All Eyes
on
Tommy Gunz
Warren Holloway
AMERICA’S NEW STORYTELLER
GOOD 2 GO PUBLISHING
ALL EYES ON GUNZ
Written by Warren Holloway
Cover Design: Davida Baldwin – Odd Ball Designs
Typesetter: Mychea
ISBN: 9781947340275
Copyright © 2018 Good2Go Publishing
Published 2018 by Good2Go Publishing
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters, businesses, places, and events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
PROLOGUE
Listen up, America. I’m about to take y’all niggas on a tour of my life and how shit unfolded in the corrupt city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania—the capitol filled with corruption and crime. From one city to another, real recognize realest. So, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Tommy Guns, a goon’s goon, a hustla’s hustla, and also a gangsta’s gangsta. From yo’ hood to my hood, welcome to Corrupt City.
All Eyes
on
Tommy Gunz
CHAPTER 1
May 2006
IT WAS CLOSE TO eighty degrees outside in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, with the sun shining. The ladies were out showing off their bodies in the shortest come-get-me shorts, with Nubian skin glowing from the oils, lotions, and body glitter they placed on their skin to enhance their beauty.
My city was also known as “Corrupt City,” since the laws were made here. It was filled with corrupt government officials, along with corrupt niggas chasing the real American dream—that cocaine money.
I’m Tom “Tommy Guns” Anderson. I’m the realest nigga you’ll ever meet. The ladies love my six-foot medium-built frame. The niggas in the street fear my presence and dark stare. Or maybe it’s the Glock 40mm they know I’ll pop on their ass just ’cause.
I was coming down 6th Street in my G-500 Benz truck with custom platinum-painted 23-inch Lexanis and pitch-black tint, beats banging. My cousins, Big Ivan and Ace, were in their whips behind me stunt’n hard. Big Ivan was in his BMW 745Li. Ace followed in his Audi S6. Big Ivan was Ace’s big brother. It was always family for me. We stayed strong before this getting-money shit, and now we couldn’t be stopped. This was our city. The only one missing from this family was my big cousin, Jim Gotti. He got caught with five hundred pounds in ‘97. He’d be out in 2009. The Feds had him sitting in FCI Gilmore down in Virginia. His books stayed tight.
I pulled over at 6th and Forest seeing these sexy-ass sistas coming out of Jay Jay’s barber shop. That nigga was trapping on the low, so he keept some nice pieces in and out of that spot.
Soon as I pulled over, my two goons from Allentown jumped out of the truck, staying at my side and ready to ride for whatever. Big Ivan and Ace jumped out of their whips posting up against their shit as if they were in a rap video or something.
I crossed the street, and all eyes were on me, but my eyes were focused on the baddest bitch I had seen in a long time. She was in the middle of the other two sexy chocolate pieces.
“Yo, lil momma, come here. Let me holla at you!”
She turned my way with a smile, along with her girls she was with. Her smile was official, but it was her soft, honey-brown eyes that were even more alluring. She was standing about five foot one with curves everywhere—a whole lot of fun.
“You smiling, you know I’m talking to you,” I said as I closed in on her, coming face-to-face. “What’s your name?”
“Tamia, but my friends call me Bright Eyes.”
She was cutting her eyes at my whip and then back to me while checking out the $10,000 Breitling watch with flawless diamonds in the face. My bracelet matched the watch. My chain was diamond encrusted with my sons’ pictures in it. As for my clothes, the shit I wore on Monday was what niggas were wearing at the club. I had popped these tags this morning on this Sean Jean T-shirt and jeans, flowing with my official baby-blue gator print Air Force Ones. I ordered them exclusively online.
“I’m not even gon’ play around with you, baby girl. I’m trying to take you out of town and have fun with you.”
She didn’t even ask who I was, because she knew already. Uptown was my hood, and Harrisburg was my city.
She was smiling from ear to ear. Damn, she was making this easy.
Before she could respond, I saw a look in her eyes that displayed instant fear. Right at that moment, I heard gunfire erupt from behind me.
I turned quick only to see one of my Allentown niggas falling to the ground from a pounding head shot.
I moved quickly, ducking behind a Toyota Camry as I pulled out my Glock 40mm. My other nigga from Allentown was firing off at the two young niggas that were shooting my way. I guess I took somebody out they knew. Either that or they were trying to take my spot. Whatever the case was, I wasn’t going out like that. I raised up and unleashed slugs in their direction.
“I got you, cuz!” Big Ivan’s voice boomed through the air as he popped the trunk on the BMW, grabbing the 12-gauge riot pump. Ace reached into his S6 and grabbed the MAC-10 he had tucked behind the passenger’s seat.
Them little niggas came strapped, and they gunned down my other Allentown goon. They were firing with two guns apiece, one in each hand.
