Voorheeze & Clarkola

by De'Kari

  “Brah dat bitch old.” Voorheeze already knew this shit.

  “Naa naa brah, I ain’t talking bout that old bitch brah. Don’t get me wrong she was cool and all but brah dat bitch done. Niggaz don’t wanna see dat bitch no more! Not after they see this new bitch blood!”

  “Come on brah you know you putting da ten on the two!” Voorheeze interest was starting to peek.

  “Brah dat’s on my mama Blood. That bitch so bad I damn near wanna kiss the puss!” Voorheeze had to laugh at that one. The analogy was a double innuendo.

  Styles was letting him know that he dropped the new shipment off at the White House and that Samori had given them some new shit. Voorheeze would’ve had a problem with the sudden change without his prior approval but the way Styles was talking, this shit was better than the normal shit. Hence the double innuendo Styles don’t fuck with white chicks and he ain’t gone get caught eating the pussy on no female, everybody knew that.

  “Brah bring a video copy of the news segment to the WR. and I’ll watch it and see what you talking bout.” He told him to bring the video to the War Room.

  “Aight bet! Gimme like thirty.”

  “Aight one.”

  “One.”

  By the time he hung up the phone, A.J.’s excitement had calmed somewhat. A.J. is only twenty-two years old so his excitement was understood. Hell, his excitement was a good thing to the rest of the team because shit runs downhill. Good shit and bad shit. Maybe his being blessed would cause him to bless them. Right now, let that good shit roll.

  “Looks like things just keep getting better.” Voorheeze said addressing the group, “Our connect just hit us wit some new shit. Supposedly the shit is even stronger than our normal shit.”

  Everyone looked at him like he was crazy because their normal shit was shutting shit down. To have something stronger, the fiends were going to go bananas, which meant more money.

  Voorheeze turned his attention to A.J.

  “When you think you gone be ready for your first drop?” He asked A.J., ready to see how he would perform.

  Now that money was being mentioned, everybody got serious. Two things that’ll make a Black man serious real fast, money and murder.

  “As soon as you can, get it to me big brah!” A.J. told him with full confidence, ready to do his thang.

  “Aight bet. And bout that other thang, we’ll hook up on the rebound.” He said referring to the next meet with Gunz.

  Again, he trusted Gunz, so he trusted Gunz’ judgement. So, finalizing everything wasn’t necessary. Voorheeze jumped in the Lambo and pulled off.

  **** N. D. ****

  (Milpitas, CA, a few hours later)

  Voorheeze sat real low in the seat with a half empty bottle of Remy in his hands, listening to the song as it played low through his audio system. The song was a throwback to early ninety’s. It made him smile while tears rolled down his face as he reminisced on all the joy and all the pain.

  The song he was listening to came out while he and T’Rida were kids. It was dark times in the Bay Area. A war between Oakland and East Palo Alto was raging in full force. Bodies were dropping on both sides every day.

  T’Rida was from East Oakland, this tested and strained their friendship with Voorheeze being from East Menlo Park which was considered part of East Palo Alto.

  Daily, they were tested and daily they proved their loyalty to one another.

  There were so many murders back then that EPA was the murder capital of the United States for the third time. Ever since then Voorheeze and T’Rida would listen to DRS “Gangsta Lean” whenever they lost someone. It was their tradition.

  He wasn’t drunk. That bullshit with Wendell had taught him a lesson, he wouldn’t slip again. Nevertheless, he missed his brotha, so here he sat in his all black on black Yukon across the street from 109 Vienna Drive trynna visually replay in his mind what happened that day.

  As he was going over the last conversation he had with ‘Rida in his head, a dark blue Crown Victoria pulled up to the house and parked. Voorheeze kept sipping on the Remy as he watched detective Russo got out of the car.

  “Fucking pig!” He mumbled under his breath after taking a long gulp. Although the detective could neither see or hear him, Voorheeze was mean mugging him like Ice Cube mugged Dre when N.W.A. split up.

