Читать книгу Gods & Gangsters - Соломон - Страница 5

The MAC-11 sat on Hurricane’s lap. Nobody called him that. They called him Kane. Brutal and to the point, like the man himself. A blunt burned crisply between his lips, the tip glowing dimly in the dark as Messiah drove.

Kane loaded the MAC’s extended clip with hollow tips, his hands gloved to avoid leaving prints. “Then I fucked her,” Kane said with a shrug, inhaling the blunt’s smoke like he’d just said the most natural thing in the world.

Messiah laughed. Thumped the steering wheel, his face alight. “Get the fuck outta here, thun! You ain’t fuck that bitch!”

Kane tuned the MAC over and looked at Messiah with a gleam. “Nigga, I fucked her. Word on the dead homies, right there in the kitchen!”

“Yo thun, kill that bullshit! You ain’t fuck that bitch mother,” Messiah laughed. But his laugh betrayed he knew Kane’s word was truth.

Kane loaded the clip in the MAC, then cocked it back, sending one hollow head into the chamber. He drew on the blunt like a man remembering something real sweet. “Man listen thun, my bitch was sleep…”

The only sound alive was the soft tick…tick…tick of the kitchen wall clock as Kane stepped into the kitchen. Clad in nothing but his Tommy boxers, he went to the refrigerator and opened it, flooding the dark kitchen with the fridge light. Seeing the full refrigerator put a smile on his face. Growing up in the Queens Boro projects, he was always used to seeing nothing but the back of the refrigerator when he opened it. Now that he was old enough to provide, it always made him proud to know he kept both his girl and his mother’s refrigerator full.

Kane pulled out the container of Donald Duck orange juice. He didn’t even think about getting a glass. He turned it up to his mouth.

Kane heard Ms. Jefferson before he saw her. “Now I know you ain’t got your mannish ass in my kitchen in your boxers, drinking out of the carton.”

When he looked, he saw her standing in the doorway. His dick automatically twitched in his boxers because Ms. Jefferson looked like Angela Bassett with bigger titties. She was wearing a robe, but it was open, revealing the silk top that stopped right around her upper thigh. Her legs were thick and her toenails were painted a soft pink, which seemed to glow in the dim refrigerator light.

“My bad yo, I didn’t want to dirty no glasses,” Kane explained, trying to keep his eyes off her cleavage – and failing.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied with a smirk as she stepped into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass out of the dish rack and held it towards him. “Well I just hope you saved some for me.”

He poured some juice into her cup on the counter. Their fingers touched. Kane pulled his hand an inch away, but as he poured she moved the glass so that their fingers connected again. Kane looked up. She wasn’t looking at the glass, she was looking right at him. Like the glass was the last thing on her mind.

She eyed Kane over the rim of the glass. He saw her tongue moving in her mouth. The tip resting on her top lip, denting it with a glisten of saliva before she spoke. “Who can sleep with all that moaning and groaning going on? You think I don’t hear y’all? Tiffany screaming like you killing her! Is that what you be doing? Killing my daughter?” Ms. Jefferson said, raising the glass to her slowly parting lips.

Kane played it off with a chuckle, but he was feeling the heat from her stare down.

“Nah, you know what I’m saying, I just do what I do.” His dick had already taken on a life of its own, peeking its head out of his boxers. She looked down at it and arched an eyebrow. The tip of the tongue sat again on the cushion of her top lip.

“Damn, it’s like that? No wonder she be hollerin’,” Ms. Jefferson giggled. She moved closer to him. Her shoulder against his as she reached across him to put her glass down on the counter with her right hand. As the glass clinked down in the silent kitchen, her left hand touched Kane’s belly and slid down to grip his dick.

“I want you to do to me what you do to my daughter,” she whispered in Kane’s ear.

Kane needed no second invitation. He pulled her to him, peeling the robe from her shoulders. Her whole body was trembling and there was a heat coming off her that flared in his nostrils.

Bitch was in heat. And now so was Kane.

