by Tranay Adams
Flashback
“You mothafuckaz came here on your feet, but you’re leaving in body bags!” Gouch yelled from the top step, clutching his shotgun as it wafted with smoke. “You mothafucking Wet Backs done broke into the wrong nigga’z house!”
Shaved head and Chucky crept to the steps cautiously. Shaved head tried to take a peek up the staircase and Gouch nearly blew his mothafucking head off. He brushed his hand down his stubble head to feel for blood, eyes wide thinking that he had been hit. He was good though. While Gouch talked shit from the top step, shaved head signaled for Chucky to hand him something. The Vato reached inside his overcoat and produced a throwing grenade, passing it off to his comrade. Shaved head pulled the pin, waited a moment, and then threw that bitch up stairs.
Oh, shit!” the eses heard their enemy shout.
Kaboom!
Gouch came tumbling down the stairs a bloody mess, the left side of his face was fried and his eye had discoloration. Chucky spat on his face and kicked him viciously.
“Come on. Let’s get the fuck outta here,” shaved head nudged Chucky. He heard the police car sirens wailing in the distance. He turned to head for the door and his forehead exploded, bullet flying out the back of his dome. Blood hit the wall behind him and he crumpled to the carpet. Chucky whipped around to start dumping and some hot shit went through his right-eye, exiting out the left side of his skull. He dropped to his knees and fell over shaved head’s body. Together their forms created a bloody heap on the floor.
Arsenegger had both his hands wrapped around Ridah Man’s hand, which was holding his smoking .45 automatic handgun. “Alright, you can come out now.” he called toward the kitchen. Ortiz emerged from the kitchen with two shopping bags: one had bricks of cocaine and the other had $150,000 dollars in it. The plan was to make the murder scene look like a drug deal gone bad.
Ortiz put one bag in Chucky’s hand and the other bag in shaved head’s hand. He looked to the corner and saw Chewy on the floor, holding his crotch. His eyes were staring out of their corners and his mouth was ajar. He was dead.
“Poor bastard,” Ortiz shook his head sadly as he crossed his heart in the sign of the crucifix.
Arsenegger looked over the bodies scattered on the floor. “Where the fuck is he?” his forehead wrinkled with wonderment.
“Who?” Ortiz raised an eyebrow.
“Booby?”
“He’s not here.” He looked over the faces of the bodies.
“I’m going to check up stairs, you check down here.” Arsenegger pulled his gun from its holster and ascended up the steps strategically.
Ortiz checked the living room, the kitchen, and then took a peek through the curtain. There were about four police cars on the lawn. Arsenegger raced down the steps shoving his weapon back into its holster. “Son of a bitch isn’t here! Any luck?”
He shook his head no and said, “All clear down here!”
“It’s okay. We’ll get him, and all the rest of them, too.” Arsenegger assured his partner, touching fists with him. He had a dead serious ass expression on his face.
Detectives Maza and Dupri came through the door, guns drawn, flanked by half a dozen police officers. Maza and the rest of the police holstered their firearms once they spotted the necklace badges around Arsenegger and Ortiz’s necks. Maza gave Arsenegger a nod and a wink and he returned the gesture.
“Uh, partner,” Ortiz called for Arsenegger.
“Yeah,” Arsenegger answered turning around.
“Someone decided to crash another party.” He told him, nodding to the space where Gouch’s body once was.
Present
“Arsenegger and Ortiz will come gunning for us, unc. There is no doubt in my mind about that.” Gouch assured him. “That’s why we can’t botch this plan.”
“It won’t get botched.” Gangsta gripped his shoulder. “Trust me.”
“What’s up with Killa?”
“Lil’ homie is at the ‘spital with Banga, I told him that I’d be by once we finished up our lil’ meeting over here.”
“I wanna go see my lil’ brotha, man, I ain’t seen Booby in a minute.” Gouch stated. “I wanna see how he’s doing.”
“We’ll get around to it soon, real soon.” Gangsta nodded and glanced at his nephew. “But we gotta get rid of these crooked ass Detectives first. As long as they’re alive we gotta keep looking over our shoulders. More so with them than Paybacc ‘cause we don’t know what the fuck to expect with them.”
