Me and My Hittas 4

by Tranay Adams

  “Blood, you look like Eazy E with that get-up on.” Killa Dre laughed referring to the Jheri Curl wig, Oakland Raiders snapback and black shades Banga had worn as a disguise so that Passion wouldn’t recognize him. “You see her in there?”

  “Yeah, she should be coming out in a minute.” Banga told him as he took off his disguise. He and Killa Dre watched the entrance of the club, paying close attention to everyone coming out. “There that hoe go, right there.” Banga pointed to Passion who’d just emerged from the club with one of the bouncers following her to her car with the trash bags of money. Killa Dre waited a moment after she pulled off and followed behind her. They followed her all of the way home and parked across the street, two houses down from her residents. They watched her go into the house and close the door behind her.

  Killa Dre slid his gloves on and pulled his burner from underneath his seat. “Alright, I’ll be right back.” He moved to open the door, but Banga grabbed his arm.

  “She’s mine; it was my brother that she peeled, if I let chu nod her it won’t mean nothing.” He gave him a stern look. Right after, he checked the magazine of his banger and chambering a round into its head.

  Click! Clack!

  Killa Dre nodded, understanding fully where his homeboy was coming from. Not too long ago he had tracked down his brother’s murderer and spilled his blood. He couldn’t imagine allowing someone else to take the vengeance that was meant for him. It was his brother; therefore it was his obligation to carry out the execution of his shooter.

  “Hold it down; I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Banga told him before hopping out of the car and jogging across the street, looking both ways.

  $$$

  The dining room glass table was completely covered with bills of all denominat-ions. Passion sat at the end of the table counting her take for the night by hand and occasionally taking sips from a glass of Amsterdam Vodka and Minute Maid fruit punch. Growing tired of counting, Passion sat the stack of money she’d been counting aside. She sat her purse on her lap and rummaged through it until she produced what she was looking for: a small zip-loc of heroin, a syringe, a tourniquet and a lighter. Passion went into the kitchen and got a spoon and a bottle of water. She emptied some of the heroin out onto the spoon along with some water. She struck a flame with her lighter and held it under the spoon until it heated and began to bubble. She then dropped a piece of cotton onto the spoon and allowed it to absorb the heroin. Seeing that the cotton had absorbed the heroin, Passion picked up the syringe and drew the heroin into it through the cotton. She sat the syringe down and picked up the tourniquet. She tied the tourniquet around her arm and pulled it tight with her teeth. Passion then smacked her arm until a green vein appeared before her eyes. Next, she picked up the syringe and penetrated her vein with the needle.

  Passion had never considered doing heroin until she lost her best-friend and the love of her life. She and Traquila had known each other since junior high school. They lost their virginity together on the same night to the Kennedy twins and had their first experience with the same sex with one another. They were as tight as blood sisters, and even had one another’s names tattooed on them. They’d even made a pact that when they’d died that they’d be buried right beside each other.

  Losing Traquila was like losing a part of herself. Passion knew she’d never feel whole again. There was no one that could fill that void that Traquila left behind, so she looked for a temporary relief, and she found it in the form of heroin. One of the girls at the club had made the introductions between Passion and that boy heroin. At first she was hesitant to fuck with him, knowing how he got down and how he’d turned people out. But the retreat he provided from reality was too sweet to pass by, and before she knew it, Mr. H was snaking his way through her veins and into her heart. She had fallen in love, and what’s worse is she became sprung. She found herself stalking him, trying to see him every day. And she did, but it came with a price, just like everything else that’s worth having.

  Once the needle broke the surface and entered Passion’s vein, blood rushed inside of the syringe causing the heroin to look murky. She was just about to push the heroin into her vein when the lights went out in the house.

  “Shit!” Passion cursed, removing the syringe from her arm and laying it on the table. She took a sip of her Vodka and fruit punch and walked over to the light switch. She flipped the light switch on and off, but it didn’t come on. She heard the window over the kitchen sink shatter and it startled her, causing her to drop her glass of Vodka. The glass hit the floor and shattered into pieces, scattering shards everywhere. Passion ran for the front door, but tripped and fell on her side. Quickly, she got up on her feet and ran to the door. She undone all of the locks and removed the chain. As soon as she swung the door open her eyes lit up and she gasped.

