Bury Me a G 3

by Tranay Adams

  “Aw, hell yeah, me and the homie always been straight.”

  Tiaz rose from the table at the same time that Guru did. He stepped around the table and embraced him with a gangsta hug, patting him on the back.

  “Good looking out, G.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, arm over his shoulders. “Look here, you don’t hesitate to shout me a holla if you need some back up for this cock sucka’s program you ‘bout to get with.”

  “Fa sho.’”

  “Alright then.” He patted him on his back and watched him take his leave. He then motioned Shank and Tink back inside before getting back to the business of devouring his chicken dinner.

  ***

  If Wicked was going to track down Don Juan then he was going to need some information on him. The only person he knew that could help him was this BBW he used to knock down back in high school by the name of Diana. Diana was a fairly attractive, brown-skinned chick with eyes the color of almonds and a short haircut. She’d been in love with Wicked’s crazy ass since middle school. He was her first love and she was his first nut. She fell in love while he fell in lust. But how couldn’t he? She had a sex game like a porn star and an ass he could hitch a trailer on.

  Wicked circled the block of the Hope Street Department of Motor vehicles four times looking for a parking space. Figuring he’d have better luck laying low inside of the parking lot and waiting for someone to leave, he drove back and did just that. It was taking a while so he sparked up the pinch of blunt he had left in the ashtray. As he sucked on the end of it, smoke manifested, filling the interior of the car with a foul stench. He cracked a window to let a little cool air inside. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes seeing an old Chevy pickup backing out of its parking stall. A crooked grin formed on his lips and he flicked the piece of the blunt out of the window, sending embers flying. He cranked up the engine and was about to swoop into the stall once the pickup was gone. He got about five feet away when an Infinity truck with blaring speakers slid right inside and murdered its engine.

  “No the fuck this nigga didn’t.” Wicked couldn’t believe he’d gotten jacked for his stall. He squared his jaws as lines formed across his forehead, hopped out of his ride and approached the driver just as he was getting out of the SUV. He was a tall light-skinned nigga rocking an LA snapback and light jewels.

  “Say, homeboy, you didn’t see me waiting to get this spot?” Wicked dripped with attitude, just waiting for old boy to pop off at the mouth.

  “Yeah and?” He looked him up and down like ‘Nigga what the fuck you gone do?’

  Wicked took a deep breath and thumbed his nose, thinking clearly, this dude doesn’t know who I am. He lifted his shirt and revealed that thang-thang on his waistline. The sight of that steel made the bitch bleed up out of homeboy, his eyes got big and his mouth trembled. He kept his eyes on the weapon as he raised his hands, swallowing the nervousness in his throat, knowing a parking spot wasn’t worth his life. There was something about the look in Wicked’s eyes that let him know he’d have no problem taking it there.

  “Say, say, say, bro, I...”

  “Get cho punk ass in the car and get up outta here!”

  Smack!

  His ashy palm went upside his head. He ducked back inside of his truck and backed out. Wicked watched the backlights of his SUV as it pulled out of the parking lot, smiling victoriously.

  That encountered reminded him that he was truly one of the hardest niggaz walking the earth. See, he needed that. He felt like a bitch ever since he’d taken an order from Roots.

  “Humph.” He returned to his ride and pulled into the stall. Snatching his key out of the ignition, he stuffed them into his pocket and headed for the entrance of the DMV. When he crossed the threshold he couldn’t help but notice that the place was packed out. This wasn’t anything new. The Department of Motor Vehicles was notorious for being overly crowded. He wasn’t studying it though, because he didn’t have to wait on the line to thin.

  Wicked glanced at the woman he’d come to see, giving her a nod. He saw her whisper something to one of her co-worker’s and grab her purse. He nodded to the women’s restroom and ducked off inside. She was right on his heels. She looked both ways to make sure no one had seen them enter together before closing the door shut, locking it. When she turned around he was leaned up against the sink with his arms folded across his chest.

  “’Sup, sexy?” He cracked a smile, still looking like his namesake.

