All Eyes on Gunz 3

by Warren Holloway

  All Eyes

  on

  Tommy Gunz

  PART THREE

  Warren Holloway

  AMERICA’S NEW STORYTELLER

  GOOD 2 GO PUBLISHING

  ALL EYES ON GUNZ 3

  Written by Warren Holloway

  Cover Design: Davida Baldwin – Odd Ball Designs

  Typesetter: Mychea

  ISBN: 978-1-947340-29-9

  Copyright © 2018 Good2Go Publishing

  Published 2018 by Good2Go Publishing

  7311 W. Glass Lane • Laveen, AZ 85339

  www.good2gopublishing.com

  https://twitter.com/good2gobooks

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters, businesses, places, and events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 1

  Harrisburg, PA, Dauphin County Prison

  THE NEXT DAY, Rakman Hussein was released back into general population after being on administrative lockdown for the last eleven months of his incarceration. All of his movements had been closely monitored, from his mail to his visitations to his phone calls. He was now being moved to the high-security unit C-Block, known for housing drug kingpins, serial killers, and rapists, amongst other high-crime-charged detainees. There was no bail, and he had a federal detainer that was keeping him in custody until trial. So, he did not have much to do other than think about his next move.

  Rakman’s lawyer fought for him to be able to mix with the general population, since the Feds originally wanted him away from everyone so they would not attempt anything on his life. Rakman decided that instead of trying to mix with the block’s chaos, he would sit back and observe to see who he would have taken care of his next move. Being in jail forever was not a part of how his legacy or story was going to end.

  Since he was a man of riches and great resources, he would have tried to make a move through his attorney, but the Feds would be expecting him to do just that. So, they monitored his lawyer’s finances as well as his calls in and out of prison.

  The prison already had strict orders not to release him without having confirmation from the FBI since the Tommy Guns incident down in York County with the fake Federal agents who were eventually traced back to Rakman. The FBI could not understand it. Why would he risk getting someone out that his cousin, Amin Hussein, was trying to kill?

  His terrorist roots ran deep and connected him to the IJC (Islamic Jihad Organization), a group of men who conducted terrorist acts around the globe. They would assist him in any decision he made, because he had helped fund them as well as other Islamic radical groups.

  One of his associates and diabolical terrorist, Sayyid Azzam, introduced Rakman into this new Islamic way of life. Sayyid was also on the CIA’s most-wanted list. So men in his organization were being monitored in order to track him down.

  As Rakman moved through the block, he saw a few American-Muslims making salat while others were playing cards, chess, and checkers. Some were getting tattoos in their cells while others were getting high or drinking jailhouse wine. A few others simply stood around to take it all in by observing their surroundings just as he was.

  He saw someone who appeared to be really laid back yet aware of his surroundings, so he decided to approach him and start picking his brain a little about his current environment. At the same time, he could maybe recruit him to do a few things he needed done.

  As he started approaching the six-foot-two medium-built

  black guy, the man turned around, alert of his approaching presence.

  “Sorry if I alarmed you, my brother. I come in peace,” Rakman said, displaying calm and respect. “I noticed you’re staying to yourself.”

  “It’s the best way to be around here, so these rats can’t say they know you or your case.”

  “What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “They call me Nino in the streets.”

  “Yes, I do believe I remember reading about you in the papers when I was in confinement. Anyway, I’m Rakman Hussein,” he said while extending his hand to shake.

  For the first time, Nino made eye contact with him and remembered who he was from the local and national news.

  “Oh shit! I know who you are from all over the TV. You was trying to blow up my city!” Nino said, looking at him a little more seriously and less welcomingly.

  “You can’t believe everything you read and see; however, these white Americans are greedy and deserve punishment far greater than I can give them. This country and its leaders are full of corruption.”

  While Nino listened to him, he tried to figure out Rakman’s exact angle. He was not stupid, being as wealthy as he was, so Nino knew his approach did not come without a motive.

  Nino was a real smart street nigga who could have been a basketball player. Instead, he came up on the drug game and found the right connection. He was often in the right place at the right time. Being both college smart and street smart added to his business flair. The dark-skinned playboy with curly hair knew his way around money, and he knew how to make it work for him. He also knew people—good and bad people.

  Rakman now had his attention as he eyed him up ready to conduct the business for which he had approached him.

  “Good brother, do you think you can handle something for me?” Rakman asked, ready to proceed with his next step. “Before you answer this, I want you to know that what I’m speaking of isn’t child’s play. However, my brother, I can set you up financially, and even get you the freedom you’re in need of right now with the case you have.”

  Hearing this made Nino’s mind go into overdrive processing what he had just said. Not the money; he had his own bread. He wanted to know how this cat was going to get him out of jail. The time he faced was life. Even if he cut a deal, it would be no less than twenty-five years, which in his mind was still life—good time or no good time.

