All Eyes on Gunz 3

by Warren Holloway

  “It would be a waste of your time and mine if I did, Ramon. I have the money outside in the Chrysler parked out front. Yo, Dollar! Go get them two bags of money.”

  As Dollar headed toward the exit, Ramon nodded his head toward his security at the door.

  “Vamos afuera con el hermano,” Ramon said, sending one of his bodyguards outside with Dollar.

  Once out in front of the restaurant, Dollar and the Spanish nigga Ramon sent out with him secured the money and placed it into one of the three silver bullet-proof H2 Hummers that were parked in front of the Chrysler. They then headed back into the restaurant.

  “Oye, jefe, yo tengo chabo para ti, es en auto,” the bodyguard said before taking his place back against the door to secure the entrance.

  Ramon gave a brief smile of satisfaction upon hearing that the money was all there.

  “I like when a man comes to do business with no bullshit attached to it, hermano. Your 150 is paid for, plus I’m fronting you another 150 on top. I hope you can handle this. It will also prevent you from having to come back and forth so frequently. We wouldn’t want the wrong people watching you.”

  “I’ll be able to handle this with the team I have right here, plus I’m into expanding up the coast, which will allow me to get rid of all this product in a timely fashion.”

  “No need to rush, hermano. Let it take its own course of distribution, and the money will flow. Therefore, your longevity in this business will be long.”

  Nino felt his wisdom while at the same time took heed, because jail was the last place he wanted to be after he caught a break dealing with Rakman.

  “I like this crew you have here, Nino. They remind me of some friends I knew back in Spanish Harlem,” Ramon said while reaching for his cell phone to make a call to his driver, who had the three hundred kilos he was sending to Nino’s place in North Carolina. “Mira, take care of that, and drop it off at the location I gave you.”

  “Si viejo, I’m on my way now,” the driver responded, driving across America with over a quarter ton of cocaine.

  “Nino, your product will be delivered to your townhouse in the form of new furniture. The product is packed throughout the living room set.”

  He was shocked to hear that Ramon knew where he lived. That’s what money and power get you in this world.

  “One more thing, mi amigo, and I’m quite sure you know this, but if you fuck up my money, I’ll be a nightmare to you and anyone connected to you. No one will have a chance to retaliate,” Ramon said, giving Nino the dark stare backed by his murderous eyes. He then patted Nino on the shoulder and added, “Call me in a few days to confirm you received the package.”

  He then walked out the door, leaving Nino and his crew behind to think about their rise to power with this new shipment coming to them and how they would distribute it. Nino and his crew exited fifteen minutes later and headed back to the airport, so they could get back to the East Coast to start networking.

  “Nino, what’s the lay fo’ this situation?” Dollar asked.

  “We have two to three days before the product lands. In the meantime, we need to network and put shit on lockdown with the deals taking over all the distribution in the Carolinas, Atlanta, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. It’s our time to shine.”

  “I got the Carolinas,” Dollar said.

  “I’ma do Georgia and Florida,” Pistol said.

  “I guess that leaves me with Jersey, Virginia, and Pennsylvania?” L-Geez said.

  “I’m glad y’all niggas think big and outside of the box, because we about to get paid for real. We just have to stay focused and be mindful of them Fed boys and rat-ass niggas trying to take us down. So be mindful of who y’all bring into your circle.”

  “You right about that, Nino, ‘cause the snakes are out there doing more hating than a little bit,” L-Geez said.

  Nino and his team made it back to the East Coast and hit the ground to take care of business networking. Pistol made his way down to Tampa, Florida, for his first stop, where he reached out to a few people. He then hit up Fort Lauderdale and then Miami, where the partying and women were, which meant this was the city of ballas and where they came to play and enjoy their money from the game.

  Pistol drove his truck through the land of hurricanes. As usual, he was strapped with the latest SK-8 and Glock 7mm with extended clips. He was always ready for whatever. He also thought about the new expansion while driving from hood to hood exchanging numbers and negotiating deals.

