by Askari
***
At The Eaglesville Rehabilitation Center
After taking a shower and throwing on the new underwear and sweat suit that was given to her by the program director, Nahfisah was standing in the bathroom looking at her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her blue eyes had bags underneath them, and she was so skinny that she could clearly see her jaw and cheekbones.
Damn Fisah, what the fuck were you thinking? she questioned herself. Her hands began to shake, and a migraine headache appeared from out of nowhere. Images of Imani invaded her thoughts and she broke down crying.
A soft knock sounded the door and her drug counselor, Ms. Mary stuck her head inside of the bathroom.
“Nahfisah is everything okay?” the beautiful Puerto Rican woman asked her. When Nahfisah didn’t respond, Ms. Mary stepped inside of the small bathroom and wrapped her arms around her. “Just let it out baby. Just let it out,” she repeated. Her words full of compassion and wisdom. She gently pulled Nahfisah out of the bathroom and led her toward the bed. “Here honey just sit down.”
Nafisah fell on top of the bed, and curled up in the fetal position. Ms. Mary caressed her back and spoke to her in a compassionate, motherly voice. “Go on and cry, baby. You gotta let it out.” Her eyes began to water and her heart grew heavier by the second. The young woman who lay before her reminded her so much of her own daughter. “Listen baby,” she said in a cracked voice. “I have to leave right now, but I’ll be back to check on you.”
As she got up to leave the room she reached inside of her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. With trembling hands, she looked at the picture of Riri and broke down crying.
***
At Club Spontaneous
Carmine was sitting behind his desk in total silence. Alphonso and Tony Bruno were standing on the other side. They just told him the news about Romey Noodles, and now they were anxiously awaiting his response.
“It was that fuckin’ Grip,” Carmine snarled through clenched teeth. “I fuckin’ know it.”
“Carmine, I really think we can benifit from this situation,” Alphonso suggested. “Between the five Families in New York, and the old fucks in our own Family,” he turned to Tony Bruno, “No disrespect to you Tony, but they’re all waiting for us to fuck up,” he continued as he returned his attention to Carmine. “We could use this beef with Grip to establish ourselves as the new generation of this Family.”
Carmine looked at him, and then fixed his eyes on Tony Bruno. “What about you, Tony? You think we should finish this moulinyan once and for all?”
Tony Bruno’s palms began to sweat and a cold chill ran up his spine. He’d been a soldier in The Gervino Crime Family for over thirty years and he was well acquainted with the caliber of drama that Grip was capable of bringing.
“Well don’t just stand there with a thumb in your ass,” Carmine spat. “Say somethin’.”
Tony Bruno wiped the sweat from his brow and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to be honest?”
“No, I want you to friggin’ lie to me,” Carmine responded sarcastically. “Of course I want you to be honest.”
Tony took a deep breath and sighed. “I think a war with the Moreno’s is the last thing we need right now. Grip’s too strong. I’ve never seen anything like him.”
Carmine listened to Tony Bruno express his feelings, and although he wouldn’t admit it, he knew that the old man was right. A war with The Moreno Family was pure insanity.
“Leave me,” he stated in a low tone of voice. “I need to get my thoughts together.”
As they left the office he grabbed his cell phone and called Little Angolo. “Gramps it’s me. I need you to come back to Philly.”
Chapter Twelve
After receiving the word from Sonny that Mexican Bobby was partying at Club Spontaneous, Breeze and the twins were heading up Delaware Avenue in Breeze’s triple black Hummer H2. Breeze was driving, Egypt was in the passenger’s seat, and Zaire was sitting behind him watching State Property on the 8 inch screen that was built into the headrest.
When they arrived at the strip club, they circled the parking lot, and just as they expected, they spotted Mexican Bobby’s Pepsi blue Lamborghini. Breeze parked the H2 directly beside it, and then looked at Egypt.
“Go inside and see what’s poppin’. Sonny said the nigga was posted up in the V.I.P. Here,” he handed him the two pictures of Mexican Bobby. “This way you can’t miss him. Sonny said he was wearin’ a wife beater and a pair of beige slacks. As you can see from the pictures, he’s light skinned, about 5’6”, and 160 pounds. Oh yeah,” he smirked, “and this is the funniest shit ever. This bird ass nigga got the nerve to have a tattoo of a rat on the left side of his neck.”
