Blood of a Boss II: The Streets Is Watching

by Askari

  She did as she was told, and then the screen switched from Easy’s mug shot to news reporter, Roland Rushin. He was standing in front of a burnt up Jaguar and a microphone was clutched in his right hand.

  “We’re broadcasting live from the corner of 5th and Glenwood, at what appears to be the scene of a gangland murder. The victim in this incident was positively identified as Ervin Easy Money Moreno, the son of Black Mafia Don, Gervin Grip Moreno. The victim was shot multiple times, and then stuffed inside the trunk of this Jaguar.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Later That Day...

  Annie’s house was filled with family and friends. In true African-American fashion, each of them arrived with a soul food dish, attempting to ameliorate the pain that was surely caused by her husband’s murder. In the basement, Sonny, Rahmello, Breeze, and the twins were chain smoking Sour Diesel, and desperately trying to figure out who killed Easy.

  “Yo, I think it was Sheed,” Sonny propounded.

  “Sheed?” they replied in unison, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Naw Blood, you buggin’ right now,” Breeze added. “This is the homie you’re talking ‘bout. That nigga wouldn’t go against the fam.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Sonny quickly replied. “I guess he wouldn’t steal from us either.”

  “Steal from us?” Egypt asked. “Yo, whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?”

  Sonny took a deep breath, and then wiped away the tear that fell from his left eye. “Nahfisah told me that before Sheed went to jail, he ran up in her grandmom’s spot and took the 24 keys that Tommy left her. In the process, he put a gun to her head and he tried to drown Imani.”

  “Nizzaw!” Zaire interjected, shaking his head from side to side. “Everybody know Sheed’s a wild nigga, but I ain’t got him doin’ all dat! Especially, when he knew Nahfisah was your sister!”

  “Trust me Zai, it’s official. I talked to this nigga yesterday, and when I asked him about it, he didn’t even try to deny it. He just changed the subject and kept asking me why I fucked up Pooky.”

  “Hold up,” Egypt waved his hands in the air, signaling for him to pause for a second. “You popped off on Pooky? When the fuck did all this happen? Why you ain’t never say nothin’?”

  “Truthfully,” Sonny replied, “this bitch ass nigga was the furthest thing from my mind. I was plannin’ to tell y’all about the Sheed situation, but then Daph surprised me wit’ the weddin’, and that shit threw me off a lil’ bit.”

  Breeze took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. “I’m sayin’ though,” he shrugged his shoulders, “don’t none of this got nothin’ to do witchu thinkin’ that Sheed killed Uncle Easy.”

  Sonny took another pull on his Backwood, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “When me and Sheed was havin’ words the nigga felt some type of way about me puttin’ my hands on Pooky, and he said some shit about puttin’ his hands on my family. You know me, I punched the nigga in his fuckin’ mouth!”

  Breeze hopped off the sofa and placed his hands on his head. “Yo, you popped off on him? And what the fuck happened after that?”

  “He had Pooky and another nigga wit’ him. A dark skinned nigga wit’ a baldhead and a Sunni beard. Anyhow,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I punched him in his shit, and then Pooky and the other nigga was try’na get froggy, but Heemy and Ted pulled the heat out.”

  Breeze shook his head in disbelief. “Yo, this is bad Sonny. This is Sheed we talking ‘bout! This ain’t some random ass nigga.”

  “Fuck Sheed!” Rahmello snapped as he got up from the sofa. “That bitch ass nigga threatened my mutha’fuckin’ family, and now my pops is dead! Fuck that nigga!”

  Breeze glanced at him, and then returned his gaze to Sonny. “I’m tellin’ you Blood, I just can’t see him doin’ nothin’ like this.”

  “So what the fuck is you sayin’ then Breeze?” Rahmello continued snapping. He balled up his fist and closed the distance between them. “You ain’t gon’ ride?”

  “Fuck no!” Breeze shot back. “We ain’t no every day, just do whatever you want type of mutha’fuckas! Nigga, we Bloods! It’s rules to this shit! You can’t make that type of move without havin’ all the facts!” He knew Sheed, and above all else he knew the love that Sheed had for their family. To him, none of this made any sense, and he knew that he had to find a way to calm things down before they went any further. “Look Mello,” he lowered his voice a few octaves, “all I’m tryna say is that Sheed ain’t have no reason to kill ya pops. I can understand that he was mad about the situation between Sonny and Pooky, but that ain’t enough for him to just say fuck it, and go from zero to sixty like that.” He looked at Sonny, “Come on bro, you’re smarter than that. And deep down we both know I’m right.

