Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 2

by J. M. Benjamin

  “That’s the only thing that felt good?” I continued to tease.

  His silence told me he was done playing and was focusing on our upcoming business we had to handle. I immediately got into work mode.

  “We gonna take the bikes today since we haven’t rode ’em in a few days, we need to open ’em up and make sure they good for Myrtle anyway,” he told me.

  “That sounds good. Besides, it’s riding weather out. The weatherman said it was going to be in the mid-eighties today.”

  Once we dressed one after the other Treacherous and I peeled out on our bikes as they roared down the block. We jumped on 264 east headed out to Hampton. We weaved in and out of lanes and dipped in and out of cars, then made them bark all the way to the Hampton exit once we got some open road in front of us. The streets of Hampton were quiet when came through.

  Treacherous and I glided through the town like two thieves in the night. Within minutes we were on the street the Ghetto Governor had told me the light-skinned kid from NC lived on. Slowly we cruised down the block in search of the white house with the dog kennels on the side and the Harley truck parked out front. Treacherous covered the right side while I covered the left. After reaching the third intersection to no avail, Treacherous and I began to think we had been sent on a wild-goose chase. We didn’t want to believe that Gov had given misinformation, but that’s what it was appearing to look like. My blood was simmering at the thought. I was actually looking forward to paying the light-skinned kid a visit. We were quickly approaching the end of the street. The closer we got to the end the more my blood boiled. I waved my hand to get Treacherous’s attention, then gestured that the info Gov had given was a dead end. He in return pointed to my side just feet ahead. When I turned and looked, lo and behold I saw the kennels full of pit bulls to my right. The infamous white house we were in search of was the last house on the block and sat on the corner. Treacherous and I rode to the end of the block and made U-turns. The dogs barked aggressively, rushing to the cages’ fence at the sight and sounds of our bikes. Just as Gov had said, we saw four bikes ranging from a 750 to a 1100, but the light-skinned kid’s Harley truck was nowhere to be found. I was disappointed because I had already envisioned shoving my nine down his throat and making him gag while he begged to have his life spared. We did a quick scan of the premises, then rode off.

  Once we were off the light-skinned kid’s block Treacherous pulled over alongside of the road and lifted his helmet. “We got some time to kill, whatchu wanna do?” he asked me. He knew I was heated.

  “I wanna ride around out here for a minute and see if we see that nigga truck before we go back home,” I answered, letting my emotions get the best of me. That was not our style to ride around. We either planned or waited our licks out. My answer only confirmed to Treacherous that this was more than just another hit for me, that it was personal.

  “You sure?” he asked again, giving me the opportunity to get it together. That was one of the things I loved about him.

  “Nah, let’s get the fuck outta here,” I replied.

  “Don’t worry boo, we gonna get ’em, trust me,” Treacherous assured me.

  “I know, babe.”

  “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

  I nodded in agreement, pulled my helmet down, and followed my man’s lead.

  Chapter 8

  Twenty minutes later we were pulling in front of Treacherous’s favorite Waffle House back in Norfolk.

  “Ms. Janice, let me get two turkey patty melts and—”

  “And make sure they clean the grill,” she finished Treacherous’s sentence. “Son, why do you always do that to Ms. Janice? Now you know I can never forget that. Hell, you the only person that I know been coming in here for over a year requesting that. Outside the turkey melt, you only eat scrambled eggs and cheese on raisin bread, and turkey BLT’s out of here,” she ran down.

  The two of us laughed to ourselves at Ms. Janice’s rundown.

  “I apologize,” Treacherous offered.

  “Um-hm. What about you, sweetheart? What will you be having today?” She turned to me.

  “I’ll have a turkey BLT, please.”

  “Something to drink, Pepsi?” she offered, looking at Treacherous to further prove how well she knew his ordering schedule.

  We both smiled and nodded.

