by Tranay Adams
De La Rosa had a shocked expression on his face when he saw them; he pushed the sliding glass door open and drew his firearm from his shoulder holster, pointing it at the masked man standing behind his wife. “What the fuck is going on here?” he asked, ready to give the trigger a squeeze. De La Rosa was one hell of a shot, and he was sure he could hit the mothafucka standing behind his wife right between the eyes.
“Retribution,” The masked man replied, “a life for a life.”
Hearing that made De La Rosa’s heart quicken, he instantly knew what the masked man was talking about. He even had a hunch who the men were wearing the ski-masks.
“From that look on your face, I take it you’ve realized who we our?” the masked man pointing his burner at the back of his wife’s dome asked.
“Listen, I didn’t mean for Cheston to get killed, the bomb wasn’t meant for him.” De La Rosa confessed looking scared as shit for his wife’s life. He had a look on his face like he saw Jesus Christ appear before him or some shit.
“We know.” The masked man responded. “That bomb was meant for Arsenegger and Ortiz; we were a bonus, either way you intended to kill us all.”
“Please, keep my family out of this; this doesn’t have anything to do with them.” De La Rosa pleaded.
“Either you go, or they all go. It’s as simple as that.” The masked man stated firmly.
“Fine,” De La Rosa pressed his pistol into his temple, indenting the skin there. His hand trembled as he held the weapon to his head. Sweat began to bead upon his forehead and roll toward his brows. He closed his eyes tightly and bit down on his bottom lip, trying to find the courage to pull the trigger. The hefty man clenched his jaws and bit down on his bottom lip hard.
“Do it!” The masked man screamed and spit flew from off of his lips.
Blam!
De La Rosa’s brain exploded out the side of his skull and splattered upon the ledge of the pool, dripping off into the water below. His family thrashed around in their chairs wildly and screamed as best they could through their gags when the shot rung that ended his life. De La Rosa went face first into the swimming pool and burgundy covered the surface of the water, followed by bubbles. A third masked man stood behind him in the doorway of the glass sliding door holding a pistol. His job was to shoot De La Rosa in the back of the head if he didn’t agree to off himself.
The masked man standing behind De La Rosa’s wife tapped the masked man standing behind the kids and told him, “Let’s go,” while moving to leave.
Revenge was a dish best served cold.
chapter Six
“They’re charging you with unlawful possess of an illegal firearm and attempted murder.” Goldberg informed him and adjusted his specs. He was a Jewish man of average height and a receding hairline. He wore a dark blue suit and striped tie. His nickname was “The Junkyard Dog” because he protected his clients from charges like hound would thieves from its master’s business. He was a beast in the courtroom and had more connections than the back of a cable box.
“Ain’t that about a bitch, the nigga tried to fit me for a suit and coffin!” Pavielle said angrily with a hoarse voice and through chapped lips. His left-wrist was handcuffed to the guardrail of the bed. A sheriff had come in earlier and read him his Miranda Rights and told him what he was under arrest for. Gangsta made a call to Artie Goldberg and he came right down. The old Jew was the family lawyer. He was at their every beck and call, this is because whenever they were in need there was money to be made.
“They have video surveillance footage of you entering his hotel room.” Goldberg told him.
“Nah, nah, nah,” Pavielle shook his head no. “They saw somebody enter his room, who’s to say it was me?”
“Mr. Hood, they found you inside of Mr. Grant’s hotel room with a .9mm automatic. The ballistics done on the weapon proves that the bullets found in his body were from your gun.”
“What about the mothafucking slugs found in my ass, huh?” Pavielle frowned and twisted his lips.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Grant isn’t alive to be brought upon charges, but you are.” Goldberg pointed out.
“Whatever, fam, how much is it going to cost me to make this go away?” he asked, ready to handover whatever amount of money it would take to sweep the matter under the rug.
“Three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars and I’ll see what I can do.”
