by Tranay Adams
Juvie’s head snapped back and his eyes pooled with tears. He went to scream, but the oldest of The Eme brother’s slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. His head snapped in all directions to see if anyone had seen or heard him do what he’d done, but there wasn’t a pair of prying eyes in sight. Uduka was staring up at the rearview mirror, having seen all of this happen. He watched as his brother focused his attention back on Juvie, observing the agony written across his face as his muffled screams continued.
“I’m gonna take ma hand off of ya mouf and I sweah on ma brudda’s grave, if ya make so much as a peep I’m gon’ shoot cha dead in ya face, ya heah?” The young hoodlum nodded as tears wet his cheeks. “Good.” He removed his hand and he doubled over in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and silently sniffling. “Now, I want an address where this deek sucka is more than likely at. If we get there and he’s not dere, guess whose deek I’m choppin’ off.”
“Alright, okay, there’s only one of two places he’d probably be.” Juvie winced. “They’re like a safe haven for him. Only me and my nigga, Lil’ Stan, know where they are.”
“Okay. Now we’re gettin’ some weah.”
Uche picked up a roll of duct tape from off of the floor, and extended a lengthy strip before tearing it with his teeth. Afterwards, he smacked it over his mouth and rubbed it down so it would stick.
“Alright, pull off.” He ordered Uduka.
Sometime later
Uduka pulled up a few feet away from the liquor store that Don Juan had just entered. Their eyes were glued to the entrance, watching him attentively, as he made his way inside.
“Alright, keep her running and keep an eye on that piece of shit back there.” Uche threw his head to the backseat where Juvie was gagged with his wrists duct-taped behind his back. He then checked his magazine, smacked it back into the bottom of his .45 and chambered a round into it. The blood of Boxy’s killer would be his.
“Hold on.” Uduka grasped his wrist as he was about to hop out. His head snapped in Don’s direction. He had a furrowed forehead. “Some guy in a red hoodie just went in behind him. Let’s wait ‘til he’s alone.”
“Okay.” He nodded his approval and the waiting began.
***
Wicked pulled up across the street and a few cars down from where Don Juan had parked. He killed his engine and watched him emerge from his Porsche truck and slam the door shut. His head was on a swivel as his eyes followed him inside of the gas station. Once the Trap God was out of sight, he popped open the glove-box and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. He slipped them on one at a time and flexed his fingers inside of them to make sure they were good and snug on him. Next, he reached inside of the glove-box and withdrew a handgun. Once he screwed the silencer on the end of his weapon, he made sure there was one in the head and threw open the driver side door. He took one last look at the picture of him, Baby Wicked and his Aunt Helen when they’d come to visit him while he was in youth authority.
I miss you, bruh bruh, I’ll be up there one day. But for now I’ma ‘bout to send this nigga up there to kick it with chu.
With that, he hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. The nigga pulled his hood over his head and jogged toward the gas station with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, keeping an eye out for witnesses.
***
“Alright, there our mon is.” Uche made Don Juan emerging from out of the restroom, with a father and his son retreating from him. He was so absorbed by his finally getting to murder him that it never even crossed his mind why the man and kid were hurrying away from him. The taller of the African’s hopped out of the car as his prey was approaching the sidewalk, ignorant of his presence.
Seeing one of his abductors with his gun low about to creep up on his man and serve him a clip full of some hot shit, Juvie scooted over to the cracked open window of the backdoor and leaned his head up against the door panel. Using his tongue, he jabbed at the duct tape, causing it to nudge up from his face until it came up from his mouth, hanging loose from one end. It flapped over his lips and he blew it hard to keep it from sealing his grill closed. He swallowed and screamed as loud as he could, veins throbbing at his temples and neck.
“Don Juan, watch out!” His breath fogged up the glass and spittle hit it.
“Shut da fuck up!” Uduka’s head snapped to the backseat and he whipped out his thang-thang. He reached into the backseat, cracking his punk ass over the dome repeatedly.
“Ah! Ahh! Arghhh!” The hoodlum winced with each strike of the steel against his melon. The assault left him dazed and confused. He moaned in regret and pain. The younger of the African’s settled back down in his seat, laying his gun on his lap and focusing his attention through the windshield.
