The Union II

by Tremayne Johnson

  “Fuck you and that tape, Cleo.” The few guests who sat at the table started to get up and leave. “Everybody sit down. This won’t take long.”

  After Cleo killed Casey in the hotel, he knew the only way the police could identify him was by the surveillance tape. He reached out to the mob boss because of his strong ties to the city, and magically the tape came up missing. Cleo then swore to an agreement with Vinny that the tape would be destroyed in exchange for a million dollars, but Cleo couldn’t come up with the money. A second chance was given when Vinny ordered him to kill Mox, but again, Cleo didn’t produce. The old man felt like his hand had been forced.

  “All the work I put in for you, and this how you treat me? We had an agreement about that tape. You broke your promise, Vinny.”

  “No, you didn’t produce. Besides, promises are made to be broken.” He raised his eyebrows at his men and they snatched Cleo up from both sides.

  There was no fighting it, he was outnumbered. The mob boss got within an inch of his face. “You know, Cleo, you got some fuckin’ nerve comin’ here.” his voice was dry and hoarse. “First of all, you’re interruptin’ my fuckin’ wine and cheese party.” Two of the guest smirked, but this was far from a laughing matter. “I trusted you with my family and what did I get!?” his voice went as loud as he could get it. “Huh, what did I get, Cleo? You know what I got? A dead fuckin’ son, that’s what!” Vinny looked to his left. “Mikey, teach this fuckin’ guy a lesson.”

  Cleo looked to the right and Mikey scowled at him. “What’s up, Cleo?”

  He sounded clogged and stuffed up. He had gauze wrapped around his face to protect his nose from when Mox hit him with the gun.

  Sensing the situation was about to take a turn for the worse, Cleo tried to reason. “Vinny wait, I did it. I killed, Mox.”

  The old man smiled, fixed his suit jacket and then returned to his seat. “So you come here for what; a trophy or somethin’?” a dry giggle escaped his mouth, but the flame in his eyes told another story. “It’s too late, Cleo.” He sat back, crossed his right leg over his left and waited.

  The sound that the ten inch Falcon Stiletto folding knife made when Mikey flipped it open, caused Cleo to twist his neck in an attempt to see what it was. The glare from the track lighting that hung fifteen feet in the air hit the stainless steel blade and made it glimmer.

  Cleo’s eyes grew wide.

  Mikey gripped the mirror finish wood handle tightly with revenge the only thought on his mind. It was weighing on him so heavily, that recently, he had become depressed and eagerly violent, which was unlike him. He painfully wanted to avenge his brother’s death and the only thing preventing a homicide this evening would be the county police officer who was standing by the entrance waiting on an order of pasta.

  “You scarred my family for life when you killed my little brother.” He said, taking a few steps closer to Cleo. “And since I can’t kill you right now, I’ma leave you wit’ a scar to remember me by until I catch up to you again.”

  Cleo kept his focus on the knife. “I ain’t have nothin’ to do wit’ your brother’s murder.”

  Mikey ignored his words and placed the razor-sharped blade to the side of Cleo’s face. “Every time you take a look in a mirror, you’ll be reminded of why you shouldn’t fuck wit’ the Telescos.”

  He slowly dragged the blade south; from his forehead to the bottom of his chin. As soon as he lifted his hand, Cleo’s face opened up like a baked potato split down the middle, with butter and sour cream topping.

  The high pitched howl he let out was ear wrenching.

  He tried to break away, but as big as he was, Cleo still couldn’t fight his way out the grasps of Vinny’s henchmen.

  A stream of blood raced down his chest from the wound. His tongue could literally be seen through the side of his cheek.

  The police officer heard the shriek, looked up, and started to walk to the back, but Vinny waved his hand, assuring him that everything was okay. He had an idea of what was going on, but he and the Telescos were like family. Even though he was very aware of their business, he did his best to turn a blind eye to it.

  “You’ve been nothin’ but problems lately, Cleo.” Vinny got up. “Gimme that.” he grabbed the knife from Mikey. “I know you heard that old saying, ‘never bite the hand that feeds you’, well, you bit me once and I sure won’t give you the chance to do it again.”

  The dirty blonde haired henchman gripped Cleo’s wrist and slammed his hand down on the table.

  Vinny clutched the knife firmly between his fingers, lifted it, and smashed the sharp-edged blade into the back of Cleo’s right hand.

  The pain shot through his arm, and instantly, he felt the discomfort through his whole body, but he didn’t make a sound. He just gazed into Vinny’s passionless eyes, searching for a speck of endearment, but nothing was there.

  The only thing positive about this situation was that Cleo knew Vinny wouldn’t have him killed right now. It was too many witnesses.

  The old man yanked the knife out of his hand, wiped the blood onto Cleo’s shirt, and hissed, “Get this piece-a-shit outta my face.”

  Two of the henchmen pulled Cleo by his arms and pushed him out the front door.

  Stumbling to his feet, he barely made it back to the Town Car before he mumbled. “Drive, Chris.” He pulled the door shut with his good hand.

