Me and My Hittas (17 page)

Bruno’s three hundred and fifty pound limp body
proved to be too much for Joshua to maneuver and he found
himself pinned between the Nigerian and the carpet. He
struggled to free himself from under the dead man, but his
efforts
were futile. Cadillac Tony ran upon
his
dead
bodyguard’s corpse and leveled his gun at his back, finger
fucking the trigger. He fired round after round into the
obese corpse hoping the bullets would come out the other
end and strike their intended target. But he had no such
luck, the fatty tissues of the dead man’s hefty frame had
stopped the bullets midway through.

Tony’s burner went empty as he pulled its trigger. He
quickly discarded it and went to cease the .38 in his ankle
holster. That’s when the back of Bruno’s skull exploded as
three rounds found their escape. The bullets slammed into
Tony’s belly and he fell over onto the floor wincing. His
face held an expression of confusion and agony, as he lay
on his back staring up at the ceiling. The lower half of his
shirt was completely red.

Joshua freed himself from under Bruno and removed
the .38 stashed in his victim’s ankle holster. He stuffed the
gun into his waistband and pulled the heroin peddler upon
his hands and knees. He then dog-walked that ass into the
bedroom, where he was sure he’d find a safe full of money.
Joshua parted the clothes hanging on the bar inside of the
closet and discovered a black stainless steel safe built into
the wall. He smiled to himself thinking of all the cash that
might be inside: one million, two million, three million,
maybe. He pressed his steel to the side of Tony’s dome and
told him to open the safe. To which he replied, “Fuck you,
old bitch ass nigga!”

“Run that by me one more time, boss,” Joshua
frowned and listened closely. His victim spat blood on the
carpet and repeated himself, “What chu hard of hearing,
mothafucka? I said…” that was as far as he got before his
brains were blown all over the safe in the wall. Joshua
lowered his smoking weapon and abandoned Tony’s body
in the bedroom, casually making his way inside of the living
room. He could hear police car sirens wailing in the
distance, so he had to work quickly. He grabbed the bag of
money the carrier had dropped and refilled it with the $100
dollar bills that were scattered over the floor. Once he was
sure he had every bill accounted for, he rose to his feet,
tying the bag into a knot. When he looked up he locked eyes
with the carrier, he was wearing a gold police shield
around his neck. His left hand was holding his leaking gut,
while his right held a standard police issued handgun. He
was glistening with sweat and by the look on his face his
wound was showing him no mercy.

“D.E.A, asshole,” He exclaimed breathing hard as a
bitch. “Drop your weapon!” Joshua stood there like a dear
in headlights. He was taken by surprise; he couldn’t believe
the carrier was an undercover law enforcer. Of all the
rotten luck he had. “You hear me, cock sucker?! I said,
‘Drop your weapon! Both of them!’” he demanded.

The police had just arrived on the scene. Joshua could
hear
their
wailing
sirens
right
outside
the
door.
Surrendering, he discarded his gun and tossed the .38
stashed in his waistband. The agent ordered him to his
knees, with his hands behind his head. He complied and the
agent approached him with caution. The ghetto avenger
eye-fucked his captor as he ascended on him, gun at the
ready.
He waited until he was
three
feet away and
unsheathed his knife. He smacked the burner from the
agent’s grasp and worked his knife in and out of his belly
like a dildo, causing blood to squirt everywhere. Joshua
stared the dying man in his eyes. Behind a mask of pure
hatred,he said, “Sell out ass, mothafucka.” The agent’s
pupils dilated and he released his last breath.

Joshua let the agent’s
limp body crash to the surface
and spat on his corpse, totally disrespecting it. As he rose
to his feet the police came flooding into the apartment, guns
drawn. They looked from Joshua to the dead agent at his
feet and then back again. Hate and disgust was etched upon
each one of their faces. Joshua shut his eyelids and tilted
his head back, taking a deep breath inhaling the fragrance.
It was the perfume scent of his wife, Robin. She had come
to take him away to a place where they could be together
forever. He smiled. The police took it as a smack in the face
since he had just murdered one of their own, and they fired
upon him with extreme prejudice.

