Bury Me a G 3.5 Page 3

  T.J. lost his parents at a very young age; his father to the system and his mother to the streets. The death of his mother would stick with him forever. He’d never forget the night he’d lost her. She was shot down like a god damn dog right before his innocent eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It all played out like a movie, but it was real. A real life nightmare that he had never awoke from. He’d never forget her killa’s eyes. They were merciless and hateful, like he had a vendetta against his mother. But he didn’t know what his mother could have done for her to be murdered in cold blood in front of him. That shit was so heartless. That mothafucka that slept his mother didn’t give a mad ass fuck about her or him seeing what he’d done.

  Once his mother was killed, T.J. went to stay with his grandmother. She took good care of him, providing everything he could want and need. But that didn’t stop him from lashing out. Nah, the death of his mother left the wolf howling at the moon. He acted out every chance he got. The little nigga stayed in some shit. His name was always connected to something that went down in the hood. It wasn’t long before the OGs came around looking for him. They’d heard of his reputation and wanted to induct him into their ranks. They made T.J. feel like one of them, showing him the love and adoration that he’d lost due to the loss of his parents. He felt like he belonged among them and yearned to be apart of them, which is why he joined up with the same gang that embraced his mother.

  T.J. became one of his gang’s infamous shooters when it was war time. There wasn’t anyone that he was afraid to get at or go up against. No matter how big or small the mothafucka was. If the nigga bucked then he was on that ass like stink on shit. T.J.’s ruthlessness and fearlessness got him christened one of the most revered savages of his set. His enemies and comrades alike spoke about him like he was the mothafucking Boogey Man. And rightfully so.

  “Come on. Let’s do this.” T.J. told Boo as he hopped out of the car. Boo got out behind him and they entered the yard of the nigga she’d set up for the lick. T.J. used the butt of one of his bangaz to shatter the light bulb on the porch. He wanted to make sure that if someone turned on the porch light that his shadow wouldn’t be cast on the floor which would blow his cover.

  Once T.J. had taken care of the porch light, Boo walked up to the front door. T.J. posted up beside the door and pulled his ski-mask out of his back pocket, pulling it down over his head. He adjusted the mask over his face so he could see out of the eye holes in it properly. After he’d done this, he nodded to Boo which let her know to ring the doorbell. Boo nodded, took a deep breath and rung the doorbell. A moment later, they heard the wooden door behind the black iron door coming unlocked and then a chain being removed. Right after, the wooden door was pulled open, Boo found herself standing before the homeboy that had hollered at her when he saw her at Tam’s burgers in Compton. She could tell by what he said next and his movements that he was flipping the light switch on and off, but the light wouldn’t come on.

  “Damn, that mothafucking light bulb must have gon’ out, Slim!” Cutty proclaimed looking over his shoulder at his homeboy who was standing somewhere behind him, busy putting something back inside of the refrigerator.

  “Again? I just put that bitch up in there. Well, shit, we got some more up in the cabinet above the stove. I’ll put one up in there once I finished eating this bowl of cereal.” Slim said as he closed the door of the refrigerator.

  “Well, damn, Cutty, I drove this far, you gon’ keep a bitch out in the cold waiting?” Boo fixed her face with a frown and placed her hand on her hip, switching her weight from one foot to the other. She’d gotten tired of standing outside on the front porch.

  “Oh, my bad, lil’ momma. Where the fuck are my manners?” Cutty switched hands with a big ass roll of duct tape before unlocking the black iron door. As soon as he opened the door, T.J. barged in past Boo and kicked that mothafucka in his stomach. Cutty made a pained groan as he doubled over and dropped the roll of duct tape. Following up, T.J. whacked him upside the head with one of his .9mms. The nigga fell over inside of the house; T.J. stepped over him into the living room, waving his twin handguns around. Boo was right behind him, pulling the door shut behind them and pulling out .22. She swayed the lethal weapon around the room at any possible threats.

  “Alright, bet notta mothafucka up in here move, or I’ma stank ya asses!” T.J. warned with his twin 9 Double M’s, looking to see if there was anyone stupid enough to test his gangsta. His eyes landed on an old lady who was standing beside a coffee table which had an empty duffle bag on it. T.J.’s brows creased as he assumed the elderly woman was Cutty’s grandmother. He couldn’t help wondering why the fuck niggaz would be slinging out of the house with his granny living there. The old lady was scared. Her heart thudded. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as her palms became sweaty. She wondered if tonight would be her last night alive.

