Knee Deep in the Game (21 page)
Read Knee Deep in the Game Online
Authors: Boston George
“What's wrong?” Tim asked nervously as he grabbed his baby Uzi and stuck a fresh magazine in the base.
“I just got word Rusty in the hospital,” Fresh said with a disgusted look on his face. “That mu'fucka, Tito,” he huffed as he slid in the passenger seat of the minivan.
“Where we headed?” Tim asked as he started up the van and pulled out into traffic.
“First, we going to swing by the lounge where they found Rusty and light that shit the fuck up,” Fresh said in a calm tone as he sat back and threw on his black shades.
Twenty minutes later, Tim pulled up across the street from the lounge. “This the lounge right here?” he asked.
“Yeah, pass me that Uzi,” Fresh said, tossing his hood on his head. “Swing this bitch around,” he said, rolling down his window.
In front of the lounge stood Tony and few other bouncers standing around talking shit.
“What's poppin'?” Fresh said with a smile. The last thing Tony saw was his reflection in Fresh's shades before his body got riddled and rocked. Fresh squeezed the trigger until he ran out of bullets. The front of the lounge was filled with holes and shattered glass everywhere.
Once Tim heard the Uzi stop spitting, he immediately gunned the engine, fleeing the scene.
“Where we headed now?” Tim asked, driving like a madman.
“Slow this mu'fucka down,” Fresh said, reloading the Uzi. “We going to Tito's first cousin's crib,” he said as he punched her address in the navigational system.
“Which house?” Tim asked, slowly cruising down the block.
“The third house on the right,” Fresh answered, pointing to the house.
“You need me to get out?” Tim asked as he pulled up in the driveway.
“Nah, just keep this bitch running,” Fresh said as he slid out the passenger seat and headed toward the front door of the house. Once in front of the door he knocked with the barrel of his .45.
Jasmine opened the door with a big smile on her face. “Hey, Fresh,” she said, sliding in his arms for a hug. “Where you been, I haven't seen you around in a while,” she said, stepping to the side so he could come in.
“My bad, I just been mad busy,” Fresh replied. “Is Tito here? I need to holla at him for a second.”
“Nah, I haven't seen him in a while either,” Jasmine said, walking over to the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Fresh politely declined. He felt bad on the inside because he really liked Jasmine. Throughout the years she was always there when the team needed her. Whether it was holding drugs in her house, taking trips out of town, setting someone up, whatever it was, she was always down.
“Why you got on that hoodie and those dark shades?” Jasmine asked with a smile. Her smile quickly faded away when she saw the .45 in Fresh's hand.
“No, no don't do this Fresh,” she pleaded as she backed up. “Whatever is going on with you and Tito has nothing to do with me,” she cried as her back hit the counter. She quickly reached over and grabbed a knife from off the dish rack. “Fresh, please don't do this,” she begged as tears rolled down her face.
“Put that knife down,” Fresh said in a calm tone.
“Please don't do this,” Jasmine begged as she dropped the knife and dropped down to her knees. “Please, Fresh,” she continued to beg.
Fresh slowly walked over to Jasmine and he grabbed a handful of her hair with one hand as he struck her repeatedly in her exposed face with the gun until she was no longer recognizable. Once Fresh finished beating the woman he roughly tossed her to the floor and aimed his .45 at Jasmine's head.
“Please, Fresh, don't do this,” she begged for her life. Fresh had his gun trained on Jasmine's head, but he just couldn't pull the trigger for some reason. Jasmine really didn't have nothing to do with nothing, but Fresh had to send a message to Tito.
“I'm sorry,” Fresh whispered as he turned around and exited the house.
“Thank you, Fresh! she yelled as she watched his departing back exit her home. Jasmine lay on the floor thanking God that Fresh didn't kill her. She knew for a fact that if she had been anyone else she would be a dead woman right now.
“Everything went okay in there?” Tim asked, noticing he didn't hear no gunshots go off inside the house.
“Yeah, everything is good,” Fresh answered quickly. “Take me home, I need to get some rest,” he told him.
“No problem,” Tim said, doing as he was told. He could tell something was wrong with Fresh, but he played it cool and decided to just mind his business.
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“This shit done got personal,” Tito said, filling his cup up to the top with straight Hennessy.
“How you wanna play it?” Bamboo asked, playing with his .357
“Somebody gon' have to die,” Tito said simply. “I'm tired of playing with these clowns.”
“Fuck it, I got my hit squad already on standby, just give me the word,” Bamboo said.
“Nah, fuck that I gotta do this shit myself,” Tito said, looking at his P89. Fresh was the one who taught him everything he knew. So he knew the shit wouldn't end until one of them got killed.
“I got a plan,” Bamboo said, loading his .357. “You used to work for Fresh, right?”
“Yeah, and?”