“A rat?” Zaire questioned from the backseat.
“Yeah,” Breeze nodded his head up and down. “And above the rat it says La Ratta, which means the rat in Spanish. This nigga’s bugged the fuck out.”
“Yo that’s crazy!” Zaire laughed. “I’ma have fun watchin’ this rat ass nigga beg for his life!”
“Me too,” Egypt chuckled while climbing out the Hummer and heading toward the entrance.
As soon as he walked through the door he was greeted by the sounds of T-Pain’s new hit.
Booty going up...down/ I ain’t got no problem spending all of my money/ I’m try’na see what’s up...now/ I can do this all day like it ain’t nothin’.
The interior of the club was flooded with neon lights, and a plethora of naked women were prancing back and forth flaunting their God given and surgically augmented body parts. He spotted a Black and Cambodian chick that he used to smash and gently grabbed her by the arm.
“Damn, Jas, let me holla at you real quick.”
“What’s up, Egypt?” she replied while chewing on a piece of gum. She was standing still, but her ass was moving to the music as if it had a mind of its own.
“Ain’t shit. Just try’na spend a couple of dollars witchu.” He pulled out a wad of hundreds and peeled away five of them. “I’m try’na slide through ya spot later on tonight so I’ma pay you right now.” He extended the $500, but all she did was look at it. “Damn Jas, why, you actin’ like that? What my money ain’t good no more?”
“Naw Egypt, it ain’t that. You know I fucks witchu. It’s just that my boo is comin’ home next week, and this is my last night dancing. I’m really try’na get my shit together, and fuckin’ niggas for bread is no longer an option.”
“More or less.” He shrugged his shoulders. She walked off, and he smiled at yhe sight of her ass jiggling. He posted up at the bar and ordered a double shot of Patron. As the topless bartender prepared his drink, he looked toward the V.I.P., and ice grilled Mexican Bobby. The little Mexican was standing on a chair, throwing 100s in the air and watching them rain down on some Spanish girl’s naked body. His 6’8”, 295 pound bodyguard was standing beside him with his massive arms folded across his pumped up chest. His eyes were scanning the club and his facial expression was stone cold.
“Goddamn!” Egypt shook his head in amazement. “This nigga looks like a Mexican Andre The Giant!”
The bartender handed him his drink, and he slid her a hundred dollar bill. He returned his gaze to Mexican Bobby. He was still throwing money in the air, and watching it rain down on the woman’s body. Fuck it, he laughed to himself. At least he got to have some fun before he died.
An hour later, after knocking down a few shots of Patron and smoking half a pack of Newports, he was happy to see that Mexican Bobby and his bodyguard were finally making their way toward the exit. He knocked down the rest of his drink and followed them from a safe distance.
“Aww man!” Mexican Bobby slurred. “I love America! We shoulda crossed de border a long time ago, mijo! De chicas in dis country, mijo. Dey are tigers!” He laughed, and then stumbled into his large companion.
He was so drunk that he didn’t even realize he’d pissed himself. The body
guard positioned himself behind his client, and did his best to keep the little man on his feet. Unknowingly, Egypt was a few feet behind them, sending Zaire a text message.
Yo, Be On Point. They Komin’ Y’all Way!
Sitting behind the H2’s tinted windows, Breeze and Zaire looked to their left, and sure enough they spotted the large bodyguard supporting Mexican Bobby’s weight with his large hands positioned under his armpits. Egypt closed the distance between himself and the two Mexicans.
“Excuse me big guy. I think you dropped somethin’.”
“Huh?” the bodyguard said as he turned his head to face the dark-skinned man with the shoulder length dreadlocks. “Dropped what?”
“This!” Egypt pulled out a stun gun and squeezed the trigger.
Ttttttttat! Ttttttttat!
