Agent Thompson slid the second picture across the table. It was a close shot of Fritz lying face down on a table. “We found him at the Fontainebleau today. He was shot four times, close range with a twenty-two caliber.”
Rick stared at the picture. Shit, I’m good! Ain’t kill the nigga. Rick started to relax a little. “I don’t know ‘im.”
Agent Thompson adjusted his brown tie and then sat back crossing his arms. “The FBI has been aware of Ronald for quite a while . . . five years to be exact. He’s an expert at taking care of things. Making people take permanent naps, if you know what I mean.”
“Nah, I don’t.”
“Anyway, our agency got word that Ronald had created too many enemies abroad. We heard he was bringing his uhhh talent to the U.S. By then we had a nice thick intelligence file on Ronald, and with that, we came up with a plan.”
“Yo, why are you telling me all this? I don’t know the dude.” Rick was getting irritated.
“I’m almost done. Well, one of our agents met Ronald in parts of Portugal and gave him a gift. A gift we knew he would keep. See, we could allow him to roam freely in the U.S. knowing what we knew about him. We allowed him to move as he pleased because we were always on him.”
Rick cleared his throat. “Yo, this is a waste of time because—”
“Do you know the charge for conspiracy to commit murder, Mr. Terrell?”
Rick shifted his position in the chair. Shit wasn’t looking too good for him. Things took a turn up shit’s creek when the agent with the handheld device entered the kitchen with a bagged object. Agent Thompson stood as the second agent handed him the evidence bag.
“This look familiar to you?” Agent Thompson asked.
What the fuck! That’s Fritz’s black cigar box! How the fuck that shit get here?
“It was in the master bedroom,” the second agent told Thompson.
“Who sleeps in that room, Mr. Terrell? Care to tell me?” Agent Thompson pressed.
Rick stuck to being hood. “I don’t know.” He shrugged with a straight face.
Agent Thompson was tired of the games. “Look, this cigar box is the gift we gave Ronald. It’s a tracking device and a listening device, okay? Now, do I need to repeat word for word of you talking to Ronald about hiring him to kill David Reed aka D-Hot on the twenty-first of last month at the Fountainebleau?”
Rick knew the deal and how the Feds got down. “Ain’t got shit else to say. I wanna call my lawyer.” Rick eased back from the table, gripping the Sig Sauer.
Agent Thompson nodded, giving the signal to arrest Rick, just a split second before Rick took matters into his own hands.
***
Trevon couldn’t hide his letdown after his brief talk with one of the RNs. There was still no information being released about Jurnee’s status. All that was being said is that her condition was critical. Rounding the corner to the waiting room, he saw a face that slowed his steps. What the hell is she doing here? And where is LaToria? He walked by a row of occupied chairs to where Tahkiyah stood by the water fountain.
“You following me?” he asked, touching Tahkiyah on her shoulder.
“Trevon!” she said when she turned. “I see we meet once again.” She forced a smile, her hazel eyes darting around the waiting room.
“You looking for somebody?” he asked.
Tahkiyah pushed her glasses up on her nose. She had to come clean and tell him what was really going on. “Indeed I am,” she told him. “I’m looking for—”
Her words were halted when Trevon’s iPhone started ringing.
“Uh, hold on for a sec. I gotta take this call.” He turned his shoulder to her and then answered LaToria’s call. “Hey. Where are you and why did you—”
“What up, playboy!”
Trevon took the phone from his ear to double check the caller ID and number. As clear as day, LaToria’s name, number, and a small image of her face showed on the screen. He recognized the voice, and it turned his stomach inside out.
“Don’t get all quiet on me, nigga!” Swagga jeered. “Shit gonna almost be like a déjà vu fo’ yo’ ass tonight! Only this time, ain’t gon’ be no tricks, feel me? Well, I don’t know if you still care fo’ this ‘ho, Kandi or not. But yeah, I got ‘er and you know what I want!”
“What type of shit you on?” Trevon’s temper came sudden like a lightning strike.
“I’ma be on this bitch’s ass if you don’t do what I fuckin’ tell you! And trust me, dawg, I don’t give a fuck ‘bout this bitch being pregnant!”
“Look, just tell me what you want. Ain’t no need to do no silly shit.”