  “Hey, baby.” She smiled as she approached, flipping her hair out of her face. He collided with her, tonguing her down so hard the sounds of saliva could be heard sloshing around inside of their mouths. “Ooh.” She cooed and smiled, feeling his strong hands cuff, then squeeze, her big old ass. When he pulled away they wiped the extra spit at the corners of their mouths, grinning as they did so.

  “You got that for me, boo?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, reached inside of her blazer and pulled out a manila envelope. He took the envelope and opened it, pulling out several documents, all of them loaded with Don Juan’s personal information. He looked through a couple of them, coming across one of them that was a copy of his driver’s license. After studying some of the info, he stacked the papers neatly at the edge of the sink and slid them inside of the manila envelope. He then tucked the envelope at the back of his Levi’s 501 jeans, pulling his shirt over them.

  “Thanks, baby.” He tilted her chin up with a curled finger and kissed her again, this time passionately. Muah! He kissed her lips once more before headed for the door. He stopped short once she called him back. “’Sup, boo?”

  “Umm.” She twisted her manicured nail at the corner of her teeth, seductively, dying to get a taste of that thick dick of his. “Do ya think I could getta quickie before ya leave?”

  Wicked didn’t even have to think about that one. He hadn’t had any ass since he’d been home. Her request immediately caused him to rock up.

  “Yeah, I can break you off.” He smiled devilishly, unbuckling his belt and watched her slide off her purple panties. She kicked them off of her high heel and turned her back to him. Facing the mirror, she hiked that enormous ass of hers up. Diana became wet watching her man through the restroom mirror, approaching her from behind and stroking his hardened meat from its base to its head. He licked his lips in anticipation of feeling her wet, warm passage hug his dick. Stepping to her rear, he smacked her violently on her wide dimpled rump.

  “Uhh! Uhh!” He frowned, the smacks growing louder and louder. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, gasping and sucking her lips inward. They were louder than a mothafucka inside of that restroom, but neither of them gave a damn about getting caught because the sex was just that good.

  “Mmmm.” She murmured, liking that kinky shit. Rough sex was the best to her. She threw that ass back, bumping against his endowment. His shit was so hard that it jumped occasionally like it had a nervous twitch. He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his dick and then spanking her on her behind with it. He beat each of her cheeks, going back and forth as if he were playing a drum set. She looked over her shoulder at him, sliding her tongue along the outline of her full lips. She bounced up and down, making her ass applaud, trying to entice him. He rubbed her buttocks and slid his hand up and down his steel slowly. He then drew back and slid gently into her gaping pink hole. Her shaved lips swallowed his member and she contracted her walls around it.

  Smack!

  He whacked her butt with his ashy palm telling her, “Throw that ass back, momma, I wanna see that pussy eat this dick up.” She sucked on her bottom lip and looked over her shoulder as she threw that thang back into him. Her coochie making his wang disappear and reappear, getting wetter with each glide. “Sssss, ahhhh.” He tilted his head back and rolled his eyes, mouth hanging open. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Faster.” He smacked her booty, causing her to wince and moan, but she did as he commanded though. She loved when he gave her that thug love. Looking down, he admi
red his stroke being gobbled up and spat back out. He flipped the end of her blazer up so he could get a good view of her cakes. Wicked frowned in ecstasy, feeling his rod swelling with jizz, he gripped each of her butt cheeks, causing the meat to bulge between his calloused fingers. “Hold still, baby, I got this.” Her movements ceased, he spread her ass apart and pushed them up. He thrust himself in and out of her roughly, watching her pussy’s vanilla pudding glaze his diamond hard dick.

  “Ooohhh, shhhhhieeett, that’s it, work it, baby, work this mothafuckin’ pussy!” Her eyes shone white and she bared her teeth. He got a good grip of her short hair and pulled her head back, he looked at her watching him fuck her in the reflection of the glass. His face was twisted hostilely, he was beating that bitch back up and she was loving every bit of it. The blissful smile on her face and her fluttering eyes made this apparent.

  “Arrrhhh!” She growled.

  Still, staring at her through the mirror, he smacked her on her buttocks and talked that shit. “You like that rough shit, don’t chu! Don’t chu, you freaky mothafucka you!”

  “Yes, yeess, yeeesss, I fucking love it!”