Before Pavielle’s eyes he saw Goldberg transform into Dracula and bare his fangs. The money hungry mothafucka was a vampire, a bloodsucker. He was good at his job, but like every lawyer he tried to suck every dollar he could out of his clients. But what the fuck was Pavielle going to do? He was between a rock and a hard place, so he had to do what he had to do to guarantee that his future wouldn’t be spent behind bars.
“No, for Three-hundred and fifty bands, you’re gonna make this shit disappear, right?” Pavielle raised his eyebrow and gave him a stern look. Goldberg nodded in understanding if he was to take the money. He knew that if he didn’t do what he said he was going to do then he could find himself in a bad way and he wasn’t about to chance that. No fucking way. “I’ll have my fiancé drop them ends off at your office tomorrow morning, around noon.”
Goldberg left the room, and Vayda stepped into the doorway wearing a smile. Pavielle looked up at her and gave a smirk. She sat her purse on the dresser and hugged her boo, kissing him passionately. She hugged him again tightly, like if she left him go then he’d rise into the air and be carried off by the wind like a balloon. Her eyes welled up and tears spilled down her golden red cheeks.
“I’ve missed you so much.” She told him, wiping her eyes with a curled finger.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Pavielle confessed, the back of his hand caressing her cheek. “While I was asleep all I could do was dream about you and the baby.” He rubbed on her round belly and smiled proudly. She had always beautiful to him, but he found her that more attractive being pregnant with his seed. “What do you want to name him?” He pulled a few Kleenexes from the boss beside the bed and began dabbing her face dry of the wetness.
“I don’t know yet, I was hoping that you had a name in mind.” She sniffled as he dried her checks.
Pavielle chuckled and said, “That’s a damn shame, we don’t know what we’re going to name our son.” He balled up the Kleenexs that he used to dab her cheeks with and rested his hand on his lap.
“We still got time.” Vayda smiled. “We’ll come up with a name before he’s here.” She looked up at his frizzy cornrows and played with his hair. “Your shits looking bad, boo. I gotta comb and a jar of Vaseline in my bag; I’ma hook you up, okay?”
“Bool.”
She retrieved a comb and a small jar of Vaseline from her purse. She stuffed an extra pillow behind her fiancé, which she’d gotten from off the other bed, to prop his head up. Grimacing, Pavielle slid over to the right as much as his handcuffed hand and wounds would allow. Vayda parted his hair and slicked Vaseline down the visible skin, beginning the task of braiding his hair. Pavielle watched the police officer that was there to guard his door.
This mothafucka is like a guard dog, Pavielle thought. Strip him of his gun and his badge and what do you have? A pussy! A lily white pussy, there’s no way he could survive in these streets. Look at him. He shook his head at the scrawny and nerdy uniformed officer that was wearing a hard face. He was trying to mirror toughness, but the young kingpin read him like a good book. It was the experiences in life that hardened a man and prepared him for harsh times, experiences that the officer was trying to display with a mean mug that had to be shown with heart and balls. Your eyes reflected your road through life not the expression your face projected.
“So, what is the lawyer talking about?” Vayda asked.
“Money,” Pavielle answered. “That’s what all of those cock suckas talk about. That’s all they understand?”
“I’ma need you to drop off three-hundred and fifty bands to his office.” Pavielle told her
. “He said they’re gonna book me into The Towers, but I want chu to be ready with that bail money ‘cause I’m not tryna sit there any longer than I have to.”
“You know your lady got chu. Ride or die.” She held out the inside of her wrist, showing off the tattoo in fancy lettering: Ride of die. Pavielle boasted the same tattoo which he’d also gotten on the inside of his wrist. They’d gotten the ink the day after they were engaged. It was a way of showing their loyalty to one another.
“Ride or die.” He repeated as she leaned closer and kissed him.
“That’s messed up that you still gotta go to jail, though”
“Yeah, that’s just the process. But Goldberg’s gonna make this whole thing go up in smoke. Fucking Jew costs an arm and a leg, but with his connections it’s well worth it.”
Pavielle grew still and quiet for a moment. Vayda glanced at him and could tell that he was thinking about something. “What’s on your mind, baby?”
