ANYTHING 4 PROFIT (ANYTHING FOR PROFIT) (26 page)

              Ty opened his eyes and looked at the two figures standing by his bed. They each had large guns in their hands. He wished it was just a joke, but he knew that shit was for real.

              Shay started screaming at the top of her lungs, so the one wearing the Michael Myers mask quickly pressed his black Glock 9mm to her sweaty temple. “Shut the fuck up,” he calmly ordered.

  Shay fell silent immediately, and he continued. “You got thirty seconds to get yo’ shit, and get the fuck up outta here.”

  She didn’t doubt that he would kill her so she took heed to the warning.  Fearfully, she hopped off of Ty’s limp dick, and quickly grabbed her belongings while the gunman in the Jason mask counted down the seconds. “10, 9, 8, 7…” She didn’t even bother to put her shoes on. Shay ran out of the house, too frightened to even look back.

              Paralyzed with fear, Ty just lay there on the bed unable to move or speak. He had a silly ass expression on his face. He looked like “
what the fuck?
”

   The one wearing the Jason mask slowly lifted his sawed off twelve gage shotgun until it was in Ty’s face. Ty stared into the double barrels, and all he saw was darkness that seemed to stretch on for infinity. He realized he had met his demise.

“Trick or treat, muh’fucka!!”
BOOM!!
  Blood and brain matter splattered all over the walls and bed. What used to be Ty’s face was now nothing more than a gaping hole of blood and flesh. His skull was obliterated from the force of the blast, which made it possible to see damn near all the way through his entire head.

The gunman in the hockey mask laughed, and said, “I think I can see this nigga last thoughts before he died.” Ant, A.K.A. Jason Voorhees, laughed again.

          “Yeah, he was thinkin’
OH SHIT
! And he was ‘bout to shit on his self too!” said Mike, laughing. Befittingly, he was Mike Myers. He lifted the 9mm in his hand and took aim at Ty’s already lifeless body. He mercilessly emptied more slugs into his partially headless torso. Once the clip was on “E”, the two menacing figures turned and fled from the house. They bailed on Ty’s mangled corpse, and disappeared into the moonlit night.

$$$

              Later on that night, it was Black’s turn. Deeply engrossed in a dice game, he wasn’t even expecting the heat that was coming.

   “Eight’ll get me ten! Eight bring ten, muh’fuckas! Y’all know what time it is. Get right or catch flight, niggas,” exclaimed the short dark skinned man, as he shook the dice in his right hand. After shaking them for a few seconds, he brought his cupped hand up to his mouth and blew on the dice for good luck. Afterwards, he dropped them and let them roll on the ground against the wall. One of the dice showed a six, and the other a three. It wasn’t Black’s point but he didn’t crap out either, so he picked the dice back up, and the side bets increased.

              There were only five dudes directly involved in the game with actual money on the line. But just like at any other dice game, there were five or six other niggas just chilling on the sidelines watching the action. They were drinking and smoking trees, and talking trash just to hype shit up. The dice game had been going on for a little over an hour. During that time, the pot had grown to over $10,000 cash money. The bread was piled up on the ground in an assortment of bills, so they were a prime target for some thirsty goons. But just about everybody out there was strapped.

              As Black prepared to roll again, the other men made more side bets on whether or not he’d hit his point. Some bet on what the next number was going to be. Despite the cool weather, Black was sweating profusely. He shook the dice, and started talking that shit again.

   “Eight bring ten, nigga! Get ya’ mind right, bitches! Eight bring ten, nigga!” Black was talking shit, but he was secretly saying a prayer to Jesus, Jehova, Allah, Yahweh, God, and any other higher power he could think of while he attempted to roll his eight. He couldn’t afford to crap out. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to pay the dude that had fronted him some work earlier that week. He wouldn’t be able to pay for his consignment, nor would he be able to re-up. If he crapped out, he was dead in the game - literally. So it was more than just a game to Black. It was so serious. 

   But if he did fuck around and hit a seven or roll snake eyes, he figured he could always pull out the chrome .357 he had hidden in his waistband, and rob those niggas. Black really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He blew on the dice and rolled them against the wall… and he hit!

   “What I tell y’all niggas, huh?! What I tell you muh’fuckas, huh?!” Black shouted, relieved and excited at the same time. “Eight get me ten,” he yelled, as he bent down to pick up the 10 G’s he’d just won.

 “Yo, Black!” somebody yelled from behind the crowd. Black turned around, and so did everybody else. What they saw made them all start reaching for their pistols. Black went for the chrome .357 magnum conveniently tucked in his waistband. Before he could get it out, two figures dressed in black and rocking horror film masks ran up on the crowd firing indiscriminately from an AK-47 and an AR-15 assault rifle.

  The rapid fire explosions from the barrels of the assault rifles lit up the night, and niggas scattered like roaches when the lights came on. A few tried to be brave and bust back, but their handguns were no match for those assault rifles’ firepower. Through the hail of gunfire, a couple of dudes managed to get off a few wild shots, but the choppers easily turned their bodies into mangled pieces of flesh.

   Black saw the carnage taking place around him and decided to run for his life. He and a few others were fortunate enough to get away before being gunned down.

   Ant chased after them with the chopper but they split up and eluded him. He cursed under his breath, “Damn!” That nigga Black had gotten away. Ant trotted back to the spot where the crap game had been going on.

