Love and a Gangsta (24 page)

“Fuck you!” he spat in my muthafuckin’ face.

I was furious wiping his saliva and blood from the corner of my mouth. I punched him and spit back in his face.

“You dare spit on me muthafucka?” I shouted hitting him again, and again, until his jaw was twisted.

I was winded, glaring at this asshole, coughing up blood and his face looking like something from a butcher’s shop.

“Yo, pass me those muthafuckin’ vice-grips,” I ordered.

Monk put them in my hand with pleasure. Now this shit was personal. He disrespected and spit on me. I wanted him to feel pain like he never felt before.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth, nigga!” I demanded.

He was resistant. Biscuit came over to help me. He punched him the jaw, and then with his help, we began prying open his fuckin’ bloody filled mouth. I had on latex gloves and so did Biscuit, and one by one, we began pulling out with the vice grips the few teeth that he had left in his mouth.

“Ugh… Ah… Ah. Yow… Ah… Ah… Ah…” he cried in agony as we pulled out three of his teeth with the tool.

“You spit on me, nigga,” I shouted in his ear.

I put the vice grips near his exposed genitals and clamped the tool around his nuts as tightly as possible. He sounded like a wounded animal.

“You want me to stop, muthafucka? Huh?” I taunted. “Go ahead, say ‘fuck me’ one more time and watch what happens up in here tonight. I guarantee it’s gonna last for hours.”

He was whimpering. I clutched the tool and felt his nuts bursting gradually. I was about to pop them like a pimple.

“No, no. Oh God,” he cried out in a high pitch tone.

“Say sump’n nigga, you better hurry the fuck up!” I barked. “You ain’t talkin’ that shit now, right? You think you big, huh? I’ll break you down like the bitch you are.”

“Oh God…” He cried out. “Ahight, ahight,” he managed.

His body was collapsing from the pain. His face contorted and he was barely conscious. I removed the vice grips from his nuts and gave him a moment to catch his breath.

“Tiny, where is he?” I asked.

Mr. Tough Guy’s mouth was coated with blood making his words mostly incoherent. But he was getting friendlier.

“I can make the pain go away, just tell me what I need to know, and I can make it stop. You have my word. I’m not such a bad guy, just give me the information I need and maybe we can be mans and all.”

He began coughing and spitting up blood. I stepped back because I didn’t want any getting on my Evisu jeans. I gave him a few more seconds, and then I was back to being impatient again.

“Biscuit pass me that fuckin’ iron,” I ordered.

He handed me the burning hot iron and I held it to my victim’s face, urging him to speak up.

“C’mon nigga, just fuckin’ tell me and all this will be over with.”

Biscuit pulled out the 9mm and pressed it against Mr. Tough Guy’s head.

“Yo, this muthafucka is being real stubborn. Let me end it for this punk-ass, Mega,” Biscuit shouted.

“Nah, he’s gonna talk. Right yo,” I said, pressing the iron against his chest.

“Ah… Ah… Ah… Ah…Ugh fu-u-uck,” he screamed.

“C’mon, nigga, you said you was gonna talk. I can make this hurt all night, nigga. You didn’t feel a damn thing yet,” I warned.

I placed the iron next to his exposed genitals. Finally he bitched up.

“Okay! Ahight, he’s with a bitch in Yonkers. He got a crib up there,” he exhaustedly informed me.

“Now, was that so fuckin’ hard, why you wanna be a tough guy for a bitch nigga like, Tiny,” I said to him.

He was out of it, slowly losing consciousness.

“Just do it, kill me nigga,” he said in a soft gasp.

“Biscuit do this nigga a favor,” I ordered.

There was no hesitation. In one quick motion, Biscuit raised the gat to tough guy’s head and blew his fucking brains out. With a loud explosion, his body sagged. His carcass hanging from the ceiling, his arms outstretched.

“Ahight, let’s do this,” I said.

