Bury Me a G 3

by Tranay Adams

  Wicked dragged his capture across the floor until he met with a rug which he threw back, revealing a secret trap door. He grabbed the door’s handle and flung it open.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  “All is clear up here, too.”

  “Check the basement!”

  He heard the collage of voices coming from above him. Then he heard the basement’s door being assaulted by the battering ram. He tossed Te’Qui through the secret door and he landed on the dirt floor beneath the house. He then pulled the door closed as he headed down the short steps. As soon as the door clicked shut, he heard the basement door come crashing down. Wicked grabbed the youngster under his arm, dragging him through the dirt as he climbed toward the gated passage beyond him. It was gated and light was illuminating through it. At the corner of the gated passage, its wiring was bent up and he saw a couple of rats ooze through. He paid them no mind as he navigated toward his freedom, taking the time to smack a baby spider he felt crawling up the side of his face. The further he crawled, the more light shined on his face until he was dead smack in front of the passage.

  Thud! Thud!

  He looked over his shoulder and two of the S.W.A.T Team members were crawling after him, one African American, the other Caucasian.

  “Stop, you fuck!” the Caucasian one blared.

  “Fuck y’all niggaz, Blood!” Wicked shouted back, yanking open the passage with two strong tugs.

  The white cat aimed his automatic weapon at him about to blaze his back up until the black one grabbed him by the wrist.

  “Wait, he’s got the kid with him!” the African American warned him.

  “Shit!” the Caucasian pounded the dirt floor with his fist.

  Wicked crawled his way out from underneath the house. When the street lights hit him, he was dressed in dirt from head to toe. He reached back inside of the passage and grabbed Te’Qui under his arms, dragging his little ass out. His head snapped up, hearing the locks of the back door being undone. Swiftly, he hoisted the youngster over his shoulder and sprinted off toward his BMW. He popped the trunk with his remote control, opened it, and deposited him inside. Thunk! He slammed the trunk closed and ran over to the driver side door. Bringing the vehicle back to life, he stole a glance out of the window. The S.W.A.T Team was coming from underneath the house and through the back door. Wicked threw his whip in reverse and floored it, sending the rear of his ride crashing through the gate and tearing it down. He then switched the gears into drive and mashed out down the alley, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

  Vrooooom!

  Wicked flew out of the alley and into the street, turning left passing Chevy. She cranked up her Caprice and mashed the pedal, but it died on her.

  “Ahhh, fuck, come on, come on.” She turned the key in the ignition several times and mashed the gas pedal repeatedly, but the son of a bitch wouldn’t start up. “Damn!” She smacked the dashboard heatedly. Clenching her fists, she went to assault the steering wheel, but stopped herself while in motion. She put her hands together in prayer and closed her eyes. “Lord, let this car start, so I can go after this bastard and rescue my son, please, please, please.” She begged, then took a couple of deep breaths. With her eyes shut, Chevy said a silent prayer and turned the key in the ignition. The Caprice cranked right up.

  “Thank you, Father, thank you.” She looked up at the ceiling. Right after, she pulled away from where she was parked and went after Wicked.

  ***

  Once Wicked figured he’d put a good distance between himself and his Aunt Helen’s house, he took a couple of glances over his shoulder to see if the police were on him. They weren’t. He took his flask out of the glove-box and screwed off the cap, taking a long drink. He hissed, feeling the dark liquor course down his throat. The alcohol wasn’t because he wanted a drink. He needed it because his wounds were kicking his ass and it was just the remedy.

  Wicked screwed the cap back on the flask and tossed it into the front passenger seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror and took a good examination of his injuries. Seeing the work Te’Qui had done on him angered him further and he clenched his jaws. Lil’ mothafucka, he looked over his shoulder and punched the ceiling rapidly. He pulled over alongside the curb and popped the trunk, grabbing his torture tool from underneath the seat. Slamming the door shut, the nutcase made his way around the back of the car.

  Fuck it. I got baby bro’s killa, he can rest in peace now. I’ll let the streets catch up with homie that hit Brice off with that work. But this lil’ nigga here gotta go. Wicked stepped to the trunk and lifted it.

