Chapter 9
You know Honey is gonna flip once she finds out that you’ve changed up the plan on her.”
“I once heard that a lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of lambs.”
Big Meech laughed. “Oh, you a lion?”
“And then some,” Chief replied. “It’s about time somebody recognizes that shit.”
“Nigga, you don’t even know how to get paid. You got your little sister calling the shots. You ain’t a shot-caller, partner.”
“Tupac died a long time ago, homie. Who you be? One minute you this thug muthafucka, the next, you this little bitch taking orders from me. At least I’m consistent with mines.”
Big Meech rose up toward Chief. Delano knew that things were about to escalate, yet he couldn’t think of anything to do to quell the situation. He was hoping his words would suffice. “Y’all niggas need to be easy. This time tomorrow night we’ll all be rich as hell.”
Both men ignored Delano’s weak attempt at a distraction.
“Who the fuck you calling a bitch, pussy?”
Chief was tired of bigger niggas always trying him because of his size. “Fuck all that dumb shit you talkin’, you bitch-ass nigga! You don’t got balls between your legs that’s straight pussy! I was graduating the school of ‘get money,’ while you were still on your fifth year of high school.”
Big Meech’s massive hands grabbed Chief up by the throat, lifting him three feet in the air, feet dangling. Chief, losing oxygen by the second, desperately tried to claw at Big Meech’s hands and face to no avail.
“Meech, come on now. You’re gonna kill dude!” Delano barked. “It ain’t worth it. It’s only words.”
But it was much more to Big Meech. He refused to be disrespected. By anyone. Especially a puny wannabe who never put in any real work. Big Meech was the muscle, and as far as he was concerned, if it weren’t for him, Chief wouldn’t have had half the shit he had, including his life. Meech had put a lot of niggas to sleep for Chief, and now he was being disrespected by some low-level ingrate.
Right before Chief was about to lose consciousness, he pulled his pistol from his waist and shot Big Meech in his kneecap. The sound echoed throughout the room. Instantly Chief dropped to the floor, gasping for air.
“You shot me, muthafucka?” Big Meech asked, his knee throbbing. As the blood squirted, oozed and dripped down his injured leg, all he could think about was killing Chief with his bare hands.
Delano stayed mute. He knew the situation could only get worse. They were in Chief’s motel room, and he was the only one packing heat. Delano feared if he said the wrong thing that he too would catch a bullet. That, coupled with the fear that five-O would come kicking in the door, made his stomach queasy. Not because he’d never been locked down before because he had. But because they were all so close to pulling off the perfect heist and walking away with millions in a matter of ninety seconds. He wanted that paper so badly that he’d already begun spending it in his mind. He knew that was taboo, but all he envisioned was the shiny, black-on-black Range Rover with custom seats. He wanted silver piping around the black butter-soft leather seats and his initials in each headrest. Next, he needed the 18-inch rose gold chain with a 5-carat cross that dangled near his dick. And he did want a platinum Rolex. He had a gold Rolex Presidential back in the day that he’d robbed some Wall Street dude of, but pawned when times got hard. Now all he sported was a waterproof Gucci Sport, which didn’t exactly represent that of a baller. All his dreams of grandeur were going down the drain, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Slowly Chief began to regain his strength. He took one look at Big Meech and knew he’d fucked up. What was he going to do now? They needed Big Meech for tomorrow.
“You don’t look so good,” Chief said, almost in disbelief. He observed that Big Meech’s face looked clammy and he was sweating profusely. He also recognized that blood was pouring out of him by the bucket from one little gunshot wound. “Help him!”
Delano snapped out of his zone and ran to the bathroom and grabbed a few towels to soak up the blood.
“I’m feeling lightheaded,” Big Meech said, before collapsing on the side of the bed. “You did a nigga dirty.”
“You know I didn’t mean that shit. Fuck you wanted a nigga to do?” Chief took off his T-shirt and tied it around Big Meech’s leg to try and stop the bleeding. “Let you choke me out?”
“Y’all gotta take me to the hospital, or I ain’t gonna make it,” Big Meech said, his voice strained and filled with concern. “I think you hit an artery.”
“I ain’t hit no artery, man. You just paranoid, that’s all.”
“At this stage only the paranoid survives, Chief. I’m tellin’ you, man, I ain’t gonna make it.”
“Stop with that foolishness and let me think. You know, if we take you to the hospital, it’s gonna make us hot.”
“Just drop me out front, homie. I ain’t new to this. You know I ain’t on no snitchin’ shit.”
“Chief, why are we even debating this? Man, we gotta get him to the hospital. Dude fucked up.”
Chief looked down at his dying friend. As far as he was concerned, Big Meech had brought the events upon himself.
“Meech, you gotta charge this one to the game, man. You already dead.” Chief stepped back and absorbed his words. “No telling what could happen to me and Delano during the transport. What if we get pulled over? You know we could get knocked over your bullshit.”
“Chief, don’t do this, man. I’m begging you. Delano, talk some sense into him please.”
