The California Saga (31 page)

 

 

I'd just gotten a call from Calico to come pick him up. Truth be known, I was kind of disappointed that he had gotten out. I was enjoying being the king and running the castle. But so be it. This just meant I would have to hold true to my word and dead that nigga.

I stopped by the gas station to fill up the car and to grab a six-pack of Heineken for the road. I had a few in the car, but I needed to re-up for the trip. As I walked in, there was a sexy little petite chick that stood at the register. I gave her a smile as I headed toward the freezer to get the Heineken. She smiled back. That's all the confirmation I needed. I already knew I was gonna holla at her when I checked out.

I heard the lyrics of Soulja Boy's song, “Turn My Swag On,” blasting from a car stereo outside the store. Shortly after, I heard a commotion at the front of the store. It sounded like a group of rowdy niggas had just walked in.

“What up, sexy?” one of the guys said, obviously speaking to the cashier at the front of the store.

Another one of the boys sang out the lyrics of Soulja Boy's song. He sounded like he was getting closer to me.

Eager to get the fuck out of the store, I grabbed up the Heineken and headed to the front of the store. No sooner than I got to the end of the aisle, I caught eyes with one of the guys. He stood at the other end of the aisle. I recognized him immediately as one of Deebo's boys.

We locked eyes, like a cowboy stand-off, and before I could blink, he fired a shot at me. One hit the case of Heineken, busting the bottles and causing them to drop out of my hand.

I dove to the next aisle and grabbed my gun. I met the guy at the front of the store, and we fired shots at each other, as his boy ran out the front door. Moments later, he followed behind him and jumped in the truck. I ran out the door after them.

On the way out, I noticed the cashier laid out on the floor, blood coming from her chest. She had been shot.

I jumped in my car and followed the SUV Deebo's boys were driving. I got up close enough to them to fire some shots. One shot hit a tire, almost sending the SUV out of control for a second.

I pressed the pedal to the floor, determined to catch up with them. As soon as I got by their side, the driver quickly busted a right turn and ended up losing control of the truck, which flipped over into the ditch.

I pulled over beside them. I saw the driver crawling from the truck and gave him two shots. I was sure that nigga wouldn't be breathing after that.

With no time to waste, I jumped back in my car and sped off, leaving no eyewitnesses behind. I had to make sure I put those niggas to rest, to let niggas on the street know what was really good. It took shit like that to get a name.

Now that I had a couple of murders under my belt, I was sure I would be respected on the streets. Money, power, and respect was all it took to be the boss. I had the money, and with money came power, and now I had finally gained the respect.

 

 

“Gotdamn! What up, big homie?” I dapped up Poppo. “Take me straight to the
A
,” I said to him as we hopped in the car.

Once I was in the
A
, Poppo would be easily dealt with. Then I would hunt down Sasha. If I didn't take care of Sasha, I knew I may never have a chance to shower, eat, or fuck on my own will again.

“Damn, nigga! You on a mission. You trying to holla at Diablo, or you trying to get at that bitch, Sasha?”

“My main thang is Sasha, but I'm gonna holla at Diablo too. I gotta do something to make up for that dough you fucked up. How that shit happen though . . . on the real, man?”

“Man, I hooked up with some of these other ATL cats. The first go-'round I gave these niggas half of the shit, and everything went straight. Then next time I met up with them to get rid of the rest, these niggas was on some other shit. They straight robbed me, man.”

“What the fuck you doing dealing with them anyway? The plan was for you to deal with Diablo, man.”

“I know, but I could sell it to these niggas for a little more.”

“Oh, so you was trying to make a little profit of your own. See where greed get you? Nigga, you ain't ready to be no fucking boss, so stop trying to act like one!” I snapped.

“A'ight, duke.” Poppo ended the argument.

The more I looked at Poppo, the angrier I got. I'd managed to deal with it nearly the entire drive, but that last thirty minutes was killing me. I was ready to take him out. I was just waiting for the perfect opportunity.

