Avery and Dalou glanced at each other. They read each other, knowing what to do once the drugs came into their view. It was going to be show time.
“So, y’all boys are from Georgia, hey?” Henry said, trying to make small talk while they waited for the goods.
“Yeah, we from da South.”
“It can get really hot down there. I know. My family is from Alabama.”
“That’s good to know.”
Avery was becoming impatient. Adam was taking too long. “Where’s ya brother? What’s takin’ him so long?” he asked.
“You know, that’s a good question. Let me go and find out. You boys stay put now, okay?” Henry walked away, leaving the two men alone.
“Yo, somethin’ don’t feel right, Avery,” Dalou said.
Avery agreed. Things felt too still for him.
They looked around the shabby home and suspected their plan to rob these rednecks was coming unhinged.
“We should leave,” Dalou suggested.
“They got somethin’ in this fuckin’ shithole.” Avery wanted to leave, but at the same time, he wanted to score some drugs. He was itching to get high. He didn’t want to have to come so far out of the way for nothing. Keep your eyes on the prize, he told himself.
Chk-chk.
The dreadful sound of a shotgun being pumped sent the men into a panic. That sound was never good. It came from a neighboring room.
Avery and Dalou knew it was time to react and go on the defense. They quickly pulled out their pistols just in time.
Adam came charging out a room with a double-barrel shotgun. He was gunning for them shouting, “You niggers better give us that cash! You think we some stupid rednecks!”
“Fuck you!” Avery shouted. He fired—Bam! Bam! Bam!
Just like that, chaos ensued.
Adam shot off a round that barely missed both men and created a large hole in the wall behind them.
They hid behind the old, dusty furniture in the room that provided little cover. But it was better than nothing.
Henry came charging into the room with his shotgun too. He took aim at the men and fired. The blast was loud, and it shattered a few pieces of furniture near the men.
“We just want the money, you niggers. Y’all can leave with y’all lives!” Henry shouted.
“Niggas!” Dalou shouted.
“Fuck you, you fat cracker-ass redneck muthafucka!” Avery shouted. “You come a step closer, and I’m gonna shoot da gravy out ya ass!”
“Okay, you niggers had y’all chance!” Henry shouted.
He aimed and fired. It was his second miss. They were pinned down in the corner, but not for too long. Avery looked at his partner in crime. They were both ready to go hard or go home. There was no way they were going to die tonight—not by the hands of some ignorant, shotgun wielding rednecks.
Adam charged forward, eager to receive his payday. Nine hundred dollars was a lot of money, and he was ready to take it from a dead nigger’s body.
Adam took a step closer, leaving himself open to attack. Avery sprung to his feet, aimed, and lit him up. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Each shot was a direct hit. The hot slugs tore into Adam center mass and pushed him off his feet. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Henry screamed frantically. He had just witnessed his little brother killed right in front of him. “You fuckin’ niggers! I’m gonna kill you niggers!” he shouted.
“Bring it, muthafucka!” Dalou yelled.
Henry charged at the men, firing wildly at them.
Avery and Dalou were still alive, and Henry was out of ammo. The two men stood up from their protective place and smirked at him. He was helpless now.
“Yeah, nigga, you done fucked up now,” Dalou mocked.
They aimed at the fat, country, racist redneck and lit him up like a Christmas tree. He dropped like heavy timber falling in the forest.
Both men wiped the sweat from their brows and thanked their lucky stars. Shit got intense so fast, but they were alive.
“Check their pockets,” Avery said. “I know they got somethin’ on dem.”
Though they were in the backwoods, there was no telling who heard the gunfire and called the police. Dalou quickly rummaged through the men’s pockets, and bingo, they found a small amount of crystal meth and weed on Henry. It wasn’t much, but it was something for them. They fled the crime scene, jumped into the Ford, and Avery drove away.
However, they had one problem. The sun was setting, and they had no idea where they were.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, Avery’s cell phone rang, and it was Bimmy. Avery knew Bimmy was upset.
Twenty-One
It took long enough, but Avery and Dalou were finally in New York. They crossed over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn and took the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway deeper into Brooklyn. From Georgia to the Big Apple was one hell of a trip.
It was twilight, and traffic in the city was thick because of construction and an accident on the highway. Dalou was driving, while Avery sat back in the passenger seat and pulled on a blunt. The city was full of life. Every square inch of the city was vibrant with activity. Avery couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there.
The moment they touched down in Brooklyn, he took out his cell phone and called Bimmy to let him know they’d finally arrived.
The phone rang several times until Bimmy picked up. He sounded impatient with his cousin, saying, “Y’all niggas in New York yet?”
“Yeah, we hurr, cuz. What ya need us to do?” Avery asked.
“Nigga, check into a fuckin’ motel and get y’all selves straight. And then call me when y’all get settled.”
“Okay, cuz.”
Bimmy hung up. He liked his conversations nice and short. He was never a phone person. Now that his cousin was in town, it was time to expedite his plan, especially now that Hassan was having a bail hearing soon and there was a strong chance that he might be coming home.
