“Shit Is Fucked Up”
Sosa hopped in the awaiting limousine with his lawyer Mr. Goldberg by his side. Inside the limo sat Lucky and Hawk.
The first thing Sosa did was pour himself a glass of straight vodka. He took a sip. “What it’s looking like?” he said, looking over at his lawyer. He knew he was in some deep shit and possibly might end up doing some jail time.
“Well, the cops say they just want to question you, but they are going to arrest you once you get there,” Mr. Goldberg told him. “I called the police station and told them you were on your way.” Then he added, “You going missing for a week doesn’t make it look too good.”
“Fuck they want me to do?” Sosa huffed. “Go running to go sit up in a jail cell? Fuck outta here! Them crackers can kiss my ass!”
“The house that the shooting took place in is not in your name, so therefore you are responsible for what took place in there,” Mr. Goldberg told him straight up. He knew that wasn’t what Sosa wanted to hear, but he was always straight up with his clients, whether they liked it or not. “We can’t even come up with a story, because they have a few witnesses who were at the party that place you as not only being at the party, but also as being the host.”
Sosa just sipped on his drink as he continued to listen to what his lawyer was telling him. From what he was hearing, it looked like jail time was definitely going to be in his future.
“If these muthafuckas talking about giving me a lot of time, then I’m just going to bail out and take my chances on the run. Fuck it!” He shrugged.
“A lot of people got killed inside of your home, and the DA is going to try to make you responsible for all of them. They can’t do that, but they damn sure are going to try.”
“So what do you think I should do?” Sosa asked, leaning back in his seat. “Or, better yet, how much is it going to cost to make this go away?”
“It’s not that simple. Either you’re going to fight it, or you’re going to run.”
Sosa sat back and started to think about his future. He was willing to take anything under five years. Anything more than that, he was just going to be on the run. He knew the DA was going to try and make him look like some heartless animal, but he didn’t care.
“Fuck it! It is what it is,” Sosa said out loud. He didn’t have time to just be sitting around and worrying about this shit all day.
The limousine pulled up in front of police station, and there were people and reporters all over the place waiting for Sosa to turn himself in.
Sosa looked over at Lucky and Hawk. “This shit ain’t over. I want y’all to go pay that punk muthafucka Turf a visit.” Then he said to Lucky, “I like how you took out your homeboy’s girlfriend. If he ain’t with us, then he’s against us.”
“That shit was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill that girl.”
“Ain’t no such thing as an accident, when it comes to murder.” Sosa finished his drink. “Y’all hold it down for me while I’m up in here,” he said, as him his lawyer hopped out the limo and faced the large crowd.
Two police officers pushed their way through the large crowd of people and grabbed Sosa’s arms.
As Sosa made his way through the crowd, he heard a few people supporting him, a few people hating, some chanting racial slurs. He ignored all as he made his way inside the police station.
Blake woke up in the hospital not knowing where he was. The last thing he could remember was Tiffany getting fly at the mouth with him, and him putting her in her place.
He tried to move his arm. That’s when he quickly found out he was handcuffed to the bed. “What the fuck?” he said out loud. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. He desperately need a drink of water.
“Nurse!” he yelled. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was about to get some answers from somewhere. “Nurse!” he called again.
“Stop all that muthafuckin’ yelling!” Detective Davis said, stepping inside of Blake’s room.
“Why am I handcuffed?” Blake asked, panic in his voice.
Detective Davis furrowed his brow. “Maybe because you’re under arrest.”
“For what?” Blake barked. “I’m the one laying up in the fuckin’ hospital.”
“For possession of a firearm.” Detective Davis smiled. “I should be taking your ass to jail for beating on that poor girlfriend of yours,” he said, standing over Blake. “While you’re sitting up in jail, I hope them big strong muthafuckas beat you up every day the way you did that poor girl.”
“I don’t know what you talking about,” Blake said, feigning ignorance. “I’m a ladies’ man. I don’t have no reason to hit a woman.”
“Hmm.” Detective Davis huffed. “That’s bullshit. You been whipping that girl’s ass, and she finally got tired of it and stabbed your dumb ass. Don’t lie to me. I saw the bruises on the poor girl’s face.”
“Whatever.”
Detective Davis smiled. “I’ll be back next week when you’re a little better, to tell you where you’ll be going for the next three and a half years.” He shook his head. “I hope they don’t beat on you like you a woman.” Detective Davis walked out the room laughing.
“Bitch-ass nigga,” Blake mumbled as he watched the detective stroll out the room. He was pissed. Not only was he laying up in a hospital bed in pain, but now he’d just found out that the next three and a half years of his life would be spent in a cell.
He wasn’t too much worried about the jail time. He was more angry that Tiffany had stabbed him and tried to take his life. If she didn’t stab him, he wouldn’t be laid up in the hospital, nor would he be on his way to jail. The more he thought about the situation, the more he thought about killing her. He was definitely going to make her pay for the chaos she had caused, just by being defiant.
He said to himself, “As good as I was to that bitch . . . and she gon’ do me like this?” Ways to hurt Tiffany flowed through his mind. She had won this round, but he was definitely in it for twelve rounds.
