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

by J. M. Benjamin

  Less than a minute later, Teflon was escorting the young kid out of the bathroom. Treacherous couldn’t help but laugh inside, seeing the conditions of the young white kid; his khaki pants still to his knees, a Playboy magazine, and an iPod in one hand while he rubbed his head with the other. Throughout all the commotion going on inside the bank, the kid had no clue what was going on. The only thing he knew was he had been cut short of his bowel movement and now stood in front of a group of people with his shriveled-up penis exposed and an un-wiped ass. He had never been so embarrassed in his life, but he was not only embarrassed, he was also in fear of his life because he had just been pistol- whipped by a woman who he knew meant business.

  “Get your white ass over there,” Teflon told the kid while pushing him toward the others.

  The boy tripped on his own pants, feeling more embarrassed, but got back up and pulled his boxers and pants up. The smell of feces began to reek.

  Now that they could account for all seventeen bodies, Treacherous felt more in control of things.

  “Now check this out, nobody has to get hurt as long as the gentleman right here cooperates,” he said to the fearful audience, grabbing the manager’s arm in an attempt to help him up off the floor.

  “Don’t nobody try to be no mu’fuckin’ superheroes and think they faster than a speeding bullet. Remember, this is not your money. The bank is insured. Think about making it home to your family in one piece before you try something stupid. Babe, hold it down while I handle this,” Treacherous said to Teflon.

  “Go ahead, boo, I got this,” she replied.

  “Let’s go, my man,” Treacherous said to the bank manager, escorting him to the vault.

  Teflon held her guns on the sixteen employees as Treacherous and the manager slid off. Although she didn’t want any casualties, she wouldn’t hesitate to murder any of the hostages who made a false move.

  Treacherous and the manager reached the back of the bank where the vault was located.

  “Check this out, I’m going to make it easy for you so you don’t have to try to lie and cause your family to get all dressed up and make funeral arrangements. I know that you got the key to this piece and know the security code to this vault. Now you get one chance to open this piece, and if I detect any funny shit that’s your ass! You understand?” asked Treacherous.

  “Y—y—y—Yes s—s—sir,” the manager managed to reply nervously.

  “Well, handle your business.”

  Treacherous had the two army duffel bags out waiting for the manager to open the vault. He watched carefully as the manager punched in the bank vault code, making sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but even by looking he really had no way of knowing. Once he punched the last number in and it computed, the manager stuck the special key in the vault’s keyhole and turned it.

  Treacherous heard the click and chalked it up as being the sound the vault key made when it was unlocked.

  The bank manager seemed extremely nervous as he began opening the bank’s vault. When he turned the handle and pulled the vault door open, Treacherous’s dream had become a reality right before his very eyes. It was if he had died and gone to heaven. There was money everywhere stacked up wall-to-wall. One would have thought they had just been shown the official money-manufacturing room for the world, there was so much paper in there. Wasting no time, Treacherous planted one of the duffel bags in the manager’s chest.

  “Fill this up, and you bet’ not try to give me none of that money with the dye packs on them either,” advised Treacherous as the manager looked at him, surprised.

  “Yeah, you ain’t think a nigga like me knew about that, huh? I ain’t as dumb as you think I look. Load that shit up,” he ordered the manager.

  Once Treacherous saw the bank manager begin filling up the bag with bulks of money, he began to fill up the other one. Within a few minutes both bags were full.

  “Carry that back out front.” As the manager toted the heavy bag, Treacherous followed him.

  Teflon, as well as the hostages, were relieved to see Treacherous and the manager reappear. They had been in the bank for little over half an hour, which was longer than they anticipated and now it was time to wrap things up and make their exit.

  “Babe, get this bag,” yelled Treacherous, pointing to the duffel bag the manager struggled with.

