by Brick
I had a fresh prime source now through my big brother. My always protective brother, a nigga I hated to let down, but it was what it was. I mean, I could blame my habit on the shit we went through at kids. Yeah, a little of it was because of that, especially the drinking and weed, but I was a grown-ass man. I could accept and own up to my faults and embrace them at the same time. I did this to myself. As long as I could get high and keep this feelgood going, but also have a clear mind in order to handle business, then I was good at keeping my secret on lock.
“Ooooo,” I heard both twins sigh at once as we made that bed rock.
It was time to flip and treat the other right, while allowing one to ride me. I was a creative nigga, so the night was still young for us, as I got my rocks off and dick wet with French twin juices.
By the time I was done with them both, it was sometime around twelve in the afternoon. Standing in front of my black and silver Benz, I adjusted my shades due to the glinting sun kicking me in the face. Rocking my cool stance, arms crossed over my chest, wide legged and feeling cocky, I watched a private jet lift in the air. Yeah, life was fucking raw right now. Just like the two pussies I left begging for more as they were escorted back to the airport by me.
For a moment, I thought Von would back out and pussy out of coming into such incredible power, but I knew him. My brother was the type to research his Ps and Qs. He’d find out all that he could just so he could weigh the pros and cons before settling on any business deal. That was only half of what made him a damn good businessman. For a second there, he did trip me up. But once he took that fork to that nigga Cormac’s neck, I knew our time to rise to power had come..
Chilling in my ride, my mind went to Mama. No lie, her death seemed to kick my usage in overdrive. For the life of me, I didn’t know what was up or what was down. I just understood that she was really gone. It was something that I was still trying to process.
“Hello?” I asked through the speakers of my ride while answering my ringing cell phone.
“Jojo and Naveen are fighting again. Can you get here?” It was Melissa. Her voice had a raw quality to it as if she was crying and it bothered me to my soul.
“I have something to handle, but I’ll be there right away, I promise, Lissa. Can you keep them apart until then?” I asked, glancing right then left as I shifted lanes. Scuffling could be heard and it irritated me as I waited for her to answer me. “Melissa! Can you hold it down?” I shouted jarring her attention.
“Ah, yeah. I got it. Just come through please,” she said hanging up in my ear as she shouted, “Oh my God! Stop!”
Fuck! ran through my head causing me to slam my fist against the steering wheel. I was done with those two beefing, I really was. However, there was something that I had to handle.
Whipping down the highway, I found my way near ATL’s Old Fourth Ward district. Music blasted and I climbed out of my ride and stared up at an apartment complex. Keys jingled in my hand as I went up a set of stairways. Using my key, I stepped inside of a clean apartment that had the scent of fresh Clorox as the sound of a vacuum going off filled the room. Tossing the keys on the table, I paused to clear my cell of the various text messages I had received; then I walked through the place stopping in a large bedroom staring at Inez, who wore an oversized T-shirt and was reading from her medical book.
Closing the door of the room, I rolled my shoulders and sighed in annoyance and disappointment. I hated confronting her because she had a fucked-up temper; so did I. But, her messages I listened to this morning, and the texts I got from Naveen, needed to be addressed. We had to talk about her mouth with Shanelle. There was no way around it.
Yeah, I was her nigga.
Chapter 11
Javon
“Welcome. We finally get to meet the bloke who took over the Syndicate,” was directed my way by a lone male sitting at a circular table surrounded by a team of Irish. “Who stole my father’s chair.”
Unbuttoning the sleeves of my black button-down shirt, I rolled them up and hooked my thumbs in the pockets of my dark jeans. With Lucky down with my plan, I immediately moved on the next phase with a group of niggas who reeked of disdain and homicidal desires. A quick flash of an amused smile appeared across my face as I stood in a tavern in Sandy Springs and stared the Irish down. At my sides behind me were Lamont, and Lucky who, funny enough, was watching in equal amusement clicking a lollipop back and forth in his mouth while his hands rested folded in front of him.
“Shit stain monkey,” sounded in the room of Irish.
