Chapter 22
End Games
Idid the dash across town to the barbershop faster than I want to admit. But when I walked in, my niggas were ready.
“That nigga called my girl! Threatening her life! I want that nigga found tonight! I don’t give a fuck how long it takes!” I stated, not letting them even ask what happened.
They looked at me, nodding their heads, knowing I meant what I said.
All my niggas started loading their guns with the extended clips, and Sammy stopped us.
See, my nigga Sammy wasn’t just a barber. Back when I ran the streets, Sammy was a gun dealer, and that nigga still dabbles in that shit here and there.
“I got some shit for y’all,” Sammy said, walking to the back of his store. We followed him, and he opened the door to this back room, turned on the lights, and we were met with a room full of guns of all sizes.
We all walked in, looking around.
“Everything new and unmarked,” Sammy added.
The niggas acted like it was Christmas, picking out guns, matching them with high beams and extended clips.
I grabbed the ARP and held it in my hands, feeling the weight.
“You gonna need this,” Sammy said to me, grabbing something off one shelf and bringing it over to me. “It’s a net bag to catch the bullet shells,” he said, looking around. “All you niggas grab one.”
After I got my shit together, I looked around. My bullies were ready to eat.
“We are not going home until that nigga is dead!” I repeated.
They all nodded at me, cocking their guns, and we walked outta the shop, loading into two trucks.
Keith was driving one truck. I was in the passenger seat. My nigga Ricky, driving the other truck, pulled up beside us.
“The YN’s said they saw a nigga that looked like him around South Side.”
I nodded. “Let’s go then.”
We took a drive to the South Side. I sat back in the smoke while my niggas told me where their people spotted him.
The only issue was that I wasn’t seeing him.
We went by a few motels they saw him at, and I knew he stayed out before—he wasn’t there.
Every time we pulled into a parking lot, I expected to see that nigga or a car with outta-state tags, but instead it was the same result.
Nothing.
I sat in the passenger seat getting irritated by the second, not because I couldn’t find him, but because I knew that nigga was close. I could feel him.
Islah was texting me, asking me if I was okay. I had to ignore her. We kept riding around, niggas kept calling. It was either some bullshit, or when the niggas were in town before.
I rubbed my face and looked out the window. The longer this shit went on, the more I thought about having to go back home to Islah and tell her that we couldn’t find him.
That shit was getting to me more than anything else.
Keith got another call, and I sucked my teeth. I was getting tired of the bullshit, but this time, he didn’t hang up right away. He listened, asked a couple of questions, then looked over at me.
“Good look,” he said before he hung up the phone.
My head turned toward him. “What?”
“One of my lil’ homies said they saw a group of Cali niggas at a gas station a few minutes ago.”
“How many?” I asked.
“Five or six.”
I looked straight ahead. I knew the city was full of all types of people, but that shit couldn’t be random.
“Ride over that way.”
Keith nodded. We pulled outta the parking lot we were in, and back on the road, I cracked the window trying to let the night air cool me off, but it wasn’t.
I was getting that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feelin’ I used to get many years ago when I was closing in, and I kinda started to get excited.
We were a few blocks away, stopped at a stoplight. I was looking out the window when I saw a nigga in the driver’s seat. I sat up, leaned forward, and looked harder.
“That’s that nigga right there!”
That nigga stared at us, staring at him, as soon as the light turned green. That dummy bussed a right, and we were right behind him.
“Stay on his ass,” I told Keith. That nigga sped up.
One of the niggas he had with him hung out the window, bussing at us. It took me and my niggas less than a second to be on the same shit.
“Watch my back,” I yelled at niggas while my ARP was bussing through the glass, aiming at the back of Gio’s head.
Gio was swerving down the street, thinking that was gonna do something. That nigga was making it worse for him.
“He’s heading toward the interstate,” Keith yelled out.
“I don’t give a fuck where he’s heading,” I yelled back. “You better keep the fuck up.”
Gio bussed a slight right, merging onto the interstate, trying to slide through traffic, but that nigga didn’t know how to move through Atlanta traffic like we do.
Keith didn’t stay right behind him, but he stayed close enough that I had eyes on him.
His niggas were yelling at him, as he was getting caught behind cars, but I didn’t care where he was. My aim was righteous, I kept shooting at that nigga scaring all the cars around us.
“Aye,” I yelled to the backseat. “Somebody call the police chief, tell his ass that I said to keep his son off me tonight, I’m handling business.”
Kirko slid out the window and back in the car to make that call for me.
Gio kept moving, doing the interstate. His nigga had a scared look on his face, looking at how close we were getting. He took the first exit he saw, cutting off a bunch of traffic like he knew where he was going.
That nigga ended up doing one big ass circle and ended up back on the South Side, but now driving down back streets.
His niggas tried to shoot their guns at us while yelling at Gio to drive, but they weren’t getting nowhere. The streets had cars on them, cars parked on the side, and the street he was trying to turn down was one-way.
“Ram him,” I said low, making Keith look at me.
“What, nigga?”
“You heard what the fuck I said!” I yelled at him. “Ram that shit.”
Keith nodded and let a lil’ space between him and them niggas then sped up, ramming that nigga and sending him flying down the street, swerving trying to control his car. He slowed down, watching the scene unfold, and that nigga hit a tree.
“DAMN!” Keith yelled out.
Smoke was filling the area around the car and the street as fast as we got closer.
Once we pulled up on the car, we couldn’t see shit, but that wasn’t enough for me. I started shootin that bitch up, and without even speaking on it, my niggas started bussing their ARP’s or Glocks right along with me, and we shot that bitch up until it was up in flames.
I stood there watching it for a minute, feeling that all the bullshit with him was finally done.
“Come on, let’s ride out,” I said, walking back to the truck feelin’ like my job was complete.
Keith pulled off with Ricky following him, and we went back to the barbershop.
I lit my blunt and looked as we passed by the burning car slowly.
A slight smile crept up on my face. I felt like my plate was getting lighter.
That nigga was done and would never be a problem for my girl again.
When we got back to the barbershop. Sammy was standing at the door smoking, lookin’ like he was waiting for his kids to come home when we hopped out.
“You handle business?” He yelled out.
I walked up to the door and dapped him up. “It’s handled.”
“That’s the shit I like to hear,” He responded.
I turned to my niggas and paid them for their time and watched them go on their way, leaving me, Keith, and Sammy standing there.
“You feel better?” Keith asked.
I turned my face up at him. “Nigga what the fuck you think? That nigga is gone, my girl is safe, that’s all the fuck that matters right now.”
Keith and Sammy understood where I was coming from.
“Now you can focus on your family and ya wedding,” Sammy added.
“And work, that nigga took my focus away a lil’ bit, after this…” I paused and looked at my phone, getting another call from Islah. I ignored it before I continued. “I can turn my attention to where it’s needed. Lemme get outta here and get to my girl.”
I handed the ARP to Sammy, taking the net bag off the back before I walked off.
On the way to the crib, I rolled the windows down, feelin’ the nighttime ATL air on me. I was feelin’ like the nigga of the city. I had that shit in the palm of my hands, all types of connections, and niggas around the city to get shit taken care of.
And I did.
When I pulled up in the driveway, Islah was standing at the front door, looking out with her phone in her hand, calling me again. She came out the door before I could fully park.
She stood on the sidewalk waiting for me to cut the car off and my lights off. As I hopped out, her eyes were locked on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I walked up to her and handed her the net bag with the bullet shell in it, and gave her a deep kiss.
“He’s done.”
“Are you sure?” Islah questioned as I walked past her, making me stop in my tracks and face her.
“It’s done, baby… He’s done.”