Tampa Black: Part ! (8 page)

Standing in a barbeque pit in a park near Port Tampa, Jago and Zion raised their corona bottles and toasted to success in their new city. At the young age of twenty-one. Jago and his right hand Zion had taken control of central Florida’s drug trade, and the money to be made was unbelievable.

Turning to his friend, Jago took another sip of his beer before speaking.

“Say bruhdren, we now own a city whose streets are paved with gold. No mon has ever done wat we are bout to do in dis city.”

Slowly nodding his head in agreement, Zion took a long pull off of the kush that he was smoking.

“I see it clearly bruhdren …”

Feeling the warm touch of the spring wind as it tugged at his linen attire, Jago gave Zion a jewel that Jahza had given to him years ago.

“Bruhdren allow no mon to detour your destiny. kings are created to rule.”

As visions of himself running the lucrative drug trade invaded Zion’s mind, his plot to over throw Jago began to form. Taking his last pull from the diminished blunt he was smoking, Zion squinted as he spoke,

“I agree bruhdren, no mon will detour my destiny.”

With that said, Zion had just given Jago a coded promise.

Making his way to the parking lot. Jago popped the trunk of his BMW and placed a duffle bag filled with raw bricks of cocaine inside. As Jago pulled off, Zion pulled out his phone and called the narcotic agent that had caught him slipping a week before

“Hello Mr. Washington, de gentleman dat we discussed is in route wit de package as we speak.”

Ending the phone call, a devilish grin began to spread across Zion’s face, knowing that life was about to change.

Ten minutes later as Jago drove down the highway, a state trooper appeared in his rear-view mirror, pulling behind him. As urgency filled his veins, Jago attempted to be cool so he slowed down and switched lanes. In a matter of moments, Jago found himself surrounded by sheriffs and federal agents. As the agents placed the cuffs on his wrists, he looked up at the tactical helicopter hovering in the air, knowing that there was a chance that he would never be free again….

After a lifetime of friendship based on loyalty, Zion had just sold his soul to the Feds in exchange for his freedom and an empire of which he was now the sole heir. Turning on the 10x12 inch smart T.V that rested in the console of his smoke gray Audi, Zion glanced at the news as the anchor woman gave the details of Jago’s drug bust.  As he looked on, he felt a twinge of guilt, but immediately dismissed it as the fact that he was now the king of central Florida’s drug trade crossed his mind.

Smiling to himself, Zion turned up his stereo system as he lit a cigar, and headed to claim his throne… As his memories invaded and exited his thoughts, Zion began to break free of his slumber hearing a horn feverishly being honked. Opening his eyes, he could see that not much had changed in the slums of Kingston since he was young. Small dilapidated tenements lined the streets of the ghetto, as poverty stricken children and stray goats wondered about.

Stepping out of her Land Rover, Patra escorted Zion through a beaten path that lead to a clearing behind the warehouse that they had just parked in front of. As they stepped into the clearing, a brutally beaten body could be seen with it’s out stretched limbs tied to stakes in the ground. While Patra’s disloyal employee struggled to remain conscious, flies swarmed around him, hovering around and landing on his open wounds. 

Taking in the scene, Zion allowed Patra to handle her business as he stood in silent observation. Walking closer to the struggling man, Patra looked down at him with disgust in her eyes as she stood over him. As her voice left her delicate throat, it was as soft as velvet, yet as firm as steal.                          “Well Judas, I see dat you have placed yourself in a compromising position.  How is it dat I pay you so well, yet you still steal from me?”

Parting his lips to speak, the man’s voice began to tremble sensing death in the air,

“p... p... please…”

              Before he could utter another word, Patra viciously stomped the sole of her stiletto into his mouth caving in his teeth. As the man screamed in pain, blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. The heavy bleeding forced him to spit out his detached teeth to prevent from choking on them.

As the crease between Patra’s eyes began to subside, a slight smile began to spread across her lips before she spoke.           

“I did not ask you to speak Judas, do not be rude sweetheart. I have arranged for some entertainment.  I hope you enjoy de show.”

              Looking from the corner of his eye, the man could see his wife and daughter being dragged by their hair into the clearing by two heavily armed guards. Reaching the clearing, the man’s daughter began to kick and scream seeing the condition of her father. Digging her nails into the arm of the guard that was holding her, the man’s daughter struggled to break free, but found no success.

