The Fix 2

by K'wan

  The Fix 2

  K’wan

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  PROLOGUE

  PART I - DRUG RELATED

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  PART II - GOON RULES

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  PART III - OLD FRIENDS, NEW ENEMIES

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  Tut stood in the corner of the basement, silently watching the events as they were unfolding. His hand absently went to the end of one of his corn rowed hair, twisting the red and black beads that held the ends in place. It was a nervous tick of his, and he was in a tense situation. The men in the room with her were stone killers, tried and tested, and had been with his boss for years. Tut was the new kid still trying to make his bones, but he was surely on his way to being great, which was more than what he could say for their guest of dishonor, a hustler named Rick. Rick and Tut weren’t friends, but got money with the same team so they often found themselves in each other’s company. The last time Tut had seen Rick, he was smiling and telling some lame joke, but now he was the joke, naked and tied to a pool table in a random basement. Seeing Rick in his current state made Tut glad that they weren’t close, because anyone involved with him or his bullshit was either dead by that point or on their way to being dead.

  Standing over Rick, looking at him with judgmental eyes was Tut’s boss, Ramses. As usual he was draped in heavy jewels; diamond earrings in each ear, thick bracelets and a gold chain with a ridiculously large medallion hanging from the end. Ramses had a thing for jewels, the bigger the better. At any given time you could catch him with easily near $100,000 in jewels on, even if he was just hanging out. He never worried about anybody robbing him, because with one phone call Ramses could have your whole family wiped from the face of the earth. Ramses was a boss, answering to no one except Pharaoh.

  “Wake this nigga up,” Ramses said to no one in particular.

  Ramses’s right hand man, Huck, stepped up. He was a throwback cat, with a salt-and-pepper tapered afro and always wore suits. He had been Ramses’s best friend and confidant for more years than almost anyone in the room had been alive. Huck slipped on a pair of gloves before grabbing the cattle prod from the edge of the pool table. Ever so gently, he touched the end of the prod to one of Rick’s toes.

  “Muthafucka!” Rick awoke with a start. Reflexively, he tried to sit up, but found his wrists were tied down. With confused eyes, he looked around the room at the faces of the men looking back at him. The last thing Rick remembered was drinking with this chick he’d met uptown. At first he had no idea where he was or what he was doing there, but when his eyes landed on Ramses everything became crystal clear. “Ramses,” he began, but was cut off by Ramses.

  “Rick, if I were you I’d think long and hard about my next words, because they could very well be my last,” Ramses told him.

  “Ramses, I’m sorry.”

  “That much I figured out long before you admitted to it. You’re a sorry sack of shit, Rick. I just want to know, was it worth it? Was it worth biting the generous hand that’s been feeding you since you touched your first dime bag?” Ramses asked.

  Rick’s eyes watered; the weight of his deeds began to dig into his chest. “You don’t understand, Ramses.”

  Ramses walked over and looked Rick in the eyes. “Then help me to understand.”

  “They had me by the balls, man,” Rick began. “I got stopped with a kilo of pure white. I’m a two-time loser who’s already on parole for drugs. They would’ve finished me if I took it to trail. What was I supposed to do?”

  “The same thing Duce did when he got knocked.” Ramses nodded toward a young brown-skinned man. “The same thing Bunchy did when she got knocked.” He motioned toward the light-skinned girl with the big pink lips. “And the same thing Tut did when he took his pinch, keep your mouth shut, let our lawyers do what we pay them for and live like a king for your whole bid if you gotta lie down for a minute.” Ramses slapped Rick across the face hard enough to make his nose bleed. “Stupid muthafucka!”

  “I was scared, Ramses. I been around and I seen what y’all do to people who you feel are liabilities. I thought if I brought this to you, Pharaoh would’ve put the word out to have me killed,” Rick said.

  “So instead you withheld the information and now it’s my word that’ll close the curtain on your show, not Pharaoh’s.” Ramses started back toward his men.

