Love and a Gangsta (25 page)

“Yo, what’s your name…? Are those tits real?” Biscuit asked her.

She didn’t answer. Her tears dried a while ago, as she sat mute and restless in her own home. Biscuit got up, looking upset. “Bitch, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you,” he shouted.

She said nothing, diverting her attention to the wall. Biscuit stood over her. He cupped one of her breasts and fondled her as she squirmed, cursing.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you bastard!”

“Bitch, I do what I want.” Biscuit laughed.

Biscuit continued groping her. His hand moved freely around her body, as she screamed out, “No! Please, stop it… Stop!”

Her pleads fell on deaf ears. Biscuit moved his hand between her thighs forcing them open. She tried to fight, but Biscuit slapped her. Then he pushed his fingers into her, causing her to cry out, tears trickling down her face. Despite her resistance I watched as Biscuit finger-fucked her. She cried but Biscuit continually fondled between her legs.

“Yo Mega, her pussy kinda tight,” he laughed. “But I think her tits are fake.”

I chuckled watching Biscuit panting.

“I wanna fuck this bitch.”

“No time for that,” I said.

“C’mon Mega, that nigga ain’t coming around till what nine or ten she said. Let me hit this bitch. I need a quickie, see what she’s workin’ wit.”

“Nigga, I said no. Let the bitch be,” I demanded.

“You lucky bitch,” Biscuit said.

“Why? I have a son. We have a son. Oh God!”

I went over to her. Looking in her eyes, I said, “This ain’t nothing personal, it’s just business between me and your man. Unfortunately for you, he lives here. Casualties of war, baby. Now, are you sure he’ll be home by ten?”

Frustrated by her silence, I walked to the fireplace and picked up a picture of her son. I went back to her with the picture in hand.

“You got a handsome kid here. You want him to become a casualty of war too? Because I’ll gladly send a babysitter here for you,” I warned.

She sobbed louder, staring at her son’s picture. “He’s only five, don’t hurt him!” she exclaimed.

“All you gotta do is listen and cooperate, everything will be good,” I assured. “Now, you sure he’s coming back here?”

“Yes, he thinks no one knows about him out here,” she said.

“Is he coming alone?” I asked.

“He usually have security with him.”

“How many?”

“Only Jose’,” she said.

We knew where the guns were in the house, but she didn’t know the combination to the safe. We had to wait for Tiny. Around eight, her cell phone rang. It was an unknown number.

“This him?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Ahight, answer, and you better not try anything stupid, or it will get ugly,” I warned. “No codes.”

I pressed the accept call button and pushed the phone to her ear.

“Hey baby,” she greeted. “I just got home a short while ago. You know I had to get my nails done and did a little shopping at the mall. Where are you? Oh okay… How did things go? Okay… See you in a bit, baby… Love you,” she said.

I hung up the call and asked, “Where is he?”

“He’s about twenty minutes away.”

“Does he always call ahead?”

“Yes.”

Even though there was nothing strange about the conversation, I still didn’t trust her. It was twenty minutes after eight. I called Tank and told him to keep an eye out. I told him Tiny was on his way, and he might have company. I asked what her routine was during the evening. Does she usually park her car in the garage, how many lights were usually on? We tried to make her home look normal.

At nine, a Burgundy Escalade pulled into the driveway. It was Tiny. Jose was with him. He called the house again before he came inside. I made her answer.

“Hello… Oh, you are outside, why? Okay, let me throw something on, you know I never be decent when you come.”

She hung up.

“What did he say?”

“He says he wants me to meet him outside, in the driveway,” she informed.

Damn, this nigga! I thought. He didn’t want to walk into a trap. He wanted her to come outside so he can send Jose to check the crib for intruders. This bitch probably knew all about his habits but failed to tell us.

Grabbing her arm tightly, I warned, “Bitch, if you wanna see your son again, do as I say. My two shooters are parked outside, if anything goes wrong, they’ll drop you and Tiny. Just be cool, and bring him inside. You try anything funny, and I guarantee I’ll kill your son.”

She walked outside in her skirt, stilettos and red top. I watched from a distance as she ran up to Tiny and hugged and kissed him. He sent Jose to search the crib. I hid in a dark corner near the kitchen. Biscuit and Groggy were hiding. I clutched the 9mm tighter, ready for anything.

I saw his silhouette nearing. When he was close, I jumped out of the darkness and quickly pressed the gun to the back of his head.

“Nigga chill, and do as I say. Drop the gun before I drop you,” I demanded sternly.

He was reluctant until I slapped my weapon against the back of his head. Jose’ quickly got the message. He dropped the gun.

“You’re a dead,” he threatened.

His eyes widened when Groggy and Biscuit came into view.

“Call your boy in and let him know that everything is cool,” I instructed. “If you don’t, then you’ll die where you stand. Ya heard me?”

I slowly walked him to the door, and stayed out of view. I let Tiny see Jose’ in the doorway. I still had my gun trained on him.

“Tiny, everything’s cool up in here,” he assured reluctantly.

I peeped Tiny walking toward the entrance with his baby-mother by his side. Everything seemed to be going good, until I noticed the look on her face. She looked reluctant. She started pulling Tiny by his arm vigorously trying to move him away from the door.

“Baby, it’s a trap, they’re gonna kill you!” she shouted.

One shot blew Jose’s brains out, dropping him. From the doorway my gun was aimed at Tiny who was reaching for his. I shot him twice in the leg. He dropped on the pavement.

“Fuck!” I shouted, knowing neighbors could be watching.

His bitch was screaming frantically. I punched her and pushed her into Tiny’s Escalade. Biscuit and I dragged Tiny off the ground and shoved him into the truck with the quickness. I took his keys and we sped off.