Delano weighed his options. Big Meech was his man, but Chief was brandishing the pistol. Besides, most of what Chief had said was true. Big Meech did bring it upon himself. Words were words, but you can’t just choke out a nigga and think it’s all love. And what if they piled Big Meech into the car and tried to transport him on these hot Las Vegas streets and he died before they made it to the hospital? What if they got pulled over by the cops with his dead body in the backseat? How could they explain shit away? They’d both get locked up on a murder rap, but most importantly there’d be no heist.
When Delano didn’t come to his defense, Big Meech said, “Y’all know y’all can’t do the heist without me. There’s no way it would work. It ain’t a two-man job. Take me to the hospital and let them stitch me back together. I’ll be out in two days.” Big Meech had to catch his breath. He felt like any second he was about to lose consciousness. “We could reschedule the heist for next week. It’s only a minor hiccup”—Big Meech could no longer keep his eyes open. Slowly they closed, and he slumped forward.
“That nigga gone, yo,” Chief said. “Now what?”
“You tell me.”
“A nigga ain’t good at improvising.” Chief began to tap the gun on the side of his head. “His big ass too heavy to move, especially now that he’s deadweight. We shoulda made his ass limp to the car.”
“Should we have made him dig his own grave too?” Delano asked dryly.
Chief didn’t like Delano’s sarcasm. He knew that Delano would be a wild card. Once things were over, Chief would never be able to trust him. Surely, Delano would want to dead him first chance he got. At that moment, Chief was already plotting Delano’s date of death.
“Don’t run that guilt trip on me. I didn’t see you doing shit to help your man. He asked you too to get him to the hospital. I ain’t see you make a move, so you got blood on your hands just like me.”
Delano wanted to respond. He looked down at Big Meech slumped, leaning against a dirty mattress in a cheap motel, and wondered how a bullet to the knee could take out such a formable man within a matter of five minutes. It was unreal. He knew dudes who took nine shots and lived.
Delano decided not to beef over spilt milk.“Yo, ain’t no way we gonna be able to carry his big ass do
wn these two flights of steps, into the trunk of the car, and then unload him to dump in the desert.”
Chief almost boiled over. “Tell me something I don’t fuckin’ know!”
Delano exhaled. He hated to say it, but he did. “Let’s call Honey.”
***
Honey arrived at the scene of the crime, and once again she had to clean up her brother’s mess. It was 4:40 a.m., just hours before their big heist, and she was standing inches away from an almost dead body. She touched his carotid artery. His breathing was shallow. “You know he’s still alive, right?”
“Hell no, we didn’t know,” Chief replied. “But that don’t mean shit. There ain’t nothing we can do for him. He fucked up.”
Honey agreed. She’d just thought that they wanted to know the facts.
“I got six jugs of five gallons of gasoline in my trunk. That’s all I was able to get at such short notice.”
“Gasoline? We gonna burn his body?”
“Y’all gonna torch this bitch—the whole Super 8. But first go and gather up all your belongings. Don’t leave even your toothbrush. Load everything up in your trunk.” Honey tossed them each a pair of gloves. “Wipe down each room. Grab all the sheets and towels and place it in the middle of the floor and saturate each pile with the gasoline. Douse the chairs, television, and desks. And y’all might want to do your friend a solid and put him out of his misery. One to the dome would be nice, but you can’t risk someone hearing that shot. Y’all are resourceful. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before you burn him alive.”
Chief asked, “Why not just soak the mattress?”
“Because hotel mattresses are lined with fire retardant material. It delays a fire from spreading, just in case someone falls asleep smoking in bed.”
“Oh, that’s what’s up.”
“Look, I don’t have time for twenty questions. Do as I say, and we can still be millionaires in three hours. Y’all got less than an hour to torch this bitch and make it to the casino by seven a.m. Can y’all handle that?”
“But we one man down,” Chief replied.
“Thank you for the revelation. Thank God y’all got Javier on y’all side, or else we’d all be fucked.”
Both men suddenly felt energized. They’d forgotten about Javier. Delano didn’t have to back him down and would be free to help bag up the chips.
Chief and Delano both began running around from room to room doing as Honey said. And when they doused their partner in crime with gasoline, neither bothered to make sure he was dead before striking the match.
The Crime
Erica Hilton
crime (krm)
n.
1. An act committed or omitted in violation of a law forbidding or commanding it and for which punishment is imposed upon conviction.
2. Unlawful activity: statistics relating to violent crime.
3. A serious offense, especially one in violation of morality.
4. An unjust, senseless, or disgraceful act or condition:
It’s a crime to squander our country’s natural resources.
Chapter 10
After torching the motel, Chief and Delano scrambled to get away. It would take at least an hour for the fire to gain momentum and spread throughout each room. By that time the pair had hoped they’d be finished with their heist and on their way back to New York. Chief couldn’t wait to touch down in his hometown. Vegas wasn’t his thing. It was a great place to spend a vacation, but to live was a whole different beast. Too many different walks of life all cramped into one environment and rubbing elbows with each other on a day-to-day basis—hood dudes sprinkled throughout the “Esses,” Mexican gang members from Los Angeles; country bumpkins; the Mafioso; playboy-bunny types; and the straight-laced corporate guy.
