Me and My Hittas

by Tranay Adams

  “Yeah, that’s it, suck my dick, bitch,” Cleopatra wig egged him on, sweat dripping off of her brow. She hissed like a snake and sucked her teeth, holding the back of his head as he slobbed up and down her artificial dick. “Deep throat this big mothafucka.” She told him forcing his head further down the strap-on, causing him to gag and become teary eyed.

  Although the dominatrix acted as if she was enjoying herself, she was actually very disgusted. But since she was getting paid top dollar for the sickening act being performed, she quickly pushed her judgmental thoughts to the back of her mental. Still, she couldn’t get over the fact that the rich and powerful man before her was a closet homosexual. When he rolled up on the ho-stroll looking for some late night action, she overheard him talking trash into his cell phone in Arabic. He was in boss mode, barking demands and orders so she knew he had to be in a position of power. His walk, talk, dress, his whole demeanor screamed it. So she was caught off guard when he told her the homoerotic acts he wanted her to perform on him. Not to mention, she was surprised by the $5,000 dollars he offered her to do the things he wanted done. This entire scenario is why she always reminded herself to never judge a book by its cover. She lifted Omid’s head back from her strapon and said, “I’m not done with you yet, ho. Get your ass in that bathroom and get cleaned up.” she harped up some phlegm and spat it in his face. The warm goo slid down the side of his face and went over his lips.

  “Mmmmm,” He scooped the glob from off his face and sucked it from his fat fingers like it was barbeque sauce. “Oh, youz a nasty ass mothafucka,” she said, sucking on her left breast’s nipple. She smacked him on his ass as he hurried into the bathroom to freshen up. She then took a small key from her patent leather jacket, unlocked the lock on her chess, and lifted its lid. She removed a black leather bondage suit, a cache of sex toys, gadgets, lotions, oils and creams and lined them up on the dresser neatly.

  Later that day

  Omid disrobed and drew the shower curtain back, meeting a series of flashes from a photography camera. “What the fuck?” He cursed, using one hand to block the flashes and the other to shield his privates. “Nightmare, who let you into my home?” he asked with a thick accent.

  “I did,” Bobby Blue said from the doorway, where she was clutching a sexy chrome, pearl handle .38 pistol with both hands. She pulled the Cleopatra wig off and tossed it on the floor. Beneath it she was wearing a wave cap over her hair, which was in cornrows.

  “Fucking bitch,” Omid snapped, turning red in the face and around his neck. He was so pissed off that a vein began pulsating in his forehead.

  “That’s Queen Bitch to you,” her eyebrows dipp ed and she twisted her lips, training her small caliber weapon on him.

  “You must really have a death wish coming here?” Omid barked on Nightmare without a trace of fear. Most men in his position would be shitting bricks, but he wasn’t afraid to die. He embraced death. There was nothing to be scared of as far as he was concerned, dying meant starting life over from scratch to him. “What the fuck do you want?” He asked wrapping a bath towel around his waist.

  “The question isn’t what I want, it’s what are you willing to pay for what I have?” Nightmare asked. “I have some photos of you in some very compromising positions. I have to tell you, fat man, these dirty lil’ secrets wouldn’t go over to well with your business associates. A man of your caliber hunched over with a twelve inch rubber dick being jammed up the brown-eye,” He shut his eyelids and shook his head in shame. “You’d be the laughing stock of the underworld, and what about your folks? From what I hear your people aren’t too fond of homosexuals. Do you think they’d be down with taking orders from a faggot? Fuck naw!” he answered his own question. “They’d probably have you killed. Now,tell me I’m not right?”

  “Fu uuuuck!” Omid shouted, bringing his hands down his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and massaged his chin as he thought to himself. “Alright, cock sucker, you’ve got me by the balls here. What do you want for this thing to go away?”

  “What cha got?” “200k and four bricks of raw,” He told him, sitting down on the commode’s lid. “It’s in the safe inside the floor of my closet.”

