Bury Me a G 3

by Tranay Adams

  Boc! Boc!

  The first bullet struck the man in his shoulder, while the other pierced his temple. He fell over onto the grass, arms and legs flopping about. Tiaz swept his head bussa around to the last man that had Raemar in his clutches. All he could see were his evil eyes which bled malice. He held the OG up using him as a human shield. The ex-kingpin was as limp as a cooked Ramen noodle in his arm. That’s because his ass was dead.

  “Back up! Back up, or I swear ‘fore God, I’ma kill this mothafucka!”

  Tiaz’ eyes zeroed in on Raemar’s face, he was deceased. This infuriated him. He gripped his weapon with both hands. Closed an eye and squeezed the trigger with rapid succession, causing it to jerk stubbornly in his hands.

  Boc! Boc!

  The first shot blew a hole clean through the man’s right eye, exiting out the back of his skull with a mist of blood. The second shot made a hole the size of a nickel upon entering his forehead. He was cock-eyed when he hit the ground.

  Tiaz’ took in his surroundings; people were darting back and forth across his line of vision. Men, women and even children were screaming and crying trying to get the fuck out of the way, afraid of getting their lives snatched by a stray bullet.

  “Get the fuck back!” Bianca’s yelling snapped his head around and he found her with twin Pythons pointed at a wall of niggaz wearing menacing expressions. Some had guns, some had knives, while others only had their bare fists. Either way, they were vying for a piece of the thug’s ass.

  “KJ, L-Bone,” Tiaz barked a couple of his homies names. “Fuck this about? What the homies tryna get at me for, crimey?”

  “Hunnit racks, homeboy!” KJ responded, mad dogging him.

  “Don Juan put up dat paypa, and niggaz want it!”

  “Oh, so it’s like that?” His face twisted as he looked around at all of the hard faces. He couldn’t believe the goons. He’d looked out for most of them on more than one occasion and this was how they chose to repay him.

  “Nigga threw us a bone and we gotta eat!”

  “Fuck y’all, all of y’all, ya disloyal mothafuckaz!” He jabbed his banger at the air.

  A deep voice roared from his right. He turned his head just in time to see a big grey blur, before he was tackled and pain exploded in his side. He and the person that rushed him fell six feet and landed hard on top of the casket that held Threat. Thud! Tiaz grimaced so hard his eyes turned into slits and his face crinkled. When he peeled his eyelids open he saw a big, bald-headed nigga he knew by the name of Congo. He got his moniker on the account of him looking like and being built like a gorilla.

  “You killed the homie Don Juan’s wife, cock sucka!” His beady red eyes bore into the thug’s as saliva threatened to drip from his thick bottom lip. He squeezed Tiaz by the throat with one hand and reached for his cowboy boot with the other. A sheathed knife was there. He yanked it out. Snikt! Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The rain fell harder, pelting Congo’s shiny Q-ball head and Tiaz’ face. The flickering light from the lightning danced across Congo’s face making him look like he’d gone mad.

  “Yeeaahh, I’m gon’ split chu open like a key of coke, and get dat money!” His head slightly trembled as he brought the tip of the knife toward Tiaz. He gritted his teeth and clamped his hands around the big man’s wrist, struggling to keep the knife at bay as the rain hit his face and eyelashes.

  “Uhhhh!”

  The tip of the knife got deathly close, so close that he had to turn his head. He clenched his jaws and his eyes doubled, afraid that the blade would pierce his cheek. His eyes darted toward Threat’s coffin which was beneath him and visions of himself lying inside of it flashed inside of his head like lightning.

  “Diiiiiee!” Congo grunted, smacking his free hand down upon the butt of the knife and adding pressure. The sharp tip of the knife was at his cheek now.

  “Fuck you!” Tiaz slammed his knee into the brute’s balls, causing his eyes to bulge and excruciation to shoot through his family jewels. The pressure on the knife vanished and the thug made his move. He snatched the sharpened instrument of death from his enemy’s hand and kicked him in the chest. The impact from the blow threw him up against the wall of dirt inside of the six foot plot. He went to grab for his balls and he was rushed. Tiaz tackled him and slammed the knife into the side of his neck causing blood to go spurting out. Congo gasped and his eyes rolled around in his head. He pulled the blade out of his neck and looked at it, it was stained crimson. He was pissed now. He tossed the knife aside and went to rush his attacker. He got within two feet of him before he went crashing to the dirt. Dead!