  “What can I help you with, Rakman?”

  “I have a trial coming up soon, and I need to send out some mail to some of my associates. I cannot do it through my lawyer or in my own name, because it won’t make it out. The Feds are watching me close. So there will be a relay of letters. You need to find someone you can trust outside of here that can take care of this once the letters reach them.”

  “I can do this. But just make sure the data you’re giving is 100 percent so there won’t be any room for mistakes.”

  “It is and will be correct. But if you or whoever it is you have helping betray or fail me for some deal with the Feds, I will have you and your entire family killed, even your p
uppy dog you Americans love so much.”

  Nino didn’t take offense to his response or would-be threats. He was only assuring loyalty; he would have done the same if the shoe was on the other foot. Nino figured he would get his brother, Ali, to take care of business since he was more of the militant type, plus he was Muslim.

  “Nino, tonight I’ll scribe a detailed letter with instructions to my associates. I’ll seal it, and you add the name and address to the person you want it to go to. Make sure you write them a separate letter explaining what they need to do and how serious this is to you and me, because it can be fatal if things go wrong.”

  “I got this shit! It’s as good as done, my man!” Nino promised while walking back to his cell to write the letter to his baby bro and put him up on game.

  At the same time, he let him know this was a major play and to keep it under his hat. Nino was all about seeing the free world again, especially going from the good life to the hell hole better known as the Dauphin County Prison.

  CHAPTER 2

  THREE WEEKS LATER, Candy returned to her place in Atlanta that was clearly bullet-riddled from the shootout with her brother, Fat Money, and the Feds. She stood in the doorway holding her baby boy, embracing him with love, but at the same time feeling alone because the two most important men in her life—her baby bro, Ra Ra, and her baby father, Tommy Guns—were on the run.

  Her son was making noise as if he was trying to speak. He sounded cute, not really knowing what was going on.

  “It’s okay, baby, Daddy and Uncle Ra Ra still love you,” Candy said while kissing her son on the cheek.

  Candy made her way upstairs to get settled in as much as she possibly could while at the same time seeing how much damage was done to her place. Insurance would cover most of it along with the FBI. The organization had offered funding even though they lost agents, but it was not her fault.

  Meanwhile down in Cancun, Mexico, her baby brother, Ra Ra, was sitting poolside at a resort sipping on a frozen piña colada while thinking to himself: “This is the life. I should have come down here sooner!”

  It was his first time in the country. He only knew a little of the language from what he learned in school, yet he was a fast learner when forced to pick it up. His main focus was finding a nice Latina who he could cuff for a little while and pay his way with the rent or whatever, just so he could stay low and out of sight. He didn’t want to put anything in his name. The fake ID he was using would only go so far before people started asking real questions.

  Having $200,000 in American currency in this country amongst regular Mexicans made him rich. He knew not to flaunt it or he would be dead with his head cut off somewhere. Staying low and blending in with the people was his focus once he exited the resort with one of the two Mexican mamis hanging poolside with him.

  While Ra Ra sat back enjoying the poolside view over in Miami, Tommy Guns found his way into the mix of things down in the projects doing what he did best: networking and trying to stay low.

  He did find himself a bad-ass chocolate stripper named Kiss, just like a Hershey’s Kiss. Her real name was Lisa, but that didn’t matter to him. He was all over her, appreciating her luring smile with her pretty white teeth. Her chinky eyes were hazel brown and only added to her exotic look. She had thick thighs, fat-ass perky 36D breasts, and a flat stomach like she hit the gym, but it was just how God had made her.

  She definitely was a rida like Keisha in New Jack City, which made Tommy Guns gravitate toward her even more, because she stayed strapped to protect all the money she made at the club. Besides, if need be, she would jack a nigga if he wasn’t on her time.

  Tommy Guns found himself at her crib eating brunch that she made for him with ghetto love and spice. He enjoyed her walking back and forth from the kitchen to the living room while serving his food. Her ass looked sexier each time she walked away in her short shorts, showing off the curves of her ass that were peeking out of her tight-fit jeans shorts.

  As he dug into his food, he thought about his kids up north in Pennsylvania as well as his boy in Atlanta. A part of him wanted to reach out to Shari to see his kids, but he knew he had to be cautious.

  After he finished the food that she made for him, he walked into the kitchen as she was cleaning the dishes and straightening up.

  “Sexy girl, I have to go take care of some business,” he said, coming up behind her and grinding on her soft ass as he kissed her neck and made her feel good. He then took both his hands and cuffed her ass, feeling how soft and sensual it was. “Damn! I love that booty, girl,” he said with a smile.