Around me but behind me, Lucky, and Lamont were my Forty Thieves acting as my additional protection. Each one stepped up only by an inch. The Irish side seemed to grow in that moment. Before coming in, each of us was patted down. I was assured that this meeting by their new boss would be private. But of course I smelled bullshit on that when I saw several undercover cars hiding around the block only a second away from the meet. When we stepped inside and saw that, had I not brought my Forty Thieves, I would have been outnumbered by five extra Irish and an ambush was going down.
“Stole? No, I’d say abdicated or corrected a wrong that occurred before us.” I had to thank my instincts and my mother’s notes.
She explained that Cormac’s crew were not to be trusted in any capacity. The Irish who sat at the table were ones who took out the old Atlanta crew of Irish by betraying the former leader, Branna O’Leary, also known as the Dublin Lass. Branna was one of the only people at the table Mama somewhat trusted and highly respected because of their shared views and being female. Also, because Branna didn’t carry the weakness of racism in her.
Branna had come from Dublin in the sixties and used her pull and power to build up what she named O’Leary Tavern while transporting her father’s crime syndicate to Atlanta. Even though her crew was majority Irish, Branna brought in other races who she thought would help seal her power in Atlanta, which it did. Through the growth of her power, her influence was noticeably impactful especially with her connections with the church. Cormac, who was in Ireland at the time with his own crew wanting to expand his own crew, staged a coup and took down Branna and the O’Leary clan, claiming their pipeline for his own.
Mama noted that he had his crew lynch and drag the black, Native American, and Latino members of her crew. Cormac used his resources to hunt her down. He broke into Branna’s home and raped her. Then he cut her throat open, gutting her from her mouth to her pussy.
Being the type of extra-ass bastard that he was, because that wasn’t enough Cormac then took her baby son Ennis. He later transported her marked and mutilated body, personally hanging it with an ultimatum in front of the Syndicate’s unofficial headquarters. That ultimatum was, “Take him as Branna’s chair replacement or war will come.” It was foul how he came through the ranks and Mama voiced that. However, she was outvoted in her opinion and, suffice to say, they accepted him and then the rest was dust. Mama’s distrust of Cormac’s position and power that he used for the Syndicate continued even after her death.
For his type of evil, a fork for that motherfucker was a pleasantry in comparison to what he’s done to others.
Fresh sunlight shined through stained glass. Dark wood paneling covered everything from the floor to the green walls. There were eight classic-style tables in the middle of the pub. The rest of the seating was booths. Behind us were Celtic tartans and Irish flags as well as pictures of various sports teams and plenty of flat-screen TVs. The Tarmac Carriage Pub was considered one of Atlanta’s hipster spots. Funny enough you never saw many black folk, but that’s beside the point. Various bar taps crafted to honor Ireland’s history and mythology were lined up against a spotless bar top while glass pints sat in a stack.
“Do you mind if I have a bit of a pint? I heard this pub had the best Guinness around.” Quietly watching the men in front of me, my attention stayed on a dark-haired young guy with a long ponytail wearing a leather jacket, sliced jeans, and black shit kickers.
Nigga�
��s jade green eyes never left me while he played with a sharpened fork against his finger. From his appearance, I gathered he was Cormac’s son and heir. From the lightly bearded jaw line to the asymmetrical shape of his face, he pretty much was Cormac’s twin. When he snapped a finger and pointed, one of his crewmembers got up to grab me a pint.
This bulky bastard was bald and pasty pink with swastikas on his turkey neck. He also wore what I saw was the standard gang biker jacket. If I had a fat pit bull with a runny nose suffering heat stroke in front of me, I’d say that nigga was its twin. Anyway, dude took that glass behind the bar with him, pulled his dick out, ran it around the rim, pissed in it, reached up, and pulled the tap to finish filling it up, then topped it off with a thick blob of thick spit. After, that dude slid it my way over the bar.
I chuckled while I stared at the piss, spit, and beer concoction. “I’d thank you, but considering . . . Gentlemen, I’m before you at your request because your messages leaked through the pipeline to meet you at your insistence. Here I stand. I assume your loss has you questioning what is going to occur with your seat at the table. Correct?”
