“Baby boy?”
“What’s going on, Ma? You ok?” Veedo asked genuinely
“God got me. But the question is are you ok?” His grandmother was quick on her feet, plus she knew her grandson like a book.
“Other than going back to prison, ma, I’m good. Do you remember the conversation we had, Ma?” he questioned.
“I surely do,” she replied. His grandmother didn’t forget anything. The last time Veedo saw her, he gave her money to put up and instructions on what to do in a time like this.
“Ok cool. So have you talked to April or seen the kids?” Veedo wanted to know, because he also left April, his babymama, some instructions if and when this happened, so he wanted to know what was up before court came up.
“April and the kids are safe. They will be over here later today, and yes, I made sure she packed all her bags as you requested. I also called our family lawyer, too. He’s coming to see you soon,” Veedo’s grandmother said, but he didn’t approve of that.
“Nah, ma. You know these Feds thinking I got all kind of money. I don’t need no lawyer,” Veedo replied, because he knew that all the Feds wanted was to catch him up with either drugs or money. As of that moment, they only had statements from Bam and Rock, which was enough to send him to the big house, but he didn’t want to give them any more bullets to shoot him down.
“I know that, son. That’s why he’s our family lawyer, and can’t no police do nothing about that. I’m not about to sit and watch you go to prison without putting up a fight. You have always been a fighter, so why stop the fight now?”
Veedo knew his grandmother was right. What would he lay down for? He came from a struggle, had fought some great battles in the form of obstacles, so continue to fight, right? He had enough money to handle whatever was needed. Veedo wasn’t a fool. When he hustled, he grinded for a reason. Therefore, he stacked all his profits and never really spent unnecessary money. He was straight.
“You right, ma. Well, look, as soon as you can I want you to get down here, ok? I love you. I gotta go. Kiss my kids.”
“I love you too, son,” his grandmother replied.
Veedo got off the phone because intake had just dropped off some new guys in the pod, and one of them was Zay. Zay looked tired and fairly worried. His hair hadn’t been cut, face unshaven, and clothes rumpled — he was looking rough. He was dragging his mat while holding a pillowcase filled with sheets, tissue, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a face towel. Veedo went to help, glad to see someone he knew and even more happy that now he could get the full swing on Bam.
“What da fuck going on, shawty?” Veedo asked, one-handed dapping Zay.
“The streets ugly,” was all Zay could say as Veedo led him to a corner room. Inside the cell, Veedo put down the bag. Zay tossed the mat up on the bunk, then he leaned up against the wall. Veedo did the same opposite of him. Veedo saw stress written all over Zay’s face like he had just gotten the worst news ever.
He finally looked up to Veedo and shook his head before saying, “Bruh, man, this nigga Bam is really on some mo’ shit. Like real talk, bruh.” He shook his head again with a scowl on his face. “This nigga, man. Damn!” Zay hit the wall behind him.
Veedo thought Zay was about to cry. He was so mad that tears were almost falling out of his eyes. Veedo knew the feeling of being crossed. He felt Zay’s pain.
“What happened, bruh? What made the nigga flip?” Veedo asked.
“Shawty, all I know is we shopping in D.C. one morning, me, him, and his babymama Goldie. We left the mall and got pulled over ‘bout two minutes later. Like them folks was watching us or something the whole time. Anyways, this nigga Bam had bricks in the trunk, bruh, like 600 rack just in the car, bruh. I’m talking stupid paper. Them Feds rolled up, bruh, I mean quick, and booked all of us, but the nigga Bam took the weight, shawty, and me and his ho hightailed it back to the city. A few days later, this nigga pop up, back to the basic,” Zay said, shaking his head, clearly mad at himself.
“Did you question the nigga at all when he got back? Don’t you think it was strange?” asked Veedo.
“Bruh, I just rolled wit’ the flow ‘cause the nigga freed me, so I didn’t even bring the shit up. Even though I felt shit wasn’t right, I still went with the flow. Fuck!” Zay hit the wall again.