  “Back up, y’all back the fuck up!” Tiaz heard Bianca barking orders. He looked up and she was standing with her back to the six foot hole. Both of her hands were outstretched and gripping her twin revolvers, moving them around to keep the opposition where they were. Tiaz hurriedly climbed up the dirt wall and over onto the surface. He got up on his feet, brushing his palms off on his knees and looking about. It looked like there were a hundred angry faces with their eyes on them. Them niggaz looked like they wanted to put a bullet, knife, or a fist through he and Bianca.

  The roughneck snatched up the Beretta he’d dropped when he was tackled and placed his back up against Bianca’s. He motioned his head bussa around making sure not a nigga jumped at him. If they did, he was going to send one through his forehead. Straight up splatter their shit.

  “Man, fuck this...” One of the hard faces leaped toward Bianca and she sent one through his chest, dropping his bitch ass.

  “Next one of y’all move gon’ find out if there’s a heaven for a gangsta!” Bianca shouted, waving her twins around ready to give any nigga stupid enough the business if he decided to test her G.

  “I’ma get the car, can you hold it down?”

  She kept her eyes on the crowd and said into his ear, “I got chu faded, T.”

  Tiaz returned in the car. He swung over by Bianca and threw open the front passenger side door, she slowly backed up, keeping her eyes and her pistols on them fuck niggaz before her. She sat one of her toys on her lap and used her free hand to close the door shut while keeping her other burner on the threat.

  “Go! Go! Go!” she told Tiaz.

  He floored the gas pedal and the car ripped down the grassy hill with a surge of angry ass niggaz pouring behind them. Them fools threw knifes, shoes, hats and even took shots at them. Tiaz and Bianca slumped down in the front seats and bullets that sounded like heavy raindrops pelted their vehicle. Embers tatted up the trunk, shattered the back window and even blew off the side view mirror. Tiaz made sure to keep his chin tucked to his chest as he tried his best to steer blindly. He whipped his ride out onto the paved road of the cemetery and kept the pedal to the metal, gunning it up out that bitch. Once he felt like the coast was clear he eased up in the driver seat and stole a glance through the rearview mirror, adjusting it. Those wild ass niggaz were still chasing after them, but after a while they slowed to a trot and eventually stopped.

  “We good?” Bianca asked from where she was slumped low in the front passenger seat.

  “Yeah, we A1.” He sighed, heavily out of breath. His face then morphed with fury as he stared ahead. “I’m about to bring it to this nigga. You hear me?” He glanced at her and she nodded. “We turning the heat up on bitch-boy. If he thought he felt it before, he ain’t went through shit yet.”

  “I’m witchu.” She scowled and nodded.

  That same night

  Duvall was posted up on the side of the 24 hour liquor store. He could barely be seen within the confines of the shadows and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was hustling so being virtually invisible to the police was quite alright with him. The night was winding down and he wanted to snatch as many dollars as he could before he took it in. His girl had some warm pussy and a hot meal waiting for him when he got home and he couldn’t wait to have his way with either of them. Duvall spat on the curb and took his 40 ounces of Olde English to the head. He b
rought the bottle down from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  A crackhead wearing a jean jacket two sizes too small and tattered Reebok Classics approached him with a handful of wrinkled dollar bills. Duvall quickly served the crackhead and sent him on his way. He went to stuff the wrinkled bills into his pocket and made someone at his left. Duvall frowned and clenched his jaws, thinking it was a junkie that owed him some paper. His facial expression and body language projected the hostility he felt for the advancing man and he didn’t bother to conceal it. He had it in his mind to pull out his joint and leave his noodles on the curb for the shit he’d pulled the last time he’d seen him. About two weeks ago, the approaching man had copped a couple of twenties off of him with counterfeit money.