  “So this how you gonna do me, huh? I make one mistake and you gonna do me like you did Benny?” Rick called after him. The minute the name left his mouth, he regretted it.

  Ramses stopped and turned back to Rick. This time the calm was gone from his eyes and a slow fire began burning behind them. Benny had been Ramses’s last protégé. He was a good kid and Ramses loved him like a son, but Benny had made the mistake of letting a snake whisper in his ear, planting big ideas. As a result, Ramses had to have him put down. Ramses had ordered the deaths of many men, but to that day Benny’s was one of the only ones that bothered him.

  Ramses picked up a pool stick and brought it down across Rick’s exposed stomach. “How dare you?” He brought the pool stick down again, snapping it in half when it made contact with Rick’s ribs. “Benny might’ve been overly ambitious, but he ain’t never been no cheese-eating fucking rat!” He raised the broken pool stick, and had Huck not grabbed him, Ramses would’ve driven the jagged edge into Rick’s chest.

  “Too many eyes for you to get your hands dirty,” Huck whispered in his ear. “Let your soldiers do what you keep them around for.”

  Ramses’s eyes stayed glued to Rick with the voice in the back of his head urging him to finish the disrespectful little snitch, but he knew his friend Huck was right. He trusted the men in the room well enough, but not enough to gamble his freedom on. “You’re right.” Ramses tossed the broken pool stick to the ground. “We’ll let a soldier handle this.” His eyes drifted to Tut. “What’s up, li’l nigga? You ready to represent that name I gave you?”

  “Always,” Tut said, sounding more confident than he actually was.

  “Kill this deal-cutting muthafucka!” Ramses ordered.

  Tut knew before Ramses even gave the order what was about to be asked of him. He would’ve rather Ramses ask someone else, but he hadn’t. He had called on Tut; this was his moment.

  “Do you have a problem with what I’ve asked you to do?” Ramses asked, noticing Tut hadn’t moved yet.

  “No, it’s not that. I just don’t have a gun on me,” Tut said, trying to hide his embarrassment. A few of the other men snickered.

  Ramses gave him a disbelieving look. “And why the fuck not? You’re a soldier ain’t you?”

  “Yeah, but you told me not to bring a pistol because I was riding in the car with you on the way over,” Tut reminded him.

  Ramses was so dumbstruck that all he could do was laugh. “Well, at least one of my young boys does as he’s told. I’ll tell you what, Tut, let’s make this interesting. You kill Rick in under thirty seconds and all that he owns becomes yours. The catch is, nobody is gonna give you a weapon.”

  “How am I supposed to kill
him in less than thirty seconds without a gun or a knife?” Tut asked.

  Ramses shrugged. “Be creative about it. So long as he’s dead, I don’t give a shit.”

  Tut could feel every eye in the room on him, waiting to see if he would rise to the occasion. Tut was unsure; not afraid, just unsure. He didn’t know how he was expected to go about killing Rick, but he had about twenty seconds left to figure it out. Just then Tut spotted the broken end of the pool stick Ramses had discarded and it gave him an idea. He picked up the broken piece of wood, and climbed onto the pool table to straddle Rick’s chest. Everyone expected Tut to use the broken stick to stab Rick, but he had something else in mind.

  “Don’t take this personal,” Tut told Rick, before flipping the broken pool stick around, wielding it like a club, and caving Rick’s skull in. By the time Tut was done beating Rick, he was a mess of blood and exposed bone. Bloodied and breathing heavy, Tut climbed off the table and tossed the broken pool stick at Ramses’s feet. “Was that creative enough for you?”

  Ramses burst out into a hearty laughter, clapping his thick hands in applause. “Now that’s how you end a nigga.” He draped his arm around Tut and hugged him close, ignoring the fact that Tut was getting Rick’s blood on his shirt. “Well done, King Tut. You may just live up to that name after all.”

