Ten minutes went by and she gathered herself and pulled her phone from her purse. She dialed a number and it rang several times. No one picked up, but less than a minute later, her phone rang.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Priscilla.”
“Oh… hey, wassup baby?”
“Hey, I umm…” She was hesitant, but he was her only option. “I’m in a lil’ dilemma and I need a favor.”
“What is it, babe?”
“Can you come and get me?”
“Where are you, everything okay?”
Priscilla looked around for a street sign so she could tell him where she was. “I’m okay. I’m on the corner of Judah and Leigh Street. You know where that is?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, jus’ stay there.”
-FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-
Priscilla found a shaded spot underneath a tree where she sat and cried until her eyes hurt. When she picked her head up, she saw a burgundy Jaguar pull up twenty feet from where she was. The passenger side window came down, and when she saw who the driver was, she began walking towards the car.
“Are you sure you alright?” Quiane asked after she entered the vehicle. He could see she’d been crying. Priscilla was mute. She wiped her face and shook her head no. Quiane wanted to ask what happened, but he knew it wasn’t the right time, or the right place, so he turned the volume on the radio down low and drove off.
Two hundred feet away, across the street from a kids playing park, Mox impatiently sat in his car. His eyes were glued to the burgundy Jaguar and he had a strong feeling of who it was. He started the car when he saw them pulling off, and followed them at a respectable distance. While driving, he dialed Travis’ number.
“Mox, what’s good?” he answered.
“Ol’ boy that was in the club… what he driving?”
“Umm…” Travis thought on it for a few seconds. “I saw him in a few different joints. Most recently a white drop, and a burgundy Jag… I think.”
Travis had just confirmed Mox’s suspicion. “Okay, cool.”
“Why, wassup?”
“I got the drop on this dude. I’ma follow him for a minute and see what it is.”
“Oh yeah,” Travis laughed. “Be careful though, you heard? I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cleo was out of breath as he stood over the wounded man, sweating, clutching a hot pistol in the palm of his right hand. “You got one more chance to tell me where that money is, or it’s over for you,” he said.
The victim, a 25-year-old young black male by the name of Jamal was lying face down on his living room carpet. His hands were rope tied behind his back, and black electrical tape covered his eyes while faint sobs and pleas for help escaped his lips. The bullet hole in the back of his right thigh was leaking blood all over the rug. Jamal was silently praying for God to spare his life.
Since migrating south, Cleo figured he’d try his hand in the drug game. That only lasted a few months before some stick-up kids kicked his front door in and robbed him of everything but his life. He was able to escape a tragic situation by the skin of his teeth, but that particular incident is what made him take a different turn in his career choice. It wasn’t long after that, he started robbing the drug dealers himself. In his mind, it was easy money. Much easier than selling the drugs, because all he had to do was find a potential target, plot on him for a few days, and then attack.
The change in occupation was lucrative. Cleo had more money then he’d ever had, and was feeling like he was on top of the world.
“Turn over, nigga!” He kicked Jamal in his left rib and he rolled onto his back. “All you gotta do is tell me where it is, Jamal… you makin’ this real difficult.”
Whoadie, Cleo’s partner, was tossing the house, looking for anything he could find—money in particular. So far, he had come up with nothing. After ransacking the closet in the master bedroom, he lifted the mattress on the king sized bed in hopes of finding something underneath—but he came up empty handed again. He stood in the middle of the bedroom looking around. He knew something was there, but he just couldn’t pin point it. His eyes searched the room for the tenth time, and then fell upon the painting that was hanging over the headboard of the bed. It was slightly crooked and looked out of place.
Whoadie jumped on the bed. As soon as he touched the painting, the right side fell down, revealing a hidden safe that was built into the wall. “Jackpot.” he mumbled, and then called for his partner. “Yo, Cle!”
Cleo was still towering over Jamal, continuously kicking him in his stomach and ribs—so much that he threw up the previous night’s dinner. He looked up when he heard his name. “You found something?”