  “I know that ain’t Ravone,” Duvall said in a way that said Nigga, you know better than to be showing your face around here. “If it is, my nigga, you better have some money or some bullets for me, ‘cause yo’ black ass ain’t leaving off this block in one piece unless I got some paper in my hand or some slugs in my dome.” He looked him up and down with disgust.

  “Relax, homeboy, I came to drop that on you and shop with chu.” He produced a healthy knot from his pocket and peeled off a few bills, making sure to keep his head out of the light.

  Duvall snatched the bills from him and tried to get a good look at his face. It was too dark to ID him, so he said fuck it and shrugged his shoulders.

  “This shit better be authentic, nigga.” He held the bills up into the dim street light and examined them. Seeing that the money was official caused a smile to stretch across his face. He licked his big chapped lips, and when he brought the money down, he gasped. His eyes were wide open and so was his mouth. He was staring face to face with a Beretta. Before he could utter a response the trigger was being pulled.

  Boc!

  His head bobbled about and the light left his eyes. Smoke rose from his forehead where the bullet was embedded as he slithered down to the ground. The few people that were standing around on opposite corners took off scrambling and running, like marbles from a punctured bag. Tiaz tucked the warm gun on his waistline and relieved his kill of his money, drugs, and cell phone. He took a couple of pictures of his dead body and sent them to Don Juan. He then tossed the cellular device aside.

  Urrrrrrrk!

  The G-ride came to a halt alongside the curb. Bianca leaned over the front passenger seat and threw the door open. Tiaz ran and hopped inside, closing the door shut behind him. He pulled the money and drugs out of his pocket, dropping it all on his lap.

  “Bend this corner right here.” He motioned with his finger, pointing the street out through the windshield. When she bent the corner, the creatures of the night were shuffling about looking to secure their next fix, looking like the zombies in The Walking Dead. Tiaz pulled himself out of the window and sat on the sill. As the G-ride blew past the unsuspecting crack heads, he threw out all of the money and crack he’d stolen. They sent the streets into pandemonium. Fiends were running about screaming, hollering, and fighting one another trying to get their hands on the dollars and crack.

  Duvall wasn’t the last to fall at the twosomes’ hands. That night a few more followed. Tiaz kicked in the door at the last trap and slaughtered the men there with a machete, while Bianca held them at gunpoint. He left them all dismembered and used their blood to leave his nemesis a message: I’ma raise hell ‘til I see a grave or a cell. This ain’t over, you bitch ass nigga. I’m just getting started.

  Chapter Eight

  The Next Day

  Guru sat inside of Wing Stop hunched over a box of chicken wings and fries. He sunk his teeth into the wing of the fried bird and pulled back, tearing the meat from its bone like a lion. Guru sucked the crumbs off of his fingers before taking another bite and wiping his hands on a napkin. Once he’d wiped his hands off, he snatched up a couple more fresh napkins and wiped off the greasy lower half of his face. When he was done he balled up the napkin and set it aside before picking up his fountain drink and taking a sip of Coca-Cola.

  Although any other day he would have been caught rocking a tailor-made suit and some leather Mauri shoes, that day he opted to wear something a little more comfortable. On top of his dome and cocked to the side was a navy blue Red Sox snapback with a pair of red socks on the front. His skinny form filled out a matching long sleeve, navy blue T-shirt. He didn’t have on any jewelry, save for the gold and diamond ring on his pinky finger. It twinkled under the lights of the establishment and was worthy of the boss of an organized crime family.

  “Y’all niggaz don’t won’t nothing to eat, man?” Guru asked Shank and Tink, after stretching and yawning. They shook their heads no. The young wolves went wherever the OG went and were his own personal security. Though they didn’t speak much, violence was their strong point. They had enough bodies between them to open up their own cemetery. “Suit yourself, you missing out though, this chicken good than a mothafucka.” He was about to tend back to his box of wings when he saw Tiaz pull into the parking lot and hop out of his whip.

  As soon as Tiaz crossed the threshold into the establishment, Shank and Tink moved in on him. It wasn’t until Guru gave the okay that they parted and allowed him to enter their boss’ personal space. He motioned to the empty chair across from him at his table. Taking his cue, Tiaz pulled out the chair and planted himself in the seat.

