“Ahi cono!” Tony let out upon feeling the pain.
The shooter now focused back on the two pretty bitches trying to close in on him from different angles. He pulled out his other silenced 9mm automatic and jumped up. With both guns, he took aim at the model-like bitches strapped with multiple rounds and unleashed back-to-back shots that thrust both of the sexy Latinas backward, forcing them to drop their weapons in pain and fear from being hit again. They never thought that this day would come. They figured looking good with the guns was a plus, and most feared Tony enough for this not to happen.
“What a waste of beauty,” the assassin said after firing a slug into the face of each one to make sure they would not have a chance to get up.
He then immediately turned around and saw that Tony was gone, but where?
He moved quickly and followed the trail of blood that led toward the front door.
“Your time has come, amigo. There is nowhere to run or hide,” the shooter said as he made his way over to the crawling Tony. “Just so you know, jefe sent me to clean up all of the mess you have made. As for Tommy Guns, he’s part of the reason I’m in the position I am today. So, like I said, you fucked with the wrong person!” Ra Ra said before squeezing off two rounds into Tony’s face and canceling his affiliation with Hector Guzman.
He stepped over his body and then walked out of the mansion, securing his weapons and making his escape. He left Tony’s mansion looking like a true gangland massacre.
CHAPTER 22
A FEW MONTHS later, Rakman Hussein, a few American governors and senators, and the directors from the CIA, NSA, and CTD were all in Juarez, Mexico at Hector Guzman’s compound. It boasted a 20,000-square-foot mansion, two 5,000-square-foot guest houses to the left and right of the main house, an indoor and outdoor pool, a basketball court, tennis court, sand volleyball court, shooting range, and backyard kitchen for his chef to prepare all outdoor meals and keep food fresh and all of the drinks and beers cold.
Hector also made sure that his powerful political guests were in the company of the finest women in Mexico, who would cater to their every need. The men discussed business, drug shipments, money, and acts of terror to spike the prices of oil sales from which they all benefited. They were all living the life and having everything they could ever need, want, or wish for.
“I like the way our special-ops guys handled that situation with getting you out, Rakman,” the Florida governor said.
“It was tragic for Agents Johnson and Ross trying to expose what we had as well as Rakman,” the DO of the CIA said.
The DO from the CTD chimed in with his thoughts as well: “If it wasn’t for Agent O’Neil wanting to be the American hero, our guys wouldn’t have had to take them out as they did with trained precision.”
As they continued talking about business and how life was going so well, more people entered the home. The staff walked over to Hector to get his attention.
“Señor Guzman, you have more guests.”
“Quien es ese?”
“Tu familia y ella’s novio.”
“Let ‘em in.”
Ra Ra and Carmen entered with smiles on their faces as they greeted Hector with love and respect. They were then introduced before sitting poolside with all the women and political figures including Rakman. Ra Ra saw that he was taking it all in, not allowing it to shock or surprise him. He knew what types of people he was around now. This was a league of distinguished gentlemen in power.
“There are a lot of people here, papi,” Carmen said, never seeing her uncle’s place with so many people outside of family.
“People that shouldn’t be here, but they are,” he responded as the staff came up and handed him a gin and juice as he had requested.
Carmen got a piña colada, which was a drink that always reminded her of the first time she met Ra Ra. That’s what he was drinking, and he shared it with her since she never had one before.
Ra Ra and Carmen sat back down and enjoyed the good life while they observed all of the power that surrounded them. At the same time, they realized how corrupt America really was, especially with all of the drugs and drug busts as well as terrorists and terrorism. It was all a part of a scheme that allowed these men to become rich and even more powerful.
“Carmen, mi amor, I’m glad I met you when I did. My eyes have been open to a lot more. As for my heart, that’s open to you too,” Ra Ra said while gazing into her eyes, which made her smile inside and out.
“I love you too, papi. I love that we have so much going on for us and an even more promising future ahead of us,” she said before leaning over to kiss his lips.
As they pulled away from their kiss, Hector made eye contact with Ra Ra and nodded his head with his shot glass of tequila in his hand. Ra Ra did the same while drinking the gin and juice. At the same time, he thought back to the first time he met her uncle, who threatened him to treat his niece right. He would never mess up with her or Hector. The end of their relationship would more than likely be the end of his life. He did not see being apart from her in his future, so he was secured from both sides of life and love.
CHAPTER 23
SIX MONTHS HAD passed since the murders of Jack Ross, CIA Operative O’Neil, and FBI Agent Johnson. Now the pressure was on the bureau as well as the American government to provide the media and public with answers to the deaths of such public figures, especially Agent Johnson, who was brutally murdered on live television as millions watched and tens of millions viewed it online. Questions were asked; however, no one had any answers.
Agent Miles of the Harrisburg FBI office came forward to speak with new FBI director Mike Davenport. Agent Miles was also one of the field agents who was shot by tranquilizer dart during the Rakman Hussein escape, so it was personal for him to find answers to America’s questions.
Agent Miles and Mike Davenport met in Baltimore at the harbor. Both men felt the situation was sensitive, so all information needed to be discussed face-to-face, not over the phone.
