DJ sat across from Lisa, holding her hand. They carried a conversation over all the loud music, and it was clear that they were interested in one another. They finished their drinks and wondered what the night would bring. DJ already knew the mathematics: Hennessey and hormones was equal to panties around the ankle.
“Just take the car and I’ll call you tonight . . . or in the morning,” Lisa said to Benita later on in the ladies room.
“What!” Benita exclaimed. “Girl, you just met this guy and you going home with him?”
“Chile, please. I ain’t married and it’s been . . . what, two weeks for me, and I’m not looking for no relationship. What’s wrong with a little safe and fun sex—on one of the very few occasions I don’t have to work on a Saturday, huh? And I’m about to go on vacation, too . . . girl, please.”
“Well, never mind, but if you’re leaving now I’ll just go on home,” Benita said.
“You gots to be jokin’ . . . all these fine-ass dudes up in here and you going home? It ain’t nothing but . . .” she looked at her watch, “three something. God, girl, have some fun, will you!” Lisa said.
Benita rubbed her temples. “I can’t . . . I’m still thinking about Menage. I just can’t get him off my mind, Lisa. He saved my life. How would I look checking out some other guy that nine times out of ten only want some pussy and don’t give a damn about me!” she said turning away.
“Look, just calm down. Take the car and go home. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come out here anyway.” Lisa placed her hands on Benita’s shoulders and turned her around so they could face each other. She continued. “I was just trying to cheer you up, that’s all, but I’m sure he’ll call,” Lisa said softly looking into Benita’s eyes.
“Okay, but you better call me so I’ll know where you are and—”
“Yes, Mother,” Lisa said laughing, cutting her off. They embraced and Lisa went back inside the club.
Benita was ready to get home to see if Menage had called. She was in such a rush as she started to back out of the parking lot that she almost hit a dove gray BMW that drove by. “Damn fool!” she screamed. Upon making it home, she was disappointed to see that Menage hadn’t called. Tossing her body suit to the floor, she fell onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. She thought of Menage with each breath she took. Why do I have to be alone? she thought as she turned off the lamp. Outside she heard a police siren. She looked at the digital clock, its red numbers piercing the darkness. It read 3:45 a.m. Letting out a deep breath, she rolled over and punched the pillow, ignoring her new eighty-dollar hairstyle. She was asleep in minutes.
* * *
Showing off was something that Menage mastered. He sat in his S600 in front of the club as everyone exited. The music pumped from his Benz as the rims slowly spun around and around. Directly in front of him, Tanita sat in her sporty Toyota Camry Solara coupe, no doubt checking him out from her rearview mirror. It had rained a little, and the slightly wet platinum Benz glimmered even more under the moonlight. Menage knew Tanita was down after excusing herself and going to the ladies room at the club, only to return with her silky thong balled up in her fist. “I have a birthmark I want you see,” she had whispered in his ear. They stopped at the Waffle House and Menage then followed her to her hotel room. He wanted to do more than just see her birthmark. Just another day, he figured, as he stood at her hotel door, rubbing his fingers over the ribbed condom in his pocket. Safe sex it would be ... no doubt.
Chapter 3
Fillin’ Clips
Sunday
11:48 a.m.
“First, ask me do I give a fuck! Then look me in the face to see if I care!” Menage said over his cell phone as he sat behind his desk at the body shop. “No . . . since you can’t see me, listen really hard to see if I give a fuck. You done wrecked two cars, Rico—two! Now this is the last time I’ma work wit’ yo’ ass and your sister won’t change my mind. And by the way, where she at?” Rico had called and said that he had crashed the forty-thousand-dollar Chevy SSR that he had stolen. After lending his sister’s services to Menage, he promised that he’d have another SSR the following week. Menage already had a buyer willing to drop twenty thousand tax-free greenbacks for the SSR, and he told Rico to make it happen. Since his cars commanded the biggest checks once they were tagged, his name was gold to those that knew his hustle. Why pay top dollar for a nice ride when you could cop one from Menage for less than half price with less than eight hundred miles? After dealing with Rico, he went back to the garage where the DB-7 Vantage Volante sat covered, sitting next to a fortieth anniversary Ford Mustang GT. His workers would be in about two, so for now he was alone. He glanced at this Bulova and figured it would be best to try to call DJ later. He was heated and was itching to talk. DJ knew the rules and he knew Felix was telling the truth about the DB-7 being from L.A.
