by De'Kari
Two of the Mexican women that were waiting in line with their husbands began screaming and acting irate. The woman in the window was getting ready to call them to retrieve their order that was done. She too screamed as she left the food on the counter and ducked down.
Batman didn’t care about none of that. He pointed the gun at Agent Gayton’s head and asked again. “Alvin Haynes! Do – you – know – who – the – fuck – Alvin – Haynes – was?” He spoke each word deliberately slowly, as if he was talking to a real re-re. A certified retard!
Before Agent Gayton could react, Batman sent two missiles directly into his chest. The impact was so strong at such a short distance that it knocked 5’4”, 130lb Gayton clear off his feet.
Batman walked the couple of feet that it took to stand over Gayton’s shaking body.
“Alvin Haynes was brutally beat to death January twenty-sixth by a bunch of coward-ass, crackers, hiding behind the badge of San Francisco County Jail as Deputies” after he spoke those words Batman pointed the big cannon at Gayton’s head and squeezed the trigger three more times, rocking the one-time snitch turned cop to sleep for good.
Sirens could be heard in the distance. Those who were too scared to move looked on in horror as Batman walked up to the pick-up window and grabbed the bag of food. He turned around and walked back over to Daniella’s dead body.
“Now you hold the fuck up, homeboy!” He told the corpse, then he shot it four more times. Afterwards he walked back to the stolen truck and got in.
Instead of driving off and getting out of dodge, he opened the bag of food and ate a taco. The little Piesa’s were so scared they didn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, the sirens got closer and closer. With the delicious taco now gone, he finally pulled off at a normal speed.
As he was exiting the parking lot, a squad car came speeding into the parking lot. It almost sped right into him. Batman glanced over at the Sheriff’s Deputy casually and drove off like nothing happened. It wasn’t long before he saw the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview. Paying them no mind, Batman continued to eat the second taco. By now the lights had multiplied from one set to three. His nerves were as calm as a pond in the middle of June. Still, he figured it was time to see what the expensive Roush package on the truck could do.
Batman down-shifted and put the pedal to the metal just as he was turning right onto Main Street, heading directly towards Downtown Redwood City. What he didn’t know was that he was heading directly towards the police station. Pedestrians stopped and stared at the powerful truck that was now leading five cop cars on a high-speed chase straight through the heart of town. Just as they were passing the All-pro Bail Bondsman, Batman nearly ran over a short nigga with long dreads who was crossing the street, not paying attention to what the fuck was going on.
At the last minute the nigga finally heard the sirens and looked up. “Ole bitch ass, nigga!” JuJu yelled at the truck as he jumped backwards barely avoiding getting run over. JuJu had just been released from the Maguire Correction Facility Main Jail which is located on Bradford St. and Main St. He’d been having a string of bad luck lately. This was his fourth time being released in one year. Every time he turned around he was getting some type of petty parole violation.
Before getting out this time, he’d made a vow to himself that this time would be the last time. He was determined to get back on his feet and climb back to his rightful spot in the food chain of the underworld. Juju took his last hundred dollars and headed to San Francisco to get a plug on a sack of crystal, so he could get his hustle on. Thoughts of his plans rushed through his mind as he watched the wind selfishly snatch the five $20’s he’d dropped jumping out the way of the speeding vehicles and sent them in five different directions almost as fast as the vehicles flying by.
JuJu was too pissed off to give a fuck. Lady luck was too busy fucking him to throw any kind of luck his way. He stood there right in the middle of the street with a dumb ass look on his face tripping off of his bad luck. Finally, he said fuck it! And kept it pushing. Though he was trying do shit differently than before, somebody was about to be food.
Even if Batman had known any of that he would not have given a fuck. He was in his element and couldn’t nobody tell him shit. The truck was pushing 95 mph, people were frantically scrambling to get out the way. More police and Sheriff’s Deputies joined the pursuit. On Veterans Blvd. he shot thru the red light ,barely missing the back bumper of a Honda Accord that was just passing the intersection. The cops weren’t so lucky.