  He harped up saliva and turned her face to the side, spitting on it twice. The hot goo splattered against her face as he worked her bottom, the nappy hairs of his V slapping against her cakes. Diana tried to lick some of the spit off as it rolled down her cheeks with her nasty ass.

  “Arrrrh!” Wicked gritted, feeling his nut build up in his pipe. He kept at it until the last possible minute. “Here I come, here it go!” He snatched his glistening beef out of her and jerked it. The head of his meat swelled and shrunk as his dick was pumped until finally, Ahhhhh! His cream oozed and pelted her brown booty. He smacked her on the butt again and rubbed his flaccid penis in the glaze he’d stained her with.

  “You did that, boy.” She smiled at him through the reflection in the mirror.

  “You ain’t gotta tell me, I was there.” He smiled with a forehead beaded in sweat.

  He grabbed some paper towels for them both and they cleaned themselves up. After getting dressed and straightening themselves out, they exited the restroom minutes apart from one another.

  Diana was going back to work, while Wicked was off to put another notch under his belt. Don Juan’s life was his to claim.

  ***

  Don Juan stood in front of the dresser’s mirror tying his tie and adjusting it. Smoothing the slight wrinkles out of it, his eyes came across the wedding portrait of him and Kiana sitting on the nightstand. He made it through the reflection in the mirror’s glass. In that instant the weight of his guilt hit his shoulders like a three hundred pound barbell. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, blowing hard. He ran a hand down his face and stopped at his nose massaging it. Taking his hand away, he looked up at his reflection. His eyes were pink and rimming with tears.

  “I’m sorry, Ki.” The tears shot down his chocolate cheeks. “I swear on my soul, baby, I am so sorry. If I could trade places with you, my right hand to God I would.” He pressed his forehead against the mirror and closed his eyes. His shoulders shook as he sobbed quietly, tears splashing on the dresser. He sniffled and lifted his head up. Staring at the broken image of himself in the mirror, made him realize that he was broken just like it. He had tried so hard over the years to keep his life from her to keep her safe, but in the end it had not been enough. His dealings in the streets had come right to their door, claiming her life and putting their son in the hands of a ruthless thug.

  Hearing a knock at the door took Don Juan back to the here and now. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his suit’s jacket and cleared his throat.

  “Who is it?” He called out.

  “Lil’ Stan. Are you ready? The homies waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, gimme a sec.” He straightened himself out and gave his reflection one last look. Opening the dresser drawer, he picked up his gun, opened his suit’s jacket and holstered his weapon. With that done, he opened the door and found his second-in-command holding his son. He took him into his arms and kissed him on his chubby cheek. The little dude was wearing a suit identical to his father’s. They were matching from head to toe. Ever since Tiaz had launched that attack on his home, Don Juan was even more protective of his son, even to the point of being obsessed with his safety. He considered leaving the child at the house with a nanny and one of his men to watch over them, but felt that his baby boy would be safer with him.

  “Come on, DJ, let’s go send yo’ mommy off.”

  ***

  Bianca pulled up across the street from Gatz’ house and executed the engine. Tiaz looked from the head bussa in his palm to his front door as he check the magazine of his weapon, making sure that mothafucka had a fully loaded clip. Click! Clack! He chambered a silver hollow tip bullet into the black gun and tucked it inside of his jacket. He looked over to his accomplice.

  “Keep this bitch running,” he told Bianca after surveying his surroundings. Although Don Juan said he was good until the funeral, he wasn’t going to throw caution to the wind on his word. He was a gangsta like he was, which meant he was willing to do whatever he had to do to come out on top. Fuck his word! He rationalized, grabbing two extra magazines from out of the console and smacking it shut. He leaned aside and stuffed them into his jacket’s pocket, eyes still focused on the front door of Gatz’ place. He could be walking into a setup and if it was so, he wanted to have plenty of ammo to get himself out of a tight squeeze. “If shots start flying, you gimme three minutes and then you pull yo’ ass up outta here.”

  “No.”

  “What?” He leveled his eyebrows and narrowed his eyelids.

