Thirsty (17 page)

A
moving target is hard to hit. That’s why I’d been constantly on the move ever since that incident at T.G.I. Fridays. I was determined not to go out like my niggas had gone out so I decided to flip the game on Carlos and his people. I was about to give them a taste of their own shit.

My only concern at this point was my sister’s safety because my life didn’t even matter anymore. After Justice had told me about what that nigga Los had said to her, I knew a war with them muthafuckas was inevitable. I knew it was time to put in work.

Since I had the keys to D.C.’s apartment and his vehicles, I’d decided to utilize it to my advantage. I knew no one would double back and try to run up in a dead man’s house so I’d been staying at his spot for the past couple of weeks, keeping a low profile. Once Justice had called me to let me know that she was okay, I had made up my mind to stir up calm waters.

Just after 8 p.m. on a Tuesday night, I hopped on D.C.’s Kawasaki and rode across town to Idelwild Road where Carlos’s lieutenant Ali’s house was located. As I rode through the neighborhood I noticed how quiet it was. When I neared his house, I spotted his chromed-out, cream colored Mercedes SL 55 along with his Escalade parked in the driveway, so I knew he was inside. What I wanted to do was run up in that bitch and blaze everybody in the house. However, I went with my better judgement and just laid low and waited for him to come out.

I sat and watched his house for exactly an hour before there was any movement. On that sixty first minute his front door opened and out he stepped. I immediately perked up when I saw him head toward his truck, carrying what looked like a back pack in one hand. When he opened the driver’s side and got in he started the truck but didn’t close the door. I was wondering what he was doing, but my question was answered when I saw a little girl whom appeared to be no older than three or four years old come running out the house towards the truck. I was silently praying that she would
not
get in, but to my dismay, she did just that. Ali reached down and scooped the little girl up in his arms, then pulled her in through the driver’s side.

Once the child was inside, I watched him wave at a female who was now standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, you better wave goodbye. ’Cause this is the last time that bitch’ll see you breathing,” I mumbled beneath the helmet.
I was undecided as to whom I wanted to rock to sleep, him or his bitch. Slumping this nigga with the little girl in the truck with him had not been part of the plan, but at this point my understanding was ZERO! Slumping the bitch would hurt him deeply but I wanted this nigga to suffer.
As Ali pulled out of the driveway I was looking back and forth from the truck to the house, trying to decide which one I was going to lay to rest. Then I decided Ali would be the one to get it because I could come back and slump the bitch at any given time if for some reason he ended up getting away from me.
I crunk up D.C.’s bike and waited for the truck to get a block or two away from the house before following him. When I felt like he had gotten a far enough distance away from me I moved. I tailed him a few blocks to another house where he dropped the little girl off. After dropping off the child he proceeded to head down Independence Boulevard, oblivious to his surroundings. I wanted to pull alongside that nigga and let my .40 cal holla at his ass, but I knew I couldn’t rush it. So I bided my time and continued to follow him, hoping he would stop somewhere.
Opportunity presented itself when he got off on Arena Drive and headed to the Mart Inn and Suites, the small motel located behind what used to be the old coliseum. This was one of those hidden spots not too many people knew about. It was a spot that was perfect for creeping.

Evidently Ali had already had a room or he was meeting someone there because he bypassed the front office and headed directly around back. I pulled up to the entrance and gave him a twenty second window before following him to the back of the hotel. As soon as I pulled around to where he was parked I noticed the truck was still running and he was still sitting inside with his phone up to his ear. This nigga was slippin’!