The cops pumped one hundred and fifty rounds from
their pistols, and about a hundred of them ripped through
Joshua’s body. He danced on his feet for a time before his
hole-filled frame went crashing to the carpet, creating a
pool of blood beneath its self. His face held a slight grin as
a lone tear slid down his cheek. A ghostly image leaned over
his sprawled body and planted a gentle kiss upon his lips.
With that, he expelled his final breath and left this life for a
better one.

“Man, pops went out like a G b
ehind his.” Pavielle
stated proudly. “When I go out, I wanna go out just like he
did; for a cause I believe in; for something I was trying to
achieve, you Griff me?” Gouch nodded yes. “We’re going
to take the crack game to the next level, where all of my
niggaz seeing a million or better. It won’t be no hating, or
none of that shit; everybody gone eat.”

Bully was slumped down in the butter soft leather seat
of a silver X5, sitting on twenty two inch chrome rims. He
gangster leaned as he pushed the big body down Crenshaw
Blvd. Gripping the steering wheel with a jeweled hand, he
banked a right onto MLK blvd, nodding his head to Kanye
West’s You can’t tell me nothing. He had just left the
Baldwin Hills Shopping Plaza. He had purchased a new fit
from Men’s Land, a fresh pair of kicks from the Foot
Locker, and a bottle of cologne. As of now, he was headed
back to the house to take a shower and get dressed for
Pavielle’s birthday party. He couldn’t wait for the young
kingpin to see the gift he had gotten him. He had made it
himself.

It had been a few months since Pavielle had put him
down and he was seeing some paper. All the pretty and fine
girls wanted to see him now. Bully was getting more money
and pussy than he knew what to do with, but he never let it
go to his head. He humbled himself and kept it one hundred
how a real gangster is supposed to. He made sure he took
care of Thangz. Even though she was a hard up Junkie, she
was one of the few besides, Gangsta, that held him down
during his stretch. He had a lot of love for the busty smoker,
and that hadn’t changed, even when he found out she was
turning tricks to support her habit while he was locked up.
Though Thangz was a walking corpse she was still his boo.
So he had to stick with her and help her put the pieces of
her life back together.

Detectives Arsenegger and Ortiz sat parked outside of
Gmomma’s house, watching the guests arrive for
Pavielle’s birthday party. They snapped pictures with hopes
of matching the unfamiliar faces, as well as the familiar
ones, with the names they had back at the precinct.

“Pavielle Hood and Black Jesus Arturo in
bed
together; why aren’t I surprised?” Arsenegger asked no one
particular from behind the wheel. He was looking over
Ortiz’s shoulder as he snapped pictures of the party guests.

“Gangsta put up the line between the two of them, no
doubt,” Ortiz claimed, snapping the pictures. “Guy gets
popped and sets his nephew right up; who else more fit to
helm the throne than a direct blood relative, with the
business sense and know how?”
“Keeping it in the family,” Arsenegger added.

“O.G Booby Loc
o’s the man now. He and his crew
have The Bottoms sewn up with weight. The little guys
can’t even eat. You either get on their payroll, or get filled
with some hot shit.” He continued snapping the pictures.

“I’m going to personally see to it that every G.M.B
member and associate is behind the zipper of a body bag.
And you can take that to the bank and cash it.” Arsenegger
said, looking at the guests entering Gmomma’s house.

Pavielle’s party
was as live as the Mayweather Vs De
La Hoya fight. G-momma, Vayda and Gouch had put
together one hell of a shindig for their loved one’s 26
^th
birthday. All of the homies and a few bloods from other sets
came out to show Booby Loco from Outlaws 20s some
love. Black Jesus, Bullet and Tango even turned out. There
were bottles of Ace of Spades, Rose, and Chardonnay one
ice. G-momma and Vayda had prepared a feast fit for a king
and his knights. And since it was Pavielle’s birthday, she
allowed the guests to put cigarette and weed smoke in the
air.

“Alright, Booby, Y’all done wore momma out; I’m
finna head to bed now.” G-momma pecked her youngest
grandson and caressed the side of his face lovingly. “I love
you.”