  T.J. focused his attention on Slim who was standing inside of the kitchen with a big ass bowl of Apple Jacks. “You niggaz better let me know you understand where I’m coming from before I start nodding heads in here!” T.J. warned all the occupants of the house.

  “Y-yeah, man, we understand!” Cutty said as he got on his knees, holding the side of his bleeding head as he winced.

  “Good. Well, that’s one busta-ass nigga that knows what time it is. Now, how ‘bout chu?” T.J. asked Slim. He could tell that the nigga was shook. He wanted to wipe the milk from off his chin, but his fear of being shot stayed his hand. The hand he held the bowl with was trembling and so were his skinny-ass legs. “My nigga, you hear me talking to you?” T.J. inquired as he stuck his gun underneath old boy’s chin and tilted it upwards, making him look up at him. Slim’s throat rolled up and down his neck as he swallowed the lump of nervousness that had formed in it.

  T.J. leaned forward and sniffed him. He could literally smell the fear seeping from out of his pores. He was wearing that shit like it was cologne. “I knew I smelled something. That’s pussy! Nigga, you smell like straight padussy out this bitch! You ain’t got the heart for this game, homie! You shoulda never jumped in the water with these sharks, ‘cause when mothafuckaz like me smell bitch onna nigga, it drives us crazy.”

  “Please...” tears formed in the Slim’s eyes.

  “Please what? Please what, nigga?” T.J. asked him. “Dawg, you sicken me! I bet chu if I whipped out my dick you’d get on yo’ knees and suck it to save yo’ pathetic ass life! Now, wouldn’t chu? Wouldn’t chu, you bitch-made-ass punk?” he scowled at him so hard that his teeth gritted, causing the vein at his temple to bulge.

  “Y-yeah.” Slim answered timidly.

  “Just like I thought, a wet pussy; dying to be fucked!” T.J. looked Slim up and down like he was a pitiful piece of shit. Suddenly, Slim gained some heart. He smacked T.J.’s gun from below his chin and slammed the bowl of cereal against his head. The ceramic bowl exploded upon impact, drenching T.J.’s ski-mask with milk and Apple Jacks. T.J. folded and grabbed the side of his throbbing head with the hand he held his gun in. Fighting back the pain in his dome, T.J. peeled his eyelids open to see Slim reaching inside of the cupboard for something. As T.J. ran toward him, he saw him taking something from out of the cupboard compact and black. As Slim turned around he could see the side of it. It was a mothafucking Uzi!

  “Bitch-ass nigga, fuck you think you doing, huh?” T.J. asked as he cocked one of his guns back and whacked his ass upside the head, sending him stumbling backward fast. Slim dropped the Uzi and fell slumped against the bottom cabinets, where T.J. beat his face with both of his guns until they were both stained burgundy. By the time T.J. pulled back from whipping that ass out, Slim was breathing huskily and his chest was swelling and shrinking. The blood stains on his T-shirt looked like cherry Kool-Aid stains and the butts of his bangaz were dripping blood.

  Slim’s face was bloody and swelling. He moaned in agony and spat out a bloody tooth, which tumbled across the floor. T.J. tucked one of his guns at the small of his back.
He then picked up the Uzi and walked back inside of the living room, stopping at Cutty’s feet. The defeated man stared up at him with terrified eyes, holding his head and silently praying that he didn’t open his chest up with some hot shit.

  “What up, G? Whateva I got you can have! Take a look around, it’s all yours!” Cutty swore as he put his hands in the air. He realized he was at T.J.’s mercy. And by the way he’d handled Slim, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to unload that Uzi in his face. In fact, he glanced at the Uzi he had clutched in his gloved hand and could tell that his trigger finger was itching from the way it was twitching.

  “Nigga, I don’t want any of this ol’ bullshit you got up in here! Where the money and drugs at? And don’t try lying either, or I’ma shoot the fuck outta cho black ass. That’s onna gang!” T.J. swore as he stared him dead in his eyes, wishing he’d try him just so he could see what the Uzi would do to him.

