. Reaching inside my jacket, I pulled out the HKs.
I stepped off the sidewalk in between two parked cars out into the street, never once taking my eyes off the Mercedes nor the occupants.
Heading towards the shooters' car, I drew my weapons, opening fire.
Chapter Thirteen
The Kill Shot
Frogger sat in the front passenger seat, hating the cold.
The car's heater helped.
The guy Tony had texted him the picture and this address of the target, a white lady named Sarah.
His two baby mamas and his current girlfriend, who was about to give birth to his fourth kid, all complained about money. He would be able to give them some after the hit.
But he looked forward to getting high later tonight. He figured these guys would like to join him later. Frogger loved meth. Life was beautiful after he smoked a little crystal.
After three times around the block Diablo found a parking spot.
All four men wore dark hoodies and dark baseball hats.
The text message told Frogger the mark's location. Kill the mark after stealing her purse was the plan. They were to do at least one, maybe two more purse snatches before they left the scene.
Afterwards, he and Ghost would drive the stolen Mercedes they sat in, to the town of Richmond, Highway 59 south, past Sugarland. They would hand the car off to a guy who sometimes drove Happy's stolen cars down to the border to be sold to the drug cartels.
Smiley, who sat behind Diablo, inspected his weapon, a Smith and Wesson handgun. Ghost, sitting next to him, also had his weapon out, checking the magazine. Both smiled and appeared too alert after each snorted some coke—a gift from Happy. Diablo took a snort too and seemed ready.
The plan: Smiley and Ghost would exit the car, walk up to the mark and start taking purses. Then before they ran away, and were picked up down the street, Smiley and Ghost had to make sure the mark and one or two more nearby were shot in the head or chest.
If any cops showed up before the hit, Diablo would honk the horn, and they would hold off on the hit, and follow the target to do the hit later.
If the cops arrived after the hit Frogger and Diablo would open a serious can of whoop ass on them. Two shotguns, along with several 9mm full magazines lay hidden in the trunk.
"There she is!" Smiley said, pointing.
All of them spotted her.
Frogger sat in the front passenger seat, turning to face the two in the back.
Smiley put his burner in the pocket of his hoodie.
"This is going to be easy money." Diablo pulled a 9mm Glock from his waist and placed it on his lap. He got the nickname when he got horns tattooed on his forehead, a few days after joining Triple H almost ten years ago. He had spent almost seven of those ten years in prison. Now, jailhouse tats covered his entire body. The hoodie covered the horns though.
He got out of prison last month after doing a nickel in Huntsville. A true killer with seventeen kills. Frogger would die before admitting the truth to anyone, but Diablo frightened him.
Frogger had a Sig Sauer 9mm gripped in his left hand. He and Diablo stood at the ready.
Ghost, the biggest of the four-man hit team, was Frogger's closet homie. They joined Triple H at the same time twelve years ago. They got caught a few years back breaking into a house. Frogger got eighteen months and Ghost got a little more. They were hermanos. They had each other's back. One day, while working in the prison kitchen, they got so drunk on juno or prison alcohol, they each took turns pushing each other's shit in, inside a closet. They never told anyone about hooking up like that and never hooked up like that on the outside. Prison was like Las Vegas, what happened in prison stayed in prison. But if Ghost ever wanted to hook up Frogger would be down.
Smiley secretly had a black girlfriend, named Shantel. Shantel weighed over 300 pounds and had two kids. Weird. No one was prohibited from being with women from other races; but you could only make babies with Mexican or Hispanic women, except Salvadorian women. No member of Triple H could even bang a Salvadorian hooker. Happy would cut your dick off if he heard you were with one. Happy hated those people so everyone in Triple H did too.
They sat inside the Mercedes on the right side of the street—the mark sat at a sidewalk table, on the left side of the street.
Easy prey.
Diablo shifted his dense bulk behind the steering wheel. "Yo homies, I say I pull up in the middle of the street and we all start blasting, like the old days!"
Frogger didn't like that. "We don't go unless I say so and a drive-by wasn't the plan. We are supposed to take her purse and shoot her. And we take one or two other purses. Maybe more if there's time for it, that's the plan!"
Ghost and Smiley were the ones that would do the deed. Diablo was the driver, and Frogger was the shot-caller for the job. Frogger was the one who said when to go, and if he didn't like something, he was the only one who could call the job off.
Diablo peeped over a thick arm that clung to the steering wheel. "What the hell man? You scared of doing a drive-by? You used to be a straight up killer. Did you get soft while I was inside?"
He smiled, knowing Diablo wanted to mess with him. When you're the shot-caller on a job, you better not be scared of anyone. "Man, I've smoked I don't know how many people in my life." Not true. He was aware of the total number of men he killed: ten in all. Frogger didn't want to admit it in front of a man who had almost double his total. "I don't even know how to be scared."
