“Man, and what we gon’ do if this nigga ain’t got no safe up in this shit?” Tramar asked. “I mean, I just need to know. What we gon’ do? Steal cars and furniture and shit and go pawn it like a couple of dummies?”
“Nigga, is you stupid?” Jackson asked, his New York accent coming out a little in the way he pronounced his words. He was born in Brooklyn and had lived in a housing project there until moving to Indianapolis with his grandmother at the age of seven. Then, after living in Indianapolis until his middle school years, he moved to Chicago where he had family who were already planted in the streets and making money. “Nigga, I’m tellin’ you. This dude got a fuckin’ safe of money in his house. With as much shit as he keep goin’ in the streets, ain’t no way that black man in America is walkin’ into no bank and opening a bank account for that kind of money with no source of income to show. You already know that’s one way to have the fuckin’ government breathin’ down your neck like you done been accused of rapin’ some white bitch or somethin’.”
“Man, if you say so,” Tramar said, pushing his head back into the seat as the road began to get a little windy. Every so often, there were inclines and declines. At the sides of the road were slanted yards with white and peach-colored brick houses sitting at the tops. Some houses, if the properties were large enough, had swimming pools and tennis courts. “Man, from what it look like, this nigga got some real money if he livin’ in some place like this with these kinda white people. I mean, do he got fronts and shit.”
Jackson shrugged. “Nigga prolly do,” he said. “But fuck all that. I doubt he keepin’ that money in any of them businesses. Because then he would have to worry about workers and shit stealin’ the shit. He steal from people, but they don’t steal from him.”
Jackson turned the town car into a housing development. He then raised the tinted windows up as they rolled down a curvy, suburban street called Loganberry Lane. Tramar looked at the houses, noticing how far back from the road they sat. Part of him was starting to feel nervous about trying to pull something like this off. But when he thought about spending his weekends in jail and having to live at the mercy of a woman like Precious, he found himself feeling motivated to just get this over with. At times, he could look over at his boy Jackson and see just how determined he was to get what Byron owed him. Jackson had always been the kind of guy who kept his word in his deals. To have to deal with a dude like Byron, who apparently would do anything necessary to get ahead, clearly bothered him.
Jackson pulled up in front of a white house. “Is this it?” Tramar asked, looking at the house and nodding his head toward it.
Jackson shook his head. “Naw,” he said. He then pointed at a house two houses down. That house was brick and looked to be the kind of house where the basement led out to a slanted backyard. The neighborhood was empty of life, just as Jackson had said that it would be. Most of the driveways were empty. If they weren’t empty, the only car parked in them was an older model car, off to the side of the driveway and clearly letting them know that it served the purpose of being the spare car.
Tramar nodded. “Don’t look like the nigga doin’ too bad for his self if you ask me,” he said. “Pretty nice fuckin’ house. Definitely a nice fuckin’ neighborhood. You think he the only nigga in the development and shit?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” Jackson said. “And a nigga just don’t care. And yeah, I bet he is doin’ alright and shit. That’s why I want my fuckin’ money. Fuck that nigga. I would kill his ass, but you know I started goin’ to church with my cousin once a month.”
“What the fuck that supposed to mean?” Jackson asked, chuckling.
“Fuck all that,” Jackson said, ready to get in and get out. “So, anyway, that’s his spot. I’m thinking, because one side of the house ain’t got no windows, we park on that side and walk around the back. You see how the back of these houses is all woods and shit. Even in the daytime, it’s shady back there. We go back there and get our ass up in the fuckin’ house and get with that nigga. We just gotta make sure we move as quietly as we can. I don’t need no sneezing or no shit like that.”
Tramar nodded. “A’ight,” he said. “And when we get in there, the first thing we do is put a fuckin’ gun to that head and make sure he stay quiet.”
“Yup,” Jackson said.
