The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets (The Cartel Publications Presents) (7 page)

When they pulled up on the red brick mansion, there was a black stone waterfall in the middle of the driveway in the shape of two women kissing. No cars were parked out front. But to Shy’s surprise, the door was wide open. He and his boys hustled inside.
This honky’s stupid
. Shy thought.

They ran all over the empty house but outside of a TV on a stand, it looked abandoned. It was apparent that either he had moved or was preparing to. Paris pawned everything he owned to fund his habit.

“That nigga got ghost,” Smokin’ Tony observed.

“Yeah. We missed his ass,” Pauly added.

They were just about to leave when they saw the glass sliding door open leading to the deck. When they walked out, they saw him outside. His back faced them.

“I can’t believe this shit,” Shy laughed.

Paris was lying down butt ass naked on a lawn chair by the pool. A beautiful young girl was straddling him and giving him a serious blow job. She was wearing a red bikini bottom, no top. Shy and his crew stood for a minute and watched her wiggle her tight ass in the sunlight. When the show was over, they rushed him.

“Don’t make a move,” Shy demanded standing over top of him. “You know, Kavon? So where’s his money?”

The life looked like it had been scared out of him. Paris’s frightened white cheeks jiggled as he explained over and over that he didn’t have a dime. Three barrels were aimed in his direction, ready to unload on Shy’s command. The young girl shielded her naked body with a cream towel, as their eyes roamed from her back to the target.

“Stop, lyin’! Fuck is his money?!”

“Please don’t hurt me!”

Frustrated with him, Shy grabbed Paris by the neck and pushed him inside of his home. He figured he’d have
something
in his bedroom even if it wasn’t cash.

“What you got in here?” he asked when they reached his bedroom up stairs. Paris wasn’t talking fast enough for him so he knocked him in his temple with the butt of the gun and he dropped to the bed.

“I don’t have it. I promise,” he cried, his pink limp balls resting against his thigh. His hands extended out in front of him. “Please stop.”

“I’ll find somethin’ in this mothafucka!” Shy said. “Keep your burner on his ass,” he ordered Dymond as he rummaged through his shit.

He pulled out dresser drawers and lifted up anything not nailed to the floor. He was sure he wouldn’t find money, but if he was lucky maybe he’d get some jewelry instead. After all, he did live in a million dollar home. Shy made his way to his closet. It was empty but he looked for the slightest detail out of place. What he discovered was a discolored floorboard. When he lifted it up, he smiled when he discovered $100,000 in 100 dollar stacks in a shoebox. It was way more than what he expected. Hell, he found enough to pay Kavon back, plus interest.

“I’m asking you to kill me, because if
they
find me, and I don’t have their money, they’ll do far worst than put a bullet in my head.” Paris was serious.

Shy looked at his boys and one of them shrugged their shoulders. “Kill the mothafucka and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The way Shy looked at it was this, if he didn’t kill Paris, who ever he owed the money to may come looking for him. Plus, if he’d rather die, Shy knew that whomever he was indebted to must be more dangerous than he felt like dealing with. Without another word, Shy unloaded three bullets in his head.
Pop. Pop. Pop
. The four of them hurried down the stairs and stopped when they saw the beautiful woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a pink sweat suit. At first Shy aimed at her fully prepared to put a bullet in her head too.

“Please don’t!” she sobbed.

His thoughts immediately went back to the way she looked when he saw her sucking Paris’s dick. Shy could tell by looking at her that although she may have been a whore, she was an expensive one. He imagined how pleasurable it would be to have her lips wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Had he been alone with her, he would’ve found out. She was crying her eyes out and in her vulnerability, she was provocative.

Something in her eyes told him he didn’t have anything to be concerned about. They’d just committed murder and there was no time to do anything but bail.

“Please…,” she cried, gaining his attention again. “He paid for me to come here from Brazil. I don’t know anybody here. I have nothing. If you leave me, I won’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I can’t do it.” He secretly thought of all the things he wanted to do to her.

Shy looked at her and was turning to leave again when she cried out, “I’m begging you...I’ll do anything, but please don’t leave me.”

He decided not to leave her behind. But there was nothing charitable about Shy. He was always thinking about what was in it for him, and this situation was no different.

They got away from the mansion. And after ditching the truck he and his boys went their separate ways. Tara stayed with Shy. He decided to put his plan into action by introducing her to Kavon. He figured he’d let him fuck her a few times, take his mind off the money and hook back up with her later. As fine as she was, he knew he could make some serious cash pimping her out.