“All of the things I gotta deal with once I touch these streets.” He admitted. “It’s one headache after the other when you’re in the thick of this shit.”
Once Pavielle had come out of his coma and shook the fog that clouded his brain, he was brought up to speed on everything that had occurred since he was held captive within the confines of his mind. He was told about the recent reemergence of a foe that was proving to be more of a nuisance than Nightmare ever was. He was ten times as worse and willing to go the extra mile and then some. Pavielle knew that Paybacc was going to be more than a handful, which meant he had his work cut out for him. He knew that these kinds of situations came with being a boss and he had to rectify them as quickly as possible.
Then there was crooked ass Detective Arsenegger. He snuck into his room like a thief in the night and tried to steal his life. Not to mention, he tried to have his entire crew and set eradicated. When the idea of murking Arsenegger was first brought to the attention of Pavielle, he brushed it off. He couldn’t entertain the idea of murdering a cop, but this time it was different. That crooked ass Arsenegger was trying to kill him, so he had no choice but to kill him. It wasn’t any way around it. He had to treat homeboy like he’d treat an enemy of his hood. From now on it was T.O.S: Terminate on Sight. So if he saw him in traffic in that Crown Vic, then he was lighting that mothafucka up. Straight like that. There was no doubt in his mind. He didn’t give a mad ass fuck. He had a family to take care of and he was going to make sure he was alive to do it.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Vayda said, braiding her man’s hair.
“You can say that again.” Pavielle stared ahead at nothing.
$$$
“For three-hundred and fifty kay he better make this shit poof into smoke.” Gouch looked over his shoulder at Goldberg as he headed out of the waiting room. Gangsta had just sat down after talking to him and told him how much he was charging Pavielle to handle his charges. Although Goldberg was a good lawyer, like his little brother, Gouch despised his money grubbing ass. He felt that he was all about his money, which was OK, but he thought he should show some humanity behind it. “Fucking paper gangsta,” He shook his head shamefully.
“It’s cool. Just as long as dude gets Booby off, I’m not tripping.” Gangsta patted him on the back. “Even if it costs a million to guarantee my nephew’s freedom, I’d pay it. I’d cash-out every time.”
“Look at this nigga,” Gouch smiled at pointed at a sleeping Killa Dre. He was laid back in his chair with his head cocked to the side, drooling out of the corner of his mouth. His saliva dripped on to his shirt and created a dark wet spot.
Gangsta smiled and shook his head. “Lil’ homie is tired. Long days and even longer nights: the life of a hustla. I know it all too well.”
Gouch picked a few nuts from his bag of Planters cashew nuts and started throwing them at Killa Dre, trying to land one inside of his mouth. One landed inside of the young nigga’z grill and he gagged. He quickly sat up and rubbed his throat, looking around shocked with his bloodshot and glassy eyes. He spotted Gouch and Gangsta laughing and knew that they did something to him.
“Why are you niggaz playing, Blood?” he scowled, picking up the cashews that littered his shirt and threw them at Gouch and Gangsta. It didn’t faze them because they kept right along laughing. Pissed off, Killa Dre pulled his jacket over his head and went back to sleep.
“I’ma run down stairs real quick and grab me something out of one of these vending machines.” Gangsta informed his oldest nephew as he rose to his feet.
“I’m coming with you, I want something to drink.” Gouch followed behind him.
Gangsta and Gouch looked over the outside vending machines trying to see what they wanted to purchase. Gangsta winded up getting a Minute Maid apple juice and a turkey sandwich, while Gouch settled on an A&W Root Beer. They turned to leave but froze in their tracks once they found a threesome of men before them. They all wore hard faces except for the muscular one. He was the first to speak.