  He finally came through one hood looking to be on point in the game. The area was flowing with the heavy traffic of cars, fiends, niggas, and bitches. While some were strapped playing their part, others were stunting. Pistol banged his Alpine system with his 20-inch JBLs in the back. As he came through the hood, he slowed down when he saw a sexy-ass chocolate sista around his age, so he rolled up on her and let down his windows, so the music could get her attention. She turned his way after hearing the clarity of the music. Besides, it was Drake’s new shit, so she was all in nodding her head to the music.

  “Damn, chocolate girl! I would love for you to melt in my hands and mouth,” Pistol said, trying to be funny and charming at the same time.

  “You like what you see, huh?” she said while twerking to the music.

  “No, I’m loving what I see, shawty.”

  She started laughing and feeling his swagger. Her smile gravitated just as her chocolate skin looked smooth, flowing over the curves of her tight body. Her hazel brown eyes added to her allure, which gave her the look of a young Naomi Campbell from the hood. Pistol definitely got her attention.

  “Come here, shawty, and tell me yo’ name.”

  “Mmmh, he fine,” she whispered to herself as she made her way over to him. “My name is Diamond. What’s ya name, pretty boy?”

  “They call me Pistol, but you can call me whatever you like if you hop in and let me get into your mind,” he said, wanting to get in them sexy-ass jeans she was wearing.

  “You use that line on all the girls, huh?”

  “Just you, because you fine, shawty,” he said, giving her a look while visually undressing her.

  Diamond saw that Pistol was an out-of-town nigga with real swagga, so she gave him a chance to have some of her time.

  “If I get in, will you take me to get something to eat?” she asked, being ghetto as ever while working her beauty to get what she wanted.

  “If you let me, I’ll feed your mental and emotional appetite, too,” he said, continuing on with his smooth words.

  His main intention was to make money and getting to know her could lead to that since she was in the hood with all the heavy traffic going on.

  Diamond got in the truck and looked him up and down. She also checked out the interior of the truck and appreciated the luxury of the MKZ.

  “Take me to Checkers. They got good curly fries,” Diamond said, sounding so innocent but far from it.

  “I hope ya man don’t be tripping on me taking you away from the hood,” Pistol said, checking to see if she had a man.

  “I don’t have a man. If I did, I wouldn’t be up in here,” she said after flipping his visor down to check her hair and lipstick to make sure her shit was on point.

  “So, what you doing out in this hood? Is this where you from?”

  “Yeah, born and raised in the projects, but I’m waiting my turn to get up out of here if I get an answer back from this modeling agency,” Diamond said, knowing she may have a shot with her natural beauty, dark skin, and five-foot-seven height without heels.

  “I can see you making it one day. Then you won’t even remember people like me. I’ll be too ghetto, and you’ll be too Hollywood like Nicki Minaj and Lil Kim.”

  “I love the hood, but I can’t fulfill my dreams here. I’ll never be too Hollywood, pretty boy,” Diamond said jokingly while pushing his shoulder.

  “Don’t make me crash before I feed your body, heart, and mind,” he said, still being fly with his wordplay.
<
br />   He pulled through the Checkers drive-through and placed their orders before he headed back to the projects.

  On the way back, he got more information out of her on who she was, where she wanted to be in life, and what she was currently doing. He also let her know who he was, where he was from, and why he was in the city. They exchanged numbers and wanted to see each other after today in a more intimate setting, like a dinner and a movie.

  As they pulled back into the hood, Pistol took notice of the tricked-out 760Li BMW. Being a car fanatic, he appreciated the big-boy whip.

  “Yo, who dat pushin’ the BMW?” Pistol asked after he saw that whoever it was could be a potential customer.

  “That’s my cousin Tre. He got this hood on lock, so don’t think you can come around here putting in work unless you coming to see me,” Diamond said, giving him a salacious look while eating one of her curly fries. “That’s him right there,” she said while pointing at him.

