Killa Season 2: The Purge

by Sa'id Salaam

  He grunted and shook his head no, but she was going to get him something anyways. His eyes zeroed in on her swaying hips as she walked into the store. He wasn’t the only one. The goons all figuratively pulled out shovels and began to dig their own graves.

  “Sup ma, you fuckin’ or nah?” ‘Fuck the World’ wanted to know. He grabbed his crotch just in case she didn’t understand. His jeans were so baggy all he had was cloth, but it didn’t matter because he was still getting killed for it.

  “Can’t speak bitch?” Weed Plant One demanded when Sincerity turned her nose up at them and kept walking.

  Weed Plant Two added that she must be a lesbian, stuck up, etc… None of it was true, but again it didn’t matter, they were all dying for it.

  Sincerity was steaming mad when she had to walk back through the soul train line of insults and disrespect. It only got worse when she got back to the car. “You think that shit is funny!” she barked at Killa who was cracking up. He did think that shit was funny, but they were all going to die anyway.

  “I’m saying though, you are stuck up. Probably a lesbian,” he laughed and teased until they reached their destination.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS announced royally as they pulled into the driveway.

  “He could get a woman if he wanted!” Sincerity said as she looked at the nice house and manicured lawn. “This dude is sick.”

  “Was,” Killa said ready to go put him into the past tense.

  As he walked towards the house, the light along the walkway lit up towards the house. Right before he reached the heavy oak door, it swung open.

  “Is that her? Bring her up!” Adam demanded as he burst from the house. He was so eager to get a child he looked through Killa.

  “I gotta check the place out first,” Killa advised as he slipped his brass knuckles on.

  “Ok, ok! This is the foyer, that’s…” was a far as he got before getting knocked out cold. Killa waved his woman in and dragged their host into his living room.

  “Damn! Who was he ‘posed to be, Michael Jackson?” she frowned seeing the kiddie play land the child molester had set up.

  “Give me the zip ties,” Killa instructed as he sat Adam up in a chair. She complied and he secured his wrists and ankles.

  “Oww…oww…” Adam moaned as he awoke from his nap. “Why? Who…what’s going on here?”

  “You sent a picture of your dick to a twelve year old and you’re going to die for it,” Killa explained.

  “Huh? Wait! I sent a picture of my dick to a lot of young girls and nobody killed me! You’re taking this too far!” he reasoned.

  “You’re not helping yourself, you know that right?” Killa laughed.

  “Wait, wait, what is that?” Adam demanded as Sincerity slipped the DC 2000 over his head.

  “The Decapitator 2000, it’s really cool!” Killa cheered.

  “Don’t hurt me, please…I’m sick. I need help. I’m a victim too,” he pleaded getting a brief stay in his execution.

  “What’s that mean?” Killa wanted to know.

  “I was molested too. My uncle, he made me…do stuff. I never told anyone but it made me like this,” Adam sobbed.

  “I read that a lot of abused kids go on to become abusers,” Sincerity stated correctly.

  “So you wanna give him a pass?” Killa asked unbelievably.

  “No silly. Let’s kill him too,” she shot back.

  “Makes sense?” he asked Adam who nodded in agreement. “Let’s call him over.”

  Killa used Adam’s phone and dialed as he dictated. When the man answered, he put it on speaker and held it to his face.

  “Hey Uncle Jack, it’s me Adam,” he began.

  “Adam?” Jack asked wondering what made his nephew call him. They hadn’t spoken since he got big enough to say no to his sexual advances.

  “Yeah…um…remember when I was little and you used to make me suck your dick”

  “What? No! That’s a lie; that never happened! I…”

  “I want to do it again,” Adam jumped in cutting off the lies and denials. A brief silence filled the room.

  “…I’m on my way!” Jack shouted and hung up.

  “He lives about an hour away. You guys hungry?” Adam offered.

  They declined and waited on Uncle Jack. Uncle Jack did twice the speed limit and arrived in half the normal time.

  “I knew you liked it…what are you?” Jack said dick in hand as Killa pulled the door open.

