by Keon Smith
Clyde chuckled at his own joke.
Diamond rolled her eyes, moved her hands down to her waist, and shifted her weight to one side.
“You picked a fine time to joke around. This atrocity is far from funny. Besides Tommy’s death, you want to know what those Blood Hornets said to me last night? Your former Great White member—Carlos—was the one who sent them to abduct me. God knows what the hell he had in store had he succeeded.”
“And why would Carlos do something like that?” Clyde asked in disbelief.
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I never did anything to him. In fact, I want to know how he even knew where I was. What we need to do is find out what’s going on, just like we need to find out who killed Tommy,” Diamond snapped.
“Alright, alright,” Clyde said, sitting up on his elbows. “Did you get a name or anything about the man who killed Tommy?”
“From what his girlfriend said, the guy’s name is Montega, and he drives a black SS Impala. He was dealing with a girl that went to college with her. Her name’s Samorah. Now she’s gone, and God knows where he is.” Diamond sat on the edge of the desk, rubbing her hands down the wool fabric of her skirt.
“Was the car a new model?” Clyde asked while enjoying his massage.
“No, it’s a ’95 or ’96.”
“And he just jumped outta the car and started shooting without sayin’ anything?”
“Damn right he did. There were shells all over the place. I saw at least three body bags. This guy’s got heart, I’ll give him that. You think it was a hit from Castor?” she asked.
“It’s not like him to be so sloppy with a hit. Then again…” He looked at his sister.
Diamond looked away from him. “Please don’t bring that shit up,” she said, referring to the incident with her father at the after-hour. She couldn’t bear to hear the tragedy a second time. It made her think of the funeral, which turned out to be a nightmare.
“This shit doesn’t look good. Did anybody get the license plate number of the vehicle?”
“No, but they were Pennsylvania plates. Maybe this Montega is from Philadelphia. That would be something, right? I’m supposed to take a little trip down there next year once it gets warm. You know how I hate the cold weather. I’ve always wanted to visit the city where my father was killed,” she said, getting up and walking out.
“For what?” Clyde asked.
“I don’t know,” Diamond replied. “It’s just something about the City of Brotherly Love that makes me feel like there’s a connection there with my father.”
“The City of Brotherly Love. Yeah, right. Their murder rate is fifth in the country. Where’s the love in that?” Clyde said.
Diamond stopped at the door and slowly spun around. Her long, dark hair followed and whipped over her shoulder. “You act as if you and Shug aren’t playing a major part in that murder rate, so don’t be so contradictive.”
“That may be true, lil’ sis, and until we find out who put Tommy down, the murder rate won’t stop rising. I’ll have Shug make sure of that. Oh, and before you go, I want to ask, why Philly? Pennsylvania’s a big state. Why can’t the killer be from Pittsburgh or Harrisburg or any other city?”
Diamond rolled her eyes and shook her head as if the answer was so obvious. “You said it yourself, Clyde—the murder rate. The city practically breeds killers.”
When Montega arrived in Philly, he called Carlos and had him send the shipment through the mail; it would get there in a week and a half. Meanwhile, he found a truck driver who was willing to help him move the cargo crate at the import/export for a small fee.
Once the crate was strapped on the eighteen-wheeler, they headed uptown.
Taliban was on Blakemore Street, hustling up money from fiend-to-fiend. He had put his syrup drinking aside for the moment to get his cash flow going again. He was a born hustler who could out-hustle almost anyone. He knew he had to get his money up because his brother was in danger. Taliban wouldn’t just sit around while killers constantly rode through the hood, looking for Montega. As he sat on the steps of the Chinese store, counting money, Breezy and his sister, Kia, pulled up and parked in front of him.
When they got out in their freak ’em girl dresses and four-inch stilettos, he automatically knew they were going out. The two were practically party animals. Anyone who threw a major event in the city knew to expect Kia and her sexy friends.
“What club y’all hittin’ up tonight?” he asked dryly.
“Shug’s havin’ a little something at Onyx,” Breezy replied.