“What about our boy here?” Biscuit asked, pointing out Mike. He was still sprawled out on the cold ground, looking a hot mess—bloody and tortured.

“End him too. We got what we came for,” I instructed.

“No doubt,” Biscuit said pointing his 9mm down at Mike’s head and squeezed off two shots.

I ordered Monk and Whistle to dispose of the bodies. They knew what to do. Biscuit and I left. I had to make a few phone calls and take a trip to Yonkers.

Shit’s real who cares?
Death’s near who’s sincere?
Shed the last tears, No one really cares.
Feeling screwed. Looking inside you.
Eyes desperately in need.
I see the pussy in you.
You’re weak. Copping pleas…

 

 

 

I had a small crew with me in a black Range Rover on our way to Yonkers. We got word on Tiny’s exact location and I wanted him gone. Armed with the infantry supplies Smitty hit us off with, we were ready for anything. We drove north on Interstate 87 observing the speed limit. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over by state troopers.

By eight that evening we were in Yonkers. Tiny was staying in the suburbs. Word was that he owned a two-level three-bedroom home and stayed with this bitch named, Tianna in Park Hill.

It was mid-summer and folks were still out making use of what was left of the daylight. I wanted to creep through during dusk, so I had my crew lay low for a minute. We stopped at a nearby Burger King and had some whoppers and fries. Waiting around for hours, being inconspicuous as possible really tested our patience.

It was just before midnight we slowly pulled up to his block. Tiny had the last crib at the end of a dead-end block. There were no lights on in the lower level of the house, but I noticed that his bedroom lights were on.

“How we gonna get at this nigga?” Biscuit asked, cocking his 9mm.

I had to think. The place probably had a security alarm. Tiny was known to be a very cautious dude. Even though he was miles away from Queens and thought no one knew about this place, he’d have this shit airtight.

“Groggy, go check around the back and be subtle about it,” I instructed.

A year older than Biscuit, Groggy was another one of the up-and-coming soldiers in my crew. Dark skinned and sneaky, he was reliable. I didn’t want any nosy neighbors calling the cops. Groggy stepped out the truck and quickly made his way into the backyard, disappearing into the dark. Biscuit, Tank, and myself waited for a few minutes. A short while later, Groggy appeared.

“What you got?” I asked.

“Shit is secured. He got bars on all the windows. The doors are
reinforced. He got motion detectors set up in the back. And the crib is definitely rigged with an alarm system. We try and break-in, and the cops be on our ass. No telling what kind of heat he got up in there,” Groggy explained.

“Muthafucka!” I said smiling. “This nigga.”

“What’s gonna be our move?” Biscuit asked.

“We gonna have to come at this nigga some other way,” Tank said.

“I know nigga.”

I stared at the house, trying to study every detail of the place, trying to find some flaw. But I knew we couldn’t be parked outside too long without Tiny or one of his neighbors noticing my truck parked outside his crib suspiciously and warning five-O.

“Ahight, there’s too much at risk. Right now let’s fall back,” I said.

Tank started the truck and we slowly drove off. But I didn’t come up here to fail. I knew there was a way to get at that nigga. It was just going to take some time. Tiny was better than I thought. We got a room at the nearest motel, paying cash. I wanted no attention on the crew while in Yonkers. We had to be ghost. We stashed our guns in one duffle bag and brought them into the room with us and dumped them on the bed.

I was cooped up in this cheesy motel-room, my mind running like Bolt, trying to find a way to get at Tiny. I needed to know how many people he had in the house, and what his schedule was. I wanted to lay this muthafucka out real bad.

“Yo, what about that nigga’s bitch, Mega?” Biscuit said.

“What you talking ‘bout?”

“I mean, he gotta trust her somewhat. A nigga will always lose his guard around pussy from time to time. And he must feel safe wit’ that ho up here, since he think no one knows his location,” Biscuit offered.

“And?”

“We get at him through her.”

I smiled. “Damn, Biscuit let me find out you a thinking man behind the gun, too. I like that,” I said.

