by Tranay Adams
“Are you alright? Are you okay?” Worry etched across her face as she patted him down and looked for any wounds. She didn’t find any on him.
“I’m okay, sweetheart.” He grasped her hand and kissed it tenderly as he stared up into her eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.” He smirked and nodded.
“Thank God.” She sighed with relief and hung her head.
Zonyai patted her hand comfortingly and fired up the Maserati. He glanced at the side view mirror and pulled off from the parking space. He stole a look at Marbella and then focused his attention back on the road. Marbella rode in the front passenger seat staring out of the window. When she shut her eyes she was hit with several visuals of all of the shit she’d been through in life. Seeing it made her whimper and tears ran down her face. She quickly snorted up the snot that almost fell and wiped her eyes. Through the reflection in the glass she saw Zonyai looking at her questioningly, an indention across his forehead.
“Are you, okay, baby?” he asked with worry in his voice.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?” he rubbed on her thigh trying to comfort her, looking from her to the windshield.
“Uh huh.” She nodded and swiped away her tears with her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down and peeled her eyelids back open. Her eyebrows arched and her jaws twitched having clenched them so tight. Right then she promised herself that she wasn’t going to be a victim anymore. She was going to be a force to be reckoned with. If anybody wanted problems then she was going to bring it to them. It was time to stand up for herself and show her enemies just what the fuck she was capable of.
Chapter Ten
Buzzzzzzz! The small mechanical tool made its noise as it went to work to satisfy another customer’s request. Brolic’s face twitched with every poke of the tattoo gun’s needle that jabbed at his chest. The shaved-head tattoo artist’s tongue peeked out the side of his mouth. His face was a mask of concentration as he crafted his latest masterpiece, occasionally wiping the ink away with a balled up Kleenex. He was an artist and human skin was his canvas.
Meanwhile
Joey-T pushed the Lincoln through traffic with Jackie Needles playing the front passenger seat with his head on a swivel. They had already gotten a hold of a very important plug that gave them Zonyai’s address. They were hoping that they would catch him and their boss’s wife there but didn’t have such luck. However, they did come off with a million dollars in cash that they had no plans of telling Franklin about. They’d already divided the loot and stashed their cuts at their respective locations. Now they were headed to meet up with their boss to report to him.
“Boy I tell ya, I can’t wait to get my hands on that fine ass Marbella,” Joey-T had a concentrated expression on his face as he made the shape of the mob wife’s body with his hands excitedly. “I’m gonna fuck her right before I kill her.”
Jackie Needles chuckled and smiled as he glanced over at his partner. “Now ya talking. Twelve seconds of torture and then ya send her to make peace.”
“Fuck you, wise guy,” his face scrunched up and he playfully punched him.
Jackie Needles’ eyes lit up and he sat up in his seat. “There’s one of their younger guys over there.” he pointed out of the window at a dimly lit residential street. Joey-T followed his line of vision and made a U-turn.
****
Wayne pulled up in front of Mira’s apartment complex and murdered the engine. He and his beezy had gone to go see Straight out of Compton. Afterwards, they grabbed a bite to eat and stopped at the liquor store. The youngster copped a bottle of Belvedere, an apple Snapple, rolling papers and some Magnums. He’d been plotting on that pussy for some time now and he couldn’t wait to slide off up in it. Wayne grabbed his brown paper bag of goods and hopped out of his X5 slamming the door shut. He hurried around to the other side of his truck and opened the door to help his lady out onto the sidewalk. She stepped one high heel pump out onto the curb at a time, before he pulled her out into full view wearing a sexy form fitting red dress. Mira was a coco complexioned chick with long legs, curly shoulder length hair and a diamond nose piercing. After slamming the door closed behind her, Wayne grabbed her hand and hurried towards her building.
“Damn, bae, slow down.” Mira complained, nearly tripping and falling trying to keep up with her man.
“Come on now, it’s cold as a hooker’s heart out here. I’m trying to get inside.” He was trying to get inside alright, inside of that pussy. Wayne moved ahead, hurrying homegirl along with him faster than she could keep up. She ended up tripping and falling to the sidewalk, breaking her heel.
