by Tranay Adams
Don Juan pulled his .9mm from underneath the seat and sat it in his lap. He stole a peek through the side view mirror and saw the cat that was getting at him hop into the front passenger seat of a station wagon. The vehicle was driving off right behind him in pursuit. He glanced into the backseat at his baby boy and he was wailing as loud as ever, tears slicking down his chubby cheeks.
“Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa!” the baby continued to cry.
“You alright, lil’ man, huh?” He glanced back at his son, checking him for wounds. He was straight. “You good, DJ, hold tight. Yo’ daddy gon’ have to get with a couple of fuck-boys program right quick.” He turned back around gripping his thang-thang, and stealing a look through the side view mirror. The station wagon was speeding upon him.
***
Lil’ Stan’s eyes bugged and his mouth opened to shout a warning, seeing someone hastily approaching Don Juan’s SUV with a gun pointed. Before the words could leave his lips the shots were already on their way.
Poc! Poc! Poc!
The gunman opened up fire on the driver side window of the truck. Lil’ Stan watched as the Porsche slammed back and forth between two parked cars before peeling off. As soon as the SUV took off, the station wagon toting the gunman was pulling off right behind it. Lil’ Stan was about to run out into the street and get off behind it, but seeing the silhouette of someone creeping upon him slowed his roll. His head whipped around and he made Tiaz with that Beretta held low, creeping on his dog ass. The young nigga slung the duffle bag to his side and brought his head bussa around, sending some heat at him. Tiaz ducked low to avoid the heat wave before he came back up with a deadly response.
Boc! Boc! Boc!
Sparks flew from off the side of the parked Neon and shattered its side view mirror. Lil’ Stan broke up the block, gun in one hand and duffle bag in the other. It was like his sneakers were on fire as fast as he was running, heels kicking him in his ass, he was moving so swift.
“Nuh uh, both of these niggaz ain’t getting away from me.” Tiaz went after him, gun held at his side as his sneakers pounded the sidewalk, covering ground.
Where the fuck did that other nigga come from? I almost had Don Juan’s bitch ass. Damn! It don’t matter. As long as somebody get that ass. I know one thang though, I’ma get this lil’ mothafucka right here, on my momma, Tiaz thought as he got after Lil’ Stan, moving like a pistol was fired in the air to start a race.
Bianca was just a few feet away tailing him. As soon as the thug turned that young ass nigga’z life off he was to hop back into the car and get the fuck out of dodge. Lil’ Stan rounded the corner coming off of the residential block out onto a main street. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he was huffing and puffing, had him wishing he wasn’t a nicotine fiend and visited the gym regularly. When he glanced back, Death was right upon him in the form of a very determined Tiaz. Beretta held up at his shoulder as he ran, he was behind that nigga like he was his shadow. He stopped for a second and pointed his banger, letting her rip.
Boc! Boc! Boc!
Gunshots rang out causing the few pedestrians occupying the sidewalks to scatter and scream in panic. Lil’ Stan ran like he had a lynch mob behind him, breathing heavily and occasionally glancing over his shoulder. His forehead shined from the sweat. His adrenaline was pumping madly and fueling his stamina to run. He was so jacked up off of fear that he could probably make it to Montana on foot.
Clenching his .40 cal tighter, Lil’ Stan spun around and let two fly. Smoke and sparks rushed from the cal’s barrel behind the twin bullets. The first shot narrowly missed its mark as he hunched over and darted behind a parked cab. The second shot went through the cab’s back window, shattering it into pieces. Lil’ Stan turned around and continued on his way. Tiaz peeked over the trunk of the cab and saw the young nigga moving like a track star. Seeing his kill getting away, he jumped back to his feet in hot pursuit.
Tiaz knew he had no business chasing down Lil’ Stan on a busy street with his face exposed. He had plenty of witnesses to point him out in court if he was to ever get pinched for the murder, but at the moment he’d seen his bitch ass he threw logical thinking to the wind. He had a vendetta against Don Juan and his lieutenant. They had stolen his best friend from him and he was determined to take their lives. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink at night if both of them weren’t dead. The roughneck had a score to settle and he was going to settle it that night.