  Ramses stepped out of the basement into the cool night air. At the curb, a black Town Car sat idling. The windows were too heavily tinted to see who was inside, but Ramses didn’t need to see to know who the lone passenger was. After giving a cautionary look around, he slipped into the back of the car and it sped off into the night.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ramses said.

  “Time is nothing to those who plan to live forever,” Pharaoh said, lighting his cigar. The flame from the lighter kissed off the blue sapphire on his pinky finger, casting a cluster of light and shadow on the side of his face. “Did you speak to Frankie?”

  “Yeah, he’s gonna come by tomorrow so we can finalize everything,” Ramses informed him.

  “Good, the sooner we get it locked up the better. You watch your ass when dealing with him, too. I don’t trust the Italians.”

  Ramses laughed. “You don’t trust anybody.”

  “You better damn well know it, and that’s why I’m still in power while my competition withers and dies like untended flowers. The little prince is getting too big for his britches and we’re going to eventually have to knock him down a few pegs. His father was a man of reason, but not his heir. If he wants to play war games then I’ll entertain him. I will be king of kings or I will be dead,” Pharoah vowed.

  “So it is said, so it shall be done.”

  “What about that other thing?” Pharaoh motioned toward the building Ramses had just come out of.

  “We got it done,” Ramses told him.

  “Good,” Pharaoh said, exhaling the smoke. “With this new mayor and his crusade we gotta make sure everything is tight. He’s throwing football numbers at first-time offenders, and some of these dudes are getting spooked. Nobody wants to grow old in prison, and I respect that, but at the same time we need to ensure that everybody within our inner circle can hold their weight and their water, understand?”

  “Yeah, I can dig it,” Ramses agreed. “Our shit is gonna be tighter than virgin pussy. I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Speaking of personal missions, what’s up with your boy Tut? Is he ready to take the next step?” Pharaoh asked.

  Ramses looked at the blood on his shirt. “Yeah, he’s ready.”

  PART I

  DRUG RELATED

  CHAPTER 1

  New York City: 2008

  “Tell me why we’re doing this again?” Omega asked, adjusting the rubber mask that was sitting cocked on the top of his head. The face was of the mask was molded to look like Arsenio Hall. Omega had to cut the back of it open to compensate for his dreads. His lips were half twisted into a disapproving scowl. He obviously didn’t want to be there, but his sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow him to let his friend go alone.

  “Because Pharaoh wants it done,” Li’l Monk replied. He wore a wool ski mask, rolled on his head like a sailor’s cap. In the recesses of the shadows you could barely make out his face, but his cold eyes glistened faintly when the street lights caught them.

  “Pharaoh didn’t ask us to do shit. Ramses just happened to mention that Pharaoh wanted someone dead. He never directly came out and asked us to get involved,” Omega reminded him.

  Li’l Monk spared him a glance. “Ramses said that Pharaoh had a problem and would look favorably on the person who took care of it for him. In my mind, that’s just as good as asking. With niggas like Pharaoh and Ramses, you gotta read between the lines. They’re never going to come out and ask you to do anything, because they feel they shouldn’t have to. If you know the boss has a problem, out of loyalty to your cause, you handle it without being told to. That’s how a soldier moves.”

  “Well, I ain’t no soldier. I’m a boss,” Omega said.

  Li’l Monk laughed. It was a deep, grating sound that always made Omega squeamish when he heard it. “Don’t get to thinking that because Ramses gave us that block our opinions really count for shit. We got a little authority, but no real clout yet. Giving us that strip was like a pat on the head for a job well done, nothing more. Moving on this bit of work for Pharaoh, this is the kinda shit that’s gonna get us closer to a seat at the big boy table. Let me drop a jewel on you, my nigga, the trick to this shit is anticipating what the boss wants and taking care of it before he asks. Know your allies as intimately as you know your enemies.”

  “What is that? Some kinda quote from one of those war books you’re always reading? The way you keep your nose buried in those things, you’d think you were about to go to war,” Omega joked.