Dalou drove toward the Canarsie section of the borough, following the GPS instructions, on their way to a Motel 6. They moved through Brooklyn easily and arrived at the motel just before midnight. They checked in with no problems. The room was nice and comfortable, and the area of Brooklyn that they were in was tranquil and far away from any trouble in the ghetto. The last thing they needed was trouble when they were so close to a ten-thousand-dollar payday.
Avery nodded in approval. “Yeah, I can definitely get used to this,” he said. They had cable TV, clean bathrooms, and twin beds. What they needed next was some weed and some bitches.
Dalou took a seat on one of the twin beds and soon spread out. It had been a long and exhausting trip, during which they’d murdered two people and assaulted a man and manager at the Waffle House.
While Dalou went to sleep, Avery lit another cigarette and stared out the window. He felt good to be in New York to put in some work for his cousin. This was the big leagues, and he was determined not to fuck it up. He wanted to show his older cousin he was capable of becoming a hit man for the organization. He wasn’t going to think twice about that bitch they were going to kill. Whoever she was, she was a dead bitch! She was his chance to propel himself toward becoming somebody. Who knew? If the hit went as planned, New York could become their permanent home.
***
It was the middle of the night and the hard knocking at the door woke up Avery and Dalou. Both men jumped out of bed, looking somewhat startled. It sounded like police, but they doubted it.
Avery grabbed his gun and went to the door cautiously. He looked through the peephole and relaxed when he saw Bimmy. He opened the door.
Bimmy walked inside forcefully. “Why y’all niggas so late?” he barked.
“Car trouble,” Avery lied.
Bimmy stared at his cousin and then Dalou, two country nigg
as looking for a breakthrough in the criminal life. Everything about them was completely off in Bimmy’s eyes, from their clothes to their accents. They were an embarrassment to him. Avery looked like a nightmare. Bimmy had seen bums that looked less sloppy. His ashy cousin looked like he didn’t know how to wash his own ass. If his was the last face someone saw before they died, God help them.
Bimmy hoped that his city didn’t eat them alive before they did what they needed to do. He hadn’t seen his cousin in years. He didn’t miss him, and it wasn’t a family reunion. Avery was just part of his master plan.
“Y’all ready for this? Because I can’t have any fuckups. Y’all niggas understand me?”
“Believe me, cuz, we were born ready,” Avery replied.
Bimmy saw the guns in their hands and the looks in their eyes. They both looked thirsty and ready, but also like two fools standing in their underwear. He knew his cousin was a no-good troublemaker back in Decatur. His name rang out there. But this wasn’t the country. This was New York, always moving and nothing to play with. One wrong move, and it could be their last.
But Bimmy needed out-of-town shooters. He couldn’t take any chances with Pearla’s murder being linked back to him. Hassan had never met Avery, and Bimmy had never talked about any of his family in the South.
Bimmy handed them a clear and glossy eight-by-ten picture of Pearla.
“Damn! She’s pretty,” Avery commented.
Dalou admired the picture too. They looked like two horny hound dogs drooling over Pearla’s pretty photo.
Bimmy shook his head. “I want y’all to kill her, not fuck her.”
Avery nodded.
Bimmy handed them a list of all the known locations she frequented. First, a hair salon in the city that was supposed to be safe. Then there was the gym in Brooklyn, the bank, and last but not least, the spa in midtown. He pretty much gave them her whole life, but omitted her home address. They couldn’t kill her at her house. Hassan would know who gave her up.
Next, Bimmy gave the country goons her license plate number and the make and model of the Benz she drove. Then finally, he removed an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Avery. In it was five grand, half the money now, the other half to be delivered when the job was done.
Avery happily took the cash and smiled.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Bimmy repeated sternly.
“We won’t, cuz.”
Bimmy took one last look at his hired killers and sighed. He then pivoted and left the room. He went down to his car and lingered behind the steering wheel for a moment. He wondered if he’d done the right thing, paying these thirsty fools half up front, and giving them the contract. Would they do the hit or take the money and run? Bimmy wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep if forced to kill his own blood. But who had the time? He had too much shit going on.
As Bimmy continued to sit in his luxury vehicle, he thought about Pearla and wondered why he was going so hard. Why did he put his own life in danger just to kill her? He knew that if Hassan ever got wind of what was happening, he would be a dead man.
He lit a cigar and inhaled the taste. He exhaled, and once again thought about Pearla. At that moment, he admitted to himself that he was, in some strange way, jealous and angry. He felt betrayed when he saw Cash sneaking into her home that night. Secretly, he harbored feelings for her, but he could never act on them. She was a fine and beautiful woman. She was intelligent and independent. He thought about her constantly, and it stimulated him whenever she walked into the room. His blank stare never gave him away.
When Hassan got knocked, in the back of Bimmy’s mind, there was hope. If Hassan got convicted for murder, then he could have made his move on Pearla. There was something about her that was too enticing. He wanted to fuck her. However, when he saw Cash, he felt deceived. To him, and most dudes who hustled hard, Cash was nothing but a pretty boy. That’s it! He wasn’t a real man—not a real hustler. He was soft—a bitch. His baby mama, April, was harder than Cash, Bimmy believed.