As Batman made the left turn more cars were going through the intersection. The first Deputy that followed him from El Greasy slammed hard into the side of a red Chevy Camaro. The impact sounded like a cannon going off. The second car swerved to the left. That was a fatal mistake. The police cruiser smacked head on into a city bus. Two more cars crashed while the rest navigated the obstacle course of wreckage.
By the time they did, Batman was already swinging the F-150 onto Whipple Avenue jumping onto 101 North. Once he hit the freeway he opened that bitch up and let it do what it do! The police didn’t have a chance. By the time he reached highway 280 on-ramp it was a wrap.
As he cruised down 280 North headed for junction 92, the San Mateo Bridge, Batman flashed back to the little, short nigga who had been was crossing the street. Another two seconds and the truck would have no doubt sent the 5-foot 4-inch JuJu flying to his death. Reflecting on that made Batman think about Kevin Garrett from Chicago, Illinois; Bernard Moore from ATL, Tyree Crawford from Newark, NJ; and Christopher Kimble from East Cleveland. Before he knew it, images of Jason Champion and Nuwnah Laroche of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey flowed through his mind. All of whom were struck and killed by speeding police cars. Their only crime had been walking down the street enjoying the day.
Still, today, no one has been called to answer for their deaths.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that Batman didn’t see the Highway Patrol car that just came onto the freeway. He was too busy dwelling on the fact that he’d almost become a part of the very statistic he was fighting. The sirens brought him back from deep thought.
He checked his rearview and then looked in the passenger seat. His instincts told him to floor it, but the reflective moment he’d just had told him not to. Batman pulled over.
“You fucked up today, cop.” He spoke to himself as he put the truck in park and reached over to the passenger seat.
The officer was busy looking down at the screen of his laptop. He’d made the tragic mistake of taking his eyes off of the suspect. Right about the time that the bulletin came across the screen, matching the trucks description to that of a homicide and a high-speed chase, batman was walking towards the squad car with a M-16 in his hands.
The last move the patrolman made before all hell broke loose was to reach for the radio to call for backup.
The big 7.62’s that spit from the barrel completely shredded the patrol car like cheddar cheese. The bullets causing the siren that was turned off the to come back on only to shut back off permanently. The hood of the Dodge Charger flew up. One of the bullets had caused the latch to release.
Batman causally headed closer to the driver’s door. “They might not mean shit to y’all, but believe me, Black Lives Matter!” He fed the rest of the clip into the driver’s side door and window. He could see the patrolman’s body jump around like he was listening to an old school Busta Rhymes song. Once he emptied the clip he walked back, got into the truck and pulled off. Highway 280 had very light traffic this day, so no-one had witnessed the killing. It still would be accredited by most to the same killers that have been killing all the other cops.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter XII
Fremont, California
2 weeks later
“I’m just saying dad, fuck them niggaz.” Tut hit the blunt of the strong Wonder Woman before he continued, “You already know, I’m bout whatever. But it doesn’t make no sense focusing our time and energy on the
m mothafuckas when it’s money to be made, dad.” Tut looked over at Clark to see if he was paying attention to what he was saying.
They were inside Tut’s condo off of Stevenson Blvd. in Fremont watching Gonzaga play Kentucky in the March Madness Sweet 16. Clark had just finished telling Tut about plans to keep fucking with Neva Die through the Youth Center. In the past few weeks Bone and Man Man have been on a terror trip.
Vandalism wasn’t cutting it any more. They’d jumped the night janitor, and two of the employees. Workers got robbed at gun point and they even paid the smokers to linger around the center getting high and causing a nuisance. Any way they could find to fuck with the workings of the center, they did.
Ignoring Tuts comment, Clark spoke up, “Rogue, can you believe that the bitch ass nigga had the nerve to have French Tip call me and ask me to fall back?” He took a bite of the hot wings he was eating. With a mouth full of chicken parmesan, he asked, “Me take orders from my little sister. Nigga, where they do that at?”
“Clark, think about it though. Them niggaz ain’t fucking wit us at all. But, terrorizing a youth center? Come on, dad, dat shit ain’t gangsta.” Tut further tried to reason with him.