  Sonny considered his position, and in some ways it actually made sense. However, the fact that Sheed had already crossed the line was something that he refused to let slide. “Listen fam, I’ma put it like this, the nigga violated my sister and my niece. He stole from us, and in so many words he threatened my family.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “My family’s upstairs cryin’ their eyes out, and at the end of the day I gotta bury my pops. Not my homie. Not my girl. I’m talking ‘bout my mutha’fuckin’ pops.” He flexed his jaw muscles, and then turned his attention to Rahmello. “With that being said, I want you to put a team together, and go kill this nigga.”

  ***

  At The Creek Side Apartments In Bensalem, Pa.

  Sheed was laying on Jasmyn’s bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. He’d just finished watching the news, and the segment about Easy’s murder left him with mixed feelings. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt sorry for Sonny and his family, but in the same vein he felt as though Sonny shitted on him. As he lay there debating whether or not he should give him a call and express his condolences, Jasmyn entered the small bedroom in her correctional officer’s uniform. She turned on the stereo and the hypnotizing sounds of R. Kelly’s, Half On A Baby, eased through the speakers. One by one, she lit the lavender scented candles that were positioned throughout the room. She closed the window blinds, turned off the lights, and after that she grabbed a pair of his Timberlands from the closet.

  Sheed sat up in the bed and looked at her with a confused expression. “Yo, what you about to do with them?” he pointed at the boots.

  She smiled at him, and seductively bit her bottom lip. “You gon’ take off them boxer briefs, throw these Tims on, and then fuck me like a gangsta!”

  “Oh yeah,” Sheed chuckled. He got up from the bed and removed his underwear. “You like that gangsta shit, huh?”

  “You better know it.” She threw him the boots, and then tapped the badge that was pinned to her shirt. “I’m the law around here and I gave dat ass a direct order, so you better comply.”

  After lacing up his boots, he pushed her against the bedroom door. “So you the law around here, huh?” He kissed her on the lips, and then ran the tip of his tongue along the side of her neck.

  “Umm hmm,” she moaned. The anticipation of feeling him inside of her was driving her crazy. “I want you so bad.”

  He dropped to his knees and unbuckled her pants. After easing them down to her ankles, he kissed the front of her Victoria Secret thong, and used the tip of his nose to massage her clitoris through the sheer pink fabric. She smelled so good, and the warmth of her pussy was heating up his face. He pushed her thong to the side, and then ran his middle finger up and down her slit. Her breathing became heavy and she grinded her pussy against his finger.

  “Umm baby. Damn, this shit feels so good.” She grabbed the back of his head with both of her hands and pulled him toward her. “Suck my pussy.”

  He slipped his index and middle fingers inside of her and massaged her G spot. “Is that a direct order?”

  “Boy, you better stop fuckin’ wit’ me,” she purred, and then she mashed her pelvis against his face and grinded her pussy against his lips. Sheed laughed, but followed her orders n
onetheless. Slowly, gently, passionately, he flicked his tongue in and out of her slit, and then wrapped his lips around her clitoris. He sucked it, released it, and then sucked it again. Simultaneously using the tip of his tongue to massage her love button in a circular motion.

  “Eat this pussy baby! Eat this pussy!” She cried out and closed her eyes in sheer bliss. Sheed couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. Her pussy was so wet that in a matter of seconds not only his chin, but his neck and chest were covered in her juices.

  “Umm! Fuck!” she shouted. “Baby, what are you doin’ to me?” Her knees buckled and she fell on top of him, knocking him backwards. She climbed on top of him and kissed him passionately. Her kisses went from his lips to his chin, to his chest, and to his pelvis. Then in one swift motion, she deep throated his entire eight inches. As her mouth went up and down on his shaft, he positioned her body in the 69 position, and continued sucking the juice out of her honey pot.

  “Umm!” she moaned on his dick. The vibrations of her vocal cords was driving him crazy. She focused on the head of his dick and used both of her hands to jerk his shaft. After five minutes of riding his face and sucking him off at the same time, she hopped up, spun around, and began riding him.