Kane tongued her neck and she tasted like cherries. He pulled her silk top up to reveal she wasn’t wearing any panties. He slid his hand around and palmed her juicy ass. A sound that began as a moan then became a deep growl in her throat, moved him on.

“Damn your dick thick,” she gasped, squeezing and pulling at it.

“See how much of it you can fit in your mouth,” Kane grunted while pressing down on her shoulders.

“Mannish ass,” she snickered as she dropped to her knees.

As soon as she wrapped her lips around his dick, she mmm’d like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted in her life. Kane had no idea if Ms. Jefferson was getting regular dick, but she was sucking him hard enough to jumpstart a Lexus, as if it was saving her from drowning. This hungry lust excited Kane. Damn her mouth was good. Better than her daughter, damn straight. Kane grabbed a handful of her hair and began to fuck her face. “Goddamn,” he breathed.

Kane thought since he had just fucked her daughter he’d be long winded, but Ms. Jefferson’s deep throat skills had him ready to bust two minutes into it.

“Yeah bitch, eat that dick,” he spat. Pushing harder from the hips, pulling her head on. Ms. Jefferson had other ideas. She pulled back, his dick sliding down her chin. “Uh uh, nigga! Not before I get mine!”

Kane smiled, pulling her up by the hair, and bending her over the sink. She didn’t resist but her pussy was a little ways behind...“Sssss baby, take it easy… It’s been a while,” she groaned, putting her hand on his stomach to stop him from going too deep. That explained how greedy she was for Kane’s dick, but that only made him more determined.

“Nah, don’t get shook now yo. You gonna take this dick,” Kane said, with a tone as hard as what he was about to put inside her. He spread her ass cheeks and pushed balls deep with a single thrust. This pussy wasn’t complaining no more.

Ms. Jefferson gasped, her hand going out across the counter, knocking her glass on its side, spilling juice. “Make me take it then! Make me take all that dick!” she begged, as hungry in the pussy as she had been in the mouth.

Ms. Jefferson wasn’t lying when she said it had been a long time. Her pussy was the wettest and tightest he ever felt – the kind of pussy weak niggas die and kill for.

The soft glow of the refrigerator light made them shine with a bluish tinge in Tiffany’s eyes. It took her a second to understand what she was seeing. She gripped the kitchen doorframe, as her world tilted. When her mind completed the jigsaw, the image played in her mind like a hologram from hell.

The glass her mother had knocked over, rolled from the counter and smashed. It triggered Tiffany’s voice.

“You trifling ass bitch! My mother, my own mother?!” she screamed.

Ms. Jefferson froze, her pussy clamping even harder on Kane’s dick. It felt so sweet. So tight. You don’t pass up a pussy like that, whatever the situation.

So Kane kept punishing Ms. Jefferson’s pussy, even as Tiffany began to beat at his back with her balled fists.

He figured he’d rather get caught for keeping it going than get caught for stopping.

Tariq Boyd was a street cop working out of the 114^th Precinct on Astoria Blvd. Queens. The people who knew he was a cop might have thought him brave or him a traitor. There was no middle ground. He’d been a cop eight years — a good cop according to his Captain, and his beat included the Queens Boro Projects. He was originally from Staten Island and made the move to the Boro Projects with his parents when he was four. When he was grown, a cop, and able, Tariq moved his family to Hollis three years ago, and it felt like home now. But the stain of the Boro would be forever on him. His first four years on Staten Island could have happened to someone else. There was no doubt in his mind that being a cop was what he wanted to be when he grew up. Other friends had gone other ways. They weren’t friends no more.

Tariq had just gotten off of work - only an hour late tonight. Some kind of record. It had been a fuck of a shift. But he’d cleared his paperwork and made it out the door before any major calls came in. From there he headed home through the dark wintery streets.

It was New York cold, but he didn’t mind that. New York had a temperature for every mood, and Tariq’s mood was chilled in a good way. The missus was already surprised to hear him home before the kids made it into bed. This would be points on his score card. Misha had been bitching like crazy over how little time he spent at home. Perhaps tonight getting home before dawn would catch him a break.