  As we ate and went over our next moves, time escaped us. The morning had turned into the late afternoon by the time Treacherous and I finished eating and talked. Treacherous left Ms. Janice a healthy tip before we made our way out of the restaurant. Just as we were walking out the door the sound of Treacherous’s ring tone “Keepin’ It Gangsta” by Fabolous wailed off. He looked at the screen and gave me a look, letting me know this was the call we had been waiting on.

  “Yo,” Treacherous answered, putting the phone on speaker so I could hear. Although I loved to see him take charge in any situation and be so aggressive with everyone, I couldn’t stand the way he answered the phone, especially when he answered “Yo,”, but I knew he wasn’t a phone person so he kept his answers short. Besides he knew better then to “Yo” me.

  “What’s good my dude?” Pete greeted. It was apparent that he didn’t take offense or had any problem with being yo’d.

  “You tell me,” Treacherous replied.

  “My bad for the delay, I got a little tied up but everything’s still everything on this end, though. I got shit set up real sweet. I’m just putting the final touches on some things,” was Pete’s response.

  “Dat’s what’s up, say no more, we’ll talk,” Treacherous cut him short. Even though he didn’t say much, what he had was too much for Treacherous and for me. We never discussed business over the phone, let alone how we were going to conduct it.

  “You in NJ or SC?” Treacherous asked, changing the subject.

  “I’m back up top,” Pete answered, meaning New Jersey. “I’ll be back in the dirty by the time the sun go down and comes back up though. I’ll hit you when I’m in the area and we can link up so we can chop it up more in depths. You know I can’t come to VA, but we can meet in NC or something.”

  Treacherous had already told me how Pete had gotten on his feet by knocking off some dudes for a lot of product and even more money out in Portsmouth and hadn’t been back in Virginia since, except for passing through.

  “Where in NC?”

  “You know anywhere off of I-ninety-five is good for me,” Pete told him.

  “Where?” Treacherous repeated.

  “How about we hook-up off exit seventy-five at the gas station. It’s a club right there my man Big Tex own. That would be good for me anyway, I got a little honey that stays not too far from there in Dunn, I can stop off right quick and check her.”

  “I know the area, just hit me,” Treacherous agreed.

  “Yup.”

  Treacherous hung up with not so much as a “peace” or “one” to end the call. He was rude like that even when he wasn’t trying to be, but no one ever said anything. No one but me. This time I didn’t. He knew I wanted to, though, which is why he shot me that oh-so-loving smirk of his.

  “Guess your boy is on point,” I said instead.

  “Seems like it.”

  “We’ll see,” I replied.

  “Yeah we’ll see. But anyway, you remember that town Dunn he’s talkin’ about?”

  I was waiting for him to ask me that. A few years back we had ran through North Carolina on a massive robbing spree from Greensboro to Charlotte on down to Raleigh to Fayetteville. In our travels we had posted up in an area with a bunch of small surrounding towns like Smithfield, Benson, and Dunn in particular. At the time out-of-towners getting money in the south were plentiful and we were coming across some nice licks of hustlers coming from up north down to the dirty. They were easy pickings. A few of them we actually had to leave stinking because they wouldn’t lie down without a fight. We had worked that area for about a month until some chicks from NC blew the spot up by fumbling o
n a caper of a three-man team from New York that Treacherous and I had actually had our eyes on. I’d never forget that particular crew because it was the first time I had never gotten past the name of any man I had ever gone after as a potential victim. I remember me introducing myself to him at Club Kamikaze in Raleigh and him telling me his name was Stacks right before he excused himself and never returning. The most we had found out about him and his two comrades were that one was his brother, the other his right-hand man. I saw him once more at Club Taj Mahal when Biggie Smalls had performed, but he and his crew were occupied by four women the rest of the evening. Later on in the weeks we read in the local newspaper and heard on the news four females robbers and the head dude of the money-getting trio were found dead in a trailer out in the country and assumed the obvious. We immediately headed back to Virginia before any heat that didn’t belong to us came our way.

  “I remember.” I grinned, reminiscing. I knew what was coming next.