Lil’ Stan turned around and dumped on Tiaz, twice more. The first shot missed his head by an inch. The second one hit the building at the end of the alley he’d ducked into, causing a spray of debris to mist the air. Leaning against the brick building, Tiaz checked the magazine of his head bussa and smacked it back in. He had more than enough rounds to get the job done, but knew he’d better hurry because the police were sure to be on the way with a firefight going on in the middle of the city. Tiaz went to take a quick peek around the corner of the building and caught debris in his eye as a chunk of brick was blown off by one of Lil’ Stan’s bullets.
“Arghhh!” He yelped and grabbed his eye, doubling over.
Thinking that he’d critically wounded Tiaz, Lil’ Stan cautiously advanced on the alley with his gun arm erect. While his right-hand clutched his .40 cal, the left one held the butt of it. He knew that he’d injured the foe, but he didn’t know if he was so bad off that he couldn’t bust his gun. Just as that thought entered the youngster’s head, the thug threw himself out of the alley on his side, squeezing off shots.
Boc! Boc!
A hole opened in the little nigga’z abdomen and his shoulder. A hole exploded in his hand and he grimaced and dropped his gun. He went to pick it up and it was shot out of his reach.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, heading to the rivals location, no doubt. Tiaz ignored the blaring noise. He had to end this feud tonight for good and at any cost. Lil’ Stan looked up from where he was about to pick up his gun and saw Tiaz with his burner aimed at his forehead. He closed his eyes and waited for the bullet that would send him to Heaven or Hell.
Click!
Lil’ Stan’s eyes popped open and he saw Tiaz examining his weapon, it had jammed. Using the distraction to his advantage, he fled. The buff neck thug stood to his feet. After fooling around with his gun for a moment, he finally managed to un-jam it. He looked up and saw Lil’ Stan ducking off into a music store.
Tiaz followed him into the music store, gun hanging at his side. When the patrons and cashier saw his weapon they were too petrified to move. They cowered where they stood, eyes bugged and mouths open. Lil’ Stan looked for some place to run, but there were none. The only other door was at the back of the store chained and locked. He found himself cornered, but realizing that he was in a store full of people put him a little at ease. He knew that the nigga that was on him was a killer, but even he wasn’t crazy enough to pop him in an establishment full of witnesses. Or so he thought.
Police cars pulled up to the store while a scowling Tiaz was en route to Lil’ Stan. The youngster didn’t show any fear though. He was G with his. His scowl matched the thug’s own.
“You got balls, my nigga, but I don’t think you’re crazy enough to pop me with a room full of witnesses and The Boys at the door.” He cracked a smile, displaying a perfect top row of white teeth and bunched bottom teeth.
Tiaz spat on the floor and pressed the barrel of his gun between the little nigga’z eyes. The whole time he kept his game face. His heart quickened, but he refused to leave this world anything less than a gangsta.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” A cop bellowed from the doorway. He had his gun drawn on Tiaz. “Drop the gun now!”
Neither Tiaz nor Lil’ Stan heard the police officer. They had completely blocked him out and were now in their own world. They stared each another down. Neither one flinching, neither one blinking, one not afraid to die, the other not afraid to kill.
“I’m not gonna tell you again, asshole!” the cop barked.
&
nbsp; For a moment there was silence. Tiaz and Lil’ Stan stared each another down. The thug’s eyebrows arched and his lips twisted. They stayed like that for a time before transforming into a toothy smile. And then it happened. Boc!
The music store erupted into cries and screams.
The bullet whizzed through Lil’ Stan’s forehead and exited out the back of his skull. Red goo and brain matter splattered everywhere, speckling nearby CDs on racks. The youngster’s eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was hanging open. He fell to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. Tiaz wore a wicked smile on his face, but not for long. A bullet struck him in the back and he grimaced. He whipped around, bringing his head bussa along. He went to pull the trigger and a second bullet hit him low in his abs. He looked down wearing a frown, seeing the crimson stain expanding. He looked up ready to kill the cop and a third bullet slammed into his shoulder, causing him to stagger backwards. He bumped into a rack of CDs and fell over with it. There was a loud crash and he rolled over onto his side. Spotting his gun, he went to pick it back up and another bullet struck his hand.
