Bury Me a G 3

by Tranay Adams

  What Don Juan saw next surprised him. Tiaz opened fire on the side of the windshield where the chauffer of the limousine was, but luckily for him the vehicle was bulletproof, because all of the shots deflected off of it. The rush of gunfire startled everyone, but what came next came as a surprise.

  Boof! Boof!

  The front of the limousine tilted forward as the front tires were burst from beneath it.

  “It’s him, it’s Tiaz!” Don Juan blurted, pulling his head back inside of the limo.

  “Oh shit!” Lil’ Stan watched him grab a gun out of a hidden compartment inside of the limousine. He checked its magazine and slapped it into the chamber of that bitch.

  “Tell the wolves to tool up!”

  “Right.” Lil’ Stan pulled a burnout cellular from his suit’s jacket and speed dialed someone. “Y’all niggaz banger up, it’s on!” Was all he said before flipping the cell phone shut.

  “Watch my son, you guard my seed with cho life.” He stared into his little homie’s eyes, all glassy and serious. “You hear me, lil’ nigga?” The Trap God inquired, hating himself for being so in his grief that he let his guard down. He wasn’t so much afraid for his own safety, but for the safety of his child.

  “I got chu, Don. Ain’t shit gon’ happen to lil’ man that don’t happen to me first.”

  Don Juan gave a nod and threw open the door of the limo, leaping head first into the action.

  ***

  Tiaz glanced at Bianca. She was wearing the same look of determination and vengeance as he was. He cracked a slight grin. He respected her G. She was as down as any nigga he’d rubbed shoulders with.

  “What’s up?” Bianca asked off of his look.

  “Nothing.” Tiaz regained his focus.

  “Okay.”

  “That’s them right there.” He pointed to the windshield at a vehicle and cocked a live round into the M-16. He sat up in his seat, drumming his fingers on the stock of the weapon and tapping his boot on the floor. He was ready to get it on and popping out that mothafucka.

  “Alright. Here we go!” Bianca bit down on her inner jaw and pressed the pedal to the metal. The SUV accelerated, flying down the lane and whisking passed cars, nearly side swiping them.

  Urrrrrrrk! Craashh!

  The Pathfinder slammed into the side of the hearse, stopping all of the trailing cars behind it. The buff neck thug pulled his ski-mask down over his face and threw open the front passenger side door, jumping down into the street. He ran around the front of the truck, hastily approaching the vehicle that contained one of the most precious people of Don Juan’s life: his wife. Tiaz let loose on the windshield of the ride where the driver was sitting, tattering the glass. The bullets came in a rush making the captain of the car dance where he was perched. The driver slumped with his chin touching his chest, the front of his shirt stained crimson.

  Tiaz looked up and spotted the limousine that he believed Don Juan was in. He figured this because this was the only limo in the lineup of vehicles and the limos in funerals normally carried the family of the deceased. When the chauffer of the limousine shook off his daze and saw the thug, his eyes nearly leaped out of his head. He went to start up the car, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. Right after he was greeted by rapid fire from his M-16. Sparks flew left and right from the windshield, the limo was bulletproof.

  “Fuck!” Tiaz cursed. He then aimed his weapon at the front tires and blew them bitches out, insuring that the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere. Next, he focused his attention on the rear of the hearse, hoisting up his assault rifle.

  Crack! Craackk! Craaackkk! Craaashhh!

  He slammed the butt of the rifle into the glass window of the vehicle until it gave. He then reached his gloved hand inside and unlocked the door, yanking it open. Hoisting the deadly weapon over his shoulder, he pulled the coffin out of the rear of the vehicle. It made a loud thud as it was dropped onto the ground. He opened the box’s lid and revealed Kiana with her hands folded at her waist. She was dead, but looked like she was in a peaceful sleep. Tiaz took the time to observe her appearance as he angled his head. Snikt! He drew his machete and the sun’s shining caused it to gleam, sweeping up the entire length of the blade.