***
Don Juan had spent the greater part of his day getting shit-faced at The Barfly which was a dive on the lower eastside of Los Angeles. It was a place that an abundance of unsavory characters frequented. Nonetheless, he fit right in. The place was like the ghetto version of Cheers and he was just as known as any employee there. The recent widower took about six glasses of Hennessy and Coke to the head and would have taken more had the bartender not refused him service. Seeing that he’d overstayed his welcome, he dropped a couple of bills on the bar top and made his departure.
Don Juan knew that it was against his better judgment to have gone out and gotten drunk that night. But with all of the drama going on in his life and the shadow of death following close behind him, he needed to escape his harsh reality, even if it was only for a couple of hours.
On his way home, his bladder constantly nagged at him, so he figured he’d pull over at this gas station that he knew wouldn’t deny him access to their restroom, being as how he supplied its owner with the drugs he sold. Not even thirty minutes later, Don Juan was hopping out of his truck and hurrying inside like he was being followed. He staggered into the men’s restroom, struggling to keep his balance. He shuffled over to the urinal like a dead man and unzipped his jeans, pulling his meat free from its denim prison.
“Aaahhh!” A look of relief crossed his face and he threw his head back, bladder emptying as he whizzed. Once he finished, he shook his member twice and put it away, zipping his jeans back up. He moved over to the sink and turned on the faucet, pumping pink liquid, foamy soap into his palm. He rubbed his palms together and lathered them up, as he rinsed his hands beneath the cool flowing water. His drunk ass was whistling when a man in a red Champion hoodie over his head entered the restroom. He clocked him walking toward the stalls, but paid him no mind, feeling as though he was just minding his business.
Don Juan looked down at his hands and rinsed the soap from them. Once he looked up, Champion hoodie was pointing a handgun with a silencer on it at him. His eyes stretched wide open and his mouth damn near hit the floor. The sight of the lethal weapon sobered his ass up quick.
“Haa!” the kingpin gasped.
Tiaz, the name of the nigga who sent the hit man resonated inside of his head. Right after, he saw the gunman’s finger bending around the trigger. Swiftly, he dove out of the way just as the first shot was fired. Choot! The bullet crashed into the mirror and cracked the glass into a cobweb.
“Ooof!” He hit the linoleum with a grimace and his head snapped up. Seeing the gunman swinging his head bussa around and pulling the trigger, he rolled on the floor like he was on fire, narrowly missing the embers meant to take his life.
Pewk! Pewk! Pewk! Pewk!
The floor shattered as it was shot the fuck up. The Trap God rolled up against the wall. He looked up, breathing hard and hoping not to be shot. His worried eyes found him about to bust on him again and his voice caught in his throat.
Click!
He flinched expecting a hot one in his dome. When he saw the gunner trying to un-jam the round that clogged up the slot of the weapon, he knew then that it was the perfect time to react. Don Juan’s face twisted with madness and he sprung to his feet, charging at the shoot
er. The gunman had just un-jammed his weapon and moved to point it. He’d half expected his head to be blown off, but to his surprise he didn’t get his shit splattered.
“Uhhh!” The shooter was tackled by Don Juan and lifted off of his feet, being slammed on his back. The impact sent his gun up into the air then dropping to the floor, sliding up against the wall beneath the row of sinks.
“Tryna kill me, huh, nigga?” Don Juan fumed with darkened eyes and his lips sucked inwards. He balled his fists tight and threw solid blows at the man’s face.
Thwap! Wop! Wamp! Bamp!
The gunman’s face winced and he saw flashes of white when each blow landed.
“Yuuckk!”
The Trap God’s eyes went as wide as golf balls and he wrapped his hands around his neck. His foe jabbed him dead in his jugular with two strong fingers. Using both of his palms, he then clapped his ears at the same time.
Clapppp!
“Aaarhh!”
The assault set off an eerie siren in his ears and left them stinging.
“Uh huh!” The gunner snarled, making his fingers into the peace sign, he jabbed his enemy in the eyes.