Delivering a bone crushing right hand blow to the girl’s temple, the guard knocked her unconscious, bringing an abrupt end to the small scrimmage. As her body crumbled to the ground in a heap, the other guard had to re-enforce his grip to contain the screaming mother. As tears began to fall from the man’s eyes, a sense of hopeless oblivion began to consume him as he watched his family being man-handled by Patra’s soldiers. Although she was somewhat amused by the festivities, it was almost ninety degrees; so Patra decided to bring the business to a close.

“Hold dem up so he can see wat he has done.”

As the guard stood the woman up in Plainview, Patra removed a 9mm from the confines of her Fendi clutch purse; and made her way over to her disloyal worker’s wife and daughter. Without blinking an eye, she released two rounds into the heads of both woman, as the man screamed in pain feeling his heart break in two.

Now standing over the man like a lioness over her prey, Patra blew him a silent kiss as she squeezed the trigger; sending him to join his family. Turning to her soldiers, her gaze was so cold that it almost froze the blood in their veins.

“Clean up dis mess. I will see all of you tonight at de mansion. Don’t be late.”

Before the words had fully left her lips, Patra had turned on her heels, and escorted Zion back through the path way.

Back in the truck, Zion drove as he looked at Patra in both respect and admiration. For a moment, a pregnant silence filled the air as they drove towards their destination. Sensing his unspoken inquiry, Patra spoke softly.

“Darling if dere is someting on your mind, you shouldn’t bite your tongue …”

Laughing to himself, Zion couldn’t help but to admire the woman Patra had become. Despite the odds, and personal struggles that she had faced, she had emerged as a queen amongst kings, and was holding her crown with an iron fist. As Zion navigated the sports utility truck through Kingston’s rugged streets, he wondered how he had stayed away from his queen and his home for so long.

Maybe once his small problem was handled in Florida he would come back home for good. Maybe…

For now, Zion decided that he would enjoy his visit; and help his queen solidify her Kingdom. So far, this was proving to be a hell of a vacation. Little did he know, his own empire was crumbling, and some casualties that he had taken were irreplaceable.

CHAPTER 11

FAMILY BUSINESS

Sitting on the trunk of his baby blue 65 SS Impala, Trion gently held Tasha as she stood between his legs with her back to his chest. The sunset on Clearwater Beach was beautiful as its orange glow left traces of its footprints across the evening sky. Lovingly rubbing Tasha’s belly, Trion said a silent prayer for his unborn child.

“God I know we don't talk much, but I need you to watch over my jit ...”

Trion was lost in the moment. Before he could get any deeper into his prayer, he felt Tasha softly pinch his thigh.

“What are you thinking about baby?”

Opening his eyes, Trion kissed her on the neck and looked out at the ocean as the tide begin to roll in.

“Just the future bae.”

Tasha knew the toll that the war in the streets were taking on her man, but deep inside she prayed that it would be over soon; so they could move on with their life as a family.

On the way back to Tampa, Trion drove down Main Street before turning into the projects. Every Sunday was like a holiday driving through the bricks, and tonight was no different. Pulling up on Spruce Street, he pulled in; and parked behind an electric blue 1974 Impala sitting on some 28 inch Assassins. As Trion’s head lights illuminated the interior, the unmistakable pattern of Burberry could be seen etched into the car upholstery through the back window.

Getting out of the car, Trion and Tasha walked past a 10-man c-lo game. Money and empty beer bottles clutter the walk as the couple stepped over a few objects heading to their destination.  Dressed in a cream colored pair of Giorgio Armani slacks, Trion wore an eggshell white Armani dress shirt, and a pair of eggshell white Armani loafers. Standing out like a ghetto superstar, Tasha complimented her man by looking flawless in her hip hugging Fendi summer dress, and Fendi stilettos.

Seeing his cousin Tonya step out of her crowded project apartment, there was no mistaking that there was a party going on. The occasion was life. In the eyes of the streets, everyday above the ground is a holiday, so that's how the residence of West Tampa lived; one day at a time. Noticing her cousin and his girlfriend walking towards her, Tonya begin to smile as she opened her arms and ran towards Trion screaming.

