by Askari
Heemy smiled at him. “That’s right boy, eat it all up,” he encouraged him.
He pushed the cupcake through the fence, and continued smiling as the pitbull wolfed down the sweet chocolate. As soon as Animal was finished eating, he spotted the second cupcake, and pressed his nose against the fence. Heemy raised the .32 and gently pressed the cupcake against the fence. As Animal greedily licked the chocolate icing, Heemy squeezed the trigger.
Pow!
The bullet traveled through the pit bull’s mouth and burst through the back of his skull. He fell on his side, and his muscular body began to twitch.
Stuck in somewhat of a trance, Heemy just stood there with the .32 still aimed at the fence. His nostrils flared and a single tear fell from his right eye. The sadistic feeling that spread throughout his body was exorbitant. He never imagined that taking a life would feel so intoxicating. He turned to Twany and saw that his comrade was staring at the mutilated dog with a devilish grin on his face. He handed him the pistol and told him to turn his head in the opposite direction. He then, pulled out his rock hard dick and urinated on Animal’s dead body.
***
When Pooky pulled up in front of his house on 67th and Ogantz, he was nodding his head to Oshino’s latest mixtape and puffing on an Optimo. After four weeks of doing what he considered to be hustling, he finally had the $300,000 that he owed Sonny for the 10 keys he received at the beginning of the month.
Eight months ago, when he was released from prison, Sheed supplied him with 24 keys, and made it clear that he expected to receive half of everything he made. He also provided Pooky with the cell phone that he used to serve his clientele. Initially, Pooky was on point, and in six months he had amassed a bankroll of $550,000. However, instead of sitting half of the money aside for Sheed, he fucked it all up. Due to his reckless spending habits and degenerate gambling, the only things he had to show for the money was his house, a silver Range Rover Sport, an extensive wardrobe, and a little over $75,000. His situation became so bad that two months ago, he explained the circumstances to Sheed, and begged his younger brother to hook him up with Sonny. Sheed had known all along that Pooky wasn’t a hustler, and that’s why he only supplied him with the 24 keys that he’d taken from Nahfisah. He wasn’t really worried about the money because he was sitting on a little over $875,000. He just wanted to give his big brother the opportunity to shine. After giving Pooky a brief lecture about staying focused, he plugged him into Sonny, and Sonny offered to front him 10 keys for $30,000 apiece. The only condition was that Pooky couldn’t tamper with quality of the work. When Sheed broke the news to Pooky, he was somewhat disappointed. He knew that even if he sold the keys for $35,000 a piece, after paying Sonny his $300,000, he would only make a $50,000 profit. In his mind, that wasn’t enough. He expressed his concerns to Sonny, and on the strength of Sheed, Sonny gave him three corners, 10th and Susquehanna, Franklin and Diamond, and Delhi and Cumberland. Unfortunately, in Pooky’s mind that still wasn’t enough. He went against Sonny’s orders, and stretched 5 of the keys to 10, and sold the watered down product to his weight customers.
As he sat behind the stirring wheel, he noticed a canary yellow 2014 Corvette Sting Ray parked across the street. A huge smile spread across his face, and he climbed out of the Range Rover. Damn, she’s right on time, he thought to himself as he headed toward his house.
When he walked through the front door, Jerimiah’s, Birthday Sex, was blasting from the second floor and the aroma of lavender scented candles permeated the air. He locked the door behind him, and then headed up the stairs. “Yo Flo, where you at?”
Instead of a response, the only thing he could hear was the music. He continued walking up the stairs, and the closer he got to the second floor, he could hear the sound of his headboard slamming against his bedroom wall.
“What the fuck?” he said to himself in disbelief. “I know this bitch ain’t got another nigga in my mutha’fuckin’ spot.”
He removed the Glock .40 that was tucked in his waistband, and approached his bedroom door.
“Ummm! Fuck me baby! Right there! Keep it right there!” Flo shouted in pure ecstasy.
Infuriated, he pressed the muzzle of the Glock against the door, and slowly pushed it open.
“Oooooohhhh shit,” he said to himself, completely caught off guard.