“Yup!” Whoadie was examining the safe, trying to figure out how to get it open. It didn’t have a keypad or any visible locks. He jumped off the bed and ran downstairs to where Cleo was. “I found the safe.” he said.
Cleo’s eyes got big and he smiled. “I knew there was something in here. You been playing games wit’ me all fuckin’ night.” He raised his leg and stomped on Jamal’s testicles. “What’s the combination, muthafucka?”
Jamal grunted in pain but never once screamed. He hadn’t said a word since they entered the house. He knew if they were lucky enough to find the safe, they wouldn’t be able to open it unless he was there—alive.
Cleo bent down and shoved his pistol in Jamal’s mouth. “Stop makin’ this so hard, and give up the combo.”
“Yo, Cle…”
Cleo ignored Whoadie. He was too focused on obtaining the combination to the safe.
“Yo, Cleo!” he yelled.
“What, nigga?”
“Ain’t no keypad or lock on that joint… Go check it out.”
Cleo looked down at Jamal. His lip was busted and blood was trickling down the side of his mouth. “You gon’ make me kill ya’ stupid ass, Jamal.” He turned around and ran up the stairs to the second floor where the master bedroom was.
As soon as he entered the room, his eyes went straight to the safe. He jumped on the bed to get a good look at it, and it didn’t take long before he figured out what he needed to open it. He rushed back downstairs.
“Pick this nigga up,” he told his partner.
Whoadie struggled for a moment, but eventually got Jamal to his feet. “What you want me to do wit’ this nigga?”
“Bring his ass upstairs… he gon’ open that safe for us.”
They dragged Jamal up the stairs and Cleo had him stand on the bed in front of the safe. He ripped the electrical tape from around his eyes, grabbed his neck and shoved his face right into the safe. After holding his head there for ten seconds, a green light appeared at the top of the safe. Jamal wasn’t even putting up a fight. He knew it was over. There was nothing he could do.
Cleo wrapped the tape back around his eyes and then pulled a knife from his pocket and cut the rope that was tied around his wrist. He snatched Jamal by the arm and placed his right hand onto the handprint that was on the safe. Ten seconds later, another green light came on and the safe opened. Before seeing the contents of the safe, Cleo shoved Jamal off the bed and emptied his clip into his back. The shots echoed throughout the moderately furnished home, but no one for at least a quarter mile would hear them.
“Empty this shit and let’s get outta here.” On their way downstairs to leave, Cleo heard a key enter the front door lock. “Oh shit… go back, go back.” He whispered as they darted back up the stairs and into the master bedroom.
The front door opened and then closed, and a female shouted, “Jamal!”
Cleo and Whoadie panicked. “Why the fuck you didn’t tell me somebody else would be here with him?”
Whoadie looked confused. “I didn’t know,” he whispered back. “Every time I came here he was by his self.”
The female shouted again, but this time, her voice was getting louder because she was walking up the steps.
“Yo…” Cleo whispered. “She’s comin’ up here. Stand on that side.”
They stood on opposite sides of the door, so in case she decided to enter the room, she wouldn’t be able to see them immediately.
Cleo gripped his pistol. He quietly released the empty clip and pushed a full one into the bottom of the weapon. The only thing they could do was wait.
The footsteps were getting closer and closer.
“Jamal, I just had the most stressful day at work… ughh… I’m starting to hate my job,” she said. “Jamal?” she checked the bathroom. “You in there, babe… I had to arrest this young black kid today.
Cleo’s eyes bulged at the word ‘arrest’. He looked at Whoadie. “This bitch is a cop?”
Whoadie looked even more confused. He just shrugged.
The doorknob of the bedroom turned and the female cop entered the room. The first thing she saw was the painting on the wall. It was leaning to the left, and the safe was wide open—emptied of its contents.
She rushed over to the bed and almost tripped over Jamal’s bullet riddled corpse. She immediately went to reach for her service weapon.
“You touch that gun, you gon’ be layin’ next to him.” Cleo said. He had his weapon aimed at the female cop’s head.
