Who Shot Ya Box Set

by Renta

  “Arugh—get that bitch, homie—fuck! I’m gonna die, huh? Cuz, my leg gonna fall off, bruh—God please don’t let me have to pimp wit’ one leg—” Twisted cried as Crazy Loc dug in his thigh with a long knife, and what looked to be a—a fork!

  The look on Crazy’s face was super intense as he bit down on his lip and stared down at the ghetto procedure. The nigga had on some long rubber gloves that were soaked in blood—Lil Ben stood to the side with a bottle of Coconut Ciroc that was half empty. Crazy bent the fork a little.

  “Hol up, Loc, I—I think I got it!” he announced excitedly as he used the knife to open the hole that he’d cut to a slit. Twisted screamed and snatched the bottle out of Lil Ben’s hand.

  “Give me this shit, nigga!” he growled, then turned the bottle up and gulped thirstily as Crazy Loc surgically worked his magic.

  My eyes were glued to the knife and fork. You could see the white and red meat of Twisted’s thigh as the kitchen utensils slid from his leg with a smashed piece of lead clutched between them.

  “I got it, homie!” he screamed.

  “Good!” Twisted cried right before smashing the Ciroc bottle over Crazy’s head before fainting.

  ****

  ~Snow~

  Reflecting

  “Hey sis, whatcha been up to?” I asked my sister merrily as soon as she picked up the phone.

  There was a long pause before the voice on the other end hesitantly responded. “Pandora—is that you?”

  The sound of her voice enraged me so deeply that my hands began to shake. “Yes—yes, it’s me, Sarah. Long time no see—no hear, right?”

  “You could hear the pain in my voice as memories that I’d buried long ago began to unearth themselves as if they were zombies. Memories so inhumane that I broke out in a full-fledged cry. See, Assata, I was such an innocent girl back then, beautiful intelligent child that everybody adored. I was the youngest of two children, and the apple of my parent’s eye. My eldest sister, Sarah hated me for that—for something I had no control of. The crazy part was, I loved my sister deeply—looked up to her! She was wild and so—so free!

  “I looked up to her so much in fact, one day as she was leaving, I begged her to allow me to tag along with her and her friends to what was supposed to be a frat party. But turned out to be a trip to a busy strip that I learned later on in life was Harry Hines—a strip known for prostitution. Long story short; we hung out at a bar filled with rough looking men that look at me with this strange look in their eyes. Even at seventeen-years-old, Assata, I had a full figure, but I was lame to the ways of a predator. I was a sheltered suburban girl that vowed to save my virginity until marriage, but that night—there was this guy, very handsome in a college jock type of way.

  “He’d approached my sister, and her friends, he spoke to Sarah, and nodded in my direction. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I saw him hand my sister something, then her and her friends smiled at me assuredly, but inside—inside I regretted leaving my computer and the safety of my room. Sarah walked over to me with a strange smile on her face—

  “Pandora, do you love me, little sister?” she asked sweetly. All sorts of alarms went off in my head, but hey—this was Sarah my eldest sister. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt me—right? So, I smiled and said yes. Sarah turned and beckoned to the cute dude, and once he was standing in front of me, Sarah introduced us— “Pandora—this is Brad—Brad, this is Dora, my sister. Dora—” She turned her piercing eyes to me with that look that she’d always gave me when she wanted me to do what she asked of me. “—Brad is about to take you to his car so you two can get to know each other.”

  “She looked at Brad but spoke to me. “We’ll be right there Dora, but whatever Brad asks you-you do, and you can hang with the big girls from now on.” She played on my adolescent mind. I was stupid—that night, Brad took me to his car and fucked—fucked my virgin snatch as if I was a grown woman that had been fucking my whole life. That night gave birth to hate for my sister that would last a lifetime. I hated myself for consenting to the deed—I hated him, but I loved the feeling of his dick going in and out of me. That night a slut was born, the crazy part is—he paid a gram of cocaine for my virginity. Hence the name I chose later in life when I met my first pimp.