“Caught yo’ bitch ass sleepin’,” I mumbled as I pulled alongside the truck.
Ali turned his head to look in my direction. As if he suddenly recognized D.C.’s bike and realized what was about to happen, I saw him duck. But my ratchet was already spitting hot lead inside the truck!
The driver’s side window shattered and paint chipped off the door as the bullets struck it. The dums-dums were penetrating straight through the door because I could see directly inside the truck through the holes. As I continued to squeeze, I heard the clap of gunfire coming from
inside
the truck and saw flames jumping from Ali’s pistol as he fired back. It was like the showdown at the OK Corral as bullets whizzed past my head. A bullet struck the left side of D.C.’s rearview mirror, shattering it into pieces.
Not being deterred from my mission, I aimed in the direction of where the sparks were coming from, and squeezed. Just then, the gunfire from inside the truck stopped and I put the kickstand down and hopped off the bike.
Slowly, I approached the driver’s side door with caution, not knowing what awaited me on the other side. The silence was heartstopping as I snatched open the door, ready to blast. Once the door was ajar, what I saw inside was almost enough to make me nut in my pants. Bad ass Ali was sprawled out on the front seat in a pile of shattered glass. His head was hanging off the seat and his pistol was lying on the floorboard where he had dropped it. His left leg was bleeding profusely and his once white T-shirt was now decorated with blotches of crimson. He’d taken two to the chest and was struggling to breathe.
Although I was still wearing the helmet the look in his eyes told me that he still recognized me. I looked down at Ali and watched as his life was slowly slipping away from him. At that instance I had flashbacks: I saw images of Sapphire lying in that hospital bed; I saw that blood-splattered taxi with Cross’s body in it and I saw my nigga D.C. slumped over in that booth in Fridays. I knew there was no way in hell I could leave this nigga breathing. I raised my pistol and aimed between Ali’s pleading eyes. He looked up at me and his mouth moved to say something, probably an expletive. However, before the words could come out I emptied what was left of my clip into him. I watched as he bled and took his last exasperated breath.
The backpack he had been carrying when he had left the house was now lying beneath his left leg covered with his blood. I grabbed it, snatched it open and saw that it was full of dead presidents. A bonus!
“You won’t be giving
this
to God. I’ll take it off ya hands for ya.” I spoke to the corpse as I strapped the bloody backpack onto my back.
Moments later, I was back on D.C.’s bike and hauling ass away from the motel. A few nosey patrons were now peeping out of their windows and I saw the manager standing out in front of the office as I passed. I aimed the empty gun in his direction and saw him dash back inside as I zoomed out of the parking lot, burning rubber!
As I rode through a few back streets I thought about what I’d just done. I knew I had just added fuel to the fire in the situation but at that point I didn’t give a fuck. Just like Carlos had done, it was now my turn to send a message. I was wondering about when the hunter became the hunted. What would he do? How would he carry it?
By slaying Carlos’s right hand man I knew I’d be throwing those niggas off balance and they would be walking on egg shells, not knowing
what
to expect. I was always told by OGs that the easiest mark is an off-balance mark, who doesn’t know how or when you may come at him. I had to keep those niggas guessing.

T
he days I’d been at J.T.’s was the most peaceful days I’d had in months. No one but Monk knew who I was with and not even
he
knew the location. The tranquility was something I definitely needed and the peace and quiet was becoming somewhat addictive. Lounging around the spacious two story home in my pajamas during the day while J.T. was out taking care of business and making love all night had become my daily routine. As much as I hated to admit it, I was becoming domesticated and was actually enjoying it. I was cooking J.T.’s favorite meals, cleaning house, and basically playing “wifey.” I was starting to regret the fact that I had initially planned to have him robbed because J.T. was a good guy and had a good heart.

Since I’d been in his home, J.T. had been treating me with nothing but pure respect. True enough, there was the occasional “friend” calling ever once in a while but he made it clear to each of them that he was “occupied.” I had to respect it and I had no problem with it as long as he kept his “friends” in check, and none of those hookers came out of their mouths the wrong way with a bitch!

Although I moved about his home freely as if it were my own, I still acknowledged the fact that I was in his space. The only place that he said was off limits was his personal office on the second level where I imagined he kept something very personal, like his money. How adamant he’d been about keeping me out of there only piqued my curiosity that much more; had a bitch wanting to go right up in there to see what was so secretive. But as of yet, I’d stayed clear of that office.

That day when I had shown up at J.T.’s home with a trunk full of clothes, looking like I’d been up for forty days and forty nights, he never pressured me to tell him what had been wrong with me. He’d invited me into his home with no questions asked and I felt indebted to him for that. He had simply taken me into his arms and held me as if he didn’t want to ever let me go, and told me that everything would be fine. He said he’d make sure of it, even if it meant putting himself in danger by protecting me. He never even questioned my reason for distraught. I think he was allowing me to exhale, knowing that I would talk to him about it whenever I was ready.

The second day at his house was when I explained to him what was going on, or at least he thought I was explaining. I concocted a story about my brother being in some kind of trouble and he had ended up bringing that trouble to my place. Therefore, I couldn’t stay at my condo for fear of someone coming there looking for him. It was only partially true, but J.T. ate it up like it was his favorite meal. He assured me that I could stay as long as I liked, and for the time being, I was definitely enjoying my welcome.

We’d gotten to know one another a little better because of the pillow talk we had been having. I already knew that he was originally from Washington, D.C., which was where most of his family was located except for his father. He had only seen him twice in his life and had no idea where he was at. All that he knew about his father was that he was somewhere in the Midwest. This had made me think about my father, Tyson’s no good ass, who was back home in Chicago probably still doing what he was best at—being a straight up dog! In my father’s case, Tyson was truly a “rollin’ stone,” and I didn’t miss him one bit.

One night while lying in bed basking in the afterglow of so many multiple orgasms, I rolled over and looked at J.T.’s sleeping figure next to me and I heard a slight snore. I smiled at the thought of this punanny putting him to sleep.