“What! Why y’all goin’ to bol party, knowin’ he tryna kill my brother?” Taliban snapped.
Breezy started to say Fuck your brother, but her girlfriend beat her to it.
“We’re not going for him,” Kia explained. “I couldn’t care less whose party it was. We just tryna have a good time; that’s all. We’ve been through a lot this past year. The least we can do is have a few drinks, dag.”
“Y’all ain’t been through nothing but a carwash,” Taliban ridiculed. “Stop fakin’. Shit real out here. It’s way more serious issues going on besides the nail salon and where to get a fucking outfit.”
Before Kia could cuss him out, a huge eighteen-wheeler pulled up on the block. The sound of the brakes hissed like steam as it came to a complete stop. The truck took up the entire width of the one-way street. Montega hopped out the passenger side and came around to where the three were, surprising them.
“Boy, where the hell have you been hidin’?” Kia questioned. “I’ve been calling all over for you.” She was relieved to see that he wasn’t harmed, contrary to hood gossip. Word on the street was Montega had been vaporized by an RPG. Kia, however, knew that couldn’t be true if shooters were still driving through the neighborhood, looking for him.
“It’s good to see you too, sis. But let’s get something straight. Me? Hiding? Never. I just needed to get my head straight and my mind right,” he replied, glancing at Breezy lustfully. Her tight party dress had her hips looking wide and curvy. Her breasts were puffy and round, and her legs were glossy and thick. Even her feet looked good in peek-a-boo pumps.
“What’s the truck for, bro?” Taliban asked as he gave his brother a hug.
“I got some things I gotta unload at my crib. I need you to take a ride with me. It’s up the street. Come on.”
“Crib?” Kia repeated. “Where did you get a crib from?”
“Two words: power moves,” was all Montega said before heading back around the truck.
“Hold up, bro. I gotta finish knocking off this work. It’s poppin’ out here,” Taliban said, ready to make another sale.
Montega stopped and doubled back. “Man, fuck that shit, bol. I got us. Believe me. In two weeks, you’ll never have to do another hand-to-hand transaction again. Now come on, will you?”
When Taliban heard that, he got up and followed his brother to the truck, leaving Kia and Breezy curious about what he meant by that statement.
Awbury Park was a secluded area of dense trees and wooded land. It was only a few blocks away from Summerville. Ardleigh Street split the forest in half. On one side was a tennis court with its own playground and swimming pool sitting by an old middle school that rested up at the very top of the hill. On the other side was dense trees and a trail that lead through the forest.
The truck pulled into a dark maze-like pathway that cut through the woods into a small confined area that surrounded a large, old, Victorian-style home with a beat-up porch. The entire house looked abandoned yet sturdy. A three-car garage leaned against the left side of the single house.
“What the hell we doin’ here?” Taliban asked.
“A friend of mine gave me this crib.”
Taliban looked out the window again at the old-fashioned, Victorian-style home. “All I see is a old-ass crib.”
Montega smiled and got out. Outside the boarded-up house, the white paint had chipped off and cluttered the porch. The front door had a
lock around the knob.
Montega unlocked the door and opened it. They stepped inside. Taliban damn near got woozy when he saw the well-furnished interior filled with wall-to-wall, plush, black carpeting. The house smelled brand new. The sofa and table were all new and imported, as well as the kitchen appliances.
If Taliban thought that was amazing, he almost lost it when he saw what he was helping his brother unload off the truck. The crate was filled with artillery and ammunition, brand-new handguns, and military assault rifles. What made these weapons so unique was that half of the guns were custom-made; some were even gold-plated. There were also full-body armor suits with face masks and other things Montega could have fun with. By the time the two finished unloading the truck, it was close to 11:30 p.m.
Montega paid the truck driver for looking out, then he and his brother got in the Impala and headed for the Badlands. They had some unfinished business to take care of, and they needed someone crazy enough to ride with them.
The Mendez house in the Badlands was a lot quieter since Lil’ Man went to jail. All that could be heard now was deafening silence. Ski-Mask snorted a long line of dope he had cut up on the glass table. Once the drug reached his bloodstream, he stood with his head held back, feeling good.
