by Keon Smith
KK really didn’t want to put him on game, because after he was done with what he was about to do, he would leave no witnesses. He just couldn’t leave anyone alive to testify against him if things went sour. The way he saw it, there were two people in his way of becoming hood rich, and his plan was to eliminate them both. After thinking about it, he said, “I need you to lookout while I handle this rat ass nigga Smoke. You know he set to take the stand on a good dude in two days.”
Montega let this bit of information marinate in his mind. He knew the person KK spoke of supplied all of uptown and most of North Philly, but when he went down for a homicide, a lot of hustlers suffered. Smoke, who saw the hit go down, got booked on some drug charges and immediately turned snitch in order to escape doing hard time. What ruined the hood’s credibility, was the fact that Smoke lived directly down the block from where everybody hustled, but nobody laid a finger on him.
Truthfully, everybody knew that even though Smoke was a rat, he was still a cold wolf on the streets; and because of this, not too many people wanted to bang heads with him, but KK was different. He didn’t care about a man’s street credit. He was too busy trying to embellish his own. If a man wasn’t made of Teflon and his heart didn’t bleed steel, then he was getting dropped. He knew Montega was as tough as everyone said he was.
Too bad he won’t live to see tomorrow, KK thought.
Montega watched as KK walked up the concrete steps to the enclosed porch. He then looked down the block to make sure the coast was clear. He did the same up the block as well. KK looked through the window for any signs of movement. When he saw none, he slid the window up, and climbed inside. He then unlocked the front door before taking a peek through the dark first floor. The lights were out throughout the house. Silence aroused suspicion.
His heart thumped fast. Hearing the floor creak in the other room, he drew his silver Taurus 9mm and began to initiate a search. Sweeping his gun from left to right, he checked each room, but there was no sign of Smoke anywhere. When he came back down to the first floor, he headed for the kitchen. As soon as he entered, he slowly lowered his weapon, cursed under his breath, and shook his head with disappointment. He had just seen Smoke go in the house a few minutes before he went to get Montega. Did he just step in then leave? he wondered.
Suddenly, KK heard the floor squeak behind him. He quickly spun around but wasn’t quick enough to shoot. Smoke had gotten the drop on him, holding a .40 cal. with an extended ladder, locked and loaded. A shot was fired, and a hot slab of metal bore into KK’s chest, knocking him on his back. KK’s gun fell out of his hand, slid across the green tile floor, and stopped by the refrigerator. Holding the burning bullet wound in pain, KK watched with beads of sweat pouring down his forehead as Smoke raised his gun to finish him off. Smoke wasn’t the dramatic type. He just aimed with one sinister eye closed.
KK shut both of his eyes and prepared to meet the devil. He had done too much wicked shit and contemplated too much evil in his life to even consider going to heaven. This was now his fate, and there was nothing else to do but accept it.
Rat-tat-tat!
Rapid fire exploded, causing KK’s whole body to jerk. It wasn’t from bullets, however, but from the loud sound of another gun. He opened his eyes to see Smoke’s brains oozing out of his head. Blood painted the kitchen with tear drops of red. Smoke’s knees buckled. His lifeless body hit the kitchen floor with a heavy thump before a puddle formed around him. Behind Smoke’s corpse stood Montega impassively holding a fully automatic Ingram Mac-10. The barrel of the gruesome machine gun silently puffed a ghost-like white smoke from its nozzle.
KK knew then how lucky he was to have Montega covering his back. Maybe I wouldn’t have to kill him after all. That thought vanished quickly.
KK sneered as he watched Montega pick up his Taurus and tuck it into his waistband.
“What the hell you plan on doing with that? That’s mine,” KK protested in pain.
Montega flashed a crooked smile then aimed the machine gun at him. KK’s sneer quickly transformed into a confused frown. “Wha… What the fuck are you doing?”
“You know what’s funny? Last night, I ran into your homie Ron while he was all drunk in Brickyard,” Montega began. “It’s amazing what dudes say when they got that yak up in ’em. He told me everything that you were up to. It was a good plan; I have to admit. Too bad you’ll never carry it out.”