  “You might as well have t old me you had two hundred grand and four bags of fertilizer. That coke you got is some old bullshit.” Nightmare kicked him hard as fuck in his side causing him to holler out and clenched his aching ribs.“The fuck is the combo, Cuz?” he told the gangsta crip the combination to his safe and he sent Bobby to retrieve the goods inside.

  “Baby, are we happy?” N ightmare called out to his lady, keeping his attention on Omid who was clutching his side grimacing. Worry was plastered on his face and fear poisoned his heart. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the gangbanger to uphold his part of the deal.

  “Oh, we’re verrryy happy, sweetie.” Bobby called back out jovially.

  A couple of minutes later she returned to the bathroom with a loaded pillowcase slung over her shoulder.

  “Was everything there?” Nightmare inquired. “Yep,” she smiled with satisfaction. He gave her a nod and she spun around to Omid, lifting her .38. The chamber turned when she pulled the trigger, releasing a shot that went right through his thigh and echoed throughout the bathroom. The Middle Eastern drug lord fell off of the commode, clutching his thigh and howling in agony, face tightening feeling the fire in his limb.

  Nightmare kneeled down to him and raised his chin with his finger to make sure he was looking him directly in the eyes before he began talking. “Heed my words, you tub of lard, if anything should happen to me or my bitch, those pictures are going to make it into the hands of your associates, capeesh?”Omid nodded yes as he gritted his teeth in pain, grunting his excruciation. “That a boy.” Nightmare smiled pleasantly as he patted him on the cheek like a mafia wise guy. He then stood erect and exited the bathroom with Bobby in tow.

  Nightmare could have easily rocked the fat man to sleep, but it would have brought a lot of heat down on him. The Middle Easterndrug lord’s associates didn’t trust the gangster crip one bit, so if Omid were to have gone missing, he would have beenthe first one they’d come looking for. Handling the situation this way was smart, with the photographs Nightmare could bribe Omid for whatever he wanted.

  It was a cut throat game and only the most ruthless of men could win.

  *** “Daddy we’re here,” Bobby a nnounced, shaking Nightmare from his dozing as she pulled into the Del Amo Mall Shopping Center’s parking lot. She parked four rows down from the Marshall’s department store and executed the engine. Her man glanced at the digital clock in the dashboard, it was 2:29 P.M, one minute before he was supposed to meet the man who could be his new cocaine connection.

  As soon as the digital clock struck 2:30 P.M, a black H2 Hummer on sparkling “28 inch chrome rims pulled into the parking stall five stalls down. Spanish music spilled from the cracked tinted windows of the hog along with heavy tobacco smoke. The driver side door swung open and the bodyguard stepped out, one designer shoe at a time. He closed the door behind him and surveyed his surroundings, keeping his hand inside of his suit near his pistol. Julio was a five foot seven Dominican cat with the complexion of a walnut and a left-eye that slightly twitched. He had a pencil thin mustache and he wore his hair in a tapered fade. He was decked out in a purple fedora and suit. A crocodile belt held up his slacks and his feet adorned a pair of crocodile skin shoes.

  Julio stepped around back and pulled the door ajar for his boss. An older Latin gentleman slid out from the confines of the backseat. He planted a snake skin shoe on the asphalt and pulled himself into view, adjusting his tie. Looking from left to right, he took pulls of his cigar. Smoke billowed from his nostrils as he spat what was left of the cigar to the ground and mashed it out under his heel.

  Nightmare hopped out of the car and made a beeline to where the older gentleman stood. As he approached Julio moved into his path with his hand inside of his suit, ready to lay him down if necessary. The
older gentleman waved him off and he stood aside.

  “A dog shits…” the older man told Nightmare and then waited for his response.

  “…But it doesn’t shit long,” the gangsta crip finished the password he was given over the phone.

  “Nightmare?” the older man asked, trying to confirm who he was talking to.