The five-car garage was dark and smelled of oil and leather.
Menage walked toward a blood red Cadillac XLR with gold twenty-inch rims. It had been stolen from Tampa straight off the lot. A simple solo test drive and a trip to a parked van with a key copier had made a key. In less than thirty minutes the XLR was returned and it was stolen a week later. Rico just walked on the lot around midnight, got into the vehicle and drove off like it was nothing. The XLR would bring Menage a huge profit. He knew it was possible to move five cars a day and bring in crazy, stupid money, but he refused to be sucked in by greed and speedballing was out of the question. The game had rules—like not using your own product if you sold dope. Although Menage followed a set of rules, he looked at buying cars as some looked at buying a new pair of Air Ones; to him it was just an everyday thing.
The scratches Tanita had left on his back were becoming irritated by his bulletproof vest, so he took it off, but planned to put it back on later. When his workers started to show up he changed his clothes and went to work on some cars that were in his shop for legitimate repairs. He got dirty just like everybody else.
He grew restless as the hours passed and he began working under the hood of a Dodge Ram SRT-10, amazed with its 500hp engine. “I gotta get me one of these,” he said when he found out that the pick-up could reach 150 miles per hour and reach sixty in five seconds. Once things were generally taken care of at the shop, he changed, washed up, and headed to his mansion. Halfway home, he realized that he had left his vest at the shop, but he didn’t sweat it. Home was safe and today would be a good day, he told himself.
DJ sped through traffic with one hand on the wheel and his phone in the other. His meeting with Mr. Marchetti wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be and he was glad that it was over. He had more important things to take care of.
Menage pulled into his garage at ten minutes to five. As soon as he stepped out of his car, Vapor and Vigor ran up to him, whining and fully agitated. He knew something was wrong.
“What is it boys, huh?” he whispered as he pulled out his .380. Before walking into the house, he quickly scanned both his front and back yards. Nothing appeared suspicious but he trusted his dogs. He rushed to his bedroom, picked up his MP5, slung it over his shoulder and went into the living room. He switched his TV to the surveillance channel with Vapor and Vigor still at his side. He checked each camera as he slammed a fresh thirty-round clip into the Mp5. It all went down too fast.
On the last camera shot of his front yard, he noticed four men trimming his bushes. It took two seconds for him to realize that they weren’t due until Tuesday and that the van wasn’t out front like it was supposed to be. He tried to figure out what the deal was but the camera suddenly revealed two of the men rushing toward his glass door carrying Uzis. They stopped inches from the glass and bringing the guns up to their chins, they opened fire. The glass shattered in tiny fragments as the deadly stream of lead ripped through the living room. Sheetrock began to fly, as the bullets tore ragged chunks from the wall. The eighty-inch TV exploded as it too came under fire. Menage had dove over the couch and into the kitchen before the first
shot was fired. Finally the shooting stopped and he heard the sound of broken glass under boots. He knew they were reloading, but what about he other two? “Fuck!” Menage cursed as he pointed the Mp5 blindly over the counter, sending a barrage of bullets in the direction of where the men had entered. His military training now took over.
The first man was hit in the neck, stumbling backward through the shattered glass door, spewing blood as he fell down dead. The second man caught a few rounds in the chest and the impact took him high off his feet like a rag doll. Gasping for breath, he slowly tried to get back on his feet and make it to his Uzi just a few inches away. He knew he was still vulnerable to the man who had shot him and he was surprised that he didn’t pick him off while he lay struggling to get to his feet. His plan of surprise didn’t work, and he figured that Menage thought he was dead. Well, he’d sure as hell make him pay for that mistake, he vowed, as he got to his knees.