  Killa ignored the question and pulled him inside at gunpoint. Uncle Jack saw his nephew as he looked around and nodded.

  “Nice set up,” he said admiring the child molester station. That got him knocked out too. When he awoke, he was in the same position as his nephew.

  “See what you got us into,” Adam chuckled dryly.

  “What?” Jack asked, not quite understanding what was happening.

  “They’re going to kill us,” he explained.

  "Kill? Us? Why?" Jack moaned.

  "Because you molested me and turned me into a child molester too!"

  "I did no such thing!" he shot back like it was true. The men argued back and forth with Killa and Sincerity watching like a tennis match.

  “Actually, you’re going to kill him and she’s going to kill you,” Killa corrected. He took the device from Adam’s neck and put it on his uncle’s. Once he unzipped and freed his hand, he told him to hit the switch.

  “Damn!” Sincerity and Adam both shouted when the head hit the floor and rolled under the chair. It took some doing to get Adam’s wrist cuffed again. A right hook from the brass knuckles finally did the trick.

  “Ok, ok,” he muttered in defeat as the device went back over his head.

  “You sure you up for this?” Killa asked giving her a chance to back out. She responded by hitting the switch and taking his head off.

  “Man that was fun! Can I do another?” Sincerity cheered. Killa could only shake his head and laugh.

  “Please Bae, please!”

  ****

  “Where you going bae?” Sincerity asked when Killa disobeyed the fussy GPS’s direction to turn right.

  “To see if your little buddies are still at the store.”

  “Yay!” she clapped happily, causing him to shake his head again.

  Sure enough, the same young punks were at the same place at the gas station. How foolish can you be to disrespect someone and stay put? That was about to cost them. Just as he pulled in, they stepped around back to smoke more weed.

  “Wait here,” Killa insisted and parked. He crept around the other side of the building to send the kids to the other side of life. He drew his pistol and inched forward using their banter as cover.

  “So I told that bitch to beat it,” Weed Plant One told Fuck the World.

  “Bitches be buggin’,” Gun Shirt proclaimed, shaking his head as if that explained everything. Like he just said some real profound shit.

  “That’s why I just fuck them bitches, and then say fuck them bitches!” Weed Plant Two shot just as Killa raised the pistol to shoot him. Luckily, his phone rang and bought him a few seconds. It’s rude to shoot people while they’re on the phone and everyone knows that.

  “Shh! It’s my mom!” Weed Two said urgently causing a confused frown to spread on Killa’s face.

  The kid’s ghetto accent had vanished. He sounded just like a white kid suddenly. Amazingly, his disrespectful friends respectfully muted themselves.

  “Hello Mother.”

  “The fuck,” Killa whispered to himself as the truth came to light.

  The kids were no thugs; they were imposters. The nerds were actually supposed to be at a sleepover at Gun Shirt’s house. Like a lot of good kids, they wanted to be bad boys. All that rap music had fucked up their minds. There was no ghetto or projects around so playing dress up and standing in front of the store were as close to the hood as they could get. It almost cost them their lives that time. Almost, because Killa decided
to spare them. Still, he was going to teach them a lesson they wouldn’t forget.

  “That was close!” Weed Plant Two sighed once he finished lying to his mom.

  “My mom would totally freak if she found out we’re out here,” Gun Shirt seconded.

  “Mine too. My dad said if he finds one more Verb CD in the house I’m grounded!” Weed Shirt One complained.

  “Whatever happened to Verb?” Fuck the World wondered. They didn’t get to ponder on the mystery much because along came Killa.

  “What set y’all fools claim!” he demanded from behind the huge gun. The barrel of the .45 looked like a train tunnel up close. Fuck the World accidently peed his pants.

  “We’re not a gang!” Gun Shirt screamed as they all raised their arms high. So high, they were all on their tippy toes.

  “Which one of y’all kilt Mook-Mook? You? You? You?” he asked pointing the gun in their faces. He fought back laughter as he stomped his foot with every word. “Which…one…of…y’all…kilt…Mook…Mook?”

  “We don’t even know any Mook-Mook!” Weed Shirt One pleaded. “We’re not even in a gang!”