  “Dora—Dora, are you okay!” My darling sister brought me out of the painful recollection.

  “Yes—I’m—I’m here,” I said through the shower of hate that fell from my baby blues. “I—I just miss you so much, I want to see you, Sarah—there’s so much I want to tell you,” I cried.

  “Anytime, Dora, you just name the time, and place I’ll be there. There’s so much I need to mend with you, sweetie,” she instantly responded.

  I sniffled. “How about tonight?” I asked hopefully.

  The pause was long, I began to think I’d overplayed my hand until— “Text me the place and time—I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  ****

  ~Agent Harrison~

  As Paul explained how we’d missed the obvious, my mind was in overdrive. Something big was going down, I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  ‘What type of sick bitch would kill her sister, and saturate her corpse with her own blood,’ I thought.

  The two women looked almost identical for sure, so I understood how we made the slip-up.

  “Step over here, would ya?” Paul proposed.

  He led me to a machine that looked like an upside-down movie projector, he looked over at me with suppressed eagerness.

  He couldn’t wait to show me how his toy worked and add to my irritation. “This is digital analog’s newest toy. It converts a digital signal into an analog signal that transforms into an electrical signal whose voltage reflects the digital values. It’s like an election microscope built inside a high-tech spectrographic machine,” he explained.

  I gave him a bored, and irritated look. He knew I didn’t have the slightest idea what the hell he was speaking of, so he chuckled to himself and reached over to pick up an object that looked like a ball of play-doe shaped in the form of a molecule. He held it up so I could see it, and after he was sure I was dumbfounded—he smiled and placed it on a clear slate that was attached to the machine. He turned to the keyboard and his fingers began to stroke the keys in what seemed to be hyperspeed.

  Without looking up, he educated me on recombinant analysis. “Once I ran the test that the ME asked of me, something strange occurred. The molecule profiling didn’t match up with the DNA barcoding,” he spoke over his shoulder.

  My ignorance to his fancy explanation boiled into hot lava inside of me until it overflowed. “What the fuck does this mean, Paul? This isn’t a fucking pissing contest, it’s a federal investigation that has the director busting my balls.” I slammed a closed fist into my open palm. “You’re the wise guy with the degrees in forensics, and criminal science—you’re the chief science tech here at Quantico. I’m just the fucking agent in charge—” I was ranting before the scruffy haired bloke interrupted me with his usual charm.

  “And a damn good agent in charge,” he conceded.

  He turned his attention to the mold he’d set on the tray. “This mold is made from a replica of the stiffs genetic makeup. Everyone that’s born has to be logged into a database as a number which becomes your security number that you’ll be identified by the rest of your life.” He walked over to a set of tubes and after a brief moment of deliberation, he found the one he was looking for.

  Using gloved hands, he uncorked it and walked over to the mold. “Take a look at this shit, Harrison, it’s some neat shit!” he said and nodded to the mold before using his free hand and typing something into the digital system.

  Before my eyes, the claylike mold lifted and began to evolve. It became transparent as it molded itself into a human form. The figure began as what looked to me as thousands of fireflies, slowly they merged into one big ball of light that exploded into a clue—slowly revolving image of Pandora Jacobs. Well, at least that
was my first impression, but hazel eyes and raven hair was the only distinction that made my assumption faulty. It was a miniature prototype of Sarah Jacobs. Paul smiled gleefully as a computer automated voice spoke from the surround sound system.

  “Sarah Jacobs

  Social Security: 436-91…

  Birth Place: Dallas, Tx

  Date and Time of Birth: 12/16/1986 at 8:40 am

  Race: Caucasian

  Gender: Female

  Height: 5’7

  Age: 32

  Last known address: 2205… Dr. Huntsville Tx 77320!”

  Paul held his smile and stepped up to the image, he tilted the glass valve, and a few drops of a red liquid I assumed was blood dribbled onto the image. Astonishment rocketed through my veins as the image melted and reformed into a grotesque image of the same woman, but with two of every limb, and a deformed head.

  The automatic voice went haywire, “Incorrect DNASE—Incorrect DNASE—Incorrect DNASE.”