  His wounded hand was wrapped up in his t-shirt, but the bleeding was getting heavier.

  Chris wasted no time. He started the car, threw it in drive, and peeled from the scene. When he checked the rearview mirror, he saw all the blood on Cleo’s shirt. It was definitely more than what had been there before. “Oh shit! What the hell?? We gotta get you to a hospital. Cleo, you alright?”

  “No hospitals, Chris. Jus’ drive.” He looked down at the dime sized hole in his hand and could almost see right through it.

  “Here, take these.” Chris tossed the two hand towels he kept in the glove compartment into the backseat with Cleo. “Use them to slow up the blood flow. Just wrap it around your hand and squeeze it.”

  Cleo wanted to smile, but just the thought of it made his face hurt. “You a fuckin’ doctor now, Chris?”

  “Naw, but I saw someone do it on that television show, Survivor. It works, trust me.”

  “Trust will get you killed, Chris.”

  The Town Car veered to the right and went down the ramp and onto the highway.

  “Okay, listen. I know somebody who could help you out right now. You know, fix you up. No hospitals. No police; none of that.”

  “Get me there, and Chris,” Cleo paused and looked in disgust at his reflection in the partition as small droplets of blood continued to fall from his chin. “If it aint what you say it is… I’ma kill you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Yes, daddy! Oooh! Have it baby, this pussy yours, Franky!” Toya bellowed; arching her back and rotating her 46 inch, lemon colored hips while Frank plugged her from behind. “Beat this pussy up, daddy… ohhhhh!”

  The distinctly alluring 26 year old Latoya Reid is a 6 foot, 165 pound redbone with straight, long black hair that hangs to the middle of her back. She has grey, cat-like eyes, a bunch of freckles spread out across the top of her rosy cheeks, and an ass that belongs in Straight Stuntin’ Magazine.

  Her sunny colored complexion makes her look like she’s of foreign descent, but the reality is, she’s just an old country girl from the deep southern woods of South Carolina who migrated to New York in pursuit of a dream.

  She and Frank met on the set of a video that she had been hired to perform in, and ever since that day, he’s been knocking it down.

  “Who pussy is this? Who pussy is this?” Frank thrust his pelvis back and forth, sliding his 9 ½ inches as far into Toya’s vagina as possible. “This my pussy!”

  “Yes!” She screamed. “Go deep daddy, ohhhhh, yeah… take this pussy! Take this puussssyyy!” Toya’s walls were contracting and the sensational pleasures she was
feeling were quite uncommon for her. She came back to back to back, releasing her creamy white frosting all over Frank’s dick.

  A sheer coat of sweat covered his body as he physically punished Toya’s love box.

  His hands were placed at the small of her back in a diamond like position so he could control all movement.

  He looked down at her soft pretty ass sliding on his glistening dick and smiled.

  Beads of perspiration slipped from his forehead and onto her ass cheeks as he worked the middle.

  All those late nights in the gym is paying off.

  His stamina was at its highest level and his performance was at its peak.

  He stood up on his toes and submerged himself in the pussy.

  “Ohhhhhh!” Toya moaned. “That shit is deeeeppp, daddy! Ummmm…”

  Frank grabbed her by the waistline, and in a sequential cadence, he rammed his power rod between her vaginal lips. “Say my name, girl! Tell me who run this muthafucka!”

  Toya could barely catch her breath to speak. “Fraaa—”

  “Say my name, girl!”

  “Fraaann—” she still couldn’t get it out.

  Her shrieks of pure joy grew louder, and all you could hear was skin slapping, heavy panting, and the headboard of Frank’s $3000 queen sized bed banging against the wall.

  “Say it, girl!”

  “Frrraaannnkyyy, baaaabbbyyyy!!”

  Frank backed up, rolled the condom off his dick, and splashed a load of cum all over Toya’s ass. “Ahhhhhh!” he spanked her cheeks until he released the last drop and then he fell onto the bed beside her.

  His cellphone rang, but he noticed that it was on the opposite side of the bed and out of reach. “Answer that for me.” he said.

  Toya looked at him, rolled her eyes and picked up the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?”

  The caller replied. “Lemme speak to Frank.”

  “Who dis?”

  “Bitch, put Frank on the phone!”

  Toya sucked her teeth. “Here, nigga.”

  She dropped the phone on Frank’s chest and he pressed the speaker button.

  “Hello?”

  “You lettin’ bitches answer your phone now?”

  Toya’s lip turned up. “Bitches?”

  “Yeah, you heard me, video hoe.”

  “Fuck you, nigga!”

  Frank grabbed the phone, took it off speaker, and looked at Toya. “Yo, chill.”

  “Fuck that. You jus’ gon’ sit there and let that nigga call me all types a’ bitches? Fuck you too!” She got up and walked out the room.

  Frank sat up in the bed. “Nate what up?”

  “I need to see you.”

  “Why, wassup?”