“Yo, can you get a Heineken for me out of the backseat?” Poppo whined.

“Yeah,” I replied, realizing this may be the opportunity I'd been waiting for.

In jail, a nigga can get anything he wants. I was lucky enough to run into this dude that mixed up a number of prescription meds to make this drug that paralyzes a person for at least six hours or so. It was the jail version of the street drug “Special K.” Special K was actually a drug used to tranquilize cats.

I popped open a Heineken for Poppo and put in a little bit of the drug and handed it to him. Pretending like I was actually concerned about Poppo drinking and driving, I suggested I take over the driving from that point.

“Man, I've been locking shit down while you were gone,” he bragged.

“Oh yeah? How the fuck you lock shit down?” I knew this nigga was a little bitch and didn't have the balls to put a city on lock.

“Nigga, I knocked off Deebo. Niggas thanking me to this day. That nigga was going around taking niggas' money and drugs and shit. Ain't nobody have the balls to stand up to that nigga. But I ain't back down. Instead, I made that nigga lay down.”

“Yeah. I heard about that shit when I was locked up. I wondered what the fuck was going on.”

“Nigga tried to bitch me out during a dice game, so I had to let that nigga know. You know what I mean?”

Poppo was going on like he really was the man on the streets.

“Right, right,” I said, making him feel a little good.

“Then I got word that his boys were after me. Niggas was calling my phone, threatening me and shit, but I was like, ‘Fuck it! Y'all niggas know where to find me. I ain't hiding. So days had passed, and I ain't never see none of these niggas, that is until tonight.”

“Tonight? You ran into these niggas before you came to pick me up?” Now I was really interested in what Poppo had to say.

“Yeah, man. I was at the fucking gas station, and these niggas rolled up on me. They started busting shots and shit, even hit the cute little cashier bitch. Anyway, I catch up with these niggas about a mile from the gas station. They had flipped the truck and shit, so when the nigga come crawling out the truck, I hit him with a couple of shots.”

“So that nigga dead?”

Totally ignoring my question, Poppo called out in a panic, “Yo, I can't move my legs.”

That was my queue. It didn't even take ten minutes before that shit I put in his drink started to work.

“Pretty soon you won't be able to move your arms either.” I gave him a devious grin.

“What did you do to me?”

“Shut the fuck up!” I yelled and punched him in the mouth. Afterwards, my hand hurt like hell.

Shortly after, we arrived at an abandoned warehouse. I came across it on our last visit to Atlanta. The only things there were spiders and rats. I pulled Poppo's still paralyzed body from the car and dumped it on the dirty warehouse floor. Then I placed duct tape around his arms and legs. I'd had him purchase all the equipment prior to picking me up, so we would be prepared for Sasha. Little did this punk know it was for him.

In the warehouse, I started cutting him on his arms, legs, face, fingers, and neck. Finally, I took off his shirt and cut his chest and stomach open. For a while, I let him bleed out. That nigga looked petrified. I took my time torturing him before I began to speak.

“What? You thought you would get away at trying to duck me and play with my fucking money? Not to mention, you violated me by putting your hands on my baby moms. That alone is a death sentence, bitch nigga! Did you forget where you came from nigga? You were nobody. I made you, Poppo. When we met, you were on the corner selling nicks and dimes, nigga. I opened the doors for you.” I kicked him in the head. I couldn't believe this ungrateful-ass nigga.

“Fuck you, Calico! I ain't your bitch. I just ain't have the chance to prove it to your ass. You suppose to be dead right now, nigga. I had plans for you. You never was suppose to leave Bankhead. If that stupid-ass crackhead hadn't fucked up, you wouldn't be here right now!”

“So what the fuck you saying, Poppo? You tried to fucking set me up?” Furious, I kicked him two more times.