  Crack!

  Banga smacked Passion across her head with the butt of his banger, spinning her around and dropping her to the floor.

  “It’s time to pay the piper, bitch!” he spoke with frightening eyes, stalking his way inside of the house with his gun at his side. Dazed and confused, Passion slowly got up on her knees and hands. “Yeah, big baby, it’s about that time.” Banga moved in to tie up the loose end, and suddenly she shot out of the living room, heading for the kitchen. Gritting his teeth, Banga gripped his cannon with both hands like One Time and lifted it. He cracked off two rounds: one hit the kitchen doorway and sprayed splinters, while the other shattered a glass vase sitting on the windowpane.

  Passion disappeared through the dooray.

  “Shit.” Banga fumed, pissed off that he’d missed his intended target. He crept into the kitchen with his burner raised at his shoulder; he peeked around the corner of the back porch doorway and was blinded by bleach to the eyes. He screamed as the liquid burned his sight, throwing an arm across his brows. Passion kicked him in the balls and he doubled over, grabbing his family jewels.

  “Uhh!” She then tackled him. He hit the wall and his banger flew from his hand, hitting the floor and skidding across the surface in circles. While Banga lay on the floor grimacing and holding his testicles, he saw Passion running for his banger and he stuck his foot out. She tripped over his leg and went crashing to the floor, bumping her head. Banga scrambled to his feet and turned on the faucet. He cupped his hands under the flowing water and washed out his eyes as best as he could. He used his shirt to dry his eyes and moved to get his banger, which was lying beside a dazed Passion. While Banga had been drying his eyes with his shirt, Passion saw the stitches and staples in his torso from his surgery. Seeing him reaching for his weapon, she snarled like a wild tigress and drove her arcylic nails into the wedges of his stitches. Banga’s eyes bugged and he screamed in agony, he’d never felt such a searing excruciation. Passion gritted her teeth and gave him an evil glare. She dug her nails further in between his stitches, reopening his wound and spilling his blood. Banga dropped to his knees; he was in so much pain that he couldn’t even scream anymore. Passion’s fingers were halfway into his wound and she was forcing them in even deeper. The hoodlum was paralyzed by her attack, but he had to do something before she managed to kill him. With that in mind, Banga balled his fist tight and cracked her ass across the jaw, laying her the fuck out. Leaking all over the place, Banga held his stomach and crawled toward his joint. Passion moaned as she lay on the floor trying to gather her wits. Banga scooped his weapon into his palm and wrapped his finger around the trigger. He went to turn around and felt a sharp pain at the top of his shoulder that caused him to holler out. He brought himself around and saw Passion with a crazed look in her eyes about to bring a butcher’s knife down again.

  Blam!

  A bullet ripped through Passion’s shoulder and she hit the floor, dropping the butcher’s knife. It clasped when it hit the linoleum. She clenched her jaws tightly, trying to fight the fire in her shoulder. She looked to her right and saw the butcher’s knife lying two feet from her grasp. It was shiny and s
tained with her victim’s blood. With her sights set on it, she went to grab it and a gaping hole appeared on her thigh. She hollered and grabbed her thigh, having been shot.

  “Youz about a hard headed ass bitch,” Killa Dre shook his head pitifully. He saw Passion look to the butcher’s knife again. “You wanna try going for it again? Go ahead. The next shot will put chu in a sleep so deep nobody will be able to wake you up from it.” Seeing that homegirl wasn’t about to test his gangsta, Killa Dre glanced at Banga. “You all right, Blood?” He asked his homeboy. Not waiting for an answer, Killa Dre kept his gun trained on Passion while he lifted Banga’s shirt. What he saw made him cringe and lower the shirt. “Hold on, B. We’re going to get chu some help, dawg.” He assured his comrade and walked over to the stripper.

  “Where is that nigga Paybacc hiding at?” Killa Dre asked watching Passion bawl on the floor, wincing. She was in a world of pain and didn’t answer him. Killa Dre blew hard and kneeled down. He clutched her jaws causing her mouth to open and stuck his banger into it, making her gag on the gun’s metal. “I’ma run this by you one more time, sweetheart. Where the fuck is Paybacc?” he asked with a no nonsense attitude. Tears ran from the corners of Passion’s eyes as she tried to say something with a mouth full of metal. Killa Dre took the gun from out of her mouth and listened to what she had to say. She gasped for air for a time, before taking a deep breath to speak.