Once she turned, she saw the two men standing there, pointing guns at her. “Put those guns down guys… c’mon, let’s not do this the hard way.”
“Shut the fuck up, I’m givin’ out orders ʼround this muthafucka.” Cleo replied. He took two steps towards her, holding the gun with both hands.
“She’s a cop Cle… we need to get outta here.” Whoadie suggested.
“Listen to your boy, Cle…” she said, repeating his name. “Put the guns down and walk out of here. I’ll act like I never saw anything.”
“You must think I’m stupid, huh?” Cleo took another step towards the officer, raised his pistol, and slapped her on the side of her face with it. “Lay the fuck down!” he demanded.
She stumbled into the dresser, holding her cheek. Blood oozed from her nose, through her fingers, and down her hand as she pleaded for her life. “Please don’t do this. I’ma cop… you’ll never get away with this.”
Cleo glanced at his partner and then down at the female officer. He hated cops. He hated their uniforms and everything they stood for. Never did they protect and serve—only harass and arrest. He held the gun tightly in his sweaty palms—itching, anxious to take the shot. He took a deep breath, looked directly into the eyes of the female officer, and shook his head. “Wrong place, wrong time.” he mumbled.
The shot burst forth and the first slug ripped into her shoulder, pinning her to the carpet. She collapsed and landed right beside Jamal.
Whaodie followed suit and squeezed the trigger on his weapon, releasing hot lead into her chest cavity. Her body jerked and shivered each time a bullet entered her. After the third or fourth slug, she was dead and blood was seeping from every hole in her body.
“Whoadie, let’s make a move!” Cleo shouted. The two shooters dashed from the house and into their car that was parked out front.
They hit the highway and drove 30 miles without saying a word. When they felt they were in the clear, smiles danced across their faces.
“This shit is too easy,” Cleo expressed. “It can’t get no easier than this.” he looked over to his partner. Whoadie was smiling, but he wasn’t as excited as Cleo. “What’s the problem?”
“Man… we jus’ killed a cop, Cle… that’s serious shit. You know we can’t go back there… ever.”
Whoadie was right and Cleo knew it. “Be easy man… we good. Fuck it, we jus’ go somewhere else. It’s niggas gettin’ money all over the globe. Fuck you trippin’ for?”
“I ain’t trippin’ nigga… I’m jus’ sayin’… where the fuck we gon’ go?”
Cleo turned and glanced at the duffle bag in the backseat. “I’m pretty sure we got enough money to go where ever the fuck we wanna go.”
Whoadie sat quietly in the passenger seat. He was thinking hard. “Oh,” he said, sitting up in his seat. “My cousin.”
“Your cousin who?”
“Remember I was tellin’ you about my family from up top… the nigga, Quiane.”
“Oh, yeah… the fly, pretty muthafucka.”
“Yeah, him. He in Virginia gettin’ it, I spoke to him a few days ago.”
“Oh word,” Cleo kept his hands on the steering wheel, but his mind was in Virginia. “So, call that nigga and let him know we on our way.”
“Aight.” Whoadie replied.
“But yo… what part of Virginia is he in?”
Whoadie rubbed his chin, trying to remember the city his cousin was staying in. “Umm… hol’ on… oh, I think he said Richmond… yeah, Richmond Virginia, that’s it.”
“Richmond huh?” Cleo pressed the gas harder and the speedometer reached 90 MPH. “I bet there’s a whole lotta niggas gettin’ money in Richmond. Fuck it… Richmond it is.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
-SOMEWHERE IN NEW JERSEY-
A stint of light coming from the flickering flame atop the candle on the television stand was all that could be seen. The rest of the room was pitch-black. The scent of sweaty sex was prevalent in the air and the sounds of repetitive moans filled the atmosphere.
“Yeah baby, ride that… show daddy you know how to work the stick.” Priest was lying on his back in his plush king sized bed, holding onto the slim waist of his young companion, while she bounced on his hard dick.