   Mike was still over there. He had stayed behind to collect the bloodstained cash that had been dropped in the midst of all the confusion. He and Ant D put a few rounds into each of the fallen men’s heads and bodies to make sure they couldn’t testify in any courtroom. Afterwards, they both took off for the crack car that was parked around the corner.

   Once on the road, they both removed their masks. “You get that nigga Black?” inquired Mike.

“Naw, that fuck nigga got away,” Ant spat. From the look on his face, you could tell he was pretty disgusted.

          “Fuck it, we’ll get ‘im. We’ll get ‘im. The nigga can run, but he can’t hide.” 

Chapter 29

   Over the next few days, Ant D and Mike rode around Greenville searching for Rico in a beat up, old, tinted out Chevy Nova they had gotten from this crackhead nigga named Mitch. Mitch was an old school smoker, but the young niggas in the ‘hood still had love for him because he was a straight fool. He kept everybody laughing, despite their desperate and desolate living conditions. And when anybody needed a car real quick to do some dirt in, they got at Mitch. All he wanted was for dudes to look out for him with a nice piece of hard.

              Ant D and Mike drove to every single spot Rico was known to frequent. They were looking for him, or anybody who had seen him recently. But they found neither. After hearing about what had happened to Ty, and how Black had barely escaped death himself, Rico knew that he was involved in whatever the fuck was going on. He had no idea Meka was still alive, so he assumed it had something to do with them killing her.

   Rico wasn’t sure, but he felt that shit in his gut. So he figured his best move would be to disappear for a minute, until he found out exactly what the fuck was going down, and who was behind it. Until then he was extremely vulnerable because he had no idea who was coming for him. Anybody could just walk up to him out of the blue, and blow his fucking head off. So Rico laid in the cut like a germ at a woman’s house he fucked with in Anderson, SC.

              After looking for that nigga for days on end and coming up with nothing, Mike told Ant D he had a plan that would bring Rico’s bitch ass out of hiding.

   After he listened to what Mike had in mind, Ant smiled, and said, “That’s what it is. Let’s do it!”

$$$

              On a cool night in mid-November, Ant D pulled up to a house in West Greenville. The house was down the street from St. Francis Hospital, where Mike was born. Ant killed the ignition on the old Chevy Nova, and turned to Mike who was sitting calmly in the passenger seat. He asked, “You ready?”

             “Yeah, but just stick to the script. We ain’t tryna kill this old bitch, ya’ heard?”

             “I know what it is, nigga, let’s go.” Before they got out of the car, Ant pulled out a plastic baggy filled with coke. He rolled up a crisp twenty dollar bill, and took a long snort up each nostril.

   “Goddamn Ant, you gettin’ outta control wit’ that shit, my nigga. You need to slow yo’ ass down, homey, fa’ real.”

“Look, nigga, I got this here. I just fuck wit’ this shit every now and then. Ain’t nothin’ serious, man. Trust me.”

 Mike knew he was lying out his ass, but that wasn’t the time or the place to have that conversation. They had come to do some dirt, so he wanted to handle that shit, and get the fuck outta dodge. They could continue that conversation another time.

   They got out of the car and sprinted up the short driveway to the front porch of a slightly rundown house. They were dressed in black again. Ant D knocked on the front door loudly. When they heard footsteps approaching the door, he and Mike pulled their ski masks down over their faces.

             “Yes… who is it?” asked an older female voice from behind the door.

   Without hesitation, both Ant and Mike backed up a few steps and then charged the locked door. They used their shoulders to bust into the house, and knocked the woman backwards onto the floor.

              Once inside the house, Mike quickly closed the door behind them. The Puerto Rican woman looked up in horror. She was still dazed from the impact of the door against her face, which had caused her nose to start bleeding profusely. At age 52, the woman was still very beautiful, and in relatively good health. But all of that was getting ready to change.

              Without saying a word, Mike and Ant walked over to the woman and began beating the shit out of her with their closed fists, careful not to cause any fatal damage. Unable to do anything else, she balled up in the fetal position and silently prayed they would stop. I guess Jesus wasn’t listening because they kept on beating her mercilessly, until they were tired.

              Mike assessed the damage, and felt like they had accomplished their goal. He was prepared to leave, but that coke had Ant D in a zone. After he caught his breath, he started savagely stomping the woman, who lay prone on the floor defenseless.

    “Chill out, homey, that’s enough,” said Mike. But Ant didn’t hear him, or he wasn’t listening, because he continued to stomp the woman into oblivion. After hearing something in the woman’s body crack, Mike grabbed Ant, and said loudly, “Remember the plan, nigga! We ain’t tryna kill this old bitch! If she’s dead, she’s useless!”

              Knowing what he said was true, Ant stopped kicking the woman. Breathing heavily from the physical exertion, he said, “Yeah…you right. Let’s get the fuck up outta here.”

    They turned and ran from the house back to the Nova. They jumped in the car and sped off down the street.

              Sensing that her attackers had fled, the woman tried to get up and walk to the telephone, which was in the living room on the coffee table. Too weak to stand, she crawled on her hands and knees. When she finally reached the phone, she used her last little bit of strength to dial 911.

    “911, what’s your emergency?”

    The woman tried to speak but no words came out of her mouth. Everything got dark, and she collapsed on the floor. The phone slipped from her grasp.