“Yeah, and that means you know where the nigga's stash spots is at, right?” Bamboo asked greedily.
“He switches them shits up every week,” Tito said. “But I do know where all his cookup spots is at.”
“Damn, why you ain't been said nothing about this?” Bamboo said excitedly.
“I forgot all about that shit,” Tito chuckled. “But fuck all that, I want Fresh.”
“Well, we both know he's too much of a pussy to play the streets so I guess we going to have to smoke him out,” Bamboo stated plainly.
“Fuck it, let the games begin.”
Fresh cruised down the street in his Benz listening to a Stack Bundles mix tape, when out of the blue he noticed flashing lights in his rearview mirror. “Shit!” he cursed loudly as he pulled over to the side of the road. He quickly slipped his .45 in the stash box on his dashboard. He also put out the blunt he'd been smoking. “Ain't this about a bitch,” Fresh said to himself as he looked in his rearview mirror and saw three more cars pull up behind him.
“Hands on the steering wheel,” a uniform cop yelled, flashing the light from his flashlight in Fresh's face while the other officers surrounded the car.
Fresh sighed loudly as he did what he was told. The officer then roughly grabbed him from out of the car and tossed him on the floor and cuffed him.
“What did I do!” Fresh yelled as he felt the officers searching through his pockets, while the rest of the officers searched his car. “I didn't even do nothing!” Fresh yelled as he struggled to not let them put him in the back of the squad car. Once the officers saw Fresh resisting arrest they immediately began swinging their night sticks at his legs until he hit the ground.
“You had to do things the hard way,” the head officer said as dragged Fresh into the back of the squad car and took him down to the station.
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Rusty parked the Ford Explorer directly in front of the house that he was headed for. Before Rusty reached the front door he made sure he threw his gloves on along with his hoodie, as he proceeded to kick in the front door. Tito's mother almost shitted on herself when she saw her front door fly open. Immediately Rusty back-slapped Tito's mot-her with the .45, sending her crashing to the kitchen floor. Before he could strike her again, he noticed Tito's father come running into the living room.
Before the elderly man knew what was going on two shots to both of his kneecaps sent him straight on his back. Once Tito's mother heard the loud gunshots ring out she immediately grabbed her heart and began gasping for air. Rusty looked on for about thirty seconds until the woman stopped moving. “Weak-ass bitch,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He then proceeded to search the entire house, hoping Tito had a safe or a stash somewhere inside the house. As Rusty searched through the house he made sure he tore the place up. He walked over to the nice wall unit and pulled the whole shit down, leaving a big mess. He flipped over all the couches, the mattress, and anything else he could as he continued his search. After about ten minutes of searching Rusty made his way back to the living room and placed the .45 to Tito's father's head.
“I know Tito got a stash in here somewhere now where is it?” Rusty growled.
“Ain't no stash. He never keeps drugs or money here,” Tito's father answered, still clutching both of his kneecaps.
“Last time I'm gonna ask you, old man,” Rusty stated in an even tone. When the old man didn't answer Rusty began to beat the old man with the .45 until his face looked like tomato soup. That still didn't stop him; he continued to pound on the old man's face, lecturing him the whole time.
“You think it's a fuckin' a game?” Rusty snarled as noticed the old man wasn't moving anymore. A wicked smile appeared on his face as he stood up and admired his work. He took a quick look around, then walked right back out the front door like nothing ever even happened.
“Who's the owner of this store?” The Chinese detective asked.
“Who's concerned?” Mannie shot back, obeying one of the street commandments: Always give the police a hard time.
“Who the fuck is asking, shitface?” the Chinese Detective responded.
“I'm sorry, Detective, but I don't speak no English,” Mannie stated as he tossed a piece of gum in his mouth.
“I'll be back with a warrant, and when I come back I'm going to tear this place up,” the Chinese detective warned. The detective fought to control his temper as he quietly exited the bodega.
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Fresh sat in the bullpen, sitting on the hard bench with a thousand thoughts running through his mind. The police told him that he was in jail for assaulting Tito's cousin Jasmine. It didn't matter to Fresh, though, because he knew he would soon be getting bailed out. Sitting in jail wasn't a problem to him. His problem was the policeâhe couldn't stand them. Inside they were the toughest people in the world, but if you were to ever see them out in the streets it was a different story. Fresh sat in the bullpen waiting to get bailed out when he saw this dirty, rough-looking man walk into the bullpen. Immediately Fresh didn't like the man. The dirty man came in the bullpen sneezing and coughing. “Damn,” he snarled as he held one of his nostrils and blew snot out of his nose onto the floor a little bit too close to Fresh.
“Yo, watch that shit,” Fresh said with his face screwed up. “Nasty mu'fucka!”
“Fuck you,” the dirty man countered. “This a free country last time I checked.” The dirty man continued: “You young boys think y'all all that until somebody knock y'all the fuck out.”
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