  “Not everybody is gonna fall head over heels for you at first sight, boo,” he teased, remembering how the New York hustler Stacks didn’t fall for my charms.

  “Fuck you.” I gave him the middle finger and hopped on my bike.

  “Back at you,” he returned the gesture and did the same.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  Treacherous glanced at his watch. Nightfall was slowly approaching.

  “Let’s go check and see if that nigga made it back home.”

  His words were like music to my ears.

  “Right behind you.”

  Chapter 9

  As Treacherous and I cruised down the boulevard for the second time that day the end of the block was nearing. When we reached the last corner to cross over, my heart couldn’t help but skip a beat. On the opposite side of the intersection there sat the silver Harley-Davidson truck at the stop sign, waiting to cross over. Treacherous and I both spotted the truck at the same time and busted a right at the corner rather continuing straight. Once the truck crossed over we pulled over.

  “Boo, don’t worry, we’re on his ass. It ends tonight,” Treacherous spoke, turning his bike around.

  I nodded my head and followed. We wasted no time catching up to the Harley truck, trailing at a nice distance, careful not to alarm him of our presence or the fact that he was being tailed. Ten minutes later we pulled over and watched from afar as he parked in front of a local liquor store. Five minutes later he was back in his truck, busting a U-turn in the middle of the street headed back in the direction of where he lived, hoping that was his final destination. We noticed he was so busy with his stereo system in the truck that he never even looked to his left. Had he done so it may have dawned on him that this was his second time seeing us that evening. Instead we went unnoticed.

  Since we knew where he laid his head at we fell back and waited, giving him enough time to get home.

  When we reached the top of the light-skinned kid’s block we could see the Harley truck parked in the driveway. Treacherous lifted his helmet.

  “You got your silencer on you?”

  I felt the right arm of my leather where I normally kept my silencers to my 9 mm. “Yeah, both of ’em.”

  “Let me get one so I can take care of the dogs. I forgot mine at home. You just go around the back and look for a way in.”

  “Okay, but what about the bikes?”

  “We’re gonna walk them and park them up in there,” he pointed to the left, which was a dead end that faded into the woods. We killed the engines and cautiously walked our bikes into the hiding place Treacherous had chosen for us. With each house we passed we peered into windows from afar, looking to see if a nosy neighbor may have spotted us. Dressed in all black made it difficult for anyone to see us, but still we were alert.

  Treacherous and I doubled back and made our way toward the light-skinned kid’s house. The closer we got the louder we heard the music blaring from inside his house. Perfect, we both thought as the pit bulls began to launch their barking assault, detecting our presence. All four dogs were silenced immediately with the shots Treacherous planted in their skulls. I heard each one’s last cry as I moved panther-like to the back of the house. Instinctively, I checked the door handle of the back door. There were times when it was that easy, but this time it wasn’t. As I released the handle I caught a light go on, causing me to fade to the side. Once I was away from the door and out of view I leaned in to see where the light had come from. I saw a tall, caramel-complexioned female with what appeared to be a long, frizzy blond weave down her back, wearing nothing but a New York Jets jersey standing in the doorway of the refrigerator. She danced to the sound of the music in the doorway while she searched for what she was looking for. Once she retrieved what she was looking for, she spun around and made her way to the cabinet. She was actually a pretty girl, kind of like a younger version of the singer Faith Evans. I could see that she had gotten a ginger ale and a cranberry juice from out of the fridge. She reached on the top shelf of the cabinet, grabbed two glasses, then made her way back to wherever she and the light-skinned kid were apparently chilling at.

  “The muthafucka’s not alone,” I whispered to Treacherous, hearing him walk up.

  “Doesn’t matter. That in the wrong at the wrong time,” he shot back.

  I already knew what that meant. That being said, I took the butt of my gun and tapped the back door’s glass.

