Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 2

by J. M. Benjamin

  Troy’s head was spinning. He had just regained consciousness as he lay there fighting for his life. Images of his fiancée and son paraded in his mind. It was those images that kept him holding on. Troy had felt each bullet pierce his flesh and knew he had been hit numerous times by the revolvers the robber unloaded in him, so he wasn’t sure if he would make it. All he could think about was staying alive long enough for him to see his family one more time. Despite his body being filled with at least a half-dozen slugs, Troy felt a discomfort on his right side. Something was poking him and he knew what that something was. Troy strained to shift his body and lift his left arm to retrieve the weapon from underneath him. He remembered how he had placed it on his hip when he and Gus had stopped for the female’s fake fall. He somehow managed to get his body to slightly shift just enough to reach his service weapon, but the weight of his arm felt like a ton each time he tried to raise it. Tears trickled out the corners of his eyes from the excruciating pain he was enduring, but still he refused to give up. He attempted to raise his arm for the fifth time. A sharp pain jolted his body as he raised it again just below his side. It seemed to be getting heavier and heavier with each strain. “No,” Troy growled as he exerted all the strength he had into the attempt. It was enough to get his arm onto his chest. Accomplishing that, an out-of-breath Troy inched his hand toward the weapon. A sense of achievement mixed with relief filled his body as he felt his fingertips brush the butt of his weapon. Having his left arm over his chest made it easier for Troy to shift his body now even more. He knew his next move was going to be crucial and had to be precise. All in one motion, Troy threw all his weight to his right side and slid his hand onto his weapon. As he felt himself rolling over, he was able to lock in on the weapon and pull it out before he landed on his stomach. Still out of breath, Troy let out a few blood-filled coughs. Just then he heard sounds coming from the back of the armored truck. He hoped the perpetrators hadn’t heard him. Troy’s adrenaline was pumping. With what little strength he still possessed Troy was able to release his safety on his .40 cal and aimed it in front of him, prepared for whoever or whatever came from behind the armored truck. Seconds turned into minutes without anyone coming from behind the vehicle, but Troy continued to play possum, laying there waiting patiently on the ground for any opportunity that might present itself. Just then Troy heard footsteps and knew it was either now or never. He focused his aim on the end of the armored truck and locked in. He knew he’d have to act fast and make his shots count. With each footstep Troy’s heart rate increased, but no one appeared around the corner. The sound of the motorcycle’s engine behind him startled Troy, nearly causing his heart to leap out his chest, but not enough to cause him to lose focus on his aim. Fortunately for Troy, he was able to maintain his composure. He would have never seen the robber before the robber had seen him as he came from around the side of the armored truck. Troy’s right bloodstained eye grew small as it locked in on its intended target and without hesitation he fired a round. By the way the robber’s body slammed up against the vehicle Troy knew his shot was successful. His second round was fired with confidence, finding its intended target once more. Troy’s eyes met with the man who was responsible for him laying there on the ground. Although his seemed much darker and cold to him, Troy could see pain in his assailant’s eyes and wondered had the man seen that same pain in his own eyes. If he had, he didn’t care, Troy knew. He didn’t care that he was another black man like himself and didn’t care that he had a fiancée and kid waiting for him at home. And with that thought in mind Troy squeezed the trigger and released a third shot, but never got to see its final destination. The last thing Troy heard was a woman’s voice.

  Teflon was now off her bike with gun in hand racing toward the direction of where the sudden commotion erupted. The first thing she spotted was Rich planted up against the side of the armored truck. Instantly, she flew into a blind rage. She had just reached the security guard laid on the ground as he fired his next shot.

  “Muthafucka!” Teflon screamed and without thinking twice she pumped three shots into the back of his head. She then rushed over to Rich.

  Rich watched in admiration as Teflon finished off the security guard and came to his aid. If he ever had any doubt, which he hadn’t, there was no room for any now as to why his son had loved her so much, thought Rich. At that moment Rich deemed Teflon the true definition of a ride or die chick.

  “Shit,” Teflon cursed, seeing the blood seeping out the side of Rich’s neck. “Give me your hand.” She placed Rich’s hand on the side of his neck and pressed it against it. “Just hold that right there ’til I find something,” she began, examining Rich’s body for other wounds. “Where else are you hit?”

  In attempts to make light of the situation, Rich cracked a smile. “Don’t worry about me, baby girl. I’ll be all right. You need to get out of here,” he said calmly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, you gotta go. You gotta stick to the plan.”

  “I see these fuckin’ bullets got you delirious,” Teflon said, ignoring his suggestion. “If you gonna talk stupid don’t talk at all, save your strength,” she added.

  “Hold on youngin’, I’m still your elder,” Rich shot back.

  “And you’re also my partner, so act like it,” Teflon shot right back. “We in this together, ride or die, right?”

  Rich could not dispute that. That was the creed they lived by. “He caught me under here,” he offered, indicating he had been hit in the upper torso.