Agent Miles was African-American and born and raised in the corrupt city of Harrisburg. He was only thirty-two years old, but the five foot eleven, two-hundred-pound muscular agent looked younger due to good genes, diet, and exercise.
Agent Miles was driven to get all the answers and the pieces to the puzzle that had kept him up late many nights. Having been an agent for the last seven years, he was always by the book and would follow every trail that would lead to Rakman himself. Because just like Mike Davenport, he knew this cover-up was bigger than the bureau. He was not about to allow these deaths go on without finding the individuals responsible or leave any questions unanswered.
The agents met at the Hooters inside of the harbor plaza. They each sat back and dined as their intense conversation of what had been going on continued.
“Miles, you believe with our men being onto something that it cost them their lives? All the calls made to their phones have been checked out, which means we need to find something that won’t send us in circles. Whoever these people were that killed these men, they know what they’re doing.”
“It’s not just men that were killed; it’s how they took out sixteen agents with tranquilizer darts, including myself. It was all tactical, precise, and well executed. Our agencies have to know who is responsible for this. More importantly, why cover up a notable terrorist being assisted in his escape?” Agent Miles said before flashing back to that very moment when it all happened so fast. “The equipment they used hasn’t even come to market. It’s only been tested with our military.”
“Are you sure about this, because terrorists are known to get ahold of these on the black market.”
“Sir, if it were terrorists I wouldn’t be here now. Whoever did this has high-level government clearance and is trained on the level of Navy SEALs, Green Berets, Black Ops, and/or whatever else we have that is higher than us.”
As the men continued their conversation while enjoying their fresh crab legs, wings, and lemonade, they l
ooked around to make sure they were not being watched or followed.
Director Davenport was a white male who stood six foot tall. He had a slim build, blue eyes, and a close military-style black haircut. He had been with the bureau for eighteen years now. He was forty-seven years old, and he had seen a lot in his years with the Feds, but this case took the cake. Mike was a California native who came to the East Coast for the position, so he was not about to let other agents’ deaths go unanswered.
“Agent Miles, I did a little research myself on this thing. Agent O’Neil called Ross on his cell phone, and then the sniper took care of him. Ross knew enough to get himself killed, because he received a call twenty minutes after O’Neil’s call. That call could not be identified. The next call made was Johnson reaching out to Ross at his home. That called lasted five minutes. It was also the last call we know Ross made before his demise. Johnson’s last call was to the media, and the outcome, as we know, was murder that silenced them all. That is one thing the government and other agencies seem to be hushed about.”
Agent Miles got Davenport’s attention to stop speaking as the waitress walked up with her perky, full 36C breasts, long blonde hair, and sparkling baby-blue eyes. She had a beautiful smile and Baltimore accent.
“Excuse me, Agents Miles and Davenport, these drinks are from the gentleman over there,” she said as she pointed toward the booth where the man was once sitting watching their every move.
When they looked over toward the area, there was no one there. This heightened their sense of awareness and made the two of them become even more paranoid.
“How did you know our names?” Agent Miles questioned.
“The gentleman that bought you guys these drinks told me. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not you,” Davenport said before looking around and realizing that they had been followed. “Agent Miles, we’re done here!”
They both stood up and rushed out of the restaurant to see if anyone else was looking out of place or trying to blend in. They then went back into the Hooters and demanded to see their camera footage to have a look at the man following them.
“They must think we’re closing in on them by having us followed,” Agent Miles said. “Now if we can get the camera’s video feed, we’ll know who’s following us,” he finished as the manager came out empty-handed.
“Sorry, gentlemen, something bizarre has happened to our equipment. It’s down. It’s almost as if someone hacked into our feed or something and shut it down,” the manager explained.
Both of the agents knew this was deeper than hacked cameras. The men behind this who were following them wanted to know what they now knew, and no doubt they would do anything to keep it a secret.
CHAPTER 24
NINO WAS LIVING the lavish lifestyle and lying low in Greensboro, North Carolina, just as he was told to do. He found a line there connected to the streets with its young goons and hustlas in the dirty South. This was all thanks to the money that Rakman had given to him, along with his new connect that he met partying in Los Angeles. His man was a real fly-ass Spanish nigga about his numbers. He also really dug Nino’s smooth way of business and being on time with his money.
Nino did what he knew how to do best. He garnered the attention of those who lived like he did but on another level, which allowed him to connect with the people he did. With the money from Rakman and his newfound connect, he grabbed fifty bricks and then flooded Greensboro. He then moved into Charleston, where he allowed the flow of business and money to run smoothly there as well. He was now focused on the rise of his business, not realizing he had broken his promise to Rakman never to hustle and instead stay low. This was far from staying low. He also managed to put a team together to assist him with distribution and locking down all the projects with his pure product from Colombia.
The first nigga he met when he arrived in Greensborough was Dollar, a twenty-one-year-old go-getta and fast talker with a Southern tongue. He was a real hustla from his preteen days. He was all about his business, and he loved gunplay if a problem arose with his paper or in the streets to get respect. He stood five foot ten with an afro hairstyle until he got it braided. He stilled shaped it up with a light mustache. His one gold tooth also stood out on his medium-built frame.
