by Tranay Adams
Kaboom!
De La Rosa watched in his rearview as a huge fireball shot into the air. His eyes bugged, his heart dropped, and his stomach twisted into knots once he realized that it wasn’t the house that he’d just blown up, but the vehicle Cheston had drove off in. Upon further inspection in the rearview mirror, he saw the detectives running out into the street toward the explosion.
It dawned on De La Rosa that Cheston must have picked up his briefcase thinking it was his own when he was leaving the house. De La Rosa looked away from the rearview mirror, shaking his head. He had just bought his way into hell.
$$$
“No, no,” Thorn screamed at the raging fire that burned the wreckage that was Cheston’s car. He could make out his burning carcass behind the wheel of the vehicle. Tears rolled down his face as he fought against Maza and Dupri who was holding him back from the fire. Giving up, Thorn hung his head and continued to weep with tears dropping from his eyes and splashing on the streets. “Oh God, Oh my God no…” he sobbed and his entire body shuddered.
Car alarms blared and neighborhood dogs barked. A fire truck and an ambulance siren wailed in the distance as they were on their way.
$$$
“How in the fuck did you miss?” Gangsta asked angrily from where he stood in Black Jesus’ study.
“It was a lawyer there that had the same briefcase as me. He had to have picked mine up thinking it was his when he left.” De La Rosa shook his head and ran his hand down his face. “What the fuck are the chances?” he put one hand on his hip and brushed his hair back with the other. It was apparent that he was stressed out now. Not only would the dirty detectives be on his ass, but the death of an innocent man would be on his shoulders now.
“Shit, that may have been our only chance to kill two birds with one stone.” Gangsta vented and took a deep breath.
“Not necessarily.” Gouch said, looking the stuffed hyena on the display dead in its eyes. “I could find out where he lay his head, walk upon him, and squeeze one through his temple. I’ll make it quick and clean. Screw a silencer on the end of the barrel, and the only sound there’ll be is the one his body makes when hits the ground.” He continued to eyeball the hyena and maneuver the stand it was on, moving his head from left to right. Killing was a skill that Gouch honed over the years. He had become more proficient over time and grew to love it. Once he got on your trail you were as good as dead.
“Nah, I don’t want there to be any links back to us when these two get dropped.” Gangsta stated seriously.
Gouch stepped away from the hyena and approached his uncle. “You know my stelo, unc. No one will ever know I was there, I’ll be gone with the wind.”
Gangsta shook his head and gripped his nephew’s shoulder. “We just got chu back, I’m not tryna chance losing you again.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Black Jesus steepled his hands in his lap.
Gangsta brought his hands down his face and blew hard. “I don’t know. I need some time to think.”
“OK.” Black Jesus nodded.
“Listen, I gotta get going, I got to get back to the office.” De La Rosa said to Black Jesus as he slipped on his coat, one arm at a time. “I’m sorry about all of this, Gangsta.” He patted him on the back and left out of the study.
“Fat fuck,” Gangsta cursed heatedly once he was gone.
The next day
Detective Arsenegger and Ortiz were out at sea on his boat drinking cold-ones and watching the waves of the ocean. Arsenegger was dressed in a white V-neck, white linen shorts, and Louis Vuitton boat shoes while Ortiz rocked black sunglasses, a blue Lacoste sweater vest, which he wore over his bare chest to show off his toned arms, and low-top Lacoste sneakers.
“Why do you think De La Rosa would try to set us up?”
“Money, what other excuse would he need? You don’t know him, and I know I sure as hell don’t. So this isn’t about something that we’ve done to him.” Arsenegger was sure of this. “Someone put him up to it, and I’m betting all of my money that it’s Gangsta.”
“Gangsta? You think he’d have the cojones?”
“Gangsta has balls just as big as anybody that’s worth mentioning in the streets. You think ‘cause we wear these shields that he wouldn’t take a shot at us? Especially after I promised to whack his entire family? Nah, it was definitely him, but De La Rosa is Black Jesus’ bitch. He’s his inside man, it makes perfect sense.”