  “Ooof!” His eyes bulged and he doubled over, dropping his Instrument of Death. The weapon clanged when it hit the street and a scowling Te’Qui swung the tire iron across his head. Pling! The mad man flew off to the side and hit the ground, moaning in pain. The little nigga had used the pointed end of the tire iron to cut himself free of his restraints. He jumped down into the street, dropped the tire iron and took off yelling and hollering for help.

  ***

  Tiaz rode in the backseat of the police cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back and neck on a swivel. Although he was taking in the scenery as he was driven down to the precinct. The thug looked more like he was trying to find an address or the name of a street the way he was going about it. Hearing a voice at his back the police officer riding in the front passenger seat looked over his shoulder through the gate at the suspect.

  “Hey, buddy, do me a favor and shut the fuck up back there, will ya?” He settled back down in his seat.

  “What’s going on?” his partner inquired.

  “Fucking whack job is talking to himself.”

  “Yeah?” His forehead wrinkled.

  “You mean you don’t fucking hear ‘em back there?” He looked at him like ‘How didn’t you hear him?’

  “Yeah, you’re close, real close.” Tiaz spoke just above a whisper.

  “Aye, I’m not gonna tell you again!” the officer roared at Tiaz. “You open your big mouth once more and you’re gonna get real acquainted with this here night stick!” He held up the black metal rod. The roughneck stared at the officer with a solemn face, but then his lips went on to form a smirk. “Hell are you smiling about?”

  He turned his head slightly to the left and the law enforcer saw the ear bud. His eyes grew big and he went to say something.

  Craashh!

  A car slammed into the police cruiser and it fishtailed out of control, bumping up against a light post. When the cruiser had stopped, the police had bloody gashes in their foreheads and were moaning in pain. Tiaz peeled his head back from the ruined back door window. It had cracked into a spider web when his head went whamming against it in the crash. He grimaced, feeling the throbbing in his head. Tiaz popped his thumb bone out of place and slipped his hand out of the handcuffs. Afterwards, he snapped his thumb back in place and looked his hand over. He then went about the task of getting out.

  He was about to start kicking at the back window glass to break it. But that’s when she arrived. Bianca, assault rifle in hand, slamming it into the driver side window, cracking it until it gave. She reached inside and popped the locks to the back door before pulling it open. Right after, she was handing Tiaz the handcuff key. He unlocked the cuff and threw it aside, following her to the van. He jumped into the awaiting vehicle and she was right behind him pulling off.

  “You okay?” she questioned, driving off.

  “Just a lil’ banged up.” He winced bending his neck and back. “You get that from ‘em yet?”

  “Yeah.” She opened the glove-box and passed him an envelope. He hastily opened it and pulled its contents loose. He smiled deviously. “Don Juan’s current address, now we know exactly where to find this lil’ pissant.” He looked at a smaller sheet of paper inside. It was the size of a sticky note. He held it open with his thick thumbs. “Uh huh, everything has fallen into place.” He passed Bianca the sticky note. “Get me here.”

  He th
en climbed into the back of the van and opened up a duffle bag, pulling loose a sweat suit, among other things.

  “What about ya boy, Faison?” she asked, looking from the windshield then over her shoulder.

  Click Clack!

  He chambered a hollow tip round into the brand spanking new Beretta before replying. “We’ll double back, but right now I wanna get this one bad, real bad. This heartless mothafucka has it coming.”

  “Right.” She laid the sheet of paper down on the front passenger seat. They were off to their next destination to tie up another loose end.

  ***

  “Well. You don’t have to worry about it, Toots.” Herby patted Ta’shauna’s thigh. He’d just finished telling her how he’d been hired to guard her with his life and he’d give it up without a second thought if it meant her salvation. Although she popped a lot of shit off at the mouth, she was truly scared to death of Tiaz coming after her.

  “Thank you.” She grasped his hand firmly. “I really mean it.”

  “Don’t mention it, Sweets.”

