Chapter 2 #3
“We have a problem. Well,” I tugged on my beard and shrugged. “We don’t have a problem. I have a problem.”
“You got a problem, we got a problem,” said one of the niggas at the end of the table. I wasn’t good with names. Knew him as Mark because he had a big ass birthmark across his face.
I nodded and looked around the table. “Something of mine was taken by some niggas out west. Near Almont Rd. Petersburg. I don’t know how many or none of that. I know… a little sloppy. But things happened too fast for me to really do my due diligence. What I do have is a name and an address.”
“By Almont? I got family out—”
“Don’t give a fuck,” I said interrupting another nigga at the end of the table. Black. Because he was dark as hell.
He held his hands up and fell back against the chair. “I was just saying because—”
“Let ‘eem rap,” Kiss interrupted, gazing down the end of the table at him.
I understood why he spoke up. Probably thought him having family out there would help some. It wouldn’t. I didn’t want help from anybody outside of the room. I was selective as hell about who I did business with. On every level. Not just when it came to transport.
I scratched my nose. “Like I was saying… I got the addy.” I flicked my wrist to check the time. “Buck, I need you to pull them glasses out, throw on a buttoned up and get on your Peewee Herman for this one.”
Buck laughed, his bucked teeth protruding. “I got you, Big Dawg.”
“Aight look… this the play,” I said, sitting up, getting ready to put them on to what I had up my sleeve.
* * *
The next morning, I was up bright and early, dressed, meeting the team.
When I pulled up at the meeting spot, a McDonalds a mile away from the location, I gave Buck a once over.
As requested, he was dressed in a white buttoned up, bow tie strapped tight, reading glasses on, dress pants held up by suspenders. On his feet were a pair of loafers.
I approached and handed him a magazine—The Watchtower—something Jehovah’s Witnesses kept on them.
That’s what I had him on. He was going to hit a couple houses on the block before finally getting to the location.
Buck used to be a Jehovah’s Witness, so he knew all about that shit.
Grew up under that religion, but he converted to Christianity, joining the church a couple of years back.
He was a point-dexter for real. Linked with him on the business tip when he called Solomon one night, crying over a body he caught.
Solomon linked him with us and the rest was history.
We went over the plan for a good ten minutes before piling in our cars. In the rearview mirror, my eyes landed on Zeke. He was busy handling his blick.
“Stick to the script,” I said through gritted teeth.
He looked up. “Huh?”
“The script, nigga. Stick to it. None of that wild ass shit. I’m trying to make sure shorty is safe. You hear me? You fuck this up—
“Bro,” he sucked his teeth. “I know what we on. On bro I’m not—”
“I don’t need all of that. I need you to take heed,” I interrupted.
Zeke was trigger happy. He was a good shot fa sho, but when we got on shit like this, he got to going.
It was usually hard to keep him on track.
He liked to squeeze off on just about everybody in the vicinity.
I had very explicit directions for how I wanted this to go down.
Not only because I wanted Jada safe but because I wanted dawg and ol’ girl breathing at the end of it. I had special plans for them.
Zeke’s face softened and he shook his head. “I know how serious this is, brodie. Aight?”
I didn’t say anything. Burnt off from the McDonalds parking lot, heading in the direction of the crib.
The ride there was spent in silence. Kiss left the AUX alone.
Zeke sat back against the chair, veering off out of the window.
Kiss passed me a blunt I declined. He reached to the backseat and gave it to Zeke.
I didn’t want to smoke. I wanted a clear mind.
I needed a clear mind. I wasn’t one of those niggas that needed a morning wood.
Weed was literally recreational for me. Zeke and Kiss, on the other hand, smoked faithfully.
I didn’t judge—everybody had their vices. Mine just happened to be getting money.
About five minutes later, I was pulling up on Petersburg Ave.
In the rearview I peeped the other three whips pull up, too.
Parking a couple of houses down from Stubbs’s, I shifted the car in park and shut the engine off.
My eyes landed on Jada’s Benz parked in the driveway before I shifted my gaze to the rearview mirror, putting my focus on the white Nissan approaching from the end of the block.
Buck cruised by the whip and parked a couple houses down from Stubbs’s shit too.