Tariq’s path was illuminated by the Christmas decorations that seemed to light Hollis up like a mini Beale St. Tariq loved Christmas because as a child, his mother was too poor to buy him any gifts, and now that he was the father of 3-year-old twin boys, he did what he had to do to make sure that their Christmas would always be memorable.

Tariq turned into his driveway, turned off the car, sat back and smiled. He was proud of how far he had come. At 32, he owned his own home and provided well for his wife and kids.

Life was good. Even if he spent his days in the dirt of the Boro, when he got home, just walking through the door made him clean.

“Man, get the fuck outta here!” Messiah laughed, flipping on the windshield wipers. Snow was beginning to fall in light flurries, erasing the darkness through the windshield with smooshed wet flakes.

Kane laughed, kissing his palm and held it up. “That’s my word, thun. I was mashin’ that old bitch and Tiff came in spazzin! I thought they was ‘bout to fight. My word, I was heated too cause I was just about to nut!”

Messiah thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, laughing hard. Kane had his mind on the mission and seeing now the windshield was clear, he said, “Make a right. Make a right!”

“You on some bullshit, thun,” Messiah chuckled, turning the wheel “This the block?”

Kane looked around carefully. The windshield was smearing quickly, obscuring his vision, but he knew Hollis because his grandmother lived there. “Yeah, yeah, right there. That’s that muhfucka’s house.”

“You sure?”

“No doubt.”

Messiah nodded, all traces of playfulness were gone. Shit was about to pop. He pulled down the block and parked the stolen Buick. They both packed MAC-11’s in their goose down parkas. They got out into the chill air, their breath making clouds.

The buildings on the block all had Christmas lights at windows covering their warm rooms. Shadows moved behind glass. TVs flickered and somewhere lame ass Christmas carols leaked from an open window.

They walked like Christmas never happened, pulling the masks down over their faces, heading for their objective.

The snow felt like cold kisses on Kane’s skin.

“Daddy’s home!” Jason shouted. He ran to Tariq as he came through the door. He bent down and scooped him into his arms. “What’s up, my little soldier? You been good?”

“Yes!” he sang, like the innocent angel he wasn’t.

“No,” Misha said behind them as she came out of the kitchen. “Tell your daddy how many times I had to tell you to pick up your toys.”

Tariq looked from Misha to his son. “Is that true?”

Jason dropped his little head, as if his toes could tell a better story.

“You must not want the toys I asked Santa to bring you tonight,” Tariq said, putting his index finger under his chin and lifting his face up.

“No daddy, please I’ll be good! I’ll clean up! I promise!”

Tariq held back his laugh. “I don’t know, I’m gonna have to call Santa and see what he has to say. You go to your room.”

He put Jason down and he trooped off, head hung, like he had just been sentenced. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs, Tariq and Misha released their laughter, embracing at the same time.

“How long do you think before he comes back pleading?” Tariq chuckled.

“There’s no telling,” Misha replied.

There was a moment when this could have gone any which way. Yesterday Misha was breaking his balls about work, today, well…Tariq pulled Misha in gently and then kissed her softly. For once she didn’t stiffen and pull away. Maybe Christmas would come early for him tonight too. Misha’s eyes were big and as wide as her smile. Tariq wanted that look to last forever.

“Enough time to make the move?”

“Hell no,” Misha protested but the look in her eyes said maybe later. They both laughed.

It was their last joyful noise.

Kane peeped in the front window, holding his breath so not to steam up the window and saw Misha and Tariq hugging.

“He in there?” Messiah whispered.

“Hell yeah that bitch ass nigga in there. Come on…”

Kane led the walk around the side of the house to the back door. The sound of carols on the air was lost as they made it into the yard. Policeman not putting a lock on his gate. Tariq was a bigger fool than even Kane thought he was. The yard was full of plastic garden toys piled for the winter. The window in the back door was dark. No light in the kitchen. Kane tried the knob – the door was open. His gold grilled smile looked as menacing as a vampire. “That bitch ain’t shit,” he chuckled.

“QB hoes, you already know,” Messiah answered.