“Well, isn’t it big bad Gangsta from Eastside Rolling 20s.” Paybacc smiled, boasting his infamous gold capped tooth. “What’s cracking, Outlaw? Long time no see, homie.” Gangsta and Gouch’s faces twitched with anger. He addressed Gouch. “You must be Gouch, I’ve heard so much about chu. Word is you’re about putting in that work. I must tip my hat to you, my nigga; from one killa to anotha. Salute,” He saluted Gouch. Paybacc noticed Gouch and Gangsta’s hands moving toward their waistlines where their bangers were stashed. The smile vanished from his face and was replaced with one of seriousness. “If y’all niggaz wanna get stupid then we can get downright fucking retarded.” He said from the confines of his wheelchair, his thick, muscular neck moving between the uncle and nephew. He’d been sitting in it when he was rolled through the metal-detector to thwart attention from the guns he had stashed within the recesses of his hefty jacket. His hands were resting on the armrests, but Domino and Wacko were ready to draw on Gouch and Gangsta. “I’d much rather not dumb out in this bitch, especially with the boys present.” He nodded to the right where a couple of cops were drinking coffee and indulging in Danishes inside of the hospital cafeteria.
Gangsta spared a glance at the cops and tapped Gouch, letting him know that the law was definitely in the house. Gouch let his hand fall to his side. Domino and Wacko lowered their hands as well. “If you’re not here to spill blood, then what the fuck do you want then?”
“I’m here to offer you a proposition.” Paybacc lie back in his wheelchair and put his finger tips and thumbs together.
“Go on.” Gangsta told him.
“Gimmie Booby and this whole thing is over. It’s just as simple as that.”
“You’re outta your fucking mind if you think we’re…” Gouch was cut short by Gangsta nudging him.
“Not a fucking chance. This thing is bigger than you and I, homeboy. I lost my moms, my friends, and countless homies behind this here. So this thing ain’t over until a smoking gun is in my hand and your dead body is at my feet. Booby and Nightmare may have started this, but it’s you and I who are going to finish it. And I put that on Blood Gang.” He stared into Paybacc’s eyes with murderous intentions. He wanted to say fuck it and dumb-out, but he had to be the rational thinker amongst he and Gouch. He had made his sister a promise to take care of his nephews until he lay beside her in the dirt, so he was still obligated to his responsibility, even though Pavielle and Gouch were grown.
Paybacc shrugged and threw up his hands like OK, I tried to compromise. “If that’s how you wanna play it, cuz. Just remember it’s your funeral…as well as your loved ones.” Paybacc mad dogged them both before swinging his wheelchair around and rolling off. Domino and Wacko slowly stepped backwards with their hands lingering near their weapons. Once they were sure Gangsta and Gouch weren’t going to make a move, they hurried off behind Paybacc.
“You see that shit, Blood?” Gouch asked Gangsta after Paybacc and his minions had parted. “This mothafucka is on top of us. We gotta find ou
t where these niggaz lay at and wet’em up.”
Gangsta nodded in agreement and said, “Come on, let’s get back up stairs.”
Paybacc and his dogs had to go; there’s wasn’t any questioning it.
Chapter Seven
Detective Arsenegger sat perched on a stool nursing a glass of his favorite drink, White Russian. In his mind his thoughts were in labor trying to birth a master plan that would enable him to get rid of all of his adversaries at once: Gangsta, Gouch, Pavielle and Black Jesus. He knew he wouldn’t be able to have a peace of mind until he was relieving himself upon their tombstones. He didn’t know what his strategy was going to be, but it was going to have to be epic if he was going to rid Los Angeles of some of its most belligerent gangsters.
Ever since he was a kid playing cops and robbers with his older brother, Detective
Ryan Arsenegger dreamt of being a police officer. His father was a cop, his father’s father was a cop, and his old man before him wore the shield. It was a family tradition for the Arseneggers to be in law enforcement, so it didn’t come as a surprise when Ryan entered the academy.
Ryan dived into the game headfirst not knowing exactly what he was getting himself involved in. His father and grandfather had told him some pretty scary stories about their experiences in the streets, but nothing could prepare him like experiences of his own. The job was more hectic than he expected, and he was under more stress than he imagined. Not to mention he’d almost been killed on more than one occasion. Over time the occupational hazard of a law enforcer began to wear on Ryan and he slowly began to change.