Once he was buzzed in, Gangsta coasted his whip through the golden gates of Black Jesus’ estate and up the path until he reached his home. He parked in the horse shoe driveway and he and Gouch hopped out. They made their way up the two flights of steps that lead to the door of the drug lord’s home. Gangsta knocked on the door with the brass knocker, a moment later a sexy Cuban woman answered the door wearing a bright smile. This was the maid, Marisol. Slung over her shoulder was an Uzi .9mm, which she held upon her shoulder as if it were the strap of a backpack.
“Hello, senor Gangsta and senor Gouch.” She nodded with a smile. Behind those pearly whites lurked a killer that would catch a body just as fast as she would sweep a floor.
“Hey, Marisol,” Gangsta stepped through the door.
“What’s up, love?” Gouch came in behind his uncle.
“Mr. Arturo is in the dining room.” Marisol informed them.
“Thanks,” Gangsta said over his shoulder.
Entering the dining room, Gangsta and Gouch saw Black Jesus sitting at the table with a husky Mexican man wearing a cheap Pearl Wrinkle blue suit and skinny black tie. He rocked slicked back hair and a thick mustache that curled over his top lip.
“You didn’t tell me you had company.” Gangsta addressed Black Jesus.
“It’s alright.” The drug lord motioned the uncle and nephew over. He introduced them to the man at the table. The man rose to his feet. When he went to shake Gangsta’s hand Gouch got a glimpse of the shield attached to his belt.
“Yo, this mothafucka a detective,” Gouch frowned, head snapping from his uncle to the Mexican man sporting the badge.
Gangsta saw the shield on the Mexican man’s belt and turned to Black Jesus. “Fuck is this, Jesus? This cat is a detective, man.”
“He’s alright, trust me. Have a seat.” Black Jesus motioned to the chairs. Gangsta blew hard and sat at the table, followed by Gouch who was reluctant. The law being in his presence made him skeptical. “You wanna eliminate Detectives Arsenegger and Ortiz, right? Well, Detective De La Rosa is just the man you need to get you close enough to guarantee it’s done.”
Detective Ricardo De La Rosa was Black Jesus’ mole inside of the Newton Division police department. He was the same man that had handed over the personnel files of Detectives Arsenegger and Ortiz when Creeper had suspected that the twosome had unjustly murdered his younger brother.
“There’s a big Poker game coming up that about five other detectives are going to.” Detective De La Rosa began. “Now all of these guys are as dirty as they come. I’m talking about a couple of realllll scum bags here.”
“Which explains why you’re invited?” Gangsta asked.
“Aye, I do what I do to keep a roof over my family’s heads and hot meals on the table. I’ve never gone outside the law to put someone away, or used deadly force when it wasn’t warranted. You wanna see a good cop? Well, I’m about as close as you’re gonna get to one, pal. Some of the characters inside the department are just as shady as the ones in the streets, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.” He adjusted his belt and repositioned himself in the chair, glaring at Gangsta like he wanted to punch him in the face.
“Ricardo, please go on.” Black Jesus urged him with the sway of his hand.
“Like I was saying, these guys are dirty, real scum bags. Every week they have a Poker night at this Detective’s house by the name of Dupri. Well, Dupri and I have been quite friendly with one another so he’s invited me to the game. I figure I’ll
bring in The Gift and a couple of hours into the game I’ll make up some bullshit about going to get some more cash from the ATM. I’ll wait until I get from off the block; press the little button, like so, and presto. Your problem is up in smoke.”
“What about the other cats? You don’t feel anything leaving them aboard a sinking ship?” Gangsta inquired.
“Fuck’em!” De La Rosa spat like it was nothing. “They’re just as grimy as Arsenegger and Ortiz, maybe even grimier. So don’t chu go boohooing over their spilt blood.” He took a sip of champagne.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” Gangsta assured.
“What do you think?” Black Jesus asked.
“Sounds good.”
“So it’s a go?”
