by J-Blunt
“I got a spot we can chill. Smoke somethin’. Pop a bottle. You down?”
“Hell yeah! Turn up!”
Fats was so focused on bragging and trying to get to know Queenie that he didn’t notice the black Charger following him. He drove for ten minutes before parking in front of a blue-and-gray house in a rundown neighborhood. The Charger turned onto the same street a few seconds later, driving ahead and parking on the next block.
“Is this yo’ house?” Queenie asked.
“Nah. Some of my action shit, where I fuck off to chill sometimes. I turned the basement into my own li’l spot. It’s clean and comfy.”
Fats used a key to let them in through the back door. An older, dark-skinned woman appeared at the top of the stairwell. She was rail-thin and had blotchy brown skin and hair nappier than the back of a sheep’s ass.
“Damn, Tracy. What, cho ass got super hearin’ or somethin’?”
“Hell yeah, nigga. ‘Specially when somebody comin’ in my house. I was wonderin’ when yo’ ass was gon’ come back through here. Who yo’ friend?”
“Dis Baby Girl. I’ma be in the basement. Don’t come down here fuckin’ wit’ us,” he said, handing her two bags of dope.
“I got what I wanted. Have fun,” Tracy said before disappearing into the house.
Fats led Queenie into a sparsely-furnished basement that was cleaner than expected. Throw rugs of all shapes, sizes, and colors covered the floor. There was a table with a few chairs around it. A small refrigerator was sitting on a shelf in the corner. A couch lined the wall, and there was a bed, as well as a 19” TV on the wall with a video game console and DVD player hooked up to it.
“Is that a waterbed?” Queenie asked.
“Hell yeah. Throwback shit. What chu know ‘bout dat?” Fats asked, falling backward on the bed and letting the waves rock his body. Queenie joined him on the bed, giggling as the waves tossed them.
“You want anything to drink? I got some Rosé and Amsterdam in the icebox.”
“Yeah. Rosé. You got some strong?”
He tossed her a sack of weed and a wrap as he went to get the drinks.
“You got any movies? Where the porn at?” Queenie asked, rolling the blunt.
“Look in that pile of games.”
“Can you do it? I need to call my sister and let her know I’m safe.”
“Fo’ sho. Do dat. You definitely safe wit’ me.”
Queenie pulled out her phone and called Princess. “Hey, sis. Yeah, I’m good. I met this nigga, Fats. He fine, and he runnin’ up a check. We by his trap house. Finna pop a bottle and smoke some loud.”
Fats smiled at the words as he put on the porno.
“Fats, my sister wanna know if she can catch a ride over here and chill wit’ us? She at the hotel by herself and bored.”
“Yeah, she can come through.”
“Here. Talk to her and give her the address.”
After talking to Princess, Fats and Queenie lay on the waterbed, smoking, drinking, and watching the porno. When he got touchy-feely, she let him get his feel on, but that was as far as she let him go. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the back door.
“Tracy, get the do’!” Fats yelled.
Queenie could hear the door open and multiple footsteps on the stairs.
Tracy came into view first. She looked terrified. Fats noticed the look on her face. “Fuck wrong wit’ chu?” he asked.
Tracy didn’t speak. Behind her was Princess, dressed in a black cat suit, her dreads hanging loose. Excitement shown in Fats’ eyes. He was about to comment on them being twins when he noticed Pop Somethin’. The big man wore all black, full beard and dreads hiding most of his face, making him look like the grim reaper. He stood before Fats holding a Sig Sauer 357.
“Awe, c’mon, man! What kinda shit is dis?” Fats whined, the terror setting in.
“I don’t got no time for bullshit. Where the fuck is Radar and Franco?” Pop demanded.
“I-I don’t got nuthin’ to do wit’ dem niggas. I just sell a li’l dope,” he stammered.
Queenie wore a confused look. “Wait, baby. I thought you was ABLE Team?” she asked, rubbing his belly and grabbing his dick. “It was just hard a couple minutes ago. What happened? I thought ABLE Team was takin’ over Texas.”
He looked over at Queenie like she was crazy, and then back to Pop Somethin’. “Nah, bruh. I’m not ABLE Team.”
