Angel's Revenge

by Teri Woods

  “Relax. The more you fight, the longer it takes, yo.”

  Roc was in a zone, feeling the man’s life spasm in his grasp and sputter like a dying flame until it was finally extinguished.

  They silently left like nothing had happened.

  “Some niggas is made to kill if put in the wrong situation,” Dutch said as he sat in the passenger seat. Mobb Deep played through the Blaupunkt speakers. “But some niggas is born killers, Roc.” Dutch looked at him. “Like you. You a born killer, nigga. A natural-born killer.”

  • • •

  After all these years, Rahman was forced to acknowledge the truth in Dutch’s assessment. And while he loved Islam with all his heart and had disciplined himself to the best of his ability, he knew deep down that the virus within him still existed and that he was still a killer.

  He felt it when he beat Jerome and heard his bones crack and splinter under the force of his boot. He felt it when he aimed for his head, ready to burst it like a ripe melon. It surged through him as he stood in the middle of High Street, bullets flying and bodies dropping. The killer was in him and it was in him deep. Dutch was right. One-eyed Roc was a natural-born killer. It was Rahman who searched for truth and righteousness. But it was Rahman or One-eyed Roc or whoever he was who was not to be fucked with.

  Rahman heard about Roll’s retaliation on his way back home. Salahudeen told him that no one had been hurt. He thanked Allah and continued home, taking his usual precautions.

  When he entered the house, he was greeted by the TV. He caught the reporters in midsentence. “… bizarre tragedy. Sixteen men here in Plainfield were found dead in an area known for rampant drug activity. The police are baffled as to the cause of their deaths but it appears that they were the victims of C4 explosives that had been inserted into the soles of their Timberland boots. Two of the sixteen were found a few blocks away in the same condition. Police say it appears to be drug-related but the methods employed made one policeman say it looked like something he’d seen in Vietnam. More later as details develop.”

  Ayesha and the kids were sitting on the floor in the living room when Rahman walked in. Ayesha turned to him with fire in her eyes. She could hardly keep her voice steady when she sarcastically quipped, “Look, kids, Daddy’s home! Long day at the office, huh?”

  Rahman could hear Ayesha’s accusations in her tone. He replied in a low, firm tone, “Turn off the TV. It’s time for Salat.”

  The family performed evening Salat together as they always did when Rahman was home. Ayesha stood on his right and the children stood behind them, following them through the prayer positions. In Islam, children under ten weren’t required to make Salat, but the children loved to pray with their parents. When they were finished, Ayesha turned to the children and said, “Ali, you and your sisters can watch TV until dinner.”

  The kids ran out of the room with glee, already arguing over what they would watch.

  Ayesha turned to Rahman. “I hope you asked for forgiveness.”

  Rahman rubbed his eyes, trying to avoid the confrontation.

  “I always ask for forgiveness.”

  “I hope you really asked… no, begged… and you need to make sixteen ra’kahs the next time you pray,” Ayesha spat, referring to the sixteen victims in Plainfield.

  “Don’t start with me, Ayesha,” Rahman replied quietly, folding up his prayer rug.

  “No, Rahman. I want to know. Did you? Did—”

  Rahman’s voice boomed like thunder. “Woman! I said don’t start!” he yelled.

  Ayesha knew her man’s anger, but he knew her intensity was just as fierce. Their eyes locked in a silent battle until Ayesha shook her head.

  “And you said it was over. You said it was over, and I believed you. Just like before.”

  “I ain’t gonna be doin’ this forever. Just a few million and I’ma get out of the game.”

  “You got out of the game the last time, all right? You went to prison!” Her voice quivered and tears of frustration welled in her eyes.

  “What do you want me to do, huh? What? Just sit by and watch my people die in the streets?” he stressed.

  “I guess killing them yourself is better?” Ayesha shot right back.

  “Pimps and pushers! Pimps and pushers, Ayesha. They live off our blood like leeches…”

  “You used to be one,” Ayesha challenged. “Right? Don’t use Islam for an excuse to be a gangsta, Rahman.”

  He paced the floor, agitated by his wife’s accusations.

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Okay, since you’re the expert on Islam, tell me, what do I need to do?”