Diablo chuckled.
Frogger turned, glaring at Ghost. "You scared?"
Ghost leaned forward with the soulless eyes of a goat. "I ain't scared. Man, I'm ready to die. I'm almost thirty, I didn't expect to live this long."
Smiley's head tilted. "Hey, Diablo, man, I like your thinking."
Diablo shrugged. "It's just, you know I wouldn't mind having some fun too. I mean I got a gun here in my lap and I haven't used one since I got out." That was why Happy made him the driver. No one doubted his ability, but he was rusty.
Ghost and Smiley chuckled.
Diablo did not fear going back to prison, becoming institutionalized during his time inside prison. Life was difficult for him on the outside. During his lifetime, Diablo had had more sex with men than women. He did not turn gay, while inside prison, just got used to living a certain way, and the only choice for sex partners in prison were other men.
Frogger stared at the white lady. The pressure from Diablo to start blasting away grew inside him. He could taste the meth now.
He overheard that Tony guy tell Happy that the important thing was that the mark die. Taking purses didn't seem important. Why did it matter how she died? And if other people died, like Tony wanted, the cops couldn't tel
l it was a hit. It would be just a drive-by.
He had to admit, a drive-by sounded like fun.
Diablo's head turned. "Man, Frogger, you remember before I went inside this last time?"
He was referring to a drive-by Frogger and Diablo and Little Franky did years ago. He'd banged so much since then, Frogger had forgotten about that shit.
Some fools had formed a gang called Fifth Street Lords and started selling in Triple H territory.
Happy got wind of their activity and got his hands on special equipment: Uzis—strictly for the Fifth Street Pussies.
That shit went down as smooth as a nineteen-year-old titty dancers ass. They killed seven Lords that day, Frogger only killed one. Diablo killed three and Little Franky killed the rest.
The Lords leader left town the next day, and the gang disbanded. The cops had no idea it was Triple H.
Remembering that shit got his heart pumping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Now, wanting in on the fun too, Frogger took a bump of coke.
Taking bitches purses was a waste of time, and stupid. He knew that Happy wouldn't give a shit about him changing the plan a little. Happy liked results. Additionally, Diablo would owe him big time for allowing him to join in the fun.
He scanned all of their faces. "Let's do this shit! You cool with that, Smiley? Taking the kill shot?"
Smiley stared out the window, at the mark. "Hell, yeah!"
Frogger turned to Ghost. "Then, we can all go get high!"
They all hooted.
"But y'all have to let Smiley shoot first. He's got the best angle out of all of us. As soon as he shoots, then we all open up on that fucking crowd! Okay?"
Everyone agreed.
Both driver's side windows rolled down. Checking the rear-view mirror, Diablo slowly edged out onto the street, inching forward. All eyeballed the target like a wolf pack's attention on a juicy deer.
The car came to a halt in the middle of the street.
Smiley's shot was first.
Frogger watched the woman's chest explode as she fell backward. Ghost reached across Smiley through the window, and began firing.
Diablo was next to start firing.
Frogger, feeling the excitement, fired randomly at the moving targets, screaming out in joy.
People screamed and ran around on the sidewalk unsure where the safe path was.
Frogger felt powerful.
Diablo laughed and kept shooting as if playing a video game.
Frogger stopped firing when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
He glanced to the front of the car. A blonde woman with sunglasses whipped two handguns from the inside of her jacket and aimed at them.
She said nothing, then began firing.
"Who's that?"
Frogger was not sure who asked that, sounded like Ghost.
The windshield had spider-webbed in several places. Bullets entered the car like unwanted killer bees.
Frogger glanced in the driver's direction, and before anything was said, Diablo's face exploded, blood splashing onto his face.
Some of the blood entered his eyes. He brought his hand up to wipe the blood, hitting himself with the pistol. Frogger tried wiping the blood with the other hand but there was too much.
Behind him, a gurgling noise sounded. Frogger whirled, but couldn't see him because the blood in his eyes made his vision blurry. He was sure the gurgling came from Ghost.
Smiley leaned forward. "Fuck you bitch!"
Frogger's shoulder pinched backwards, his pistol dropping to the floorboard. He grabbed his shoulder, and it hurt. His hand came back red.
Diablo's head fell forward. The safety belt kept his body in place, His foot slipping off the brake pedal, the car began moving forward.
Diablo's right hand still gripped the steering wheel, causing the car to turn right, crashing into a couple of parked cars.
The impact thrust his shoulder back, and pain seared through him. "Damn it!"
His heartbeat sounded in his ears.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
It brought back the memory of the first time he heard gunfire.
He was nine years old playing outside with boys from down the street. Three gang members walked down the sidewalk, heading towards them. A car headed their way. Gun barrels spit fire from the back window, the gang members fell to the ground to never rise again.