“Damn it, Wayne, shieettt!” Mira picked up the severed part of her pump and held it up like it was a diamond under the streetlight like she was checking for clarity.
“Don’t wet it, ma, I’ma cop you a whole store of them shits. Yo’ man breaded.” He patted the bulging money imprint in his pocket. Next, he switched hands with the brown paper bag and out stretched his hand. She pulled off her other pump and took it in the hand she held the other. When he pulled her to her feet she was looking over his shoulder. Her eyes bugged and she gasped seeing shapes moving within the shadows. Wayne instantly dropped his bag and swung around reaching for that steel on his waist. Before he could pull it out Jackie Needles had clocked him over the head with the butt of his gun. Soon after, Joey-T was catching him before he could hit the surface. The screams of Mira stole Jackie’s attention from her man; he turned his burner around and aimed it at her. He pulled the trigger and sent a hot bullet right inside of her big ass mouth. Her blood and brain fragments smacked up against the light pole and she crashed to the ground. She lay halfway off of the curb with wide eyes and a stretch open mouth.
Joey-T grabbed an unconscious Wayne under his arms. Jackie Needles tucked his burner on his waist and grabbed his ankles. While police cruiser sirens wailed in the distance, they dumped him inside of the trunk of their whip and bounded his wrist and ankles with duct-tape.
“Night, night, Sleeping Beauty,” Jackie Needles smiled evilly before slamming the trunk shut and leaving the young nigga in darkness.
Forty five minutes later
Franklin stood shaded in the shadows smoking a cigar. He watched attentively as Joey-T and Jackie Needles tied Wayne to a chair and beat the living shit out of him. The wise guys took turns. Once one grew tired of beating on the young nigga the other would finish where he left off. Seeing that the beating wasn’t getting them anywhere, they resort to more extreme torture methods.
Jackie Needles popped the trunk of the Lincoln and retrieved his bag of goodies. He opened the worn leather bag and put on latex gloves, adjusting a surgical mask on his face. He fished around inside of the bag until he produced tools fashioned to make one suffer. After unraveling a cloth on the hood of the Lincoln, he then placed each individual instrument upon it. Wayne panicked when he saw the shiny tools beneath the light of the dim warehouse. He murmured something and jerked around violently in the iron chair that he was perched in. His eye bulged and he tried to scream but the filthy rag in his mouth muffled the sound. He grew exhausted and settled down in the chair. He found himself breathing hard and watching the gangster’s every move. Jackie went to work. He sliced off one of Wayne’s ears, pulled teeth out of his head and crushed both of his testicles with a hammer.
“You hadda ‘nough yet?” Jackie’s frightful eyes bored into the young man’s pupil. His sadistic ass could see himself in it. He was smiling satanically which let the little nigga know that he wasn’t done with him yet and he had something else in store for him.
“Mmmmmm!” Wayne struggled to get out of the chair as he threw his head back continuously, trying to escape his impending fate. He only managed to scoot the chair aside a little though.
Jackie Needles removed a velvet pouch full of salt from the leather bag. He scooped out a handful and smeared it all over his wounds. Wayne screamed aloud again. His one good eye stret
ched wide open and veins snaked their way up the sides of his temple. The salt made him feel like someone had drenched him in gasoline and then tossed match on him.
“You gon’tell me where they are now or what?”
Wayne’s forehead creased with lines and he stared up at his torturer hatefully, yelling back, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuuuck youuuu!” The young nigga raged and then sat back in his seat panting out of breath.
“Alright, Mr. fucking Get Bad.”
When Wayne still refused to give up Zonyai and Marbella’s whereabouts, Jackie broke all of the fingers on his left hand. Once he still refused to cooperate, he broke all of the fingers on his right hand. He was a sight to marveling after having so much done to him. His nose was broken, his eye was swollen shut, his lips were busted and a combination of blood and sweat left his hair matted on his face.
Wayne looked on as Jackie Needles discussed something over with Franklin. Having finished listening to what he’d been told, Franklin started over in Wayne’s direction.