They pushed open the door and entered the kitchen. The house was all but silent. There was enough light spilling from the living room door to light their way and they went past the table and chairs like ghosts.

They emerged in the living room. Misha and Tariq were still in their embrace. But Misha was looking over her husband’s shoulder. At the sight of Kane and Messiah, she let her hands drop and moved away from Tariq.

“Hey baby…” Tariq began to protest, but as soon as he was clear of his wife, Kane and Messiah raised their MAC’s. Tariq musta heard the rustle of their clothes because he looked around then and saw the glint of the guns aimed straight for him.

Kane nodded at Tariq, like he was signaling to an old friend across the street, then the guns spat vengeance and retribution.

Brrrrrap! Brrrrrap!

Bullets tore through Tariq like a kid through the wrapping paper of a present. Holes appeared in his police shirt, popping the material and running a line up his chest, through his chin, blowing apart his nose and then smashing into his forehead. Pieces of brain, bone and skin flurried up like murdered snow…

Tariq flipped over the coffee table, spinning around and falling face first to the carpet. His hand twitching. After two seconds it stopped, and then like Tariq’s fingers, everything in the room was still.

Misha’s eyes watered up. Up until that moment, she hadn’t realized how deep she was. Tariq had been her husband and the father of her children, but fifty grand brought a serious amount of treachery. Even against her husband. She moved towards Kane and Messiah who had dropped their guns. The air stank from blood and cordite.

“You gotta go. I gotta call the police to make it look good,” Misha said, hating herself, but keeping her mind’s eye on the prize.

Kane smiled.

“Yeah, but you goin’ too!” Messiah spat, pointing the MAC at Misha’s face point blank. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d done what they asked. Left the back door unlocked. Kept Tariq busy while they got into the house. Had even telephoned them to tell them Tariq was coming home early tonight. What more did they want?

“No! Power said he only wanted Tariq!” she screeched.

Kane shrugged. “He lied.”

The MAC spoke its last story as it told Misha its unhappy ending.

Her face opened like a can of tomatoes on a firing range. This time the bullets went down, digging into her neck and damn near separating her head from her body. A guaranteed closed casket kill, Kane thought with grim amusement.

“Mommy?”

Messiah and Kane turned. Jason was standing at the top of the stairs. Holding a teddy bear to make himself feel braver. Jason had already wet himself at the noise of the gunfire. His pajamas were leaking and so were his eyes.

“Leave my mommy alone!” he shouted in his best tantrum voice.

Messiah and Kane looked at each other. In their gaze was one question – kill him?

Kane cracked a wicked grin. “Merry Christmas, shorty,” he chuckled, then he and Messiah left Jason and his brother to be orphans.

What up kid!

I know it rough in the bing…

Power sat back and smiled. He had been on Riker’s Island for almost a year awaiting trial, but the letter just confirmed what he knew would happen if he stayed focused and his team held him down. Now, his freedom was a foregone conclusion.

Power stood up, stretched. The deferasirox he took for his thalassemia kept the crisis cramps at bay plus stopped his hands swelling and so he was glad to feel he was in peak physical form. The best in his life. The thalassemia wasn’t something he spoke about with anyone. He just took his medication and lived his life, and when he needed treatment, went in to the doc for a transfusion to help manage the disease. He preferred it that way. On impulse, as if to underline how good he felt, he dropped and did 50 push-ups in one clip. Even though he hated every day behind bars, he had made the best of it. Especially when it came to his physique. He had been 5’9” and 140 lbs when he got knocked. Now a year later, he had sprouted three inches and his workout regimen had him a cobra-backed 180 lbs with a six pack that you could wash clothes on. He couldn’t wait to get out and drive the bitches bonkers. He was already a green-eyed, curly haired pretty boy, and now with the body to match, he was ready to take his game to another level.

He was about to do another one when he heard, “Ay yo Power, peace God! What’s today’s mathematics?”

It was his man C-Allah from Fort Green Projects in Brooklyn. He was facing a murder charge too. He and C-Allah had bumped heads when Power first came to be housed in the infamous C-74 juvenile building on the island. Brooklyn niggas ran the building, and just because Power was from Queens, they thought shit was sweet.