  Oblivious to the killer sitting across the street behind tinted windows watching his every move,. Detective Russo was busy at work. Something about the case was rubbing him raw but he can’t quite figure it out. Though he couldn’t put his finger on it, he believed if he stayed focused and went over every little detail then it would jump out at him.

  As Voorheeze watched the white boy he continued to replay that last conversation over in his head. He and T’Rida were arguing

  “You know I’m not gone let these mothafuckas put me back in a cage!” Voorheeze knew from the amount of venom in T’Rida’s voice that the only thing on his mind was death.

  “We Gangstas! You hear me nigga? Gangstas! We came in dis mothafucka wit nuttin ready for everything. We knew the consequences to dis shit, yet we accepted dem when we chose da game….”

  The more he thought back to that fatal day when T’Rida died, the more he began gritting his teeth. Voorheeze was fuming. His anger mixed with the Remy and the cocaine he was snorting was a fatal concoction. He emptied a lil mound of coke onto his closed fist and snorted it. He did the same thing up the other nostril.

  “You want to help me my nigga? Den my nigga keep it lit. Make dese mothatfuckas regret the day they took a Don. Make this Family stronger than eva!”

  Voorheeze kept replaying that one line over and over in his head. Make these mothafuckas regret the day they took a Don.

  “I got cha Big Brah.” Voorheeze spoke out loud to T’Rida, who was only a memory.

  With a sinister smile on his face, Voorheeze took another snort up his nostril and grabbed his banger. He yanked the silencer out of the center console and said a small prayer. “Lord if it aint your will then stop me. But if it’s your will then please protect me.”

  All Voorheeze wanted to do was the right thing. His mind-state was so fucked up he didn’t know any longer what the right thing was. His mind was going from reality to what his mind thinks is reality.

  Russo grabs his pen light from his shirt pocket and heads to the side of the house. He wanted to check out the backyard again. Hell, every since he was a kid, he could sense things, it’s like Russo always had a sixth sense to find things. And something kept telling him that he needed to be here at this house tonight. It was like fate was calling him.

  His horoscope this morning said, “Re-visit old places for new clues.” He had to be a complete moron not to know that the cosmos was telling him to recheck this crime scene. This was the biggest murder of the century Russo thought to himself, what if they overlooked something? That was possible considering how many people from different labs and organizations were involved with the crime scene.

  Russo thought he heard something. He spun around and shined the light where the noise was coming from, but …. nothing! He turned back around and continued searching. From time to time he would check behind him due to the noise he’d heard.

  Once he made it all the way to the backyard he scanned it completely. After a few minutes of looking around, he sat down in a lawn chair, that was off in the corner of the yard to think. Although it was in the darkest part of the yard; Russo wanted to be able to see the entire backyard and from this viewpoint he could. He sat in the lawn chair in deep contemplation. Unaware of anything else, he lost himself into his thoughts, trying to visualize them. This was his way of dealing with a serious case. One of his methods, letting the scene talk to him.

  “What am I forgetting?” He finally asked himself out loud.

  “That Dragoons are immortal bitch!” At the sound of the voice Russo spun around, only to see the dark night light up as the bullet spit out the barrel into his left eye snapping his head back. The first bu
llet was followed by two more landing into him before his body even hit the ground. Voorheeze stood over Russo’s lifeless body and shot three more times. Afterwards he dragged the bloody body down into the basement. He would worry about what to do with the body later. For now, he would leave the faggott ass cop right in the basement.

  Back in his truck and driving down highway 880, Voorheeze felt like a small part of the burden he had been carrying was lifted.

  CHAPTER V111

  (The following morning)

  Clark’d only had a few hours of sleep, but he was feeling good. Regardless of how anybody looked at it, Clark knew he was supposed to be dead yesterday. Four niggaz had the drop on him and Tut but somehow, they pulled it off and got through it without getting shot or even a mark.