“Our loss?” Cormac’s son repeated slowly as if in thought. “Rumor in the pipeline says you were the cause of that said loss. Would you lie to us about that?”
“I’m not sure, would I?” Keeping my place where I stood, everyone in the room bristled at my words, but I kept my cool. “I’m pretty damned sure that if one of the many units of the Syndicate went against their own law and attacked one of their own then, admittedly, went after family’s younger family members, all retribution would have to go down right?”
Looking around, I noticed that the room became fuller with more Irish. This meant that I had a lot of room to work with and I liked the odds. Game on. With a roll of my shoulders, I picked up the pint, swirled it around then gave a low sigh. From how everything was situated in this joint, I knew off the bat that this “meeting” was a poorly crafted setup.
“Before we get down with the real business you all got me here for, let me introduce you to my man Lucky, representing New York. Why don’t you all lift a pint up and tell him congrats on taking your father’s seat; I mean, the nigga who killed your mother and kidnapped you to raise you as his own. Because you’ll never get it now, Ennis,” I said locking eyes on Cormac’s son. “I mean, when your punk-ass father fell on his own fork, since he was so adamant about meeting me and all. That nigga looked just like a fresh sack of exploding haggis. That’s that foul, vomit-looking shit y’all like to suck on right? Or is that the Scots?”
“What the fuck did you say, you darkie?” Ennis shouted turning beet red and glaring at me.
I knew I had his attention now. Chuckling, I gave a shrug. “Damn. You didn’t know? Shieet,” I said shaking my head and glaring at the pint in my hand. “I need to recruit Scots then. They have more loyalty and respect than your racist, sexist, pedophile, kidnapping, and morally repressed sacks of nigger shit y’all hate so much.”
Flashing a hateful smile, I swiftly splashed the beer ahead of me. “Let’s get this shit over with shall we, my friends?”
Swiftly with a sharp turn, I swung out to slam that pint against the head of a hulking redheaded beefy nigga with tattoos all over his hands. The force was so strong that the fleshy fat of that nigga’s neck jiggled and rolled. Blood and spit flung out in a spew. Every Irish nigga in the pub either jumped up or flipped over tables to rushed at me.
“Damn, this is how I’m welcomed? I think I like it,” Lucky said in laughter.
“Hell yes!” I shouted in excitement. Boastfully I laughed, adding, “I love a good stomping, don’t you? Especially hateful motherfuckers. Lamont fought one of these fuckers. Racist naked mole rat spit in his eye and tried to cheat while calling him all type of racial bullshit.”
Near the bar, Lamont was wrapping a tartan around the throat of one of the Irish’s bikers. Unfazed, he twisted it with a grin. “No doubt! Told me to grab my tomahawk and go back to the rez. Motherfucker, you’re on my land. Take your ass back to the side of Ireland that keeps being bombed and shit, then suck on my peace pipe,” he said grabbing his crotch. “Now fuck off, son.”
Finger squeezing his Glock, bullets rained out and Lamont beamed. “Today is a good day to get back at their asses.”
Everyone on my side of the tavern flew into action. Lamont took a chair and swung it into the face of one of the Irish. The Forty Thieves began taking down whoever they could, all while Ennis sat watching me swing on his people. I already knew what he was waiting to do; it didn’t take a rocket scientist. That’s why I ducked and slammed my shoulder into a biker with sour breath, yoked him up by his throat then slammed his head down on the table.
With a quick glance around, I counted the tables again then grinned. Bingo. Quickly, I jumped on a table watching Ennis leap up with an evil scowl.
“You killed my father!” he screamed.
“My dude! He was never your father, and you piss on the true owner of this tavern: your mother. A true Syndicate queen right along with my mother,” I said stepping backward. See, anger makes people do the dumbest things and I really appreciated that because I was using it to my advantage.
Now accepting, registering, or just plumb listening to everything I said, Ennis pushed his boys out of the way in the attempt to get me. Had this nigga had more sense and smarts, I might have attempted to extend an olive branch, but since Cormac brainwashed the nigga too deeply to be anything that Branna was, nigga was nothing but a lost cause for my plan. Mentally tossing that rock away, I grinned and readied myself to rumble with this fool.