  Paul pulled the mold off the tray and replaced it with only a dribble of the blood. the computer responded immediately,

  “DNASE—DNA profiling accepted

  Subject: Pandora Jacobs

  Social Security: 435-86-2302

  Birthplace: Dallas Tx

  Date and Time of Birth: 01/05/1989 at 12:30 am

  Race: Caucasian

  Height: 5’9

  Age: 29

  Last known address: Unknown!”

  Paul looked back at me with a knowing smirk. “Do you know what Parricide is, Agent Harrison?” he asked thinking he’d got one over on me again.

  I returned his smile before turning and heading for the door— “It’s a crime is what it is, smart ass. It’s the murder of one’s father, mother or any near relative. In this case—it’s the murder of one’s sister.”

  ****

  ~Snow~

  “That night I lured my only sister to that beautiful house, and she sat and cried, she told me how sorry she was. She told me how much she’d changed—how she’d started a family with a nice man that loved her, and her two children. I cried with her, but for a different reason. As she dabbed at her tear-streaked face with the napkin, I’d given her, a lone killer snuck up behind her and slit her neck from ear to ear. Russia’s evil doctor friend licked her blood from the blade of his knife as he smiled at me.

  “Now, we must take a pint of your blood and saturate her with it in a way the medical examiner will think she died in bed. Crime scene photographers will study the position of the body—the spray of blood—” he’d said.

  I crawled my way back to the present just in time to see Assata staring at something or someone behind me. Before I could turn around, Russia’s voice caused my blood to freeze. “Chu forgot to mention the part of us fucking on the bed next to your dead sister, hmmm. Now—can someone enlighten me on why you’re here, and most importantly—” I turned to face him.

  His two bodyguards stood like frozen statutes clutching massive assault rifles, but the knife that was in the doctor’s hands is what let me know their intentions.

  “How did you find him here when I’m vedy sure ‘tis information was withheld from you?” Russia finished in his Russian accent.

  My heart pounded hard against my chest as I gave him a sad smile and shrugged my shoulders. “A girl can’t prepare for everything,” I said in defeat, I knew I was a goner.

  “It’s fine my dear, Pandora, you were a nice fok—” Russia sneered as he took a step toward me, I took a step back. “But the fun is over—you mus die with the secret, and tis—tis—”

  “Suwoooo!” A shrill—strange sound echoed throughout the building.

  Russia and his entourage spun on their heels. Bewildered, Russia began to speak in his native tongue to his shooters. They sprang into action and headed for the door as Russia pulled out a pistol and hand-held radio I hadn’t noticed until then. He spoke fluent Russian into the device and listened to the response as a nervous look etched into his facial features. He looked to me, then up at Assata. My eyes followed his—Assata laughed lightly before taking a deep breath and making the same strange noise that had caused the panic to taint the atmosphere. I knew that it was the sound the Blood Street Gang used to communicate to each other to alert one another of danger or recognition.

  At that moment, things seemed to freeze in place, no one moved until Assata stared at Russia with death in his cold eyes. “Death is here, pussy boy, and I can’t wait to cook your cabbage!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Russia smiled a smile I couldn’t place before he raised his pistol and aimed in my direction. “You will pay for your treachery!”

  At that moment, evil enveloped the room. The sounds of dawgs barking could be heard, the light went out, and what seemed to be hundreds of infrareds lit the room. Then—Assata made an animalistic roar and before anyone could react, he swung his body dramatically and though the room was too dark to see what had transpired, the sound, and feel of shattered wood was all the evidence needed to know Satan had fallen from Heaven. I dropped to the floor in that instant, and that instinct may have saved my life as who I assumed to be Russia began firing blindly. The scariest part about the whole scene was the sound of Assata singing the song those kids on that movie ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ used to sing.

  I heard him over the roar of gunfire. “One, two, Assata’s comin’ for you—three, four, better lock your doors—five, six, grab a crucifix!

  Chapter Seven

  Blood on The Floor

  ~Pain~

  “Damn, boy, be still!” Kristasia huffed in frustration.

