“You say Baker Road?” asked Step sarcastically.
“Yeah.”
It didn’t take long for them to get there from Johnson Road. Step was rapping some of the lyrics of Velt as it pumped through the speakers.
Work like temp services. Fans like Oprah, die hard fans in my hood is the smokers. I don’t call them Jack boys, I call them jokers. Same niggas get locked up, bitch out, and fold up.
When they made it to Baker Road, Monkey directed him to a red brick house with a couple cars out front and a few dudes sitting in the driveway, drinking, smoking, and jamming to the radio of a car. Almost everybody’s face lit up when Monkey jumped out of the ride. He embraced two of the four dudes as Step watched, along with Randy.
“I need a favor, Unc,” Monkey said to a heavyset, tall, light-skinned man. He had a serious look on his face.
“What’s up, Nephew? Let’s talk. Come on.” His uncle walked off from the group in the driveway and into the house that was neatly decorated just like a old school would do. Monkey turned around to face his uncle once they were solo inside the crib.
“Them niggas in the car I’m finna kill. I need you to help me pull this off, though, and I’ma fuck with you big on this drop I got.”
When Monkey said what he said, his uncle just looked at him dumbfounded, then shook his head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that your ace in the driver’s seat out there?”
Monkey walked closer and said through gritted teeth, “Uncle. this nigga is ‘bout to get us killed, or better yet, a life sentence. He on some more shit. Trust me, he got to go.”
His uncle saw in Monkey’s face that he wasn’t joking. “So you want me to catch the life sentence with you?” his uncle laughed.
“Fuck no. That’s why I asked you to help me, ‘cause I know you good at this shit. But either way, it’s gonna happen, Unc.” Monkey had his mind made up already.
“I feel you, Nephew, but I can’t take that chance. I’m too old for another jail cell, homie. Take them niggas right there on Church Street and handle yo’ business and get back here. I will get you, home.” His uncle was a known killer back in his days. He did twenty years for murder, and he wasn’t willing to do another day, but he did give his nephew some pointers.
“Cool, Unc.” Monkey walked back outside after they dapped each other up. He threw up the deuce to the other three guys in the driveway and jumped into the car. He looked over at Step. “Unc said Gangsta’s auntie stay on Church Street, bruh, right ‘round the corner,” Monkey lied, closing the door.
Chapter 8
Gangsta
Longo woke him up with a plate of food and something to drink. Gangsta sat up, still sleepy from his power nap, feeling a sharp pain run through his chest. He rubbed it before he took the food from the Mexican. “‘Preciate it, way.”
“No problem. We pull out in thirty minutes, so get your stuff together,” Longo said and left the room, leaving Gangsta to his meal. He rubbed his chest one more time, then picked up the phone. He had no missed calls. He had been asleep a few hours, and he felt a lil’ better. It didn’t take him long to smash the food and get up. Jeter and Longo were eating when he made it to the living room. There were a few guns laid out on the table. Both Longo and Jeter wore all black, both had masks rolled on top of their heads. Longo tossed Gangsta one and a pair of gloves. Gangsta noticed all the guns had silencers on them.
“You ready, way?”
“Fuckin’ right. I’m ready to get back to the city and handle the big business,” Gangsta replied while rolling the mask on top of his head.
“Let’s roll.” Jeter stood up.
Longo passed everybody two guns before saying, “One is for backup.”
Gangsta didn’t protest. He just took them and they all headed out the door.
Bam’s babymama was located in a very nice area in Miami on South Miami Avenue. It took them an hour’s drive and two blunts to get there. It was almost 7:00 p.m., so the streets were fairly empty and quiet. Jeter was driving. He parked across the street from the brown brick home that sat twenty feet from the road. No gate surrounded the nice looking house. The three of them sat in silence. Longo was reading from some notes, then looking at his watch. Gangsta held one of the P9 Rugars tightly in his palm, ready to get shit popping.
“What’s the plan, Longo,” Jeter asked.
“A knock warrant. We have only ten minutes to handle the business. We rush in, we kill the entire house, we back out, and we leave.”
