by Askari
*****
Daphney returned to her house a little after eight o’clock, and when she walked through the front door, she found Sonny sound asleep on her leather sectional. She woke him with a soft kiss on his lips, and then relayed Mook’s message. As soon as he heard the words, Against All Odds, he knew that the rest of the team was safe, and that Tommy was the reason that Mook was in jail. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and then hopped up from the sectional.
“Yo, I gotta go handle this shit for the big homie, but I’m a hit you up as soon as I get a chance," he said, while grabbing his Gucci snorkel from the closet.
“A’ight, but before you leave, can you answer something for me?”
“No doubt. Tell me what’s on ya mind.”
She folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her left hip. “I’m sayin’ though, after everything that happened earlier, where do we go from here?”
He thought about her question and couldn’t come up with an answer. “Truthfully, I don’t know.” He kissed her on the forehead, and then zipped up his snorkel. “Just gimme a lil’ time to figure things out.”
*****
Later That Night...
Inside of his warehouse on Delaware Avenue, Grip and his henchmen were sitting around his conference table discussing their strategies of war. A Philadelphia Daily Newspaper was lying on the table in front of him, and a picture of Mook’s mug shot was plastered on the front page. In bold capital letters, the caption read: Alleged Drug Kingpin, Mcheal Brooks Was Arrested In Sting Operation!
Grip looked at his captains and lieutenants with a smile on his face. “Y’all know what this means, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Monster answered. “That nigga’s vulnerable right now. The newspaper said that they were holdin’ him at the F, therefore he’s a sittin' duck, literately!” He joked, and everybody else in the room laughed.
“Absolutely,” Grip agreed. “They said his bail was set at a $1,000,000 so we gotta move fast. I spoke to a friend of ours, and he told me that he’s gotta a bail hearing on Thursday morning.” He looked at his two capos. “Smack and Monster, y’all know what to do.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Following Morning...
After dropping off the $50,000 to Reon's mom, Sonny and Sheed rented a U Haul truck, and drove to Mook’s mansion in Delaware. Upon their arrival, Saleena opened the front door and ushered them inside.
“Saleena, what’s up big sis? You good?" Sonny asked in a compassionate voice.
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m just busy try’na get Mook outta jail. Savino got me out yesterday, and this morning, he called to tell me that y’all was comin’ to get this work outta the house. The vault is upstairs in the bedroom behind the bed,” she stated, while leading them to the second floor.
When they reached the master bedroom, and pulled the bed away from the wall, just like she said there was a four foot high, stainless steel vault built into the wall. Sonny examined the touch screen combination pad, and then punched in the numbers: 69-93.
Zzzzz! Click!
He opened the door, and the sight of the 200 bricks sent chills down his spine. They were neatly piled on top of one another, and each brick was 9 inches long, 3 inches wide and 2 inches thick. He pulled a trash bag from his back pocket, and began filling it with the cocaine.
“So, Saleena, did you hear anything new about his bail?” Sheed asked.
She nodded her head. “Yeah, Savino said that he’s gonna get it reduced to a reasonable price, and that he should be home Thursday night.”
After loading the keys in four separate trash bags, Sonny stood to his feet and looked at Saleena.
“The next time you talk to Mook, tell him that everything’s in order, and to kick his feet up. We got him.”
*****
Back In The County Jail...
Mook and Reon were sitting in their cell, smoking a Vanilla Dutch, and plotting Tommy’s murder. Reon was scheduled to be transported to D-Block later that day so Mook wanted to use their short window of time to make sure that everything was good.
“Yo, that bread is gonna be there today so when you get to D-Block, make sure you call ya miz and verify it. Another thing, I should be outta here tomorrow night, but make sure I’m outta the building before you put ya thing down,” Mook said, while exhaling a thick cloud of Kush smoke.
