Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 1: The Story of Treacherous and Teflon

by J. M. Benjamin

  Joe had retrieved his .32 that had fallen when Rich had first burst in and knocked him to the floor. His adrenaline began working overtime at the thought of killing Rich. He was positive after today his street credibility would be at an all-time high for killing someone with as much status as the man he was about to get the drop on. After all, this was Richie Gunz he was about to kill. He had no problem with taking the credit, despite trying to kill Rich in a cowardly fashion by shooting him in the back. To him, when it came to the rules of the game, he was never known for playing fair.

  Once he took care of Rich and got him out the way, Joe had every intention on picking up where he had left off with Teresa. He began raising his pistol with ease, hoping that Rich didn’t turn back around so soon. As he raised his gun half level, Joe saw Teresa appear. She was holding something in her hands, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It wasn’t until the four shots ripped through his chest, piercing his heart, that Joe realized that what she had possessed in her hands was a gun. By then, it was too late. He was already slipping away. Instantly he fell to the floor with his .32 revolver still in hand.

  Rich turned around and saw that the noise he had heard was Joe’s lifeless body hitting the floor.

  Teresa stood there, still in shock at what she had done, but she couldn’t allow Joe to kill the man who had come to her aid moments ago. She owed him, and his first payment had been Joe’s last breath.

  Rich walked over to Joe’s body, spotting the .32 in his hands, and imagined how close he had come to being the one sprawled out on the floor instead of Joe. Thanks to Teresa, his life had been spared. He thought about how close he had come to killing her and felt bad for entertaining it. He had been worried about her being able to implicate him if he had killed Joe, but now he was the one who could tie her to the murder. How quickly the tables turned, Rich thought.

  He knew it was just a matter of time before the cops would be crawling all over the place. Rich was sure someone had heard the gunshots and called them. He knew he had to make some quick decisions. “Sweetheart, we gotta blow this joint,” he said as Teresa stood there in a trance, trying to make out Rich’s words.

  “You hear me? We gotta get outta here.”

  Snapping out of it, Teresa acknowledged him. “Yeah, we do.”

  “A’ight then, go snatch up what you can take with you, things that are important. You can’t stay here no more and you sure as hell can’t never come back.”

  Teresa knew that to be true because if she ever got caught there she would surely be thrown in jail. Although she felt she could handle being locked up, she was not trying to see there any time soon. She ran into her bedroom to gather her personal and important belongings while Rich waited. When she returned holding two big suitcases, Rich grabbed one and they exited together, never looking back.

  “Get this little muthafucka up outta me,” screamed Teresa.

  The four years she had been with Rich had turned her into one of the most ruthless females from the Chesapeake area. Though her beauty was misconstrued as feminine, her demeanor was a contradiction to her physical appearance. She was so tough she refused the anesthesia that would help with the labor pain of the pregnancy the doctor suggested, and voted against a C-section in spite of the difficulties of the natural birth she was experiencing. After what seemed like millions of hours in labor, a breakthrough had come about.

  “Okay! Okay! The baby is coming,” the doctor yelled with relief. Teresa began to push harder as she felt something busting through her inner thighs. It felt as if she was being split in half and the pain was excruciating, but like the trouper she was, she endured the process.

  “Just a little more,” the doctor said. Rich stood by watching from over the doctor’s shoulder. The average man would have turned away, some even would have gotten sick, but not Rich. All the blood he had seen in his life, from all the lives he had taken, had prepared him for this night. All the blood between Teresa’s legs could not compare to the lifetime of blood he had spilled. Rich saw the little figure appear and wondered what it was. He couldn’t tell due to the umbilical cord, but the doctor’s reaction confirmed his thoughts.

  “It’s a boy,” he said as he cut the cord.

  The doctor turned the baby over on his stomach and smacked him on the behind and that’s when all hell broke loose.