He reached out attempting to snatch me up and roared, “I’m coming for you.”
“My nigga behind me,” I said pointing with my thumb to a big brotha from the Forty Thieves behind me, “Nuts, will be waiting as you try to get at me.”
In my moment of tomfoolery, the room seemed to open for me, parting like the Red Sea. Kicking out, I slammed my boot in Ennis’s face. In response, he snatched me by my ankle causing me to tumble off the table. Dude was quick with it. He slammed his fist in my face, scraping it with the fork he tried to slam into me.
With each punch from him, I used my forearms to block his blows while twisting side to side shifting backward. Having Ennis come for me was exactly what I wanted because it caused me to land near booth four. Earlier that day, before they shut the pub down and cleared it out, Tarmac Carriage Pub had a normal breakfast and brunch hour. Interesting enough, about that same time, Melissa, dressed in a wig, and with a group of some of her coworkers, headed to the pub, and had breakfast, seeking to taste their famous breakfast hour.
Lucky for me, during that chaotic dining hour, my sister was able to leave me a lovely present at booth four. Reaching under it, I felt around until I found what I was looking for pressed in a crack. Tugging, a large shopping bag worked its way in my hand. As I felt Ennis on me, I reached in that bag, pulled out what I needed, then swung it outward. The sound of metal meeting flesh, tendons, and then bone stopped everyone around me in their tracks as Ennis hollered.
Fresh blood spewed in interesting patterns everywhere. I used the rest of my force to slice that baby downward then up to point the tip of my machete at Ennis’s neck. Sweat ran down my face causing me to blink. My rough breathing made my lungs inflame like twin fires while I pushed up from the floor.
“My arm!” Ennis screamed in horror. “My motherfucking arm!” he repeated as if in dismay.
With a casual bow forward, I picked up the mangled arm and surveyed it as if it were some strange object. Glancing back at Ennis, I tilted my head, flapped the arm around, then threw his hand on my shoulder while still holding the forearm part. “Yeah, that would be an arm, my man. Need a high five?”
That was when everyone in the room who was Irish tried to get at me. A deep, amused laugh erupted from me. I flipped his arm forward, tapped Ennis with it, then dropped it in front of him. Nigga was red with anger and it only egged me on. Smirk
ing, I leaned forward and pressed the machete against his neck. I then slowly backed up not taking my eyes away from him.
“Now, see. All you had to do was give me respect and space. That’s all you fuckers had to do, but naw, naw. You all needed to tug on each other nuts, like your so-called father did, and press me for my power. Y’all really think I’m stupid?”
“I think the Guinness has them drunk on stupid, my man,” Lucky said while holding a gun to the head of one of the Irish.
“For real, man. I should scrape that shit up and make this cunt drink it now. I am really tired of the bullshit, but, whatever. See, what you all need to understand is this shit. Don’t come for me like your father did,” I said cutting a nice chuck of flesh from his neck. “He made that crucial mistake and didn’t respect my request to leave me the fuck alone. Now, you all had to deal with what comes when you force my hand. Blame your kidnapping, fake father, Ennis. Don’t blame me. Kill me if you think you can, but come for me again and the next thing I take will be your foot. Might give you some Kunta Kinte treatment; then I’ll take your neck. A’ight?”
Tilting my head to the side, I stared intently at him, letting him know that through all this shit, I was not someone to fuck with. “We’re all good with this meeting of ours now? Any questions?”
When Lamont’s laughter broke the silence in the room, the Forty Thieves cleared a way out for me. Little brother hopped from where he was behind the bar, swinging a bat that he had taken from one of the Irish. That wild-eyed kid swung that bitch out and smashed their shit up before using it to barricade the rest of them who kept coming from the kitchens behind their swing door. At that same time, I took a final look around. Several of the Irish lay on their asses holding their heads, sides, or whatever parts of their body as I dropped Ennis to the floor. I focused my attention on Ennis where he lay bleeding out with a lopsided grin.
