by De'Kari
After watching the BMW X5 pull up, the leader waited about five minutes before looking over to his passenger and deciding it was time to move. They double-checked their weapons making sure they were loaded before exiting the Dodge Challenger Demon.
The secondary USALAMA (security squad) exited their vehicle as well. The two groups met up directly in front of the War Room. The leader made sure his men fully understood their assignment before approaching the door.
After entering the house, the leader overheard the question about locking up.
“I disarmed it! Now I’m about to come around this wall. Please don’t shoot me. We all family so hold your fire.” Someone called out from around the corner in the living room.
“Nigga, who the fuck is you?” Gunz called out, his gun trained on the entrance, ready to kill.
His answer came in the form of one man who rounded the corner with five Silver Backs behind him. They entered the room staring down the barrels of twelve different guns and were not phased in the least.
Everyone stared at the nigga who’d barged into their sanctuary uninvited with no-one knowing who the fuck he was! This mothafucka had the heart of a gunslinger. Him and them big ass fucking line backers he had with him. There was nothing special about his look. His height and build were ordinary. His Cavalli jeans and his shirt were as well. Yet, two things held everyone in the room back from filling all them mothafuckas up with slugs. First, the power and respect that his aura commanded was hypnotic. There was something about him, but no-one could figure it out. Part of the reason they couldn’t focus on him was the huge fucking Dragon piece hanging off the iced-out chain that was around his neck. It dwarfed Gunz’ chain easily. It was covered in black and red diamonds. The chocolate Diamonds covered the entire body except where the scales were, that area was full of blood red diamonds. The Dragons eyes were canary yellow along with the flame that came out of its mouth. The Dragon was about nine and a half inches and the twenty-five -inch chain that it hung on was a chocolate and red one-carat invisible set of diamonds. Even the fucking chain commanded your attention.
French Tip had heard her brother and T’Rida talk about a nigga that had a similar description to the nigga standing in front of them. But, this definitely couldn’t be him. That nigga was locked away in Folsom State Penitentiary doing twenty years for murder for hire.
“My brotha, the question isn’t who am I. It’s what am I,” the intruder calmly spoke.
“Nigga, I don’t think you’re understanding just how real shit is.” Gunz recocked the Desert Eagle. A bullet spit out the top of it for emphasis. “If you don’t tell me who the fuck you are, I’mma show you what I am.”
“And demm mothafuck’n black giant looking mothafuckas behind you gone dance too.” A.J. was and always had been trained to go.
His words weren’t a threat, but a warning.
The tension in the room was thicker than Cubana Lust in a G-string. He could feel it. He didn’t have to look in the faces of the killas. His killas, Gunz knew they were ready.
“You know Leonard, Tommy told me that you was a hot headed brotha, but I thought all of that would’ve been out of your system by now…”Most people would’ve relaxed a little bit after hearing the intruder call them by their name and even mention T’Rida, but not Gunz. “So, before this turns ugly and my peoples turn that red dot on your chest into a hole, I’ll answer your question.” Everyone was so focused on him, no-one had had noticed all the infrared dots on all of them.
“My name is Dok Holliday, but you can call me Dok. I am the father and Chief Commander of what you all call Neva Die Dragon Gang. I was able to disarm the alarm to every property we have from the White House, all the Green houses, the dark room and I even know the locations of the Koffee Shop and Satin Doll.” He looked over at French Tip, “But, I don’t have the security codes to your personal venues.”
French Tip had a look of disbelief on her face. Everyone else had looks of shock on their faces. All except Gunz. After hearing what the nigga said, Gunz knew exactly who he was.
Voorheeze had often spoken highly of blood. Voorheeze would say constantly “I’mma 4-star General. Dok is the 5-star. He’s the only nigga I answer to.” Gunz could hear Voorheeze voice now. But, the nigga Voorheeze always talked about had dreadlocks all the way down his back.