“No kids, way. I’m not killing no kids,” Gangsta spoke.
“Loco say everything dies. He don’t want not one witness,” Longo said over his shoulder and opened the door, leaving Gangsta no reply. He and Jeter followed Longo as he smoothly walked across the street.
“Come on, way,” Jeter spoke to Gangsta, leading him around the side of the house while Longo took the other way. Jeter found a door under the carport that led into the house. They waited until Longo met up with them before Jeter tried the doorknob, and it turned, cracking the door. It took them inside a kitchen. Longo put one finger over his lips, then pointed down to a sleeping dog. Longo aimed the P9 and pulled the trigga. It sounded like wind as the bullet tore through the dog’s skull, blood beginning to pool from under him.
“No witnesses, way.”
They all went their separate ways. Longo and Gangsta headed upstairs as Jeter went to find the living room. The first room Gangsta entered held a female who had to be Bam’s babymama. She looked up when Gangsta entered the room, his gun aimed at her face. Goldie still tried to run to the closet, but he was on her with lighting speed.
“Bitch, you better chill.” Gangsta pressed the gun to the side of her face. He looked up and noticed a little girl no more than four years old standing at the foot of the bed. She was very pretty with a fresh bowtie hairdo.
“Please don’t hurt my child,” Goldie mumbled with pleading eyes.
“Don’t give me a reason. How many kids are in this house?” Gangsta asked, pulling out some cuffs.
“My son is in the bathroom,” she spoke fearfully, shaking like she just came in from the rain in the winter.
He heard a scream from the next room over, then quickly nothing. Gangsta knew someone just lost their life. He had to move fast. He quickly cuffed Goldie from behind. There was rumbling downstairs, which made Goldie start crying.
“Bitch, where is your phone?” Gangsta said with the gun aimed at her face. The girl’s shaky head pointed to the phone laying next to her iPad. Gangsta took it. “What’s your name?”
“I’m— I-I’m— My name is Goldie. Please don’t kill m—”
Her words were abruptly stopped when the bullet connected with her cheekbone, spraying the wall with blood. The little girl didn’t stir. Gangsta looked down at her, and with a second thought, he put the gun on his hip. He got the phone and took a picture of Goldie. He then bent down to the little girl.
“I’m ‘bout to hide you in the closet so you will not be hurt, ok?” He was hoping the little girl understood him, because if Longo saw her, she was as good as dead. He put her in the closet quickly, walking out of the room. He and Longo met up in the hallway, both heading to the last room. When they made it, there was a younger female who looked like a college student. She jumped up when Gangsta hit the lights and she found two men in her room. She was just about to scream, but Longo was already busting his shots to her stomach and chest area. Her body hit the ground, jerked a bit, then life left it. Gangsta looked at Longo, then they both walked off.
Longo was about to check the bathroom, so Gangsta beat him to the punch. He quickly walked in and there was a little boy. He and Gangsta locked eyes, then Gangsta left, going back downstairs where Jeter was waiting on them. It was a total wreck in the living room. Two bodies of older females lay bloody on the carpet. Gangsta walked over them toward the door. They all slipped out of the house and quickly back to the car. Longo cranked up and pulled off down South Miami Avenue.
No
one spoke as the car sped up the block, making a couple turns, then back to the highway. Non-stop, they were headed back to Georgia.
Gangsta pulled his phone out, then pulled the girl’s phone out. He scrolled through her call log and saw the last number that called her. It had to be Bam, he thought. He dialed it back. The phone rang a few times and rolled over to voicemail. He probably would’ve hung up if Bam answered. Gangsta smiled when he heard Bam’s voice. He then went through her text messages to see what they had been talking about, but saw nothing of importance. Gangsta was feeling like he was making progress. He knew Bam would be sick once he found out he couldn’t hide. Gangsta could’ve played really dirty and killed the kids, but he didn’t have the nuts because the kids didn’t have anything to do with what Bam had going on, so he spared them like he would want a man to spare his kids. And even though the man didn’t spare his son, Gangsta’s heart still couldn’t pull a trigger on a kid, no matter what.