“Oh… my… God!... Trion! ...”

Hugging his crazy cousin, Trion noticed two shadows moving in the darkness on the side of the building. Looking over his cousin’s shoulder, he strained to make out who the shadows belonged to. Stepping back; he looked down at Tonya, and smiled.

“What's up cuz?”

Torn between talking to her favorite cousins, and getting the money that her sugar daddy had promised her if she came to see him; Tonya chose the latter.

“Hey cuz, look I gotta go, but y’all gone on in and have fun. There is a full bar, and plenty of drinks and food.”          

Before letting his cousin leave, Trion kissed her on the forehead,

“be safe cuz.”

Breaking the hug, Tonya looked at him with a devilish smile.

“I'm always safe cuz.”

Walking away, Tonya looked back over her shoulder.

“You need to talk to your mannish ass cousin. He over there on the side of the building getting his freak on like he's too broke to get a hotel room. His behind gone catch something if he keeps playing. Watch ...”

Hopping into her Kia sports truck, Tonya turned up her system as she pulled off bobbing her head to an underground throwback Jackie-o mixed tape. Looking at Tasha, Trion began to shake his head and smile.

“That girl is crazy.”

Stepping into the small apartment was like stepping into an overcrowded family reunion, bodies were everywhere. There were so many different aromas of marijuana in the air that even if you didn't smoke, your piss would undoubtedly be dirty for the next 30 days. The party was in full swing, and like any other hood celebrities; Trion and Tasha were bombarded with handshakes, and hugs as soon as they arrived. As the ladies whisked Tasha way laughing and asking a million questions about everything from her outfit for her due date, Trion’s cousin Carlos walked up with his eyes so low that you could hardly tell if they were open.

“What up dog?”

Carlos’s drawl was so low and drawn out that it was almost a slur. Smiling and shaking his head, Trion gave his cousin a pound.

“I’m good my nigga, but you look like you're doing better ...”

Both of them laughed knowing that the weed was doing its thing. Pulling out a freshly rolled Optimo, Trion gave his cousin a serious look before he spoke.

“Go get Smoke and the rest of the guys; and meet me in the back yard. We need to discuss some family business.”

Walking around the side of the building, Carlos could hear slurping and moaning sounds echoing in the air. As Smoke stood with his back against the wall, and his eyes rolling in the back of his head; a sexy brown skin stallion was giving him the head job of his life.  The girl must have been related to Super-head, because her performance was Steller. She looked like she was enjoying her offering just as much as Smoke was. The way she was rolling her neck as she bobbed on his manhood, Carlos could have sworn that she was a pro.

Hating to interrupt their exchange, he cleared his throat.

“Say dawg, Trion just called a meeting out back. Wrap that shit up my nigga.”

Far from shy, Smoke exploded in the girls’ mouth as she swallowed his juices.

“O… Okay dawg, I’m on my way …”

Standing to walk away, the sexy seductress smiled and licked her lips before whispering into Smoke’s ear.

“That was just a preview. Call me later Bae…”

Stepping into the back yard, Smoke saw his two cousins standing in the middle of a sea of bodies. All of the street generals and capos were in attendance. Something inside of Smoke told him that whatever was about to be discussed was important. Walking into the middle of the circle to join Trion and Carlos, smoke heard his cousin call the meeting into order as everyone stood firm in their stance; and bowed their heads.

Once the meeting was opened, Trion looked into the eyes of his men before speaking.

“Gentlemen we’re here tonight to enjoy ourselves, and to discuss some family business. Over the last few months we’ve seen a lot more paper, and control over exclusive areas of the city. Jago once told me that,

“strength is only as relevant as the one who possess it. No man is greater than his purpose. …”

“Tonight I’m splitting the city into two regions. Carlos you will take North Tampa including all of the suburbs and upscale clientele that we do business with, and Smoke you will take West Tampa including all of the projects that we have spots in. From Rovers Park, Ponce de Leon, West Tampa and Tampa Heights, to Port Tampa and Ebore City, you have the last word on what moves and what doesn’t. Tomorrow we’ll sit down with our guys in these areas to discuss production. The city is ours family. Let’s get this money.”