Everyone thought Gonzaga finally had a chance at making it to the final four. But Kentucky was doing their thang and it didn’t look like it was going to happen this year.
“Fuck you mean, nigga! That mothafucka tried to tell me how to do shit in my city. Nigga, that was fucking with me enough!” Clark was fuming. Every time he thought about that night, he saw nothing but blood.
“All I’m saying, dad, is if you feel that niggaz violated that severely, then why we not taking it to them niggaz instead of bullying the worker ants? Blood, where the fuck they do that?” Clark’s outburst didn’t phase Tut at all. He had too many bodies under his belt to be phased by a mothafucka raising his voice.
Gonzaga was on an eight-point run trying desperately to mount on attack. Although Clark was engrossed in the game, Tuts comment made a lot of sense and drew his attention. He thought about it for a minute while he bit into another wing.
“You know what nigga, you right. I don’t know why I’m playing around wit these niggaz. If a nigga disrespect you, get at that motha fucka in a real way. He grabbed his desert eagle and tucked it on his waist before snatching up the rest of the Wing Stop.
“Come on rogue” he told Tut as he headed for the door. “Hold up, dad. Even if Jesus is on his way back he gone have to wait till we put this shit away. You know I don’t fuck wit no messy ass house.” While he was talking Tut began picking up all the food bags and shit that was on the coffee table.
To make shit go faster, Clark helped him. It only took a few minutes and they were out the door. They jumped in Tuts H3 and headed for the Dumbarton Bridge. Talking wasn’t needed so they rode in silence.
Thirty minutes later they were driving down University Blvd.
“What’s the play, dad?” Tut questioned as he pulled up to the light on Bay Road. He could see all the smokers congregating at the bus top in front of McDonalds.
“Just pull right on in front of that mothafucka.” The plan was to send a mothafucking message and there was only one way to do that.
Ever since the attacks began, Dok made sure that there was a guerilla on sight in case things went any further. Today Kiumba was doing security. Kiumba was a good solid soldier. He was too old to be out in the streets, but he always wanted to be on the front line. Besides he was good at bussin heads.
Tut turned right onto Bell Street and pulled over. There was no way to be incognito in the truck with the $6,000 paint job. But, they weren’t trynna hide or blend in. For a moment they sat and scanned the area looking for their target. The center was doing food give away today so there weren’t any kids out. Still, it was relatively busy. Finally, Clark made out who he was looking for. He pointed him out to Tut and the two killas climbed out of the truck and crossed the street.
The moment they made it to the other side of the street them hammers came out. People looked at the two of them and got the fuck out of the way! Death walked towards the parking lot.
Mrs. Johnson was a nice old widow who played the piano at Born Again Christian Center. She also volunteered at the Boys and Girls club over in Menlo Park. Ever since her husband, Gerald passed, she’d been struggling to make ends meet, but somehow God always made a way. She was worried about not having enough food to last until she got her SSI check on the first. Mrs. Bell had told her about Elysian Fields passing out food boxes. There weren’t passing out the regular “welfare recipient” food like most of the centers were doing. Elysian Fields was passing out nice, wholesome food like they did over at the Ecumenical Hunger Program. And they had the nicest young men to assist you out to your vehicle and load it for you. Even though she didn’t have the money to spare she thought about giving the young man that was helping her a tip. He reminded her so much of her late Gerald, so quiet and mild mannered.
For the fifth time she began thanking him again.
“This is so nice of you sweetheart, out here helping us little old ladies who are…” The sight of the two men with guns in their hands caused the statement to get caught in her throat.
****
Why do I always get stuck helping the ones who wouldn’t stop running their mouths? Kiumba thought to himself as he loaded the food into the old 2005 Suburban. He wasn’t even supposed to be doing this bullshit but one of the niggaz that was needed to take a shit so Kiumba was filling in just to help out. As he was placing the last box into the back of the Suburban, she started yapping her gums again when she stopped mid-sentence. Kiumba knew something was wrong.