  “Be a father to your children and a husband to your wife,” Ayesha said, folding her arms across her chest, giving him the simplest of answers.

  “And I haven’t?”

  “When you’re here! Which is becoming more and more infrequent. I’m tired of being the woman you come home to instead of the woman you share your life with!” Ayesha sobbed. “I know you’re doing a lot for the community. In those neighborhoods, children are safe, women are respected, and bills are paid. It’s beautiful. But I need you home. We need you home.”

  Rahman knew she was right. He had not been coming home on purpose, trying to protect his family from his actions on the streets. He knew he hadn’t been fair to his family, but he had to put the cause first.

  “Listen, Ayesha. I’m fighting a war out there and I’ll be damned if I’ma fight one in my own house!”

  “Then go fight,” she heaved. “Go fight your war. That’s what you want to do anyway!”

  She started for the door but Rahman grabbed her and pulled her to his chest. “Listen… I know it’s hard, but I told you. Freedom comes with a price, and this is it. I need you to be with me right now. Okay?”

  Ayesha didn’t respond. He gently lifted her chin with his palm.

  “Okay?”

  “I am with you, Rahman. But I need you to be with me,” she pleaded, pulling at his heartstrings.

  “I am, baby girl… I am.”

  “That was a lame-ass move you made,” Angel said, laughing through the phone at Roll as she pushed the Viper ninety- plus across Highway 1&9. Goldilocks lay back in the passenger seat with closed eyes behind Chanel shades, chilling to the sounds of La Belle Mafia.

  “Them niggas seen you comin’ a mile away,” Angel added.

  Roll was also on the road on his way back from Plainfield.

  “I know one place I won’t miss. Branford Place,” Roll threatened, referring to the masjid where the Muslims congregated. “I’ll really give them muthafuckas something to pray for!”

  “Don’t be a fool, Roll,” Angel casually warned. “There’s too many Muslims in Jersey in the game, too. Right now, they don’t give a fuck about Roc and his cause. But if you shoot up a masjid, you’ll give Roc an army that’ll come from everywhere. Keep it in the streets and we’ll break ’em.”

  Roll nodded to himself. If the Muslims got involved, it could get ugly.

  “Besides, I know Roc, and if everything goes as planned, I’ll kill the muthafucka myself,” she lied, trying to put Roll’s mind at ease. “Family or no family, this is my paper, too.”

  Roll smiled.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. What’s the plan?” he agreed, foolishly thinking he had a monopoly on her loyalties.

  “We’ll holla at you after your birthday party tonight. I say after because tonight, we party. We worked too hard for this paper not to enjoy it, no?” She grinned like a black widow spider before a manly meal.

  “No doubt, no doubt. I definitely need a party,” Roll answered.

  “Happy birthday, baby boy! Relax! You got an Angel on your shoulder.” She smiled.

  Roll laughed.

  “I wish I had an Angel on me,” he flirted.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” she responded.

  “One.”

  “Siempre.”

  The Noise Factory, Roll’s multilevel club on the o
utskirts of East Orange, was packed to capacity. Everybody knew Roll’s birthday party would rock, but the only heads being admitted were members of Roll’s clique around New Jersey, as ordered by Angel, who had put herself on security. She used her team of young wolves to secure the perimeter just in case Roc showed up. She wanted to make sure that no one got out as well.

  Angel watched whip after whip pull into the parking lot, flossing to see who had the sickest ride. Gators mixed with Air Ones, platinum with white gold, Bentleys with baby BMWs, and money filled the air. It was going to be a night no one wanted to miss.

  Inside, the party cranked. The music was live, and Roll’s team was out in full force. Attached to their arms were the women whom Angel had recruited to carry out her plan. Smiles and winks were exchanged between Angel and her coconspirators as she passed through the crowd. She found Goldilocks by the door.

  “Everything good?” she asked, giving Goldi a kiss.

  “Couldn’t be better.” Goldilocks smirked. “Roll and Nitti are in the VIP room.”

  “What about the champagne?” Angel questioned.

  “Ready when you are, baby,” Goldilocks answered, brushing a lock of Angel’s hair out of her face.

  Angel surveyed the scene.