Dollar’s team that helped him move the work included Pistol and L-Geez. They were two thugged-out young niggas chasing paper, plus they were all about putting in that work on the streets if need be.
Pistol was nineteen years old, and although he was the youngest of the crew, he was also the wildest. He earned his nickname because he always stayed strapped and found ways to get his hands on the latest guns. Having a gun gave him power and respect, especially with the streets knowing his rep of shooting a nigga just to get his point across.
His thick eyebrows added to his dark stare, even though he had a baby face. Even his smile, with platinum and diamonds filling his mouth, added to his thugged-out appearance. His braids were freshly done and flowed with his overall look. He stood five foot seven and didn’t take any shit for being short. He dared a nigga to think different.
L-Geez was the business thug. He always wore shades to conceal his eyes from those trying to clock what he was watching. He wore a close cut with waves on top and faded on the sides. He flowed with his full beard cut close and groomed with razor perfection. He had a slim build and stood six foot even, but his swagga stood out more than his height. L-Geez also knew that by fucking with his nigga Nino, the team was going to have a bright future.
Nino drove through the Carolina winter in his all-white H2 Hummer tricked out with 26-inch Lexanis and two 13-inch flat-screens in the back that flipped down with the PS4 game console. A 9-inch TV in the dash on satellite gave him the luxury of watching all of the channels he desired. Nino felt himself as a balla from Harrisburg, now that this was his home away from home.
Nino was also in the company of his two red-nosed pit bulls, which made his presence stronger no matter where he went. Niggas in the hoods knew these dogs were bred for fighting and attacking on command. Donte was the grayish-blue pit bull with a killa look, while Vicious was all black with white paws and had a threatening stare and growl. The pit bulls always made people nervous when he came around with them.
Nino pulled up into the hood, parked his truck, and exited the H2, allowing the dogs to jump out with him. Both dogs rushed over to the crew who they already knew, but their presence made them uncomfortable.
“Yo, Nino, I ain’t fo’ dem dogs like dat, man. They can hurt something,” Pistol said.
“You good, boy! They won’t hurt anything unless I command them to do so. Anyway, what’s good with y’all niggas? Everything flowing around here?”
“Yeah, folk, we fitna to step up our game soon,” Dollar responded. “L-Geez and Pistol expanded up north a little with new clientele. I got these niggas from the Burg where you from that be coming down this way grabbing heavy.”
The sound of niggas from Harrisburg coming through picking up weight drew Nino’s attention.
“Them niggas from the Burg, what’s they names?”
“The one said his name was Kaotic da General. He be rapping and shit. The other nigga is Da Broxx. He rapping too. So they getting money from both sides. I got they music too.”
Nino recognized the names, but he didn’t want to let them know, so he continued on with the conversation.
“So, Dollar, you going have that for me?”
“Yeah, folk, I should have three hundred fo ya in a day or so, plus I’ma come at you with my own paper fo; da double-up.”
“That’s definitely a good look for you.”
Pistol stood with his hand on his gun in his waistline as he was looking back at the pit bulls gritting on him.
“Y’all niggas hungry? I’m about to go grab some fried chicken,” Nino said.
“Yeah, we always ready to grub. Ya dogs look hungry, too, man,” Pistol said.
“Come with me. W
e’ll go to Church’s Chicken,” Nino said while laughing at his little homies being scared of his dogs.
They made their way over a few blocks to the chicken spot. Nino left the dogs in the truck while it was still running. He knew niggas ain’t stupid enough to fuck with his shit.
He ordered a bucket of chicken for him and his dogs, and then he ordered the homies whatever they wanted before they made their way back outside.
The first thing he noticed as they exited the chicken spot
was that his pit bulls had locks on a fiend nigga. They were pulling him from both sides. The fiend was screaming and yelling while he was trying to break free.
“That’s the shit I’m talking about. Them muthafucking dogs is hungry.”
“Nah, this nigga was trying to get in my truck and steal something. You see how my door is wide the fuck open!”
The crackhead was now screaming louder as he felt his flesh being removed from his body.
“Get these fucking dogs off of me!” the fiend screamed out.
Nino pulled out two pieces of fried chicken before calling out to his dogs.
“Vicious! Donte! Stand guard!”
At the sound of his voice and command, they released their grip on the fiend. Nino tossed the chicken to the dogs, and they jumped on it.
“Good boys! That’s what the fuck I’m talking about!” Nino said as he walked over to the downed fiend who had tried to get into his whip. “Why the fuck your dumb ass try to get into my truck?”
L-Geez yelled out before the fiend was able to respond: “Nino! Somebody’s in yo’ truck, man.”
The crew immediately pulled out their weapons and rushed up on the truck. Their guns were pointed at a nigga trying to hide behind the dark tinted windows.
“Get the fuck out of the truck, nigga!” Pistol snapped, ready to rock the fool.
All Eyes on Gunz 3 Page 9
