Gangsta Bitch (7 page)

Finally, having enough of the young man’s constant chatter, Cowboy addressed him. “Rico shut up and listen. These ain’t no fucking chumps we about to ride on, so calm the tough talk. You fuck up and El Pogo will make a necklace outta your balls, make no mistake about that. All you gotta do is follow my lead and let’s get this money.” Without waiting for a response Cowboy got out of the van and headed towards the bodega.

The little bell over the front door of the bodega was drowned out by the sounds of Latin music coming from the wall mounted speakers. Cowboy headed towards the counter while Rico went behind the shelf towards the beers. “Hurry up, my dude, them hos ain’t gonna wait forever,” Cowboy shouted to Rico.

A Hispanic woman who looked to be about in her forties manned the register while a slightly younger man made sandwiches. The woman gave Cowboy the once over as he approached.

“Mommy,” he addressed the woman behind the register, “let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Masters,” Cowboy said, digging in his coat pocket like he was looking for his money.

“Regular or one hundreds?” she asked, reaching above the counter to the cigarette rack.

“Both bitch!” Cowboy said, pulling a nine out of his coat pocket and shoving it in her face.

“Take it easy, Poppy, I give you the money,” the woman said nervously.

“Fuck what you got in the drawer, I want the
real
money. And while you’re at it, set out that yay.” Cowboy said. When the woman didn’t move, Cowboy did. Using his free hand, he grabbed her by the front of her floral blouse and pulled her roughly over to his side of the counter. “Don’t make me push your shit back, ma. Just set the coke and the dough out and I’m on my way.”

“Get the yay, ho, you know what it is!” Rico screamed at the woman, but kept his gun trained on the young man behind the deli counter.

“You mutha fuckas know who you’re robbing?” the delicatessen worker seethed.

“Don’t I look like I know who I’m robbing?” Cowboy directed his gun in his direction.

“Fuck you and El Pogo!” Rico said excitedly. From the way he was bouncing in place, Cowboy hoped he didn’t shoot anyone by accident.

“Tell me how we gonna do this, bitch,” Cowboy yanked the woman roughly to her feet. If it weren’t for the fact that he was holding her upright her knees would’ve probably given out from fear. “We’re gonna go in the back and get the coke. You play nice, you live, you fuck with me and I’m gonna fuck your old ass before I body you, comprende?” The woman was hesitant at first but seeing that Cowboy meant business, she complied.

With Cowboy’s gun pressed firmly to the back of her head she led him through a pair of double doors and through the store room to the back office. Through the small glass window of the door Cowboy could see two men sitting around a table packaging drugs. Keeping the woman in front of him like a shield, he shoved the doors opened. One of the men was instantly on his feet, but froze when he saw the black man holding a gun to the woman.

“Don’t get up on my account,” Cowboy said to the men, making sure to keep the woman’s body between the men and him. One of them eyed the Glock sitting on the table like he wanted to play hero so Cowboy gave him some food for thought. “I want you to, so I can peel this bitch and still drop you before you draw.” This gave the man pause. Cowboy pulled a heavy duty trash bag from his waistline and tossed it onto the table. “Shovel all that powder and whatever dough you got in the bag. If I don’t feel like you’re moving fast enough, this old bitch is getting it!”

“I ain’t giving you shit. El Pogo is gonna smoke your black ass,” a man sporting a handlebar mustache said smugly.

“Oh, you must think I’m playing, huh? Well, let me see if I can show you just how serious I am.” The sound of thunder filled the store room, followed by the man with the mustache’s bicep exploding. He shrieked like a wounded animal before collapsing to the floor, clutching his wounded arm. “Now, the next nigga come at me with some tough guy shit is taking a fucking nap, we clear on that shit?”

“Please don’t kill me,” the woman sobbed.

“Baby, I ain’t trying to kill nobody, just do like I tell you to and everything is gonna be okay,” Cowboy dug into his pocket and pulled out several plastic restraints. “Get over there and tie your amigos up.” Not wanting to be the next one to catch a bullet the woman did as she was told. While the woman was tying the men up, Cowboy started tossing money and cocaine into the garbage bag.

“You’re not gonna get away with taking El Pogo’s shit!” the wounded man with the mustache hissed.

Cowboy flashed a smug grin. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I already have.” Ignoring the larcenous glares that were coming his way, Cowboy continued to stuff the bounty into the bag. He couldn’t help but to smile thinking about what he was going to charge Butch for the cocaine. El Pogo’s shit would draw top dollar. “Another smooth lick,” he mused to himself, but that quickly turned into a feeling of dread when he heard the gunshots coming from the front of the store.

The sound of gunfire coming from the store room distracted Rico long enough for the deli worker to make a move. In a swift motioned he grabbed a .25 that had been stashed in the bread container. God must’ve been with Rico because just before he would’ve gotten his head blown off; a young man walked into the store, jingling the bell over the front door. Rico turned his head just in time for a bullet to nick his cheek and puncture a can of peas on the shelf behind him. More out of fear than anything else, Rico started letting off with the Colt.

Glass and food flew inward as the powerful slugs tore through the deli section and the upper body of the worker. Rico was so preoccupied with the deli worker that he didn’t notice the young Hispanic man who had crept out of the store’s bathroom. The boy blindsided Rico with a broomstick, knocking the gun from his hand. Rico tried to recover the weapon, but was rewarded with a blow to the side of the head that almost knocked him out. Before he knew what was going on, the stock boy had retrieved the Colt and was now aiming it at him.

