The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set

by Jerry Jackson

  “What’s that for?” Longo asked, curious.

  “I need to drop this to a few shooters I know to move my folks to a safe place,” Gangsta replied, then added, “Ain’t no telling how long we gon’ be in Miami. I’ma need Niggas to watch my peoples.”

  “Listen,” Jeter spoke, “we can get people on your family, you’ll just owe us. Put that kilo back. We got to hit the road. Don’t worry about your mom, she will be safe,” he said and made the call right in Gangsta’s face, which gave him comfort, and right then and there he vowed to stay fuckin’ with them, because he saw first-hand they were about their issues and money. Gangsta didn’t say another word, he just went with the flow.

  ***

  Bam

  Sweat poured from the dude’s body as he shook uncontrollably, scared for the life he knew he would soon lose. He was duct taped and chained to a chair, badly beaten, both eyes swollen shut from the many blows he’d recently received.

  “Snatch that fuck-nigga’s head back, yo,” Bam ordered Monkey, who was looking almost as scared as the dude in the chair, but did not hesitate standing behind the dude. Monkey had a rope held tight in both hands. He tossed it around the neck of the boy and pulled back hard, exposing nothing but a clear shot for a sure kill. Bam smiled to himself, then looked over to Step, who held a stony look on his face, eyes never leaving the guy in the chair. Bam walked over to his cream leather sofa. He reached under it, coming out with an all-chrome axe. Bam admired the art in his hand for a moment, then spoke.

  “Yo, I always wanted to use one of these motherfuckers. This some nice shit, son,” Bam said to nobody in particular while walking back over to the guy in the chair. He sat the axe against the side of the man’s leg. Bam looked around his massive living room. His three bodyguards stood off to the side, each holding semi-automatic weapons. Bam’s young ho, Trina, was also posted, and Monkey and Step were the only people other than the dude in the chair inside the house. The Feds were parked outside his house in two unmarked cars.

  “See, it’s niggas like you I dislike: un-loyal motherfuckers, pussy-niggas, and traders that fuck the game up and knock shit down before it can go up. Nigga, I put you on your feet. I turned you up and blessed you with love, and you embrace the enemy? You go against codes that only ho-niggas break, and hos not allowed in my circle.” Bam walked back and forth, and in between strides he would stop to look at the dude, helpless in the chair.

  Bam was hardcore in everything he did, but was most vicious with his murder game. He grew up with a killer’s blood running through his veins, and being raised in the heart of Brooklyn didn’t help him. Bam was only fourteen when he killed his first person. He was with Lucky and had to prove himself before the kingpin of Brooklyn. Murder was his thing, but money had always been his motivation, so with the two he quickly became powerful — a power he once shared with Lucky, but New York wasn’t big enough for them both once Bam’s pants got too big for him. Even though the love was real and the respect was there, they both held different views and could never seem to agree or connect. Since leaving New York, Bam had taken over four different states’ major cities, putting his stamp down and plugging with some serious connections outside of being given the cheapest prices on all of Lucky’s drugs. Bam couldn’t even count the bodies he had under his belt, he just knew it was many.

  “Never cross the one that feed you, for the one you felt sorrow for, and that goes for everybody,” Bam said while picking the axe up. He held it in both hands, raised it up, placing the sharp blade aimed at the dude’s exposed throat. Bam gritted his teeth and drew the axe back.

  Monkey wanted to close his eyes.

  Step just looked, saying nothing at all.

  Bam swung the axe with force from his 175-pound frame. The blade sliced through the dude’s neck, ripping his head off. Blood gushed out in spurts.

  Bam smiled and said, “I always wanted to use this bad boy.” He dropped the axe at his feet. “And to let y’all niggas know, son, I know that bitch-nigga Gangsta offered a pack to turn me over. Not a wise choice if you even considered it. This nigga is a peon compared to me, and I want him dead, caught and killed, plus anybody who got love for this sucka. And when it’s done, I will double the ticket.”

  Both Monkey and Step nodded their heads in agreement, but were still shocked at what Bam just did. Bam had them put the body in a deep freezer.