Biscuit was right Tiny’s ho could be his kryptonite. It was the only way because I was determined Tiny would never see the streets of Queens again. I told Tank to drive back to the block and watch that nigga’s crib like
a hawk. If he saw anything, call me. Tiny couldn’t be around that ho twenty-four seven. She was our opening. Tank left the room around four in the morning. I got some Z’s waiting for him to call.

It was around noon when he called back.

“What up?” I answered.

“She on the move,” Tank informed.

“Follow that bitch, Tank,” I told him.

After his call, I woke up Biscuit and Groggy and told them to get ready. We checked the guns and made sure shit was right. I got another call from Tank twenty minutes later.

“Yeah?”

“She stopped at a nail salon in a shopping center on Morris Crescent. How you wanna play it?” Tank asked.

“How long you think she’s gonna be?” I asked.

“Probably fo’ a minute.”

“Ahight, I’ll call a cab. Just watch that bitch.”

The cab arrived in ten minutes. We packed the guns in the duffle bag, and piled into the cab when it pulled up.

“Morris Crescent,” I said to the cabbie.

We drove for about ten minutes. Getting out of the cab, I noticed Tank sitting in the Range Rover across the street. We quickly got in.

“Where she parked her car?” I asked him.

He pointed to a small parking lot. I wasn’t trying to follow and watch this bitch all day. I needed to make my move now, and shrewd. Fifteen minutes later, Tiny’s ho came walking out the nail salon looking like money. She was a dime piece for sure and strutted around knowing she was the shit. She headed for her ride. I hit Biscuit on his Nextel. He was positioned near her ride.

She reached into her purse rummaging for her keys as she walked, totally unaware of her surroundings. When she neared her car, Biscuit was
near with his gun. Before she could turn around to know what was going on, Biscuit ran up on her, striking her and pushed that bitch into her own ride.

Her car windows were tinted, so that made the kidnapping discreet and so much easier. I stepped out the truck and casually made my way over to the Benz. I got in the backseat of her ride. She was in the passenger seat, crying, as Biscuit held her at gunpoint.

“Bitch, shut the fuck up!” I barked.

“What y’all want? I got money, just don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

I put my Glock to her head and told Biscuit to drive off. He slowly moved out the small parking lot, and Tank followed behind us in the truck.

“Listen, and listen good. We don’t want you. It’s your man we want,” I said to her.

“Tiny?”

“You fuckin’ with that nigga, so you should know enough about him. Who else stay in the crib besides you and him?” I asked. “And don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

“It’s just us, no one else,” she answered.

“Ahight. Where is he now?”

“He had to make a run back to Queens. He left around two.”

“And is he coming back?”

“Yes. Around nine or ten.”

“He got any guns, drugs, or cash in there with him?” I asked.

“Just a few guns. He don’t keep no drugs in there. About twenty thousand dollars is in the safe in our bedroom,” she said.

“Okay, you’re doing beautiful. Now, how important are you to him?”

“Why?”

I knocked her upside her head with the gat and said, “Just fuckin’ answer me.”

“I’m his son’s mother.”

“Ahight.”

“Oh God, you’re going to kill him,” she cried out.

“Bitch, if you don’t want your son to lose a mother, you best be chill,” I warned.

She remained frozen in her seat as we made our way down Riverdale Avenue and made a left on Radford Street. A short moment later, we pulled up to her place. She had an automatic garage opener and we parked the Benz in the garage, being out of sight from the neighbors as we dragged her out the car.

Once we were inside her home, Biscuit and I made the bitch strip butt-naked and then we tied her to a chair. It was going to be a long day for her. Tank was parked at the end of the block watching the area like a hawk. We had to be patient for this to work.

Several hours passed as we took comfort in Tiny’s home like it was our own. We raided the fridge, watched movies on their large plasma TV and lounged around on their plush leather sofa. Biscuit repeatedly stared over at her naked, excited by the display.