Instead finding another man in his bed, a cinnamon complexioned woman was fucking Flo from the back with a strap on dildo. He didn’t recognize the woman, but her beautiful face made him hornier by the second. She had honey brown dreadlocks that were wrapped up in a crown, almond shaped eyes, full lips, and a broad nose that was decorated with a diamond stud. They made eye contact and she welcomed him to the party with the flick of her pierced tongue.
He stepped inside the room, and closed the door behind him. As he laid the Glock on his dresser, Flo must’ve felt his energy. She lifted her head from the pillow and smiled at him. Aroused by his presence, she bounced her ass against Miss Cinnamon’s pelvis, and then reached in between her thighs to rub on her swollen clitoris.
“Now, that’s what the fuck I’m talking ‘bout!” Pooky encouraged them. He approached the bed and stood directly in front of Flo. The top half of her body was hanging off the bed, but the firm grasp that Miss Cinnamon had around her waist wouldn’t allow her to fall. He unbuckled his belt, and his Prada slacks fell to the carpet. He pulled his dick through the slit in his boxer briefs, and slowly caressed her face with his anatomy. Miss Cinnamon thrust her hips and the dildo hit the bottom of Flo's pussy. Her response was a deep moan that was more akin to a soft cry. She pulled her hand away from her pussy, and then reached for Pooky’s dick. She cradled the head between her thumb and index finger, and then pushed it against his pelvis. After tilting her head sideways, she leaned forward and used her tongue to massage his balls.
The look of ecstasy that was plastered on Pooky’s face gave Miss Cinnamon the urge to put her own dick sucking skills to work. She removed the cum drenched dildo from Flo’s pussy, and then crawled to the edge of the king sized mattress. After nuzzling her body beside Flo’s, she grabbed Pooky’s dick away from Flo’s grasp, and placed it inside of her warm mouth.
After 10 minutes of getting his dick sucked and his balls licked at the same time, Pooky tapped out. “Damn, y’all gotta chill for a minute,” he buckled under pressure. “Y’all got a nigga goin’ crazy in this mutha’fucka.”
Miss Cinnamon came up for air, and removed the strap on from around her waist. After tossing it on the floor, she looked at Flo and smiled. “Come on boo, let’s take this nigga for a ride.”
Flo smiled back, knowing exactly what Miss Cinnamon was referring to. Pooky didn’t know it yet, but he was about to find out. Flo stood up on the mattress and told him to lie on his back. She then, straddled his face, giving him a mouthful of twat. Simultaneously, Miss Cinnamon hopped on his shaft, reverse cowgirl style, and together they rode him like there was no tomorrow.
***
An Hour Later...
Pooky emerged from the bathroom with a Polo towel wrapped around his waist. He had a neatly rolled Optimo dangling from his mouth, and he was higher than a fat man’s blood pressure.
This was the fifth time that he’d done the unthinkable, and slept with Sheed’s woman. It all started about a month ago when the two of them returned from a visit with Sheed. During the visit, Sheed informed them that he was considering a 15 to 30 year plea agreement. To Pooky’s grimy ass, that was music to his ears. With Sheed out of the way, not only would he be able take over his business, he’d also have the opportunity to take from his younger brother the one thing that he’d wanted since the day he was released from prison, Flo.
After the visit, Pooky put his plan into action. He explained to Flo that with Sheed doing all of that time, the lifestyle that she’d grown accustomed to was over, and that the Gucci and Fendi designs that she loved so much would soon be a memory. He promised her that he was man enough to hold her down, and he di
d everything in his power to prove it. That following week, he laced her with diamonds, money, and a brand new wardrobe. Initially, the love and loyalty that she had for Sheed outweighed Pooky’s gestures, but eventually her greed turned the scales.
It also didn’t hurt that Pooky’s muscular frame, caramel complexion, wavy hair, and dope boy swag was a constant reminder of Sheed. In the end she abandoned her inhibitions, and just like Jay Z, she was on to the next one!
When Pooky entered the bedroom and saw that the room was empty, he went downstairs and found Flo sitting at the dining room table. She was smoking a Newport and stuffing the $300,000 that he owed Sonny inside of a black duffle bag. He looked around for Miss Cinnamon, but found no traces of her.
“Yo, where ya homie at?” he asked while using her Newport to light the tip of his Optimo. “I was hopin’ we could go a few more rounds.”
“A few more rounds?” she chuckled. “Nigga that was a one shot deal. You know I’m a stingy bitch when it comes to my man.”