After the officers finished fucking Turf and Goliath up for putting their hands on Detective Davis and the other officer, they tossed them in different holding cells. Turf wiped his bloody nose with the bottom of his shirt. He needed to sit down for a second, but when he looked up, he saw that both benches were filled with other inmates.
He walked up to the end of the bench and snatched up the last man sitting down. “Get the fuck up!” he barked, roughly shoving the man to the middle of the cell. The man popped shit, but he didn’t do nothing but have a seat on the floor.
“Fuck!” Turf yelled loudly, drawing crazy stares from the rest of the inmates. His body was in tremendous pain, and he so badly wanted to kill each and every one of the officers who helped partake in his ass-whipping.
He spat blood on the floor. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall, waiting for one of his women to come and bail him out.
Turf rested his eyes until he heard the cell door open. He opened up one eye and saw a CO shove Sosa inside the cell. At first he thought he was dreaming, until he saw Sosa sitting over at the end of the bench.
Turf immediately stood to his feet, and the two men met in the middle of the cell and, without thinking twice, went blow for blow right there. The other inmates yelled and chanted as they watched the action-packed fight.
Sosa and Turf went at it like two professional fighters, neither man backing down, each one taking it just as good as they gave it. The fight spilled over to the back of the cell by the toilet. The more the two fought, the louder the other inmates became.
Seconds later several COs ran into the cell and broke up the fight. The officers placed Turf and Sosa in two different cells.
“Put that bitch in here with me!” Goliath yelled as he clung to the bars, watching the officer escort Sosa to the cell directly across from him. “I’ma kill you when I catch you, muthafucka.”
“You ain’t gon’ do shit!” Sosa yelled back. “Better hope I don’t c
atch y’all on the streets.”
“You a dead man walking!” Goliath yelled, wishing he could get a hold of Sosa and rip him apart.
“You on borrowed time, muthafucka!” Sosa huffed as he walked over and took a seat on the bench, and waited until it was time for him to see the judge.
Lucky and Hawk stormed up in the church with about fifteen goons behind them. The looks on their faces said they meant business. Before Lucky could make his way up the steps to where Turf usually held his meetings, the pastor stopped him.
“Can I help you gentlemen with something?” the pastor asked humbly.
“Yeah, you actually can,” Lucky said, and he quickly stole on the pastor, knocking him out with one punch. Him and Hawk then quickly pulled out their weapons as they made their way up the steps.
Lucky kicked open the door as him, Hawk, and the rest of the crew busted inside the room. “Fuck!” Lucky saw that the room was completely empty. He figured Turf would move his meeting spot once he’d sent his goons out to go and try to kill Sosa.
Lucky was no dummy, so he knew that, more than likely, Turf would switch up spots. Until they found out where Turf and his crew relocated to, he would just have to be patient.
“Come on, let’s be out,” Lucky said, leading the pack out the church the same way they had come in.
Lucky watched as the rest of the goons hopped back in the van they rode in. A few members from the church came outside to see who had assaulted their pastor. They yelled angry words, but nobody did anything.
Lucky rudely spat on the ground just before he hopped in the passenger side of the Lexus that awaited him. The Lexus pulled out of the church’s parking lot and bent the corner to the sound of Fabolous pumping through the car’s speakers.
“You know Sosa going to have to do time, right?” Hawk said, keeping his eyes on the road as he spoke.
“You think so?” Lucky replied.
“More than likely. So that means me and you going to be the ones running the empire now,” Hawk told him. “You up for that?”
“You already know.”
Lucky was born to be a boss but could be a soldier if need be, or whatever, to get the job done. With the information Hawk had just laid on him, he knew that soon the big bucks would come rolling in. But he also knew, more money just meant bigger decisions to be made.
“We going to play this shit by ear,” Hawk said, as the two continued to cruise the city.
“Living”
After begging Mr. Richardson for another chance, Tiffany was allowed her job back, as long she could promise that her crazy boyfriend Blake wouldn’t pop up at her job anymore, starting no shit.
Tiffany worked the day stress-free, and did it with a smile on her face. This smile was a natural one, not the usual forced one to cover the pain that she hid inside.
At the end of the night, she counted up her tips, grabbed her coat, then clocked out after saying her good-byes. She exited the restaurant. “Damn!” she huffed as the cold air slapped her in her face as soon as she stepped outside.
While walking, she heard someone yell out, “Yooooo.”
She turned around and saw Quick sitting on the hood of the Charger. She’d only recognized him by the car, because the hoodie he wore covered half of his face.
“What you doing out here?” she said, sliding in Quick’s arm and gave him a quick hug.
“Waiting for you to get off,” Quick said. “Thought you could use a ride.”
“Thanks.”
Tiffany hopped in the passenger seat of the car and out of the cold, and Quick sped out the parking lot and out into the street. They cruised as the sound of Ne-Yo hummed softly through the speakers.
As Quick drove, he peeked over at Tiffany every now and then just to make sure she was all right.
“What’s wrong?” Tiffany asked, catching him peeking at her.
“You was so quiet over there, I just wanted to make sure you was still alive.” He laughed.
“I’m good,” Tiffany said. “I was just thinking.”