“Nigga, didn’t I just say it’s gonna be a déjà vu! I want them two videos you got since you an’ yo’ bitch played me the first time. Don’t know how the fuck you got ‘er off the boat, but shit goin’ my way tonight!”
“Swagga, I’ll give you the shit, ai’ight? Just don’t hurt—”
“Listen up, nigga! You gon’ see me tonight. See, I can play games too. I guess you think shit just gon’ fly ‘bout you fuckin’ Kendra and shit! Nah, muthafuckas takin’ my kindness fo’ a weakness ends tonight!”
Trevon wasn’t in a position to beef with Swagga. “Yo, I hear ya’. Just tell me what to do.”
“Oh, so you do care. Even after this bitch been fuckin’ around behind your back! You’s a sucka fo’ love ass nigga. Listen, and I won’t say it twice. I want you to come alone to the same spot where this shit went down between us last year.”
“The warehouse?”
“Right. Come alone so we can talk. Settle this shit like men. Just you and me.”
“What time?”
“Midnight. That will gimme some time to have fun with this big booty ‘ho I got wit’ me. Shit, I know you don’t mind me runnin’ up in it. Not with how you fucked Kendra an’ her fat ass friend.”
Trevon glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. Every second LaToria was with Swagga would tear Trevon apart. He felt helpless, having no one to turn to. Calling the police would only make matters worse.
“Midnight, nigga!” Swagga said and then killed the connection.
“Trevon, what’s going on?” Tahkiyah had stood near Trevon taking in the one-sided call. He ignored her as he rushed for the exit. She called after him once more to no avail. Sighing, she took an empty seat and prayed for a face to face meeting with LaToria. She had her own issues to deal with.
***
“Take all your clothes off and hurry the fuck up!” Swagga shoved Kandi on the small bed inside a cheap motel off of Biscayne Boulevard. He moved along the chipped green painted wall with the .22 aimed at Kandi. “And I mean er’thang. I’ma have me some fun, and bitch, you can bag them tears ‘cuz they don’t move me.”
Kandi hated Swagga so much that she couldn’t even look at him. She removed her shoes first and then reached behind her back to unzip the dress.
Swagga sat down on a dingy looking brown chair beside the night table. He watched her tugging the expensive dress down her super thick frame. Seeing the swelling of her belly had him boiling with envy. How she gonna let a broke ass jailbird ass nigga bust raw over me? His hating thoughts grew as she slowly took her bra off. Damn, that bitch bad. Titties big as hell. Hmm, look at that cat! His dick grew hard. “Turn around and take them drawers off. And do it slow. Show that phat ass!” he said, undoing his belt. He wanted her to feel like shit. When he had his dick out, he fumbled with his cell phone. “Act like your ass at the King of Diamonds, bitch.”
Kandi shook with pure humiliation as Lil’ Wayne and Drake’s “Maybe She Will” sounded from Swagga’s phone.
“Dance, bitch! And keep that ass facing me. That’s all I wanna see. Now, do what it do and bounce that ass.” He laid the .22 on the table and then enjoyed the show. All the love and lust he once had for Kandi was now hate.
Kandi kept her eyes shut, moving her wide hips off beat. She couldn’t find a rhythm no matter how hard she tried.
“Now turn a
round,” he said, midway through the song. “And open yo’ eyes! Look at my dick. Yeah, now rub your nipple and rub that pussy.” He stroked his dick at the sight before him. “Now, get down like a dog—”
“Swagga, ple—”
“Now, bitch!” he sneered, lifting the .22 up to her face.
Kandi held her hands out with tears streaking down her cheeks. Sobbing, she got down on her hands and knees.
“Now, crawl yo’ ass over here and suck my dick. C’mon, bitch. Ain’t got all fuckin’ night!” He gestured with the gun. “You do it fo’ a livin’, but tonight it’s fo’ free.”
Fear of not seeing tomorrow gripped Kandi’s soul. She was afraid of Swagga. She saw the hate etched across his face.
