by Askari
Doom! Doom! Doom!
A burning sensation spread throughout his body as the three .50 caliber slugs ripped through his back, spun him around, and slightly lifted him off of his feet. He tried to scream for help, but the only thing that came out his mouth was a thick glob of blood. As he lay on his back struggling to breathe, the sight of a man creeping toward him with a red bandana tied around his face made him tremble with fear. Sheed pressed the triangles haped barrel to the center of his forehead, and squeezed the trigger.
Doom!
Biggs’ head burst open, and bloody brain matter shot up in Sheed’s face. It caused him to stumble backwards. As he frantically wiped the warm flesh away from his eyes, he was caught off guard by the eerie sound of screeching tires.
Scurrrrr!
Initially, he thought it was Sonny coming to scoop him up, but when he noticed the Philadelphia Police Cruiser his heart fell into his stomach. A uniformed officer hopped out the cruiser with his service pistol aimed at Sheed’s head.
“Drop the fucking weapon, now!”
Sheed didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced over the officer’s shoulder, and spotted Sonny crouched down, and sneaking up behind him. Somehow, the bright muzzle flashes of the Desert Eagle had elicited so much of the officer’s attention that in his quest to apprehend a murder suspect, he overlooked the white Benz that was parked on the corner with the lights off and the engine running. Unbeknownst to the newlywed and father of three, his oversight would prove to be fatal.
“You’ve got three seconds to drop your weapon, or I swear to God I will fucking kill you! One! Two!”
Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc!
“Agh shit!” The officer screamed in pain as he stumbled forward, and then spun around, only to find Sonny aiming a Sig Sauer at his face. Again, bright muzzle flashes erupted from the barrel of the .357.
Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! Click! Click!
Satisfied that the cop was no longer a threat, Sonny and Sheed ran back to the Benz. They hopped inside, and then sped away from the scene.
*****
It was 10:45 p.m. when Grip, followed by Murder and Malice, entered the large storage room inside of his warehouse. His street captains and lieutenants were sitting around a mahogany conference table discussing Biggs’ murder. The second they noticed the old man and his two enforcers their discussion came to a halt, and an eerie silence filled the room.
Grip removed his Bossilini hat, and handed it to Murder. He then circled the conference table with an agitated look on his face. Finally, he reached his chair at the head of the table, and took a seat. He retrieved a Havana Cuban cigar from his jacket pocket, and then reached inside of his slacks and pulled out a solid gold cigar cutter. He clipped the ends off the cigar, held it to his nose, and inhaled the sweet tobacco scent. After placing the stogie in his mouth, he glanced to his right where Malice was icegrilling his captains and lieutenants.
“Gimme a light,” he demanded.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Malice held a gold lighter to the tip of the cigar, and a small cloud appeared in front of his face. He looked at the men sitting around the table, and then spoke in a no nonsense tone of voice.
“As you all know, Biggs was murdered on 3rd and Snyder, and whoever killed him, they literately blew his head off. It’s not a mutha’fucka in this city that doesn’t know who we are, so therefore whoever’s responsible, they were sending us a message.” He paused and fiddled with the diamond ring on his right pinky. “Does anyone have an idea as to who would be brave enough to send us such a message?”
Feeling as though he was the second in command, Monster, the capo from the 5th and Washington crew, spoke up.
“I think it was them niggas from 7th Street. Ever since we raised our prices two months ago, them mutha’fuckas been actin’ funny.”
“Naw, Unc, I don’t think so,” his nephew, Lil’ Buggy dissented. “Them niggas been gettin’ money wit’ us for years. When we raised our price to $42,000 they knew it was strictly business.”
Grip considered Monster’s suggestion, but just like Lil’ Buggy he disagreed. He looked at Smack, his capo for the 22nd and McKean crew, and asked him what he thought about the situation.