  “Look at these cats, boo. They make it easy, don’t they?” Angel was feeling good because her plan was on the verge of completion. “Go get Capo and tell him I’m ready.”

  She smacked Goldilocks on the ass as she sashayed off to get Capo. Angel made her way to the stage and signaled the deejay to lower the volume.

  She took the mic in her hand. “Can I have your attention for a second, please.”

  The crowd buzzed, then silenced, turning their attention to her. She looked into all the unaware faces and felt a twinge of regret. Like sheep to slaughter, she thought, then cleared her throat.

  “Y’all havin’ a good time?” she yelled to the crowd.

  “Hell yeah!”

  “No doubt!”

  “It’d be better if I was havin’ it with you!”

  Angel looked for the face in the crowd and laughed at the comment.

  “Yeah, aiight. Better not let your baby mama hear you say that!” she hollered back. The crowd laughed.

  “On the real, though. Y’all know why we’re here. To make sure Roll’s thirty-fifth is a night to remember, right?”

  “Fo’ sho!” the crowd agreed.

  “Yo, Roll! Roll! Get yo’ old ass out here and holla at your peoples!”

  The crowd shouted for Roll, and a few moments later, he was onstage with Leslie, dressed in an Armani suit, black silk shirt, derby gators, and Dutch’s dragon chain. Leslie was at his left in a tight-fitting purple Prada dress. Nitti stood to his right. Angel’s eyes fell on the chain.

  “Aiight, aiight. Y’all know the routine! Y’all ain’t too big to sing my man happy birthday, are you?”

  Angel started singing and the crowd joined in.

  Roll was feeling himself as he surveyed the crowd, like a politician before his supporters. The world was his. Every nigga in front of him would kill for him, and there wasn’t a bitch in the house whom he couldn’t fuck. Except for Angel. He couldn’t even fuck with her, as he would soon find out.

  The song ended with cheers. Goldilocks, Capo, and the wolves passed out bottle after bottle of Cristal.

  “Yo, we gonna pass these bottles out for you to drink. I want you to share ’em with your friends. There’s enough for everybody,” Angel said into the mic. “Yeah, everybody make sure you got a bottle because we gonna toast my man!”

  Once all the bottles were handed out, Goldilocks brought out a bottle of Remy Martin for Angel.

  “Roll, ever since I came home, you ain’t shown me nothin’ but love, yo, and I appreciate it. To Roll. May this birthday be the best one yet!” Angel chimed as she held up the bottle of Remy.

  “Happy birthday, Roll!”

  The bottles turned up and everybody in the club got tipsy. No one noticed that the females weren’t drinking Cristal. They were all drinking Remy.

  “Come on, Roll. Let’s take our party to the VIP lounge,” Angel suggested, and they made their way to Roll’s office.

  Angel, Leslie, Roll, Nitti, Goldilocks, and Capo entered Roll’s plush office overlooking the club. Roll closed the door.

  “Angel, I’m feelin’ this party you put together for a nigga. Word. I won’t forget it.”

  “I know,” Angel chimed.

  “And yo,” Roll began, sitting on the couch and lighting a cigar, “I got a surprise for you. Your man Roc? I just made a move that I know is gonna break his shit up.”

  “Later for that. Right now, let’s discuss the future,” Angel said as she held up her hand and popped a bottle of Cristal.

  Angel seductively slid over to Nitti and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Roll, your man Nitti here is my kind of nigga…” She caressed his cheek, tracing the scar on his chin.

  “Damn, Nit,” Roll responded with more than a tinge of jealousy. “I thought it was my birthday.”

  “You’ll get your turn, boo,” Angel assured him, eyes dancing over Nitti. He eyed her back, licking his lips. “What’s the deal, ma? You tired of bein’ a vegetarian?”

  Angel snickered and held the bottle under his mouth, tracing his bottom lip with her index finger.

  “Slow down, baby. Drink to Angel,” she said as she tilted the bottle against Nitti’s mouth. He drank until she lowered the bottle. She wiped his mouth and kissed him gently.

  The kiss of death.

  She turned her attention to Roll and poured some champagne on the floor.

  “To my niggas who ain’t here.”

  She toasted to herself, thinking of Dutch, Zoom, Shock, Craze, and Roc. “This game is ours.”