  “Okay, okay,” Cutty said panicky. He was trying his best to keep cool and calm, but he was failing miserably. “I’ma keep it one-hunnit witchu. I don’t stash no yay in here, but I gotta ‘bout sixty gee’s inside of an old Adidas shoe box at the back of the top shelf inside of the bedroom closet.” his bitch-ass pointed to his bedroom with his shaking finger.

  “Alright. Well, yo’ ass is gon’ get it for me. So, come on,” T.J. shouted down at him and kicked him in his ass, hurrying him along. Cutty had grabbed the arm of the couch and pulled himself halfway up, when an impatient T.J. smacked him across the back of the head with the Uzi. He then kicked him in his back as he staggered down the hallway, slightly dizzy from getting knocked upside the head the first time T.J. stormed inside of the house. The kick to his back caused Cutty to nearly fall, but luckily he recovered his equilibrium. “Hurry yo’ punk-ass up, nigga! I’m tryna collect and I don’t have all day.”

  Still holding the .9mm and the Uzi, T.J. followed Cutty inside of his bedroom taunting him with the thought of killing him. Cutty grabbed the doorway and looked up wincing. He felt around on the wall until he discovered a light switch and flipped it on. Blood ran down the side of his face and dripped down to his shirt, as he staggered over to the closet. He opened the closet door and pulled the drawstring, restoring light to the small space. Next, he pulled a bunch of shit down from off the top shelf and let it all fall to the floor, in a chaotic clatter of sorts. He then moved some boxes of stuff aside until he was face to face with a blue Adidas sneaker box Cutty had told him about. He took the sneaker box down and removed the lid, showing T.J. what was inside. The blue box was loaded with bank rolls of dead faces wrapped in beige rubber bands. T.J. glanced inside of the box and nodded his head, an evil smile spread across his face. There wasn’t anything like new money to him.

  “My man, dump the pillow out of one of those pillowcases on the bed and dump that loot from that sneaker box inside of the pillowcase. And hurry that ass up!” T.J. kicked the bitch-nigga in his ass again, causing him to stumble forward and nearly fall flat on his face. Cutty gathered himself and did exactly like T.J. had ordered him to. Once he was done, he tied the pillow case of drug money into a knot and passed it to T.J. T.J. tucked his other .9mm in his waistline and took the pillowcase. He looked at the floor at Cutty’s feet and his brows furrowed once he saw something. “You dropped a stack over there.” he pointed with the pillowcase. As soon as Cutty turned around to see where he’d dropped the stack, T.J. struck him in the back of the head with the pillowcase and knocked him out cold. Cutty’s limp body fell across the bed and he snored aloud. Seeing him at his mercy, T.J. sat the pillowcase on the nightstand and picked the other pillow up from the bed. He laid the pillow on the back of a snoring Cutty’s dome and switched hands with his Uzi. Pressing the Uzi in behind the pillow, he squeezed its trigger and splashed Cutty’s shit all over the bedspread, silencing his snores forever.

  Once the deed was done, T.J. made his way back up to the living room. As he strolled down the hallway, the grandmother’s teeth chattered and she lifted her shaky hands in the air. T.J.’s forehead crinkled as he studied the clothing she was wearing. It was something off about their appearance. In fact, her appearance was so off it had him narrowing his eyelids into slits and tilting his head to the side, trying to figure out what it was. A light bulb came on inside of his head and he waved Boo over with his gun. Once she approached, he whispered something in her ear and she stripped the old hag’s down. When she was done, the grandmother was in her tan bra and panties with kilos of cocaine duct taped to her body. It dawned on T.J. then that Cutty had been strapping her old ass down with yayo so she could fly them bitchez to whoever was looking to buy them. They knew that the authorities would be less likely to suspect a senior citizen transporting them thangz from state to state. This explained the roll of duct tape that Cutty had when he opened the door and the empty duffle bag on the coffee table. The keys must have been stored inside of there.

  Clever, mothafuckaz, T.J. thought as a devilish smile spread across his face. He sat the Uzi down on the arm of the couch and untied the pillowcase. Holding it open, he ordered Boo to remove the kilos from the old lady’s body and dump them shits inside of the pillowcase. Once she did, he tied the pillowcase back up and dropped it on the last cushion of the couch. Turning toward the old lady, he cracked the knuckles on both his hands and stalked toward her, menacingly. Right then, she dropped to her knees and stared up at him like he was God Almighty. There were tears in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered, as she wondered what he planned to do to her.