“I got you, my nigga. Just fall back and let me do what I do best. I ain’t gonna move on the nigga ‘til the third shift anyway, so you good. Plus, you gotta remember, I just left this mu'fucka a couple of months ago, and before that, I was here for over two years, fightin’ my last two bodies. My lil’ C.O. bitch, Johnson, she works the night shift on D24. So this is what I’ma do, shorty already knows I’m back in the buildin’, and she the one that’s gettin’ me transferred to her block. As soon as she makes her first round, I’ma pull her over and tell her to check and see if you’re still here. If she tell me that you gone, I’m a have her pop my door, and then pop the nigga Tommy’s door. Trust me Mook,” he threw on his war face, “this shit ain’t ‘bout nothin’! I’m a slide in his cell, twist him out, slide back to my cell, and them kick my mu'fuckin’ feet up. They ain’t gonna find that pussy 'til the mornin’, and when they do, all the heat is gonna fall on the nigga’s celly. Trust me big homie, I got you.”
*****
The Following Night...
The block officer came to Mook’s cell to tell him that he made bail. After going through the discharge process, he was escorted from the jail, and for the first time in a long time, he cherished the feeling of being a free man.
As soon as he emerged from the gray building, he saw that Saleena was parked out front in his Bentley. He climbed into the passenger’s side, and then leaned over the center console to give her a kiss.
“You a’ight, babe?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’m good, daddy. I’m just worried about you and this fuckin’ case. Savino told me that if you get convicted, they can give you up to twenty years."
The look of concern written on her face made his heart melt. After assuring her that everything would be okay, they pulled out of the parking lot and drove up State Road. When they reached the corner of State Road and Cottman Avenue, a red traffic light caused Saleena to bring the Bentley to a halt. As they sat there waiting for the traffic light to turn green, a navy blue Ford Excursion pulled up behind them. When the traffic light turned green, the blue and red lights on the Excursion’s front grill came to life signaling Saleena to pull over on the side of the road.
“Oh, my God! Why are they fuckin’ wit’ us?” Saleena complained. “We didn’t even do shit.”
When Mook looked out the back window and saw the navy blue Ford Excursion, he figured that the occupants of the SUV were the last people that he wanted to see. The feds! He looked at Saleena, who was pulling over to the curb.
“Just calm down. They probably just fuckin’ wit’ us,” he lied, knowing in his heart of hearts that the feds had more than likely claimed jurisdiction over his case.
As they sat in the car waiting to be confronted by the authorities, the driver and passenger of the Excursion exited the SUV. Both men were dressed in navy blue jackets, and the letters DEA were printed across their chest in bright yellow caption. The driver approached Saleena's side with his gun drawn, and the passenger approached Mook’s side in the same exact manner.
“Michael Brooks?” The agent on the passenger side asked.
“Yeah, I’m Michael Brooks.”
“Step out the vehicle, and place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”
Mook complied with the agent’s order and exited the Bentley with his hands raised in the air. While the agent placed a pair of handcuffs on him, he looked at the agent that was standing on the other side of the car. Damn, dude look familiar as shit, he thought to himself. He tried to figure out where he’d previously seen the tall, brown skinned man, but couldn't come up with the answer.
A
s the agent ordered Saleena out of the Bentley and made her put her hands on top of her head, a light bulb flashed inside of Mook’s brain. He remembered where he knew the agent. He was one of the niggas that was with Grip when they had the sit down at T.G.I.Fridays. Unfortunately, before he had the chance to protest, Smack raised his Glock 19 to the back of Saleena’s head and squeezed the trigger.
Boc!
“Noooo!” Mook screamed as the bullet, followed by a mist of warm blood, burst through her forehead, and she slumped over the hood of the car.
He struggled to free himself, but the handcuffs wouldn’t allow it. He rocked back and forth as he tried to create enough space for him to run away, but before he could, Monster smacked him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, and everything went black.
*****
When he regained consciousness, his hands and feet were tied together, and his naked body was strapped to a workshop table. His head was throbbing, and the blood from the laceration on the back of his head had formed a small puddle that was beginning to drip off of the table. The image of Saleena’s murder flashed inside of his mind, and he let out a cry of rage that was more akin to the cries of a wounded animal.