  “Damn Jas, ya pussy so good it don’t make no mutha’fuckin’ sense,” he groaned, and then squeezed her ass with both of his hands. She gently bit him on the side of his neck, and whispered in his ear. “Whose dick is this?”

  The question caught him off guard. “Huh?”

  “I said,” she violently thrust her hips, “whose dick is this?”

  “Damn Jas, it’s yours! Shit.”

  She giggled and slowed her pace to a smooth ride. “It better be my dick,” she warned. “And since you said the right answer,” she smiled mischievously, “I’ma give you somethin’ special.”

  She reached in between her thighs and removed his dick from her pussy. She then eased it inside of her ass hole.

  “Oh my fuckin’ God!” he shouted. Her ass was so tight and wet from her pussy juice that he went in and out of her with ease. “This shit is fuckin’ crazy!” he continued shouting.

  “Oh, you like that huh?” She dropped her ass against his pelvis, gripped his shaft with her anal canal. She twirled her hips in a circular motion and scratched his chest with both of her hands. “Ahhh fuck!”

  His toes began to curl and sperm erupted from his balls. The warm juice coated her insides and she hastened her pace. Her body locked up and her legs began to shake. “I’m cummin’ baby! I’m cummin’! Ahhhhhh shit!”

  After releasing her orgasm, she rested her head on his muscular chest and he used his left hand to massage her scalp. “Damn Jas, I woulda never thought a woman so beautiful could be such a freak.”

  She lifted her head and smiled at him. “Shit, if you thought that was somethin’, just wait until you see what I can do wit’ a bottle of K.Y. Jelly!”

  ***

  In North Philly

  Twany was sitting in his Buick Lacrosse rolling up a Backwood, when two crackheads tapped on his passenger’s side window. “Hey nephew, y’all got them grams of powder out here?” asked the dingy looking black man. He was standing beside a dirty white woman with blotched skin and oily hair.

  Twany rolled down the window. “Yeah, we got grams of raw for $35. How many you want?”

  “I got a buck fifty, nephew. Can I get a play for 5 of ‘em?”

  “Naw,” Twany replied. “My shit go for $35, and that’s the best price around. Take it or leave it.” He looked at the white woman. She was bouncing from side to side, and nodding her head as if she could hear music playing. When she noticed that Twany was looking at her, she smiled at him and seductively licked her lips insinuating that she was willing to trade sexual favors for the cocaine. Twany cringed. “Yeah right.”

  “Huh nephew?” the man asked, assuming that Twany was talking to him.

  “Naw unc, I ain’t givin’ no plays,” he reiterated his position. “So what’s up? You spendin’ that bread or not?”

  The man nodded his head. “A’ight nephew, well here go a buck forty,” he said, and then handed Twany the crumbled up bills through the window.

  Twany counted out the money, and then handed him four baggies.

  As the crackheads walked away from his car, Heemy pulled up in his Impala and parked in front of his mother’s house. He hopped out the car with a bag of Chinese food clutched in his right hand, and then plopped down on his mother’s front stoop. Twany climbed out of his Buick and sat down beside him. “Did you get my shrimp and mixed vegetables?” he asked.

  Heemy reached inside of the bag and pulled out a white carton with a thin metal handle. “It’s right here. I got you a couple of spring rolls too.”

  Twany grabbed the carton and the wax bag full of spring rolls. “Good lookin’ bro. I ain’t eat nuffin’ all day. That shit wit’ Sonny and Rahmello’s pop had a nigga feelin’ fucked up.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Heemy agreed with him. “Them niggas gon’ paint the city red behind that shit. Just wait and see.” He took a bite of his fried chicken wing sprinkled with garlic salt, and then used a napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth. “I’m sayin’ though, you think Pooky and Mar-Mar had somethin’ to do wit’ what happened?”

  “I don’t know. For all we know anybody coulda parked the ol’ head,” Twany stated with a mouth full of food. “All I know is this,” he paused for a second and looked Heemy square in the eyes, “if Sonny and Rahmello give us the green light, we movin’.”

  “Without a doubt,” Heemy shot back. He took another bite of his chicken wing, and then tossed the bone in the vacant lot that was next to his house. “But on another note, where Nipsy at?”