“How old are you, kid?” he asked.
“Eight...eighteen,” He spoke weakly behind hooded eyes as his pupil moved around lazily. Jackie had taken him to hell and back and he wished he’d put him out of his misery with a bullet through the head. The youngster’s head bobbled about as he saw the shadows begin to stir and then, as if by magic, a burly man emerged taking pulls from a cigar. The tip of it glowed ember and smoke wafted from it. He stopped about two feet from him and let the cigar drop to the surface before mashing it out.
“I gotta nephew your age; he just started college at USC. Thank God. I didn’t want him getting caught up in this life. There’s a lotta pressure on a kid having an uncle like me. People expect him to follow in my footsteps. You got balls, sport, big humongous balls; made of steel.” Franklin showed him the size of the balls he had with his hands. He then held his hand over his back and Joey-T smacked a Glock .40 down into his palm. He grasped it firmly.
Wayne peeped the move and saw right off that his number was up. He was ready for it. He’d face his fate like the G he was groomed to be. “Before I check out can I at least put one in the air?” he nodded to his shirt pocket where a joint resided. Franklin lifted an eyebrow and exchanged glances with his crew; they shrugged their shoulders. The big time Mafioso focused his attention back on the young boy seated before him. He then reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the joint. He put it in between Wayne’s swollen lips and lit it, listening to the low crackling as the flame of his lighter prepared it. Franklin allowed him to smoke it down to a roach before removing it and mashing it out on the ground. Wayne’s eyes were no more than slits and the effects of the marijuana were written all over his face. He was high.
Franklin leveled the Glock to his capture’s forehead as he lazily stared at him through his one good eye. He pulled the trigger and the impact of the bullet threw his head back, sending a red mist into the air. The big man lowered the smoking weapon and crossed his heart in the sign of the crucifix.
Later that night
Brolic slapped hands with the Mexican tattoo artist after he checked out his ink and made his way out of the parlor. He went to step off of the curb and a car with limo tints pulled upon him. His street instincts kicked in and he reached for that thang, thang on his waistline. He was about to raise that steel and turn a couple of niggaz to ghosts, until the passenger window rolled down. Soon after, a bouquet of dead brittle roses was thrown at his feet. They slightly skidded on the cracked sidewalk. Lines formed across his forehead as he looked from the dead flowers to the limousine that was driving away. The hoodlum released his grasp on his banger and picked up the roses. He thought for a second and realized that one of his homeboys was dead. To him the dead flowers symbolized death. Letting the roses drop to the ground, he quickly snatched his cell phone from off his hip and made a few calls.
When the news of Wayne’s death hit everyone’s world seemed to stop, especially Brolic’s. He was the youth’s surrogate father and had taken him under his deodorant, schooling him about the streets. Wayne was Zonyai’s little man too and after his murder he knew he couldn’t leave town without some get back.
Wayne’s funeral fell on a sunny Sunday. The sun seemed to be shining its hardest for such a grief stricken afternoon. The church was so crowded that people were standing around outside trying to steal a peek inside. Underworld figures, major and minor, had come out to pay their respects. Mufasa had flown out a make-up artist that had done work on some block buster films to dress up and apply synthetic disguises to everyone. He knew that Franklin would have men among the mourners looking to kill them. It didn’t matter that they were at a funeral; the don of the De Lucci family was just that ruthless. A couple days later the fellas found themselves in Brolic’s kitchen, chopping it up about what was going to be their next moves before they locked horns with Franklin and his people.
“I’m telling y’all now, I’m ‘bout to be on some Charles Bronson, Death Wish type of shit,” Brolic swore and took his 5th of Hennessy to the head. “I’ma bring it to these Italian niggaz in a real way, word to my lil’ nigga.” He crossed his heart with the hand that held the bottle of Hennessy and kissed it off to God.
“You mothafucking right,” Zonyai switched hands with his bottle of Heineken and slapped hands with him. “and I’ma be right there witchu.”