  Tre was carrying a bag of money he just grabbed from his squad. As soon as Tre got to his whip, gunfire sounded off. Niggas from the projects on the other side of the city came to impose their will as if they didn’t know this hood was always on point.

  Tre opened the door and tossed the money inside of the whip before he pulled out his Glock 40mm. Raven got out of the car just as fast when she heard the gunshots. She was strapped with her twin pistols.

  “Let’s get these bitch-ass muthafuckas, mami!” Tre said, opening fire and closing in on the niggas from the south side.

  Trigger, Jay, and the rest of the squad came out banging and taking out a few of the niggas. Diamond heard and saw the gunfire exchange, and she became afraid that her cousin was going to get hurt.

  “Can you please help my cousin?” Diamond asked Pistol in the sweetest tone.

  “He looks like he’s handling his business to me!” Pistol said.

  She didn’t like his response and gave him a look. He smirked before exiting his car all strapped up.

  “I got this, chocolate girl.”

  He stepped out with the SK-8 fully automatic ready to go with a fifty-round clip tucked up inside ready for war. Pistol started spraying at the niggas at whom Tre and his homies were shooting. He was not only a gun fanatic, but he also had a naturally accurate shot that most people trained to have. It may have come from all the guns he had fired growing up.

  Raven saw the nigga that got out of the MKZ assisting them in the shootout, but she didn’t focus too much on that because he was helping them. Raven dropped two niggas back-to-back with stomach and body shots from her twin .380s. She then shifted her attention in the other direction toward voices and approaching gunfire, only to be hit in the leg.

  “Ahi Dios mio, papi!” she yelled out after feeling the burning of the slug eating at her flesh.

  Tre heard his girl scream out and then saw her fall to the ground. He snapped and fired off multiple rounds, dropping the last nigga in sight. He then ran over to him and saw that he was still breathing but wounded.

  “Just cause y’all niggas don’t see me around here every day, don’t mean this ain’t still my hood! My niggas is still holding it down!” he snapped after firing a burst of rounds into the nigga’s body, which made him flop on the ground as each slug sucked the life from him. Then he turned to his homie Jay and said, “Yo, get the fiends to take care of this shit. The cops ain’t going to be here for another ten to fifteen minutes. You know they don’t care about us,” he added before running over to his girl, Raven. “Can you stand up, mami?”

  “Thank you, papi. That punta got me in the leg, and that shit burns like a muthafucka!” she said as he helped her over to the car. “It went straight through my leg, so we still can fuck tonight, papi. I just have to get this shit patched up,” she said, trying to be humorous and somewhat serious about the sex part.

  “You crazy, baby. Now get into the car so I can see what’s up with this nigga over there,” Tre said, talking about Pistol. Tre closed the door on the BMW before making his way over to Pistol, who was now standing by his truck. “Yo, nigga, what you doing in my hood?”

  Trigger, Jay, and the homies from the hood came up to Tre’s side to secure their young OG of the hood.

  “Yo, nigga, I asked you what the fuck you’re doing in my hood.”

  Pistol was ice-grilling Tre and his team. He was ready to get it popping with the slugs until Diamond jumped out of the Lincoln MKZ.

  “Yo, cuz, I asked him to get out and help you. He’s with me,” Diamond explained.

  “How you know this nigga ain’t with them?” Tre asked.

  “He’s from North Carolina. He came down here on business,” Diamond said.

  Tre and his team lowered their weapons. They no longer saw or felt a threat.

  “Good looking out, folk. Damn fools always coming through like it’s sweet out here, but me and my team hold it down. So what brings you to my hood strapped like that?”

  “My name is Pistol, by the way, and my name speaks for itself. I stay strapped no matter what hood I’m in. I keep the latest,” Pistol said, displaying the SK-8 modified as well as the Glock 7mm on his waistline.” As ya cuz said, I’m here on business; and from the looks of the Seven you pushing, you about yo’ business, feel me?”