  Pedestrians halted where they were looking on in shock, while some of the approaching cars stopped and gazed on at the gruesome act that was about to be committed. All they could do is watch in horror as the roughneck pulled Kiana’s rigid, lifeless body out of the coffin, dragging it out into the middle of the street. He held her head steady by her hair and cocked the machete back, swinging it with brute force. It whistled as it cut through the air.

  Whack! Crackk! Thwhack! Chack!

  The audience cringed. Some of them even squeezed their eyelids closed and turned their heads, unable to stand the sight.

  “Noooooo!” Don Juan bellowed, hopping out of his chauffer driven limousine, gun at the ready. His henchmen spilled out, brandishing guns of their own, poised to address the drama with some hot shot.

  Haackk! Shaackk! Whaackk!

  The blade bit into the side of Kiana’s neck as it hung half way attached to her neck. Her eyes were shut and her lips were a straight line. Her body slightly jerked with each and every encounter with the machete until it happened. The head came loose and the severed carcass fell out in the street.

  Thud!

  “Mothafuckaaaa!” Don Juan slowed to a trot along with his men. He clutched his gun with both hands and lifted it to take a shot, his crew was right behind him.

  Blurrrat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

  Bianca let loose out of the driver side window with that M-16. Cutting down all of the Trap God’s men and tatting up some of the cars. Broken glass and blood flew everywhere.

  Ping! Ting! Zing! King!

  Don Juan dove to the street and hastily crawled behind a nearby car, leaning his back up against the vehicle’s bumper. Holding his gun up at his shoulders, with his heart throbbing inside of his chest, he occasionally peeked around the corner of the car to see if the gunman was headed his way.

  Bianca hopped out from behind the wheel of the Pathfinder with her assault rifle trained on the street. She kept the door open and her neck on a swivel, her eyes taking in the streets through the holes of her ski-mask.

  Tiaz climbed upon the roof of the hearse and turned to his audience. He fished around inside of his pocket until his hand found a Zippo lighter. His thumb swept down the jagged dull edges of the metal ball. Shhickk! A flame shot into the air and he guided it to the thick hair of Kiana’s severed head. The fire started off small, but quickly began to consume the head, the smell of flesh cooking filling the air. Tiaz watched the head be devoured by the flames for a time before throwing it out into the street. It rolled up the block looking like a small burning ball of hay. Seeing a fireball tumbling near him through the shiny bumper of the Nissan Dotson before him, Don Juan’s forehead deepened with crevasses and he narrowed his eyes. When he went to go look, the fireball stopped along beside him, burning. Staring into the face of the crackling flames, it became clear to him that it was his late wife’s severed head. Oh my God, he mouthed, sitting down his gun and quickly peeling off his suit’s jacket. He tossed his jacket over the burning head and patted it, snuffing out the fire. When he drew the jacket from off of the head, it was nothing more than a ball of charcoal.

  “You’re next!” Tiaz pointed at the car Don Juan was hiding behind.

  “My baby,” he uttered sorrowfully, a tear descending down his cheek. Everything seemed so surreal to him. His entire world had been turned upside down because some fucking parasite wanted to take what was his and he retaliated. He didn’t understand. What the hell did Tiaz think he was going to do when he violated him? Lie down and take it? Who the fuck did he think he was dealing with? That would be the day that he got fucked up the ass and asked for more. He would fight like he always had, with everything in him.

  Don Juan’s nostrils flared and his top lip twitched, thinking about how the thug had
gotten at him. That shit had him on one. He’d be damned if he folded. Fuck that! It was time to give this buff ass nigga a taste of his own medicine.

  He snatched his weapon up from off of the ground and came up, both hands gripping his banger. “I’m next? You’re next! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” He pulled the trigger rapidly, the gun recoiled each time it spat heat.

  Ping! Ting! Zing!

  Holes punctured the double backdoors of the getaway ride as it drove off with Tiaz and Bianca. Police car sirens filled the air as several cars were en route to the location. Don Juan continued to open fire on the SUV until his banger was empty. He dropped the hand holding the gun to his side and watched the truck for a time as it sped off. He then turned around, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked over all of the dead bodies sprawled out in the middle of the street. Niggaz was laid the fuck out, black holes littering their forms and running with streams of blood. It looked like a mothafucking Iraqi warzone out there.