Power put an end to that when he blew a nigga from East New York over the phone. It was about to get real ugly, but C-Allah respected Power for standing up to a potential massacre and squashed the beef. Since they were both Five Percenters, the lesson became the foundation to a relationship that soon flourished across the board.

“What up God, today’s math is wisdom and knowledge all being born to myself, being the maker, the owner, cream of the planet earth, father of civilization, God of the universe,” Power replied smoothly, while giving C-Allah a gangsta hug.

“True indeed God, true indeed. Ay yo, you know that nigga Duppy from uptown?” C-Allah asked.

“That party promoter nigga that fuck with Global Reserve Records?”

“Yeah him. I just got off the jack with this little bitch named Mona from around my way. She said she fuck wit’ that nigga, yo,” C-Allah informed him, shaking his head.

Power frowned slightly. “What’s wrong with that?”

C-Allah chuckled.

“That bitch the hoe of my projects!” Power laughed.

“Don’t get me wrong – the little bitch bad as fuck. I’m just saying this nigga trying to housewife a hoe.”

Power and C-Allah shared a laugh over Duppy’s lack of judgment before Power broke his laugh and said, “But yo, tell shorty to holla at that nigga for me. You know my shit is official.”

C-Allah smiled like “I got this,” and replied, “Come on God, you already know I got you. She said she gonna do that, but she wanna wait until you find out what up with your case.”

Now it was Power’s turn to smile. “I already know. My man’s just wrote me. I’m good.”

C-Allah didn’t need to hear the details. One look in Power’s eyes and he automatically understood.

“That’s what’s up, though. Your peoples some official niggas. I’ma have to start giving you Queens Boro niggas some credit,” C-Allah remarked.

“Credit? Nigga, you Fort Greene niggas wouldn’t last a week on the 81st side. It’s all Vietnam, God. Serious Apocalypse Now. Don’ make me bring down the horror” Power boasted but with a smile.

They both playfully got in their fighting stance and began to play box.

Someone at the cell door cleared their throat.

Power and C-Allah dropped their hands, but not before giving each other a play shot each to make it a draw.

They turned around to see Officer Kim Jones at the door. She stood with one hand on one sexy ass hip. She was a bad bitch and she knew it.

“You know y’all ain’t supposed to be playing horse in here,” she remarked.

Her Jamaican tongue twirled around her Brooklyn accent, making everything she said sound like a song.

C-Allah looked at Power then gave him dap because he already knew what time it was.

“Yo, handle your business, kid,” he chuckled as he walked out. Kim gave him a side-eye which sliced him dead, and stepped into the cell. “Cell search,” she smirked.

“Didn’t you just search me yesterday?” Power said, smiling and playing along.

“You a security threat, so I got to watch you. Now put your blind up so nobody see what I find,” she gave him that I’ma fuck the shit out of you look. Power knew the look well and was hard already. Power put his towel over the window in his door so no one could see what was about to go down. As soon as he did, Kim put her hand on his chest and pushed him against the wall. He didn’t want to resist this search.

“You got any weapons on you?” she asked, kissing his neck and raking her nails over his six pack.

“You think I would tell you if I did?” he replied, wriggling his hand down the back of her uniform pants over soft, warm flesh. Kim purred and pushed out against his hand. He knew she enjoyed the rake of his nails along her skin.

Kim reached into Power’s peel, that was unzipped to the waist and already off his shoulders. She pulled his dick out and began squeezing it.

“Look what I found,” Kim giggled, “A baseball bat.”

Power nuzzled her neck, up to her ear. “Come here,” he said, taking full control. He spun her around and made her face the wall. He began kissing her neck and licking the fuzz of hair at the nape. Power undid her belt one handed, with the ease of someone who had done this many times before. Kim’s pants slid down like they were cooperating fully, releasing her fat, juicy ass. Power spread her ass cheeks and slid two fingers in her pussy.

“Ssss damn, don’t tease me. Hurry up before the Sergeant come looking for me,” there was lust in her voice.