  “I’m captain of the chess team,” Fuck the World cried real tears.

  “We’re in the glee club,” Weed Shirt One and Two sang together.

  “I’m on the debate team,” Gun Shirt added hopefully.

  “So why y’all wearing all black? Why y’all dressed like thugs? Calling women bitches?” Killa demanded.

  “It’s the rap music sir. It messed us up,” Fuck the World said still in tears.

  “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. First, get out them gang colors,” Killa demanded and they immediately complied. “Put your drawers back on Fuck the World! Now, take your asses home! And no more rap music!”

  “You are so childish,” Sincerity cracked up when he returned to the car. She could still see the near naked boys running down the street behind them.

  Later in life gun shirt went on to become a senator. Weed plant one and two both lawyers. Fuck the world became a doctor and tried to save the world. He did the kids a real favor. Luckily some real thugs didn't come along and harm them. The police can't tell the difference between bad kids and good kids playing dress up. They were on the path to destruction but luckily....along came a Killa.

  Chapter 17

  In breaking news, two headless men were discovered in a Long Island home. Adam Gulliam and his uncle Jack Wilcox were murdered while tied to chairs. Police found a large cache of child pornography and accessories in both men’s homes…Islamic extremists are suspected…

  “Islamic extremists my foot! I know who’s doing this,” Yolo grumbled as she watched the news. An odd mix of both pride and jealousy swept over her. “He’s out having all the fun, while I’m stuck in the nest sitting on our egg.”

  “You are such an odd girl,” Marquita laughed. She had replaced Mr. Grimsly as the voice of reason in her life.

  “So!” Yolo poked out her lip and pouted. She hoisted herself off the sofa and waddled to her room. “Can’t wait to have this baby so I can kill somebody.”

  ****

  “Islamic extremists my foot! I know who’s doing this!” Doc spat angrily as he watched the same news report. It infuriated him that his old client got all the high profile cases.

  He had just arrived in New York and as soon as he turned on the hotel TV there was Killa, again. Jealous rage and mental illness are not a good combination. Stir in a little good old fashion hating and you have a time bomb. That was Doc and he was about to implode.

  “I got something that will get your attention. They won’t be able to blame this on Islamic extremists!” he told his souvenir picture of Killa.

  ****

  “Islamic extremists my foot! Last week a cat got stuck up a tree and they blamed Islamic extremists,” Sincerity griped about the same report.

  “I’ll straighten it out,” Killa said picking up his phone.

  “Who you calling?” she frowned curiously.

  “The police. Gonna let them know…”

  “Just childish,” Sincerity said taking the phone from him. “Speaking of snitches!” she growled when she saw the commotion in the courtyard.

  Sincerity and half the project dwellers went to their windows to investigate. Killa too with his nosey ass.

  “Shane home y’all!” Tito announced and picked him up by his waist as if he just scored a touchdown. In fact, he had just touched down from a bid upstate. He was being treated more like a celebrity than the snitch that he really was. Most people didn’t know the whole story, but Sincerity did.

  “Let me tell you ‘bout this nigga,” she hissed and began to lay it all out for him.

  Shane was the project pretty boy, the resident Casanova. All the girls wanted to fuck him and all the dudes fucked with him because he got all the girls. He wasn’t built for street life so the hood protected him. Especially Big BG and little BX. When Shane got robbed on 170th Street, they came to his rescue.

  Technically, it wasn’t even a robbery. Rocco slapped a spark out of the pretty boy for fucking his pretty sister. He slapped a lot of niggas over her because a lot of niggas had fucked her. He needed to grow two more hands to keep up with the demand. That’s the law of supply and demand. If you met her demand to smoke a blunt, she would supply some pussy.

  Shane was a pussy himself so when Rocco slapped him he emptied his pockets, and took off his jewelry and sneakers. Rocco shrugged and gladly accepted the spoils. He sent the sneakers upstairs, put the cash in his pocket, and the chain on his neck.

  Had the courtyard been empty the coward would have snuck home and accepted his loss. But it wasn’t, and he had to explain the handprint on his face along with his bare feet and neck.