Earlier that day Arsenegger had gotten a call from Thorn saying that he’d cracked open the black leather briefcase that was left behind. Inside he’d found court documents and other paperwork, but more importantly, a name engraved at the corner inside the lid of the briefcase: Cheston Murphy. This was proof that Cheston had left with the briefcase that belonged to De La Rosa and was most likely carrying the bomb.
“What’s on our agenda now?” Ortiz inquired.
“Nothing changes, we’re hitting them all: Gangsta, Black Jesus, and all of their people. That’s the only way I can get some fucking sleep now.”
“Who’s up?”
“We hit Booby tonight; find out who’s on his door.” Arsenegger told him. “A stack if he let’s us walk through. While we’re tucking him in, Thorn will be taking care of De La Rosa.”
“Hello, Dupri?” Ortiz said into his cell phone. It was time to set all of the pieces of the puzzle into place.
Chapter Five
Detective Arsenegger stood at the kitchen table taking sips of a White Russian and looking over a pyramid of photographs laid out before him. Many of the black & white photographs wore red Xs on them. The photographs that wore the Xs were of the men who’d been murdered. Some of the photographs that wore the Xs were of Tango, Julio, Debo, Ridah Man, Neck Bone, Nightmare, Taco, etc. The only photograph that wore a question mark was the one of Gouch, since he’d gone missing and no one knew where to find him.
It was just as he’d thought, if he played the background for a while the players would begin to eliminate one another, and in no time he was proven right. Though many of the men had met their demise, Arsenegger reasoned he still had his work cut out for him. Not only did he have Black Jesus and his empire to bring down, but he had to keep to a promise he’d made. He’d promised Gangsta that he was going to murder his entire family, including his crew, and he aimed to keep his word.
Arsenegger stood in the full body mirror combing his hair back. He was dressed in a gray blazer and two tone Oxford shoes. Once he was done he sat the comb on the dresser and put on his Porkpie hat. He threw on his overcoat and picked up the bouquet of flowers lying on his bed. Journeying down the hallway, he met his wife as she came through the door with two brown paper bags of groceries. She was a tall slender woman with long brunette hair and ocean blue eyes. A slight sprinkle of freckles accented her nose and cheeks.
“Hey, honey.” She kissed him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” He responded with a toothy smile.
“Why are you all dressed up like you’re going to a funeral?” She observed his attire.
“Could be that I am,” he strolled out of the door.
$$$
A station wagon sat idling just outside UCLA Hospital with its headlights out. Its occupants were two unsavory characters who were as much acquainted with illicit activities as the criminals they arrested. As law enforcers their job was to rid the streets of bad guys, but on the road to accomplish this they became the very same criminals they despised. Now they were nothing more than a couple of gangsters with badges.
“Who’s watching the door up there?” Arsenegger asked from the shadows of the backseat.
“Bendis.”
“The rookie?”
Ortiz nodded. “He’s Dupri’s wife’s nephew, we’ve already greased his palm. All you gotta do is slip in and slip out…like a cat burglar.” He handed him a silenced pistol.
“What is this for?” Arsenegger asked.
“It’s just in case, you never know.”
Arsenegger stas
hed the pistol inside of his suit’s jacket and hopped out of the car. When he entered the hospital the nurses’ station was so crowded with visitors that they didn’t notice him ease by and slip into an elevator. The elevator doors parted and he stepped out moving down the hallway. From a far he scoped a uniformed officer sitting outside a room with his face buried in The Los Angeles Times news paper. As he strolled up the officer’s eyes peered over the news paper and he gave him a slight nod. Arsenegger smiled sinisterly and tipped his hat to him before pushing his way inside of the room.
$$$
All that could be heard in Pavielle’s hospital room was the Beeps of the heart monitor. The room was dark save for the light illuminating his face from above his head. He lay in his cast iron-bed in a coma, hooked to tubes and an assortment of devices to monitor his vitals.
Death loomed in the atmosphere, the silhouette of the Grim Reaper moving past the wall made this evident.
A man with slicked back hair had entered Pavielle’s room with a bouquet of flowers. He laid the flowers on the nightstand beside the bed and sat his hat on Pavielle’s chest. “I made your uncle a promise, and I intend to keep it.” Detective Arsenegger whispered into Pavielle’s ear before pulling one of the pillows from behind his head and pressing it over his face, pressing down upon it.