“Fuck the Sergeant.”

“No, fuck me!” she shot back, reaching around and grabbing his dick, before cocking one knee against the wall and pulling him into her.

Power plowed into her wetness with all of the force he could find — at the same time moving Kim’s mouth against the back of his hand on the wall to block the sounds that were growling there. Power did not want her to tell the whole pod how good his dick felt. She took it like a big girl, cocking her knee higher on some Spider Man shit. His back shots had her ready to scale the wall.

“Damn I love this dick,” she hissed into her hand, coating his dick with juices, her breathing telling him she was close to cumming already.

“Throw this pussy back,” Power growled, slapping her ass with a resounding smack.

“I am!”

Smack! She pushed back into him, doubling the force of his thrust. He grabbed at her hips through the jiggly fat there, pulling her back onto his thighs like a fist pounding an open palm.

“Oh fuck, you gonna make me cum again!”

Smack! Smack! The surface of her ass making waves as each blow hit home.

Kim was in a fuck frenzy, loving the pain of pleasure. “Please baby, cum please! I gotta go!” Kim pled. Grinding into him with greater urgency.

Their bodies slapping together sounded like applause as he pounded her. The crowd goes wild! Power’s whole body convulsed and he exploded inside of her. He slid out of her. She turned, dropped to her knees and cleaned him with a greedy tongue.

“Damn,” Kim said when she’d finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She stood and pulled up her pants up in one movement. As she clipped her belt buckle up she smiled and blew Power a kiss. He could smell himself on her breath. “Oh yeah, I came up here to tell you to get ready. You have to go to court.”

“Do I have time to take a shower?”

“No, you gotta go smellin’ like this good pussy you just fucked the shit out of,” she winked as she sashayed out the door.

Power tucked his dick into his boxers and shrugged up his peel. There was no better way to get ready for the judge.

“Will the defendant please rise.”

Power looked at his lawyer as he stood up, and his lawyer did the same. As usual Power was the only black guy in the room.

“On what grounds are you seeking a dismissal of all charges, counselor?” the judge asked, looking as if he could care less. The judge was fat, white and looked down at Power and his lawyer, Cal Robertson, as if they were a disease, through half-moon glasses. The judge looked like an egg with eyebrows.

Robertson, a thin New Yorker with more smarts than you could fit inside the usual white guy cleared his throat and replied, “I’ve talked to the D.A., your honor, and because of the tragic death of the state’s only witness to this alleged crime, one –” he looked at his notes – “Tariq Boyd, there simply is no case.”

The judge nodded. This was an old story. “I see. And how did this…Mr. Boyd… meet his demise, counselor?”

“Home invasion, your honor. He and his wife were gunned down.”

“How convenient,” the judge remarked sarcastically, before turning his attention to the D.A. “Mrs. Pointer?”

The D.A. Sally Pointer stood. She reminded Power of a teacher in his elementary school who would wear skirts that would flash her thighs every time she sat down. Mrs. Pointer wore the same kind of skirt today. Power knew he should be concentrating on the proceedings, but for a white bitch, Mrs. Pointer had fine legs.

“Yes your honor, I don’t think it’s in the best interest of the state to pursue charges at this time.”

The judge looked at his file, then at Power. “Mr. Mitchell, how old are you?”

Power was still fixated. Robertson nudged him and the judge repeated the question.

“Seventeen,” Power said, adding an extra subtle sneer to his tone.

“Mr. Mitchell, you aren’t even old enough to drink and you already have several assaults, including, I might add, a double murder that you are currently charged with. I am inclined to believe this is a pattern,” the judge said.

Mrs. Pointer was adjusting her blouse and Power had her titties in his mind. Old white bitch always grateful for black dick.

Power had to snap back again. “Not guilty, your honor,” Power replied to a question that hadn’t been asked.

“I’m not asking how you plead, young man.”

“Then what’s your point?” Power drilled the judge with a look that would burn stone.