“Ahhh yeah,” he whispered while wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, and then quickly did a double-take as if he saw a guy he was beefing with.
“Fuck you lookin’ at, Dickey?” he asked, pointing at his reflection.
“Me?” he then replied, rocking back and forth, stabbing himself in the chest with his index finger. “You talkin’ to Ski-Mask? Oh yeah? Ski-Mask got you, Dickey. You think Ski-Mask sweet? You think Ski-Mask a bitch?”
Ski-Mask reached in his waistband and pulled out his Glock 17 and aimed it at his reflection. Seeing a guy in the mirror pulling out a gun caused him to get low and hide behind a desk. “You wanna pull out guns on Ski-Mask? Well, fuck you, Dickey, ’cause Ski-Mask ain’t afraid to die. If Ski-Mask gotta go, then so do you, muthafucka!”
He rose from his hiding space, and before he could pull the trigger, the phone rang. Ski-Mask wiped his powdered nose before going to answer it. “Ski-Mask deal with you later,” he said before picking up the phone. “Hello?”
“You still fuckin’ with that white girl?” a familiar voice asked.
“Shit, is the pope a Catholic? Who the hell is this?”
“Who else would be crazy enough to call ya ass?”
“Montega?” Ski-Mask whispered as if someone else was there.
“In the flesh.”
“Damn, Dickey! Welcome back from the dead!” Ski-Mask went to do another line. “They told Ski-Mask you got hit with a grenade launcher. Ski-Mask just knew you was dead.”
“Thanks for the lack of emotion. I feel a lot better now. Anyway, what’s up with Lil’ Man?” Montega asked, ignoring his comment. “How did he make out?”
Ski-Mask snorted a line, held his head back, and said, “He’s fine, Dickey. He pleaded out to those murders he committed. Not only that, but he’s takin’ bodies for a stack a piece up on Death Row. They’re askin’ for death penalty. He don’t give a fuck. Ski-Mask little bro going out like a cold G,” Ski-Mask glorified as he enjoyed the effects of his high.
“Damn,” Montega said sadly. “What about Faith? How’s she takin’ it?”
“Man, that bitch done went off somewhere. Ski-Mask think it was army because some green vehicles came and picked her up. What the hell was she thinkin’?”
Montega smiled, remembering their last conversation. She finally got what she wanted. “Well, what about you? You still at it?”
“Shit, can cars fly?” Ski-Mask replied with excitement.
Montega frowned. “Nah, bol. I ain’t seen no cars fly yet.”
“Oh well, you know what Ski-Mask talkin’ ’bout,” Ski-Mask said, reflecting on the Jetsons.
Ten minutes later, the black Impala pulled up to the house. Montega beeped the horn, and Ski-Mask came out. As soon as he got in, Montega introduced him to his brother.
“Ski-Mask, this is my brother, Taliban. Taliban, meet Lil’ Man brother, Ski-Mask.”
“Taliban, huh? Ski-Mask like him already,” Ski-Mask stated.
“They don’t call me that for nothing,” Taliban said, going into his green duffle bag and handing him a nickel-plated, fifty-shot Uzi, which was the prettiest gun Ski-Mask had ever seen.
“What are you gonna do tonight, Dickey? Take down another block?” Ski-Mask held up the machine gun to admire its beauty. He pulled the fifty-round magazine out, checked to see if it was loaded, then shoved it back inside and cocked back the slide to put one in the head.
“We definitely gonna take a block down,” Montega replied. “That and set off some fireworks. They hit me with an RPG; well, I got some shit for them.” He handed his brother a few blocks of C-4, fuses, and the detonator. “I hope you know how to use that, bol.”
“It’s nothin’. I seen dudes do it in the movies all the time. Don’t worry,” Taliban stated. “All you gotta do is stick the fuse inside, cut the switch on, and press this button.”
Ski-Mask pushed himself forward, wedging himself between the two front-seat chairs to see what Taliban had. His eyes showed too much white.
“That shit gonna have every federal agent slipping out the woodworks to find out who’s responsible if you let that off, Dickey.”
