No Home Training (10 page)
Authors: Ms. Michel Moore
Chapter 14
Double Take
Storm
Sitting in his car riffling through the mountains of paperwork the various contractors had bombarded him with, Storm knew the renovation of Alley Cats was gonna cost him a small fortune. With an ongoing arson investigation holding up the insurance check, the drought that was crippling his drug revenue, and now a baby on the way, financially things were getting out of hand.
Placing both hands over his face trying to figure out some sort of temporary solutions to his complicated, twisted dilemmas, like a gift from God, his cell phone rang.
“Yeah, hello.”
“As-Salaam Alaikum.”
“Greetings, Brother Rasul,” Storm respectfully replied. “I'm glad you called so soon. To be honest with you I'm at the end of my robe with my resources.”
“Not to worry, Storm, everything is in place. Fatima is still agitated as hell for me doing it, but Kenya and I go far back and our friendship doesn't have boundaries or restrictions on it.”
“I appreciate all the love, devotion, and respect you have for my girl.”
“Not a problem, Storm, but on the other hand you need to know that you and you alone are a hundred percent responsible for the ticket on that package and will be held totally accountable for payment in no more than thirty days,” Brother Rasul strongly advised.
“I hear you. Thirty days.” Storm was elated that very soon his street soldiers would be back on the grind and money would once again start flowing freely.
“Storm, listen to me. If something does go wrong, I can't and won't intervene. Not even for Kenya's sake. Do we have a complete understanding of our deal?”
“You have my word that your people will have their money in thirty days.”
“One last thing is that you must be on time because you only have once to make a good first impression with these people. Any foul-ups or discrepancies, you can trust you'll never get a second chance dealing with them ever again.”
“Don't worry, Brother Rasul, I won't mess up!”
With that exchange understood, Brother Rasul gave Storm the contact information along with the precise time and location of the drop, which, for safety precautions, he kept locked in his memory instead of writing it down. Having just received a new lease on life Storm turned out of the parking lot of his temporarily closed strip club and started on his way home. After several red lights and three left turns, he soon came to suspect he was being followed. By who, he didn't know for sure. But whoever it was he knew they should buckle their seat belts and hold the fuck on.
Reaching under the driver seat Storm took out his pistol, setting it on his lap just in case, then checked his mirrors. Slowly approaching the next intersection, he acted as if he was going to stop, then gunned it through the yellow light, made a quick left, then flew up a back alleyway and finally recklessly hooked a U-turn on the next major street four blocks over.
If a motherfucker can follow all of that, he need to catch my black-ass!
Storm thought as he drove around the outskirts of the city twenty more minutes before jumping on the highway heading toward his condo.
It doesn't matter if that was Marco or the cops; fuck 'em both!
If a motherfucker can follow all of that, he need to catch my black-ass!
Storm thought as he drove around the outskirts of the city twenty more minutes before jumping on the highway heading toward his condo.
It doesn't matter if that was Marco or the cops; fuck 'em both!
Reunions . . .
“Wow, I should have never let O.T. cook for me last night. He must have used every dish and pot Kenya owns.” London giggled as she looked under the sink for more soap and a Brillo Pad.
Barely able to bend down and reach the box near the corner, she struggled to get back up when she heard the front door slam shut. Thinking it was her sister, London turned to shamefully creep back upstairs and out of Kenya's way. Before she could get out the kitchen, she was met by Storm.
“Oh hey, it's you.”
“Yeah, who was you expecting, O.T.?”
“No, he just left. I thought you were Kenya and I didn't want to be in her path.”
“Oh, you mean the Big Bad Wolf, huh?” Storm tried to ease the tension that had been a constant barrier between him and London for months.
“You shouldn't play like that. I know how she must feel and it's awful.” London grabbed her stomach and took a deep breath.
“What's wrong with you?” Storm got close holding her up by her arm. “Are you okay?”
“It's nothing.” London moved away remembering what happened the last time they were in the house alone in the kitchen. “The baby just kicked.”
“Damn!” Storm smiled. “You're lying! Let me feel him.”
“Okay.” She was slightly hesitant placing his hand on her left side. “Just wait a second.”
“Oh, shit! I just felt him! He gonna be strong, I can tell!”
London lowered her head walking into the living room sitting down on the couch. “I hope so.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” He followed concerned for his unborn son. “What's wrong with my baby?”