  “Damn, Jay,” Monkey said when he closed the deep freezer with his friend inside. It hurt him the most because Jay was his baby mother’s brother. Monkey knew he couldn’t even look in her eyes after this day.

  Bam looked out the window of his ten-bedroom house in Mount Zion, GA, tucked off in a very low-key neighborhood. Two FBI cars sat in his driveway, still taking pictures. He would find a way to duck them today when they tried to follow him. Right now he didn’t need the Feds breathing down his neck.

  Bam closed the curtain back and walked over to his cherry wood dresser to remove his jewels. He noticed spots of blood on his face and on his clothes. Blood of a sucka, Bam thought to himself. Stripping down to his boxers, he took a seat on his California king bed, picking up his phone, checking to see if his baby mother made it to Miami safe. There wasn’t a call or a text. Bam hated when people didn’t do as he instructed them to do. He tossed the phone back on the bed as the double doors to his bedroom opened up and in walked Trina, his young rider. Trina was twenty-four with a body to kill for and ass for days, but it wasn’t the looks that attracted Bam to the five foot, four inch, pecan tan beauty. It was her gangsta. Trina wouldn’t hesitate under pressure.

  “Daddy, the body been dumped and them niggas cleaning up. One of them FBI guys asked to use the restroom, but we didn’t let him in. I got the driver ready to pull off on your call,” Trina said while taking a seat on the bed, admiring what she saw. Bam was tatted up all over his back, his chest, and arms. It was so sexy to her, and always she let it be known by the way she stared at him. Lust was what always captivated her. Even though the love was pure, her lust was a big part of her loyalty, and Bam knew this.

  “Yo, shorty, you looking at a nigga like a piece of meat, ma,” Bam laughed

  “You are my meat, nigga,” she bluntly replied and got up, walking toward him, stopping face-to-face. “And I’m whatever you need me to be,” Trina said honestly, because Bam was truly all she had as far as family. They met one night at the strip club Magic City, where she danced. She was nineteen then, with the stripper name Stacks. Bam did not wait another minute, snatching her off the market, off stage, out of the club. He promised to take care of all her needs and wants. Bam said he knew she was a solider, not a dancer

  “Yo, ma, you by far the prettiest solider I’ve seen, and I’m here to save you from the wicked world, to place heaven at your feet.” She remembered his words vividly, even though it’d been years. She still held dear to his word, and he’d kept it so far.

  Bam kissed her face. “I’m ‘bout to hop in this shower, ma. Go grab me something fly to put on, and you get sexy, too. If the Feds gonna watch us, then let them bitches see us fly.”

  Trina smiled. “Ok, Daddy, I’m on it.” She kissed his chest and disappeared into his thirty-by-twelve walk-in closet equipped with the latest fashions.

  Bam’s mind was consumed with his next move in life as he bathed under the hot water. After this take-over in Atlanta and once Gangsta was out of the picture, Bam had plans to relocate his empire and start new where nobody knew him. He knew the Feds would be forever crawling up his back, so Bam kept something for them at all times. When shit got real, he would be ready. See, he didn’t care about someone calling him a rat, a snitch, or whatever because he was a millionaire, and that was facts. None of his real, true friends liked that. Bam was so quick to cross niggas out on police shit, but Bam always said, “Yo, son, them niggas will tell on me any time the pressure is applied. These slow-ass niggas don’t like New York niggas, so fuck them first before they fuck me. That’s word, son.”

  Lucky never
spoke on it. He wasn’t worried at all if Bam tried to snitch him out. He had the correct people in the perfect places to make any and everything disappear. Lucky still dealt with Bam because of a promise he made to Bam’s father before he died to see his son through. Bam’s father was Lucky’s mentor and the guy who gave Lucky the vision he had, and Lucky was the type of person to stick to his word.

  Bam stepped out of the shower, shaking thoughts of Lucky out of his mind. A soft knock came at the door. It was Trina, and she walked in holding his cellphone. Bam took it.

  “Yo.”

  “We made it, Bernard,” his baby’s mother spoke the words Bam had been waiting to hear. He was happy she was out of Georgia, but he instantly got mad because she’d been ignoring his calls.