“So what you gonna do? Kill me right here?” KK asked.
“You remember what you told Ron, right? The only way two men can keep a secret is if the other is burning in hell. That’s the same thing I told Ron before the Phantom put a bullet in the back of his head. Now I’m telling you.”
“Go to hell,” KK spat.
“I’ll see you when I get there, bol. But right now, hell is low,” Montega pulled the trigger once more.
Rat-tat-tat!
The Champ Is Back
Two Days Later…
“The state can’t keep a rich nigga behind bars forever…”
REEK
Inside the courtroom of the Criminal Justice Center on 13th and Filbert Streets, in Center City, Philadelphia, the room was packed with family and friends. The DA tried to paint the judge a perfect picture of Michael ‘Million-Dollar Mike’ Harris being a cold-blooded murderer. Everyone in attendance listened to the prosecutor’s Academy-Award-winning performance.
Natali Brown was an exceptional prosecutor at the Philadelphia criminal justice center. Not only had she taken down some of the cleverest criminals in her career, but she was also fearless and put on one hell of a show for the jury.
Brown paced back and forth in front of the judge, dressed in a velvet pencil skirt that stopped just above her slender knee. She wore black heels and a satin blouse to match her hollow, green eyes. She was naturally blonde with a slender nose and thin lips. One might judge from the texture of her tan, speckled skin that she may have been cursed by sunburn, but truthfully, she was naturally freckled. When it came to her job, she was aggressive and relentless when it came to obtaining convictions.
After her speech, she strutted over to her seat, glancing over at the defendant. She took a seat beside a detective, crossed her legs, and waited for the witness to seal Mike’s fate.
Across from them, dressed in a two-piece, blue county uniform that State Road’s CFCF issued to him, Mike sat with his lawyer, LaTanya Gibson. He feared everything would go south the minute the witness showed.
Anyone from the streets that knew Mike could tell that he was stressed out. His deep, dark eyes showed all the more concern to whether he would survive or fall. Even his stocky build had slimmed down from the lack of food and nourishment.
Although he had the best lawyer in the city, he still felt he was doomed once the witness took the stand. Ms. Gibson didn’t come cheap. In fact, she owned her own law firm in New York and was funded by a secret criminal society that ruled the United States black market. They called themselves the Underworld. The only reason she was there to represent Mike was because her boyfriend, Deshawn Butler, referred him to her.
Tanya was German, but her ability to fight in court came from her Israeli side. Her beauty reflected her reputation as one of the sharpest lawyers not just in the state but also the federal justice system. She was average with short, dark, terra hair, boomerang eyebrows, a slender face, with doe eyes the color of maple syrup. She had nice lips that were thick and an athletic figure.
As a representative of Mike, she stole the scene in a brown, two-piece Brooks Brothers suit, trimmed and tailored to her body perfectly, with dark-brown, leather-strapped Jimmy Choo heels to complement her look.
Mike looked over his shoulder and saw his girlfriend, Jasmine, sitting with her fingers crossed and a worried expression. Things had been shaky for her. She had never been one to ride for a man in jail, but for Mike, she had tested her endurance. Jasmine Whitehead was naturally beautiful, yet she took extra steps by applying light makeup and lip balm to her appeara
nce. She had thick, dark hair that came past her shoulders. She had been riding with Mike for two years now, ever since his first girlfriend, Jennifer, took over a hundred grand from him and left him to rot in jail. Mike flashed a counterfeit smile, but he knew it was hopeless once the witness took the stand and told the story of how he killed Reds at TJ’s bar. Just as Mike began to relive the scene, the judge called for the witness. Mike felt anger, hate, and fear at the thought of Smoke taking the stand.
He watched as one of the detectives came down the aisle and whispered something into the prosecutor’s ear.
“Nat, we have a serious problem,” Detective Whitehead said.
“Can’t it wait? I’m about to nail this son of a bitch. Now, where’s my witness?”
Silence never seemed so loud. She looked up at Whitehead. He looked distraught.
“I’m sorry, Nat, but I just received word from the 14th District. There was a double homicide on the 5500 block of Ardleigh. The witness was found inside. He’s dead.”