Poppo began to laugh. Then he coughed up blood. “Why you think your gun jammed?” he forced out the words then spat out blood. “I had given the crackhead a gun to pull on you and force you in the house, then from there, I was gonna take over. I made sure the gun would jam because I knew you would pull it out on him. But like a typical fucking crackhead, this nigga sold the gun and decided to try and rob you at knife-point instead.”

“Fuck you, nigga!”

I'd heard enough, so with gloves on and his own gun, I shot him twice in the head and left him as a nice snack for the rats.

Now that I had one task down, it was time to move on to the other. I needed to holla at Diablo. According to Poppo, Sasha was working for Diablo, so I knew as long as I was fucking with him, I was guaranteed to run into that bitch.

 

 

“What up, Diablo?” I shouted out the window to him as I pulled up in front of the club.

He spoke to me through the window. “What's up, man?”

“Hop in, so I can holla at you.”

Diablo walked over to the passenger side and hopped in. I wanted to waste no time getting right down to business. I knew I would have to come at this nigga right, so I would be able to get the information I needed. But before I could begin to speak, Diablo started talking.

“Yo, nigga, I need you bad right now. I just took a major loss.”

“For real? Damn, man! That's how the game go. What you looking for?”

“Well, I was hoping I could give you something, and you match what I buy. You dig?”

“A'ight, I can work with that. But I need to ask you about this chick you work with . . . Sasha.”

“Sasha? Man, you don't want to deal with that conniving bitch.”

Diablo had just made my job a whole lot easier. I was thinking I was gonna have to act like I wanna use the bitch as a runner or some bullshit, to get info from that nigga, but it looked like Sasha had rubbed this nigga the wrong way.

“What's up with her man?” I asked, wanting Diablo to elaborate.

“She's the reason I'm fucked up right now. I gives this bitch some weight to take to my niggas in VA, and she calls me, saying, this nigga Touch robbed her. So I goes up there ready for war and roughs this nigga up. I shot after him and everything. On top of that, I still had to straighten these niggas that didn't get their shit, because they had already given me the money. So a few days later, I get a call from these same niggas, saying, they just bought some cheap shit from some niggas that robbed a bitch. When they described the bitch, I knew it was none other than Sasha. The puzzle just fit together way too perfectly. The bitch had lied. Touch ain't rob her. That bitch robbed me!”

“Oh yeah? So now you and this nigga Touch got beef?”

“Hell yeah. Now that's some extra shit I gotta deal with, on top of the loss I took.”

“I know that nigga Touch. Me and him had a little run-in too,” I said, not sharing too much information. “So about this bitch, Sasha . . . have you talked to her?”

“Nah. I don't want her to know I know what's up. I'm trying to get her here so I can deal with her. I've been calling her, telling her I got more work for her, but she dragging her feet getting here. She suppose to blow in tomorrow though.”

“How about this? Get her here, and I'll deal with her for you.” I offered to take the problem off of Diablo's hands without telling him my personal beef with her.

“Done deal. I'll let you know when she's at the club, and you get at me about that other thang when you ready. Or you gonna send your boy Poppo? Where that nigga at anyway? I been trying to holla at him since that shit went down.”

“Poppo? That nigga ain't breathing,” I said with no emotion at all.

“Huh? Fuck you talking about Calico?” Diablo laugh nervously.

“I gutted him.” Again I had a completely blank face.

Diablo didn't respond. He wasn't sure how to take me. He just stared at me speechless, looking totally confused.

“I'm fucking with you, nigga. He straight,” I said, breaking the ice.

“Man, you had me fucked up. I'm gone.” Diablo dapped me up and got out of the car.

I pulled out of the parking lot, pleased that things were falling into place.

 

 

It had been weeks since I'd seen or heard from Touch. The last time I saw him was the night he left the house, crushing any hopes I had of us reuniting. Although it wasn't an easy task, I'd managed to stop calling his phone twenty times a day and thinking about him every minute of the hour.