“About?” Quick asked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at her.
“I mean, why are you being so nice to me? Is it something that you want from me?”
Quick laughed for a second. “Why is it that I must want something from you? ’Cause I’m being nice to you?”
“I’m just saying,” she said, turning to face him, “you letting me stay at your house and everything, you ain’t charging me no rent or nothing, I just wanna know what’s up.”
“You look like you needed a little help, that’s all. I don’t want nothing from you.”
Quick parked in front of his apartment and shut the engine off, and him and Tiffany entered the apartment. Tiffany disappeared in the bathroom, so she could take a shower.
Quick walked over to the kitchen and helped himself to a drink as he read a text message from Major Pain that read: “Be at your crib in 30 min, be ready to roll out”
Quick slid his phone back in its case and downed the liquid fire in one gulp. Seconds later, Tiffany stepped out of the shower covered in a towel.
“My bad,” Quick apologized as he headed back toward the bedroom and waited for Major Pain to arrive.
The bedroom, where Quick kept all of his money, was off-limits to Tiffany. He pulled a stack out of his pocket, quickly counted it, then tossed it in the bag with the rest of his money. Seconds later, Quick heard somebody outside beeping the horn like a madman. He shook his head, knowing it could only be Major Pain.
“Yo, I’ll be back in a few,” he said as he flew out the door.
He stepped out his apartment and saw the black Escalade waiting curbside. He opened the passenger door, and the loud sound of Dipset new mixtape came blasting out.
“What’s good, my G?” Quick said, and the two men slapped hands.
“Glad to see you still alive,” Major Pain said, pulling away from the curb. “Gotta go pick Turf and Goliath up from jail.”
“Jail?” Quick repeated. “What they doing in jail?”
“Heard they got it on wit’ some Ds,” Major Pain told him, weaving his way through traffic with his gun resting on his lap. He always seemed to be ready for action.
“Fucked up what happened to that nigga Wolf.”
“Yeah,” Major Pain said. “That was my nigga. I put in a lot of work with that man and saw him put in a lot of work. God rest his soul.”
Major Pain pulled up in front of the jail and patiently waited. “I heard Sosa and his team bum-rushed your girl’s crib and smoked her,” he said, looking over at Quick, waiting for him to confirm the story.
“Yeah, it’s true,” Quick said, thinking back on Ivy. He couldn’t express what he felt for her, how real she was, her natural beauty. Ivy was definitely irreplaceable, but like it or not, he had to move on with his life. Even though she was gone, he would still hold a special place in his heart for her, no matter what.
“Tomorrow we gotta go take care of some high-class Italian club owner,” Major Pain said, his eyes glued to the front of the police station.
“Not a problem,” Quick said, as if snatching a human life was no big deal.
Quick heard his cell phone ringing. He glanced down at the caller ID and saw Kat’s name flashing across the screen. He immediately sent her straight to voice mail, as he continued his conversation.
“What time we gotta do that tomorrow?”
“Not sure, but early though.” Major Pain saw Turf and Goliath strolling out the police station. He tapped the horn twice, catching the attention of the two men.
Turf and Goliath slid in the backseat.
“Get me away from this fuckin’ place!” Turf couldn’t stand the sight of the station any longer.
“What happened with you and Sosa back there?” Goliath asked.
“What?” Major Pain looked at Turf through the rearview mirror. “That nigga Sosa was up in there with y’all?”
“Yeah,” Turf said, leaning back in his seat. “Tha
t nigga walked up in there like he was the man. When he saw me, he almost shit himself.” He decided to embellish the story a little.
As Quick listened to the story, he heard his cell phone ringing again. Again he saw Kat’s name flashing across the screen, and once again he sent her straight to voice mail.
“As soon as that nigga touch down, he’s dead,” Turf said, meaning every word he spoke. As bad as he wanted Sosa dead right now, he had to put that issue on pause for a second and get back to the money. “In three days we got a meeting with the connect, so I need y’all to be on standby.”
Quick was trying to pay attention to what Turf was saying, but his phone kept interrupting him. Kat sent him a text message that read: “Pls call me it’s an emergency!!!” But he ignored it and placed his phone back in its case.
“I also got the heads-up on this stash house I’ma need you two to take care of,” Turf said, looking at Major Pain and Quick.
Again Quick’s phone interrupted.
Turf looked over at Quick. “Is everything all right?”
“My bad. Let me take this call real quick,” he said, and he answered his ringing phone. “Yo, what’s up? Why the fuck you keep on calling me?” he barked into the phone.
“I told you I had an emergency,” Kat replied with an attitude.
“What’s the emergency?” Quick asked her, as if she was lying.
“I can’t talk right now. Just please come over to my house please,” she begged.
“A’ight, I’ll be there in about a hour,” Quick said, ending the call. He slipped his phone back in its case. “My bad,” he apologized.
“It’s all good. Just make sure you ready to put in this work in the next few days,” Turf said.
Just then Major Pain pulled up in front of a big, expensive-looking house.
“Y’all niggas hold it down,” Turf said, and him and Goliath hopped out the back of the truck and headed in the house.
Obsession Page 9