“Whatever,” Pooky smiled as he took a seat at the table. He looked at the duffle bag, and then returned his gaze to Flo. “It came out to $300,000, right?”
She nodded her head. “Yeah. You said that every stack was $10,000, and I counted a total of 30 stacks.”
Before he had the chance to respond, the cordless phone that was lying on the table began to ring. He picked it up, and held it to his ear.
“Who dis?”
“Hey yo Pook I need to holla at you about somethin’,” his young bul Mar-Mar stated in a slow, Jadakiss type voice.
“Well holla at me. What’s good?”
“Yo, that lil’ nigga Heemy killed Animal.”
“What?” Pooky snapped. “What the fuck you mean he killed Animal?”
“The lil’ nigga shot him.”
“Hold the fuck up, you mean to tell me that you just stood there, and let this bitch ass nigga shoot my fuckin’ dog?”
“Nizzaw! I wasn’t even here when it happened,” Mar-Mar quickly explained. “I just pulled up on the block a couple of minutes ago. When I got out the car, Beaver Bushnut told me what happened. He said that him and SMD was out here waitin’ on me when they heard a gunshot in the backyard. He said they went around back to see what happened, and that’s when he found Animal wit’ his shit pushed back.”
“Well, how the fuck did Bushnut know that Heemy was the one who shot him?”
“Yo, you ain’t even let me finish,” Mar-Mar complained. “He told me that Heemy and Twany was creepin’ from the back of the house, and that Heemy had a burner in his hand.”
“A’ight man, damn!” Pooky retorted. “If you see them lil’ niggas, keep em’ close til’ I get there!”
Chapter Eight
It was a little pass 2:30 p.m. when three triple black Escalades pulled up on the corner of Marshall and Tioga, and blocked off Poncho’s bodega. The first truck parked along the edge of Tioga Street, the second truck parked at the bend in the corner, and the third truck parked along the edge of Marshall Street.
Easy hopped out the first truck, and Zaire hopped out the third truck. Both were strapped with an MP5, and together they scoped the area looking for any sign of suspicious activity.
Sitting behind the stirring wheel of the second truck, Sonny checked the safety on his FNH .45, and then gazed through the tinted window to read Easy’s body language. After receiving a head nod, he grabbed the two briefcases from the back seat, and then him and Rahmello exited the SUV.
When they walked inside of the bodega, the first thing that grabbed their attention was the loud Spanish music that played over the intercom and the distinct aroma of the Goya products that filled the air. They approached the cash register where Olivia, Poncho’s 19 year old daughter was reading a Hip Hop Weekly magazine and using her index finger to twirl her hair in a circular motion. The young woman was beautiful to say the least. She had a light brown complexion, green eyes, a pointed nose, thin lips, and a petite frame. Everything about her was exotic, and if one were to compare her to anybody, it would have to be the actress Zoe Saldana. She looked up from the magazine and smiled. “What’s up Sontino? You here to see papi?”
“Yeah,” Sonny responded, admiring her natural beauty.
She looked at Rahmello. His baby face, blue eyes, and wavy hair was driving her crazy. Damn papi, you lookin’ good as shit, she thought to herself, admiring the way his soft yellow Dolce & Gabbana linen set was lying on his muscular body. She locked eyes with him for a brief moment, and then grabbed her cell phone from the counter. After dialing the numbers to the apartment on the second floor, she held the phone to her ear.
Poncho answered on the third ring. “Hola Oli.”
“Papi, Sontino is here to see you.”
“Okay, Oli. Send him up,” he replied, then disconnected the call.
She looked at Sonny. “Papi said for you to come upstairs,” she nodded her head toward the back of the bodega. “You know the way.”
Sonny looked at Rahmello and gave him a look that said, Be on point. He then, headed up the aisle toward the door that led to Poncho’s apartment. He knocked about four times, and a few seconds later he could hear footsteps descending the stairs on the other side. The door swung open, and a short Columbian man that he’d never seen before was standing there with a smug expression. He was extremely thin, and he appeared to be in his late forties. He looked Sonny up and down, and then gritted his teeth. “Ju packin’ papa?”
“Am I packin’?” Sonny screwed up his face, wondering why the man would ask such a stupid question. “Yo, where ya boss at? He’s expectin’ me.”