  “Shit got crazy. Somebody hit Mox.”

  “What!?”

  “Word… said he got hit in the head. It’s ugly right now.”

  Frank’s lip dropped and the phone fell from his grasp, hitting the carpet.

  The only people he could think of that were capable of something like this were the Italians.

  His head slumped and he stared down at the phone. He could hear Nate calling for him, but his mind was someplace else.

  Mox was like a brother to Frank and the rest of the team. If it meant going to war with the Italians, then bodies were about to drop. Regardless of stature, creed or street ranking; nobody touched a Union affiliate and got away with it.

  Frustration, anger and pure ignorance clouded his thoughts as he reached for the phone. “Somebody gotta bleed, Nate. They touch one of ours, we touch one of theirs. You know how this shit go.”

  Nate felt the exact same way, but the question was, who was getting touched?

  “Yeah, I feel you, but who?”

  “Those fuckin’ Italians, who else?” Frank answered.

  “Nah, Frank, this shit happened in the hood. I know the Italians got balls, but them shits ain’t that big and them muthafuckas ain’t just gunnin’ niggas down in the hood like that.”

  Frank took a minute to think about what Nate was saying. “Okay,” he nodded his head in agreement. “You might be right about that.” he tried to think about any other instances where they may have had an altercation with someone a while back, but nothing came to mind. “You spoke to Cleo?”

  “Not at all, but what you wanna do about this? I’m on my way to New Ro right now.”

  Frank wiped his face in confusion. For a second he thought he was dreaming. But when Toya stepped back into the room, he knew shit was real.

  She was still upset about Nate calling her out her name. “I can’t believe you sat there and let that nigga call me a bitch.”

  If she was paying attention, she would have clearly seen the discomforting look of annoyance plastered on Frank’s grill. “Leave it alone, Toya.” he warned.

  “Leave it alone?” Her eyebrows rose. “What the fuck you mean, leave it alone? This nigg—”

  Frank leapt from the bed and cut her off in mid-sentence. “I said let it go, Toya!” his face was flush with tears.

  She was shocked.

  Her mouth hung open and her eyes were stuck to Frank’s face. “I… I…” she didn’t know what to say, but Frank let it be known.

  “Mox got shot.”

  The words didn’t even feel right coming off his tongue.

  “What? Oh no, I’m sorry, baby.” Toya heard the convulsion in Frank’s voice and felt sympathy and deep sorrow for him, Mox, and the whole Daniels family.

  She liked Mox and had actually been given the chance to meet him one night in Frank’s club a couple weeks back. At first impression, she was awed at how someone of his eminence could present himself in such a reposeful and unruffled fashion.

  According to the stories she had been hearing, this guy Mox was being portrayed as some type of brash, gun toting, drug dealer, killing machine. From her observation, he was just a young street nigga with a good head on his shoulders. Combined with the discipline to abide by a set of principles, and the determination to get what he wanted. Mox’s leadership qualities were easily recognized by strangers.

  Frank picked his pants up and started to put them on. “I gotta go.” he said.

  “Wait...” Toya grabbed his hand. He was shaking. “Baby, where you going?”

  Frank pulled away, ignored her question and went to the closet to get his gun.

  “Frank, please don’t leave.” She begged, watching him check the clip.

  He placed the gun in his waistband and threw on a three-button, short sleeve Polo shirt. “That’s my brother, Toya. What you expect me to do?” he snatched his car keys off the table and stormed out of the house.

  There was nothing more she could say or do; Frank had his mind made up.

  Toya watched from the second floor window as he got into his car and drove away. She cried and silently prayed that everything would be okay, but deep within her gut, she knew that was a far distance from the truth.

  Tupac’s expressive true-to-life lyrics trumpeted through the Bose stereo system as Frank clutched the wheel with one hand and held a lit blunt in the other. He let the thick ghost like smoke flow through his nostrils while he kept his eyes glued to the road.

  Pac’s vocals were mesmeric.

  My Ambitionz Az A Ridah…

  The sleek black 500 Benz hugged the road as Frank pushed the machine to speeds reaching close to one hundred miles an hour. By the time the blunt was done, he was cruising down Horton Avenue, pulling up to the projects.

  It was 7:15 pm and the sun was just beginning to set. The dull red and yellowish rays produced an orange glow that hovered over the projects. The lingering smell of death permeated the air.

  Whether it was a shooting, stabbing, fist fight or just a heated argument, whenever there was an incident in the hood, everybody came outside to be nosy. This night was no different.

  The past three days had produced two shootings; one a murder and the other had yet to be told. Who would have thought that the summer was just beginning to blosso
m?

  Frank stepped from the vehicle and made his way down the strip towards the buildings. When he passed the park area, he was approached by a young kid on a pedal bike.

  “Yo, what’s good?” the kid said.

  Frank slowed his stride to get a good look at the kid. “You know me?” he replied.

  He knew something was up with him. It was eighty degrees outside and this kid had on shorts and a black hoodie.