“It’s a go.” Gangsta shook hands with Black Jesus and De La Rosa.
$$$
Killa Dre stepped into the doorway of Banga’s room. He watched his friend’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. He listened as the machines he was hooked up to played their own orchestra. He was sure there had been many men, women, and children that had heard this same chilling musical before they were carried over to the next life by the cold hands of Death. He wondered what went through their minds in their last hours: were they scared, or did they embrace it and go willingly? He didn’t know when his time would come, but he knew it could be sooner than most, especially with the life he was leading. He told himself right then and there that when Death came for him that he would look it right in the eyes and accept his fate, like the G he was.
Killa Dre took a deep breath and approached Banga’s bed. As he stood looking over him, his eyes began to flutter and his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to say some-thing.
“What’s…what’s up, Blood?” Banga croaked.
“Ain’t shit, my nigga, just checking in on you.”
“Am I dead? Did I die?” He inquired with narrowed eyes and a crunched forehead.
“Nah, you’re alive.” Killa Dre grinned and placed a hand on his comrade’s shoulder.
“Blood, I’m high as a bitch.” Banga’s face winced.
“I see.” Killa Dre chuckled.
“Where’s Playboy at?” his head was on a swivel looking around for his sibling.
Killa Dre looked to the linoleum and took a deep breath, massaging the bridge of his nose. He tried to think of a way to break the bad news to his homeboy. When he brought his head back up and Banga saw the look in his eyes, the twin had already figured out that his brother didn’t make it. Instantly, his eyes became glassy and misted with tears as his bottom lip quivered. Banga and Playboy had done everything together. They were brothers as well as best-friends. Playboy was the yin to his yang, the pen to his paper, the bullet in his gun, and the bow to his arrow. When Banga realized his brother was dead he thought he heard his heart break in two. At first he was stricken with grief, but then malice quickly poisoned his heart and he balled his hand into a fist.
“I’ma ride on them niggaz, are you with me?” Banga looked to his man, tears jetting down his cheeks as he clenched his jaws tightly. He was staring his homeboy in the eyes intensely.
“You know I’m with that one-eighty seven.” Killa Dre matched the twin’s intensity and extended his hand. They did a complex handshake and pounded the Blood gang sign against there chest.
“Let me get dressed, Blood, and we can…Grrrrrr.” Banga grimaced as he tried to get out of the bed. The pain from his gunshot wounds surged up his torso and wreaked havoc on his body. He was halfway out of bed, and still trying to get up when Killa Dre helped him back into bed.
“Heal up first, my nigga.” Killa Dre urged him, with a hand on his shoulder. “You gotta be in tiptop if we’re gonna get at these buster ass niggaz, can’t be no slouch. A slip up could mark your end. You feel me?”
“Yeah, I gotchu,” Banga assured, grimacing as he lay back in bed trying to get comfortable, “you just be ready for when I get out, ‘cause I’ma turn this city on its head looking for the mothafuckaz that blasted me and my brotha.” He glared at him, nostrils flaring and jaws squared.
“I’ll be ready, Blood. You just get yourself some rest.” Killa Dre covered Banga up with the thin blanket. Next, he turned out the light and left out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Heading down the corridor, he could hear the sobs of his friend as he grieved over his deceased brother.
“Damn.” Killa Dre cursed under his breath and shook his head, thinking how it was a shame that he’d lost another homie to the war. Throwing on his hood, he tucked his hands inside of his pockets and journeyed down the corridor.
Chapter Four
“You’ll love these guys, they’re cool. Trust me.” Detective Dupri said to Detective De La Rosa as they stood outside the door of a white house surrounded by a picket fence. Detective Dupri was a six-one African American brother with a baldhead and a goatee. He was a born leader and considered The Alpha Male among his peers.
“I hope so, we’ll see.” De La Rosa said.
Detective Dupri knocked on the front door. A moment later the door was pulled open by Detective Maza. He had a Budweiser in his hand and was laughing at something one of the guys had told him before he’d opened the door.
“Well, what do we have here? Detective Marlo Dupri,” Maza said, then looked to De La Rosa. “And you, I know you. I’ve seen you around the office before…De La Hoya, right?”
“De La Rosa.” De La Rosa corrected him.
“Aye, man, get the fuck out of the way,” Dupri shoved Maza aside and crossed the threshold. “Treating us like Jehovah Witnesses and shit. It’s colder than Eskimo pussy outside.”