  “I’m not leaving you behind, we’re a team.” She informed him. “First sign of trouble and me and this bitch coming up in there laying down bodies.” She stroked the Magnum revolver in her lap like it was a Persian feline.

  “Gangsta to the core, my brotha knew how to pick ‘em.” Tiaz cracked a slight smile, holding out his fist.

  Bianca smirked and dapped him up. “I’ll be back.” He hopped out of the car and jogged across the street, looking over both shoulders.

  Tiaz knocked on the door and called out Gatz’ name for about five minutes. When didn’t answer he pressed his face against the window and cupped his hands around his face, peering inside hoping to see him. He could barely make out anything through the slight opening of the curtains, so he made his way around the side of the house, looking to try the backdoor. He was just about to head up the steps of the back porch when a foul stench assaulted his nasal passages. He whipped his head around and found the garage. He darted right over and knocked on the door, calling his name.

  “Gatz! Gatz!” He called out. “Yo,’ it’s Tiaz, homie!” He waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. Noticing the light shining out through the lining of the aluminum door, he grabbed the handle and lifted it up. When he saw Gatz strapped to the iron table with bug eyes and a wide mouth, he was taken aback. He glanced over his shoulder and hurried inside, closing the door back. He approached the table and looked upon him. Flies were swarming all around him. There were some on his eyelids, nose and mouth, all drawn to the repugnant odor. Nearly every inch of him was covered with gashes and his clothes were soaked with so much blood that he looked like he was wearing the color from head to toe. Tiaz smacked a hand over his mouth and narrowed his eyes, walking backwards. The stench nearly made the roughneck gag. The gun merchant was dead and stinking worse than a sack full of sweaty assholes.

  Bump!

  Tiaz stepped into the side of the refrigerator, he whipped around to it and recognition flashed inside of his head. He remembered when he’d last bought some guns from Gatz. He specifically recalled him showing him his merchandise which was stored inside. He pulled open the freezer and the refrigerator, rummaging through the weapons and the boxes of bullets. He withdrew two M-16 assault rifles and few boxes of bullets for them. After lying out a sheet on the floor, he laid the weapons and ammos down upon. He rolled
the items up and tucked them under his arm. Opening the garage door, he turned around to Gatz crossing his heart in the sign of the crucifix.

  “Rest in paradise, homie.” He smacked his hood over his head before ducking off outside and making his way down the path.

  After securing the weapons, Tiaz hopped back into the rental and into Los Angeles traffic. He scoured the streets looking for a ride identical to the rental. A smile stretched across his face when he found one, a ‘97 Nissan Pathfinder with a crash bar. He parked six cars down from the whip that was identical to his own. He hopped out of the rental and jogged over to the Nissan Pathfinder. He kneeled down and unscrewed the license plate with a screwdriver. Returning to the rental, he swapped its plates with the stolen one and hopped back inside of the SUV. Bianca pulled off. They were on their way to execute their mission.

  Chapter Nine

  Don Juan rode in the back of a limousine with Lil’ Stan and his baby boy. He picked up a glass and dropped several cubes of ice into it. After picking up a bottle of Louie XIII and filling the glass, he sat the bottle aside and tilted the glass to his lips.

  “You still haven’t heard from that nigga Juvie?” Don Juan asked Lil’ Stan.

  “Hell naw, I’ve been blowing that fool up. He still hasn’t hit me back.” He frowned as a thought crossed his mind. “You think that nigga Tiaz caught up with ‘em?”

  Urrrrrrrk! Craaashh! The impact of the crash caused the Trap God to spill the liquor into his lap, making him glad to be wearing black.

  “What the fuck?” He looked down at the water mark on the crotch of his slacks. He sat up where he was perched and Lil’ Stan did, too.

  “Hell was that?” Lil’ Stan frowned.

  “I don’t know, I’ma see.” He descended the black tinted window and stuck his head out. He gasped when he saw a masked man who he knew in his heart was Tiaz jumping out of a truck with an M-16. He didn’t even turn his head as rounded the hearse holding his weapon with both hands, hugging the trigger. His assault rifle bucked wildly chewing up the windshield, cracking up all of its glass. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that the driver of the hearse was dead.