“I think it was them Block Boy niggas. When you rejected their offer, and refused to have another sit down wit’ the bul Mook, I think they took it as a sign of disrespect. Plus, that nigga Sonny, according to the information I got from our people in North Philly, that lil’ mutha’fucka think he a gangsta. I can honestly see him doin’ some shit like this. Especially after the way he was actin’ that day we went to his block. I’m tellin’ you, Mr. Moreno, that lil’ nigga think he ready for war. So, if I had to bet my last dollar on who killed Biggs, it would have to be them Block Boy niggas.”
Grip puffed on his cigar and nodded his head. “I’m wit’ you on this one, Smack. I think Mook’s behind this shit, and for that,” he blew out a cloud of smoke, “I want that dirty mutha’fucka dead. But first, I want y’all to bring him to me. I want the satisfaction of watching his stupid ass beg for his life.
“Now, as far as my grandson, he’s off limits. All I want y’all to do is focus on Mook.” He flicked the ash off the tip of his cigar, and then continued. “Oh, yeah, y’all already know that Biggs’ funeral is gonna be hot due to the fact that a cop was murdered in the process so just fall back. The cops are gonna want answers, so expect the streets to be uptight for a little while. However,” he took a pause, and one by one, looked each of them in the eye, “Make no mistakes about it, as soon as the heat dies down, it’s murder season.”
Chapter Tweleve
Aside from the fact that Nahfisah and Tommy were still missing in action, everything else for Sonny was going according to plan. His man Diamondz was waiting on his December shipment, and after counting the money that he stacked up in the past three months, he was sitting on a little over $700,000. He knew that his cousin Breeze, was getting out of jail in a couple of days so to welcome him home accordingly, he put $100,000 to the side for him. He also realized that Christmas was right around the corner so he set aside another $250,000 to buy Riana the gift that their family deserved, which was a new house. He rubber banded the remaining $350,000 in denominations of $10,000, and stashed the money in the small vault that he had built in his mother's basement. The $25,000 that he owed Mook was already waiting to be collected so essentially, all of his affairs were in order.
As he lay on his bed smoking a Kushfilled Backwood and watching the movie, Goodfellas, he heard his mom calling him from the bottom of the steps.
“Sontino, Mook is down here!”
“A’ight, mom! Send him up!”
A few seconds later, Mook entered the room with a black gym bag hanging from his right shoulder.
“Peace, Blood.”
“Mook, what’s poppin’ big homie?”
“That Five,” Mook shot back, while embracing him with their Blood handshake. “What’s up wit’ you, though?”
“Ain’t shit, dawg, I’m just gettin’ this paper,” Sonny responded, and then handed him the duffle bag that contained the $25,000.
Mook nodded his head, and then handed him the gym bag that contained his December shipment.
“Hey, yo, Mook, I’ve been meaning to ask you about ya real estate agent. I’m try’na get a new house for me, Riri, and the baby.”
“A’ight, just holla at me when you’re ready, and I got you.”
“Nigga, I’m ready now. I’m try’na have the house by Christmas.”
Mook shrugged his shoulders. “More or less. The housing market is poppin’ right now, and it’s definitely the right time to buy. How much you try’na spend?”
“Somewhere around $250,000.”
“A’ight, you can definitely get somethin’ nice wit’ that type of bread. If I was you, I would snatch up one of these houses that was foreclosed.”
“Foreclosed? What the fuck is that?” Sonny asked.
“That’s when a mu’fucka wasn�
��t payin’ their mortgage, and the bank that they was dealin’ wit’ repossessed that shit. Now, once that happens the bank reclaims ownership of the house, and they put that mu’fucka back on the market. The majority of the time they price the house for cheaper than what it's really worth.”
“A’ight, my nigga, I need you to get on that for me as soon as possible.”
“Say no more, I got you. I’ma have lil’ buddy holla at you by tomorrow. But look, I got a lot of shit to do today so I’ma get wit’ you later on tonight.” Mook said as he extended his right hand.
“A’ight scrap, be safe out there. You know the streets is watchin’.”
“Come on, nigga,” Mook smiled, and then lifted his Gucci sweater, displaying his Kevlar bulletproof vest. “And I keep one of these too.” He pulled out a chrome 9mm.