  Teflon went over and took the bag from the manager. She was strong for a woman, so the bag didn’t even faze her when she put the straps around her shoulders and hiked it up to wear it like a backpack. Treacherous had already secured his bag, so there were only two more things left for him to do. Teflon had done her part by having all the hostages tied up and gagged, so he only had to have the manager done the same way while he went to get the security tapes out of the main office.

  “Babe, tie his punk ass up while I go get the security tapes.”

  “Okay and hurry up.”

  “Yeah.”

  Teflon noticed the look of disgust on the bank manager’s face when she turned in his direction.

  “Wipe that shitty look off your face,” Teflon barked, smacking the manager in the face with her Beretta.

  The bank manager yelled in agony as blood gushed out of his nose.

  “Bring your ass over here,” she ordered, grabbing the manager by the arm. All the other employees began to whimper and murmur. They were actually more afraid of Teflon then Treacherous. By the time Teflon had tied the manager up, Treacherous had the eight security tapes—the four regulars and the four backup ones to be on the safe side—and now it was time to roll.

  Treacherous noticed the manager holding his nose and that a new color was added to his once brand-new pants. He looked at Teflon. She shrugged. All he could do was shake his head.

  “We appreciate your cooperation. Luckily we ain’t have to kill one of you nice people. Just sit tight; someone will find you, eventually,” Treacherous said with a little humor in his tone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After making his final remark, Treacherous and Teflon attempted to exit the building. It was ten to eight when Treacherous unlocked the door. As soon as he opened it, he stuck his head out slightly as an extra precaution before walking out of the bank, headed toward the CLS with Teflon not too far behind, making her way to the Chrysler.

  Treacherous reached the Mercedes and opened the passenger-side door, throwing the duffel bag in the backseat and closed the door back, then proceeded to the driver’s side.

  Just as he opened the driver’s door he heard the sound of his partner’s voice simultaneously with the shots.

  “Treach!” yelled Teflon as she pointed her .380 and 9 mm Beretta in the direction of the police and began squeezing the triggers.

  Turning around, Treacherous noticed the large amount of police cars and police and quickly joined Teflon.

  “Babe, get in!” Treacherous yelled over to Teflon, attempting to cover her as police returned fire.

  Treacherous saw Teflon was now only shooting one gun while holding her side with the other.

  At the sight of that Treacherous went ballistic.

  “Boo, get in the car,” he yelled again as he continued to fire.

  Teflon struggled to make her way into the CLS, just barely escaping as a bullet shot out the passenger window just as she opened the door. She leaned over and put the duffel bag in the backseat, then started the Benz up with the key Treacherous had left in the ignition.

  Hearing the Mercedes engine start, Treacherous let off two more rounds, then hopped in the car and sped off. Bullets continued to rattle the vehicle as Treacherous burned rubber. He had emptied all but one bullet in the two sixteen-shot 9’s he had and replaced them with the two revolvers he had under the seat. He wondered how he and Teflon had been ambushed.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Excuse me, sir,” the switchboard operator of the special security service said to the man behind the desk.

  “What is it, Debbie?” he asked, somewhat agitated about
being disturbed while smoking one of his favorite Cubans.

  “I thought you should know that the silence alarm switch we installed at Bank of America on Waterside was just activated.”

  “What?” the security chief yelled, jumping up with cigar in hand. “When?”

  “It just came in at seven-thirty.”

  He looked at his watch.

  “That was three minutes ago. Okay, alert all local and federal authorities and let them know to meet our people downtown,” he said as he put on his jacket.

  “Yes sir.”