  After having a thirty-minute fall out with the homies for pointing out the fact, I was in no condition to ride out for my brotha. I finally conceded and called Kristasia’s fine ass ova to render her services. It was whispered round our way that she was an RN, so I figured she’d be my best option for medical attention. It was just my luck that Armani’s sexy ass tagged along, and maybe the worst luck that Marcella came with the package.

  “Bitch, you need to hurry up, mayne—my brotha’s life is hangin’ in the balance, and he needs me!” I spat heatedly. The prick of the needle made me wince in pain.

  “Nigga, quit cryin’ like a lil’ girl, I’m on the last stitch,” she mumbled and told Armani to hand her the pair of scissors from the first-aid box. “Ain’t nobody told yo’ ruggish ass to do whatever it was that got you havin’ to get eight stitches in ya head. I can’t believe you niggas still doing this childish stuff, and Assata—!” she exclaimed as she tied the last stitch closed. “I can’t wait to see his ass—he knows betta!” After she applied some type of ointment to the back of my head, she walked around to look at the damage done to my forehead that I incurred.

  As she assessed me, my eyes rolled over her five-eight frame, the lady was one of the baddest nurses I’d ever seen. The white running tights hugged her frame so thoroughly that her lower lips smiled at me as the strapless halter top gave me a peek at her chocolate twins that were enough to make my mouth water. Shawty had the darkest—healthiest skin I’d ever seen, long hair tied back into a ponytail, and her full lips set flame to erotic thoughts that made my lil’ nigga stand up.

  “Do you know if, Assata, will be okay?” A soft voice pulled me out of my fantasy of havin’ Kriss’s lips wrapped around my dick.

  “Huh—oh, yeah my nigga a Souljah,” I stuttered as my eyes made contact with Armani’s.

  The knowing smirk she gave me let me know I’d been caught lustin’ for her sister. I hoped that didn’t ruin my chances with her cause I’d been wantin’ to know what that bidness was like since I’d first laid eyes on her.

  “How you know my fam anyway? You just came to the city, and already know all the mova’s and shaka’s, huh?” I inquired.

  She rolled her eyes at me. “No—I don’t know the movers or the shakers. Me and Assata are just good friends—that’s all,” she clarified.

  The looks Marcella, and Kristasia gave her were laced with amusemen
t, and what could be described as the ‘bitch please’ look. I didn’t push it though, even if Assata had cut lil’ baby, we’d been fuckin’ the same hoes our whole lives, so I knew bruh wouldn’t mind.

  Turning my attention back to Kristasia, I said, “Sup, you, through?”

  She stuck out her hand. “Yea, now break me off so I can get back to my husband. You know how that nigga is.”

  An instant frown fell over my face as I dug in my pocket and pulled out a bankroll. “Yea, I know how the nigga is, he’s a lil’ Bi—”

  “Boy—watch out now!” she interrupted me with a frown on her face. “Don’t get disrespectful, Pain. Art ain’t did nothin’ to yo’ ass. Miss me with the extras and give me my money so I can go, boy.”

  I smiled at shawty, I didn’t just admire her physical, I also respected her mind. She wasn’t one of those hoes that lead niggas on and allowed them to spit on her dude’s name. Most females were so dodo brained that they allowed the next man to speak foul of their dudes, never realizing they were reflections of the men they chose. Without acknowledging her outburst, I peeled five big faces off the knot and handed them to her. I knew I coulda paid for less, but maybe she was the typa bitch that did something strange for a lil’ piece of change. So, I watched her count it in front of me with a look on her face as if I’d shortened her!

  “That’s what’s up, daddy, but you may wanna be careful out there in them streets. Five hundred dollars may be enough to compensate me for my services, but it won’t get you none of this pussy, and it’s surely not enough for a topnotch casket.” She smiled at me deading my fantasies but touchin’ a gangsta’s heart with concern.

  “Umph—that’s like telling a rabid dog not to bite you,” Marcella’s trick ass interjected without being acknowledged.