Dok continued, “Gunz, my brotha, I agree with your assessment. It is time for a change.” He lifted his hand with his two fingers up like a peace sign, but he had his pinky finger up with it. Instantly, all the red dots disappeared. “My brotha, I’m not your enemy. I’m the brotha that you’ve neva met. Earlier, I said you guys call what we have Neva Die Dragon Gang. That’s neva what it was meant to be, a Gang. The name is Neva Die Dragons because we were all Dragons when this was originally started. All of us were and are members of the Black Guerilla Family. But we were chosen to make a difference. That’s where Neva Die came from, it’s an acronym, it stands for:
New
Enlightened
Visionaries
African Decent…
Determined (to)
Increase
Education and Economics”
Everyone stared even more shocked at French Tip as she cut Dok off and continued to quote the rest of the acronym.
She stood up. Mouth wide open, eyes bugged and hands covering her mouth. Her pistol was sitting on her chair. Only she could hear her heart beat, but it sounded so loud to her, she thought everybody could hear it.
“Darrell, I know that’s not you.” She finally said.
“Nice to finally meet you, Le’Nita or should I say French Tip.” They embraced like they’ve known each other forever.
Dok actually knew everybody. True, he’d just did a twenty-year run in prison, but Neva Die was his idea. He had Voorheeze construct the organization from an idea that Dok had back when they were cell mates in Santa Rita County Jail. Dok was fighting life and Voorheeze was facing 159+ years. They both believed everything that their organization stood for and represented, but now a lot of their comrades had turned sour and lost their way.
T’Rida’d ended up catching a case a few months later. He too was a part of the Guerilla Family and they were all real revolutionary. They truly believed in being vanguards of the people. They’d dreamed of an Urban Utopia for the people. A Black Paradise for the people, by the people. They would hustle to get enough money to buy ten city blocks and it would start from there.
The idea T’Rida had of Gunz and Voorheeze putting their money together after the lick in West Oakland was all Dok’s idea. He’d prepared Rida on what to do long before he walked out the gates of DVI. The blue print was sketched, carved and engraved in his head. Once things started going both T’Rida and Voorheeze made sure to give Dok weekly updates. Sometimes they would talk so long Dok could barely get up for his job in the kitchen.
Everyone listened intently while Dok filled them in on information none of them were ready for. All the guns had been tucked away but everyone was still on standby.
Gunz was dissecting everything the nigga said. Only two things could be, as far as he was concerned, either this nigga was the real Dok Holliday or he was a Fed. The question was how to get him to prove who he was. “Look man, niggaz ain’t trynna be all disrespectful and shit because if you are who you say you are I ain’t trynna go there with you,” his gaze was steady and confident “but right now my family done been thru a lot and I gotta make sure our security is on point. Checked and then double checked. So, until I’m able to holla at my big brah, how I’m supposed to know what you saying is real shit?” Gunz was as sincere as he could be.
Dok respected the doubt. Had he been allowed to gain their trust so easily he would’ve been highly disappointed in the laxness of their security protocol. He would soon learn just how secure that protocol was.
“Young brotha, I expected you to ask me some type of questions or to give me some type of resistance and doubt. I wouldn’t respect it any other way.” Dok reached his hand out to
one of the goons that was behind him and he handed Gunz something.
“Here you go, brotha.” Dok handed Gunz a photo. It was a very old photo, although it was still in pretty good shape, like someone took care of it. The corners were still a little frayed and some of the color had faded.
Gunz took the photo. It was of Voorheeze, T’Rida and a third person. They were on the yard at Duel Vocational Institute in Tracy. Gunz had been there before, so he recognized the yard when he saw the photo. It had been taken years ago but you could tell who was who still. The dude with Rida and Voorheeze had dread locks all the way down his back.
There was a commotion towards the front of the house. Everyone turned and looked as a group of six more Guerrilla looking mothafuckas came into view, followed by D.J. and Keak, and a team of wolves. One of the six niggaz was holding his head trying to manage the bleeding from a gash that was there. Embarrassment was written on all of their faces.