“It's just you and O.T. tip-toe around me trying to act like everything is okay and it isn't. I know that crazy guy from the mall is the same one who murdered your friend Boz and now he's promising to kill you and O.T.!”
“Yeah, you're right,” he admitted.
London shed a few tears trying to still remain brave. “Well, if something happens to either one of you, my child is going to suffer a major loss not being able to grow up with his father or his uncle in his life. And the way things stand with Kenya he won't have his aunt.”
Storm was now faced with the brutal reality that London was right. The life he and O.T. were living was a death sentence waiting to occur, but he was too far in the game, with too much responsibility on his plate to back out now and call it quits. There was only one thing he could do to protect his son's interest in the long run and that would be on the top of his to-do list.
As the two of them sat talking, he tried convincing London that Kenya had accepted the fact that he wanted to be a part of the baby's life and was going to at least be civil to her. Before Storm and she knew it, Kenya had put her key in the front door and was coming inside. Waiting nervously they braced themselves for a huge blowout when she saw both of them together interacting. Shockingly something was drastically wrong. It had to be, because the pair got a surprise of a lifetime. A disoriented Kenya hardly looked their way and quietly went up the stairs shutting her bedroom door.
“Why is she looking like that?” London wanted to come to her twin sister's aid, but was stopped by Storm.
“Naw, you stay down here. I got her.”
“Okay,” London sadly replied.
Chapter 15
With Friends Like These
Kenya
It had been a long, emotionally charged night. Kenya tossed and turned not sleeping more than twenty to thirty minutes at a time. Suffering excruciating abdominal pains, any food that was in her stomach was totally out of her system thanks to intense bouts of vomiting. After constant refusals from Kenya to go seek medical attention, Storm finally stepped in making the decision for her.
“You not getting any better, so fuck all the dumb shit I'm taking ya ass to the hospital!”
Assisting his woman put on a pair of track pants and one of his T-shirts, Storm swooped her in his arms carrying her weak body down the stairs and out to his car not bothering to notice he was being watched.
“Call me and tell me something!” Helplessly, London stood outside her bedroom door wanting nothing more than to be there by Kenya's side as she was being taken out. Rubbing her ever-growing belly, London cringed as she now had one more thing to worry about. First O.T. hadn't come home at all last night and now Kenya was sick.
O.T.
Being persistent on his hunt for Marco was proving to be a dangerous mission. Fed up with all the hide and seek games Marco was playing, O.T. brazenly hung out in the places his prey was known to frequent hoping word would get back to him that O.T. was calling him out. Yet no one in the pool halls, corner stores, or afterhours spots seemed to know anything about Marco's whereabouts and O.T. was done with the chase until nightfall.
Exhausted from roaming the coldblooded project streets keeping his ear pressed to the ground, O.T. decided to shoot out to the condo, take a shower, and grab some food. So, wasting no time he drove to his brother's house. As he turned into the driveway and parked he heard his cell phone ring.
“Yeah, what it do?”
“Hey, O.T., it's me.”
“Wow, you must've missed me or something.”
“Well, I was worried a little bit,” London admitted as she sighed with relief her child's uncle wasn't hurt or dead. “But, the real reason I called was to tell you that Storm had to rush my sister to the hospital.”
“Dang, don't tell me she pulled a Paris?” He laughed, jumping out the car walking to the front door.
“Don't act stupid!”
“I was just playing.” He surprised London by coming in the room she was sitting at. “What happened?”
Both of them hung up their phones and smiled.
“Why you play so much?”
“Sorry.” He hugged her. “Now tell me what exactly happened.”
London explained all the details as O.T. stuffed his face with leftovers. She also told him what she and Storm had spoken about the afternoon before. O.T. tried to act as if he didn't care about their heart-to-heart conversation, but of course he was hurt. The hardcore criminal for the first time in his life wanted something that he couldn't steal, or strong-arm or manipulate the system to achieve. And that was London's love. If O.T. took the time to really step back and see the whole picture for what it truly was he'd see he already had that.
“I just wish Kenya would forgive me. I want my sister back in my life. How can she accept Storm and not me?”
Marco
“I done stayed posted up in this motherfucker all yesterday and trust a nigga like me getting beyond bored as hell.” Marco stretched his arms rubbing the crusty sleep out the corner of his eyes. “I need to get some real bread in my hands, settle my beef, and kill them two wannabe gangsta brothers and get out of dodge!”