When Natali heard that, her shoulders sunk away as she sighed, deeply massaging her temples.
“Gary, what do you mean, he’s dead?” the woman whispered in response.
“I just found out a moment ago. We have no suspect, no murder weapon. I’m sorry, Nat,” Detective Whitehead explained.
The district attorney’s face was contorted as she stood up to ask the judge if she could approach the bench. Once the two lawyers were standing in front of the judge. The prosecutor whispered, “Your Honor, we have just been informed that our key witness was killed yesterday. We request to postpone so we can deal with this setback.”
“You want yet another postponement?” Tanya remarked before looking at the judge. She had heard this before declining with a client in the federal system. There was no way she would let that happen in the state. “Your Honor, you see what my client has to go through? He has spent two years fighting this case, and we’ve given them two years to get ready, and still, they are unprepared.”
“She’s right, Ms. Brown,” the judge replied. “I will not keep wasting taxpayer’s money on a case that is going nowhere. If there is no credible evidence against this man other than a dead witness’s testimony, I am going to have to dismiss this case.” He slammed the gavel down.
“No, Your Honor, please… jus…” the prosecutor pleaded as the courtroom erupted in celebration.
“Excuse me, Ms. Brown, but I have rendered my decision. This case is dismissed.” The judge rose and left the courtroom.
LaTanya Gibson walked over to congratulate her client. After two years of being told what to eat, what time to lock in, and what time to take a shower, Mike was finally coming home. However, there was still one more pending case that he knew he would spank with his new lawyer.
No one was angrier at the outcome of this case than Dt. Whitehead. He and his partner spent over two years gathering information, paying off snitches, and countless late nights at their desks just to watch Mike Harris walk out the courtroom with a smile. His thick eyebrow squinted, and his old, droopy cheeks tightened. His teeth clenched under a thick mustache. This was not justice.
Seated beside him was his heavyset Italian partner who had dark and oiled hair slicked to the back. He was clean cut with dark eyes and a small nose. He and Whitehead shared cases together at the homicide division. His name was Detective Anthony Lucca.
“Can you believe this shit? The bastard is getting away with murder, just like that piece of shit cousin of his,” Lucca stated in amazement.
“He’ll be back,” Detective Whitehead predicted confidently. “Besides, he has another open case with us, and a couple of my good friends in ATF are looking at it as we speak. What we need to do now is find the person responsible for killing our snitch,” Whitehead said, rubbing his thick, cowboy mustache.
Once Mike was released from the county jail on State Road, Jasmine and Mike’s righthand man, Reek, were out in the parking lot, waiting for him. Mike had put Reek in charge of his business while he was incarcerated, and judging by the brand-new, champagne-colored S550 AMG Reek was standing in front of, Mike figured Reek had been cleaning up.
“I guess, for once, the rumors are true about what you were doing out here. They say you can tell a man’s wealth from the way he carries himself, the people he keeps around him, and the car he drives. I see you looking like money right now… and you riding ‘doe low’.”
“The numbers don’t lie, fam,” Reek rejoiced.
“I see that. That Benz is all that too. What is it? A two thousand four?” Mike asked.
He circled the $90,000 Sedan with admiration for its sparkling coat of paint and creamy leather interior.
“Nah, it’s an ‘05. It ain’t even out yet. I’m glad you feelin’ it though, my nigga, because it belongs to you. It’s the least I can give you for puttin’ me on, homie. The streets been missing the heavyweight champ. Plus, I don’t think I could keep the wolves off my ass for too long with all the money that’s been coming in lately. This right here ain’t shit but a first down.”
Mike cracked a wry smile and gave him some dap along with a brotherly hug. “Aye, man, I knew somethin’ was gonna come up,” Reek continued. “The state can’t keep a rich nigga behind bars forever. It’s too much money on the line. I knew that bitch ain’t have no witness.”
“Shit, I didn’t,” Mike responded honestly scratching the back of his head. “That was a close one. But yo, who killed Smoke’s bitch ass anyway?”
“I don’t know. When the neighbors heard the shots, they called the law, but no one came until days later. Turns out the cops found KK machine-gunned to death in the same room as Smoke.”