Shit changed quickly when my cousin came unleashing the thunderous riot pump. That shit was shaking everything from the sound and brute force as its bullets crashed into the cars around it.
Them little niggas took off running after seeing Ace and Big Ivan coming with their shit. I couldn’t have that, so I came to the corner popping off. My slugs raced through the air downing one of them niggas. The other kept running. Ace ran behind that nigga, chasing him into an alleyway, firing off but missing him as he turned the corner.
The little nigga on the ground was lying in the middle of Forest Street. Ace ran down on that nigga, standing over top of him.
“You a stupid nigga trying to get at my cuz like you built for this shit!”
“He killed my dad and tied my mom up when I was ten. Fuck you niggas!”
Ace pulled the trigger only to hear a click, signifying that the gun was empty. At the same time, police could be heard in the distance.
“Yo, Ace, five-o,” I yelled, trying to make sure he could get away.
Big Ivan also called out to his baby brother, making sure he didn’t get caught up.
I drove o
ff, not wanting to stick around for the heat. Big Ivan did the same, racing off swiftly in the 745Li.
~ ~ ~
Ace was mad that his gun was empty, so he kicked that little nigga in the leg that I shot him in, before sprinting back to his whip.
As soon as he got into his whip, he mashed the gas and pulled away from all the drama and the crime scene with my two out-of-town goons.
The cops pulling up saw Ace pulling off fast, which made him an instant suspect. They raced behind Ace, not knowing he was skilled at driving.
Ace was scared because he couldn’t get caught. This life we were living was too good to go to jail on some bullshit like this. He was putting all his skillz into weaving in and out of oncoming cars. The cops didn’t want to jeopardize the children out playing or any other innocent pedestrians, so they slowed down and called in other officers in the area.
Ace saw the cop slow down, so he was feeling himself.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” he yelled out, with his foot still to the gas feeling the power of the V-10 engine.
His excitement was short-lived when he spotted two cop cars pop out from the side streets trying to corner him. Right then he switched over from automatic to manumatic, putting the 500-plus horsepower to use.
He turned hard down Schuylkill Street and made his way toward 7th Street. He darted through the stop signs, turning right and mashing the gas down 7th Street doing 100 down in a 35-MPH zone. He came to 7th and Maclay Street at a green light, turned left onto the Maclay Street Bridge, and opened it up, accelerating to 110 down to Cameron Street. There he caught the green light leading to the bypass and taking him on the Hillside.
The cops didn’t see Ace turn on the bridge, so they continued racing uptown looking for him. Ace made his way onto the Hillside, where he parked his whip on a down-low street before calling Big Ivan.
Big Ivan picked up on the first ring after seeing that it was his baby brother.
“Baby bro, you good?”
“You already know they can’t fuck with my driving skillz.”
“Where you at now?”
“On 19th and North.”
“Leave your whip there. I’m on my way to come get you.”
“Alright.”
It didn’t take long for Big Ivan to get to Ace. He was also on the Hillside. As soon as Ace got into the car, he was still hyped up from the shit that just took place.
“Them little niggas is crazy, bro! He better be glad that clip was empty.”
“They must think shit is sweet, but we didn’t get here the easy way, and we ain’t about to lie down for none of these clowns out here.”
~ ~ ~
I didn’t know where my cousins were at, so I hit them on the phone to make sure Ace got away safely.
Big Ivan’s phone rang once before he answered.
“G’s up! What’s good, fam?”
“Them stupid-ass young niggas are fucking shit up and making us hot. Yo, is Ace good?”
“Yeah, he good trippin’ on his driving skillz.”
“Them niggas still looking for me uptown, cuz,” Ace said in the background, always the hyped one.
“Yo, let’s link up over at the McDonalds by the high,” I said, knowing they already knew what spot I was talking about.
I didn’t want to give too much detail over the jack in case we had listeners.
“We en route right now, cuz.”
Big Ivan stood six foot two, weighed 240 pounds, and wore braids in his hair. He had light skin and a full beard that he kept trimmed. He was always about this money shit, plus he would tie a nigga up in a heartbeat if they fucked with his money, food, or family.
Ace, my little cuz, was the baby boy of the crew, but he always was ready to ride. He loved them guns, getting money, and them white bitches across the river. He was a real hood nigga with a baby face, brown skin, and a low-cut fade on the sides. He stayed in shape and would dust a nigga in a straight-up fight, too.
With Ace and Big Ivan behind me, we couldn’t be stopped, and when my cousin Jim Gotti came home, shit would be all the way la familia.
CHAPTER 2
I WAS IN MY whip sitting behind the dark tint at the Kline Village Plaza waiting on my cousins, so we could politic about this call I just got from one of my out-of-town customers.
Big Ivan pulled up smooth in his 745Li, hitting the switch on the dark tinted windows and exposing their faces as he pulled up to the side of my truck.