  Spotting his wife’s severed head, he kneeled down and picked it up. His eyes pooled with tears as he stared down at her chipping charcoaled face. Big teardrops fell from his eyes and splashed onto the face of the severed head. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He kissed it on the lips and hugged it to his body. His head snapped up and he peered up into the sky. “I’ma get chu nigga! You hear me, homeboy? I got something for that ass! Haa! Haa! Haa!” He pressed his head against the forehead of his wife’s head and squeezed his eyelids closed tightly. Tears burst from the corners of his eyes and transcended down his face as his shoulders trembled. “Haa! Haa! Haa!”

  There alone in the middle of the street with his niggaz watching, the Trap God cried his heart out. It was then that he promised himself that he wasn’t going to stop until Tiaz was being lowered six feet into the ground.

  Later that night

  “Yo’ this the spot right here.” Ralo tapped Chance as he leaned forward staring at the house they’d just pulled up on.

  “Hold up, lemme see.” Chance slid on his glasses and looked over the slip of paper with the address they’d obtained.

  After smacking the magazine back into the bottom of his head bussa and cocking that bitch back, Ralo stole a glance in his homeboy’s direction. He snickered and shook his head. “Blind mothafucka,” he said under his breath, amused.

  “Fuck you say?” Chance looked away from the slip of paper.

  “What? You deaf, too? I said you blind mothafucka.”

  Chance held up a middle finger and allowed it to linger.

  “Sorry, but you aren’t my type.” He smirked and opened the glove-box, pulling out two ski-masks. He kept one and passed the other to his partner in crime. “That’s the right address?”

  “Yeah, it’s the right one.” He removed his glasses and folded up the slip of paper.

  The men pulled the ski-masks over their faces and adjusted them so that they could see out of the eye holes.

  “Come on.” Ralo made to hop out of the truck.

  “Hold on. Let me hit this nigga Don up and let ‘em know we got this fool in our sights.” Chance withdrew his cellular and sent a text to the man that had put the contract out on the Super Thug. He deposited the device back inside of his pocket. “You got upstairs and I got the back doe, alright?” Ralo nodded. “Alright then, let’s get this money.”

  The two hit men hopped out of the Navigator and hunched over, hurrying into the yard. The night was as black as their hearts and their trigger fingers were itching. They planned on leaving the house with a body and one hundred thousand dollars richer.

  ***

  Once she’d taken off her clothes, Bianca wrapped up her hair, threw on a wife beater and some blue boy shorts. She grabbed a gun box from out of the top of the closet and sat down on the end of the bed. She popped the locks of the box and removed a chrome long-nose .44 Magnum revolver Python. She popped open its chamber and dumped out the silver bullets that inhabited it. She removed the items she’d need to clean the weapon from out of the box and went about the task of cleaning the weapon. This was something she’d done once a week to make sure that the weapon was fully functional when she decided to use it. Bianca loved her gun almost as much as she loved Threat. He had given the pistol to her as a gift for her last birthday. She hadn’t done any dirt with it, but she’d taken it out to the gun range a couple of times. The Python was huge and lethal. Its bark was as loud as its bite. Not to mention, that just one shot from the big bastard was enough to kill a man. The Python was bigger than Bianca and kicked back like an aggravated mule. Although it was powerful she had gotten the handle of the thing and could fire it expertly.

  Bianca was busy cleaning the Magnum when Tiaz emerged from out of the bathroom having just stepped out of the shower. He was clad in pajama pants and slipping a black tank top over his head. He stepped before the dresser mirror and gave himself the once over before turning around to his accomplice.

  “Yo’ I’m ‘bout to...” The words died in his throat when he saw a lone tear slide down Bianca’s cheek, as she was cleaning out the huge revolver. The skin on his forehead bunched together showing his concern. He sat down on the edge of the bed and tapped her ankle. “Aye, you okay, momma?”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand and her fingers, sniffling. “I...I...I just miss him so, so much.” Her voice crackled and she licked her lips. Closing her eyes and trying to pull herself together. “He was my soul mate. I know that I’ll never find another love like him.”