I watched as he got out of the car, adjusting his slacks, bible and magazine in hand.
He pushed his glasses up over the bridge of his nose and surveyed the hood.
I wore a scowl, but I was impressed. He looked the same exact way he looked when we were first introduced.
Timid. Innocent. Like a true ass Jehovah Witness who wouldn’t hurt a fuckin’ fly.
But underneath that nice guy look was a nigga who really got to that murder shit.
He had a crazy ass temper and would spazz at the drop of the hat.
When he met up with Solo after catching his first body, he was in a fit of tears, sick, begging bro to help him with an exorcist, saying he had a whole ass demon in him.
Solo did what he did. Prayed for him but felt the heaviness of who he really was weighing him down.
That’s when he hit me up and I found a good use for him.
I watched as he bopped up to the first house, wearing a soft smile.
The first neighbor slammed the door in his face, and he continued down the block.
He had two houses to hit before he got to Stubbs’s shit.
Could’ve went straight there but I was a cross every t dot every i type of nigga. I wanted his steps carefully curated.
He stood talking with the other neighbor for a nice little minute.
Because I knew Buck knew his shit, I knew he wasn’t stammering over his words, spitting shit he didn’t know about.
He was really spreading the gospel with a glock tucked in the waistband of his pants, ready to commit murder because I told him to. Real nigga.
“Look at that nigga,” Kiss said with a light laugh. “Moving around this bitch like a straight point-dexter.”
“Because he is,” Zeke said with a snort. “Murderin’ ass point-dexter. Sick.”
I didn’t say anything. I tore my eyes away from him and grabbed my blink from up under my seat. After checking the clip, I told Zeke and Kiss to get ready.
We got out of the car and slow crept up the block.
I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to make sure the team was behind me.
We were militant any time we got on shit, which wasn’t often.
That would come as a surprise to people, considering how organized and on point we were whenever we did squad up.
I moved my hand, signaling for them to move around.
One team went on one side of the house; another went to the other side.
Me, Zeke, and Kiss followed behind Buck.
When he climbed the stairs, we climbed it with him in sync so it wouldn’t sound like a bunch of people on the porch.
Buck stood at the door, and the three of us stood out of view on the left side of the porch, with me in front.
Buck kept his smiling face forward as he tapped on the door a couple of times before hitting the outdated doorbell.
He didn’t shift his gaze in our direction once.
He kept his hand wrapped around the bible resting in front of him, magazine tucked inside of his arm pit. After a couple, the door creaked open.
“Good morning, sista. You got a moment to hear about the good gospel?” Buck asked.
“Nigga, what? Ain’t nobody trying to—”
Before she could decline, he pressed. “Just five minutes, sis. I just talked to Ms. Martha a couple of house down. She said you just loss your momma and needed help with funeral expenses, right? If you don’t want to hear the gospel, can I at least pray for you sis?”
She was quiet for a second.
Damn. Shout out to Ms. Martha’s gossiping ass. She came through in the clutch.
“Come on sis—”
“Stop calling me sis,” she interrupted before yelling at someone in the house. “Hold on! Damn nigga. It’s just the Jehovah Witness and—shut up, nigga. Damn!”
He wanted her to close the door. Wasn’t happy to hear about the Jehovah Witness on the porch.
A couple of seconds later, the door was pushed open a little and she extended her hands to Buck. He held the door open with his leg and grabbed hold of her hands. “Bow your head and close your eyes for me.”
He bowed his a little, shifted his eyes up at her to make sure she’d listened and then turned to face me, giving me the green light. As soon as he did, I upped the blick and snatched the door open. She was too stunned to react before I had the gun against her forehead.
“Say somethin. On pops, you won’t be able to form a syllable before I blow yo’ fuckin’ head off,” I said through gritted teeth.
She threw her hands up. Eyes filled with tears. Trembled with a familiar look of fear. Eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling. Piss running down the middle of her legs. I glanced down and stepped over the puddle.
On cue, niggas from both sides of the house emerged and rushed behind us.
She turned around and I placed the gun to the back of her head.
We followed her inside. Her hands never left the air.
House was a fuckin’ mess. Cluttered. Every step I took, I had to step over a mountain of trash.
When we made it through the front room of the house, there was a path leading to the rest of the place.