“I love you too, momma.” Neck Bone
snickered,
mocking his homeboy from the floor, where he was slow
dancing with a sexy brown skinned number from 30 Piru.
Pavielle gave his goofy ass homeboy the finger. Neck Bone
laughed and cuffed his dance partner’s fat, juicy ass.

“Aye, fool, help momma to her room.” Pavielle told
Gouch, who was at the opposite end of the couch. He had a
hood rat from around the way on his lap and a clear plastic
cup of
Hennessy
in his
hand. He was
faded than a
mothafucka, eyes red webbed and hooded.

“Aye, raise up, I gotta help my momma to bed.”
Gouch told homegirl occupying his lap. Once she got up,
he hooked his arm with G-momma’s and led her toward her
bedroom. “Right this way, madam.” He cracked a smile and
so did she.

“Oh, y’all outta here?” Pavielle asked Black Jesus,
seeing Tango push him towards the door with Bullet
bringing up the rear.

“Yeah, I’m calling it a night,” Black Jesus replied,
giving him a pound. “I have a lot of business to attend to in
the morning. Being a business man yourself, I’m sure you
understand.”

Pavielle nodded his head. “Alright fam, hit me when
you make it home so I’ll know you got in safe.” he patted
the pretty boy kingpin on the shoulder. He then gave Bullet
a pound and a hug. “Alright, my nigga, take care of my boy
now.” he told him before giving Tango a nod; the
Dominican bodyguard
returned the
gesture.
Although
Tango hadn’t done anything to him personally, it was
something about the old Spanish gangster that didn’t quite
sit right with him.

After seeing that Black Jesus and his entourage made
it into their ride and off the block, Pavielle wandered around
the house looking for the future Mrs. Hood.

“Yo, Ridah Man, you seen my old lady?”
He stuck his
head into the kitchen, where he saw his crimey pouring
himself a drink as he chopped it up with a few of the homies
and some females from Westside 20s.

“Yeah, she went to the back with that nigga Bully.”
Ridah Man answered, not thinking anything of it. Although
his answer struck a chord in Pavielle and jealous reared its
ugly head, he took a long drink from his bottle and wiped
his mouth with the back of his fist. Next, he burped and
stormed into the corridor, where the bedrooms lined the
hall.

“You think
Booby will like it?” Bully asked Vayda as
she looked over the painting he had did as a gift for Pavielle;
the two of them were in the bedroom where all of the gifts
were.

Vayda seemed to be amazed by all of the talent that
the muscle bound hoodlum possessed. At first she just
figured him to be your typical gangbanging ass street nigga,
but now she felt that she had the O.G pegged all wrong.

“Oh, he’ll just love it,” Vayda assured him. “This
looks just like him and Gouch when they were little. You
captured their parents well, too. Your painting looks so life
like.”

“Thanks. G
-momma gave me a picture of them. It was
kind of mangled, so I had to work with it. You think you
can help me wrap it up?”

“Sure, I’ve got some wrapping
paper leftover from
earlier inthe closet.” She told him, handing over the
painting and making a move for the closet.

Unbeknownst to Vayda and Bully, Pavielle
was
outside the bedroom door with his ear pressed up against it,
listening in. Only he wasn’t hearing the conversation they
were having about the painting. Nah, see the combination
of weed and alcohol had him so delusional that he actually
believed he was hearing the moans of his lover as she was
being pleasured. The young kingpin’s face twisted into a
mask of murder as he continued to listen to the sexual
encounter his mental had conjured up. He snarled and
gripped his bottle of Rose so tight that it cracked at the neck,
traveling down the length of it. No longer able to tame his
jealousy, Pavielle took a step back and kicked the door with
all of his might.

The door flew open, sending splinters of wood flying
everywhere. Vayda and Bully were startled and confused,
they didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Pavielle came
charging in with murder on his mind, he threw his bottle of
Rose at Vayda’s head and she evaded it. The bottle
shattered into pieces against the wall. The alcohol that it
contained ran down the wall and soaked into the carpet.