****
Clark was a man of a mission. Nothing and no one would stop or detour him. Tut strolled right along with him, his eyes on a constant swivel, surveying the area for any potential danger. Any movement whatsoever Tut was squeezing. Their target was directly ten feet in front of them. Some old hag was so busy talking his ear off that ole’ boy wasn’t paying attention at all.
As they passed the car next to the Suburban they were loading the old lady looked up at them and shut up faster than a fat broad eating a cheese burger. The abrupt silence caused the target to look up.
“Welcome to East Palo Alto, nigga!” The words left Clarks mouth a split second before the missile left the Desert Eagle.
At point blank range, the 50-caliber Desert Eagle bullet literally made Kiumba’s head explode. Blood and brain matter flew everywhere. The majority of it covered poor Mrs. Johnson. She just stood there horrified, stunned into utter silence. The body lay jerking on the pavement.
Together they turned and walked back to the truck with their eyes on full alert for anybody who thought they might want to retaliate.
Magically, Mrs. Johnson became unfrozen from her trance. Her loud screams could be heard all the way at the 76-gas station across University. Other people were screaming and running frantically as well. Tut and Clark climbed back inside the H2 and drove off. They headed back across the bridge to Tuts condo.
**** N. D. ****
Stanford Hospital
Once again Chief Vieira sat alone in the hospital room crying her heart out and talking to Voorheeze. Things were really heating up and she needed to be at work, but her love came first. She had to be there for him. Her cell phone started ringing.
Gently, she place his hand back down on his side and reached for the cell phone. It was Dominique Diaz. She’s the Mayor’s personal assistant.
The Chief answered right away. “Hello, Miss Diaz.”
“Hello, Chief Vieira, how are you today?” Dominique Diaz was a very beautiful woman with a very raspy voice.
“Miss Diaz, I’m fine thank you. How may I help you today?” Whenever the cigarette smoke scratched voice of Dominique Diaz was heard on your telephone, it was to bring you bad news.
Chief Vieira braced herself for the inevitable. A bad storm was certainly coming her way.
“Well, Mayor Skills
kowsky just received a call from the governor’s office informing her that Governor Costa is scheduling a press conference for the evening to discuss the recent deaths in law enforcement. After the press conference the Mayor wants to have a meeting with you and your top brass.” Her words cut just as much as her voice scratched.
Vieira knew what this meant. Somebody needed to take the blame for the shit storm that was sure to come from the press conference. The old adage was true, shit always ran down hill.
“I see. And Miss Diaz, where exactly would the Mayor like for us to meet?” Vieira admired the Mayor and all that she’s done so far. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t look forward to the meeting.
“She’s expecting to see you at nine p.m. sharp.” Diaz informed her. “Thank you, Miss Diaz.” Chief Vieira hung up. She didn’t have a problem with the Mayors assistant. However, she was just that, an assistant and Vieira was the Chief of Police.
**** N. D. ****
Oakland
“I ain’t wit the I told you so’s. I just wanna know how you wanna handle this shit. Niggaz gotta do something after this!”, Gunz was beyond irate! Way passed pissed off. As he paced the office, the rage inside of him was evident.
Dok looked at the young man who was no doubt ready for war. Gunz was only a few years younger than Dok and a little more seasoned. After all, Dok had been away from the streets since 2002.
Lil Rell and Scooter was positioned, as always, next to their father. Always on standby for security, A.J. and Big Rocc were also present. The six men were discussing the latest plight to the harassment Clark has been causing over at Elysian Fields.
This latest fiasco, the killing of Kiumba, had everybody fuming. Kiumba wasn’t just some employee or volunteer. Kiumba was a comrade. He was cut from the cloth of George Jackson and Fati. A Guerrilla had been touched.
It was time for the Dragon to surface.
“Peace be still, my brotha. Your feelings are both understood and mirrored. Brotha Kiumba was a solid soldier, an even better brotha! So, believe me, although I may seem calm, the fire deep within me is raging and burning.” Dok paused and took a moment to tell Lil Rell to step outside and keep Usalama (security) on the door.