“Keep yo’ hands on the floor!” He pressed the gun against her forehead and grabbed his shaft with his free hand, forcing his dick past her lips. “Work, bitch!” he moaned, fisting his hand into her voluminous hair. Without caring, he filled her mouth to the hilt, making her gag. Swagga kept the gun against her neck as her lips pulled up and down on his dick. “This all yo’ ass is good fo’! Aaahhh yeeaa . . . fuck. Suck it, bitch! Suck it . . .” He settled back in the chair as her head bounced below his waist. He didn’t want to cum in her mouth for a reason. He didn’t want any DNA left on or in her since he was planning to body her ass tonight. For several minutes his dick tingled inside her wet mouth. He ignored her tears that flowed in heavy rivers down her face.
“Ai’ight . . . stop!” Swagga shoved her hard after she got off his dick. “Go in the bathroom and rinse yo’ mouth out! An’ do it good!”
It was a rough urge to turn down the act of fucking her big ass, but Swagga was able to hold back. “And leave the door open!” He got up to his feet, fixing his clothes. I gotta dead this ‘ho soon. Ain’t no need to take any kind of chances tonight. Swagga thumbed the safety on then off then back on.
“Hurry up, ‘ho! Put yo’ shit back on. We ‘bout to take a ride.” Swagga slowly lifted the .22, aiming at the back of Kandi’s head from across the room. Licking his dry lips, he clicked the safety off.
***
At the same time, a manhunt was in its early stages for Rick. He had bodied the two Feds in the kitchen and then hauled ass out the back door. It was true of a person being able to hear bullets whizzing by. Rick could personally attest to it from the close rounds that nearly popped his top. The remaining Feds had opened up a barrage of lead on his black ass. A Florida Highway Patrol helicopter was the first to respond to the Feds frantic plea for assistance. Swagga’s mansion resembled a police convention with local, state, and federal law authorities amassed on the property.
Rick had run north until he shook the Feds in the dense woods. He knew they wouldn’t cease chasing, so he wouldn’t cease running. As he sprinted across an open field, he tripped and stumbled in the dark. Rolling to his back, he struggled to catch a grip on his breath. The star-lit sky gave him no sense of peace. Pulling out his cell phone, he called Swagga. Dis nigga better answer!
“Yo, whut up?”
“It’s over, dawg,” Rick said, rolling to get up.
“Whut the hell you—”
“Nigga, shut up and listen!” Rick took off at a jog as he gave Swagga the scoop. “We fucked up. Feds been listening since day one. And if you can’t explain how you got Fritz’s cigar box without poppin’ him, it’s over for you.” Rick sped up when he heard the dogs barking in the distance. “Swagga! I need your help—” Rick took his phone from his ear. “Bitch ass nigga!” he vexed at seeing how easy Swagga had turned his ass around for him to kiss. The line went dead, but Rick kept moving.
CHAPTER
Thirty-One
Feel My Pain
Kandi shook uncontrollably as Swagga shoved her back inside the trunk of the BMW 760Li. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her own panties were stuffed in her mouth. The ripped bed sheet Swagga tied around her face kept her quiet. A fear laced moan sounded as the trunk slammed over her. All she could think about was the baby and Trevon. She was afraid that both would suffer because of her. Thoughts troubled her mind, fearing that Trevon wouldn’t be able to save her tonight. She was thrown against a hard object when the 760Li sped out of the motel parking lot. She cried hard, finding it easier to give up. Just as it seeped into her mind, she forced that thought out.
Minute after minute, mile after mile, her trip in the trunk grew. Something wasn’t right. When she cleared her mind she realized the trip to the warehouse should have been short. Focusing on the sounds around her, she judged the BMW was speeding along a highway. The sedan had been rolling nonstop for at least ten minutes. Reality slapped her hard. She wasn’t being taken to the warehouse.
***
Trevon didn’t know what to do anymore. Showing no fear of Swagga, he had driven his XJL to warehouse 7210 at two minutes to midnight. His sedan sat with the engine running and the lights off. He waited, feeling it was pointless to pray since he was a sinner. When his watch showed twenty minutes past midnight, he stepped out of his car. He dialed LaToria’s number. It wasn’t answered, not even a voicemail. At the end of his rope, he looked up at the sky above. “Why gotdamnit!” he raged to the world. He tried her number again. Nothing. Sliding down to the ground, he leaned his head back against his car. He was defeated. If Swagga were to walk up and catch Trevon slipping, he wouldn’t care. Jurnee crossed his mind. He couldn’t do shit for her, and it pained him that it stood the same for LaToria. Just as his mind lost grip with reality, his iPhone rang.