Now that he’d put out the hit, his gut was telling him to call it off, though his heart was telling him to put that bitch six feet deep. The wheels had started to turn, and everything had been set in motion. He wanted Cash’s and Kwan’s heads on a spike.
Twenty-Two
Sophie paced around the living room trying to come up with the perfect plan to get Cash to speak to her. It had been months since she’d seen or heard from him. She was becoming desperate. Kwan was pushing her to contact him by any means necessary.
Sophia decided to change up tactics. She sighed heavily and then scooped up her cell phone from the bed and dialed Cash’s number. His phone rang several times before her call was sent to voice mail, like always.
She left a message on his voice mail. “Cash, it’s me again, Sophie. I know you’re upset with me and you don’t trust me, but we need to talk. It’s really important. I’m pregnant, and it’s your baby. And I’m sorry, baby. I miss you so much, and I love you. Please give me a call back.” She hung up feeling that would get his attention. At least she hoped it did.
Her message was somewhat true. She was pregnant, but not by Cash. The baby belonged to some little nigga in Kwan’s crew named Raymond. Sophie had started fucking him to get over Cash. He was a young cutie, tall and muscular, but no matter how many times he ran his dick inside of her, the nigga still couldn’t compare to Cash. There was something about Cash that was unforgettable.
She missed Cash deeply, and in a strange way, she loved him. But under Kwan’s pressure and influence, she wanted him dead too. Her brother was right—there was no coming back from his disrespect. She chose family over dick. And in her twisted mind, she felt that if she couldn’t have him, then no one could. Not even that bitch Pearla.
***
Cash stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He’d spent the past week cooped up in the motel room not doing much except working out, ordering Chinese food every day and watching TV. Then he’d call his contacts out in Brooklyn to get the 411 on what was happening and on his pops. Everything was cool with his pops, but Cash heard about Kwan killing one of Bimmy’s men, a nigga named Run-Run. He didn’t know the nigga and had never heard of him until his murder.
It wasn’t surprising to him that Kwan got to someone close to Bimmy. It was his nature. He was a monster.
The war would only escalate. Neither side would stop. The bloodshed would continue until the entire city was covered in blood. Cash wanted to be as far away from that as possible. He still thought about leaving town and starting over somewhere. He had enough money on him to live anywhere. The drug game and stealing cars had been good to him. He had profited greatly from both illegal ventures and had the cash to become a new man. It wasn’t in the millions, but it was enough money for a house and a new life in a different state.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom. Of course, he had his guns out, the shades were drawn, and the bolt lock was across the door. Like routine, he started his workout, a few calisthenics to shape his body. He did fifty push-ups and a hundred sit-ups, and worked on his biceps and triceps. To Cash, his body was the most important thing to him. He needed to stay fit and strong. The motel room became his private gym.
After his forty-minute workout, he wiped the sweat from his hard-looking body and downed some bottled water. Working out kept him busy and focused.
He realized he hadn’t had sex in several weeks. It was a first for him, going without sex for so long. His energy was up. He was animated and alive. He looked at himself in the mirror and liked what he saw. He was still young and handsome, and he didn’t want to die. He was just too handsome to die.
Looking down at the bed, Cash saw that he had a few missed calls. He picked it up, scrolled down his missed call list and saw that Sophie had called him once again and left another message. At first, he wanted to delete it, but he decided ag
ainst it and listened to the voice message she’d left on his phone. Cash listened to her message stating that she was pregnant by him. Automatically he felt that it was only a ruse to get his attention and have him call her back. She sounded sincere in the message, but he didn’t believe her.
Anyway, he decided to call her back. Not because she was pregnant, but because he did need her help. He had been avoiding her for too long, and he needed her help to call off the dogs. If anyone could stop Kwan from murdering him, it probably would be Sophie. Just as he asked Pearla to call off Hassan, he was going to ask Sophie to do the same thing. He felt that she had some influence over her brother.
Cash was desperate to bring peace, somehow, some way. He was tired of the bullshit. Overnight, he’d had an epiphany. He strongly felt that there was something out there better for him. Someplace far away from New York—a new life, hope, and a different bitch. And when he left, he didn’t want to be looking over his shoulders. He knew that one day Kwan, or Bimmy, and Hassan would kill each other, but what would stop the last man standing from coming after him?
Though Cash was a free man, he felt imprisoned by concern and the sins of his past. A year from now, when he was living his life comfortably, who was to say someone wouldn’t recognize him and put a bullet in the back of his head because they hadn’t forgotten about the past?
He had to do something. If he had to swallow his pride and make amends to some dangerous men and bitches, then so be it. He wasn’t going to continue to cower and hide in some motel room. He had to take a risk either with war or making peace.
Sophie’s phone rang twice before she picked up. “Hello?” she sounded eager to speak.
“It’s me. You really pregnant?” Cash asked, not beating around the bush.
“I am. Five months.”
So far the time frame added up. But he didn’t trust her.
“I miss you, Cash. I really do. Where are you?”
Cash refused to answer the question. There was no way in hell he was about to give up his location. “I’m somewhere,” he replied, being short.
The House that Hustle Built, Part 3 Page 12