  Li’l Monk looked at him seriously. “Nigga, we deal in poison and death. Every time we step out of the house we’re on the front lines and can get pushed off the planet at any given second. You gotta be mentally and physically ready to kill or die at all times. Tighten up, O.” He patted Omega’s chest with one of his heavy hands.

  “Damn, I was just fucking with you, Li’l Monk,” Omega said, rubbing his chest where Li’l Monk had patted him. Sometimes his friend didn’t know his own strength. Omega could tell that Li’l Monk was in one of his dark moods. Omega hated when he got like that. Normally, Li’l Monk was a gentle soul with a heart of gold, but when the darkness set in, he became someone else. “So, what’s the plan?” Omega asked, letting his partner know he was with him.

  Li’l Monk lifted his shirt, showing off several neatly packaged bundles of cocaine. “We orchestrate a drug-related homicide.”

  Omega shook his head. “You got it all mapped out, huh?”

  “Don’t I always? You know how we do, Omega. I put them in the holes and you throw dirt over them,” Li’l Monk joked.

  Omega didn’t find it funny. “Anyone have any idea why Ramses wants these dudes gone?”

  Li’l Monk contemplated how candid he should be with his partner. When he saw who they had come for, he would no doubt be apprehensive, maybe even to the point of backing out on him. It had been an unexpected surprise to Li’l Monk too, when he volunteered them for the missions and Ramses revealed who the targets were. When Ramses had gone on to reveal the crimes the men had committed to put them out of favor with the Pharaoh, all doubt left his mind as to whether he should take them out. For Li’l Monk, it was personal, but Omega had no such connections, so would he feel Li’l Monk’s pain? Would he still be down to commit murder if he knew the true motives behind it?

  “They raped a girl, and she killed herself as a result,” Li’l Monk said, giving Omega enough to motivate him, but sparing him the details.

  “Rapists?” Omega asked, unable to hide the emotion in his voice. He had a special hatred for rapists. “Shit, why didn’t you say so? Let’s whack these niggas.” He drew his 9 mm from his coat.

  “Glad you feel that
way, because here they come.” Li’l Monk nodded toward the building across the street.

  Out stepped two huge men, obviously security. Trailing them were three young dudes, wearing heavy jewelry. Clinging to the men like cheap suits were several girls of various shades and shapes. The groupies hung on everything the men said like they were quoting scripture. Every few feet they would stop and pose for pictures for one of the many people who flocked them.

  When Omega saw who they had come to murder, his eyes got wide. “Wait, ain’t that . . .”

  “Sure is,” Li’l Monk answered the question before Omega could finish asking it. Seeing his prey made his jaw tighten and the veins in the backs of his hands pop out as he clenched and unclenched his fist. His heart beat so hard in his chest that it threatened to burst in anticipation of the mayhem he was about to wreak on the downtown Manhattan block.

  “Wait, I thought we were just coming to clip some regular dudes. We can’t get at them, at least not here. There’s too many people around and too many cameras!” Omega tried to reason with his best friend. He loved Li’l Monk like a brother, but wasn’t quite ready to go to prison for him. What he was planning to do was insane.

  “The more cameras, the better,” Li’l Monk said over his shoulder while rummaging through a trash can. From it, he produced a black plastic bag. With a flick of his knife, he cut the bag open to reveal the sleek MP5K. “Let their adoring fans watch how ugly I do these thirsty niggas.” He pulled the ski mask down over his face and started across the street.

  Omega called after him, but Li’l Monk was too far gone to reason with. He had two choices: leave while he still could and hope Li’l Monk didn’t land in prison, or watch his partner’s back to make sure he got out in one piece. He chose the latter.

  Red Dog recording studio was located on the top floor of a loft that doubled as a nightclub on the weekends. For the past twelve hours it had been rented by Big Dawg entertainment so that one of their groups, Bad Blood, could finally finish their album. It had been a long and tedious studio session and all parties involved were happy that it was over.