“You heard about Gangsta and what’s going on wit’ him?” When Veedo asked that question, he saw something in Zay’s eyes, something he couldn’t read right then, but definitely something. Zay took a deep breath, shook his head, dropped his head, then looked up to Veedo.
“I fucked up, V. I didn’t put Gangsta on point ‘bout Bam when the nigga made plans to get at him. He felt like Gangsta disrespected him in the club, and another time they chopped it up. Really Bam didn’t like how bluntly Gangsta turned him down, plus this shit wit’ Pat Man didn’t make it no better,” Zay said.
“Damn, Zay,” was all that came from Veedo’s lips. He was stuck for words.
“Yeah, bruh, I know I fucked up. I fucked up big time. Dis nigga Bam is a dirty motherfucker, bruh, and I watched him put that hit in motion on Gangsta.”
Veedo was still lost. He thought them niggas came up together, and it was messed up to side with an out-of-towner. He walked over to the cell door and looked out to the pod. He slid the door closed and posted back up on the wall before saying, “Didn’t you and Gangsta come up together?” If Veedo could remember, that was the story Gangsta told him one day of him and Zay.
“Hell yeah, we—”
Zay couldn’t finish his reply because Veedo caught him in the mouth with a quick two-piece that nearly knocked him out. The only thing that saved Zay from falling out was when he reached out and grabbed Veedo. Veedo got him again, but this time with a short, powerful blow to his nose. Veedo pushed Zay off him, took a step back, then grabbed his head, about to hit him with a viscous knee, but Zay grabbed his leg. By then the entire pod was tying to get a peek at the fight, which alerted the COs. Zay was trying to buck, but he couldn’t because the very first blow had him dazed. Veedo caught Zay three times in the back with the bow until Zay let loose and dropped to the floor. As quickly as he could ease out the door, Veedo mixed in with the crowd of onlookers before the COs made it to the back where the fight took place.
Chapter 3
Gangsta
“Anything you need is at your beck and call,” Loco told Gangsta, standing behind him in the full-size mirror mounted on the living room wall. Gangsta had a big gash in his forehead that wouldn’t stop bleeding and badly needed stitches. It was out of the question to go to a hospital, so he did the next best thing and applied pressure to the wound. Loco had picked Gangsta up on Perry Boulevard and taken him out to Gwinnett County to hide out at his sister’s house because Gangsta’s face was all over the news.
“Appreciate the love, Loco, real shit, way,” Gangsta turned around and said, holding a towel to his head. It was hurting badly, but not as bad as the loss of his son and Ne-Ne. Gangsta wanted badly to go crazy, but knew he had to think things out because now all the attention was on him. Gangsta followed Loco into a den area where they both took seats. A maid walked in with food on a tray, smelling amazing. Gangsta had forgotten to even eat the past two days and really didn’t care to eat now, though his body said different.
“Like I say, you will be safe here, way. Both my sisters stay here, which both are solid and already know you’re here in hiding.”
“I need a burn-out phone and a whip.” Gangsta wasn’t using his personal phone because he knew by now it was tapped, but he needed communication because Bam would not be getting away. Gangsta vowed to kill everybody Bam had love for.
“That’s no problem,” Loco replied with his best accent. As a knock came at the door, he excused himself, walking smoothly to the door. When he opened it, two more Mexicans walked in. They all dapped, then walked over to the table where Gangsta waited. Loco introduced the Mexicans as Jeter and Longo. They also took seats at the table.
“Gangsta need a untapped phone and a ride,” Loco spoke to his two partners in Spanish.
“Consider it done,” Jeter spoke back.
After they were served the food, Loco mostly talked to the Mexicans about moves being made while Gangsta’s mind was on his family and how he let them down. His heart was heavy with sorrow, and it hurt to breathe at times. His daughter crossing his mind was the only thing that kept him sane, and the thought of revenge, as well. Gangsta’s face was all over the news for triple homicide, but he wasn’t worried. He stressed most about the whereabouts of Bam, because he couldn’t afford to let Bam slip through without a fight.