“Ahhhh!” His mouth stretched open and he smacked his hands over his eyes.
Bwap!
The shooter punched him in the jaw, knocking him off his person. He scrambled to his feet, looking for his gun. Spotting it underneath the sink, he went for it, but was tripped up once Don Juan grabbed his ankle. He fell forward and his chin went slamming against the edge of the sink, knocking him out cold. The Trap God got to his feet and quickly snatched up the head bussa. He pulled the hoodie from over the gunman’s head and pressed it into his face, indenting his cheek. He squeezed his eyelids shut and turned his head, so the blood wouldn’t get into his eyes. His finger curled around the trigger, he went to pull that bitch back and a knock resonated at the door.
“Lucky ass,” he said, standing erect, looking down at the dispatched gunner. “I ain’t gon’ kill you in here and risk a charge, nigga.” He tucked that thang on his waistline and threw his shirt over it. Afterwards, he unlocked the restroom door and pulled it open. He found a patron and his son there. His eyes shot from him to the nigga he’d left sprawled out on the restroom’s floor. Scared, he clutched his son’s hand tighter and hurried away.
Don Juan left the restroom, blinking and massaging his eyes. They were sore and he still felt stinging in them. He winced and wiped his tearing eyes with the back of his hand, frowning. He marched toward his car in a hasty fashion, paying no attention to his surroundings. He was oblivious to The Grim Reaper on his heels. The shadow on the cracked, black-spotted sidewalk was damn near on top of him. An object the shape of a gun was extended at its side as it moved in on him, ready to deliver that fatal shot.
“Don Juan, watch out!” A voice came from his right and he snapped his head in that direction. He found a tall African there dressed in a cheap suit trying to creep up on his mothafucking ass. Fear ripped through his heart. He dove to the sidewalk, tucking and rolling. He stopped in a kneeling position with that banger extended. Both hands clutching it, he hugged the trigger. The head bussa jumped as it spat that heat.
Splocka! Splocka! Splocka! Splocka!
The tall man dove behind a car with bullets narrowly missing him. They Ping! Zing! Ting! Clinggged! Off of the vehicle’s bumper and side view mirror. Don Juan whipped out his own piece and cautiously crept on the fool that had come for him.
“You come knocking on Death’s door, and The Reaper may just answer!” he bellowed, guns held up at his shoulders, moving out into the street to see if he could catch him slipping from the opposite end. “Who sent chu, nigga? Tiaz? The Mexicans? The Jamaicans?” Just then, the gunner from the restroom came sprinting out. He stooped low and pulled the .38 revolver from his ankle holster. Don Juan had just crept upon the tall man without his acknowledgement. He smiled wickedly and licked his lips as he pointed the deadly ends of his toys at him.
Goodnight, he thought as his fingers curled around the triggers of his burners.
Bop!
Crash!
The back window of the Ford Mustang he was standing beside shattered, garnering his attention as well as the nigga he’d snuck up on. When he whipped around, he saw the homeboy he’d left staring up at the ceiling in the restroom. He turned his gun on him and banged back, empty copper shell casings leaping over his hand. He retreated toward his truck letting both of his guns go ham, backing the gunner down. A noise to his left stole his attention and he spotted the tall man again, rising to his feet, heat in hand. Don Juan whipped his second gun around in his direction, letting him get in on the action as well. Once the second banger was spent, he tucked it into the front of his jeans and got busy with the first, nearing his car. His hand jerked violently as he banged it out, narrowing his eyes into slits as he backed up.
“He’s mine!” the tall man barked, seeing the other cat busting on his prey. He turned the fury of his weapon on him.
Poc! Poc! Poc!
The gunner’s banger clicked empty and Uduka came beside Uche, letting his tool act a goddamn fool. Poc! Poc! Poc! Poc! He gave it to that nigga all in his mothafucking chest bone, causing him to stagger backwards and fall on his ass. When he and his brother whipped around to Don Juan, he was in his Porsche truck flooring it away from the battlefield.
“Shit!” Uche slammed his fist down on the trunk of a car and kicked its bumper several times. “I was this fucking close.” He showed his brother with his thumb and forefinger, which were a half of an inch apart.