  A knock at the door put a pause to Herby and Ta’shauna’s conversation. Seeing the worry etched across her face, he placed a reassuring hand on hers and slightly squeezed it. “It’s okay, relax, it’s probably your brother.” He rose from the couch and approached the door, gun at his side. He leaned forward and took a gander through the peephole. Confirming who it was, he tucked the burner into its holster and turned to Ta’shauna. “It’s Faison.” When he relayed his discovery, she sighed with relief and relaxed a bit. “See, all of that worry for nothing.” He unchained and unlocked the door, pulling it open.

  “Where’s Ta’shauna?” Faison stepped through the door.

  “Faison?” His sister rose to her feet excitedly, hearing his voice.

  “Hey, baby sis.” He hastily approached and she opened her arms. She’d never been happier around him. They embraced. She closed her eyes and rested her chin in the nape of his neck. He swept his hand back and forth up her back as he relished in the tender moment of affection.

  “Arghhh!” Her eyes snapped open and her jaw dropped, she staggered back looking at him in turmoil. She touched her torso and her trembling hand came away wet with blood. She looked up at her brother accusingly. “Wh-why, Faison?”

  “Not Faison,” Tiaz spoke into the voice changer device then threw it aside. “Tiaz.” He glared up at her and smiled menacingly, snickering. He was wearing a hairnet, gloves and hospital moccasins over his shoes so he wouldn’t leave any forensic evidence for the murder he was about to commit.

  She gasped and screamed. “Ahhhhhhh!” Turning around, she ran for her life, but she didn’t get very far. Bump! She ran dead smack into the wall and fell out. She lay on her back with a knot forming on her forehead as she moaned, moving her head from left to right. Breathing sporadically, heart racing, she blindly scrambled upon her feet. She could feel Tiaz’ presence, but she didn’t know exactly where he was. Unbeknownst to her, the thug stood behind her, watching as she moved in circles feeling for something that wasn’t there. Evil was in his eyes and a gun was in his hand. He lifted his silenced weapon and put one in her spine and two into her cabbage.

  “And that’s that,” Herby said from over his shoulder.

  Tiaz looked to find him slipping his suit’s jacket back on. He then opened up the thick ass envelope he’d given him upon entering and quickly thumbed through the dead presidents inside. Figuring that it was the amount due to him, he closed the envelope and secured it inside of his suit.

  “Well, it was nice doing business witcha. I’ma get going.”

  “Nah, you stay here with her.”

  “Wha...” His head snapped back as a hot one pierced his forehead. He fell to his knees and leaned all of the way back, sitting up awkwardly. Tiaz reached inside of his suit and removed the envelope, stuffing it into his back pocket. Pulling out a bandana, he wiped the murder weapon clean and tossed it beside Herby. He used the bandana to open the door and turned around, his eyes giving a quick sweep of the room before descending out of the house.

  Tiaz hopped into the front passenger seat and slammed the door shut. He pulled a cigarette loose from a pack of Newport 100s and stuck it between his lips. After ripping out a match from a book, he raped it across the black strip and a flame awakened with a hiss. He fired up the square and took a couple of puffs, fanning the flame of the match out. A victorious smile curled his lips having finally gotten his hands on Ta’shauna. It had been a while coming, but thanks to Herby he was able to get his revenge. He’d hired the man as soon as he found out Ta’shauna had survived the fatal wounds. He believed that if anyone could find her, a private investigator could. And he was right.

  “Where are we off to now?”

  Tiaz took the Joe from out of his mouth, blowing smoke from his nose. “Don Juan’s.”

  With Ta’shauna finally out of the way, Tiaz could now move on to the rest of the niggaz that had wronged him. The people on his Shit List were growing fewer and fewer. His victims would feel his pain and forget that mercy ever existed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Alright, I’m finna come out now.” Lil’ Stan disconnected the call and stashed it into his jeans pocket. He mashed out his blunt in the glass ashtray and stuck it behind his ear. He snatched up the duffle bag and headed for the door. The bag’s content was all of the money from his boss’s traps and illegal businesses. Earlier that day, he was sent to gather up all of his scratch and sit on it until he came to retrieve it. The thought of running off with all of that money came to mind several times for the young hood. He could do a lot with what he was toting, but the theft wouldn’t be worth all of the heat that would come behind him from stealing from Don Juan. Having made up his mind to play it fair, he picked up all of the money and sat on it until it was time for the pick-up.