As the meeting found its end, everyone bowed their heads for closing words, and the meeting was adjourned. Making their way back inside, everyone was enjoying themselves, playing spades, poker, and dominoes. However, just like any other hood get together it wouldn’t be complete without some drama. Needless to say, it was about to go down…

Stepping out onto the front porch, Trion was sipping on his drink, watching the huge ce-lo game going on in the front yard when his cousin Tonya pulled back up. Looking like an exotic black china doll, Tonya got out of her truck and began to make her way towards the apartment with the smile and stride of a runway model. Feeling the effects of the cocaine laced blunts and alcohol he had been consuming, one of the guys in the dice game stood up and grabbed her arm.

“Damn sexy, slow down and let me holla at you for a minute.”

Agitated at his touch, Tonya frowned and snatched her arm away.

“Nigga get your motherfucken hands off me. What’s wrong with you? I don’t know you like that …”

Matching her agitation, he stepped so close to her that she could smell the weed and alcohol on his breath. Grabbing her arm again, he spoke through clinched teeth,        

“bitch don’t try to flex on me like you’re too good for a nigga. Hoe you get drop money in these streets, so don’t play like you’re too good to fuck with me …”

Now passed annoyed, Tonya snatched her arm away and pulled out a switch blade; cutting him in the face in one smooth motion.

“Pussy ass nigga, I told you to take your mother-fucking hands off me!”

Before she could reach back and cut him again, he viciously punched her in the jaw, instantly knocking her to the ground, and began to beat her like she was a man.

“Bitch what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ll kill your stupid ass out here.”

As he continued to man handle her, the crowd looked on in shock at the sudden violence.

Coming out of the apartment, Carlos saw what was going on with his sister and lost it. Although he was usually calm, cool, and collected, seeing his sister getting brutalized brought the beast out of him. Pulling out his 40 cal., Carlos closed the distance between himself and the incident in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Raising his firearm into the air, he viciously brought it down across the back of the man’s head knocking a chuck out of his scalp as blood began to pour from the wound profusely. As the man’s bloody body lay on the ground unconscious from the blow, Carlos continued to savagely beat him in the face until it began to cave in.

As blood splashed all over his face and clothes, Carlos abruptly stopped his assault and stood over the man’s limp body before cocking his weapon. Before Carlos could finish his handy work, Trion ran up and grabbed him from behind.  

“Naw dawg, not here.”

Reluctantly, Carlos put away his weapon before spitting on the man’s unconscious body.

“Fuck nigga tonight is your lucky night, but the next time I see you, I aint gone spare you…”

Helping Tonya up, Carlos and Trion disappeared through the sea of by-standers just as Smoke was emerging from the crowd. Kneeling down by the body, Smoke spoke to the unconscious man with death in his eyes.

“Fuck nigga I don’t spare nothing. I don’t even spare my tires. Your bitch ass gone see what the gators bite like tonight.”

Calling his right hand man Hurk, Smoke smiled to himself before giving him instructions.

“Put this pussy nigga in the swamp.”

With that, it was done. A statement would be made to the streets, and life in the projects would go on. This would become just another cold case on the first 48…

CHAPTER 12

FROM BAD 2 WORSE

As the cardiac and respiratory monitors gave off slow and steady bleeps into the wee hours of the morning, Tecko’s mind rehashed his last few moments before he had lost consciousness. Watching the horrendous scene play it’s self out in his mind, the monitors attached to him began to spike as his body began to go into shock; and spam. Hearing the alert signal of the equipment, the R.N’s at the nurse’s station responded with precision.

Flooding into Tecko’s room, the nurses worked rigorously to stabilize his condition. After an hour, things were back to normal. Tecko’s vitals were stable, and all was calm. Tecko had been transferred from Miami to Tampa, and had now been held in Tampa General’s I.C.U for the past week. Every day he fought for his life, and every day he relived his last moments with his son.

Even in an unconscious state, his heart was broken into a million pieces. His last memory of his son was of bullets ripping through his innocent flesh as tears of fear ran down his cheek, and his blood ran freely from the gaping holes that bullets had left behind. This memory would forever be burned deep into the depths of his soul, along with the vison of the faces of the fleeing assailants.