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish, fool!” she said to him as his kisses and caresses stimulated her body.

  “Don’t worry, sexy girl. I’m going to make you say hello to my little friend when I come back,” Tommy Guns said, making her laugh.

  “I’ll be ready to jump all over you when you come back, too. You want me to have the Hennessy ready? You know I love that Henny Dick,” she said with lust in her eyes while licking her lips as if she wanted to take him right then and there.

  He kissed her lips once more before he turned and left her to her thoughts of what she wanted to do to him when he returned.

  As soon as he exited the crib, he called up the homies from Atlanta. He called up Geez first since he would know where Little D was.

  “My nigga Tommy Guns, what it look like, folk?”

  “It’s all good where I stand, little nigga,” he responded to Geez. “You keeping that paper flowing?” he asked.

  “Like a stripper with a fat ass. I got this shit on lock up here, me and the homie.”

  “Yo, you know where I landed, so you and the homie come down here with ten of them things. The project is doing numbers out here.”

  “You already know it’s paper-chasing time,” Geez said, knowing Tommy Guns figured if he could set up shop down there and start a lucrative flow, he would be able to get in with the scene of the Miami bosses like that nigga Turnpike Tito he used to fuck with.

  “You think y’all can make it down this way tonight?”

  “We ridin’! We’ll be there to ball with you, my nigga. Oh, before I forget, I took care of that situation for Fat Money, too. His mom was crying but thankful for it all. You know she seen us all grow up together, so seeing us only reminded her of her son.”

  “Yeah, I miss that funny fat muthafucka. That’s good you took care of that. Like I said, as long as we breathing, his mom or his kids get what they need, feel me?”

  “You ready?”

  “See y’all niggas when y’all get here, alright?”

  “We hitting them clubs I heard about, too,” Geez said before hanging up.

  After the call, Tommy Guns went to make a run across the city, before he made his way back to the projects.

  As he was walking back to Kiss’s crib, gunfire erupted through the air, placing him on alert and making him react by instantly grabbing his .44 Magnum from his waistline. He pulled back the hammer with his thumb and swung the Magnum around toward the direction from which he had heard the gunfire.

  It was two young niggas shooting out with each other, so he lowered his gun, uncocked it, and looked on at the two thugged-out niggas banging it out until one of them dropped. The other little nigga ran over to him fast, with the gun still pointing at him.

  “Yeah, muthafucka, you come into my hood with that bullshit! Look at you now!” the young buck said while firing off another burst of rounds into the other boy’s body, just to make sure he wouldn’t get back up.

  Tommy became impressed with the young nigga’s style.

  “This nigga is a G out here in these Miami streets,” Tommy Guns said before turning around and walking into the crib to fuck Kiss’s sexy ass after he took a few shots of Hennessy with her, which made her pussy even wetter than it already was.

  CHAPTER 3

  AT 6:03 P.M. in the Dauphin County Prison, Rakman came out of his cell for recreation time to meet up with Nino
to see what was going on with him. They met in the middle of the block away from the table and TV.

  “My brother, how’s it going?” Rakman asked in his strong Saudi accent.

  “I got a letter for you, but not out here. Step into my cell so the cameras don’t see me passing you anything.”

  After Rakman followed him into his cell, Nino handed him the letter. He opened it in front of Nino, which allowed him to see it; not that it would matter, because it was in Arabic script. As soon as Rakman finished reading the letter, he gave Nino a look of satisfaction.

  “My brother, Allah u Akbar. Your job has been done. You, my friend, will be rewarded just as I said you would. Trust and believe,” Rakman said, meaning every word he spoke. He took the letter, tore it up, and flushed it down the toilet. “In a few days, you will be released; however, you cannot mention this to no one, not even those you consider close or loyal. It will sidetrack the plans. Just trust and believe you will have your day of freedom and money.”

  “Rakman, you have my word that I will not tell a soul about this, because I don’t trust anyone with my life at this point,” Nino said while thinking about the reality of him getting out.

  A part of him wanted to believe it; however, the other part of his mind did not believe it would happen until it happened. So until then, he was going to be quiet and await his turn.

  ~ ~ ~

  At 9:02 p.m. Tommy Guns and his sexy-ass Miami chocolate girl, Kiss, were sitting back after a few rounds of fuck-me-harder and drinking shots of Hennessy in between switching positions. Now they were enjoying watching one of their favorite movies together, King of New York, starring Christopher Walken as Frank White, a real fucking boss straight out of jail and taking over. This image was what Tommy Guns had portrayed from day one of his release back in the day. His favorite part of the movie was when Frank shook down the poker game in order to make a statement. Kiss was snuggled up against him and caressing his body with her manicured nails as she, too, enjoyed the movie.