Sonny smiled and nodded his head in approval. After Mook left the room, he grabbed his iPhone and called Easy.
Ring! Ring!
“Hello,” Easy answered.
“Yo, pops, it’s that time. Meet me on my block in an hour.”
*****
An Hour Later...
Sonny, Nasty, and the twins were sitting at the dining room table in his trap house, weighing and bagging up grams.
“Yo, this shit stank like a mu’fucka," Egypt stated, while placing a rock on the digital scale that sat before him.
“Yeah, I know right,” Zaire concurred. “This shit smell like, man, I don’t know what the fuck this shit smell like. The best I can come up wit’ is Vicks vapor rub mixed wit’ some stale ass candy.”
As Sonny looked back and forth between Egypt and Zaire, he heard a soft knock on the front door.
“Yo, Nasty, go answer that, and don’t let nobody in here unless it’s my pops, or somebody from the team."
Nasty got up from the table and walked over to the couch where a sawed off shotgun was tucked underneath the cushions. He grabbed the gun and tucked it behind his left leg, and then slowly cracked the door open. When he saw Easy standing on the on the stoop, he motioned for him to come inside, and then stuck his head out the door and looked up and down the block. Satisfied that nothing was out of place, he closed the front door, then put the shotgun back in the couch, and returned to the dining room table.
As Easy removed his mink coat and hung it on the coatrack, Sonny’s pitbull ran over to him and sniffed his leg.
“Ohhhh shit! Yo, what the fuck is this?” Easy asked, scared to death.
“Damu!” Sonny addressed the muscular pitbull in a dominant voice. “Take ya ass upstairs.”
The snow white, red nosed pit looked at Sonny, and then returned his gaze to the stranger. Reluctantly, he obeyed his master’s order and ran up the steps.
“Don’t worry about Damu. He’s just doin’ his job,” Sonny assured him.
“That’s a big ass dog!” Easy exclaimed, and then wiped away the sweat from his brow. “What the fuck is you feedin’ him? Steroids. That mutha’fucka got a head like a grizzly bear. And he almost made me shit on myself.” He laughed, and the rest of them laughed too.
“Shit,” Nasty interjected. “Damu’s still a puppy. If you think he’s big, just wait ‘til you see his pop, Mousillini. He’s in the backyard. That mu’fucka's so big that we can’t even walk him.”
“Well, y’all just keep his big ass in the backyard, then.” Easy continued laughing as he walked over to the table.
Sonny grabbed all the bundles and gathered them into a pile.
“A’ight, this is what we’re gonna do. As of now, my pops is the one runnin’ the block. For the most part, everything’s gon’ stay the same, except that y’all gon’ be answerin’ to him, and he is gon’ report back to me.” He looked at Easy and continued, “Pops, is there anything that you wanna tell ‘em?”
“Naw, Sonny, I’m good.” Easy shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just like you said. Everything is gonna stay the same. At the beginning of every week, I’m a give,” he pointed at Nasty, “what’s ya name again youngin’?”
“Nasty.”
Easy nodded his head. “I’m a give Nasty two bricks for y’all to move, then on Sunday when I collect the money and drop off the next two bricks, I’m a pay y’all $5,000 a piece.”
“A’ight Mr. Easy.” Zaire nodded his head assuredly. “We got you, ol’ head.”
“Well then, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout.” Easy smiled. “There is one condition though."
“What’s that?” Nasty asked.
“Y’all gotta keep them big ass dogs as far away from me as possible!”
They all burst out laughing.
*****
Later That Day...
Sonny and Easy pulled up in front of his house on Reese Street. “Aye, Sonny, I don’t think ya mom is gonna wanna see me man.” Easy stated as butterflies filled his stomach.
“Nizzaw, I ain’t feelin’ you on that one pops. After all those years she sat around prayin’ that you’d stop gettin’ high.” He held up his hands for emphasis. “I know she would love to see you back on top of ya game!”
“A’ight man, I can dig it.” Easy shook his head in defeat. “I guess I’ma have to face her sooner or later.”