“What’s good, cuzo?”
“The homie from York, PA, trying to grip a little heavy, so I want you and fam to come through with me. You know we got to keep shit all the way official, especially after them little niggas tried to get at us. I feel like they want the position and power we got.”
“Fuck them little niggas, cuz. That one better be glad my shit was empty, or I would have left him there!” Ace snapped quickly.
“Ace, find out who those niggas were, and make sure you put somebody on them, so they don’t even think about doing stupid shit like that again.”
“I’m on it, cuz, but let’s take care of this business first.”
“Ivan, I need you to stop past the spot and grab four of them money makers, and then meet me behind the college in one hour.”
“I’m on that now, cuzo. See you then,” Big Ivan said, pulling off as he hit the switch to conceal him and Ace behind the dark tinted windows.
I sat for a minute looking around as I always did, making sure I wasn’t being followed by the Feds, or targeted by niggas trying to take me from my position. I also took that time to reload my Glock before placing it on my lap for easy access.
As I was pulling off, I took notice of two things that stood out to me.
The first was an all-black, custom-painted Brabus 65 Mercedes Benz parked beside a silver custom-painted Bentley Flying Spur. Both vehicles were well over $150,000. Being a big car fanatic, I appreciated the whips.
But it was the two Arab men leaning against them that also made me think something other than the norm. Because the only Arab I knew with money like that was Vartan.
As I was passing by the cars, I rolled my window down to get a better look at the whips. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was the paranoid type, because my staring caught the attention of both men who were speaking Arabic to one another. Their thick eyebrows added to the dark stare they were giving me. Real talk, my Glock was in my hand now ready for them to say something stupid. But they just stared. So to break the tension, I gave them a shout-out.
“Yo, I like your whips. Them joints is all the way official.”
They didn’t respond to me but continued to speak to one another as they were watching me drive off. I rolled my window back up to check the rear-view mirror and saw that they were still looking. Now I’m thinking that they were looking at my tag. I was thinking about turning back around to see what the fuck they was thinking, but I needed to take care of this business with my man, D.C., from York.
This nigga JD from the South Side projects, also known as the South Acres, introduced me and D.C. about a year and a half ago.
D.C. was laid back about his money and them bitches. He was a brown-skinned nigga who stood about five foot ten. He wore the 360 waves, and he kept his shit razor sharp, trimmed just like his close beard. He was thirty-two, the same age as me and Big Ivan. He was medium built and was one of them niggas that hit the gym just to check out the chicks. It was a double benefit for him.
D.C. had shit on lockdown in York. He used to cop a four and a half. He stacked his paper and hustled smart from what I had seen in him.
I made my way to the location taking the back streets, being paranoid as always. Plus, I wanted to get there a little early to check shit out.
CHAPTER 3
I WAS SITTING IN my truck backed up to the wall. Big Ivan and Ace came twenty minutes ago to hold me down. This spot was low-key and out of the way. Plus, this warehouse was vacant last I checked, so no one would mind if I occupied the parking
lot for a brief moment.
I was looking at my watch seeing that this nigga, D.C., was behind schedule. He was late, and it wasn’t a good look for business, especially with these four bricks sitting in fam’s whip.
Fam was in his whip with the shotgun close by. Ace also was strapped and reloaded ready for whatever.
Big Ivan rolled his tint down to shout me out.
“Yo, cuz, what’s good with your boy? He’s never late, right?”
“Yeah, I’m about to hit this nigga on the jack to see where he at.”
Just as I said that, three all-white cargo vans pulled into the warehouse parking lot followed by the black Brabus and the Flying Spur that I saw over at the plaza.
“Who dat, cuz?” Big Ivan asked, seeing the same shit I was.
“That’s them muthafuckas I seen over by the high when y’all left. I wonder what the fuck they into following behind them vans and shit?”
“They got major weight in them joints,” Big Ivan said while trying to be funny.
“Yeah, right! Them Arab niggas be trying to blow shit up!” Ace said before laughing.
“Whatever they doing, they doing it big by driving whips like that,” Big Ivan added.
“Big bro, we doing it big, too, nigga,” Ace said.
As the vehicles continued on, heading toward the back of the warehouse, the Arab men also took notice of the two vehicles parked, seeing the G-500 Benz truck from earlier.
The Arab in the Brabus two-wayed the one in the Flying Spur, probably communicating what he was thinking about the truck he had seen earlier.
They were paranoid just as I was; I don’t blame them. I was paranoid sitting on these four blocks waiting on this nigga, D.C., but I couldn’t really figure out why they were paranoid. They were doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. I needed to get the fuck out of here before shit went wrong; because if I was them, I would want to know why we crossed paths twice.
I knew they weren’t cops; they were businessmen on a whole other level.
All Eyez on Gunz Page 1