  As they sat there tied up and gagged, the bank manager sat on the floor, smiling, while the others still were in a world of fear, considering the possibility the bank robbers would want to come back and kill them all because they all had seen their faces. Only the manager knew they would never be coming back—not for a long time, anyway. It was just a matter of time before the cavalry came once they saw that the bank vault’s silent alarm had been triggered. There was no way the inexperienced bank robbers could have known he had to put the vault key in first before he punched in the vault’s code or else the silent alarm would be set off. The Bank of America had not had a false alarm with their system in many years, which was the last time they had been robbed. The robber had somehow managed to get into the vault and stayed in there overnight, constantly triggering the alarm, causing the main system to assume there was a minor glitch in the installment, after checking out the bank numerous times throughout the night. When the bank manager came in that morning and opened the vault, the robbers shot him and fled the scene. Not since then had there been any complications or false alarms with the system. The bank manager sat and waited patiently to be rescued and hear the final outcome of the bank robbers’ inevitable fate.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Treacherous continued to elude the police as he sped down the busy downtown street, running red lights and the whole nine, while Teflon sat across from him bleeding. He bucked a right on Garley Avenue, which was a part of his getaway route, wanting to get off the main strip. As he came up on Monticello he made a quick left, noticing one of the getaway cars he and Teflon had stashed on the corner. Had everything gone according to plan, he would have switched whips right there and kept going until he reached his second stash whip and doubled back to jump on the highway, but instead he had to change his plans and cut back sooner, busting a U-turn on Tazewell, which landed him right back on Waterside Drive.

  Treacherous had made a complete 360 and wound up right back where he had initially begun. The police, who were in pursuit, thought they had Treach running scared and going in circles, until it had dawned on them he intended to take Waterside Drive all the way to the highway.

  Treacherous gunned the black CLS, pushing the pedal to the floor as he entered onto the ramp, jumping on Highway 264 West, never slowing down. Within seconds the speedometer reached over 140 miles per hour. Treacherous noticed the helicopter overhead as he drove, but didn’t pay them any mind. He was more focused on Teflon’s well-being across from him.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Aye yo, Gunz, what’s your last name again?” asked one of Richie Gunz’s fellow inmates.

  “Freeman, why, what’s up? Six ball side pocket,” replied Rich, taking his next shot on the pool table.

  “Yo, you know some kid name Treacherous Freeman?”

  Hearing his son’s name caused Rich to pause mid-shot.

  “What? Where did you hear that name at?” he wanted to know.

  “Right here on the TV.”

  All in one motion Rich threw the pool stick down and walked toward the television. As he approached the day-room TV, he could see the newscaster Julie Sanchez on the screen, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  “Yo, turn that up!” yelled Rich to one of the inmates who stood closest to the television.

  “. . . . Police authorities continue to pursue the two suspects, who seem as if they have no intentions on giving up at this time. We’ll keep you updated as this tragic story continues to unfold here on Highway 264. This is Julie Sanchez, live from WAVY Ten. Back to you Bob.”

  “Thanks, Julie. Keep us posted. In other news, two teens were gunned down in the parking lot of a local McDonald’s on Princess Ann Boulevard.”

  Rich missed the broadcast and wondered if it could have possibly been his son who the reporter spoke about. He hadn’t heard from his son in more than ten years, since their first and last visit together, when he was in Lewisburg Penitentiary, but he had heard about how Treacherous had made and established a name for himself out there in the streets. He blamed himself for the path Treacherous had chosen because he became what Rich had raised him to be. From what was told to him, his son was a bona fide gangsta.

  “Yo, what they say about the kid?” Rich asked the inmate who asked him his last name, figuring he would know.

  “They say he and some girl from up out of Chesapeake robbed some bank or something out on Waterside Drive in Norfolk. I think it was Bank of America downtown. He supposed to had shot three cops tryin’a get away and the shorty with him got hit. They been chasin’ ’em for over an hour now. That’s all they really said. Why, you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him,” replied Rich.

  “I figured you did. I heard of him but I don’t know him. You know I been down longer than you so he wasn’t makin’ no noise when I was home. My cousin Charlie Moon from Jersey that be out in Roanoke regulatin’ mentioned his name before; how the dude was gangsta with his out there. Moon gangsta too, so for him to big the kid up he gotta be about something. Is he any kin to you?” asked the inmate.