  This was not the first time that Clark escaped death by far. He was accustomed to cheating death ever since the car accident that should’ve killed him when he was a child. Clark had been riding his bike, drinking a Tahitian Treat soda when out of nowhere a car slammed into him. Since that fateful day so long ago, he had faced death and won countless times. Yet each time he did, Clark knew that it was God’s doing. He always would wake up the next day feeling good. Not your normal feeling good, but that “can’t nothing ruin my day, feeling good”!

  At first, he thought about picking up the phone and calling a female. Some good pussy would be a great way to keep the day going good. But he decided his mood was too good for pussy. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. The phone rang so long he thought he was going to get the voicemail.

  “Umm hmm…. Hello?”

  “What’s up blood? Wake up nigga.” Clark yells excitedly into the phone.

  “Big Brah, umm rogue what time is it?” Why is this nigga bothering me already today? Voorheeze loved his big brother but got dammit he was tired.

  “Blood, it’s like eight o’clock. Get up nigga we got something to do.” Clark could hear from his brothers’ grogginess that he wasn’t feeling his phone call, but he doesn’t give a fuck! The early bird gets the worm.

  “Clark, Blood, I just went to bed 30 minutes ago.” Voorheeze felt like he had a hangover.

  “Rogue, that aint my fault. Tell that to whatever trick had you up all night.”

  Voorheeze thought about correcting him but didn’t want to waste his time.

  “Blood get up and meet me at mama’s in an hour.” He didn’t even wait for a response, he hung up the phone.

  Cark knew that if he waited on the phone Voorheeze would talk his way out of it. So, he hung up before he could say a word. Right after he got off the phone with his little brother Clark immediately dialed French Tip and told her the same thing. Clark may have played his position in the Mob, but aside from that he was still the big brother.

  An hour and a half later he was walking up to the front door of their mother’s third floor apartment. He tried to tap the door lightly with his foot but no matter how hard you try to kick light, kicking a door is gonna make a thump. The door immediately swung open. Voorheeze was standing there with a Desert Eagle in his hand looking like Satan. French Tip was right behind him with her banger in her hand.

  “Why you hittin the door like the mothafuck’n police?” He saw all the bags in his brother’s hands but Voorheeze don’t care. He didn’t budge to grab any. He hated when people bang on the door, that shit wasn’t cool.

  “Hey!” Watch yo fuck’n mouth!” Mama B. yells from the couch where she is sitting.

  “Sorry mama!” All three of them laugh and snicker at their mom. Mama B was a real O.G. she’d seen it all and done it all. Back in her day she’d done both fed and some state time. She cursed like a sailor, but she considered it an act against God himself if you cursed in her presence. And if you corrected her for cursing, her favorite line was, “I’m you Mama!”

  “Ooh! What you got brotha?” French Tip finally took notice of the bags in her brother’s hands.

  “Aww you know just a little sum’n sum’n” Clark told her moving his head like Bill Cosby in a pudding commercial, as he heads to the dining room table.

  Fuck what they were thinking, walking enough food for four grown ass people up three flights of stairs was getting heavy ass fuck in his hands. Especially with all the shit he bought.

  “Nigga it took you long enough! How you gone call somebody, wake them up and tell them to be somewhere, nigga when you aint there yo’ self?” Voorheeze asked.

  “Blood, it took them damn near 45 minutes to make all of this shit!” Clark shot back in his defense. He wasn’t listening to no complaining after all the time he’d waited fo this shit.

  “Hey!!! Watch yo mouth! I’m still you mama got dammit!” Mama B called out.

  “Shit! Yall kids gone send me to an early grave”, she spat out.

  “An early grave? Shit, mama you older than the grave”, Voorheeze couldn’t help himself he had to throw that part in. His sister and brother laughed.

  “Fuck you!” She yelled out.

  “Hey, Hey watch yo mouth!” Voorheeze yelled out mimicking her.

  “Yeah! Watch your mouth drama queen”, French Tip chimed in between laughs.

  “Forget you punk”, she pointed at Voorheeze. Then she said, “you too Nita”. Mama B was always calling people punks as she stuck her tongue out making a face. They all started laughing.