“Next time you text me and give me an order to secure the perimeter of confirmed hostiles and tell me not to use lethal force, you might wanna let a nigga know that these hostiles are big Guerilla looking, giant mothafuckas.” Keak told Stone Cold.
Dok was fuming that his team had been subdued. It’s true they were all family and on the same team, but security was something he didn’t take lightly. He’d be sure to take care of it.
“I take it these are the infrared dots?” Gunz asked him with a smirk on his face. No-one saw Stone send the text not even Gunz. But, Gunz knew his people were always on point.
“Yeah, they was holding some good shit too. We relieved them of that shit though.” D.J. spoke out, already making plans in his head about the shooting range.
“Like I told you, my brotha, we on the same side.” As Dok was finishing his statement, a phone began to ring. “That’s for you, brotha.” Dok told him even before reaching into his jeans to retrieve the singing phone.
The new intruders brought a tad bit of tension into the room with them, but for the most part, with them stripped for their weapons, shit was all good. Gunz took the phone from him. He was wondering who the fuck wanted to talk to him. His demeanor was calm, yet his eyes betrayed anger. “Yeah hello,” was all he said.
“Yo, what’s up, young’n?” The caller said into the phone excitedly. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Only one man has ever been able to call me young’n and I ain’t heard from him in almost a decade.” Whoever the fuck was on the other line would make the mothafucka standing next to him pay for that mistake.
“Young’n, it’s me, boy! Damn, has it been that long that you don’t remember my voice?” Gunz didn’t believe it. He hadn’t spoken to Wu since he was in Santa Rita and gotten hit for all that time. Wu was truly a big homie, well-loved and respected. He was Gunz mentor before all the shit happened. Gunz wouldn’t be the person he was today were it not for Wu’s teachings and guidance.
“Yo, we gotta problem. 5-0 coming and they deep!” J. Styles called out looking out the front window.
He caught everyone’s attention. “I guess one of the neighbors saw that little scuffle.” DJ was referring to the reason one of the big niggaz had the gash on his head. “Either that or they saw all them damn guns.”
Styles neva put the 10 on the 2. This time was no different. It looked like the police cars weren’t gonna stop coming.
French Tip kicked into action. “Lock and load and dress the kids for church!” She opened the garage door which led to a mini armory.
“Right, wrong or indifferent, we ride.” A.J. sure didn’t give a fuck about dying. He lived each day like it was his last.
“Thirty stacks say I kill the most.” Cantelope was ready to make her She-Wolves proud.
Dok couldn’t believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, he respected their Kevin Gates. They sho-nuff were ready to die bout it. On the other, why go through all the trouble. Why put in all the work to build something just to throw it away so easy? After all they were only looking at weapons charges. What Dok didn’t realize was after everything they had been thru they were ready to let somebody feel their pain even if it would cost them their lives.
Gunz was still talking to Wu. Fuck the police, his big homie was on the phone.
“Look, young’n, I’ma let you tend to that situation, but I wanted to let you know that cuzzo is the truth. I been rock’n with Dok Holliday for a while. He good peoples, young’n. Y’all a lot alike.” If there is one person whose word Gunz would take hands-down it was Wu’s.
“Family, we’re not about to shoot it out. None of us are about to die. We’re not surrendering either.”
“This is the Union City Police Dept.…” Someone came over the bull horn. No-one paid attention.
“I estimate we got a couple of hours before they risk making contact if you guys were seen with guns and the assault rifles.” He turned toward Gunz, “Lil brotha, have your people focus on wiping down every surface in the house three times. From my experience it’s best to split into three groups and hit three rooms at once. Rotate in five minutes.”
“French, unlock every cage, drawer, rack and shelf out in the garage that is holding a gun or ammunition. My Ndugu’s will start getting rid of them.” The calm, quiet, stranger that first walked in was gone. A 5-star General was now directing his troops.