Arsenegger spotted a red dot traveling up the side of the bed. The red dot journeyed up his torso and settled on his left-breast where his heart resided. A look of confusion ceased Arsenegger’s face and he looked up to find a silhouette sitting in a chair. The light over the neighboring bed came on exposing a man perched in the chair. It was Gangsta. He wore a scowl and held a Sig Sauer in his right palm, which was equipped with an infra-red laser.
“If you don’t take that pillow from my nephew’s face, I’m gonna plug you with so many holes…that doctors won’t know where to begin to stop the bleeding.” Gangsta spoke through gritted teeth. His eyes were glassy and intimidating. His finger rested over the trigger of his weapon, ready to give a squeeze if the crooked detective disobeyed his order.
Arsenegger froze in place with an “Oh, shit” expression on his face holding the pillow over Pavielle’s face. His eyes widen with fear and his mouth formed an O. All of the color drained from his face seeing the notorious drug dealer there with a banger on his ass.
“He’s not gonna tell you twice,” a voice came from behind Arsenegger. He would have attempted to glance over his shoulder if it wasn’t for the Beretta pressed to the back of his skull. He removed the pillow from Pavielle’s face and raised his hands in surrender. Gouch slowly turned him around. A thorough pat down produced a pistol with a silencer screwed on its barrel.
“What’re you going to do, kill me?” Arsenegger asked with a devilish smile. “I’ma officer of the law, I’m practically untouchable.”
“That’s right, asshole…practically.” Gouch stashed his Beretta in his waistline and struck Arsenegger across the jaw with his own gun, spilling him to the floor. He went to work kicking and stomping his mothafucking ass. Arsenegger’s eyes rolled around in his head, he was dazed. Gouch pressed his sneaker to the nigga’z chest, shoved his silenced burner into his grill, and looked away as he applied pressure to the trigger. He’d just about pulled it back when Gangsta ordered him to stop.
“Fuck this grease ball mothafucka, unc.” Gouch spat. He was ready to stain the waxed floor with Arsenegger’s brain.
“Nah, not here, Gucci,” Gangsta placed his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. He then pulled Arsenegger to his feet and pressed his Sig under his chin, telling him, “If I ever catch you near my blood again, I’m going to slaughter your entire family. Do I make myself clear?” Gangsta’s eyes held a glint of evil. He wanted to shoot Arsenegger so bad that his dick was hard. The crooked detective nodded his understanding. “Good. Now get the fuck outta here.” He shoved him toward the door.
When Arsenegger walked out of the room, the uniformed cop that had been watching the door came inside with his gun at the ready. This was Killa Dre disguised as Dupri’s wife’s nephew.
“Is everything OK?” Killa Dre inquired, brows furrowed. Gangsta and Gouch nodded. “Where’s old boy?”
“Restroom,” Gangsta answered.
Killa Dre opened the restroom door and turned on the light. Sitting on the commode was rookie Officer Bendis in a wife-beater and boxers. He wore a sack over his head and his ankles and wrists were bound by duct-tape. His legs trembled nervously and there was a puddle of yellow fluid at his feet.
“Blood, this nigga done pissed on himself.” Killa Dre shook his head, looking at the faggot ass cop pitifully. “Binem be straight pussy without a gun and a badge.”
“We shouldn’t have let that mothafucka go, man.” Gouch brushed the top of his head with his palm. This is something he did every time he was agitated. “You and Booby tender hearted asses. He didn’t want me to slump Bully and look what happened, we lost Big Head and Woo. You think Arsenegger’s slimy ass gone let this ride? He’s gonna come after us.”
“I know that; he’ll be dealt with.” Gangsta said after pulling his head back in from taking a quick scan of the hallway. “I just don’t wanna spill him in here. We’re in a hospital full of people, there’s no way we’re gonna get a body outta here without them noticing. I tell you all the time to think before you react. It’s a time and place for that gung-ho shit, Billy the Kid.”
“What’re we gonna do about Booby, man? I don’t wanna leave him up here like this, that cock sucka might come back.”
“I’ll get Goldberg to see about moving him to another hospital, and I’ll hire some security to watch his room. Just can’t have Binem standing guard over him. There’s no telling how deep Arsenegger’s ties run with the department, especially Newton Division.”