Jackson put the car into DRIVE and pulled forward, passing a few more houses. Once on the side of Byron’s house where there were no windows, they parked and got out of the car. Their eyes scanned the block, looking for opening blinds or inquisitive minds. Upon seeing that not one person was watching, they quickly walked up the side of the yard and toward the back of the house, feeling somewhat protected by the fact that the space between the houses was wooded as well as the backyards. Each man had a Glock in his pocket and held a clipboard at his side as they walked ahead.
Once Jackson and Tramar had gotten to the back of Byron’s house, they paused before walking out into the clearing. Much of the backyard was unkempt and covered with leaves. The tall trees of the wooded area at the back of the house caused a deep, dark shadow to fall over the property. Tramar looked at Jackson and nodded, letting him know that he was ready to move forward. The two of them sat their clipboard down against the side of the house and crouching down slightly, they walked around to the French doors that let out of the basement. With Tramar standing back a little bit, Jackson walked up to the doors and pressed his ear against them. He then motioned for Tramar to come over. The two of them looked through the openings in the door curtains and saw what looked like an entertainment area with a pool table and a bar at the back.
“Watch this,” Jackson said.
Tramar stood back as Jackson shot into one of the small windows in the French doors, next to the lock. He reached his arm in, moving ever so slowly and unlocked the door. Within a matter of seconds, the two men were softly stepping inside, careful to not crunch any leaves that were on the patio.
“Nigga,” Tramar said, whispering. “Do this dude got a dog?”
Jackson shook his head. “Hell naw,” he said. “C’mon. He prolly upstairs.”
Even though Tramar had done some shady things like this in the past, he was feeling so nervous at this very moment. Not only was the basement dimly lit, which was enough to cause his blood pressure to rise, but this was probably also the largest house he’d even broken into. He now knew that with the smaller houses, it was much easier to be in control of the situation. With smaller houses, there just weren’t as many rooms; there weren’t as many doors to wonder what was behind them.
Nonetheless, with guns drawn and ready to point, Jackson and Tramar walked slowly atop the plush peach-colored carpet. They crossed the family room, walking around a huge luxury sectional then around the side of the pool table. Once they came to the basement steps, they could hear talking coming from upstairs.
“Shhh,” Jackson said, putting his finger over his lip. He then pointed up the steps, letting Tramar know that he’d heard the same thing.
“You want some of Daddy Dick, do you?” Bryon said, from upstairs. Tramar and Jackson couldn’t tell if Bryon was in the living room, dining room, or kitchen of the house. However, wherever he was, he was not far. Seconds after Byron had asked if whoever wanted some “Daddy Dick,” they’d heard a female giggling. Jackson looked at Tramar, feeling vindicated about what he’d said earlier about Byron probably lying up with some female at this time of day.
“Fuck, yeah, nigga,” the chick said. “Pull that shit out. Why you keep teasin’ me?”
Bryon laughed. The next thing Tramar and Jackson knew, they could hear the sound of Bryon’s pants swooshing down his legs. Seconds passed and they heard him began to moan. The sound of slurping noises filled the first floor of the house, slipping down the basement steps.
Tramar shook his head, hating to have to interrupt a dude while he was getting it on. He could look at his boy Jackson, as well as his own situation in life with child support, and see that at this point
there was no turning back. Even in the basement, it was clear that Byron had plenty of money. There really was no reason that Jackson couldn’t have gotten his money back. However, in a strange way, Tramar had to be happy that Byron was this kind of guy, for if he weren’t, Tramar might not have had the opportunity to come along and get a cut of whatever money they could squeeze out of him at gunpoint.
Jackson slowly ascended the steps with Tramar trailing only a couple of feet behind. As they were coming to the top, moving as slowly as possible, it sounded as if Byron was to the left of the doorway, which the two of them guessed to be the kitchen. From where they stood, they could see that to the right of the basement doorway was what looked like the living room.
Jackson leaned forward just far enough to where he could look between the door and the wall and into the kitchen. He looked at the back of Byron, as his pants were down around his ankles. He stood straight up, his hands extended forward and moving a woman’s head up and down on his dick. Before Jackson could turn around to motion to Tramar what he was seeing, Byron had bent over and began to kiss the chick, who looked very thick and shapely herself, on the lips. He then told her to turn around and “bend that pussy over.”