  “America’s Nightmare,” he corrected him proudly. “Step into my office,” The older man moved aside to let Nightmare crawl into the backseat of the Hummer. Once he had crawled inside, the older gentleman snapped his fingers; that was Julio’s cue. The bodyguard handed Nightmare a folded up piece of tinfoil. When he unfolded the tinfoil there was a line of cocaine inside. He scooped some up into the long fingernail of his pinky and snorted it up his right nostril. He experienced an amazing sensation that made his eyes water. He blinked a couple of times than he scooped up some more and rubbed it on his gums, tasting it.

  “Alright,” Nightmare began, sniffing and wiping his nose. “I fucks with chu.”

  “Walk with me,” the older gentleman smiled and nodded towards the mall’s entrance.

  *** Nightmare and his Spanish connect made their way through the mall side by side. They discussed business and held their hands over their mouths. Due to the connect’s line of work he never knew when he was being followed, or when the Feds were present. The Alphabet Boys had some of the best lip-readers in their employ, and with a pair of binoculars they could make out what you were saying on the moon. The connect had switched up cars twice before he made it to the indoor mall, but he was still taking extra precautions. It was better to be safe than sorry. No drug dealer wants the pressure of a thirty year bid hanging over his head.

  “What do you purpose?” the older gentleman massaged his chin. He and Nightmare were negotiating. “I was thinking, fifteen a key. Fifteen a block and I’ll cop thirty at a time from you. I know you can show me some love with that.” He spread his arms and angled his head, raising an eyebrow, hoping he’d fuck with him.

  “Hmmm,” he thought on it for a second, “Ok, but only because you’re good friends with my god son. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “I never got cho name, O.G.” Nightmare gave him a firm handshake.

  “Tango.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  That night

  Lil’ Gangsta sat on a leopard print couch, smoking a blunt and snapping his fingers to Marvin Gaye’s I’d rather be with you. The song was on the oldies mix tape playing inside the PS4 that was lying on the floor beside the floor model “40 inch television set. Lil’ Gangsta was holing up in Bellflower with some BBW named Shawna and her four kids in her Section 8 apartment. He was happy as all hell because he had finally figured out his next move. He was going to move out to Lancaster. The rent out there was dirt cheap. He heard that you could get a three bedroom apartment for about $650 a month. After finding a cool little spot to lay his head he was going to hook up with this Mexican broad he was fucking with brothers. They were moving some serious weed down there and he was sure they’d give him a good price on a few pounds of Kush. He’d then get her to rent him a second apartment in her name. Next, he’d turn that into a trap and push weed out that bitch all day every day. That’s how he’d make his living, as the neighborhood weed man. He and Maria would have a couple of babies and then they’d use some of the money he made from slinging weed to buy a house to raise their little family in. And then a few years on down the road, when the homies had forgotten about him snitching, he’d return back to the hood. Yeah right!

  Everything would be all good then , Lil’ Gangsta thought, smiling as if he had brainstormed a fool proof plan before taking pulls of his blunt. Seeing that he had an ounce of Kush left and no swishers to roll up with, he decided to make a run to the liquor store. He tucked his long nose .44 revolver into his waistband and snatched Shawna’s car keys from the coffee table. The kids were gone with their father for the weekend and Shawna was sound asleep from the dick down he’d given her twenty minutes ago. So he didn’t have to worry about her waking up any time soon and bitching about him running off in her car when he came back.

  *** The elevator came to a stop on the parking garage floor.As soon as Lil’ Gangsta stepped off of the elevator he heard pitter patter at his right. When he turned his head he locked eyes with a German shepherd. The beast tilted his head and glared up at him, snarling and growling. Lil’ Gangsta’s eyes lit up and he swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, slowly stepped backwards. The sudden barking of the dog startled him and he took off running in the opposite direction, heart threatening to explode it was beating so hard.

  “Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa!” he continuously glanced over his shoulder as he hauled ass with the vicious dog on him like stink on shit. His forehead was shiny from sweat and he was breathing like he had a bad case of asthma. “Oh shit, oh shit!” he repeated seeing the hostile animal right on his heels. Boomp! He grimaced having ran into a parked Astron van and crashing to the ground. Peeling his eyelids open, he lifted his head from the cement and looked around. As he rubbed the back of his head he looked around expecting to the dog lunging to attack, but that mean bastard wasn’t anywhere in sight. The scenery was silent save for the occasional car driving by on the upper level outside of the black garage gate.