  “You want a chicken dinner?” Guru looked up from his chicken box.

  “I’m not hungry. I do need to holla at chu though.”

  “What’s on yo’ mind?”

  “I got into some shit and I’m gon’ need some heat.”

  “Speak on it.”

  Tiaz looked to Shank and Tink.

  Guru picked up on him not wanting to speak in their presence. “Yo, Shank, Tink, y’all take the employees and chill out front for a minute. Me and my homeboy need to chop up some game.” The bodyguards retrieved the employees from out of the kitchen and made their way outside. The employees went their separate ways while the muscle posted up just outside the doors of the establishment.

  Guru wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin. He balled up the napkin and tossed it aside, then folded his large arms across his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

  Although there was no one inside of the establishment besides Tiaz and Guru, he still took the time to look around and make sure no one was listening to what he was about to say. Seeing that the coast was clear, he leaned closer to Guru. “You know my man, Threat, took a bad one, right?”

  Guru frowned and leaned forward. “Threat’s locked up again? Shit, I know they threw the book at his lil’ wild ass, that boy there just like a pit bull.”

  “Nah.” Tiaz shook his head. “They took my man out.”

  The OG made his hand into the shape of a gun and he nodded his confirmation. This let him know that their mutual friend had been murdered. Shocked, he looked away and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. We’re losing more and more homies every year.” He locked eyes with the roughneck. “Who laid the homie down?”

  “Nuh uh, he’s mine.”

  “I feel you, youngsta. I know how close you two were.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “That was my mothafucking brotha. So I’ma represent and get down for him, but I’ma need some heavy artillery if I’m gon’ get some get back, you feel me?”

  Tiaz wasn’t a dummy. He knew that if he told his big homie that Don Juan was the nigga that he planned on bringing it to, that he wouldn’t put him into contact with the cat he needed to see for the firepower, so he made sure that he was discrete. Niggaz in the hood loved Don like they loved hood rat pussy. He was a ghetto celebrity in his own right.

  On more than one occasion he brought the neighborhood kids school clothes and shoes, paid mothafuckaz gas and electric bills, and blessed niggaz with work on consignment. He played the game like a politician making sure he was in favor of the people, so even the homies that fucked with T
iaz tough, would more than likely turn their backs on him if they knew he had an issue with him. He couldn’t blame them though. How could they bite the hand that fed them? When it came to making a decision on whose side they were on, it was going to be a no brainer on who they’d pick. Tiaz understood this and he couldn’t do anything but respect the game.

  “Alright, well, if you tryna get cho hands on some Commando, Rambo type of shit I could plug you with my man Remo. He’s got some shit, some really nice shit.”

  “Cool.” Tiaz rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to feast his eyes of the toys Guru’s people would have.

  “Let me hit ‘em up.” He stuck a toothpick into his mouth and took the cellular from off his hip. He found the number he was searching for and pressed dial. “Yoooooo, Darlene, how are you doing, sweets? Good, good, good. Listen, is Remo in? What?” His face tightened at the center and he looked up at Tiaz who frowned. “Okay. You be sure to tell ‘em to let me know if he needs anything. Alright now, take care.”

  “What’s up, G?” Tiaz questioned, concerned.

  Guru blew hard, saying, “My man got picked up by the feds last night.”

  “Sheeiiiitt.” He slammed his fist down on the table, startling Guru’s chicken box.

  The OG lowered his head and stared down at the table as he massaged his gray stubbled chin, thinking. Suddenly, his head shot up and he snapped his fingers like eureka. “I know where you can get chu some tools from. Mothafucka right in our backyard, I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before.”

  “Who?” Tiaz asked anxiously, sitting up in his seat.

  “Gatz.”

  “Gatz? Last time I remember he was slinging them piece of shit 9s.”

  “Nah, he’s got his weight up since you been gon.’ From what I hear he’s hooked up with some Arabian mothafuckaz. He gets shipments on some pretty nice stuff too, or so I’ve been told.” He picked up his fountain drink and took a sip. “I could hit ‘em up, but you and Gatz are good money, right? Y’all square?”