Pop reached his arm back and brought the big handgun down across Fats’ face. A welt formed on his cheek as blood gushed from the wound. “I’m not gon’ ask yo’ bitch-ass again! Where the fuck is Franco and Radar?”
“C-mon, bruh! I don’t know. I’m a worker.”
“What?” Queenie yelled, faking outrage. “I thought you was a baller, baby? I thought you fuck up a check to have a good time? You mean to tell me you just a worker? Ol’ lyin’-ass nigga!”
Fats didn’t know what to do. He was being taunted by Queenie and attacked by Pop Somethin’.
“Is you ABLE Team?” Pop asked.
“Y-yeah.”
“How you get in contact wit’ Franco?”
“I call him when I need work.”
“Call him. Put it on speaker phone. Tell him you need some work.”
Fats visibly trembled as he called Franco.
“Fats! What’s good, my nigga?” Franco answered.
“Yo, I need you to ride down on me.”
“Damn. Already?”
“Yeah, bruh. The block quackin’.”
“Look, I ain’t in Dallas right now. I got into some shit and had to move the fam for a li’l while. Niggas plottin’ on my head. But I’ma take care of you. Ace and Radar gon’ ride down on you. Keep yo’ phone on.”
After Fats hung up, Pop took the phone and then turned to Princess. “Trial by fire. Let’s go.”
Princess’ body trembled like she was standing in a Midwest winter with no clothes on. She had never fired a gun, let alone shot someone. Pop Somethin’ called it a trial by fire. She had to prove her loyalty. This was a test, one she didn’t think she would pass. The small six-shot, 32 caliber revolver felt heavy in her hand. She tried to lift her arm, but couldn’t.
“I can’t do it, Pop,” she confessed.
Tracy spoke up. “P-please don’t kill me. I won’t say nuthin’ to nobody.”
“C’mon, bruh. I got money. You can have it. The Jag, too. Fuck ABLE Team. I don’t like them niggas anyway,” Fats pleaded.
Pop ignored both of them, eyeing Princess. “This what we do. No witnesses. The first time is the hardest. Show us you wit’ us. Handle yo’ business.”
“C’mon, Princess,” Queenie encouraged. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
Princess’ arm shook as she pointed the gun at Tracy. The dope fiend closed her eyes tight and lowered her head, waiting for the boom.
“I can’t do it,” Princess said, lowering the gun.
Queenie got up from the bed and approached her sister. “Gimme the gun. I’ma show you.”
After taking the revolver, Queenie pointed it at Fats’ head and squeezed the trigger. Pop! Tracy let out a yelp. Princess flinched. Fats’ eyes showed surprise as his head snapped back. Blood leaked down his face from a small hole in his forehead as he fell back onto the waterbed.
“See? It’s easy,” Queenie said, holding the gun out for her sister.
Princess looked to her sister for a sign of fear or remorse. Queenie smiled back at her sister. Killing was easy. At that moment, Princess realized she was wrong about her sister. Not only was Queenie a killer, but she liked it.
When she couldn’t stand the joy of killing in her sister’s eyes anymore, Princess turned to Fats. The chubby hustler was dead. Blood pooled around his head and his eyes were still open, face flat, devoid of life. The sight made her stomach bubble. She turned to Tracy and seen the dope fiend shaking with fear. She took the gun from Queenie, closing her eyes as she pointed it at the addict’s face.
Pop!
>
The kick from the gun scared Princess and she dropped the gun. When she opened her eyes, the addict was lying on the ground with a hole in her nose, the revolver next to her body. The sight made Princess lose the contents of her stomach.
Pop laughed. “Don’t talk about Queenie stomach no more. You the one that can’t hang on.”
“Fuck you, Pop,” Princess managed between heaves. “You muthafuckas crazy.”
Chapter 15
Princess lay on the backseat of the Charger, curled in a fetal position. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring at the back of the passenger seat. She kept replaying the scene in her mind. Queenie killed Fats like it was nothing, smiling and playing during and after the murder. She could smell the blood and gunpowder still, see the blood dripping from the dope fiend’s face. She had killed someone. Taken a life. Committed a great evil. And now she felt marked.
Queenie poked her head over the passenger seat. “You okay, sis?”
“Hell nah! We just killed two people and burned down they house. Y’all actin’ like this shit normal. We done let Pop Somethin’ turn us into killas.”