They exited Easy’s Range Rover, and went inside of the house. The sounds of Keyshia Cole’s, Love was thumping from the second floor, and the aroma of Annie’s Clinique perfume permeated the air. Easy took a deep breath, and then sat on the couch. Man, she’s probably gonna curse me the fuck out! He thought to himself.
“Hey, yo, mom!” Sonny called out from the bottom of the steps.
“What, boy? Can’t you see I’m up here jammin’ wit’ my girl Keyshia Cole?” Annie yelled from the second floor.
“I need you to come downstairs! It’s somebody down here that wanna talk to you!”
“Hold on! I’m gettin’ dressed. I’ll be down there in a minute.”
Sonny turned his attention to Easy. “Yo, you want somethin’ to drink?”
“Yeah, lemme get some water.”
As Sonny headed toward the kitchen, Annie descended the stairs in a pink and blue nurse’s uniform. When she entered the living room and saw Easy sitting on the couch, she stopped in her tracks. She rubbed her eyes and took a closer look.
Easy stood to his feet and asked, “How are you doin’ Annie?”
Instead of responding, she just stood there with tears welling up in her eyes. He grabbed her by the hand, and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. She looked at her estranged husband, and attempted to speak.
“How? What? When? How long have you been like this?”
“About three months now. I’m back to the old me Annie. My days of gettin’ high are over,” he proclaimed with sincerity in his voice.
Sonny returned from the kitchen with a glass of water in his left hand. He handed the glass to Easy, and then leaned forward to kiss his mother on the forehead.
“He looks good, right? I made him come over so you could see him all cleaned up.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she just stared at him, and then returned her attention to Easy.
“This shit is too much for me to handle right now. I need to get outta here.” She got up from the couch and headed toward the front door. As she grabbed the door knob she took a deep breath, and then turned toward her husband.
“I’m glad that you finally got your shit together, but if you think that after all these years you can just walk back into my life like ain’t shit happen, then you got the game fucked up!” She stormed out the house and slammed the door behind her.
*****
The Next Day...
After meeting with Diamondz, and receiving a phone call from Mook’s real estate agent, Sonny was parked in front of a townhouse in Cheltenham, Pennsylvania and waiting to meet her. As he sat in his Benz, he looked at the house and nodded his head in approval. The two story townhouse had beige siding and brown window shutters. The front lawn was well manicured, and the newly paved driveway led to a three car garage. He
looked at his diamond encrusted Rolex, and saw that it was 3:45 p.m. Damn, where this chick at? He asked himself.
A couple of minutes later, a champagne colored 2012 Porsche Panamara pulled up behind him and a beautiful black woman hopped out in full diva regalia. Her cinnamon waist length fox matched her Ugg boots to perfection, and her skin tight Chanel jeans displayed the thickness of her hips and thighs. Her smooth chocolate skin resembled a melted Hershey’s Kiss, and her Chanel #5 perfume reached his Benz before she did. To make matters worse, she had almond shaped, hazel eyes and a cute little button nose. Her silky, black hair was freshly cut into a Mohawk, and heart shaped designs were etched on the sides.
Goddamn, she bad! Sonny thought to himself as he climbed out the car.
“Hello,” she said as she extended her right hand. “You must be Sontino Moreno.”
“Yeah, but you can call me Sonny. You must be Daphney Rines?”
“The one and only.” She smiled. Her beauty killing him softly. “So, do you like whatchu see?”
“Well, I guess it depends.” He licked his lips seductively. “Are we talking ‘bout you or the house?”
She blushed. “The house, silly.”
“A’ight, well since you put it like that, I guess you could say that I like the house too.”
She laughed at him and began walking up the driveway toward the front door.
Damn, mommy got an ass like one of them Kardashian bitches. I wonder if that thing is real. He thought to himself, while trailing behind her.
“Yes,” Daphney laughed.
“Huh?” Sonny replied as he was completely caught off guard.
“My ass,” She turned her head and smiled at him. “It’s real.”