  “Suck my pussy, mothafucka! I’m not telling you shit, so you may as well kill me now.” She barked as she glared up at his young ass. There was no way she was offering up the man she loved. Fuck that, bitches like her were built Ford tough. She’d already lost Traquila and she wasn’t about to lose Paybacc. Nah, she wouldn’t tell Killa Dre Paybacc’s whereabouts even if it meant her life.

  Killa Dre punched Passion across the chin and knocked her out cold. He then pulled off his belt and Banga’s belt. He sat his banger on Passion’s chest and used the belts to bind her wrists and ankles.

  “Agh, fuck,” Banga cursed as he used the kitchen table to pull himself to his feet on wobbily legs. He staggered to the wall and leaned against it. He was holding his stomach and Killa Dre could see his white T-shirt soaked in his blood. He looked to be suffering as a result of Passion reopening the wound that was held together by stitches and staples. “See…See if you can find a stapler, Blood, hurry up.” He urged him, the pain he was experiencing etched across his face.

  Killa Dre looked around the house until he found a staple-gun. Banga told him what he wanted to him to do and he nodded in understanding. Banga held his wound closed and Killa Dre stapled his middle back up. With each staple that penetrated his hide, the hoodlum winced. Once Killa Dre was done, Banga moved him aside and picked his banger back up. He approached Passion and leveled his banger with her dome.

  “Stall her out for now, B. We’re going to torture that whore ‘til she tells us where Paybacc is laying low.” Killa Dre told him as he gripped his shoulder. “After that, you’re free to do away with her.” Once Banga obliged him, he tossed him the car keys. “Bring the car around into the backyard, I’ma be taking her out.”

  $$$

  Pavielle, Gangsta and Gouch stood out on the front porch of his house politicking and rotating a blunt amongst them. The gate of the driveway was open while the Muslims patrolled the grounds. Pavielle had gotten a call from Killa Dre saying that the hit had gone horribly wrong and that Banga had been seriously injured. He told him that he was gunning it to his house and for him to have the gate open.

  Gangsta took a glance at his watch and turned to Pavielle. “It’s one o’clock now, what time did Dre call you?”

  “About twenty-five or thirty minutes ago,” Pavielle said, smoking a cigarette.

  “They should have been here,” Gouch stated. “You think something happened along the way?”

  “Shit, I hope not.” Pavielle blew smoke and then flicked the cigarette butt, sending embers flying.

  “That fool Banga wild as a mothafucka. My young hitta putting it down and he just got outta. Stomach all stapled up and shit. He didn’t even take a break to heal up.” Gouch shook his head sadly.

  “Look at it this way, had it been me or your brother that this bitch bodied, would you be looking to rest up before you went looking for her, or would you be trying to pop her as soon as you got the chance?” Gangsta gave him a look as serious as cancer.

  Gouch thought on it for a time. Had it been Gangsta or Pavielle that Passion had killed, he’d be out looking for that bitch day and night; from sun up to sun down. There was no doubt about that. If he didn’t have any hands to bust his guns, or feet to kick her ass, and he was just a head, he’d be trying to bite on her ankles until she bled to death.

  Gangsta saw the look in his nephew’s eyes and knew what his answer would be.

  “You feel me?” Gangsta rested his arm on his shoulder.

  Gouch nodded.

  The sound of screeching tires cut through the night as a black Dodge Charger bent the corner and barreled down the residential block as if it were in a high speed chase. It entered the driveway of Pavielle’s home and headed to the backyard. The Muslims quickly closed and locked the gate back. Pavielle stepped off the porch telling Nasheed and his men to continue to hold down the fort.

  Killa Dre hopped out of the Charger and ran around to the passenger side. He pulled the door open and to assist his homeboy. He pulled Banga’s arm over his shoulder and helped him step out of the car. Banga wasn’t bleeding as bad as he once was, but he was still in great pain and needed medical attention.

  “Come on, man, we gotta get chu into the house.” Killa Dre told him, looking at his wincing face and hearing his groans of pain.