“I feel ya, Marco, but you know them streets is hot with the cops. Plus when I was at the store last night grabbing them forties, I seen O.T. lurking around,” Coonee cautiously warned his boy as he peeped out the front window. “Shit, he damn near fucked around and bumped into me.”
“What! Why ain't you say that shit before?” Marco leaped to his feet enraged. “That ho-ass motherfucker down here in our neck of the woods and you didn't let that bitch have it?”
“Huh?” Coonee was puzzled. “What you mean?”
“Are you retarded or something?” Marco pounded his fist. “You heard me!”
Coonee, who was at least four years Marco's junior, was thrown off at his boy's irate reaction, who knew full well ever since the night Royce and their two boys had gotten killed, Coonee had shied away from the street life and all the elements that went along with it and was looking for a nine-to-five job. Yet when Marco unexpectedly showed up drunk and disorderly at his front door needing somewhere to chill, Coonee, who could easily get charged with harboring a fugitive, didn't think twice about letting him hide out.
“What did you want me to do? Kill that man in the store where everybody could see?”
“Hell yeah, I did!” Marco yelled back getting all up in Coonee's face. “You was talking all that shit the other day about killing Storm's pregnant bitch in the mall, now you standing here acting a straight pussy!”
Wiping small amounts of spit off his face, Coonee was heated. “Hold up, nigga! This ya thang ya got going on with them dudes! I know that shit was fucked up the night Royce got killed, but you did start it by ambushing them innocent workers from Alley Cats.”
“So fucking what! It's all part of the game, you must of all of a sudden, be too weak to play!”
“Listen, Marco, you's my boy and all, but you know I'm trying to do something different.” Coonee thought back to the night he was staring down the barrel of O.T.'s gun who gave him a second chance on life. “I ain't trying to get locked up or killed.”
Marco was starting to get the picture and realized it was time for him and Coonee to sever their dealings.
“I'll tell you what. Why don't I just stay here a couple of more nights then I'll be out your hair.” Marco calmed down as he started to scheme on a final game plan for revenge. “'Cause I can see you and me cut from different cloths.”
“Don't worry about it, guy!” Coonee let his guard down trusting in the friendship the two once shared. “Do what you need to do. Ya know you can stay as long as you need to! I'm gonna jump in the shower 'cause I got a job interview and I don't wanna be late.”
“A job interview?” Marco laughed falling back on the worn, torn couch. “You is out ya shit!”
Coonee, who was filthy, took off the blue jeans he'd been wearing for three days straight tossing them in the enormous pile of dirty clothes that were starting to smell. While the thundering sounds of the steaming hot water came down on him, he heard Marco call out his name.
“Coonee! Hey, nigga! You got my lighter?”
“Dang, my bad!” Coonee stuck his head out the shower yelling back. “I think it's in my pocket.”
“All right then I'll check.” Marco, with his unlit blunt hanging in between his lips, went over to the pile grabbing Coonee's jeans off the top. Shaking them upside down, his blue lighter fell out onto the floor along with a folded-up sheet of paper. Being nosey he opened it.
Ain't this a bitch! This ho
-
ass motherfucker running around here acting like he against slinging dope and killing some busters who got it coming, when all along he plotting to turn me the fuck in to get this damn reward money!
Marco crumpled the flyer, which his picture graced, throwing it against the wall.
No wonder he want me to stick around a few more days. He ain't got no job interview. That snitch probably going to meet up with the police!
Ain't this a bitch! This ho
-
ass motherfucker running around here acting like he against slinging dope and killing some busters who got it coming, when all along he plotting to turn me the fuck in to get this damn reward money!
Marco crumpled the flyer, which his picture graced, throwing it against the wall.
No wonder he want me to stick around a few more days. He ain't got no job interview. That snitch probably going to meet up with the police!
Smoking his blunt, Marco waited patiently for Coonee to get out the shower and get dressed. As the aroma filled the air, his hands began to itch. Leering at his soon-to-be victim as he looked for his social security card and birth certificate, Marco's heart rate increased. “How you getting to this interview of yours?”
“I'm getting a ride from this chick I met last night.”
“Oh, yeah?” Marco put the blunt in the ashtray. “You ain't tell me you met a new hood rat.”
