Chapter 2
Chapter Two
SIMMY
Ibanged my fist on the fucking steering wheel. I swear this shit feels like a goddamn setup. And I ain’t rolling with shit but that. Coop, True, and I were all coming from different directions to get at these niggas who had smoke with Chauncey.
There ain’t too many niggas in the city we’re beefing with. It might be some niggas beefing with us, but these niggas ain’t loud about it.
True was coming down Miller Road, and all he had to do was bust a right to hit Armstrong Parkway—that’s it—but it’s a fucking roadblock. There’s no fucking way he could have gone through that roadblock and gotten caught up with all the shit he was toting. My nigga would’ve caught a life sentence.
Coop said that as he was coming down Baptiste Drive, he couldn’t make a left onto Armstrong because heavy construction was blocking the intersection and the road was closed.
I knew if it didn’t, none of our niggas made it to Chauncey.
I was coming. I’m cruising down Lucky Drive, and there was a badass car accident.
Ain’t no fucking way this is the play for today. I’m like seven fucking minutes away.
I heard those sticks talking over by Armstrong and didn’t even think. Fuck it.
I jumped out of my whip. I tossed these fucking tools into my Louie backpack. I took off running toward Armstrong, where I heard those shots ring out.
Lungs burning.
Heart pounding.
I don’t even feel my legs.
I put it on them niggas' momma because if those niggas get the drop on my nigga, he ain’t with me anymore. I’mma shut this bitch down, and the city gon’ fucking pay for Chauncey back in blood. I’m killing everything; it ain’t no fucking in between.
Ifinally made it to Armstrong Parkway. I’m out of breath like a motherfucka. All I see is clouds of gun smoke. The driver’s door to Chauncey’s Range Rover is hanging wide the fuck Open; my stomach drops.
And the niggas who orchestrated his hit decorated his Range Rover with bullet holes. Oh, these niggas made a fucking mess. I need access to the traffic cams ASAP.
I run toward the Range Rover. I hear sirens approaching. I know I’m too late. I feel it. I know I’m not a spiritual-ass nigga, but please, God, if you hear me, don’t take my nigga away from me.
God, if you spare Chauncey, I promise you can use me however you see fit. I see Chauncey’s body slumped over, riddled with fucking holes. I check his pulse; it’s faint but there. I sit in the driver’s seat with my nigga. I hope the ambulance gets here soon.
“Aye, nigga, please don’t fucking die on me,” I mutter, pressing my hand to his chest. “Don’t you fucking die.”
Tamika starts looking at me like she’s crazy.
That doesn’t sit right either.
“Aye, slut, I suggest you get to fucking talking. I hope you got some tag numbers and descriptions of these niggas.”
“Excuse me.”
“You heard what the fuck I said, hoe. I didn’t stutter.
I find it funny; Tamika, yo ass ain’t slumped over, and Chauncey got shot the fuck up.
How come you didn’t catch one fucking bullet?
I swear to God, if my nigga doesn’t make it and I find out you got something to do with this shit, it’s yo ass, hoe. ”
The police and the ambulance finally arrive at the scene. The paramedics begin extracting Chauncey from the vehicle and ask questions.
“Excuse me, sir, would you mind telling us what happened?”
“Aye, I don’t know shit. I just got here; ask Tamika whatever questions you fucking got.”
I hopped into the ambulance with Chauncey.
I ain’t never seen this shit coming. I send my wife, Bianca, a text.
I would call her, but I can’t talk around these motherfuckas.
I don’t trust anyone. I don’t understand how this shit just happened.
I need Bianca to make a few arrangements to pick up my whip.
Me-
I love you.
I pause, then keep typing.
Chauncey and I were shooting the shit. I had plans to spoil my wife this afternoon, but it looks like that won’t happen because the streets are calling. I answered the call. I’ve got to get at these niggas tonight. Ain’t no way around it.
Wifey-
I love you, babe.
Me-
Please do me a favor.
Wifey-
Is everything okay?
The last thing I want is for my wife to worry about the shit Chauncey and I got going on out here in the streets.
Whoever had the nuts to try to smoke Chauncey, them niggas know I’m coming the worst fucking way.
All I’m saying is they got lucky today with all these diversions, but I’m going to make a few plays—minor setback for a major comeback.
Me-
No.
Wifey-
Babe, where are you? Drop the LO; I’m about to pull up.
I know my wife is with me, but I need her to sit still and spend my money—that’s all.
Me-
Please do three things for me.
Wifey-
Okay.
Me-
I need you to pick up the Maybach; it’s sitting on Lucky Drive, not too far from Armstrong Parkway.
Wifey-
What else?
Me-
Please call Mrs. Lynn and tell her to meet me at Teflon Hills Memorial Hospital.
Mrs. Lynn is my godmomma. I cannot call her to tell her it’s not looking good for her only son. That’s one call I’m not prepared to make.
Wifey-
Is Chauncey okay?
Me-
I don’t know yet, but I need you to be patient with me. It’s some weird shit going on right now, and I won’t be home until I get some fucking straightening.
Wifey-
Babe, do you want me to meet you at the hospital?
Me-
No, not right now, but I’m going to go offline for a few hours. I’mma check back in about three hours. I need you out of the city just in case I have to make a mess.
Bianca already knows what type of time I’m on. I’m making a mess; there ain’t no way around it.
Wifey-
I love you, Simmy. Please be careful. I trust you, and I’ll be waiting for your call.