That was his introduction to the gang life, and it was the coolest thing he had ever seen in his life.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
More gunfire from the white woman.
He leaned forward, hitting his head on the glove compartment. His asshole puckered as his shoulder pain pulsated bright hot.
Frogger had been shot in the past. No one had killed him yet, and he didn't feel like dying today.
He could not hear return fire from his homies in the back seat.
"I'm hit!" Smiley shouted.
"What about Ghost?" Frogger asked, not moving.
"Man, he ain't moving. Think he's dead!"
He could hear people screaming outside the car.
The white woman reloaded her pistols. Frogger did not want to believe a woman did this to them.
"Fucking bitch!" The door opened.
Frogger glanced back. Smiley didn't look good. Most of the right side of his face and hoodie glistened with blood.
He needed to get out of here. There was no way he could run out of here. She would pop him the second his door opened.
Frogger, pushing through the pain, pulled Diablo's body towards him, making space for him. He climbed over the dead body and got behind the wheel.
Miraculously, Smiley got out of the car.
Frogger stared at her. She stood in the middle of the street.
Frogger wanted to run her over, but the car was off. Glancing back, he saw his homie. "Kill that bitch, Smiley!"
Smiley fired a couple of shots.
The gringa did not flinch.
Surprised when Smiley entered the car again.
"Let's go, Frogger!"
He yanked the key out of the ignition, placed his right foot on the brake and inserted the key again.
He looked up and thought his life was over. She marched towards the car, but he kept trying to start the car. On the third try, the Mercedes roared awake. "Yes!"
It was too late. She was just a few feet away now. Death did not come though.
The woman didn't shoot him, she walked past him.
"Fuck you bi..." Smiley said before the gunshots.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
She stood behind Frogger, and said, "Te veo al rato." (I'll see you later.)
This bitch did not shoot him. Why was she letting him go? He threw it into gear and tore ass out of there.
He was a few blocks down the street before he realized he made it. With a throbbing shoulder, Frogger pulled over to the curb.
Someone could see him and the car, but he only had one working arm, and he needed to call Happy. No way to do both at the same time. He retrieved the burner from his front pocket and called him.
Happy answered. "How did it go?"
"Happy, after we shot that woman, some other bitch, with two guns, stepped into the street and shot at us! The others are fucking dead! I'm the only one that made it out alive!"
"What? Everyone's dead?"
"Yeah, I'm shot but I can drive!"
Happy said nothing.
The car felt like being in a pressure cooker. "Hey, man! Where do I drive this car? It's all shot up!"
He did not waste Frogger's time by asking what went wrong he spoke to him in a normal, calm voice. "Go to the house where you and Spider took those whores two weeks ago. You remember where it's at?"
He did remember the house. "Yes! I'll go there!"
"Park the car in the garage and close the door. I'll be there when I can."
Chapter Fourteen
Emptied The Whole Magazine
Through the windshield, I shot the driver multiple times.
The front passenger side guy, I hit him twice. The car moved forward several feet and swerved into two parked cars.
Heading towards the car, I placed one of the HKs under my left arm, releasing both empty magazines, grabbing two new mags from my belt, slamming in both.
The driver's face resembled hamburger meat. The other guy, who was still alive, attempted to move his dead friend behind the wheel. The two in the back remained still.
I paused for a second.
Four men in hoodies shooting into a crowd, during broad daylight?
What was this?
Too many questions right now.
Question that could not be answered here in the street.
A basic plan formed, and this plan involved the cell phone in my back pocket. The guy that sat in the front passenger seat now sat behind the steering wheel. He gave the impression that he wanted to drive out of here. My plan depended on his escape.
About twelve feet away from the car's front bumper now and the driver's-side back door opened.
I stopped.
A bloodied shooter got out of the car. Blood covered the entire right side of his face—from his forehead to his chin. One of my bullets must've hit him in the head or scalp, yet did not penetrate. Head wounds always bled a lot.
He wore a dark baseball hat and hoodie, blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and stood about my height, and was Hispanic. Right above the collarbone, neck tattoos showed. They appeared to be gang tats. He's a banger?
That did not make any sense. Gangbangers didn't shoot up sidewalk cafes. This was more of a hit than a drive-by. Others were involved with this. I needed more answers.
Something caught my attention. A cell phone fell from his pocket, to the street.
Probably just a burner, no use to me.
With a handgun in his hand, the thug could barely raise his arm, firing twice into the street. "Fuck you bitch!"
The thug looked bad; blood streamed onto the street. He'd be dead in a matter of minutes.
"Kill that bitch, Smiley!" the new driver ordered.
Smiley jumped, more like flopped, back into the back seat of the car.
Not Forgiven: A Thriller and Suspense Novel: Ungoverned Series Page 6