The first man now lay in a steady streaming pool of blood. Clenching his teeth, the second man reached for his Uzi and set out to finish the job that he and his partner had started. He hesitated as a quick movement caught his eye. His mouth dropped in pure horror. Vigor lunged at him swiftly and silently, his fangs fully bared. The man screamed, and seconds later the dog broke though his weak shield of forearms, bit into his neck and gave him a deadly bite to the jugular.
At the front door the other two now stood. Giving each other the go-ahead, they raised their Uzis and shot through the lock. Kicking in the door, they slowly eased down the hallway, Uzi’s held under their chins. There was total silence; the thick carpet made their steps light and undetectable. Menage was still in the kitchen behind the counter and had heard the men kick in the front door. He loaded the Mp5 with its last clip. Vapor lay next to him, tense and alert. He growled softly, sensing the two men in the house. “Easy boy, easy,” Menage said rubbing his head. Where was Vigor? Thinking the worst, he blocked his thoughts out of his mind. He then threw the huge plastic saltshaker over the counter, causing it to fall onto the glass from the shattered TV. His plan worked. One of the men ran into the living room, pointing his blazing Uzi from left to right. Glass shattered as he now fired into the kitchen and then back into the living room. Menage never gave him a chance to regain his composure. He tucked the Mp5 under his chin and sent three rounds right to the man’s face. He dropped lifelessly onto the glass coffee table, shattering it on impact. Menage watched his headless body fall, but it would cost him. The last of the four men, now acting out of pure fright, darted into the living room, catching Menage off guard. He pulled the trigger, wildly spraying the already-destroyed wall and kitchen, but he found his target. The lead tore into Menage’s left shoulder, spinning him around and onto his back. At first he was in excruciating pain, but he soon lost feeling in his left shoulder, now bleeding profusely. With his adrenaline working overtime, he clenched his teeth and got to his knees. The MP5 was nowhere in sight now. Vapor whined and drew closer to his owner, licking his face. Menage let out a deep guttural cry and stood up quickly. He fired his .380, emptying the clip of hollow tip slugs.
The last man stood against the wall as the slugs exploded just inches from his head. He held his Uzi to his chest with his eyes closed. When the firing stopped he slowly opened his eyes and looked to his left toward the living room to see a dog walking slowly through the shattered glass door, teeth grinding. The man panicked, nearly dropping his gun and let out a long, ten-round flurry of bullets in the dog’s direction. Menage saw Vigor jump out of the way before the man could empty an entire clip on him. He tried to make it to his Mp5, but he didn’t move fast enough. The man veered around the corner and yelled as he pulled the trigger, letting off another six rounds. They all found their mark. Menage was off his feet and lay crumpled on the kitchen floor. The man tossed his empty gun to the floor. Fear and shock made him forget about the extra clip he had in his pocket. He looked at all the blood and his headless friend. Holding back vomit, he closed his eyes and picked up his dead partner’s Uzi. He wouldn’t need it. He had to finish the job as ordered—a bullet between the eyes. He slowly made his way toward the kitchen. Vigor charged through the front door behind the man, growling viciously as he locked onto his leg. The man yelled and tried to fight off the dog. Vigor slipped in some blood and lost his footing. Again he charged the man, this time not minding his weapon. The audible spit of the Uzi stopped Vigor in his tracks. The man then heard the familiar sound of an empty clip. Shaken and drained he slung the Uzi on the floor. It landed next to the Mp5. Before he could take one step, Vapor appeared from behind the counter, his hair standing up on his back as he bared his teeth and growled. The man froze. He saw the muscles tighten and flex in the dog’s full chest. He was now prevented from grabbing the Mp5, and he winced when the dog barked. “Easy b-b-boy, it’s okay now,” he said and slowly took a step back. Vapor took a step forward, ignoring the soft mush of brain matter and blood under his paw. Standing over Vigor, he quickly dropped his head and let out a soft whine, never taking his eyes off the intruder. He nuzzled Vigor with his nose. Seeing his chance for escape, the man bolted for the front door. Vapor took off like a rocket after him, but he lost his traction in the blood. He quickly regained momentum but it was too late; the man slammed the door just in time for Vapor to crash into it, sealing it shut with his own weight. The man was about to head back to the van when all of a sudden, a Lexus GS430 smashed into the iron gate and came to a screeching sideways halt.