“Way,” Longo broke his train of thought, making him look up to the front seat.
“What’s hap’, way?”
“No witnesses, right?” Longo asked.
“Yeah, no witnesses, way,” Gangsta replied, but then wondered why Longo asked that. Could it be he saw it in Gangsta’s eyes that he was hiding something? However it went, Gangsta didn’t give two fucks. His son was on life support from a heartless nigga, and that was somebody he wasn’t. Right then and there in the car, Gangsta silently made a vow to never take another man’s life once he found and killed Bam. Even though he was street, he still had some form of a heart, and it seemed crazy because he killed without thought at times.
Gangsta knew he was changing because he was a father now, and he wasn’t just living for himself anymore. He had people to raise.
They smoked four blunts before Longo decided to stop for something to eat right outside of Miami. Gangsta used that time to call Ne-Ne, just to check up on her.
She picked up. “Hello?”
“Baby, how you feeling?” he asked.
“What’s up, Gary?”
“Nya, I need you in my corner, baby, not being hateful. Because you my strength, baby girl. You always have been. Any word on Junior yet?” he needed to know.
“Same status. He’s being moved to Grady tomorrow, and I’m being released, but I’m not leaving his side. I spoke with a specialist about surgery on Junior. He said it’s worth a try, since I don’t want to give up, but the chance of him making it is none. Nobody ever has come back from being brain dead. This is what the doctor said,” Ne-Ne told him.
Gangsta just took in everything he was hearing, then he said, “Nya, I love you, baby girl. God got us. Let him do the surgery. I’m on my way back to Atlanta. I wanna see you.”
“Gary I don’t wanna see you right now. I’m not about to lie and say I do. I want my son to wake up. That’s what I want, so give me that.”
“I am, Nya.”
“I can’t fuckin’ tell,” she yelled through the phone. Gangsta had to move it from his ear. “I’m starting to hate you, Gary.”
Ne-Ne was breaking down again. Gangsta knew she was hurt, though her words were crushing him. If she only knew how he felt, maybe she would be more considerate of her words, but she was in a blind rage right now.
“I’ma call you tomorrow on my mom’s phone.” He just hung up in her face. He was starting to become pissed off as well, and he was desperately trying not to blow up on her, because he knew the situation and understood.
“Roll up one more, way.” Gangsta tossed Jeter the loud he needed to blow one.
***
Monkey
Step pulled up on Church Street and rode at a slow pace until Monkey told him to stop in front of one of the houses. They both looked hard in the same direction of the house. As Step was looking, Monkey eased his hand around the butt of his gun. His finger eased around the trigga. His heart rate sped up in his chest at the thought of what he was about to do. Could he truly take his friend’s life just out of nowhere? Monkey wasn’t that type of guy. He wasn’t pussy, but killing wasn’t natural. Once he made a move, there was no turning back. He knew that. Step was his ace since knee high. It wasn’t easy taking his life, but if he didn’t, then the ending wasn’t gonna be pretty for them both. Something had to be done, because Step had flipped.
Monkey already had a plan mapped out to cross out Bam by linking up with Gangsta. He would deliver Bam right to Gangsta on a silver platter. Plus he would get to keep the hundred pounds of loud and bank on Gangsta being the plug, as he said he would. With one quick motion, the gun raised up. At the same time, Step was turning back toward Monkey. The gun exploded, knocking blood and brain all over the driver’s side window. Monkey turned around to a shocked Randy in the back. He aimed the gun and let off two more shots, both striking his face, slumping him. Monkey wiped everything down before he jumped out of the whip and took off running toward his uncle’s house. When Monkey made it up the street, his uncle and crew were already getting their stuff together, ready to leave. Monkey, breathing heavily, nodded to his uncle, who directed him to his truck.
“Give me a second. Let me lock up this house.” His uncle moved fast as his buddies were pulling out. Nobody wanted to be a part of this. Every last one of them had been to prison before, and it was no more going back. They didn’t care what the next man did, it was just certain shit they were no longer willing to do. Unc made it to the truck and quickly pulled off down Baker Road, headed to I-20. Monkey started feeling bad when they got on the highway, because Step had always been his right hand. It was gonna be nearly impossible to look Step’s mom in the face after knowing he was the one who killed her son. It was done already, ain’t no taking it back, so he must move on to the next mission in life.