  “So, you thinking about coming to my hood to lock down shit or get down with my team?”

  “I come to expand your already growing business you have. I’m in the position to make you an offer that will set you up to have a fleet of those 760s for you and your crew. One for each day of the week.”

  Tre definitely embraced the thought of having a different whip for every day of the week, so he took a step closer to Pistol ready to talk business.

  “I’m listening, but I don’t hear numbers.”

  “The numbers depend on the quantity you’re working with.”

  “I do fifteen sometimes twenty squares a week. I got the Miami projects on smash, plus I do close to two in raw powder to them rich folks coming through on vacation and partying, plus them celebrities be loving this shit, too, down here. I’m at eighteen even right now.”

  “I can change that number for you if you grab twenty or more. I can get you down to fifteen and a half a block.”

  “That’s real love right there, my nigga. But what’s the quality of that shit?”

  “Between 90 percent and a 110 percent pure, with 90 being the worst. Yet still you can step on it twice and have better product than half the fools out here.”

  “I don’t cut the work. I keep it 100 percent as is to attract the clientele, plus that’s how I got my hood on smash.”

  “All you have to do is let me know when you’re ready and how much you need, and we’ll go from there, my nigga.”

  “I can hit you up in a day or so. Diamond, you got his number, right?”

  “Yeah, he gave it to me already.”

  “Send it to my phone. I got to take Raven to the hospital. My nigga, Pistol, I’ma see you around, alright?”

  “Say no more, folk. I’m all ready.”

  Tre ran back over to his whip and jumped in. Raven sat impatient and ready to go.

  “About time! I thought you forgot about me, papi!”

  “I can never forget you, mami. Business called with that nigga over there. He’s about to take my business to another level, plus he’s about his business with the guns and shit too. Now back to pleasure with you. We still going fuck tonight, no excuses,” he said, making her smile as he mashed the gas and raced off toward the hospital.

  Raven felt good inside. She loved her man even though she was in pain from the gunshot. She was all about him and for him in every way. She was a true ride-or-die chick.

  CHAPTER 27

  BACK UP IN North Carolina, L-Geez and Dollar were network-ing. They knew that they, too, needed to move the product coming in, so they secured many promising deals. Their goal was to have the majority of the product sold before it landed. The numbers they were giving were really competitive, allow
ing them to take over the game.

  Nino made his way back to the corrupt city, a place he vowed never to return. It was also the same place that Rakman Hussein had told him never to return. That was the second promise he broke. Nino made his way to South Acres and then the P-funk to secure deals and lock down shit in his hood. He was raised on the south side, so he came back to where he started making money. He was a project nigga, so it was really all he knew.

  Nino never had any intentions of returning to the city, but

  it was the only place he knew where he could easily dump forty kilos, or at least ten on each part of the city and Uptown, P-funk, Hillside, and South Acres. The city could do numbers like this on a weekly basis.

  As Nino moved around quietly through the city making money moves, on the other side of the city, Agent Miles sat at his desk going over some mail that was sent to him next-day air from Director Davenport who lived in Baltimore. It was close to his office in Washington, DC.

  As he was about to open the package, a call came through on his office phone.

  “Agent Miles here, how can I help you?”

  “The question you should be asking is how you can help yourself,” the anonymous voice said over the phone, almost taunting Agent Miles.

  Agent Miles’s body tensed up when the caller made such a statement over the phone.

  “Who the hell is this?” he asked aggressively.

  “Who I am is not the subject. What I can do to you should be your fear.”

  The office that Agent Miles was in was located on the twentieth floor of the Federal building, so he was not concerned with the empty threat, since he was inside a secured building.

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “Stop sticking your nose into places they shouldn’t be, or you will end up like your old friends.”

  “I’m doing this for my country. They need to know, and those agents’ families need answers.”