  “He went to grab us some more work,” Twany answered. “Rahmello wasn’t bullshittin’. As soon as word got around that we was movin’ grams of raw this shit been poppin’ non-stop. Matter of fact,” he pointed down the block toward Boston Street where a scruffy looking black man was riding toward them on a ten speed bicycle, “here comes Quiet Storm right now. He musta heard about the shit too.”

  “Yo Heemy where Pooky at?” Quiet Storm inquired as he brought the ten speed to a halt. “I heard he had them yams out here.”

  “Nizzaw,” Heemy shook his head from side to side. “Me, Twany, and Nipsy got them grams out here. Fuck Pooky and Mar-Mar. Them niggas can’t come around here no more.”

  “Well shit nephew, I heard that,” Quiet Storm chuckled. He reached inside of his pants pocket and pulled out four twenty dollar bills. “Can I get 3 yams for eighty?”

  “Naw,” Twany shook his head. “But you can get 2 of ‘em and $10 back.”

  “Well come on wit’ it,” Quiet Storm smiled. “I kinda figured y’all wasn’t givin’ out no plays, but fuck it,” he shrugged his shoulders, “you can’t knock a nigga for tryin’”

  He handed Heemy the four twenty dollar bills, and Heemy added the money to the large knot he pulled from his pocket. After handing Quiet Storm his $10 in change, he pulled out a sandwich bag full of grams and extracted two of them. “Here you go,” he said as he handed over the chunky white rock.

  Quiet Storm examined the cocaine, and then nodded his head in approval. “A’ight nephew, y’all are safe out here.” He stuffed the work inside of his pocket, and then pedaled away on his ten speed.

  As Heemy stuffed his money back in his pocket, Pooky’s Range Rover turned the corner and parked at the bottom of the block. Pooky was sitting behind the stirring wheel, and Mar-Mar was sitting in the passenger’s seat.

  Twany looked at Heemy. “Damn bro, what we gon’ do? Should we chop on these niggas, or what?”

  “Naw,” Heemy replied in a calm voice, and then went to work on another one of his chicken wings. “As long as they ain’t out here try’na hustle, they good. But the second they try to serve somebody or get outta pocket it’s on.”

  “I’m sayin’ though,” Twany looked at the Range Rover, “them niggas is just sittin’ t
here watchin’ us. I’m tellin’ you Heemy, them niggas is up to somethin’.”

  “Well I guess we gon’ find out,” Heemy replied, and then casually gripped the handle of his Glock.

  Inside of the Range Rover, Pooky and Mar-Mar were smoking a Kush filled Optimo, and nodding their heads to the sounds of Yo Gotti.

  “Look at these lil’ bastards,” Pooky chuckled. “I should take off my belt and whip they lil’ asses for killin’ my goddamn dog. They lucky I’m chasin’ this paper right now.”

  “I feel you,” Mar-Mar cosigned as he flicked the ash from the tip of the Optimo.

  A green mini-van pulled up in front of Heemy and Twany, and a fat Spanish man rolled down the driver’s side window. “Papi, y’all doin’ something?”

  Twany glanced up and down the block, and then returned his gaze to the customer. “Yeah papi, we got grams of raw for $35, but we don’t walk up on cars. So you gon’ have to hop out if you try’na cop somethin’.”

  The man opened the driver’s side door and climbed out the mini-van. He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out three twenties and a ten dollar bill. “Lemme get 2 of ‘em.”

  When Pooky realized what was happening, he damn near lost his mind. Him and Mar-Mar jumped out the Range Rover, and stormed toward Heemy and Twany. “Yo, what the fuck y’all think y’all doin’?” He snapped. “I know y’all lil’ mutha’fuckas ain’t out here hustlin’!”

  The Spanish man was confused. He looked back and forth between them, and then settled his gaze on Twany.

  “Papi, I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I ain’t try’na be in the middle of y’all beef.”

  Twany looked to Heemy for guidance. Heemy laid his bag of food on the stoop, and then stood to his feet. “Go ‘head and serve him.”

  Twany shrugged his shoulders, and held out the cocaine. As the customer went to grab the two baggies, Pooky smacked the work out of Twany’s hand. Twany ice grilled him.