  The front door of the house came open and Lil’ Stan slammed it shut, hustling down the steps. He kept a firm hold on his .40 cal as he crossed the threshold out of the yard en route to Don Juan’s Porsche truck. He wore a solemn look on his face, seeing him talking to someone on his cellular. From the exchange he could tell that conversation was getting heated. His eyes bugged and his mouth opened to shout a warning, seeing someone hastily approaching the SUV with a gun pointed. Before the words could leave his lips the shots were already on their way.

  ***

  After the shootout back at the gas station, Don Juan hit up Lil’ Stan and told him to get all of the money he’d made from his traps that week. Next, he called Rosa and had her pack luggage for him and his little man. Cali had gotten too hot for him, so he decided to blow town and lay low for a while. He needed to get his head together and figure out how he was going to handle this situation with Tiaz.

  At first, he thought he was going to be able to squash the thug like a cockroach and be done with him, but he proved to be more of a nuisance than he imagined. He never thought that one man would give him so much trouble, but when he bumped heads with Tiaz, he got a headache that he really didn’t need. Regardless, he was going to take care of him in time. He just needed time to kick back and gather his wits. He was driving out to South Carolina to stay with his Uncle Benny and Aunt Cookie to chill for a time. They were good, country folks and he was sure they’d welcome him and his son with open arms. It would be a nice little getaway. One that he sorely needed after all of the shit that had went down those past couple of weeks. All of the business he had to take care of in the next couple of weeks would be turned over to Lil’ Stan. He was going to hold things down while he was away.

  “You alright back there, lil’ man?” Don Juan cracked a smile, looking at his son through the rearview mirror. His baby boy smiled and kicked his little legs, excitedly. This made the Trap God’s smile broader. Hearing his cell phone going off, he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Seeing that it was one of his biggest customers, he pressed answer and brought the device to his ear.

  “DJ, wat’s up?” the caller
asked.

  Don Juan took the time to take a pull from his blunt and blew out smoke. “What’s up witchu, Roots?”

  “How long have we been doing business?”

  Don Juan whistled thinking of how long they’d been dealing with one another. “Man, I’d say we been at it for quite some time now. What’s this, a social call? ‘Cause I gotta...”

  “Dis is notta social call. Dis is me coming ta ya ta ask ya ta give me ma money back.”

  The Trap God slumped his shoulders and blew hard, releasing some of his frustration. “Like I told you before, I didn’t have anything to do with yo’ people getting hit, fam.”

  “Listen, me gon’ ask you ‘bout ma money and if ya still say ya dunt know wat happened ta it, den...”

  “Mothafucka, you threatening me?” He frowned and snatched the blunt out of his mouth.

  “Brudda, ya can take it howeva ya want.”

  “Nigga, fuck you! Take that however you want!” His head bobbed from side to side as he spat harshly into the receiver. “You send any niggaz this way and I’ma send ‘em back to you in body bags. Best believe that, homeboy!”

  “Is dat a fact?”

  “You goddamn right. Make ya next move ya best move, playa.”

  Pewk! Pewk! Pewk!

  Shots whizzed through the driver side window, peppering Don Juan with glass and causing him to drop his cellular on the floor. The sudden eruption of gunfire startled the baby and sent him into a crying fit.

  “Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa!”

  Don Juan hunched down to avoid the gunshots. He stole a peek through the shattered window and saw a tall, dark-skinned nigga with high cheekbones approaching, sending fire at his ass. The Trap God threw his truck in reverse and slammed into the Plymouth behind him. He threw it back in drive and slammed into the Neon parked in front of him. After reversing again, he pulled the steering wheel to the left and mashed the gas down, tires screeching as he peeled off.