Chief loved walking to the local bodega to get a ham-and-cheese sandwich and tossing that back with a Red Bull early in the morning. Standing on his corner, gun tucked in his waist, and kicking it with his dudes, who all spoke the same language, that made him feel comfortable and secure.
“Hurry up, man. Drive this muthafucka. We only got a few minutes to pick up Luther so we can go and set this muthafucka off!”
Delano was a little tired, not only fatigued from a night of no sleep, but from Chief’s constant bullshit. He was always barking orders, like his shit don’t stink. Had it not been for him taking out Big Meech last night, they wouldn’t be running so far behind. And he wasn’t about to get pulled over, dirty, in Vegas. Chief just didn’t use his head.
“I gotta do the speed limit, man. We can’t blow it when we’re this close.”
Chief sucked his teeth. “Man, fuck all that speed limit shit!” Chief was agitated, the way he always felt right before committing a crime. His nerves always got the better of him. “The last thing I want to hear is Luther’s mouth when we pull up late.”
Delano ignored Chief for the rest of the ride and just concentrated on the road. He knew that sooner than later he’d make Chief disappear. Payback for a lot of unnecessary shit he’d pulled throughout the years.
When the two reached Luther, he was already standing out front smoking a cigarette. They were only five minutes late, but Luther’s expression showed that he wasn’t too pleased.
Luther ordered Delano, “Get in the back,” and took the wheel.
As Luther drove, both Chief and Delano began checking and rechecking their pistols to make sure there was a bullet in every chamber and that their guns were off the safety latch. The click-clacking of guns wasn’t new to Luther’s ears.
“So, y’all good with the plan, right?” Luther asked.
No one answered. Chief was still upset that he had to follow Honey’s plan. Honey didn’t know it, but right before he and Big Meech had gotten into it, Chief had changed the plan. He no longer wanted to rob the casino for chips, thinking that was low-level stuff. He wanted to rob the armored car that was dropping off the chips—make it up close and personal. He wanted it to be cowboys and Indians playing out on the Las Vegas streets. There was something about Honey’s plan that didn’t sit too well with him. He knew his sister. He knew she was sneaky, but he couldn’t put his finger on what she was up to. And right now it didn’t matter because he was riding three-deep to carry out his sister’s wishes.
When they pulled up, they saw the stolen FedEx minivan with Cinnamon behind the wheel, drinking coffee and eating a donut. There was so much early-morning commotion going on at the hotel’s entrance, she blended in perfectly as Honey said she would. She had no idea that her baby daddy was shot and burned alive only hours ago.
***
The Garda armored truck passed its early morning inspection, and the three guards, Michael, Jeffrey, and Elizabeth all loaded up and were ready to go. Today was a typical Wednesday, uneventful for the crew. They had to make four casino stops, one Walmart, and three ATM machines before returning back to base just before three p.m.
Elizabeth usually took the wheel, but Jeffrey had complained of back troubles due to late-night bowling, so she agreed to ride shotgun. It was exactly seven a.m. when they pulled out.
“Did you hear about Obama catching Bin Laden?” Elizabeth, a die-hard Democrat asked.
“I heard that our U.S. Navy Seals captured and murdered Bin Laden. Is that the story you’re referring to?”
Jeffrey was a conservative Republican who wanted Sarah Palin to run in the upcoming election and win. He was born and raised in Mississippi where they still fly the Confederate flag and you were taught to shoot first and ask questions next. He loved few things in life—his country, his job, and his whiskey.
“Well, whoever you want to give credit to, the fact still remains that he’s dead, which is good for our country all around.”
“I’m not going to debate you on that, but the true credit goes to the Bush administration. G.W.
put the plan in motion after 9/11, and the Seals just carried it out.”
“Now you sound like Fox News.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and grabbed for the receiver. “Base this is car 790. Radio check, route 3, routine. We’re approaching the side entrance of Harrah’s Casino, making our first stop of the day. Copy.”
Static rippled through the air and then, “Car 790, are you clear? Copy.”
“Yes, sir. Radio check in fifteen minutes. Copy.”
“Copy that.”
Jeffrey pulled along the side of the loading dock. When the car came to a complete stop, Elizabeth exited it first, hand hovering over her pistol, something she’d learned the first week in training. Before motioning for Michael to open up the back door of the truck, she scanned the perimeter. Nothing seemed suspicious. She gave the code: two knocks on the back door and then, “All clear.”
Michael was ready for action. He was pumped up off two cups of coffee and excited about this evening. He had tickets to the Phoenix Suns against the Miami Heat summer league game, which took place every summer in Las Vegas, showcasing NBA teams’ top rookie talent. His new girlfriend had bought him two tickets on the condition that she accompany him. She wouldn’t have been his first choice, or even his second, but since she did make the purchase, who was he to complain.
Elizabeth and Michael didn’t talk much while they were unloading the large sums of casino chips out of the truck. They were very professional and knew that their lives were at stake whenever they were in the field. One false move and they wouldn’t make it home for supper.
Both took turns carrying over eighty pounds of chips into the side entrance and into the secure hands of Harrah’s Casino security, while Jeffrey held his position as the third set of eyes.
Dirty Money Honey Page 9