Gangsta ate his food, then walked back to the living room where he had the duffel bag full of money and drugs. The only gun he had was the glock used to kill the kidnappers. He needed one bad — probably a couple guns going up against a stronger Bam who had a team, verses Gangsta being alone. Minutes later Loco, followed by his two friends, was heading out.
Loco stopped and said, “Either one of my sisters will be home soon. I must make a few runs, but will be back to check on you, my friend. And what you requested is on its way. Go do what you gotta do, and you’re welcome back here. It’s a safe place for you.” Loco gave Gangsta dap.
“Say no mo’, way.” Gangsta most definitely was glad Kash linked him up with the Mexican. Loco proved to be much more than just business, and in Gangsta’s book once loyalty was established, loyalty was owed. Gangsta looked down at the duffel bag, then said to Loco, “I got that money you fronted me, plus some. I wanna cop. Buy now and get later, though, until this nigga dead. Here is 700 racks. Take your two, and I’m spending five,” Gangsta offered.
The gesture made Loco smile before saying, “Keep the money. Pay me back later, because in war you will need cash. Once you’re done here and your legal matters get handled in your favor, then I bring you to meet my people. Good people, great business.” Loco patted Gangsta’s back. “Get well,” then he headed out the door along with Jeter and Longo, leaving Gangsta alone in a place he wasn’t use to being. Closing the duffel bag, Gangsta got up and decided to take a stroll through the massive crib. He pulled his shirt over his head with a struggle — a sharp pain was in his chest. Once the shirt was off, Gangsta pulled the vest straps apart and put the vest on a chair. Gangsta had two imprints on his chest from the bullets when they struck the vest. It almost hurt to breathe. Gangsta lightly touched the marks to test their tenderness. One thing was for sure: he couldn’t get hit in his chest with anything else, not even a tennis ball.
Just when he was about to take his trip around the house, he noticed the same maid from dinner coming from the kitchen area. She smiled up at him and asked, “You need anything?” She was an older lady, but still held her beauty.
“I’m good,” Gangsta replied. Then she walked off, but he stopped her. “I can use a shower, though.”
The maid turned to him, smiled again, then said, “Follow me.” She led him upstairs to a large room that he found to be a bathroom. “Towels are here.” She pointed to a full-length mirror with handles on it. Gangsta slid it open to find stacks of face rags and body towels, soap, and shampoo also in the closet.
“Ok, thanks.”
“No problem,” the maid spoke, then exited the bathroom.
Maybe a shower was needed at that moment — something to wash the pain away that had a great big hold on him. Gangsta turned the water on and took a seat on the toilet, beginning to take off his shoes. A tear escaped his eye when he thought about his son and how he failed him. He was feeling less than a man since he could not take care of his son. He did not protect him as he should’ve, and it was getting to Gangsta in a major way. He stood up, taking off his pants. Another tear escaped his eyes, and this time Gangsta wiped it away. He took a deep breath and jumped in the shower.
After his shower, Gangsta had to put on the same clothes, just a different shirt. The shower felt great, something he had truly needed. It made him feel like a new man, but with the same agenda. While in the living room looking at the news, Gangsta heard the front door being tampered with, so he made a dash across the sofa for his glock, hoping it wasn’t the police, because if it was, he was about to die or kill every last one of them. The knob to the door turned, then in walked a Mexican girl holding a Wal-Mart bag. Gangsta eased his hand off the gun and sat up straight on the plush leather sofa. The girl walked in and gave him a brief smile as she closed the door, then proceeded to the staircase, heading upstairs and not speaking a word. Gangsta noticed she was sexy as she disappeared, and moments later she came back down with the same bag.
“Sorry, I had to pee,” she chuckled, then handed him the bag. “My hands are washed, too.”
“Thanks.” Gangsta took the bag and took a look inside. He found a flip phone and car keys. “What’s your name?” he asked while pulling the phone out and powering it up.