“Ooh… I feel this dick in my stomach daddy… ooh!” April arched her back and slid up and down Priest’s rock hard shaft until she felt her climax building up. She licked her lips, pressed her chest against his and shoved her tongue in his mouth. They exchanged hot saliva for a few seconds, and then she kissed his neck and went down to his chest. When she flickered his nipple with her tongue, he jumped from the pleasure. “You like that?” she asked.
Priest moved his hands from her waist and palmed her ass cheeks. “Yeah, stay on that dick… jus’ like that.” he moaned.
April slid up and down a few more times, and slowly slid off.
“Whoa… whoa, what you doin?” He tried to grab her ass.
“Shhh… I got this,” she whispered and slid between his legs. She pecked his hard-on with her soft lips. “You like that?” Priest nodded yes. April cupped his balls with her left hand, stroked his shaft with her right, and slurped on the head of his dick like it was her favorite Blow-pop.
“Oh shit, I’m ʼbout to come, baby.” Priest’s body tightened up and he exploded in her mouth.
April didn’t budge. She swallowed every drop that came out, looked up at Priest, licked her lips and smiled.
Suddenly, the bedroom light came on. “Bravo! Bravo! Encore! Encore!” Two white men in suit jackets, jeans, and boots stood at the bedroom entrance, clapping as if a show had just ended.
“What the fuck!” Priest shoved April off the bed, rolled over to the opposite side and went to reach for his gun underneath his pillow, but he was too slow. One of the agents rushed over with his weapon drawn and put the barrel to the tip of Priest’s nose.
“Reach for it, I dare you,” he said, gripping the weapon tight with both hands. “Get the fuck on the floor.”
Priest slowly eased his hand away from the pillow and took a deep breath. These guys sounded like cops, and if the sounded like cops, more than likely they were.
“Aight… don’t shoot, jus’ chill.” Priest begged, sliding off the bed. He lay flat on his chest with the side of his face pressed against the hardwood floor.
The second guy in the suit jacket came over to where Priest lay. “Get up,” he said, kicking his leg. “It’s time you and I have a conversation.” He turned to April, who was crouched in the corner covering her naked body. “Here, put some fucking clothes on.” He tossed a t-shirt at her.
Priest got up slowly. He was butt naked, standing face to face with the guy in the suit jacket.
“Conversation? I don’t even fuckin’ know you.”
A quick, sharp right hand connected to his lower abdomen and he went down to one knee.
“Good, because I didn’t tell you my fucking name yet, smart ass. Now, listen here, Mister Priest. We can do this the easy way or the extremely hard way. Your choice.”
Priest raised his head and glanced at the other guy in the suit jacket. He still had his gun in hand. He weighed about 220 and stood over six feet, which made him slightly bigger. Priest contemplated a rumble with the two men, but he honestly knew that he didn’t stand a chance. He understood the end result would not be a good one.
“What the fuck you want?” he questioned, holding onto the spot where he got hit.
The white dude in the suit jacket reached inside his pocket and pulled out a badge. He tossed it at Priest and it hit his chest and fell to the floor. “I’m Agent O’Malley, and that’s my partner, Agent Havoc.
Priest turned and glanced at Havoc. He was still clutching his weapon. “I ain’t did nothin’ for the Feds to be fuckin’ wit’ me.” he said.
Agent O’Malley grabbed a pair of pants that were on a chair in the corner of the room. “Here,” he said, tossing them at Priest. “Put the pants on and we can talk.”
Priest slid into the jeans and then fished for his tank top that was hidden underneath the covers. Once he found it, he put it on. “So, wassup?”
Agent O’Malley pulled the chair up to the bed and faced Priest. “We got you on an attempted murder of a federal informant, but I think we can work something out.”
Priest smiled, showing his pearly whites. He didn’t believe a word that came from O’Malley’s mouth. In fact, he was starting to think they weren’t even cops. “Fuck outta here,” he said. “Y’all fuckin’ buggin’. I didn’t attempt to murder anyone, you got the wrong person.” He went to stand up, but O’Malley pulled his piece from his waistline.
“Sit your black ass down before I put a bullet between your fucking eyes.”
The Union III Page 9