“Shit, you know I wouldn’t have it any other way, but Fasa thinks you should sit this one out though, kid.”
“What?” Zonyai forehead crinkled and he turned to Mufasa.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised, we’ve already discussed this. Nothing has changed. You and Marbella will lay low until we tighten things up here.” He took a sip of his Cognac over the rocks.
“Things have changed now, Wayne got bodied.”
“Exactly, and we’re going to take care of that. In the mean time, I want you outta the city. After this thing is over, I’m gonna go shopping for a new connect and I want you with me. I’m gonna need you to broker a deal should we run into one with a decent enough product.” He told him before taking a sip from his glass. “You’re my golden child and I cannot let anything happen to you.”
“This is bullshit, man! You’re gonna have me looking like a fucking punk out here.” Zonyai fumed, slamming his fist down on the counter.
“Fuck what everyone else will think of you. You know how you built. You know you aren’t a punk. Allow these fools out here to think whatever they want and the moment they open their mouths, you crush their mothafucking ass, you here?” Zonyai took a deep breath to calm himself down and ran his hand down his face. He nodded yes.
“Good. I’m gonna have Brolic get you two plane tickets to Vegas. You and Marbella can go down there fuck, gamble and have yourself a good old time. And when it’s time to come back I’ll give you a call, okay?”
“Alright,” He reluctantly nodded, both of his hands resting on the edge of the counter.
“Okay, then,” he glanced at his Audemar. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll have Z drop your tickets off in the morning.” Mufasa embraced him and patted him on the back. He then slapped hands with Brolic and hugged him. Soon after, Zeus came up from behind him with his coat and helped him put it on. After he finished off his glass of liquor, he and his bodyguard took their leave. Brolic and Zonyai watched them as they headed for the door.
“I know you hate to miss out on all of the action, Yai, but the OGs right.”
When Brolic said this, Zonyai whipped his head around to him. He twisted his face up like he couldn’t believe what he said. Before hand he was all for him bringing it to the mafia don but now he’d changed his mind.
“Don’t look at me like that, homeboy. I’ve had some time to think. Shit is for yo’ own good. I know you wanna live long enough to enjoy that fairy tale life with wifey. You do want that, don’t chu?” he gripped his shoulder with one hand and took the 5th to his lips, eyebrow raised.
Zonyai hesitantly nodded yes. He wanted to live happi
ly ever after with Marbella and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. So he was going to do like Mufasa had said and head out to Las Vegas until things cooled off. “We got plenty of killers on our side, so one less gun ain’t gon’ hurt us.”
“You’re right.”
“Let me get those tickets for you though, my nigga.” He sat the bottle of Hennessy down on the counter and went to recover the plane tickets.
Once Brolic had gone, Zonyai sat his beer down and walked over to the entertainment center where he saw a picture of him, his main man and Wayne. He picked the portrait up and a smile spread across his face as he stared down at it. He remembered that night at the club that they had taken it. He recalled him and his homies having a rumble with Migo and his niggaz. After they had mopped the floor with them fools, the whole squad fell through to IHOP for breakfast. Zonyai was so engrossed with his memories that he didn’t even feel the pair of feminine arms worming around his waist. It wasn’t until the person’s hands moved to the dick imprint in his slacks that it finally dawned on him what was happening.
“What the fuck?” Zonyai looked down at the calloused hands en route to his crotch. This caused him to gasp and drop the portrait. As soon as it hit the hardwood floor, it cracked down the middle and fell on its face. Angry, he smacked the hands down and whipped around. His nose scrunched up and crinkles formed across his forehead as he looked Brolic up and down. He was dressed as a woman. In fact, the nigga even smelled like one. His face, including his entire body was shaved. He wore a brunette wig that was feathered out at its ends, a black form fitting dress and matching heels. His big lips were red with lipstick and his nails were painted in clear polish.
“Hey, baby.” Brolic tried to sound like a woman but his deep baritone betrayed his true gender.
“Hey, baby? What the...” Zonyai looked around with a fixed scowl, “What the hell is going on here? Is this some kind of sick, twisted joke?”