“What about this faggot?” Killa Dre asked about Bendis. He had his silver revolver pressed to his temple and was ready to nod him if his big homie gave the word.
Gangsta pulled a worn brown leather wallet from Killa Dre’s back pocket. He removed Bendis’s I.D and a picture of his family from it and let it fall to the floor. He pulled the sack from Bendis’s head. The African American officer’s eyes were bloodshot and glassy from crying. Gangsta ripped the duct-tape from his mouth, taking some of his facial hair along with it and leaving a red strip across his mouth. Bendis winced from the pain. There’s was green snot bubbles forming out of his left nostril.
“Oh, God, I promise…I promise I won’t say a word. Just let me…” A vicious slap across the face silenced Bendis and busted his lip.
“Shut the fuck up, and listen to what I’m about to tell you,” Gangsta barked. He recited Bendis’s full name and home address from his California I.D card. He then looked the picture of his family over and showed it to him. “This is a nice family you have here, Eugene. I take it that you love them.”
“Yes…yes, I do.” Bendis nodded as tears rolled down his face.
“I’ll advise you to keep that in mind before you open your mouth about me and my friends, ‘cause should any of our names come up for any reason at all, guess who’s coming to dinner? Me and my pals,” He threw his arm around Killa Dre’s shoulder and the young boy smiled wickedly. “We’re going to dismantle your children piece by piece, and then I’m gonna let junior here fuck your wife until she cums outta of her asshole, and that’ll be right before he slits her throat. You copy that, Gene?”
“Yes.” Bendis’s voice cracked with emotions and he hung his head.
Gangsta grabbed a fistful of Bendis’s hair and pulled his head up so he’d be looking directly into his eyes. “I can’t hear you.” He told him then turned his ear toward his mouth.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good, boy,” Gangsta patted his cheek gently. “Now, once we make our exit you’re gonna go back to your post like none of this ever happened, comprende?” Bendis nodded.
Snikt!
The switch-blade sounded when Killa Dre extended its blade. Bendis’s eyes bugged a
nd he looked as if he was gonna shit his trousers. “Relax. I’m only gonna cut chu loose, dawg.” Killa Dre assured him.
“Unc,” Gouch yelled from Pavielle’s bedside.
Gangsta and Killa Dre approached Pavielle’s bed, he was squeezing Gouch’s hand and his eyes were fluttering.
“Gu…Gucci,” he uttered through dry chapped lips.
The Lord works in mysterious way.
$$$
Ortiz was busy playing Tetris on his cell phone when he looked up and saw Arsenegger staggering down the block like an old drunk. Ortiz whipped his gun out from its holster and hopped out of the car. He rushed to Arsenegger’s aide, throwing his arm over his shoulder and helping him to the car.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked concerned, sitting him in the backseat and checking him for any wounds.
“Gangsta and his nephew were up there,” Arsenegger winced, making ugly faces of pain. He touched his lip and his fingers came away with blood. “They ambushed me before I could get the job done.”
“Shit.” Ortiz punched the backdoor in a fit and then kicked it hard as fuck. “I’m gonna see if I can catch them.” He made to leave but Arsenegger grabbed him by the arm of his jacket.
“No, let’em go,” Arsenegger gave him a stern look. “Let’s just get outta here.”
Ortiz closed the backdoor and ran around to get in on the other side.
Fourteen floors up in County General hospital, Gangsta stared down at the streets through the curtains watching as the detectives pulled away.
This shit ain’t over, far from it, Gangsta thought.
The next day
“Honey, I’m home!” De La Rosa said jovially as he entered through the front door of his suburban home. He hung his coat up on the coat-hanger by the door and tossed his keys upon the coffee-table as he journeyed down the hallway calling out his wife and kids names. He checked their bedrooms and the bathroom before heading out into the backyard. Approaching the double glass sliding doors, he saw his wife and their two kids tied to chairs with black pillow cases over their heads at the swimming pool. They squirmed around in their seats, trying desperately to free themselves from their restraints. Two masked men dressed in black fatigues stood behind them: one of them had a pistol pointed to the back of the wife’s head, while the other had one pointed to the back of the son and daughter’s heads.