“We don’t leave no witnesses,” Pop cut in, watching Princess in the rearview mirror. “I told you the plan before you got in the car. Now we bound by blood.”
“Y’all crazy,” Princess whined.
“Don’t killin’ make you feel powerful? Like a goddess?” Queenie asked.
“Nah. It make me feel like I’m goin’ to hell.”
“Where all that tough shit at now?” Pop laughed, pulling the car into the gas station. “We killas. Niggas tried to whack me. We gotta bury they ass. That’s what we do. This what we in Dallas for. Killin’ ain’t no different than robbery in the eyes of God. Sin is sin. We can’t have you throwin’ up every time we body a nigga, so I need you to get it together. I need you to be a souljah. Y’all can talk about it while I go pay for this gas.”
When Pop got out of the car, Princess sat up, mugging her sister. “What the fuck you got me in, Queenie? That nigga is crazy as fuck!”
“He not crazy. This what we do.”
“What you mean? Listen to how you sound ? Y’all kill people? This not normal.”
“Neither is robbing people. I know how it sound. Shit, what’s the difference between what we was doin’ wit’ Pop Squad? Don’t act like they wasn’t killin’ niggas. Ain’t no sin bigger than another,,”
“But we wasn’t part of that shit! The blood wasn’t on our hands. We just got the money. Now Pop got us pullin’ triggers. That lady didn’t do nothin’.”
“No witnesses,” Queenie said coldly.
Princess cut her eyes at her sister. “You sound like him. What the fuck he do to you? The dick is good, but it ain’t that damn good.”
“It’s not about the dick, Princess. Pop is our nigga. I believe in him and what he stand for. We gotta do what we gotta do to get our goal. In a couple months we gon’ be in Jamaica livin’ good. Everybody that we kill deserve to die.”
“But what about that lady? And what if niggas wit’ they kids? Y’all kill babies, too?”
Queenie looked out the window as thoughts of Pop Somethin’ smothering Scrap’s baby played in her mind. “Collateral damage.”
“For real, Queenie? This how you really feel, or is these Pop’s words?”
“They mine. Killin’ make me feel powerful. Like a god. It get my pussy wet and make me horny. I’m doin’ what I wanna do.”
Princess stared at her sister like she was seeing her for the first time. “I feel like I don’t even know you. I never heard you talk like this. Where is all this coming from?”
“From me. You know for all our life it’s been me and you. This is new. I just discovered I can do more. And I want you to be with me. With us.”
“I don’t like this shit. For real, Queenie. I think we should get away from him. He crazy, and he makin’ you crazy.”
“And do what? Go back to strippin’ and runnin’ wit’ Pop Squad? I wanna leave the hood and move to Jamaica. What we doin’ is temporary. We not gon’ kill people forever. This a means to an end. And I’m stayin’.”
Princess mugged Queenie. “So you choosin’ him over me?”
“C’mon, sis. It’s not like that. I love you and want you wit’ us. It’s gon’ get better. I promise, trust me. In a few months we won’t have to strip or rob or kill no more. We chasin’ a million dollars. That shit gon’ change our lives. A mil! Stay wit’ us. Please.”
The sisters had a stare-down. Princess eventually gave in. “Okay. I can’t let you stay wit’ this crazy-ass nigga by yo’self.”
Pop hopped back in the car and interrupted the sisters’ conversation. He spun to face Princess. “So, what’s the move? You wit’ us?”
Princess rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. “Yeah, I’m wit’ y’all.”
“Good. ‘Cause I just got a text on Fat’s phone. They waitin’ on us right now.”
***
The sun was setting in the western skyline, giving the horizon an orange hue and purple tint. The colorful sky reflected off the black Yukon Denali that sat idling in a parking space. Radar watched the sun set while using his peripheral vision to keep an eye on their surroundings. The restaurant’s parking lot was mostly empty except for a few cars. Paola’s was a small Mexican restaurant that didn’t have much traffic. It also didn’t have any security cameras in the parking lot.
“How can the world be so fucked up, but at the same time give us beautiful shit like sunsets?” Radar asked, exhaling a cloud of weed smoke.
Ace stopped rapping along with Wale and eyed his longtime friend. “What the fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout, nigga?”
“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the sunset, nigga. That shit is beautiful.”