The taser darts sprang from the barrel and bit into the bodyguard’s muscular chest causing him to release his hands from Mexican Bobby’s armpits. As his client melted to the pavement, he stumbled backwards and desperately fought the 7,500 volts of electricity that spread throughout his massive body. He staggered forward, attempting to wrestle the stun gun away from Egypt, but before he could reach him Zaire hopped on his back and put him in a tight chokehold. His body shook feverishly and globs of saliva ran down the sides of his mouth. The volts of electricity were taking its toll, but somehow he managed to rock backwards and slam Zaire against the grill of the Hummer.
“Goddamn!” Breeze said to himself as the Hummer rocked from side to side. “What the fuck, he on steroids or somethin'?”
As Zaire fall to the ground with the wind knocked out of him, Breeze grabbed his .45 from the center console and jumped out the truck.
As the bodyguard staggered toward Egypt with his hands reaching for the stun gun, Breeze slid up behind him and aimed the .45 at the back of his head. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, the electordynamics of the stun gun decimated the bodyguard’s will to fight and he crashed to the pavement.
After controlling his breathing Zaire hopped off the ground and ran toward the bodyguard in a fit of rage. Savagely, he stomped the man’s head into a bloody pulp.
Breeze approached Mexican Bobby, who was laying on the ground in a drunken stupor. He placed his hands behind his back, and then looked at Zaire. “Yo, stop kickin’ that nigga, and bring me them zip ties!”
Zaire kicked the bodyguard one last time, and then grabbed the zip ties from his back pocket. He tossed them to Breeze, and Breeze tied them around Mexican Bobby's wrist. Breeze picked the little man off of the ground and hoisted him over his right shoulder. He hurried toward the back of the Hummer and called out to Egypt, “Yo, start the truck and pop the the back door.”
Egypt did as he was told, and thirty seconds later they were driving up Delaware Avenue, heading for I-95.
***
The Swamp as they called it was a country house that was situated on a 10 acre farm in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, about thirty minutes on the outskirts of Philadelphia. The house and land belonged to a 51 year old white man called The Butcher, and he was one of Easy’s oldest friends.
Back 1988, while Easy was doing bit in the Bucks County Prison, he was placed in a cell with the man that The Philadelphia Daily News referred to as The Bucks County Butcher. Allegedly, The Butcher found his wife and his best friend in bed together. He beat them to death with his bare hands, and then one by one he carried their mutilated bodies to the in-house butcher’s shop that was located in the basement of his house. The shop was built by his father in the late 1950’s, and it was there that The Butcher prepared his signature cuts for the customers who purchased whole pigs from his pig farm. Unfortunately, on that dreadful afternoon pork wasn’t the meat of choice. Instead, he hacked up his redheaded wife and his pot bellied best friend, and piece by piece he fed their body parts to his massive sized hogs. He was eventually convicted for the murders and given the death penalty. After serving five years on death row, the Pennsylvania Supreme Court overturned his conviction and awarded him with a new trial. He was transferred from a state prison back to the county jail, and it was there that he met the man who would help him get his life back.
When Easy approached his cell for the first time he’d never heard of The Butcher, and therefore, he had no apprehensions about sharing a cell with the 6’5”, 280 pound white man. In fact, after ten months of occupying the same space the two became close friends. When Easy heard the news about The Butcher’s case he paid his high powered attorneys to represent him at his new trial. The Butcher was eventually acquitted on all charges and to show his gratitude, when Easy was released from jail, The Butcher became his go to man whenever he needed someone to turn up missing. Up until now, The Butcher had never disappointed him.
***
It was a little pass 8:00 p.m. when Egypt turned off of Route 611 and drove up a long dirt road that lead to a white colonial style house. Up ahead he spotted Rahmello’s Aston Martin. It was parked beside a brown pick-up truck, and he knew that they reached their destination. In the past, him and Zaire had heard stories about The Swamp and The Butcher, but they’d never been here before.
As the H2 cruised up the dirt road, Egypt noticed a huge barn that was surrounded by oak trees, and despite the fact that the windows were rolled up, a rancid odor invaded the SUV.
“Damn, which one of y’all niggas bust y’all ass?” Egypt asked while covering his nose with his right hand. “Whoever it was, y’all need to change y’all mutha’fuckin’ lifestyle! Y’all insides is doin’ bad right now! Nigga need to go vegan or somethin’! Damn!”
Breeze laughed at him. “Nah Blood, ain’t nobody bust they ass! That’s just the way it be smellin’ out here.”