  Roll held up his cigar.

  “Ours,” he repeated and Angel laughed in his face.

  “Ohh, Roll. You’re such a fuckin’ joke,” she spat.

  “Joke?” He frowned.

  “A fat, stupid, trick-ass—”

  “Bitch, is you drunk? Who the fuck you talk—” Roll began, but the look on Nitti’s face caught his attention.

  His face was twisted like he had just tasted something bitter. When he grabbed his stomach, Roll knew something was wrong. “Nitti? You aiight?”

  Nitti couldn’t speak. His throat muscles tightened like he was throwing up but nothing came out.

  “Do he look aiight?” Angel laughed triumphantly.

  Nitti fell to his knees as green mucus bubbled out of his mouth and nose. Roll jumped to his feet. Goldilocks and Capo whipped out pistols and pointed them at him.

  “What the fuck did you do to him?” Roll asked, rushing to Nitti’s side.

  Nitti’s insides were on fire like he had swallowed hot lead. He collapsed to the carpet, dead.

  “This the new millennium, Roll. Gangstas don’t bust guns no more. We just let you kill yourselves!” Angel declared, pulling out a .38 revolver. “You ever play chess, Roll? You ever seen the queen checkmate her own king?”

  Roll shook with rage. “I’ll kill you, you pussy-lickin’ bitch! I’ll murder you!”

  Angel ignored his rants and looked at Leslie.

  “Leslie, where you going?” Angel asked as she saw Leslie heading for the door out of the corner of her eye.

  Leslie had never watched someone die before. She was anxious to leave. “I’m goin—”

  “Nowhere, bitch. Nowhere,” Angel calmly ordered and pumped two slugs into Leslie’s voluptuous body. Leslie slumped on the couch, just another expendable pawn.

  Roll knew he was next, but he fought not to let his fear show. “You think you can just walk in here and kill me in my own club? You dumb bitch! My whole team is out there! You’ll never make it to the door!” Roll boomed arrogantly, but Angel could smell his fear.

  “Your team, huh? Let me show you your team, yo,” Angel replied.

  She snatched Roll by the dragon and led him to the window.

  Sh
e tore down the blinds and gave him a bird’s-eye view of the dance floor. Roll didn’t recognize what was going on at first. To him, cats just looked drunk and slumped at the booths. Then he recognized the bodies strewn on the floor. All of them were sprawled in puddles of green vomit, just like Nitti. He saw a cat stagger and fall while others grabbed their throats and stomachs and vomited up their lives.

  “What the…” Roll whispered in a breathless gasp. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Angel had used his birthday to gather all his people under one roof and then eliminated them all at one time.

  “What you mean, what? That’s your team, nigga! You ever hear the phrase dead drunk?” Angel grinned.

  Body after body, hustler after hustler, dropped to the floor. Even the deejay was slumped over his turntables, a Busta Rhymes record skipping and repeating itself.

  Most of the females had cleared out, although some had been foolish enough to drink the Cristal Angel warned them against.

  “See how easy it is, nigga? Throw a party, pop the cork, add untraceable arsenic, and voilá! Tell them that ain’t gangsta,” Angel boasted, pointing at the death scene. “While you were laid up lettin’ Angel handle your business, I ate away at your home, from the inside.”

  Roll dropped his head in defeat. “What do you want?” was his only question.

  Angel leaned in close to his ear and spoke through clenched teeth, “Nigga, what the fuck you got that I ain’t already taken?”

  Roll had nothing to lose. Angel had leaned in too close. Roll lunged for the gun, snatching it out of her hand and shoving her down. He knew he was about to die. His last wish was to take the conniving bitch with him.

  He never got a chance.

  Goldilocks and Capo riddled his body with so much force, the shots lifted him through the plate-glass window and he dropped like lead to the floor below.

  Angel stood up and brushed herself off. “At least he tried, huh?”

  Goldilocks and Capo chuckled.

  “Let’s finish this shit and be out,” Angel said, looking at the both of them.

  They left the room and descended to the floor below. The smell of acid death was nauseating. Niggas were dying in so much agony that Capo randomly executed the groaning bodies and put them out of their misery.