He struggled to free himself, but quickly realized that he couldn’t move. His mind kicked into survival mode, and he calmed down. He knew that his chances of surviving were slim to none, but at the same time, he had to come up with something. He glanced around the large room and realized that they had him inside of a warehouse. He heard a growling noise, and then he looked to his right where a black and white pitbull was chained to a forklift. When he locked eyes with the muscular dog, it began barking and desperately tried to reach him. A second later, the door to the loading dock slid open, and Grip, followed by Murder and Malice, entered the large storage room, and walked toward him. At the sight of the light skinned old man, Mook lost his cool, and struggled to get free.
“Grip, I’ma kill you! I swear to God I’ma murder ya nut ass!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. When he discovered that his attempts to free himself were futile, his rage became immense, and with tears pouring from his eyes, he released his frustration. “Aaaggghhhh! I’ma fuckin’ kill you, pussy!”
Grip laughed at him as he approached the workshop table. “You’s a stupid mutha’fucka.”
“Nigga, fuck you!" Mook shouted, and then spat in his face.
Grip wiped away the saliva with the back of his hand, then hammer punched Mook in the nose with the side of his fist.
Whack!
“Don’t get mad at me, nigga. You brought this on ya mutha’fuckin’ self. Didn’t nobody tell ya lil’ dirtyass to overstep your boundaries, and try to lock down the city wit’ them cheap ass prices. You don’t run this shit, I do! Gervin ‘Mutha’fuckin’ Moreno! I’m the one!” He shouted, then karate chopped Mook in the neck.
Whack!
Mook shook away the dizziness and struggled to remain conscious. “Nigga, I tried to bring you on board and you shitted on me,” he whispered, exasperated from the mental and physical torment. “How you gon’ knock a nigga for feedin’ my family? Especially, when I went outta my way to offer you a plate?”
“See, that’s the problem right there,” Grip replied while circling the workshop table. “I’m the only mutha’fucka handing out plates in this goddamned city! Not you!”
Whack!
Grip hammer punched him in the stomach, and vomit shot out of Mook’s mouth.
“How the fuck you gonna try to change the way I’ve been runnin’ this shit for so many goddamned years? I’m the king of Philly mutha’fucka! And now you got these lil’ dirty mutha’fuckas runnin’ around the city on this Blood shit! This ain’t Compton, bitch! And it damn sure ain’t New York! This is Phila! Whack! Mutha’fuckin’! Whack! Delphia! Whack!
The three karate chops to Mook’s chest and torso left him depleted. He coughed uncontrollably and his head lollied to the side. He gathered up the little bit of energy that he had left, and whispered, “My niggas gon’ come at you wit’ everything they got.”
Grip smiled. “Who? Them lil’ dirtyass Block Boy niggas? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be mad at first, but when those hunger pains start kicking in, and they realize that I’m the only one who can feed ‘em, they’ll come around.”
“Not my young bul. Sonny. He gon’ knock ya mu’fuckin' head off,” Mook responded in a hushed tone.
“Sonny?” He cocked his head to the side, and then started laughing. “Oh, you mean my grandson, Sontino Moreno. Humph, he’ll be the first one to embrace me.” He walked to edge of the table and positioned himself at Mook’s head. “Now, before you leave this world, tell me where I can find all these keys that you’ve been telling me about.”
Mook blinked his eyes and took a deep breath. “Take it in blood!”
Grip shrugged his shoulders. “Your wish is my command.” He looked at Malice and said, “Kill this mutha’fucka.”
Malice pulled out a meat cleaver, raised it in the air, and then buried the blade deep in Mook’s neck.
Chop!
His body convulsed and his eyes blinked rapidly.
Satisfied, Grip gestured for Malice to step aside. He then pulled the cleaver from Mook’s neck and his decapitated head rolled off of the table.
*****
Back In The County Jail...