  The next sound was the doctor hitting the delivery room’s floor. Rich knocked the doctor clean out, with his son still in the doctor’s hands. All the other nurses and doctors were astonished at Rich’s behavior, as they all took steps back, not wanting any problems. Rich stood over the doctor and picked his son up, and the baby cried. “Muthafucka, you bet not ever put your hands on my son again. Ain’t nobody on this planet gonna ever put their hands on my kid as long as he live,” shouted Rich, hovering over the doctor, who lay sprawled out on the floor. “You dig?”

  Everybody was so afraid they all agreed. They were so focused on Rich that no one had paid any attention to the amount of blood Teresa had been losing. By the time the police arrived and took Rich away, Teresa had hemorrhaged and bled to death and little John Doe was all alone.

  Chapter Two

  Rich was arrested on assault charges at the hospital the day his son was born. He was told by the arresting officer that the mother of his child did not survive. Teresa died right on the delivery table. As Rich sat in the bullpen of the Norfolk city jail he wept for the loss of Teresa, the woman he had grown attached to over the past five years. It was the first time in his life he had ever cried, externally anyway, and it was a feeling he wasn’t particularly fond of. He wiped his face in an attempt to regain his composure. He thought of his newborn son and how without notice he had been forced to raise him on his own, motherless. He had been on his own for quite some time and had practically raised himself, but to raise another human being—a young infant at that—was an entirely different ball game and was his biggest challenge as a man.

  March 9 was the day that changed Rich’s life forever, one he would never forget. He sat impatiently waiting for the bails bondsman to post his bond, anxious to go back to the hospital and claim his son.

  When Rich arrived, some of the nurses remembered his sudden outburst and the loss of his child’s mother and had mixed feelings seeing him again. Some blamed his ignorance for her death while others felt compassionate and sympathy for his loss. One young white nurse had the heart and the courtesy enough to escort Rich to the window where little John Doe lay. When they reached the maternity ward, Rich recognized his son instantly without the nurse having to point him out. It was as though he himself had spit him out. Rich saw the strong resemblance of him in his son. The only thing Rich could see he possessed of Teresa so far was his smooth, baby golden-brown–toned complexion. If Rich didn’t know any better he would have sworn Teresa had been creeping on him with another man. He himself was charcoal black; Teresa, light bronze.

  He was prideful as he stood at the glass.

  “Sir,” the nurse called out to him, breaking his fixated stare at his son.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Uh, well, you know your child doesn’t have a name yet,” the nurse said nervously.

  It hadn’t dawned on him that Teresa hadn’t named their kid before she’d passed away. They had discussed it many times throughout her pregnancy. If it was a girl they would name her Mercedes, that way the they would always have one, but if it was a boy, Rich insisted he had a name that stood out, a name that he would be able to represent, that would show a great deal of strength.

  “How do I go about naming my kid?” he asked the nurse, putting her at ease.

  “Right this way, I’ll show you,” she replied, shooting Rich a smile. He followed the nurse as her young hips swayed in her pink-and-white nurse’s outfit.

  Had it been under different circumstances and a different time, Rich might have gotten at the white girl because it was obvious she was attracted to him. She flirtatiously threw her hips, which were wide for
a white woman, hoping he was watching from behind. He was too. The truth be told, she was actually turned on by Rich’s performance in the room earlier that day. Coming from a middle- class family, she had been attracted to and had dealings with so- called “bad boys” since her rebellious days as a teenager, not to mention the fact she liked men the way she liked her coffee, dark and strong, and Rich fit the profile.