When The Eme brother looked to the gunman that was made victim by their guns, he was long gone on some Michael Myers shit. They exchanged glances with surprised expressions across their faces. Hearing approaching police sirens, Uche nudged his brother and they retreated back to their car.
Uduka pulled away with his brother cracking Juvie upside the head with that steel, talking plenty of shit.
“Punk ass beesh.” Uche mad dogged Juvie as he laid moaning and bleeding from the side of his egg. He turned to his sibling. “Jump on the 105 and punch it up ta a hunnid miles an hour.” Uduka locked eyes with his brother through the rearview mirror and nodded. He followed his orders, hopping on the freeway and gunning it. It was dark and all that could be seen in addition to the lights over the signs were the red and white backlights of speeding cars. The windows of the G-ride they were in were cracked open, so the cool air rushed inside, ruffling their clothes.
Holding his .45 on Juvie, Uche reached over him and unlocked the door. After he shoved it open, he set his sights on the young thug, maliciousness dancing in his eyes.
“Dis is as fah as ya go, neega!” he yelled over the sound of the blowing winds, rushing against him and causing the collar of his shirt to slap up against his chin, repeatedly.
Juvie slowly came to moaning, feeling the wind blowing onto his face. His eyes fluttered open and he looked about. Spotting the backdoor open and seeing the asphalt speed past him in a blur, scared the shit out of him. His eyes nearly flew out of his head and his jaw ached from screaming.
“Nooooooo! Noooo! Please, God!” He threw himself toward Uche and busted the older African’s lip. He grimaced and shoved him off, touching his lips with his fingers and coming away with blood. When he grabbed him by the front of his shirt to throw him out, he started biting on his hand and arm.
“Argh! Son of a...” He squeezed his eyelids shut and tightened his jaws, showcasing his teeth. Growling, his eyes snapped open and his hand was like a blur. Crack! He knocked Juvie upside the head with that thang again, but he couldn’t even feel the pain with his adrenaline being jacked up as high as it was. Uche leaned all of the way back in the seat and kicked on the youngster. His dress shoes struck him in his chest, neck, and chin, before landing a blow flush in the mouth. That was enough to send that ass flying out of the car screaming.
“Ahhhhhh! Ooof!” He hit the ground and went flying back hastily. The darkness seemed to swallow him. Uc
he looked down the road at the tumbling body. He didn’t even blink as it was run over by several oncoming vehicles speeding toward him. The boy came apart like a Mr. Potato Head and his spleen and bladder were quickly squashed by the cars down the road.
Uche closed the backdoor and settled back down in his seat. His nostrils flared as he breathed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You okay?” Uduka looked up through the rearview mirror at him.
“Yeah.” He threw his head back and closed his eyes, swallowing his spit. They’d been leaving quite the trail of blood behind them on their road to revenge and with each life they took their souls darkened just that much more. It didn’t matter to them though. They’d forfeit their souls if it meant that they were going to finally get their hands on their loved one’s killer. The oldest of the Nigerian’s peeled his eyelids open and sat up, clearing his throat with a fist to his mouth. “Go back to the house where we followed him from, Duke. He’s sure to return their since his son is there.”
“Alright.” Uduka responded, following his brother’s orders.
Today they’d get their man or die trying.
Chapter Twelve
Once order was restored back at the hospital, Faison was placed in another room on a different floor. His cousins stood outside the door tooled up in case some more shit was to pop off.
While they held it down, Chevy was getting the back of her head stitched up and her bodily wounds attended to. She stared off into space thinking about her son and where he could possibly be at that time. It had been a couple of days and the police didn’t have any leads on his whereabouts. She posted missing persons pictures of him all over her neighborhood, in hopes that someone would contact her, but she hadn’t had any such luck yet. Just thinking about never seeing her baby boy again turned her eyes glassy. She’d been a ball of emotions since he’d gone missing and knew that she’d never be the same without him. Chevy blinked her eyes and mashed the wetness out of them. Exhaling, she ran her hand down her face and cleared her throat.