Jackson leaned back and put his mouth close to Tramar’s ear. “He about to start fuckin’ this bitch,” he said, talking quieter than a mouse in church. “When he get into it, we gon’ rush in and get his ass.”
Tramar nodded, not needing to say a word.
The two of them stood in the dimly lit basement staircase for several seconds, waiting to hear the sound of Byron’s pelvis slamming against the woman’s body. Once they heard that sound, Jackson stuck his head out again. Once again, he looked at the back of Byron, with his pants down around his ankles, as he stroked in and out of a chick that was bent over the kitchen island. Within the blink of an eye, Jackson and Tramar came up out of the basement. Jackson stepped into the kitchen and pushed the barrel of his gun into the back of Byron’s head. He pushed in as he spoke.
“Pussy feel good, huh?” Jackson asked, smiling.
Byron, who was about 5’9 in height and built like a football player, stopped immediately. Quickly, his buff arms slid off of the female’s wide hips as he looked out of the corner of his eyes, wanting to see who this was in his house – wanting to see who had a gun pointed at the back of his head.
Once Tramar could see that Byron was frozen in his place, his pants down around his ankles, he moved around to the side and held his gun toward the female. She screamed, leaning up and causing Byron’s manhood to slip out of her insides.
“Turn around,” Jackson ordered.
In short, waddling steps, Byron turned around. He smiled when he looked into Jackson’s eyes. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you, nigga. To what do I owe this surprise?”
“Nigga, yeah it’s me,” Jackson said. “Sorry to interrupt you in the pussy and shit, but I need to know where my money is. No, fuck all that, we need to go to the safe. The sooner we get my fuckin’ money, the sooner we all can walk away from this alive.”
Byron chuckled. The thirty year old felt nervous, but he would never show it. Furthermore, this surely was not the first time he’d had a gun to his head. He remained calm as his arms remained in place.
“Nigga, is you stupid?” Byron asked. “You know damn well I ain’t got no safe up in here.”
Jackson pressed his lips together before pushing the gun into Byron’s forehead, causing a couple beads of sweat to pop out of his skin. “Nigga, I know you fuckin’ lyin’ nigga,” he said. “Where the fuck is the money? Or I’mma kill you and this big booty bitch you got over here.”
Jackson looked past Byron and into the terrified eyes of a tattooed chick who looked like the only two career paths she’d ever had were either a stripper or an adult film star. For it to be Monday morning, her makeup was already over the top. She had a long weave in her hair, straight and black and flowing down her back, that any man would love to tug on while she was down in his lap. While her chest was medium to small in size, her breasts were still round and perky. Jackson’s eyes then lowered down to the female’s wide hips. She held her legs together as she begged to be let go. “I swear!” she said. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this shit. I swear I don’t.”
“Bitch, shut your hoe ass up!” Byron commanded, looking back at her. “Just shut the fuck up. They don’t want you. They want me. They just goin’ about it in a real stupid way.”
Jackson chuckled, not liking how Byron was bold enough to call him stupid to his face. He slowly turned the gun toward the wall and fired. He wanted to let Byron know that the guns they were packing had silencers on them. Byron’s eyes lifted up as his forehead wrinkled. “Well, ain’t that something?” he said. “These niggas came prepared and shit. You know that even when I give you this money, you not gon’ be able to escape me. You ain’t the first niggas to try some shit like this.” His eyes angled toward Tramar then back to Jackson. “And I can fuckin’ guarantee you that you won’t be the last,” he added with tight lips.
Jackson pushed Byron’s head back with the barrel of the gun. “Nigga, whatever,” he said. “Stop all this chit chatting and shit.” He backed up and pointed in obscure directions. “Get that money and you won’t have to die today in front of your lady.”