“Gahhh!” He cradled his hand, bawling. When he looked up the cop was right up on him, pointing his pistol down at his face and kicking the head bussa out of his reach.
“Move, and that’s your ass!” the cop shouted down in his face.
Tiaz’ let his head drop to the floor and sighed. His lifestyle had caught up to him. It was finally over. After murdering Lil’ Stan in front of a cop, with all of his priors, he was sure he was going to be locked away for a long time. The funny thing is that he didn’t mind. All of his killing and shady dealing had gotten the best of him and he couldn’t wait to get a piece of mind.
***
Te’Qui ran as hard as he could, constantly looking over his shoulders, his bare feet smacking against the pavement. His chest swelling and deflating. He was breathing hard, real hard, and his lungs felt like they were warming. The fear he was experiencing was like an adrenaline shot. His legs seemed like they were moving with hyper speed. Every time he’d start to slow down from fatigue, he’d look back and see Wicked. He was hauling ass after him and holding a hand over his injured neck. His other hand was gripping the same Instrument of Death he had down in the basement that he’d planned to use on him. From his facial expression, he knew if he caught up with him he was going to chop his little ass up into tuna.
Te’Qui’s head was snapping around in all directions. There were plenty of bystanders out and about and none of them were trying to help him. It seemed that those seeing a little kid about to be slaughtered like cattle, would do something to stop the mad man that was after him.
“I’m gonna kill you, you lil’ shit! You’re dead! You’re dead!” Wicked swore, glassy-eyed and veins bulging on his forehead and temples.
“Ooof!” Wicked was tackled to the ground by what looked like a blur. He hit the sidewalk, tussling with a man who decided to intervene on the youngster’s behalf. Big mistake!
Crack! Whack! Bwap!
Wicked knocked him to the ground and snatched up his deadly weapon. “That’s yo’ ass, nigga!” He grabbed him by his throat and lifted the torture tool over his head. The man’s eyes bulged and he gasped, then it happened, the sharp instrument bit into his face, repeatedly. Blood specs clung to Wicked’s face and clothes. He looked like a fucking lunatic.
His head snapped up and he saw that Te’Qui had stopped to watch the tussle he was having with the bystander. When the youngster saw him, his eyes nearly leaped out of his head and his chest was twitching hard. He looked petrified, like he’d seen someone step out of a coffin, fully dressed in a suit and tie. His fear had paralyzed him. He couldn’t move an inch. It was like he was wearing a pair of cement shoes. With the blood splattered on his cornrows, face and clothes, Wicked looked like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, a fucking psychopath. He licked the blood from off of the bladed tool laughing and then pointed it at the juvenile. He then went charging after him, raising his killing utensil above his head. He ran right out into the middle of the intersection and that was his undoing.
Boomp!
Wicked went flying over the windshield, looking like a rag doll before settling down in the middle of the street. Te’Qui’s eyes bulged further and his jaw dropped open. He studied his aggressor as he lay in the street bloody, broken, and twitching. His hand held firm to the Instrument of Death as he clung to life. His head fell to the left, locking eyes with the boy he’d planned to slice and dice. His face twisted with anger and he attempted to move.
Urrrrrrrk!
Boomp!
Wicked’s head splattered like a rotten watermelon as a second car that was tailing the first car bent the corner. His gold grill tumbled forward and stopped, a gleam swept across the length of it.
Te’Qui lay where he was wide-eyed and slack jawed. He was in shock. Although he had seen quite a bit growing up in the hood, but never anything like this.
“Oh my God, are you alright?” A light-skinned girl with her individual braids pulled back in a bun asked him.
“Yeah...yeah.” He eyes stayed on the mess that was once Wicked as he swallowed his spit, nodding.
He couldn’t believe how close he was to death. It was a close call.
***
“Wat da fuck was dat?” Uduka asked, reloading his brother’s .45 automatic.