“Fucking stupid-ass bitch!” I shouted. She was unconscious.

Tank was behind us in the Range Rover. Shit didn’t go as smoothly as planned. Even though shit did get ugly, it was all fuckin good.

“Fuck you, Omega! Me cousin gawn fuck ya blood-claat ass up!” Tiny said, clutching his bleeding leg.

Crippled with two bullet wounds in his leg. Tiny knew he was at our mercy.

Hours
later, I had Tiny and his bitch tied up in the truck with rope and duct-tape and poured gasoline all over them and the Escalade. They knew what
was coming next. She was crying frantically.

“Please! No, don’t do this… What about my son! My son! No!”

Her eyes were puffy and soaked with tears. She wouldn’t stop screaming. We were in an isolated and wooded area in Connecticut. There was nobody around for miles.

“Omega just let she go… Please, fo’ my son’s sake, let her go,” Tiny begged. “You got what ya wanted. You got me, let her the fuck go! Please.”

Tiny was in tears.

“Nigga, everybody dies tonight. Fuck your son!” I exclaimed.

“Mi cousin is gawn fuck you up, you coldhearted bastard! Why it gawn be like this?” he shouted.

Ignoring his cries, I smiled at Tiny. His hands and wrists duct-tape to the steering wheel of the car, and his bitch bonded in the passenger seat. I was about to cover their mouths with duct-tape, but thought against it. I wanted to hear them scream in agony.

“You fucked with the wrong man, Tiny. I outsmarted you and I’m the new nigga round the way. Your cousin, he’ll be joining you soon,” I smiled.

“Please, please, please… Don’t do this…my son, Keon…he has no one to care for him…please, don’t do this!” She shrieked.

“I’ll see ya in hell, muthafucka!” Tiny exclaimed with rage dripping.

“Fuck you and your bitch.” I said then set the truck on fire.

I watched his bitch squirm and cry out, as she tried freeing herself. She felt the fire bringing her closer to her fate. Biscuit, Groggy, Tank and myself stood around and watched them burn to death in the truck. The screams were piercingly loud and their cries heavy as the fire became more intense. Their suffering was agonizingly short. The flames engulfed the truck quickly and strongly and soon it had gotten so hot that we had to step a few feet back.

The truck exploded. One down and one to go, I thought. If you wanted the power and the respect in life and on the streets, this was necessary. Your heart had to be cold as ice. My heart was the Antarctica. I was here to rule, and stopped death by any means necessary from knocking at my door.

Let’s triple our riches…
Turning darkness to light.
The future is you and kids.
Listen to our heartbeats…
Keeping us together…

 

 

 

I lay still in the soothing warm tub, collecting my thoughts. This was the third month of my pregnancy. I listened to some smooth R&B and had my eyes closed, enjoying some alone time. I thought about my husband and my music career.

Omar was my heart, but we were having problems. He wasn’t completely honest with me that night he came home with a small wound to his head. Knowing his past, I began having my doubts. I began wondering if he was back on the streets. I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Jenkins in weeks. There was no way to know about Omar’s employment status.

I couldn’t live through the lies, and the deception of the streets again. Trying my best to make us work was a difficult thing for me, especially being pregnant. I prayed everyday. I saw less of Omar. When he wasn’t at work, he was out somewhere else, doing God knows what. Omar was a grown man and I couldn’t keep tabs on him twenty-four seven. I had enough to worry about, my baby, and my own issues.

The music thang had slowed down since my fallout with Kendal. Everyone knew I was pregnant, and I stopped trying to hide it. It couldn’t be hidden anyway. I was starting to show. Summer was officially here and I could no longer wear sweaters and coats.

I had come too far to put my career on a hiatus. Still pressing on, I was in the studio recording, doing ad-libs, hooks, and chorus for rappers. I linked up with another producer, Imagine, who had his own independent record label. He produced some of the finest beats that I’ve ever heard, and managed a few well-known rappers.

Imagine was a hustler, a businessman, and a go-getter. He knew how to make money. He was handsome, tall, and from the streets. Imagine grew up in Bed-Stuy and was once an A&R at Jive Records. He had personality and intelligence, and had a way of making you feel important when he talked to you. He made me feel like I was the next Beyonce, even though I was three months pregnant.

“America, the richest country in the world, and that name fits. You’re rich in beauty and talents, America,” he said the first time we met. “So, when
is the baby due?” he had asked.

“February twenty-first, my doctor said,” I told him.

“By then, with my help, you’ll be a superstar. And you will be able to give your child whatever he or she wants,” he assured.

I liked how that sounded and began working with him. But I missed Kendal and his silly antics. It was several weeks since we last spoke, and I was wondering how he was doing. He helped jumpstart my career and I knew I owed him.

I was sitting in the tub and started going over songs in my head. I had a few that I knew could be hits. I thought I heard Omar walked in.

“Baby, is that you?” I called out.

“Yeah,” he answered.

He came into the bathroom, looking fine in wife-beater, denim shorts, and Timberlands.

“What you up to, boo?” I asked.

“I had to make a run out to Brooklyn,” he said.

It was Saturday afternoon and he was using my car to get around. He’s been gone since early morning, and my doubts about him going back to his old ways were piling on.

“What you got planned for the day?” he asked me.

He moved closer to the tub and got down on his knees, placing his hands on my shoulders, and began giving me a gentle massage.

“I’m relaxing for the day, trying not to stress myself,” I said.

His touch always felt good. It always made me want to love him. He pressed his fingers into my skin, moving them in a circular motion. His grip was strong and comforting.

“You taking care of my seed, right?” he asked lightheartedly.

“I’m taking care of us.” I smiled.

I was getting horny. We haven’t had sex in over a week, which was shocking to me. Lately, Omar had been busy with other things.