  “Grrrrrrrrr!” he froze where he was about to get up and his entire body trembled. At this point and time he was on his hands and knees. Sweat dripped off the end of his brow. He shut his eyelids for a moment and swallowed the ball of nervousness in of his throat. Once he peeled his eyelids open, his eyes shot to their corners and he gasped. Slowly, his head turned to his rear and he found the German canine there. Its head was tilted down and it was glaring at him and baring its flesh tearing teeth. Its growling seemed to grow louder and louder the longer it stood there.

  Suddenly, Lil’ Gangsta scrambled to his feet and took off running. He nearly slipped and fell but kept at it; trying to put as much distance between himself and the wild beast that was on him. Still in motioning, he continued to glance over his shoulder, terrified that the hound was going to make him his dinner. When he turned back around and ran dead smack into what felt like a brick wall. His face balled up and when he looked up he saw a faceless man wearing a big hat that shaded most of his face. Lil’ Gangsta’s eyes widened and his mouth moved animatedly. He was scared and didn’t know what the fuck to say.

  Snikt! The machete sounded as it was unsheathed from somewhere within the recess of The Ghost’s trench coat. The young nigga didn’t have enough time to do anything but throw up a hand to shield his face. His face twisted up and he prayed for a quick death. That prayer would go unanswered.

  Snikt! “Arrrrrrrrr!” He threw his head back shrilling like a victim in a horror movie. He brought his quivering head down and looked to his right; his hand had been completely severed. Blood squirted out from the stump uncontrollably, pelting the ground as well as his shoe. When he looked down he saw his severed hand lying there beside his sneaker. The hit-man swung his machete back around and his nose came loose from his face, flying across the parking lot. Lil’ Gangsta shrilled louder than before and grabbed the space on his face that his nose once was. Blood spilled from between his fingers and slicked his hand wet. When he took his hand away from his face it was met by the hitman’s blade once again, leaving both of his arms handless. His fearful eyes shot up to his attacker and his razor sharp weapon went across his neck. His head fell off to the side and he dropped to his knees, falling flat on his chest.

  The Ghost whistled and Hank came stepping from around a car. He tossed the victim’s severed hand up in the air towards him and he snagged it out of the air. The beast chewed on the fingers of the hand hardily as its master watched attentively. Next, the killer pulled out a fist full of green rat poison capsules and dropped them beside Lil’ Gangsta’s lifeless body. With the deed done, he wiped the machete’s blade off on the arm of his trench and sheathed it. Once he took pictures of the corpse that he’d created, he wa
lked off and whistled for his companion. The dog snatched up the severed hand it had been devouring and followed its master’s lead.

  Hours later

  Black Jesus awoke in a cold sweat, panting out of breath from a nightmare. It was the same nightmare he had been having for the past five years now; the one where he was beaten, sodomized, paralyzed and left for dead in the woods. Every time he’d awake from the horrible experience, he’d be relieved that it was just a bad dream. That’s when he’d look over to the wheelchair beside his bed, and realize that his life was very much his reality.

  Black Jesus wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his silk pajama sleeve. He looked over to the clock on the dresser; it was 1:00 A.M. He pulled his wheelchair to his bed and slid himself into the seat. After he was good and settled, he rolled over into the bathroom. Flipping on the light-switch, his heart almost leapt from his chest when he saw The Ghost standing before him.

  “Oh, fuck!” Black Jesus shouted, holding his hand over his heart “You scared the living shit out of me fantasma! How did you get in here?” The hitman didn’t utter a word, he was as still and mute as a mannequin. The big brim hat he wore shaded all of his face, except his mouth. That was all Black Jesus could see when the killer spoke.

  “I took care of your rodent,” he said, tossing a manila folder over into the drug lord’s lap. Black Jesus opened the folder; inside there were three photographs of a deceased Lil’ Gangsta laid the fuck out.