Monkey had his uncle drop him off at the spot so he could check the trap.
“You good, nephew?” he asked Monkey when they posted in the driveway. Monkey had one foot in, one foot out of the car, his gun laid cross his lap. He waved a guy over from the porch of the trap house, then he looked at his uncle.
“Yeah, I’m good, Unc. I’ma look out for you, too, when I get this shit situated.” They dapped each other up as Monkey got out to meet the guy who looked like a junkie.
“What’s up, Monkey?”
“Where is Pam?” They walked toward the house as his uncle pulled off. The junkie looked over his shoulder, then back to Monkey.
“Her and Mack in there. Where is your shadow? When I see you, I see him,” the junkie asked about Step, but Monkey ignored him, going into the house that smelled like loud weed. The living room was crowded with niggas standing around, holding choppers, standing guard. Pam and Mack were in the back room. Monkey walked into it after talking with a few of the shooters they had standing around.
“Glad you here. This shit gon’ take more than a day to break up in pounds, it’s to compressed,” Mack said once he saw Monkey. Mack was their most loyal worker, and Pam was family through years of hanging around. She was the hood lil’ freak for many years, plus she was loyal and down.
“So what you saying, we need more days?” Monkey asked while touching one of the bails of loud.
“At least one more,” Pam said as sweat dripped from her face.
“I tell you what, go pick two of them shooters to help speed up the process, ‘cause this shit got to be ready to move tomorrow. Pam, I need your ride and your presence. Grab your strap. Mack, make sure shit on point.”
“Say no mo’. Whe’ Step ass at?” Mack asked.
“Step resting, bruh. Hit me when you get half pound up,” Monkey replied, leaving the room. Pam was beside him.
Pam drove a silver BMW SUV tricked out. Monkey jumped in the driver’s seat, sinking into the leather. He adjusted the seat for his comfort, then pulled off.
“Everything good, ain’t it?” Pam asked, because she could tell by his demeanor that it wasn’t, that there was something going on.
Monkey sped down the street. Without looking at h
er, he said, “I just murked Step.”
Chapter 9
Bam
Trina rode nested under him as the Benz truck cruised through Buckhead after dodging the Feds the night before. A Tahoe in the front and a Tahoe in the back protected Bam as he puffed on some of the best loud he could find. One of his arms draped over Trina’s shoulders, his hand resting on the side of her bubble booty. He passed her the blunt while taking in the view of Buckhead: condos and storefronts. He had a beautiful surprise for Trina that would blow her mind. Even though Bam was a cold-blooded killer, he still had some affection in him and didn’t mind showing it. His babymama Goldie was the first lady. She was the one female that was close to him, that pushed his button, and that knew him like a book, so she saw more of the softer side of him with his kids. Goldie was the one he was in love with. Trina was next in line, because he was crazy about her, too. They just didn’t have history like him and Goldie.
The big-body Benz pulled up to the Cheesecake Factory, which brightened Trina’s face. Bam smiled, knowing the effect he had on her. She passed the blunt back to him, then sat up.
“Daddy, you know this my spot, right?” Trina happily said.
Bam sat up also. He patted her thigh before saying, “So now you know I listen, shorty.”
They stepped out of the Benz, both decked out in Gucci from the neck down. Bam was iced out, blinding those that watched him. Everywhere Bam went, he was the life of the party. Everyone flocked to him when he would step out, because Bam partied like a rock star. The FBI gave him a pass, and since he was already exposed, he flaunted his wealth.
Bam had plans to leave Georgia once court was over with. He would just work with Monkey and Step while Trina oversaw the entire operation. Trina had the heart, plus she took instructions well enough to handle two niggas in Atlanta. Bam knew he needed to fall back out of the Feds’ eye, but money still have to be made, so he planned to setup shop in Texas, a place he hadn’t put his stamp down in yet.
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