  “Yo, why you not been picking up the phone, shorty?” he questioned while standing naked in front of Trina.

  “No service, Bernard. You actually think I would ignore your calls?” was his babymama’s reply. Bam just smiled it off, because he was glad to hear her voice. He moved past Trina into his bedroom.

  “Ok, cool. I’m glad you safe. Yo, where is my shorties?” he wanted to know.

  “Sleep. That trip was long, baby. I will have them call you when they get up. Is that fine, or do I need to wake them?”

  “No, you good, ma. Love you. I will call back later,” Bam said and ended the call. After another minute, he and Trina got dressed in some fly gear and headed downstairs where Monkey and Step awaited him with his bodyguards.

  Chapter 6

  Erica

  The Next Day

  Erica was packing the last of her things when her room door opened and in walked the two detectives. She rolled her eyes at just the mere sight of them, already overwhelmed with their pressure. Erica took a seat on the bed.

  “Now what?” was her question.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Robertson,” Detective Brown was the first to speak, at the same time pulling a statement form from his folder. “We need to know exactly what happened the night you were kidnapped.” At first she just looked at the detectives, looked so hard it seemed she was looking through them, like they were becoming a blur to her eyes. Erica was tired, worried, and confused. She shook her head.

  “I don’t remember anything,” she spoke in a mumble — a mumble that made both detectives look at each other as if she had lost her mind.

  Detective Brown cleared his throat. “We have a verbal statement from you confessing that Gary Jackson was the one who killed your kidnappers.

  “I was drugged up. I don’t remember,” Erica said and stood to her feet. Ne-Ne didn’t want her talking to the cops. She made that very clear last night when Erica eased into her room. Both sisters cried about Junior, had a long, detailed talk about what was the best move to be made concerning her son. Erica witnessed so much pain in her younger sister as she decided not to help the police.

  “The guys who kidnapped us are dead already, so why is you telling on Gangsta? All the police gonna do is lock him up. That do not help us, it hurt us, ‘cause now he can’t save his son nor get the bitch who sent the hit. I got just one day to decide on Junior’s conditions, and it’s to keep the machine running. I’d rather die than see my son’s funeral,” Ne-Ne said, and Erica knew she was right.

  “Mrs. Robertson, are you saying that statement you made was false?” Detective Grey asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, but I will make one now.”

  “Giving us a detailed story of what happened?”

  “The only statement I can make is that I do not remember,” Erica stressed as she moved around the detectives, gathering her things to leave. She could tell by the looks on their faces she had them both pissed off.

  “Ok, fine, Mrs. Robertson. If you want to begin to play dumb, then that’s on you. All we’re trying to do is help you and your family, but it won’t get done with you and your sister acting stubborn, so when and if you remember anything, then give us a call,” Grey spoke, passing Erica his card. Erica didn’t say anything, just watched them leave, and was happy they did. She began to finish packing her things. She had plans to stay with her sister until she also recovered. Being kidnapped was a wake-up call for her. All she could think about were the things she hadn’t done with her sister yet. Everything crossed her mind, giving her the wake-up she needed. It wasn’t long after the detectives left that two Mexicans entered her room, which instantly made her heart drop. She wasn’t strong enough to put up a fight, and she had nowhere to go. All she could think about was screaming for help. One of the Mexicans saw the situation was about to get out of hand, so he put his hands out.

  “Ma’am, Gangsta sent us,” he spoke in a low tone to let her know she didn’t have to panic. The door opened again, and this time Terry walked in with a worried look on her face. Mrs. Jackson was also walking into the room.

  “What’s going on?” Erica asked, now confused more than ever.

  “We may be in danger, so Gary sent an escort for us. We all are going to my sister’s house until this situation is resolved,” Mrs. Jackson gave Erica understanding.

  “Where is my sister?” Erica wanted to know.

  “She’s in recovery. Them detectives are in there trying to get statements,” Terry said.

  “I’m not leaving my sister’s side, Mrs. Jackson. Tell Gangsta thank you, but I’m only leaving this hospital when Ne-Ne does.”