But before doing anything, he told her to remain in the car. He needed to be sure it would work first. He knew Kavon was fucked up that Candy, his ex-girlfriend, left him two months earlier. So if things worked out the way he wanted them to, he’d be thanking him for the rest of his life and losing the $50 G’s would never come up again.

Once inside Kavon’s place in D.C., he told him he found Paris alive but when he didn’t cough up the dough, he left him for dead. Kavon was disappointed that he wasn’t getting his money back, but satisfied that he got what he deserved for ganking him for his cash.

“I couldn’t get your money, but I got somethin’ you’ll like.” Shy tried to conceal the fact that he took his money. Plus, he was sure Tara was worth more than fifty G’s anyway.

“If you ain’t got my dough I don’t know what’s better.”

“Trust me. Stay right here,” Shy said as Kavon stood in the living room, wondering what he could possibly have for him outside of his cash.

“Tara, this is Kavon.”

The brightness of the light in his home stung her eyes after being kept in the dark so long. But when she opened her eyes, and saw his face, for some reason, she was at ease.

“My man’s gonna take good care of you.” Shy studied Kavon’s reaction and hers.

Kavon’s mouth dropped when he saw the stranger’s beautiful but troubled face. Initially, he was upset about his money, but after seeing her, he knew what Shy was saying without words. He didn’t ask why a woman so beautiful would be willing to be passed off as product. And he didn’t know what he was planning to do with her himself. For now, Tara was his consolation prize, and for now, he’d accept her. The rest was history.
Their history.
Unfortunately for Shy, the silent plans to hook back up with her later failed, because the moment they laid eyes on one another, it was love at first sight.

Back to the Present

“You two do this all the time! Always fighting over me.” Tara joked, playfully hitting Kavon and Shy. “I love both of you.” She pranced to the kitchen to grab them two beers. “I have the best of both worlds.”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t be lyin’ to this nigga,” Kavon belted out a deep belly laugh. “You belong to me and only me, baby,” he added half seriously, “Remember that.”

Shy smirked, if somebody was looking at him, they would’ve sworn he had larceny in his heart.

“And there’s nowhere else I’d like to be. Being with you feels like a fairy tale.” Tara kissed him softly. “I put that on my life.”

“You betta.” He kissed her.

Crayland Bailor

West Baltimore

Brothers For Life

C
r
ay and his boys sat on the steps of his house watching cars fly by. Cray was gobbling down a pack of grape Now and Laters, Markise had a box of Lemonheads, and Jason was begging for both of their shit. Someone played NWA’s
“Dopeman
” song as they washed their car a few feet up and the boys recited the words until he finished and drove off. And just when they were getting into the lyrics, a black “Take Back The Streets” van passed by with Modell Muhammad driving. They hated when he came through the neighborhood telling them to stay away from drugs. They looked up to the Hustler’s in the neighborhood and wanted to be just like them and Modell’s presence clashed with their dreams. Frankie was barking uncontrollably until Cray stooped down and gave him a piece of his candy. His head titled to the side as he tried hard to keep it inside his mouth.

“When I grow up I’m gonna be a kingpin.” He said looking into the sky. All he thought about was money and lots of it. “I’ma have more cars than Melody and them put together.” Cray bragged. “I’m sick of havin’ nothin’.”

“Let’s make a pact, when we grow up, we gonna run Bmore.” Cray said looking at his friends extending his hand out in front of him. “We brothers for life.”

“I’m wit you.” Jason said quickly throwing his hand over his.

As they waited on Markise, Cray grew slightly angry. Instead of wanting fast money, all he talked about was being a teacher and having a legitimate job. Cray hated that about him.

“Are you wit us or not?” Cray asked impatiently.

Markise examined them as if he could see their future. He didn’t take pacts likely and didn’t want to say he was down unless he really meant it. Thinking on it long enough he said, “Brothers for life.” He placed his hand over theirs.

“For life!” Cray repeated.

The moment their hands dropped, they heard loud base and Big Daddy Kane’s voice booming from a radio system. It was the song, “Ain’t No Half-Steppin’” coming from Melody’s silver Audi. He pulled up in the spot right in front of Cray’s house, which nobody parked in. It was an unspoken rule that it belonged to him. Melody earned his nickname because he was always singing. It didn’t matter if he was dealing dope or murder, if you were around him you’d hear him harmonizing. He owned the row house next to Cray’s.

Jumping out of his ride with his Versace blue jeans and thick red Eddie Bauer coat, he sported a rope chain so big it put big Daddy Kane’s to shame. Cray was in awe. He didn’t want to be like him, he wanted to
be
him.

“Get my bags and my dug.” He told a few of his friends who were with him.