“Melody,” the Mexican girl said over her shoulder and again disappeared up the steps. The first person he called was his mother once he had the phone activated. Gangsta made sure not to call his mother’s cell or home phone. He called a place he knew for certain the police didn’t have tapped, which was her job. After he got someone on the phone, it took another minute for his mother to get on the line.
“Hello?”
“Ma.” It was good to hear her voice. He was a bit relieved.
“Baby! Where are you? Are you ok?” He knew his mother had been worried about him, and even more now that he could hear it in her voice.
“Ma, they killed my son. They killed my girl. They tried to kill me, ma.” Gangsta’s voice cracked. He was breaking.
“I know, baby. Good news is they did not succeed in killing Ne-Ne or Junior, although he’s on life support. He is still here, Gary. God is good. Just pray, baby, and be careful—”
“Junior’s alive?” He cut her off with questions of excitement. It was in his tone. “Ne-Ne’s alive?”
“Ne-Ne successfully made it out of surgery, Erica is down in recovery, and Junior is on life support. The doctors want us to pull the plug, but have to have the parents’ consent. They say it’s no possible way Junior will make it without life support,” his mom said.
The news made him thankful, but at the same time even more mad. Gangsta didn’t believe for one second what the doctors were saying about his son.
“When Ne-Ne wakes up, tell her don’t pull no plug on my son. I gotta go, ma. Meet me at the place you said you and my dad met. I will be there when you get off. Love you, Ma,” Gangsta said and quickly hung up, still paranoid. Even though his mother worked at the hospital, the phones being tapped crossed his mind all of a sudden. The news that Ne-Ne and Junior were still alive gave Gangsta more life. He had more bounce to his step as he pocketed the phone.
Melody came back down the steps holding a suitcase. Gangsta was strapping his vest on when their eyes met. Something about her beauty captivated him at moments, though his focus most definitely wasn’t on the fact she was a female, but he still could not deny she was bad.
“Loco called and asked did you need any assistance? He could send Jeter and Longo to help you out,” Melody spoke once she sat the suitcase down. Her English was clear, but her native tone was still there.
“Tell him I’m good right now, but thanks,” Gangsta replied, appreciating the love, but he would much rather do everything solo thanks to Dank’s bitch-ass.
“He figured you would say that, so he wanted you to have this.” She picked up the suitcase and handed it toward him. “This should help.”
Gangsta took it and opened it to find two assault rifles, three handguns, and extra clips with bullets. He closed it back, then looked up to the beautiful Mexican girl. “Tell bruh good looking.”
“I will,” Melody said and left him to his space. Gangsta looked at the time and took out some money and all the bricks. He had to get in the streets if he wanted to catch Bam or anybody with him before it was too late.
***
Ne-Ne
“Junior! Where is my son?” She looked around both detectives as if her son was somewhere in the room, but saw nobody. “Where is my son?” Panic started to set in as she questioned them. One of the detectives walked closer to the bed and cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Robertson, do you recall anything that happened to you?” Detective Gray was the one that spoke.
Ne-Ne looked at him. She could remember everything up until she was shot. She tried to sit up, but to no avail as pain shot through her stomach, causing her to look down at herself to see her stomach had tubes running through it. Ne-Ne quickly closed her eyes again before asking, “Where is my sister? My son?”
The room door opened and in walked the doctor, which suddenly stopped the questions aimed at the detectives. Ne-Ne focused her eyes on the older doctor. “My son, where is he?”
“Mrs. Robertson, your son is in our intensive care unit. He’s living off life support, and your consent is needed—”
“Life support!” Despite the tubes in her stomach, Ne-Ne sat up, not believing her ears and not feeling the pain, either.
“Your son was shot in the head. Did you not know that?” the doctor asked.
“Shot in the head!” Ne-Ne tried desperately to get up as tears came pouring out of her eyes. Her whole world was shattered as the reality of things started to set in. The doctors moved in to help Ne-Ne sit back correctly.
The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set Page 24