  “I gotta get you outta here.” Teflon knew the only way Rich could have any chance of living was if she got him somewhere where she could nurse and dress his wounds. She also knew that she could not handle the one duffel bag, let alone two and Rich all on her bike. Her mind was operating at 200 miles per hour trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation. Just then an answer appeared.

  A tired Judy Smith had been driving since 4:00 a.m. for the past three and half hours from Washington, D.C. and was relieved to see that her exit was up ahead. Although she was tired, she was not in the least bit complaining. After all, this was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Being a thirty-two-year-old white female who had been working in corporattions run by men since she was the ripe age of twenty-one, she jumped at the chance to represent the firm and be privy to the next promotional spot due to open. Her navigation system in the rental the company she worked for provided for her said she was only eight miles away from her final destination. Her business meeting was scheduled for 9:30, which gave her more then enough time to check into the hotel and make it to her meeting on time. “In three hundred feet exit right,” the navigation system announced. Judy put her turn signal on and veered over toward the exit.

  “Fuck,” she cursed under her breath, seeing that traffic was backed up on her exit. She slowed the Dodge Avenger down twenty feet from the back of the armored truck.

  Judy impatiently checked her Rolex watch. “Come on, people,” she yelled to no one in particular. Just then a woman appeared from the side of the armored truck heading in Judy’s direction. There was no doubt in her mind now that an accident had occurred up ahead. Judy rolled down her driver’s-side window to find out what was going on.

  “Good morning.”

  That was all she was able to get out before Teflon drew her gun from behind her back and in one motion shoving the 9 mm in the car and dumping one shot in her skull. Part of Judy’s brain matter splashed across the passenger’s window as she slumped over the steering wheel. Teflon immediately sprung into action. She opened the driver’s-side door and unfastened the seat belt, then grabbed the Caucasian woman by the back of the neck, snatched her up, and flung her out of the car. She checked the time on her watch. They were twelve minutes behind schedule with eighteen minutes remaining before the armored truck’s drop-off would become suspicious and investigate. Teflon dragged the 103-pound white lady’s body to the armored truck, reopened the back, picked her up, and tossed her
inside.

  “You still with me?” she asked Rich, who had now slid down to the ground.

  “Yeah, barely,” was his response.

  “What’s important is that you’re still here. We don’t have much time, I found us a way outta here,” Teflon informed Rich.

  “Yeah, I heard,” he said, grinning in reference to the shot he’d heard moments ago.

  “By any means necessary, right,” Teflon stated.

  “By any means necessary,” he repeated.

  “I need you to lift up so I can take this bag to the car,” she then told Rich, leaning over him. Once she assisted Rich in freeing his arms from the duffel bag Teflon hiked the bag over her shoulder and lugged it to the car. She reached inside the Dodge Avenger and popped the trunk, then threw the duffel bag inside, then made her way to retrieve the one she had laid beside her bike. Once both bags were secured Teflon hurried back over to Rich.

  “Come on ol’ man, let’s get you outta here,” Teflon said as she reached down to help Rich from the ground.

  “What I tell you about all of that old man nonsense. Ain’t nothing ol’ about me but my soul.”

  “Yeah yeah, you can tell me all about it later. Right now let me get you to this car,” Teflon told him.

  Rich noticed the unlucky person’s brain matter plastered all over the passenger-side window as soon as Teflon opened the door.

  “You gotta wipe that off before we go, can’t be riding around like this,” Rich advised right before she secured him in the car.

  “I know.”

  Teflon took off her black-leather riding jacket then lifted her black I Ride Hard T-shirt off and began wiping the window. Satisfied she had gotten the bulk of the brain debris off she balled the T-shirt up. “Here, put this on your neck.” She then threw her jacket inside the car, closed the door, and made her way to the driver’s side.

  She started the car and again took a look at her watch. Three seconds after she looked at the watch the alarm sounded on both hers and Rich’s. indicating they had reached the time they had given themselves for the caper they had just pulled. They were supposed to have been long gone, but the unexpected had happened, just as it had when she and Treacherous had pulled their last caper together. Too many similarities, thought Teflon, but she refused to let the final outcome end the same. She threw the Avenger in reverse, and backed up off the ramp, then back onto the highway. She knew there was no way for authorities to trace the motorcycles back to them because they were stolen, so she had no problem leaving them on the exit ramp. Teflon put the car in drive and accelerated onto the highway headed for the next exit. Just as she sped off a car was slowing to exit. She counted her blessings for making it off the ramp in time and onto the highway unnoticed.

  “Recalculating,” the navigation system wailed out of nowhere. Teflon took the butt of her weapon and smashed the system until it went silent.

  “You killing up everything today, huh?” Rich said humorously in a raspy tone, still applying pressure to his gunshot wound.

  “I swear you and your son should have been twins,” she laughed.

  “No, you and him should have been brother and sister.” The two of them both shared a laugh.