“KK?” Mike repeated in confusion. “Black cousin?”
Jasmine watched as her man talked. She was so content with seeing the brown glow from his muscular frame; it had her soaking wet. He had a unique swag about him, despite the low haircut and thick beard. Maybe it was his confidence that attracted her to him. Maybe it was his reputation of being a hood boss. Whatever it was, she loved the ground he walked on.
“Yeah, bol, when the cops showed up, Smoke was stinkin’, and so was KK,” Reek went on to say. “I think KK tried to break into Smoke’s crib and Smoke shot him. Then Smoke got wet up from the back.”
“Damn, and nobody knows who rocked him?” Mike questioned.
Reek shook his head, no. “Man, it’s a rumor goin’ ’round that the Phantom had a part in it.”
Mike shook his head in disbelief. “Not this Phantom bullshit again. Where do these dudes come up with this shit?”
Before Mike was incarcerated, he had been hearing rumors in the area about a vigilante killer who called himself the Phantom. However, no one he knew credible had ever actually seen the guy or girl for that matter, yet there were several stories floating around about him already.
As the guys conversed like two high-school buddies, Jasmine patiently waited her turn, folding her arms then clearing her throat. “Excuse me, but can I get some love too, daggg?” she complained.
Mike looked over to see her standing with her arms folded. He immediately felt guilty for ignoring his beautiful girlfriend. He wrapped his arms around her voluptuous figure. She was petite, and he loved her long, dark, lustrous curls and pretty, chocolate-brown eyes. He moved in and kissed her devotedly.
“My bad, babe. You know I love you, right?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes.
She flushed with desire and anticipation. “Well, why don’t you show me just how much you love me?” she teased.
“Hold up, y’all. Why don’t y’all take that shit to the crib? And don’t be all day with him, Jazz. We gotta let the streets know that the champ is back,” Reek stated.
Mike loved being called the Champ. He replied, “Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about that. Nine out of ten chances, these dudes already know I’m back.”
Mike got into the driver’s side of his new vehicle. Jasmine took the passenger’s seat, while Reek sat in the back. T
hey pulled away from the prison, hoping to never return again. As they rode out of the parking lot, Detective Gary Whitehead and his partner Lucca watched from an unmarked, blue Chevy Impala. They swore an oath on that day. The oath revolved around one day bringing Mike and all his murderous associates to justice. That, Tony Lucca put on his kids, and Gary Whitehead put on his twenty-six years of marriage.
Living Life Like It’s Your Last Day On Earth
INSIDE A THREE-STORY ROW HOUSE…
“I’m a wolf… and wolves can’t be tamed…”
(MONTEGA)
“Montega! Montega!” squealed the little girl with the two cap guns in her hands.
Five-year-old Kenny chased her around his mother’s home, playing cops and robbers. The weird part about the game was there were no cops involved. The two had an agreement that neither one wanted to be the law; both would be the bad guy. Both were very young but very intelligent and caught on fast to what surrounded their youth.
Kenny fired his cap gun at the fleeing little girl. She had long, dark hair, which flapped like a cape as she ran for cover. “I still got your money.” The pretty little girl giggled as she ran through the living room.
“Not for long,” Kenny replied, trying to catch up to her.
He ran into the living room, aiming to tackle his new girlfriend, but he didn’t see the piece of rug sticking out of the floor and tripped. Kenny tried hard to catch his fall, but his little feet couldn’t control themselves when there was only air beneath his soles. He went head first into the corner of the coffee table. Everything went black after that…
Montega awoke in a cold sweat, which woke up his girlfriend, Tasha. “Baby, are you okay?” she asked with a tired, raspy voice as she sat up with him.
For some strange reason, he kept having the same dream over and over. He had no idea why he dreamt about being a five-year-old kid and blacking out, but it wouldn’t go away. He felt as if the dream was a part of his past. Not only had his dreams been bothering him lately, but he also had survivor’s guilt. He couldn’t get over losing his mother. He felt she didn’t deserve to die. To him, she was innocent like an angel. If anything, he should have died, not her.