  “Oh, Lord, please, please, don’t kill me, son! I beg of you, have mercy! Have mercy on me. I’m just an old woman.” she pleaded with her fingers interlocked, begging to have her life spared.

  “Shhhh!” T.J. hushed her as he approached, holding his finger to his lips. The old woman shut up, but she continued to shake, staring up at him. As his shadow loomed over her, she shut her eyelids and more tears jetted down her wrinkled cheeks. She then crossed herself in the sign of the holy crucifix and accepted her impending doom. Head tilted upward, arms down at her sides; she chose to go out courageously at that moment. “That’s it. Don’t fight this shit, just let it happen. It will alllll be over soon.” T.J. placed his hands on either side of her head, and twisted it to the right, hard as fuck. There was a sickening snap sound and the old lady’s body went limp as he held her head in his hands. A second later, he let her dead body drop to the floor.

  Staring down at the old lady, Boo shook her head pitifully and crossed herself in the sign of the holy crucifix. Looking back up, she saw T.J. grab the Uzi from off the arm of the couch and then one of its pillows. He casually strolled inside of the kitchen where he’d left Slim on the floor.

  “Please, please, man, don’t-don’t kill me, please...” Slim pleaded as he tried to lift his hand to stop the inevitable.

  The man’s pleas fell on deaf ears as T.J. mashed his sneaker against his hand and pinned it against the floor. Helpless, the nigga watched as T.J. mashed the couch pillow over his face and pressed the Uzi in behind it. T.J. squeezed the trigger and blew his Slim’s brains out. Afterwards, he tossed the compact machine gun and the couch pillow on the floor. He then made his way back towards the living room, where he recovered the pillowcase and motioned for Boo to follow him out of the house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kesha was in her bra and jeans as she got ready for the night’s mission, strapping on her Kevlar bulletproof vest and loading up them thangz. While she was busy handling the mentioned tasks, Te’Qui observed his reflection through the mirror attached to the nightstand. Te’Qui was far from the skinny brown-skinned, ten-year-old kid that he used to be, running the streets with his deceased homeboy, Baby Wicked. He now stood a full six-foot-one and had a body covered in muscles and veins. There wasn’t an area on his form that didn’t have ink on it.

  Te’Qui had a small Uzi .9mm tattooed on his forehead between his eyes, seven red teardrops going on either side of his cheeks and an image of Baby Wicked on his back along with his bi
rth date and death date. He had X’s on his thumbs which added up to the number 20, symbolizing his allegiance to the notorious Outlaw 20s Bloods Gang. Te’Qui wore his mother name, Chevy, on his neck, his father’s name, Faizon, on left peck, Glocks on the lower half of his stomach with RTBG in the middle of it, dripping blood. There were also a host of other tattoos on his body, but these were the ones that stood out.

  Since Te’Qui’s best friend and road dawg, Baby Wicked, had gotten smoked over dealing, he vowed not to fuck with the crack game ever again. Instead, he became a jack boy, robbing the same mothafuckaz that were slinging poison in the streets. Sometimes when he’d hit a dope boy, he’d drive through the streets tossing cash out of his whip, putting the slums in a frenzy. The way he saw it since he was bringing death and destruction to the hood, this would be his way of giving back. Sure he could have done more for the communities of the niggaz he’d hit, but he wasn’t trying to draw police attention to himself. The mothafucka wasn’t stupid.

  After the deaths of his parents, Te’Qui went to stay with his grand parents. At home, he was the good little choir boy who got straight A’s in school and attended church with his grand parents. But when night fell on the city, he fled to the streets where he was the gangsta his environment groomed him to be. After his grand parents passed away from natural causes, Te’Qui made the streets his permanent home.

  “You ready to go, baby?” Te’Qui asked Kesha with a smirk on his lips, staring down into her eyes as he held her in his arms.

  “Yes, bae,” Kesha flashed him an even bigger smirk. She was a slim-thick chick that stood a full five-foot-seven. She had rich chocolate skin, dimples and an easy smile. She also had thick eyebrows and thin dreads that spilled down her back. She was hood to the bone, and just as dangerous as the nigga she claimed to love more than life it self.