  In record-breaking time, Teflon closed in on the exit, which was 7 miles from where they had just departed.

  “I’m gonna stop and take care of you, then come back as soon as I get li’l Treach,” Teflon suggested.

  “Like hell you will,” Rich sided against. “I’m good. Remember, we’re in this together, ride or die.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Let’s stick to the script and go get my grandson,” Rich took charge despite his condition. Teflon didn’t argue with him. Instead, she exited off the highway and headed for the next destination

  Chapter 20

  “Charlie one this is Charlie two,” the helicopter radioed in.

  “Go ahead Charlie two.”

  “I have visual on that location.”

  “Copy that Charlie two. What’s the status?”

  “We got two bodies, an armored car, two motorcycles, another vehicle, and a pedestrian on foot on exit eighty-seven on Interstate two-sixty-four. Requesting all available units to location.”

  “Copy that Charlie two.”

  The helicopter watched as the pedestrian continued to jump up and down, waving his arms in the air in attempts to flag him down. Unable to land and assist in whatever had taken place on the ramp, the helicopter hovered over the area until backup arrived on the scene. Within minutes all available units swarmed the surrounding area.

  “Jesus freakin’ Christ, what took you guys so freakin’ long,” the twenty-six-year-old Caucasian man named Todd ranted to the first officer to arrive, walking toward the patrol car as soon as the officer stepped out. “There’s freakin’ bodies all over the place.”

  Instantly he was met with a gun pointed in his direction. “Sir, stay where you, and let me see your hands,” the trooper shouted.

  “Holy shit,” Todd nervously yelled, complying with the orders given to him. “Dude, you got the wrong guy,” he managed to say.

  “On your knees now,” another trooper yelled his way with gun drawn as well.

  “This is bullshit,” Todd bellowed. “I called you fuckin’ guys,” he added, dropping to his knees. In seconds, Todd was surrounded by a minimum of what seemed to be a hundred police.

  The first officer on the scene placed handcuffs on Todd.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I didn’t do any fuckin’ thing,” he responded.

  “Sir, what is your name?” the officer repeated.

  “Todd Anderson.”

  “Mr. Anderson, you have the right to remain silent.” Just then a shift commander arrived on the scene. “Is that Mr. Anderson?” he asked the officer.

  “Yeah, Chief.”

  “Take those handcuffs off him,” he ordered.

  An I-told-you-so look appeared on Todd’s face when the trooper uncuffed him.

  The trooper paid him no mind. He had seen worse looks and had been cursed out enough in similar situations that he had become immune to it.

  “Thank you, Chief,” Todd said as if the two had known one another their entire life.

  Chief Andre Randle had been in law enforcement thirty-three of his fifty-two years of existence, choosing the profession initially thinking he could solve the unsolved murder of his older brother, who was the victim of a racial hate crime one uneventful evening after a bullet took his life while leaving a high school party. He never did crack the case, but had since then solved many others. Being African American and from the Norfolk area gave the chief an advantage over others when it came to the way he did his job. It was, in fact, his street smarts that contributed to his successes over the years. His experience and knowledge of the urban communities earned him a 98 percent crime-solving rate. Today he intended to maintain that number.

  “Please come with me, Mr. Anderson,” the chief replied.

  Todd followed as the police on the scene secured the area. Todd could see flares alongside of the ramp trailing up to the top of the exit, the area being yellow-taped off and officers walking around in search of clues as to what may have happened.

  “Mr. Anderson, you were the one who notified nine-one-one, correct?” the chief asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you tell us what you saw?”

  “Sure. I was coming down two-sixty-four after leaving my girlfriend Debbie’s house out in Virginia Beach, making my way home.”

  “Where’s home?” the officer taking notes asked.

  “Right here. Norfolk.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “So, I’m driving down the highway coming up on my exit when I see some asshole, backing his car up off the exit ramp. And I’m thinking to myself, this idiot is lost.”

  “Why would you think that?” the chief asked.

  “Because the car had Washington, D.C. tags on it.”
/>   “Did you happened to remember the plate number?” the other officer asked.

  “Not really, but the first two letters did stick out,” Todd answered.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because they were our home state’s initials.”

  “You mean VA?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, that’s good. What about the car? Can you tell us the make of the car?”

  “Now that I can help you with. That’s easy because my aunt Sharon has one just like it, only hers is silver and I think it’s a freakin’ knockoff of the Magnum and Charger, which I like the Charger best,” Todd rambled.

  The chief’s tolerance was wearing thin. “Mr. Anderson, can you please answer Officer Perez’s question?”

  “Oh, sorry about that, Chief. Yes, it was a royal blue Dodge Avenger.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Is there anything else you can think of that may be of some help?” the chief asked.

  “Uh,” he thought. “Oh, I think there were two people in the car and I could be wrong on this one, but it looked like it was a woman driving, an African American woman. That’s all I can think of.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson, you’ve been more then helpful and I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. Go call it in,” he said all in one breath to Todd and the investigating officer.