“El Pogo is gonna pay me top dollar for your thieving ass head,” the boy told him, just before his shoulder exploded. With a shocked expression, he collapsed to the ground. As Cowboy passed him, he popped the kid once more in the face.

“Yo, Cowboy…” Rico began.

“I don’t even wanna hear it,” Cowboy cut him off. “Lets just get the fuck outta here,” he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit. On the way out, he stopped in front of the young man who had come into the store. Pointing his gun to his head he asked him, “What did you see?”

“Not a mutha fucking thing!” the kid said, with his hands in the air.

“Good answer,” Cowboy replied before hitting the street, running.

One thing life walking the shadows
had taught Duce was patience. Shortly after speaking with the crack head, Duce found himself a cut and waited. It didn’t take long for Marsha to show herself. She came out of the building strolling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was dressed in a pair of pajama pants with her hair wrapped in a scarf so he knew there was no need to follow her. Wherever she was going it wouldn’t be far. Marsha was a girl who prided herself on her appearance and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere except the hood dressed like that.

When Marsha rounded the corner Duce slipped into her building. There were a few curious glances from the hustlers applying their trade, but no one questioned him. An icy chill clung to Duce that touched all he passed and common sense told them to give him a wide berth. Forgoing the elevator, Duce bounded the eleven flights of stairs. By the time he got to the top he felt a little winded. Just one more reason he needed to quit smoking. He found Marsha’s door with little to no effort. He and his brother had spent many a night at Marsha’s talking about their plans for the future. Those days were long gone and this visit was anything but a social one.

Placing an ear and the palm of his hand to the door, Duce checked for signs. There was no vibration, which would come from people moving around, and the only sound was that of the television, which had been left on a video channel. As he could tell, no one was inside. From within his pocket he produced a small case containing what he needed to get into the house.

For all the money Scott was supposed to be getting in the streets, he could’ve at least made sure Marsha had better locks. It took all of 30 seconds for Duce to gain entry into the apartment. Pistol in hand, he crept into the house, alert for signs of danger. The first place Duce checked was the bedroom. The king-sized bed was freshly made with red satin sheets, while scented candles were placed on both night stands. Apparently Marsha had a romantic evening with her baby daddy planned, but Duce would change all that. His mouth literally watered at the thought of getting Marsha and Scott at the same time.

Along the wall leading back to the living room, there were pictures of Marsha and her son over the years. From what Duce assumed was the most recent pictures, the boy looked to be about four or five. His guess was that Marsha had probably gotten pregnant by Scott just before or immediately after Knowledge’s murder. “Death before dishonor,” Duce mumbled as he casually knocked the picture to the ground, shattering the image.

Marsha’s crib was ghetto fabulous. There was nice furniture and a plasma television hanging from the wall, but the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in days. Clothes were scattered across the living room floor and something he couldn’t identify was marinating in a bowl on the coffee table. Mess aside, her shit was plush, but not as fly as when Knowledge was hitting it. This left the lingering question of
why
? The whole situation was twisted. Marsha used to be his brother’s heart, his rider. What could a shit-bird like Scott have offered her to make her betray a stand up nigga like Knowledge? Duce had an abundance of questions, but it was the thirst for blood that moved him. Duce ignored the mess that was her living room and made his way over to an arm chair, where he settled in and waited for Marsha to come back.

Marsha was feeling herself when she stepped off the elevator with Tic in tow. He was a lean, dark-skinned cat with hazel nut eyes. Tic was doing his thing down in the Jefferson projects, with a team of young thoroughbred niggaz. Though he wasn’t a boss just yet, the boy had star potential written all over him. Marsha had had her eye on him for a minute, but tonight would be the first night she let him taste her love.

She had been planning the turnout for a week so the whole thing was laid out from A to B. Scott had been avoiding her crib like the plague since the warrant squad had come around looking for him, so the chances of him coming by without calling were slim to none. Still to that day he hadn’t figured out how they’d tracked him to Marsha’s address, and had you told him he still probably wouldn’t have believed that she was behind it. She didn’t want him in jail, but she needed a little space to do her. Scott kept her laced because they had a child together, but he really wasn’t
husband
material. The only bitch he loved was the streets and Marsha was cool with that, so long as she had what she needed for her and hers.

Marsha slipped her key in the door and stepped into the apartment. As soon as the door closed, Tic was on her. He pressed his lips to hers and tried to jam is tongue down her throat. She reciprocated by massaging his penis through his jeans until it was rock hard. Marsha was pleased at what she felt. Never breaking the lip-lock, they backed into the darkened living room. Marsha was just about to rip his jeans open and bless him when Tic abruptly stopped.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she spoke into his ear.

“Sup, baby girl?” Duce’s icy voice floated across the room. Marsha felt the blood draw from her face even before she turned around and saw Duce with a pistol pointed in her direction. “That doesn’t look like ya baby daddy.”

They told her he would never see the streets again.

“D-Murder is going to spend the rest of his life in jail,” that was the promise she’d been made for her part in Knowledge’s murder, and here he was…in her house. Marsha wanted to faint, but her body had become paralyzed with fear.