  As they walked steps away from each other they came up on a desk. The girl went behind the desk, only to return with the form Rich needed to fill out stating his was little John Doe’s birth father. She told him she’d return momentarily, giving him both time and space to fill out the form. Rich glanced over it, then began filling it out as best he could. In all the years he had known Teresa, all he knew about her personal information was her full name and birth date, which was all he was able to provide on the application. Teresa Laton Freeman, birth date July 2, 1958 was what he filled out. He then filled in his full birth name and date of birth: Richard Anthony Robinson Jr., March 3, 1956. When he reached the column that required his son’s name, he began writing it out. Rich named his son Treacherous Antwan Freeman. Initially his son was supposed to have borne his last name, but in memory of his mother, Rich gave him her last name. Antwan was Rich’s grandfather’s name, and the name Treacherous spoke for itself. Rich was determined to give his son a name he would have to live up to. Although he was only a day old, when he grew up Rich was determined to make sure his son knew his father was a gangster, the same thing he would raise him to become someday.

  The white nurse returned just as Rich was finishing up the form. She took it, assured him it was filled out properly, then told him his son would be able to go home in two more days after they had finished running tests to make sure he was healthy and there were no complications. She slipped him her number and told him to call her and she would keep him updated on his son’s status.

  Two days passed and Rich arrived back at the hospital to pick up little Treacherous. Against his better judgment, he had been sexing the white nurse, who he found to be a super-freak, for the past two days. Rich walked down the corridor to where he was told he’d be able to pick his son up. It did not surprise him to see the young white girl standing there as if she had been waiting for him when he reached the maternity ward. He had already anticipated as much.

  “Hey love,” she addressed him, twirling her finger through one of her golden locks. The thought of what Rich had been doing to her body for the past two days had her floating. When she woke up, she was disappointed to find that he was already gone, but she knew she would see him at the hospital today.

  “Wassup,” Rich replied drily.

  “I missed you this morning.” Her giddiness rubbed Rich the wrong way. He knew it was time to put an end to the charade.

  “Dig, find you a toy to play with ’cause I’m not the one. It was cool, but that’s all it was, no more, no less,” Rich stated before turning his back on her and walking toward the receptionist’s desk. The white girl was crushed by his treatment. The elderly white woman at the desk had overheard some of what Rich had said to her colleague. She had been inconspicuously observing the encounter between the two. It was evident to the elderly nurse that something was going on between Rich and the young white nurse and she did not agree with the way he had just treated the girl. She shot Rich a dirty look as he approached.

  “What the fuck is your problem lady?” he questioned, already knowing the reason for the look.

  The elderly nurse was instantly filled with fear. She had no idea she was so obvious. She was at a loss for words and tempted to call security but thought better of it. She had heard about the episode in the delivery room and didn’t want to upset Rich anymore then she already had.

  “Th—there’s no problem sir, how may I help you,” she uttered, trying to make light of the situation.

  Rich couldn’t help but laugh to himself. It never failed with white people, he thought. When you’re nice to them they were nasty to you, but the moment you got nasty back, they were the nicest people in the world.

  “I’m here to pick up my son, Treacherous Freeman.”

  “Yes, just a moment.” The elderly nurse fumbled nervously to assist him. “You can have seat. Someone will be with you in a moment, sir.”

  Her words fell on deaf ears. Rich remained standing at the desk, waiting for his son. Everyone was all too glad to see Rich leave, at least everyone but the young white nurse. She watched from afar with tear-filled eyes as he signed his son out of the hospital. He had everyone on edge, including security. They had all seen the aftermath of the doctor’s face from the one blow Rich had hit him with, and wanted no part of the man. Security was thankful that Rich had complied without any incident or resistance that day. To them, he had the look of someone who could do some serious damage if he had to.

  Rich put the hooded snowsuit on his newborn to protect him from the winter hawk that awaited them on the outside of the hospital. Although it was March, spring had not yet come. He grabbed his son with one arm, attempting to leave the hospital with the intention of never returning. He vowed that baby Treacherous would be his first and only child, just as his son’s mother was his first and only love.