“I hope it attracts more attention than that,” Montega responded as he tossed Ski-Mask a familiar disguise. “Truthfully, I wanna send a message to someone in particular.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Wait ‘til he finds out I’m back.”
The Definition Of Trouble
“I know that Kenny is your brother, but I hate him.”
BREEZY
Shug lounged in Club Onyx with a bottle of Rosé in his hand, observing the crowd in boredom. Although it was his birthday and almost half the city came out to celebrate with him, it felt like another night at the strip club. He had already gotten the news about Tommy, and that really ruined his mood. Tommy meant just as much to him as Kev. It was hard to believe that the same guy was responsible, but the evidence was as clear as day. As he looked over to his right, his lieutenants were getting table dances from some hot broads, and to his left, Maniac was practically begging the shorty with a tight, green, see-through dress to leave with him for the night.
“I’m surrounded by dickheads, literally,” Shug mumbled.
As Shug cocked the bottle and drank, he noticed Kia and Breezy approaching the bar. Shug almost choked on champagne when he got a glimpse of their asses. For one, he was infatuated with Kia but could never find the time to get at her. And two, he had a thing for Breezy as well and wondered if she was hip to his intentions. He got up out of his seat and swaggered toward them. He refused to let two bad bitches like that get away from him again. Anything was better than sitting around, reminiscing about the past.
When the two women arrived at the bar, Kia noticed something had been bothering her best friend all day. In fact, she saw it the minute her brother returned to the city. “You alright, Bree?” she asked.
“No, I’m not. Kia, I know that Kenny is your brother, but I hate him. I wish he would have just stayed dead or whatever. He took away my boyfriend, Kia. Not only that, but he used me to do it. That shit is cruel. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t wish death on anyone, but I do wish that he could stop for a second and realize what he’s done,” Breezy said as her eyes welled up.
Shug then popped up on them, causing Breezy to quickly regain her composure. “What are y’all doin’ over here at the bar? Why don’t y’all come join me and the homies over at my table?”
“We cool,” Kia replied dryly. “We just tryna build.”
“Well, before y’all engage in y’all little girl talk, I wanna know if I can take you out to breakfast in the morning? You know, one day with me, and you’ll be considered the queen of PA.” He was
talking to Kia, but his eyes were peering at Breezy.
“I gotta work,” Kia lied. She too looked at her best friend, who was now smiling. Kia gave her a look as if to say, if this bol only knew.
On Tasker Street, the walking dead swarmed the hustlers from every angle in search of a good high. Spade and all his homies were out, collecting as much money as they could before going to Shug’s party. As Spade went to make a sale to a fiend across the street by the Chinese store, he noticed a black car creeping down the block with no headlights on.
“Aye, heads up, y’all,” he said, trying to alert the others.
As the streetlight shone on the hood of the car where a man wearing a Phantom mask laid on the windshield, everyone broke out in a panic. The tires screeched, the engine roared, and the gunman fired the machine gun at the fleeing hustlers. Spade looked on in horror before diving for cover behind a parked car as one of his workers got hit in the face. The clattering sound of an Uzi pierced the quiet night. The hustlers on the corner scattered as hot lead came spiraling by them. Taliban stepped on the gas and whipped around the corner then came to a stop. When Ski-Mask got back in the car, he was charged up.
“Did you see them coward, Dickey! They looked like rodents when lights get cut on.”
“The correct phrase is ‘roaches when the lights come on,’ not rodents when the lights get cut on,” Montega corrected.
“You know what Ski-Mask mean.” Ski-Mask shrugged.
“Where to now?” Taliban asked.
Montega pulled out his pad and gave his brother the address to one of the stash houses he once saw Kev go into. He just hoped it was still operating.
Kia saw that Shug wouldn’t take no for an answer, nor would he go away, so she handed Breezy her purse and said, “I have to use the bathroom. Watch my stuff for me.”
“Damn, you gonna roll out on me like that, huh?” Shug asked, watching as she walked off. “Guess she ain’t tryna get rich no time soon.”