Tommy was on the top bunk sound asleep when his cell door popped open, and a dark shadowy figure slipped inside. As quiet as a church mouse, Reon crept toward him with a sinister look on his face. So far, everything was going according to plan. When C.O. Johnson conducted her first security round, she stopped at Reon's cell and handed him a Black & Decker box cutter. She also promised to open his cell when she returned to her station. Now, here he was, creeping toward Tommy with the blade on the box cutter fully extended. When he reached the bunk beds, he looked down at the bottom bunk where Tommy’s celly was in a deep coma like sleep. The 600 milligrams of Seroquel that he gave him a few hours ago had done their job.
He directed his attention to Tommy, and shook his head in disappointment. Rat ass nigga! He thought to himself as he anxiously bit his bottom lip. He reached out and snatched Tommy off the top bunk.
“Yo, what the…”
“Pussy, shut the fuck up!” Reon snarled, and then viciously attacked him with the box cutter.
*****
The Following Morning...
Tommy’s celly awoke from his Seroquel induced sleep and took a deep breath. Damn, them pills that Reon gave me wasn’t no mu’fuckin’ joke. I need some more of them jawns, he thought to himself as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes. Seemingly, out of nowhere, a pungent odor invaded his nostrils, and he figured that Tommy was on the toilet taking an early morning shit. He was facing the back wall, and was therefore oblivious to the fact that a mutilated corpse was right behind him.
“Damn celly, you takin’ a shit? Put some water on that mu’fucka,” he complained, while covering his nose and mouth with his nylon blanket.
Silence.
After Tommy failed to respond, he snapped out, “Hey, yo celly, like what the fuck is up wit’ you, fam? Flush the fuckin’ toilet.”
Silence.
Frustrated and feeling disrespected, he turned around to confront him, but the sight of Tommy's mutilated body shook him to the core. He was butt ass naked, and hanging from the air vent that was positioned above the toilet. Whatever it was that had his neck tied to the vent had cut so deep that his head was nearly decapitated. His face was covered in blood and had swelled to the size of a pumpkin, and a stream of dried up diarrhea was stuck to his legs, and covering the toilet seat. To make matters worse, his chest and stomach appeared as though Freddy Kruger had used his index finger to carve a gory message. That message was, Death to all rats!
Chapter Seventeen
Back In North Philly...
When Egypt and Zaire arrived on the block, the first thing that they noticed was Mook’s Bentley parked in front of the trap house. “Y
o, I love this fuckin’ Bentley Zai,” Egypt stated to his twin brother. “When we come up, we coppin’ twin Bentleys.”
Zaire nodded his head, and then knocked on the front door. A second later, the door swung open and Nasty was standing there in a wife beater and boxer shorts. Before he had the chance to even greet them, the twins bombarded him with questions about Mook.
“Yo, where he at?”
Nasty wiped the sleep from his eyes, and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Whatchu askin’ me for?”
Egypt pointed at the red Bentley. “Ain’t that his car?”
The second Nasty laid eyes on the Bentley, he knew something was wrong. For one, it had been months since the last time Mook came to the block. Secondly, why would he leave his car parked out front, and not come in the house to at least tell him he was in the hood?
The twins noticed the look of confusion on Nasty’s face, and on instinct, they both took a step backwards. “Hey Nast, somethin’ ain’t right Blood,” Zaire stated the obvious.
“I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Nasty admitted. “He was supposed to have made bail last night. But my thing is this, I’ve been chillin’ in the spot all night, and I know for a fact that Mook wasn’t over here. It wouldn’t make sense for him to make bail, drive all the way to the block, and then leave his car outside without ever comin’ in the house to holla at me.”
“Well, maybe he went somewhere wit’ Sonny,” Zaire suggested.
“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” Nasty nodded his head. “I’m a call Sonny and find out.” He disappeared inside of the house, and then returned with his cell phone. He called Sonny, and then held the phone to his ear.
Ring! Ring!
“Yo,” Sonny answered.