I couldn’t sleep, so I clicked on the television and flipped through channels until I came across the news. I sat the remote down and watched a report about the increasing violence in Charlotte due to gang activity. Homicide rates had doubled in the past few years and were at an all-time high. Most of the victims were said to be black males between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.

They were reporting that the latest homicide had taken place in a motel’s parking lot on Independence Boulevard where the victim had been found inside his truck, shot gangland style. When I heard the reporter name Ali as the victim, my ears perked up and a sense of nervousness took control of my body for a brief moment. I knew without a shadow of a doubt who the shooter had been. It had to have been my brother!

Sitting up in the bed with my knees pulled up to my chest, I listened intently, hoping that they didn’t have anyone in custody. As I listened a little longer my nerves began to calm when they said that the gunman had fled the scene on a motorcycle and was still at large. The only description the authorities had at the time was that of a black male wearing dark colored shorts, a white T-shirt, and dark colored shoes. No facial description had been given because the suspect was wearing a helmet. They went on to say that they believed the motive behind the slaying had been robbery.

I had to call to make sure my brother was okay. I eased out of the bed and picked up J.T.’s cordless, which was on the table beside the bed, and I dialed Monk’s number. I went into the bathroom and was closing the door behind me when I heard Monk answer.

“Yeah. Who dis?”
“It’s me, boy you okay?” I whispered with concern in my voice. “Yeah. I’m good, why?”
I got right to the point.
“That thing on Independence, tell me that wasn’t y—” “Oh, you saw that, huh?” Monk asked cutting me off. He was

laughing as if this whole ordeal was a joke.
“Yeah, I saw it. You laughing like this a game or somethin’.” “Nah. I
know
it ain’t no game. But I can’t just find me a muthafucka

to go lay up with and act like ain’t shit happenin’ out here. I gotta do what I gotta do to make sure me
and
you stay alive out here, ya dig?” He had great amounts of sarcasm in his venomous voice.
“By the way sis, I caught that hoe sleepin,” he added, like he was proud of what he’d done.
I sighed and rubbed my temples at the thought of my brother being at war with Carlos and his goons. Then I started thinking, trying to figure out a way we could get out of the mess we were in and leave the entire situation behind us.
“Monk, why don’t we just say forget it and go back home?” I suggested. I was tired of the life I was living.
“Home? Chicago?” Monk asked.
“Yeah. I mean, we could just start over and forget about all of this.”
Monk was quiet on the other end, which let me know that he was thinking about what I had just suggested.
I spoke again, “I got some money saved up. We can go out there and find a nice lil’ spot and just chill ’til we figure out what we wanna do.”
“Speakin’ of money, I came up off that nigga Ali. He had some stacks on him when I went at him,” Monk stated, then added, “I’ma think ’bout what you said. Lemme get back at you on that. That might be a good idea, sis.”
“Lemme know soon ’cause if you don’t, I just may leave without you. I’m serious. I’m tired of this shit Monk.”
“I just said I’ma let you know, didn’t I? Just chill for a minute, I need to handle a few more things.”
I told my brother to check in with me every once in a while to let me know that he was okay so I wouldn’t be worrying myself sick about him. He promised me he would. We ended the call and I was thinking about what I’d just suggested to my brother and began to realize just how much of a good idea it was. I didn’t really want to leave while Sapphire was still in the hospital in a coma, but I really wanted to put Charlotte as far behind me as I possibly could.
I also knew that all good things had to come to an end and was contemplating on what to do with J.T. My initial intentions were to have him robbed by Monk, but after spending so much time with him I had start feeling him a little more than I should have been. I thought Sapphire would have been the one to get caught out there but as it was turning out, it seemed as if I was the one who had fallen weak. Maybe it was the predicament I was in with Carlos that had me in such a vulnerable state; or maybe I was just tired of the streets and the drama that came along with it. Either way, I was really digging J.T. and the more time I spent with him the harder I felt myself falling.
Never
had I felt such an instant connection with a man like the one J.T. and I shared. We had so much in common, we liked so many of the same things and I felt completely safe and comfortable with this man. The vibe we shared was so strong to the point it was almost scary. It was as if we had known each other for years.
After my conversation with Monk I walked back into the bedroom and saw that J.T. was still sound asleep. I watched him admiringly for a moment, then walked over and planted tiny kisses on his forehead. I was thinking about how much I’d miss him if I was to leave and wondered if he would come visit me in Chicago. I also wondered if he would miss me as much as I would miss him.
I took a deep breath, let out a long sigh, and came to the conclusion that I would have to cross those bridges when I came to them. But for the time being, I was just going to enjoy the time we had together. I leaned over and eased the comforter down J.T.’s naked waist and smiled devilishly just before lowering my head to the treasure I had become obsessed with. I was getting wet just by the thought of pleasing him because I knew this was his favorite way to wake up.