  Chapter Three

  The first three and a half years of raising his son was a learning experience for Rich between warming bottles, changing diapers, and adjusting to Treacherous’s sleeping schedule. The one thing he was grateful for was the fact that his son was not a crier. Not since they had left the hospital and he was arrested for knocking the doctor out for putting his hands on Treacherous, had he heard his son cry. He wondered whether there was something wrong, but excused it when Treacherous spoke his first word, which was Dad, often coming out sounding like bad. Rich would often reply, “That’s right, son, you bad.”

  Treacherous’s childhood was a little more peculiar than most growing up. Rich never brought him any toys like the other kids in his Portsmouth neighborhood. Rich was raised to believe toys made you soft, and he wasn’t about to raise a punk. Instead, he substituted Treacherous’s toys with his own real guns, which he had plenty of. By the time Treacherous was six years old he could name every caliber of handgun and a few semiautomatics and by the age of eight he knew how to take them apart, clean, and oil them up. In Rich’s mind, there was nothing wrong with the way he was raising his son. Rich never really let Treacherous hang outside in the Tidewater Park projects where they lived, because he didn’t want Treacherous making friends out there. He told Treacherous when he was questioned that it was not good to have a lot of friends because you never know when you might have to do something to them; if there were no attachments then there would be no remorse or regret later. At the time Treacherous didn’t really understand his father’s words, but he both trusted and respected his dad, so he figured whatever the reason meant it was for his own good.

  Not only had Treacherous grown up knowing about guns, he was also trained, skilled, and educated in sports, boxing in particular. Rich was known to be nice with his hands in boxing as well as street fighting, so he taught Treacherous all he knew. He made him practice every night before he took a bath and went to sleep, often waking up in the morning too sore to climb out of bed to go to school from throwing so many one-handed jabs on each arm and combinations. Treacherous had no way of the knowing the significance behind his upbringing. Although he only went outside when Rich took him, Treacherous knew he lived in a rough neighborhood, but he wasn’t afraid. There was no need to be. He was Richie Gunz’s kid.

  Everywhere he went, Rich took Treacherous with him. Treacherous could remember the first time he had actually saw his dad do what he called work. He and his father sat in the little rusted Chevy, just waiting. Treacherous had no idea what they were waiting for. When a tall, dapper man exited the store they were parked in front of, Treacherous noticed his father’s eyes grow cold.

  “Wait here,” Rich told him as he made his way out of the car.

  Treacherous w
atched as his father, dressed in all black, approached the tall man. Treacherous heard the confrontation going on outside of the car as he witnessed the scene with his own eyes.

  “You thought it was a game,” Treacherous heard his father shout as he forcefully grabbed the tall man around the neck with his free hand.

  “Pleeeaassse man, I gotta—”

  Treacherous jumped each time the shots rang out. The four slugs tore into the dapper man as he bellied over and dropped to the ground in the middle of the street. Treacherous watched as Rich leaned over and stuck his hand into the slain man’s pockets. He retrieved the wad of cash from the front pocket, shoved it into his own pocket, and calmly made his way back to the car. Treacherous was wide- eyed as Rich got in and drove off without uttering a word. And neither did Treacherous. It was then that Treacherous knew what type of man his father was.

  For his thirteenth birthday, Rich took his son to the local strip bar, where Treacherous was well underage, but because he was Richie Gunz’s kid, nothing was said. Treacherous couldn’t believe his eyes. There were half-naked, topless women scattered all over the establishment in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were pretty while others were not, Treacherous thought. He recognized a few of the women who frequented where he and his father lived.

  One particular night his attention was drawn to the loud noises he heard coming from his father’s bedroom. Not knowing what to make of it, Treacherous peered into his dad’s room through the keyhole, only to see that Rich was naked and positioned behind one of the strippers, pulling her hair and ramming his body into hers as she faced the door. Judging by her expressions, one would have thought the young stripper was in pain, but Treacherous knew better. Rich had already schooled him about sex, and though he had never experienced it personally, Treacherous knew the cries were not painful ones. He knew the girl would not have been telling his father to give it to her harder if she was not enjoying herself.