  “I feel your pain, sis.” Tiaz shared her grievance. “Me and Threat been down for each other since free lunch. That was my brother. Blood couldn’t make us any closer. That was my mothafucking family, you know?” His eyes became glassy and he felt stinging in them, tears rimmed his lids. He tilted his head back to stop them from falling. Threat’s death had crippled him emotionally. He was hurting. A lone wolf howling up at a full moon. Soon the streets would feel his pain, all of it. Tiaz batted his eyelids and dissipated the accumulated water in his eyes.

  “I’ll tell you one thing though. This nigga here...” He smacked his hand up against his chest hard, facial features displaying the animosity that he held captive in his heart. “Ain’t gon’ stop until that punk bitch out there...” He referred to Don Juan, pointing a thick finger outside. “...is lying face up and gurgling on his own blood with me standing over him, you feel me?”

  Bianca sniffled and wiped her eyes with her fist. “I’m gonna be right there with you.” She claimed, looking through the holes inside of the chamber of the revolver.

  “I know you will, momma, and I know my nigga, Threat, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Bianca finished, closed the pistol and placed it back inside of the gun box before snapping the locks closed. She carried it over to the closet and slid it all of the way back on the top shelf. She then turned around to Tiaz, eyes still bleeding her hurt. To her surprise his eyes were, too. She knew he must have been feeling their loss as much as she was, because men were known to keep their emotions hidden. She’d heard how he was in the trenches. And from what she had gathered, he wasn’t anything to fuck with. That was for damn sure, so for him to be standing right there in front of her with his feelings on display, he had to really be feeling it.

  “I think we both need a hug.” She swiped the tears from her running eyes and opened her arms.

  “This shit right here is steel...” He slammed his fist against chest, but the hurt in his glassy, pink eyes betrayed his words. He needed it like she needed it.

  “I know. Well, can I have one for myself, Mr. Gangsta? I could really use it.” He nodded and they embraced. They melted in each another’s arms. Their souls hungered to be comforted, and this was much needed. It was healing. Not just for their minds and their hearts, but their souls. Eyes closed, deep breaths taken, they allowed the pain to be reduced in that moment. Then they pulled back. The display of emotions was awkward and they didn’t know what to do afterwards.

  �
��Thanks, I really needed that.” Bianca told him.

  “No problem.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’ma go kickback downstairs, probably watch some TV.”

  “Okay. I think I’m gonna go shower.”

  “Alright. Goodnight.” He threw up a hand as he made his departure.

  “Goodnight.” She waved before opening her dresser drawer to retrieve some underwear.

  ***

  Tiaz came down the stairs and headed to the closet beneath the staircase. He went to retrieve something, but stopped short once he heard a noise. His brows furrowed and he stopped where he was, holding the door open as he listened for the sound again. When he didn’t hear anything, he closed the closet shut and plopped down on the couch. He picked up the remote control and turned on the flat-screen. He flipped through the cable channels until he landed on Justified. Tiaz got so engrossed in the show that he didn’t even hear the soft footsteps of the masked man that had entered the house through the backdoor. The gunman smiled fiendishly, sliding his wet tongue across his top row of teeth like a hungry dog. He got about half way across the living room when Tiaz jumped to his feet. He whipped around, holding a shotgun at his hip. His eyebrows arched and his lips peeled back in a sneer.

  “Surprise, mothafucka!”

  He pulled the trigger and the deadly weapon jerked at his side as it roared furiously.

  “Oh, shhhh...” The hit man was cut short as his eyelids stretched open. The blast lifted his monkey ass off of his feet, carrying him into the kitchen. He skidded across the floor and slid up against the kitchen cabinet, slumped. He struggled to lift his head up, hooded eyes looking ahead, seeing the two blurred images of his assailant as he approached him clutching his pump.