“Troy!” Dok called to one of the brothas that came with him. “Yeah, Mwezi?” His gold teeth shined against his dark skin “master bedroom there’s a picture of Angela Davis upside down, turn it ride side up spinning it clock wise, next open the bathroom door all the way. There’s a wall safe inside the medicine cabinet. Turn the dial to the number of teeth a dragon has, then open the closet door and turn on the room lights.” When he’d finished talking the tall brotha left no questions asked.
Dok looked at Gunz and took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to having to repeat himself. “Lil brotha, it’s going to take them a minute to thoroughly wipe every surface.”
The police were still on the loud speaker talking to nobody.
“Darrell, just where do you think you gonna take all these guns? Even if you are as good as my brotha says, the entire police force is outside?” She really was confused.
“Your brother’s house,” he simply told her.
He watched Gunz giving orders to wipe everything down. After all, Wu said he was the truth. On the strength of Wu he was listening.
French Tip still didn’t understand, but instead of being the one to ask questions, she figured she would just have a mothafucka show her what da business was. She went out to the garage and unlocked everything that was locked. Dok and his men wasted no time removing stuff. She was nosy, but didn’t want to appear so or lazy, so she grabbed a duffel bag full of boxes of ammo and followed the line of giants. The first thing she noticed was her mistake. A duffel bag full of boxes of bullets was heavier than a mothafucka. As she struggled with the bag her mind wondered why they were heading towards the master bedroom. She received her answer as soon as she stepped in. The walk-in closet was opened and so was the wall at the back of it. French Tip didn’t break her stride. Curiosity wouldn’t let her. She struggled to switch the bag to her shoulder and entered the tunnel inside the closet.
The air was dry and the atmosphere catastrophic. There were running lights, so she was able to see. “Damn, the bag was heavy” she thought but she toughed it out. She could hear one of the giants walking behind her. She wasn’t going to be a punk.
Finally, the end was approaching. She stepped thru the opening and got the shock of her life. She was standing in the closet of her brother’s bedroom. Directly ahead of her was the bed where she’d left a picture of her brother posing like someone else was in the picture with him. But it wasn’t. The photo was a selfie. It had me and Danika stenciled on it. Only a couple weeks ago she was standing in this exact same spot searching for answers.
“Excuse me, sistah.” The huge Gorilla behind her said. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She had forgotten he was b
ehind her, she had just stopped shocked at the revelation. As quickly as she could, she made her way deeper into the room.
Once she wrapped her mind around what everything that was standing inside of the room meant, French Tip made her way back through the tunnel. In just under forty-five minutes the War Room was just as clean as it was on the day Voorheeze bought it. All the weapons and ammo were moved into Voorheeze house and the Mobb was ready to leave. After thoroughly inspecting everything and being satisfied, that not one bullet remained, they were ready to go. The punk ass cops were still on the bullhorn with their idle threats. They were making threats to an empty house. Let them have fun figuring that one out.
**** N. D. ****
Voorheeze house
“All y’all know how my brother is about his shit. So, if you ain’t gotta touch it, leave it alone.” The warning French Tip gave was unnecessary, everybody knew how Voorheeze was about people being in his house.
“Shyyt, you ain’t even gotta speak on it. Don’t none of us wanna deal wit his crazy ass. I luv Big Brah, but that don’t stop him from being crazy as fuck!” Though everyone seconded that shit, nobody else was going to voice it. Fuck that!
First thing Keak did was head to the fridge. He and DJ were both starving. Hell, they were always starving. Opening up the fridge was one of the worst decisions they could have made. The smell of the putrid and rotten food smacked the shit out of their noses.
“God damn!” they both yelled out in unison. The acrid smell was so strong, DJ was actually choking. They came running out of the kitchen like they were being chased by demons.
Everybody was cracking up! “What, y’all didn’t find no food?” Cantelope couldn’t help herself.
“Shyyt, mo' like we found Jimmie Hoffa!” Keak was able to laugh now. He realized that they came flying up out of the kitchen like two white chicks in a Friday the 13th movie, being chased by Jason Voorheeze!
The smell finally made its way into the living room and they all realized why Keak and DJ ran out of the kitchen so fast.