  “Yeah.” Rich paused. “That’s my son.”

  “Oh shit, dawg, I ain’t know, damn!”

  Just then the anchorman appeared back on the screen. “Yo, hold it down,” Rich said, raising his voice over the noisy dayroom, motioning his hands for silence. He was highly respected in the Petersburg medium custody facility in North Carolina by some of the toughest dudes from all over the world, so to ask such a request was not asking for much. Everyone knew Rich didn’t raise his voice for anything unless he really had to. All who knew him assisted him in quieting the dayroom. Everyone began to gather around the TV to see what held brother’s attention.

  The words Breaking News crossed the screen as the anchorman began to speak.

  “This just came in. Our sources have found out that the black Mercedes-Benz CLS that police had been in pursuit of just hours ago had been reported stolen earlier today. It has now been confirmed that the CLS 600 Mercedes belonged to a Marcus Bullock of Brooklyn, New York. Mr. Bullock and another teen were gunned down in front of a local McDonald’s on Princess Ann Boulevard, after being carjacked by Mr. Freeman and Ms. Jackson. The local authorities have confirmed the connection between the McDonald’s murders and the bank robbery. Our sources also tell us that Mr. Freeman’s father, a Mr. Richard Robinson, was convicted over seventeen years ago for single-handedly robbing the same bank for over a million dollars. He is currently serving a thirty-year sentence in Petersburg Federal Institution.”

  Everyone in the dayroom turned and looked at Rich, who continued watching the TV.

  “Although this hasn’t been confirmed, it is believed to be true that Mr. Freeman and Ms. Jackson took close to two million dollars. Hold on, I’ve just been told there has been some new developments in our top story. Julie, are you there?”

  “Yeah, Bob, as you can see, the pursuit has come to an end. Police have the entire highway shut down. After reaching the Virginia Beach exit, the SUV stopped shortly thereafter on the ramp. Our sources tell us that Mr. Freeman and Ms. Jackson were ordered to throw out their weapons along with the vehicle keys, and they complied. We’ve also been told the officer in charge instructed the occupants to exit the vehicle. Apparently this is what authorities are waiting for—to take the suspects into custody. Hold on—the driver door just opened. Oh my god!”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Treacherou
s laughed to himself at the naiveness of the officer.

  Dumb mu’fucka, all that training for nothing, Treacherous thought, referring to how easy it was to fool the agent. He had snatched up the two P-90 submachine guns, with the see-through fifty-round clips on each side of the guns, which contained armor-piercing bullets.

  He took one last look over at Teflon, then leaned in and gave her a kiss on the lips. They were still warm, Treacherous thought.

  “I love you, Tef,” were his last words to his soul mate before he grabbed the handle of the Benz with the intent of joining her.

  He cocked the two submachine guns back and took a deep breath. He was not afraid to die. He knew that this was an option, but he never thought it would come down to this. The last time he was caught by police with guns on him it cost him five-and-a-half years of his life. He made a promise to himself he would never let them catch him like that ever again and now he vowed to stick to his guns, literally.

  “Okay Treach, it’s showtime, baby,” he began hyping himself up. “This is for Teflon and your pops, and for all the gangstas who thought about holding court in the streets. This is where it ends. Today is judgment day. Fuck a jury, let’s rock!” He opened the CLS door.

  The head agent in charge saw the SUV door come open and noticed a leg come out of the truck. All the sharpshooters, SWAT, and other officers became on full alert.

  “Everybody stand down,” yelled the head agent as Treacherous began to appear.

  There were two things that caught the head agent’s attention about the scene. One, Treach’s hands were not on top of his head; and two, he could not see his hands at all.

  “Mr. Freeman, put your hands on top of your head where I can see them, and turn around slowly and get on your knees!” he shouted through his bullhorn.

  Treacherous began turning around but he disregarded the head agent’s last request and he did not put his hands on his head.