  “Ma’am, your sister will be looked after 24/7. Nothing will happen to her,” one of the Mexicans spoke. He was a short, older Mexican with gray hair all over his head. The other one had yet to speak. He was taller with ripped muscles, and at all times he stood with his hands behind his back.

  “Trust me, there’s enough of them here, Erica, to watch Nya and the baby. Gangsta just wants us all to be safe.” Terry put one of her hands on Erica’s shoulder.

  “Your sister will be safe, ma’am. I promise,” the Mexican said, again leaving Erica no choice but to go with the plan at hand. She just wanted her family safe.

  “Ok, but I need to see my sister before I go.” Erica looked at Gangsta’s mom, then to the Mexicans. Both of them shook their heads in agreement. When Erica walked into the hallway, there were a few more Mexicans outside the door. She instantly felt better about her sister’s safety and secure about leaving Ne-Ne with them. The elevator ride up was quiet. She was led to her sister’s room, and there were three more Mexican men standing outside her room. She didn’t knock, she walked straight in on the detectives tossing question after question at Ne-Ne.

  ***

  Veedo

  Today was his first court appearance since being arrested a few weeks ago. Today would either make or break him. Today he would find out exactly what was going on with this case.

  Veedo, along with three more inmates, was escorted down to the transfer floor and pushed into holding cells with many more niggas heading to court to get their bad or good news. Would they go home? Would they stay? When Veedo was pushed into one of the holding tanks, he saw many nervous faces, and even a few familiar faces. One of the guys he noticed was Eric, Gangsta’s cousin, and boy was he looking nervous. Veedo walked over.

  “What’s up, homie?” He stuck his hand out for some dap and got it.

  “Coolin’, bruh,” replied Eric.

  “You heard anything good ‘bout Gangsta? You heard what happened, right?”

  “Hell yeah, I heard. All I keep seeing on the news is that he’s wanted for murder, and the media trying to make Ne-Ne out to be an unfit mother,” Eric added, because the media had Ne-Ne on the news channel looking like a bad person when in reality she was a sweet soul. Veedo just shook his head. He also took a seat on the steel bench that was packed with niggas, plus more inmates were being pushed into the already tight room.

  “So what’s up? Do you got any defense against these crackers?” Veedo wanted to know. Did Eric have any loopholes in his case? Even though he had been to prison already, it wasn’t the Feds.

  “I know I’m not
taking no plea. Not right now, no way. My cousin is out there lurking, and best believe shawty finna find and kill Bam. Bam the only thing the Feds got on us. Shit, if cuz can pull this off quick enough, then this shit gets beat,” Eric told him.

  It didn’t take long for Veedo to decide to follow Eric’s lead, because he was right. If Gangsta offed Bam, then all Veedo would have to worry about was Rock and Kia’s statements. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the courthouse and Veedo met up with his lawyer. They shared a quick talk, which made Veedo feel better about facing the judge. They really didn’t have any solid evidence on any of the guys, just hearsay, and with a good enough lawyer they could get off.

  Veedo’s name was called an hour later. He entered the courtroom with his head held high and heart in the pit of his stomach. He was happy to see his grandmother and April, his babymama, there to support him. He winked at them both as he and his lawyer addressed the court. The Feds had him charged with conspiracy and money laundering through three counties. The judge asked him how he pled, and his lawyer said not guilty. The judge set him another date after he denied bond and dismissal, but Veedo was good with that. He wasn’t worried about nobody but Gangsta.

  He was led back into the holding cell. Veedo made up his mind that he was just gonna sit back and ride this wave, and if he had to go to the Feds, he would try to get a small amount of time. In the next holding cell over, he saw Zay and Rock with a few more niggas waiting for their names to be called. Zay’s face was swollen badly, which made Veedo smile at the beat down he gave him. Veedo locked eyes with Rock and shook his head at what he saw. If looks could kill, Rock would drop dead where he stood. Pure hate was painted on Veedo’s face, and Rock had to walk off feeling like the fuck-nigga he was. Veedo laughed and walked away, too. He knew before it was over with, he would see Rock again, but this time it would be gun-blazing, bodies-dropping, because there were rules in the game, and snitching was a number one no-no.