  “A-yo! I got robbed yo!” he lied as he rushed into the courtyard. “Them niggas pulled hammers on me and stole my shit!”

  “Who? Ain’t nobody takin’ nothin’ from nobody from University!” BG proclaimed proudly.

  Somewhere in life, black people got life fucked up. Got tricked into claiming shit that wasn’t theirs to claim. Blocks, corners, and sections of town they didn’t own. Living, dying, and killing for what they could never possess. Streets that had been in existence a hundred years before them and would be there a hundred years after them. Yeah, somewhere in life some people got life fucked up.

  “It was Rocco and dem. They took all my shit!” Shane retorted.

  “Come on yo!” BG ordered. He passed gats to BX and Shane and led the charge over to 170th Street.

  Of course, Rocco was out on the corner he claimed as his own. A couple of his workers served customers as they worked his package. None of them saw the approaching danger.

  “There they go!” BX said pointing with his pistol.

  BG raised his and they opened fire on the men. Shane didn’t bust, he ran. Dropped his pistol and ran back to the projects. Rocco looked like he was pop locking when the bullets hit him. Once he finished his dance routine, he dropped dead. There would be no encore.

  Police and paramedics came an hour later to claim the corpse. They scooped the dead man from his corner and put him in a bag. The next man had claimed that corner before they body bag was even zipped all the way closed.

  Homicide detectives asked a few questions and got exactly what they expected, nothing. It was the Bronx and nobody was saying shit. Well, almost nobody.

  Shane was so shook up he called the cops on himself the next morning. The desk sergeant actually hung up the call when he heard his claim. Around there, no one told on anyone, especially themselves. It had to be a prank caller.

  Not to be denied, he marched down to the precinct and told them everything. He ended up with a gun charge while Big BG and little BX got murder charges. They even caught a pair of attempted murder for shooting a couple of bystanders who picked the wrong place to stand by.

  Shane’s statement helped convict his friends who tried to help him. They both got 25 to life while he got a skid bid of two
years. Two years later, he returned to a hero’s welcome because he went to prison. Ironically, Joey just got home from graduating college and didn’t get shit.

  “Sho nuff?” Killa giggled at the end of the story. What he found most amusing was the tone of her voice. It was murder. “Well if he’s from here he knows the rules. Snitches get stiches and dumped in ditches,” he recited the Bronx mantra as he stood. He didn’t move yet because he knew what was coming. When it did come, he mouthed the words along with her.

  “Let me do it,” Sincerity insisted.

  “Figured you’d say that. Grab my gun and come on. We’ll drop the boys at Grandma’s,” he agreed.

  “Nah, that’s too quick. Too easy. That nigga needs to feel it. Just like my little cousin BX is feeling it,” she growled.

  “What you got in mind then?” he wondered.

  “These,” she replied slipping one of his brass knuckles over her dainty hand.

  Dainty or not, she was Karate Joe’s only daughter. He had taught her stuff he hadn’t even taught the Dope Girl. Yeah, Sincerity was pretty, but she was pretty fucking dangerous as well. Shane’s little ass was in trouble.

  “How you gon’ get him?” Killa inquired in amusement.

  “That nigga been tryna fuck me for years. Today, I’ma say yes,” she explained.

  “Why you ain’t tell me he tried to holla?” he retorted with a tinge of jealousy.

  “For what? So you could kill him? Nigga you gonna need a nuke to kill errbody who tried to get at this,” she teased giving her firm ass a slap.

  “Have fun,” he said plopping down and grabbing the remote. The world needs less snitches, he would gladly watch the kids while she purged.

  ****

  “Bout time! I knew you was feeling a nigga! I knew it. The whole time I did that bid I was hoping you would be the first bitch I fucked when I got home. That’s like that song by Verb. ‘The First Bitch I Fucked.’ Whatever happened to that nigga anyway?” Shane rambled excitedly.

  He had every right to be excited when the project diva showed up at his door. Shane had his pick of any of the chicks he dicked before, but kicked them to the curb for Sincerity. His grandmother went to bingo leaving him home alone. He always said he was born alone and would die alone. He was right.