“Okay, okay,” Bryon said. “Just let me get my pants back on. You can’t expect a nigga to walk up the steps with his pants around his ankles.”
“A'ight, a'ight,” Jackson said. “Pull that shit up. You right. Plus, I don’t wanna see that little dick no way, nigga. You prolly had to pay this bitch to get some pussy.”
Bryon snickered as he leaned over and reached for the waist of his pants.
“No!” Tramar yelled, causing everyone in the room to stiffen up again. “His pants,” he said, pointing his gun toward Byron’s feet. “Nigga, this nigga could be packin’ some heat in his pants and shit.”
“That’s right,” Jackson said, nodding his head. He pointed his gun back toward Byron’s head. “Slide out of that shit. In fact, take off all your damn clothes, nigga. So that way we ain’t got to worry about you pullin’ no funny shit.”
Byron breathed heavily as he pulled his feet out of his pant legs then lifted his shirt over his head. He was now standing in his kitchen, naked with two guns pointed at him. Quickly, Tramar leaned in and pulled Byron’s clothing away from his body, causing Byron to shake his head as he stood in place. Tramar picked up Byron’s pants and pulled a gun out of his pocket. He held it up. “See, nigga?”
Jackson shook his head as he looked back at Byron. “You is a sneaky mothafucka, ain’t you?” he said. “Come on. Get to that fuckin’ safe so I can get my fuckin’ money. And I want it all.”
Byron chuckled as his eyes were filled with hate. Never in his life had he been so humiliated. Walking cautiously, and as naked as the day he was born, he led Jackson up to the second floor of the house. Tramar stayed back in the kitchen, making sure that this thick honey before his eyes didn’t try to make any moves. “It’s okay,” he said, soothingly. “I ain’t gon’ kill you. We just herer to get some money.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I swear, I don’t know him,” she pleaded. “I just met him last night and came over to fuck. That’s all. I don’t know anything about any money. I don’t even know him like that.”
Meanwhile upstairs, Byron’s blood boiled. He still, even minutes into this ordeal, struggled to believe that it was happening to him. He’d never let his guard down before. And something was telling him that the chick he’d picked up last night at a buddy’s house may have had something to do with this. If nothing else, he found it very interesting how Jackson and his boy – whatever his name was – just so happened to be able to run up into his house on the very same day that she was over and sucking on his dick.
“Nigga, you know I’mma kill you, right,” Byron said. “You might as well go ahead and kill me now because you know you gon’ be a walking dead man after this.”
Jackson’s faced bunched up. He slapped the back of Byron’s head and said, “Shut the fuck up, nigga! You just angry, fuckin’ little dick nigga! Just take me to the fuckin’ money, and I think I’mma be alright.”
Byron continued walking down the hallway, passing his master bedroom. Jackson was on complete alert, as he still was not sure if Byron and his little lady friend downstairs in the kitchen were the only two people in the house. The two times that Jackson had been over to Byron’s house, to talk about business and whatnot, the atmosphere was far from how it felt right now. In fact, Jackson had gotten the impression that Byron’s house was the kind of place where he would let guys spend the night when they partied with women. Nonetheless, he was going to be ready for whatever might come out of the open doors on either side of the hallway.
Byron, with his head stinging terribly, led Jackson to the end of the second floor hallway. When they stepped into a smaller bedroom, he opened a door. Just inside, Jackson could see that there were steps leading up to the attic.
“What?” Jackson asked. “Where the fuck is the money?”
“Up there,” Byron said, motioning toward the attic. “It’s up there, nigga.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “Well, what the fuck is you waitin’ on? We just walked up one flight of steps. I can do it again. Nigga, hurry up and get the fuckin’ money so I can get the fuck outta here. Ain’t got time for your games and shit today, nigga. If you woulda gave me the money you was supposed to give me the first time, then I wouldn’t be here walkin’ behind your naked ass to get it. You lucky I don’t beat that ass and really humiliate you. But, I go to church once a month now, so you lucky.”
When It All Falls Down: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady Book 1) Page 6