“I said is ju packin’?” The little man raised his voice.
Sonny looked at him like he was crazy. “And I said... where the fuck is ya boss at?”
“Chee-Chee!” Poncho yelled from the second floor. “He okay! Let him up!”
Chee-Chee gritted his teeth, and then stepped to the side. He gestured for Sonny to walk in front of him, but Sonny just stood there shaking his head. “Nizzaw, you go first and I’ma follow you.”
When they reached the apartment on the second floor, Poncho and another man were sitting on the sofa watching a soccer match. Yo, what’s up wit’ this nigga? Sonny questioned himself. I’ve got two point five on me, and this nigga got me around two mutha’fuckas that I never even seen before. This nigga trippin’! Subconsciously, he tightened his grasps around the handles of the briefcases.
Poncho got up from the sofa and extended his right hand. “Sontino, how ju doing?”
Sonny sat the briefcases down on the carpet and accepted the gesture with a firm handshake. At the same time, he attentively kept his eyes on the two strangers. “I’m a’ight.”
Poncho could tell what he was thinking, and a huge smile spread across his face. “I want for ju to meet my brother Juan.” He ushered him over to the sofa. “Juan, dis is Sontino. Easy’s boy.”
The second Sonny realized that the light brown skinned Columbian was Juan Nunez, a chill ran up his spine. He’d been hearing stories about him for the past year and a half, and he knew that Juan was the real deal. Juan and Poncho grew up in Columbia with Pablo Escobar, and in the mid-eighties, they came to America and flooded the states with the best cocaine that the country had ever seen.
“Sontino, it’s nice to finally meet ju,” Juan smiled and shook his hand. “I been hearing some very good things about ju, and I was hoping ju could help me and Poncho out with a small problem.”
“Oh yeah,” Sonny nodded his head. “What type of problem?”
The Al Pacino look alike reached inside of his trousers and pulled out a picture of a young Spanish man sitting on the hood of a Pepsi blue Lamborghini Superleggra. He was wearing a white tuxedo and huge diamonds decorated his ears. He handed the picture to Sonny.
“His name is Roberto Alverez, but ju may or may not know him as Mexican Bobby. He’s from Isla Mujares, but now he’s in Philadelphia.”
Sonny shrugged his shoulders. “A
’ight, but I still don’t understand the small problem that you’re speakin’ of, and on top of that, what makes you think that I can help you?”
Poncho stepped to Juan and whispered something in his ear. Juan nodded his head up and down, and then cleared his throat.
“Our problem is dat he’s an informant. He testified against a friend of ours, and now he’s rubbing it in our faces.”
“How?” Sonny asked.
Juan looked at Poncho, and Poncho handed Sonny a mug shot of Mexican Bobby. He examined the picture and couldn’t believe his eyes. On the right side of the man’s neck, as clear as day, there was a tattoo of a rat eating a piece of cheese, and directly above were the words La Ratta.
“The rat?” Sonny questioned. He looked back and forth between Juan and Poncho. “Yo, this is a joke right?”
Juan just stared at him.
“Damn,” Sonny shook his head from side to side. “This nigga told on a mutha’fucka, and then had the nerve to get a tattoo of a rat on his neck?”
Juan nodded his head. “Ju see my point? I want him dead within 48 hours. Can ju handle dat?”
“Yeah I can definitely handle that, but what’s in it for me? This ain’t no meatball shit. If one of my homies gets locked up or hurt in the process, then what?”
“We understand ju concern,” Poncho interjected, “and to show our gratitude we are willing to give ju an opportunity dat we only give to a chosen few.” He pointed toward the coffee table where 200 kilograms of cocaine were neatly piled one on top of one another. “Not only are we willing to increase ju monthly shipment to 200 keys, we’ll drop de price from $25,000 to $20,000 a key. How ju feel about dat?”
Sonny contemplated his offer, and then nodded his head in agreement. “You know what Poncho, you can count me in. Consider it done.”
Poncho smiled at him, and one by one, him and Juan shook his hand. Poncho placed his hand on Sonny’s shoulder. “Ju made de right move Sontino lemme tell ju, but dere’s one more thing. I need for ju to bring me de tongue dat he used to speak evil, and de hands dat he used to point out our friend from de witness stand. Ju got dat?”