Zaire gagged and coughed. “Damn yo, how the fuck this nigga be livin' out here wit’ this shit smellin’ like that? This nigga’s outta pocket!”
Breeze pointed out the pigpens that were scattered through the property. “The majority of whatchu smellin’ is comin’ from them,” he pointed at the pigs. “But The Butcher be havin’ all types of shit out here. Y’all already know about the pigs, but this nigga be havin’ alligators, snakes, lizards, hawks, eagles, and gamecocks. That’s just the shit that I know about. Ain’t no tellin’ what else he's got stashed around this mutha'fucka. He fuck around and have a hippo out this bitch.”
“Or maybe a dinosaur,” Mexican Bobby slurred, oblivious to the fact that he’d been kidnapped.
Zaire, who was still sitting in the back seat, spun around and was surprised to see the little Mexican sitting up in the cargo compartment, smiling from ear to ear. “Pussy shut ya rat ass up!” he snapped, and then punched him in the face, knocking him unconscious.
Egypt parked the H2 beside Rahmello’s Aston Martin, and they climbed out the truck. As they approached the house, the front door swung open and The Butcher appeared in the threshold. He was dressed in a black one piece Dickies suit, and a weird expression was written on his face. His long orange hair fell to his shoulders and his long orange beard looked like a baby orangutan was hanging from his ears. His chest heaved up and down, and his piercing blue eyes burned holes through the three men standing on his front porch.
Zaire discreetly tapped his twin brother on the leg and whispered, “Fuck is up wit Sonny? He got us way out in east bumble fuck wit’ this big ass white bul. This nigga’s trippin’.”
Breeze shook his head from side to side, and then walked up to the massive man and shook his hand.
“What’s up Butchie? You ready for us?”
“Yeah,” The Butcher responded in a high pitched squeaky voice. “Rahmello’s in the barn. He’s got everything you guys are gonna need.”
Egypt and Zaire looked at one another dumbfounded. Without saying a word their twin intuition said, Damn, how the fuck this big ass white bul gon’ have the nerve to sound like Freeway?
Breeze released his grasp from The Butcher’s hand, and then gestured toward the twins. “Butchie I want you to meet the twins, Egypt and Zaire.”
“Hey guys!” The Butcher smiled and waved. “It’s nice to meet ya! Heard a lot about ya!”
The twins nodded their heads. “What’s up?”
“Everything’s fine,” The Butcher replied. “Like I just told Breeze, everything’s in the barn with Rahmello. It’s a good thing Sontino called when he did. I was just about to feed ‘em,” he said, referring to his pet alligators. “Alright guys, I’ve gotta finish preparing this package for one of my customers so if you need me I’ll be downstairs in the butcher’s shop. Oh yeah, If you’re hungry, I’ve got some fresh pork jerky for ya.”
Breeze cringed. “Nah Butchie, we good. You helped us enough already. Good lookin’ though.”
“Suit yourself.” The large man shrugged his shoulders, and then disappeared inside of the house.
Breeze turned his attention to the twins. “Grab rat boy out the back of the truck and bring his ass to the barn. I’ma holla at Mello, and let him know we here.”
Inside of the barn, Rahmello was sitting on a workshop bench smoking a Black & Mild. About thirty feet in front of him, two alligators were crawling around the bank of a makeshift swamp. It was a ten foot deep ditch with a three hundred foot perimeter, and was filled with muddy water and broken tree logs. It smelled something awful, but Rahmello couldn’t have cared less. He loved the two reptiles that he nicknamed T-Rex and Godzilla. T-Rex was 13 feet long and weighed close to 1,400 pounds. Godzilla was 11 feet long and weighed approximately 1,300 pounds. Their powerful jaws and long teeth intrigued Rahmello, and ever since Easy introduced him to The Butcher he would often travel to The Swamp and spend some quality time with his prehistoric friends.
Breeze entered the barn followed by Egypt and Zaire who were carrying Mexican Bobby’s unconscious body.
“Damn Blood,” Egypt complained while screwing up his face. “How the fuck is you in here chillin’? It smells like ten fat bitches was in here mud wrestling for three days straight.”