“Oh, I must've forgot!” Coonee grinned. “She's a bad bitch, too! When I get my car fixed, I'm gonna take her out to the park or some romantic shit like that!”
“You forgetting a lot of stuff all of a sudden and damn, you must be expecting a windfall, talking about getting ya ride fixed and caking with a tramp!” Marco angrily probed as he sat his gun on the coffee table.
“What is you trying to say, dawg?
“You know what it is, ya snitch!”
“What the hell is you talking about?” Coonee started to sweat wondering where Marco's irrational brain was at calling him a snitch. “I ain't try to do nothing, but tolerated your off-the-chart-ass!”
“You think I don't know where you really going and what you 'bout to do?”
Coonee, dressed in dark navy blue slacks, white shirt, and a cornball SpongeBob necktie in his hands, was truly bewildered and confused as to what direction his boy was coming from. “Damn, dude, you need to leave them trees the hell alone 'cause you tripping.” He started putting his tie on. “You need some professional help!”
Before Coonee could get a chance to hear any kind of a response, Marco unexpectedly jumped to his feet lunging at him resulting in the two of them falling into the stereo system that was on an already wobbly shelf. With his temper in overdrive Marco yanked hard on his tie swiftly wrapping it around his arms using his overpowering strength to strangle Coonee down to his knees. As the two men violently struggled, an almost out of breath Coonee who was fighting for his life finally broke free from Marco's grip and got up stumbling to the other side of the room.
Marco, unfortunately for Coonee, wasn't done with his sinister tirade and showed no outward signs of sympathy for his homeboy or his ripped shirt. “Why don't you go out and do some grown-man shit instead of being a ho-ass snitch to get some loot?” he continued to talk tough. “Niggas like me out here every single day getting that shit in, putting in work, and you running around like a little rat!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Coonee held his neck panting for air. “Why you doing this?”
“Shut ya soft-ass up!” Marco ranted fueled with a passion. “You think I'm gonna just sit around and wait for you and them motherfuckers to hem me up?” He cracked his knuckles rushing Coonee once more, this time bulldozing him underneath his ribs lifting him off the ground.
Ramming Coonee into the thin plastered walls, huge pieces of chipped paint fell to the ground. Only having a thin pair of dress socks on, the tiny, sharp broken edges cut Coonee's feet. With a slight weight advantage Marco used to his benefit, he took both his fists and slammed the sides of Coonee's temples at the same time. Seeing his now ex-friend's injured body hit the ground, Marco capitalized on the situation, grabbing a Phillips-head screwdriver from under the television stand jabbing it in Coonee's side puncturing one of his lungs.
Getting pleasure watching him suffer in agony and Coonee's once white interview shirt become soaked with blood, Marco pulled the screwdriver out and stuck his victim again, this time in the middle of his chest twisting it around.
Oh it ain't over yet, you snitchin'
-
ass faggot!
As he stood up feeling almost satisfied with himself, in one last act to make him feel totally victorious, Marco raised his sneaker stumping Coonee directly in his stomach rupturing more vital organs.
Oh it ain't over yet, you snitchin'
-
ass faggot!
As he stood up feeling almost satisfied with himself, in one last act to make him feel totally victorious, Marco raised his sneaker stumping Coonee directly in his stomach rupturing more vital organs.
“So, you was gonna turn me the fuck in to the popo, huh?” Marco spewed as slobber came out the left corner of his mouth seeing Coonee meet his Maker. “I always knew you wasn't shit!”
Lying back getting relaxed and comfortable on the couch, Marco kicked his feet up on the coffee table using the blue lighter reblazing his blunt while staring at his homeboy's dead body. After a hour of getting good, faded, and high as a son of a bitch, Marco disrespectfully dragged Coonee to the far corner of his bedroom gathering the huge pile of dirty smelly clothes throwing them on top of him so you could only see the bottom of Coonee's socks.
Police
“Hey, Malloy, I'm still on Storm's trail. It looks like he just carried his girlfriend through emergency.”
“Okay, stay with him,” Malloy radioed back to the undercover officer. “It seems like his brother O.T. spent the night trying to do our job for us.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
“Yeah, I just got the word that he was in the projects trying to track down Marco Meriwether,” Malloy further informed him. “That lets me know we definitely on the right track on who is to blame for those four homicides.”
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