  This time I led and Treacherous followed. Treacherous knew whenever I took the lead I intended to control the situation and he had no problem with that. There was no doubt in his mind that I was fully capable of executing a plan just as good if not better than he could. In no time I coasted through the kitchen and followed the sounds of the music and the smell of an exotic weed in the air to the living room. When I reached the doorway of the living room the first thing I saw was the light-skinned kid stretched out on the plush couch puffing on a blunt as the Faith Evans knockoff danced provocatively in front of him, with a glass of what I believed to be liquor and ginger ale judging by the clearness of her glass and the bottle of Rémy in the ice bucket. She took a sip of her drink and continued with her dance. With her free hand she began to run her fingers through her blond weave. She then threw the rest her drink back, sat the glass down, and attempted to raise the Jets jersey over her head. That was my cue. Before she was fully unclothed I was already behind the light-skinned kid. He had just taken another pull of what smelled like sour diesel when he felt the cold steel on his bald head.

  “What the—”

  “Oh my god.”

  They both yelled in harmony over the music.

  I had my nine up against his dome and my .40 cal pointed at Faith Evans.

  “Try some funny shit, nigga, and see if I don’t open ya fuckin’ up like a cantaloupe,” I snarled. “Bitch get ova there,” I commanded with the wave of my other gun. In record-breaking time she complied.

  “Yo, I aint got shit yo,” he tried to sound tough.

  “Aagh!” I smacked him across the head with the nine.

  “A yo-yo is a toy, muthafucka. Now yo me again and it’ll be your last time yo-ing anybody else, pussy,” I spat.

  “Aight y—. Okay,” he caught himself.

  Just then Treacherous appeared. I knew he was in the background watching, enjoying me at work. Treacherous walked in front of the light-skinned as Faith Evans sat there in the nude, shaking in fear. Treacherous picked up the jersey and tossed it to her. “Put that on,” he calmly instructed, never taking his eyes off the light-skinned kid. The girl acted as if she were in shock so I snapped her out of it.

  “Bitch, you heard what he said, put that shit on before I wrap it around your muthafuckin’ neck.”

  That was all the motivation she had needed to slip the jersey over her head.

  “Big man, what’s this about?” the light-skinned kid asked Treacherous, holding the side of his head.

  “Don’t ask me nigga, ask her,” Treacherous barked.

  I could see that he
was tempted to turn around but thought better of it.

  “Go ahead mu’fucka,” Treacherous insisted.

  Out of fear of what Treacherous would possibly do to him if he didn’t comply, the light-skinned lifted up and turned his head in my direction. I could tell by the way he tilted his head to the side that he was trying to place where he knew me from. Then as if it appeared out of thin air the widening of his eyes told me he had figured it out.

  “Yeah bitch.” I launched a shot into his shoulder.

  He screamed in agony and for a second time Faith Evans sang with him.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Treacherous ordered the girl, pressing his Glock up against her dome. Her screams instantly turned into silent cries.

  “I’m sorry,” he moaned, holding his shoulder.

  “Sorry for what, nigga?” I wanted to hear him saying it.

  “For everything,” he pleaded.

  His arrogance cost him another shot. I dumped around into the right leg.

  “What the fuck is everything?” I questioned.

  “Pleeaase!” he begged.

  “I’ma ask you one more time,” I warned, lining my nine up with his forehead.

  He forgot all about his two wounds and threw his hands up to cover his face.

  “For everything,” he started. “Tryin’a push up, disrespecting you, even looking at you,” he added.

  I wanted to laugh at his last statement.

  “Where that paper at?” Treacherous demanded, growing tiresome of the whole situation.

  A clueless look appeared on the light-skinned kid’s face.

  “Mu’fucka you deaf?” Treacherous smacked him across the face with his hammer.

  The impact of the blow caused some of the blood debris from his mouth to splash the sleeve of my leather.

  “It’s upstairs in the closet in the shoe boxes,” he managed to mumble. His mouth was bloodied and I could see his lips beginning to swell.

  “When I come back we out,” Treacherous informed me. He didn’t have to spell it out for me because I was already on it. As Treacherous went in search of the money I got on my job.