“I hit someone back dere.” Uche answered, gripping the steering wheel firmly, a face of determination. “I may have keeled ‘em, but fuck ‘em. Only thin’ dat mattas is avengin’ Boxy.”
“Right.” He chambered a live round into the handgun and passed it to his brother. He took it.
Don Juan and Uche drove side by side, looking from one another to their windshields.
Bunk! Bunk! Urrrk! Bunk!
Uche slammed into the side of his Porsche repeatedly, wearing a scowl. He hoisted up his gun and pointed out of the window, still looking back and forth.
“Dis is a gift from Boxy!” The oldest of The Eme Brother’s growled, letting his gun talk.
Poc! Poc! Poc!
Don Juan ducked down, but kept a firm hold on the steering wheel. He narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between the street and Uche, trying his best not to get his top blown off. He clenched his tool tighter, waited his chance and came back up, letting that thang go.
Splock! Splock! Splock!
His brows furrowed when he saw Uche had vanished. It dawned on him to look over his shoulder. When he did he caught one in it.
“Ahhh!” He bit down on his bottom lip to fight back the fire in his shoulder. Uche drifted alongside him toward the rear of his truck, giving him hell with his .45 automatic.
Poc! Poc! Poc! Poc!
Don Juan slumped down to avoid the fire that was sent his way. He floored the gas pedal and the vehicle zoomed forward. He peeked over the dashboard and a big ass Mac truck was about to collide with him.
Buuuunk! Buuuunk!
The driver of the mammoth size vehicle blew its horn.
“Oh fuck!” Don Juan threw the steering wheel to the right, cutting through lanes. Seeing that he was about to crash into a nearby parked car, he whipped the Porsche back around and lost control of it. The SUV fishtailed and slammed up against a light pole, wrapping around it. The impact dislodged Don Juan from the driver seat. The windshield exploded as he went flying through it along with broken glass. He hit the ground with the shards rolling like he was on fire. Coming to a stop, he slowly scrambled upon his feet, slicing up his palms and forearms on the broken glass.
Hearing the screeching tires of a car coming upon him, his head snapped in its direction. He narrowed his eyes as blood from a gash in his forehead slid down his face. He was a little dizzy and discombobulated from the crash, so he couldn’t tell who was upon him. He held a hand over his brows and saw a silhouette hopping out of the car and moving in his direction. That’s when it came back to him that it was the Africans. In a hurried panic, his bloody fingers reached for his gun amid the shar
ds. He pulled it from the loose glass and went to turn around just as the silhouette was advancing in his direction lifting something. Before he could get off, fire exploded in his hip and he howled like an old wounded dog, hobbling about. He dropped his banger and jumped forward on one leg like he was playing hopscotch.
Hearing police car sirens, Uduka’s head snapped all around trying to see exactly where they were approaching from. He was starting to get worried now. The heat was on and it was starting to get hotter.
“Uche, we must go,” he called out. “Dee authorities will be heah shortly.”
Uche didn’t pay any mind to his baby brother. That nigga was too far gone. His mental was warped. He was consumed with murking out Don Juan. He and his prey were all that existed in the world in that hour. He’d allowed him to get a good distance from him. Looking on, Uduka thought that he was letting him get away, but that couldn’t be farther away from the truth. Uche was toying with him, sort of like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. The Nigerian slowly walked behind his intended victim, letting him get only so far before putting slugs in different body parts. He wasn’t concerned with killing him just yet. Nah, he wanted him to feel pain before he took him out.
“Ucheeee!”
Poc!
Fire ripped through Don Juan’s side. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened so wide that you could see that little pink thing at the back of his throat. He crashed to the ground on his side, breathing hard, vision going black and then coming back. He was exhausted. If this was to be his end then he was ready. He was about to see if there was a heaven for a G.
Urrrrrk!
The first police cruiser pulled upon the scene.
A bullet whizzed through Don Juan’s forearm and he clenched his teeth, fighting back the excruciation. He was determined to pull the small caliber pistol from his ankle holster. He heard the driver side door of the police cruiser open and booted feet hopping out. His eyes shot up and Uche was there. The murky blue sky was the background to his silhouette. He couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew that he was staring down at him with contempt.