The setting sun reflected off Ace’s platinum teeth as he let his head back to laugh. The six-foot-four, light-skinned goon laughed for a full minute. “What the fuck you just say, nigga? Damn, you say some of the craziest shit, bruh! Who give a fuck about sunsets? How you go from talkin’ ‘bout poppin’ niggas to talkin’ ‘bout the beauty of a sun? You crazy, bruh.”
“I ain’t crazy, nigga. This world so fucked up and I try to ‘preciate the little things. E’rythang can’t be ‘bout murderin’ and killin’. Niggas gotta have balance. That’s the key to life. I know –”
Radar stopped talking when the black Charger pulled into the parking lot. Ace noticed the car at the same time. “You see that, Radar?”
“Yep. Second time they pulled in here,” Radar said, pulling the Mac-90 semiautomatic rifle onto his lap.
The sports sedan pulled alongside the big, black SUV and parked. Princess and Queenie stepped from the car, their reddish-blonde dread locks swaying loosely. Radar eyed the twins, trying to remember why they looked familiar. Ace, on the other hand, had fallen in love.
“Damn! Them hos bad!” he said, tapping on the horn.
The sisters spun toward the truck when they heard the horn. Ace let down his window and waved them over. “Aye! C’mere, shawty. Lemme holla at chu!”
The twins glanced at each other before Princess spoke. “Nah. You get out and come talk to us. Y’all got tinted windows. We don’t know what y’all got goin’ on in there.”
“It’s just me and my main man. We waitin’ on somebody. C’mere. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
After one more look, the sisters approached the driver’s side of the truck. Queenie nodded. “What up?”
“Yo’ thick ass. Why y’all goin’ to eat this nasty-ass food? You know they be cookin’ dogs an’ shit,” Ace laughed.
Princess gave an irritated look. “You call us over here to talk shit about our food?”
“Nawl. Chill, shawty. Damn. You know you bad, so you can act up, huh? I ain’t neva seen no finer twins in all of Texas. I’m Ace. This my nigga, Radar.”.
The sisters blushed at the compliment before Queenie spoke up. “I’m Alexis. This my sister, Mercedes.”
“Ooh! I love
foreign!” Ace laughed.
The twins laughed with him, but Radar stayed serious, letting the women see he had the gun on his lap. “I seen y’all before. Where I know you from?”
“Aye, chill, nigga! Put that down,” Ace said, mugging Radar.
Radar eyed the sisters suspiciously as he slid the chopper under the seat.
“Y’all don’t know us,” Queenie said. “We from Houston, in town for the weekend.”
“That’s good. Look, my nigga a li’l high strung, but it’s all good. Since y’all only in town for the weekend, take my number and hit me later. I can show y’all the town. ABLE Team own all this shit. I’m the mayor,” Ace bragged.
While the light-skinned shooter was still speaking, the back door of the Charger was opening. Ace didn’t notice, but Radar did. When he seen Pop’s dreads, beard, and muscles, recognition flashed in his mind, and he remembered seeing Queenie with C-Note.
“That’s him! That’s him!” Radar warned, reaching for the rifle again.
Queenie was ready. Before Radar could get the rifle up, she had pulled the 32 caliber revolver from her purse and pointed it in his face. “Grab it if you want it, nigger.”
Radar left the gun on the floor as he stared down the barrel of the little black handgun, but Ace made a move, grabbing Queenie’s arm, trying to take the pistol. She began squeezing the trigger, shooting Radar in the leg as he went for the rifle again. Princess ducked. Pop, Somethin’ pulled the 357 automatics and started shooting up the truck. Ace let go of Queenie’s arm to duck for cover. The female killer seized the opportunity and shot him in the face.
Radar pulled the chopper and started shooting at Queenie. She was able to duck out of the way, so Radar turned his attention to Pop Somethin’. The big man was walking around the truck, filling it with bullets. Radar had a hard time maneuvering the rifle because of the truck seats and the bullet in his thigh, but he kept squeezing the trigger. He managed to spin all the way around, turning his back on the women, and that was his mistake.
A bullet to the back made him fall against the door and drop the rifle. Queenie’s face appeared in the driver’s window, gun pointed at Radar’s face. “I’m tired of tellin’ yo’ ass to leave that gun alone. Don’t touch it no more!”