  “Holy shit, was he shot?” Pavielle asked as he, Gangsta and Gouch came into the backyard.

  “Nah, that bitch reopened his wound from his surgery.” Killa Dre informed them.

  Gouch ran over to Banga and threw his arm over his shoulder. He and Killa Dre helped him toward the back porch door. “I’ll help you get’em inside and then I’ll call the Doc.”

  “The Doc?” Killa Dre’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Yeah, he’s an older homie from the set. He turned his life around and went to medical school.” Gouch told him of one of the most successful homies from their set. “He’ll know just what to do.”

  “Homegirl is in the trunk.” Killa Dre put Gangsta in the know.

  Once Killa Dre and Gouch had helped Banga inside of the house, Gangsta reached inside of the driver side window and activated the button that popped the trunk. He then approached the trunk with Pavielle by his side.

  “This broad is the key to finding Paybacc and ending this madness.” Gangsta told his youngest nephew before he opened the trunk. Holding the trunk open, he saw Passion lying on her side with her wrists and ankles bonded by belts. He pulled her over onto her back. Her eyes were staring at nothing and her mouth was stuffed with a gag.Upon further inspection, he discovered the blood that coated the inside of the trunk. “Oh, no, don’t fucking tell me! Don’t fucking tell me!” he ripped the duct-tape from Passion’s mouth and removed the sock, tossing it aside. He slapped Passion in the face as if he were trying to wake her up. Still, she lay motionless with lifeless eyes. Gangsta tried performing CPR on her to bring her back, but his efforts were to

  no avail. “Fuck!” he cursed, kicking the fender and back tire of the Charger in a mothafucking tantrum. Exhausted, he sat on the ground and leaned back against the fender, clutching his head with both hands. “I don’t know what we’re going to do now; this bitch was our only lead to Paybacc.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day

  Paybacc sat on the couch rotating metal Chinese therapy balls in his palm as he stared aimlessy, listening to what Domino was telling him.

  “Why don’t chu say something, cuz? You’re just sitting there looking spaced out and shit.” Domino stated from where he sat on the kitchen table.

  “What do you want me to say, Loc
o? Paybacc replied never breaking his stare, or stopping the rotating of the Chinese therapy balls in his palm. “It’s a cold world, you gotta keep your heater with chu, feel me? I’m not even surprised. I had a feeling that there was a flaw in playboy’s character, but since he was your protégé I pushed that thought to the back of my mental. I have been neglecting this situation long enough; the time has come for me to address it.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Domino asked. Paybacc shot Domino a look that caused him to hang his head. He’d seen that look on his mentor’s face enough times to know that it meant the streets would be claiming another lost soul. He looked back up at his big homie with glassy eyes and said, “Alright, I brought him into the fold, so I’ll do the deed?”

  “I’ma bastard, but I’m not a heartless one, at least not when it comes to my niggaz. Nah, I wouldn’t ask you to get your hands dirty. Wacko’s life is mine to claim, rest at ease.” Paybacc said to Domino, hoping his words put his little homie at ease.

  “I know I shouldn’t ask, considering the nature of the situation and with it being your life that was hanging in the balance, but can you make it quick and clean?” Domino asked of Wacko’s execution.

  Paybacc thought on it as he massaged his chin and said, “Normally, I’d make this a dirty and slow death, but since my lil’ homie is asking…OK.” he nodded. Domino closed his eyes and blew hard, relieved that his big homie was going to give his young protégé a merciful death. “I’ll make it quick, one through the back of the melon, he won’t feel a thing.”

  “Thanks, cuz.”

  “Don’t wet it, we’re family.”

  A knock at the door silenced the living room. Domino hopped off of the kitchen table and approached the door. “Who is it?” he asked gripping his burner, which was still tucked inside his waistline.

  “Turbo,” a voice answered from the other side of the door. Domino took a quick glance through the curtains, confirming who it was. He looked back at Paybacc and he gave a nod. He then opened the door and allowed a man inside that was built to play on the defensive line for the Pitsburg Steelers. He rocked a meaty shaved head and walked with a slight limp thanks to his bum leg. Turbo slapped hands with Domino as he crossed the threshold into Paybacc’s home. He removed his striped Orlando Magics snapback and stood before the man that he’d come to see, fidgeting with it.