My days were long and lonely, but I was determined to get over him. I did as many things as I could to stay occupied. The house was spotless, because I'd used cleaning as one of my distractions. I'd gone as far as to even clean out our closets, pantry, and cupboards. When I wasn't cleaning, I was working out or at the gym taking a swim.

Weeks earlier, all of my time was wasted planning for my wedding, but since it was pretty obvious no wedding was in my future, I'd stopped all proceedings. I'd even tried to collect refunds on some of my deposits.

Although Touch wasn't around, and there was no money coming in, the bills didn't stop accumulating. Touch and I had accrued quite some debt with our ghetto-fabulous lifestyle, and our bank account was getting smaller and smaller each day. I didn't know what the future had in store. It even crossed my mind to contact my boy from TMF to do a little business transaction of my own.

I checked the mail to see what new bills had come through. As I sat at the breakfast bar and flipped through the bills, my stomach turned. I literally became nauseous. I jumped from the barstool and rushed to the downstairs bathroom.

“
Blaugh!
” I began to vomit in the toilet.

I'd been experiencing nausea and fatigue for the past couple of days. At first, I thought I was coming down with a stomach virus, but it was too sporadic. I'd even tried calling Misty to get her medical advice, but I had not even talked to her that much since the night Touch left. I'd left numerous messages, but she hadn't returned any of them. She hadn't even returned my text messages. I wondered if I'd done something wrong or if she was mad at me. It was like she and Touch both walked out my life at the same time.

Not knowing what else to do, I decided to try the obvious and take a pregnancy test. I unwrapped the wrapper and placed the tip of the test under a stream of my urine, as the instructions stated. I recapped the tip and washed my hands and waited.

Two minutes seemed like two hours, but when it was over, I rushed over to read the results. I glanced down and read the results. Unsure if what I was seeing was correct, I picked the test up and read it a little closer.

“Oh, God!” I screamed then burst into tears.

I dropped the test on the floor then slid down in a corner of the bathroom. I sat there with my knees bent to my chest and buried my head in my arms and sobbed uncontrollably. I couldn't understand what I had done so bad that God was punishing me like this. In a matter of weeks, I'd lost my future husband, become distant with my new best friend, and now I was going to be forced to raise a child alone. There was no way I was prepared to raise a child. I had neither security nor the slightest idea how to even raise a damn child.

I gathered myself and tried to call Misty again. I really hated to bother her, because I'd called so many times already, but I really needed someone to talk to. I felt like I was literally on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hey, girl,” Misty answered right away.

I was relieved to hear her voice. “Hey, Misty. I really need to talk. I've been trying to reach you for some time now.”

“I know, I know. I'm so sorry, boo. I've been working overtime at the hospital, so I've been so exhausted. In fact, I'm on my way in right now. I'll call you when I get off.”

“Okay,” I said, although I was quite disappointed that I hadn't a chance to tell her what was going on with me.

Stressed, exhausted, and just plain old depressed, I drank a cup of Sleepytime tea and laid down for a nap.

I was wakened by a hard, constant banging on the front door.

Three Virginia Beach police officers were at the door.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Are you California Jewel Diaz?” one of the police officers asked.

“Who? No, you have the wrong house.” I backed up and slammed and locked the door in their faces.

It was a dead bolt, so they were going to have to break the door down. I ran upstairs to grab my purse and raided the sock drawer to see what cash I had in there. I didn't have much time.

While the cops were desperately trying to get my front door open, I quickly ran downstairs and headed out of the back kitchen door.

A police officer greeted me with a 9 mm gun in my face. “Get down on the ground!” he ordered.

Another one cuffed me. “You're under arrest for conspiracy to distribute narcotics. Where is Trayvon Davis?”

The third police officer started reading me my Miranda rights, as the other officers rushed through the house looking for Touch.

I was speechless. I couldn't believe what was going on. I sat silent as a mouse as those pigs threw me in the police car to take me down to the station.