* * *
Dwight was a few blocks away from Menage’s house. Even from a distance, he could see the front gates leaning at an odd angle; he knew something wasn’t right. He nearly gave Tina whiplash as he floored the Viper. DJ ran toward Dwight’s vehicle as it came to a sudden halt. Dwight jumped out with his 357 in tow.
“Tina, stay in the fucking car and call the police—now!” Dwight yelled. “DJ, what the hell is going on? Where’s Menage?” he said looking at DJ, then down at the nine-millimeter in his hand.
“I . . . I just got here. I saw the place shot up, and I rammed into the gate. This guy came running out, so I smoked him!” DJ said gripping his 9 mm. Dwight looked down at the man in the driveway near the front end of DJ’s Lexus. The back of his head was gone. Dwight turned away quickly. “D-Dwight, we need to check on Menage!”
Dwight gripped his gun and rushed toward the house. Things didn’t look good. If his friend were okay, he’d be out to greet them by now. With DJ beside him, he kicked open the door. Once inside he moved slowly along the wall, noticing all the bullet holes. He felt hard shell casings under the weight of his body with each step he took.
“Menage . . . answer me, man!” Dwight yelled. His heart was pounding in his chest. “DJ, you go to the back. I’ma check the living room and kitchen!” DJ went off without a word. Dwight stepped into the living room and nearly lost it. He had to step back around the wall to catch his breath. “Oh my God,” he said breathing heavily. The smell of human excrement made his knees weak, but he had to find his friend. He stepped back into the living room, ignoring the gushing pink substance beneath his feet. The once state-of-the-art living room was now a war zone. Tears filled his eyes as he saw Vigor lying on his side. His finger stayed poised on the hair trigger as he slowly scanned the scene before him. The gun felt heavy in his hand. He finally made it to the kitchen. He collapsed to his knees, dropping his gun. “Oh, please, God, n-o-o-o-o!” Dwight moaned. He looked at his friend, lying on the once-white floor; it was now red. Vapor stood next to Menage’s body, growling viciously. Dwight’s voice was weak. “Easy, boy . . . come on, Vapor, it’s me, boy. Let me help Menage. Come on, boy.” Vapor barked and whined and cocked his head to one side. He nudged Menage’s head with his nose, whined again and sat down, staring at Dwight. Dwight, still on his knees, started to move forward, but Vapor’s ears shot straight up and he started to growl.
“Freeze, don’t move, put your hands on top on your head!” yelled the police. The house quickly filled up with cops and parame
dics. Physical force had to be used to remove Dwight from the house until everything was under control. One of the officers used a stun gun on Vapor so the paramedics could get to get to Menage, but by the looks of what they saw, he was too far gone. Police cars and rescue squads packed the driveway of the house, and officers and paramedics ran from one spot to another. It started to rain, and DJ sat on the curb across the street wrapped in a raincoat . . . the weather forecast was wrong. Dwight and Tina sat in the back of an ambulance. She tried to get him to talk, but he was in shock. Squinting through the rain, he never took his eyes off the front door of Menage’s mini mansion. The reverberating sound of the news and police helicopters hovering above the house drove Vapor crazy as he yanked his chain, attached to a palm tree in the front yard. The man lying in front of DJ’s Lexus had already been covered with a body bag. DJ stood up when he saw a plainclothes officer yelling out to a uniformed officer standing in the front doorway.
“How many you say?” he yelled over the loud helicopters circling about.
“Two . . . bring two . . . no, three,” replied the officer in uniform. DJ saw the plainclothes officer rush toward a paramedic, who then searched the back of an ambulance and gave him three body bags. DJ walked slowly up to the gate as far as he was allowed. Dwight was there too now. Helplessly they stood, eyes focused on the front door, waiting to see last of the living legend come out in a body bag. Vapor let out a long howl, causing everyone to shiver. Dwight clenched his fists. He desperately needed to vent his anger.
A Hood Legend Page 6