“Aye, who’s the new guy?” Detective Thorn asked from where he was seated at the table.
“Everyone, this is Detective Ricardo De La Rosa, homicide. He transferred to our department about three months ago. He’s good people. Let me introduce you to the gang.” He pointed to each man and called out there names. “This is Thorn. The dick that opened the door is Maza. This is Arsenegger. That there is Ortiz, and this is…” Dupri stopped on a gentleman sitting at the table that he’d never laid eyes on before. He was an older white man with thinning white hair, and he wore glasses. From his style of dress and the briefcase by his foot, De La Rosa figured he had to be a lawyer of some sort.
“This is my godfather.” Thorn told Dupri and De La Rosa.
“Pleasure to meet you, Cheston Murphy.” the lawyer introduced himself and shook both of their hands.
“Marlo Dupri.” Dupri shook his hand after De La Rosa.
De La Rosa smiled on the inside when he saw that Arsenegger and Ortiz were present at the Poker game. Although he was glad that the two shady detectives were in the house, he frowned upon seeing the lawyer being there though. An innocent man wasn’t part of the deal and he sure as hell didn’t want to take his life. He didn’t need that shit on his conscience. Something like that haunted you for the rest of your life; you’d find yourself waking up in cold sweats at night behind shit like that. He had no problem with sending everyone else to eternal damnation because they deserved it. But someone who had nothing to do with the situation was off limits to him.
De La Rosa quickly found himself with a dilemma. He thought his best bet was to wait to see if Cheston would leave earlier than Arsenegger and Ortiz so he could set off the bomb. Otherwise, he’d have to fall back and wait for another time to carrying out the hit.
“I hope you guys don’t mind me sitting in on one of your games.” De La Rosa said to the collective.
“You brought mula?” Detective Ortiz smiled.
“Plenty of it,” De La Rosa answered jovially.
“Then mi casa su casa.” Ortiz winked and took a swig of his beer.
“Have a seat, man.” Dupri motioned to the chair beside De La Rosa.
De La Rosa sat his briefcase down, removed his suit’s jacket and sat down in the chair.
“What’s up with the briefcase?” Arsenegger nodded to the black leather briefcas
e De La Rosa had sat down by his foot.
“Huh?” De La Rosa looked to the briefcase. “Oh, I told my wife that I was going somewhere quiet to do our taxes when I was actually coming over here. She hates that I gamble. I don’t know where my mind went; when I was getting out of the car I just grabbed this thing.”
Once everyone was sitting at the table, Thorn dealt the cards and the Poker game began. The men were about fourteen hands in and De La Rosa was making sure he lost majority of them, but not noticeably. He didn’t want to draw the suspicions of the men, and most importantly, he didn’t want his main targets running out of cash and calling it a night.
The lawyer’s cell phone rang and he took it from his hip. He pressed answer and placed the cell to his ear. “Hello? I’m over here at Toby’s playing Poker with a few of the guys. Goddamn it! I’m on my way!” he put his cellular back on his hip.
“Cheston, where the hell are you going? We’re in the middle of a game.” Maza frowned as he complained.
“I’ve gotta go, I’ll leave my cash in.” Cheston slipped on his suits jacket.
“Is everything all right?” Dupri asked concerned.
“It’s my daughter; she got arrested for a DUI.” Cheston’s face balled up. “Fucking kid, with all of the dough I shell out for college you’d think she’d stay out of trouble.”
Thorn stood up and hugged his godfather. They broke their embrace and he told him, “Make sure you call me once you get in tonight. Love you.”
“I love you, too. I’ll be sure to call you.” Cheston headed out of the door.
“I think I better get going, too.” De La Rosa said rising from the table.
“You, too?” Maza frowned.
“My money’s down, you guys can play for it.” De La Rosa told them. “It’s late and I got to be getting home before my old lady kills me.” He shook hands with everyone sitting at the table. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.” He waved on his way out of the door, closing the door behind him.
Cheston was just pulling off when De La Rosa was coming out of the house. He hopped behind the wheel of his Buick Regal and made a U-turn, heading into the opposite direction of Cheston’s Benz. Once he was a block away, he took the detonator from out of the armrest and pressed the button on it.