The judge smirked. “Ah, I see I have a tough guy in my courtroom. My point, Mr. Mitchell, is you are a very violent young man and I find it highly fortuitous that the only witness is dead. But, as they tell you in law school, it’s not what you know; it’s what you can prove. I just hope I’m the one on the bench when your luck runs out.”

“We done yet?” Power asked Robertson.

The judge banged his gavel with maximum annoyance. “Case dismissed! See you soon, Mr. Mitchell.”

Under his breath, Power mumbled, “fucking cracker,”

He turned to his lawyer as they walked into the cold marble floored corridor outside the courtroom “Thanks…for nothin’.”

“Hey, I got you off.” Roberson said dead pan. Like it meant something.

“QB got me off, remember that.”

Sighing, Robertson handed Power over to the Corrections Officer who would take him back to Riker’s for release processing.

Before they got ten yards, two men waving detective badges, Spagoli and O’Brien, called to them. The C.O. escorting Power stopped. Spagoli grilled Power hard peeling out of the shadows to block Power’s way. Power gave nothing away on his face. He made sure he didn’t even look irritated.

“Do you know who I am?” Spagoli gritted.

“Nobody,” Power answered without blinking.

“No, nobody you want to fuck with,” Spagoli countered. “You think you’re the shit because you had one of your fellow monkeys murder the witness, huh? Well, trust me…next time it won’t be so easy.”

“Yo, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, but if someone got murdered, it sounds like you ain’t doin’ your job. Protect and serve, right?” Power smirked.

Power could see Spagoli wished they were having their conversation in a dark alley. Power had met a lot of officers who wanted to wipe that look off his face permanently. Power still hadn’t blinked, not once, and wouldn’t until Spagoli’s eyelids gave him the win.

Spagoli blinked.

O’Brien stepped in. “Oh, believe me. You will get served…but I don’t know about the protect part.”

Spagoli and O’Brien walked off, leaving Power to contemplate their wake, and when they were through the doors out into the snowy streets, he allowed his eyelids to do their thing.

“Ay yo yo yo, who got bank?”

“Fuck who got bank nigga, roll the fuckin’ dice!”

“Yo, I got fifty, he has four!”

“Money on the wood, nigga!”

Their breath clouded the alley, the sodium glow of the street lights seemed to make the space feel colder. Kane crouched in the middle of the circle, shaking the dice like a voodoo doctor shakes bones ready to cast a spell.

“Come on baby, six-six-six – mark of the beast!” he grunted, letting the dice fly. As the bones clicked and clacked together like skeleton teeth, a new, seventh voice yelled, “Freeze! Muthafuckers. Lay down!”

Nobody had seen the man creep up on them, but now that all six of them were staring down the barrel of a chrome .40 caliber with mother of pearl grip and gold accents, they knew he caught them slipping.

He was a cold man holding a pretty killer.

Kane looked up straight into the gunman’s eyes.

“Nigga, this my hood! I promise you, you won’t make it off this block alive!” Kane growled.

“Gimme the loot!” the masked man growled with a deep voice.

Kane was about to continue his protest and threats but stopped. He squinted. “Hol’ up, I know that voice. Yo Power, I’ma kill yo’ ass!” As soon as Kane said his name, Power busted out laughing.

The other five dudes relaxed as Power removed the mask, laughing hysterically. Kane started to curse him out, but he stopped, too happy to see Power back on the street. He slammed him with a thorough gangsta hug. Power put the S&W in his pants and dapped the circle.

“My nigga, God damn it’s good to see you! But I should kill your ass, playin’ wit’’ me!” Kane barked.

Power laughed.

“Fuck that, you was shook! Talkin’ about ‘this my hood!’ I heard your voice crack on some Minnie Mouse shit!” Power said, pushing Kane’s shoulder.

The crew laughed and Kane couldn’t help but crack his signature sinister gold grill grin.

“Fuck outta here,” Kane said, a chuckle not far from the surface.

“When you got home, thun?” a dude named Black Jesus asked Power, giving him a pound and a gangster hug.

“Today,” Power answered, scanning the faces around him, and then adding, “Yo Kane, where the twins at?”

“On a mission,” was all Kane replied, but his eyes said much more…