***
Rick was winded, pausing for the eighth time to catch his breath. Leaning up against a thick tree, he wished he could redo his past. His life was fucked up over $20,000! “Fuck!” he muttered, kicking at the high weeds.
Suddenly he heard voices to his left. He ducked, moving around the tree with the baby 9-millimeter gripped tightly. With only four shots left, a shootout was being suicidal. He peered in the direction of the voices, hoping like hell they hadn’t heard him. His heart thumped in his ears. He eased down to one knee, his finger on the trigger. The voices grew louder but dropped silent not a second later. Rick stayed motionless, only moving his eyes. Remaining in one spot was not aiding his escape. He knew someone was close, but he couldn’t take the risk to give his position away.
“Rickey Terrell!” A loud voice came from his left followed by a bright spotlight. “This is Broward—”
Rick let off two quick shots over his shoulder and took off running. He made a life altering choice by falling for Swagga’s plot. He allowed Swagga’s troubles to become his downfall. Running hard, he oddly stayed in the spotlight. This time he didn’t hear any bullets whizzing by. He didn’t hear the sporadic shots of gunfire behind him. Closing his eyes, he sensed the final period of his life. It came a split second later in the form of a 5.56 full metal jacket round that punched him an inch below the base of his skull.
***
The phone call Trevon had received led him to an abandoned trap house in Carol City. The caller was a dude’s voice that was new to Trevon. He gave the address and then said four words that crushed Trevon.
“Come see the body.”
Trevon parked behind a white 760Li and a brown van. The trap house was unlit and sitting at a dead end street. He stepped over broken wine bottles and crushed beer cans. A pit formed in Trevon’s heart when he neared the BMW. Under the faint cast of the moon, he saw streaks of blood on the trunk lid and bumper. There was no fear filling Trevon. He was too numb, yet he went on. Taking a step on the concrete and wooden porch, he prepared himself to face whatever awaited him. Pushing the creaky door open, he saw blood at the entrance. A light was on, a single lamp without a shade over it. Trevon stepped inside the odd smelling house. To his right sat a black couch with several tears in the seat cushions. All of the windows were covered with black thick curtains that reached the floor. Drug use was apparent by the broken needles and empty clear vials. The piss stained colored walls were bare, marred with ragged holes along s
ections of the baseboard. Trevon’s attention fell to the stain of blood trailing from where he stood that marked a path down the dark hall.
“LaToria!” he called out. Dreading the silence, he took a deep breath and then moved along the line of blood. He wouldn’t allow thoughts of LaToria being dead to enter his mind. He refused it. There were three doors along the narrow hall. Two were on the left and one on the right. The blood continued past the first door on the left only to turn and go into the second. A light was on. Trevon’s steps came quicker. All he wanted was for LaToria to be safe. He was not a man of great need. He called her name again. No reply. Sliding a hand down his face, he opened the door. What he was met with sent him stumbling back against the wall. His eyes told the truth, but his mind was having trouble grasping the sight.
CHAPTER
Thirty-Two
Baptized in Eternal Fire
Who are you?” Nashlly asked Trevon with a chrome and black .380 at her side.
“Trevon,” he replied.
Nashlly stared at Trevon with a mean expression. “He good, Art. You can put it down.”
Art lowered the pistol grip Remington 12 gauge pump from Trevon’s face. “Anybody else come wit’ you?”
“Nah,” Trevon said, shaking his head. “You the one that called me?”
“Yup,” Art said with the pump pointed to the floor. “Yo.” He turned to Nashlly. “I’ma go outside and make sure we don’t get no unexpected visitors.”
Nashlly nodded, her eyes never moving off of Trevon. “C’mon in.” She waved Trevon inside the small bedroom. “Watch out for that puddle of blood,” she said, wiping a sheen of sweat off her forehead.
Trevon looked at the bed and the dingy bloody mattress. “Where’s LaToria?”
“In the bathroom. She’s okay and lucky.”
“I want to see ‘er!”
Nashlly frowned. “Tonight ain’t a good time to be lifting your voice at me. If it wasn’t for me and my dude, your girl woulda—” Nashlly paused when the bathroom door to her right came open.
Nude Awakening II Page 24