  Clark had stopped at one of the local food shacks that everyone loved and picked up the food. “Lagina’s” was one of those diners that still made that good down-home food. And they made that shit swell! Since everything on the menu was so good, Clark just ordered the entire breakfast menu and a couple of things from the lunch menu. He figured with his mom and siblings all eating, that shit would disappear quick.

  Mama B had first dibbs on everything, it was only right considering she was Moms. Once she got what she wanted, her three cubs went to town. They had a ball and enjoyed each other’s company. Only God knows when the last time was that she had all her kids at home at the same time. This was indeed a treat for her. Mama B didn’t know what she did to deserve something so special, but she thanked God for it. They ended up spending the entire morning and part of the afternoon together.

  A call from Tut had Clark leaving the apartment abruptly after a few hours.

  **** N. D. ****

  Clark sat in a parked car on Euclid watching the house three doors down from where Tut was parked. Tut had received a tip that one of the niggaz who shot at them the other day lived in the house. The niggaz name was Little Jeff. He was a young nigga who was beginning to make a name for himself with his pistol play. He was rumored to run with a clique of wild niggaz who were all about that pistol playing.

  Clark had been sitting in the car almost an hour and was tired of waiting.

  “Text them niggaz and let them know we going in.” Clark finally spoke, neva taking his eyes off the house.

  He wasn’t with all this waiting shit. There hadn’t been any activity at the house. He was ready to make it happen.

  Tut received a text message immediately after sending the message.

  “They ready, dad.” He told Clark.

  “Let’s go.” Clark exited his Charger and walked toward the house with his gun in hand. Tut walked a little off to his right with his banger out as well.

  Three houses down in the opposite direction, Black Rob and Drew came walking up the street. Both were carrying assault rifles in their hands. Drew had an all-black AR-15 with an extended clip. Black Rob carried a Russian AK-47. No one spoke as they walked right up to the porch.

  The next-door neighbor, an old, retired, bus driver was just coming out of his house. When he looked up and saw what was playing out, he turned around and went right back in the house, closing the door behind him. He’d gotten to the nice old age of sixty-eight by minding his own fucking business. He wasn’t about to change up now.

  Clark didn’t hesitate, he kicked the front door in with one boot. Once he did, Black Rob was through the doorway so fast with the AK p
ointed and ready to go that you wouldn’t believe he was 250lbs. Drew was right behind him with the AR. They each went in their own direction searching and securing the house. It didn’t even take 40 seconds to secure the house and note that no one was there.

  “What you wanna do Rogue?” Black Rob asked as he came out the back.

  “Nigga we gone wait! Mothafucka gotta come home sooner or later.” No sooner did the words leave out of Clark’s mouth, Tut’s phone started ringing.

  “Nigga, dey got me pinned down Rogue! I aint gone make it Blood help me!” Mack Sauce yelled into the phone, his words fumbling over themselves, soon as Tut picked up.

  “Nigga where you at?” Tut didn’t waste anytime with bullshit. He could hear the gun shots in the background as Mack Sauce yelled in the phone.

  Bocca! Bocca! Bocca!

  Return fire echoed even louder in the phone. Mack Sauce was running out of time.

  “Blood I’m right in front of Oakwood!” Tut was out of the house so fast there wasn’t time for an explanation, he would explain on the way. All he yelled was “Get to Oakwood now!”

  They made it to Oakwood Market in record time.

  Scuurrr! Tires came to a screeching halt as everybody that had gathered around the scene being nosey scattered trynna get out the way. When the doors opened on both vehicles with niggaz jumping out with big shit in their hands, mothafuckas disappeared fast.

  Drew was the first one to hop out when the cars came to a screeching halt. Everybody in the town knew who Drew was and what he was about. Nobody wanted any problems after seeing him bounce out holding that Choppa. Black Rob swung the AK toward the crowd, just praying he found somebody who remotely looked like they were wit that shit or was out of pocket.

  “Damn! Blood”! Clark was the first one to spot Mack Sauce. He was on the other side of his throwback 5.0 Mustang stretched out.

  “Damn dad”! Tut said as he came around the car and stood next to Clark, shaking his head.