“Get the yay, ho, you know what it is!” Rico screamed at the woman, but kept his gun trained on the young man behind the deli counter.
“You mutha fuckas know who you’re robbing?” the delicatessen worker seethed.
“Don’t I look like I know who I’m robbing?” Cowboy directed his gun in his direction.
“Fuck you and El Pogo!” Rico said excitedly. From the way he was bouncing in place, Cowboy hoped he didn’t shoot anyone by accident.
“Tell me how we gonna do this, bitch,” Cowboy yanked the woman roughly to her feet. If it weren’t for the fact that he was holding her upright her knees would’ve probably given out from fear. “We’re gonna go in the back and get the coke. You play nice, you live, you fuck with me and I’m gonna fuck your old ass before I body you, comprende?” The woman was hesitant at first but seeing that Cowboy meant business, she complied.
With Cowboy’s gun pressed firmly to the back of her head she led him through a pair of double doors and through the store room to the back office. Through the small glass window of the door Cowboy could see two men sitting around a table packaging drugs. Keeping the woman in front of him like a shield, he shoved the doors opened. One of the men was instantly on his feet, but froze when he saw the black man holding a gun to the woman.
“Don’t get up on my account,” Cowboy said to the men, making sure to keep the woman’s body between the men and him. One of them eyed the Glock sitting on the table like he wanted to play hero so Cowboy gave him some food for thought. “I want you to, so I can peel this bitch and still drop you before you draw.” This gave the man pause. Cowboy pulled a heavy duty trash bag from his waistline and tossed it onto the table. “Shovel all that powder and whatever dough you got in the bag. If I don’t feel like you’re moving fast enough, this old bitch is getting it!”
“I ain’t giving you shit. El Pogo is gonna smoke your black ass,” a man sporting a handlebar mustache said smugly.
“Oh, you must think I’m playing, huh? Well, let me see if I can show you just how serious I am.” The sound of thunder filled the store room, followed by the man with the mustache’s bicep exploding. He shrieked like a wounded animal before collapsing to the floor, clutching his wounded arm. “Now, the next nigga come at me with some tough guy shit is taking a fucking nap, we clear on that shit?”
“Please don’t kill me,” the woman sobbed.
“Baby, I ain’t trying to kill nobody, just do like I tell you to and everything is gonna be okay,” Cowboy dug into his pocket and pulled out several plastic restraints. “Get over there and tie your amigos up.” Not wanting to be the next one to catch a bullet the woman did as she was told. While the woman was tying the men up, Cowboy started tossing money and cocaine into the garbage bag.
“You’re not gonna get away with taking El Pogo’s shit!” the wounded man with the mustache hissed.
Cowboy flashed a smug grin. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I already have.” Ignoring the larcenous glares that were coming his way, Cowboy continued to stuff the bounty into the bag. He couldn’t help but to smile thinking about what he was going to charge Butch for the cocaine. El Pogo’s shit would draw top dollar. “Another smooth lick,” he mused to himself, but that quickly turned into a feeling of dread when he heard the gunshots coming from the front of the store.
The sound of gunfire coming from the store room distracted Rico long enough for the deli worker to make a move. In a swift motioned he grabbed a .25 that had been stashed in the bread container. God must’ve been with Rico because just before he would’ve gotten his head blown off; a young man walked into the store, jingling the bell over the front door. Rico turned his head just in time for a bullet to nick his cheek and puncture a can of peas on the shelf behind him. More out of fear than anything else, Rico started letting off with the Colt.
Glass and food flew inward as the powerful slugs tore through the deli section and the upper body of the worker. Rico was so preoccupied with the deli worker that he didn’t notice the young Hispanic man who had crept out of the store’s bathroom. The boy blindsided Rico with a broomstick, knocking the gun from his hand. Rico tried to recover the weapon, but was rewarded with a blow to the side of the head that almost knocked him out. Before he knew what was going on, the stock boy had retrieved the Colt and was now aiming it at him.
“El Pogo is gonna pay me top dollar for your thieving ass head,” the boy told him, just before his shoulder exploded. With a shocked expression, he collapsed to the ground. As Cowboy passed him, he popped the kid once more in the face.
“Yo, Cowboy…” Rico began.
“I don’t even wanna hear it,” Cowboy cut him off. “Lets just get the fuck outta here,” he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit. On the way out, he stopped in front of the young man who had come into the store. Pointing his gun to his head he asked him, “What did you see?”
“Not a mutha fucking thing!” the kid said, with his hands in the air.
“Good answer,” Cowboy replied before hitting the street, running.
SEVEN
One thing life walking the shadows had taught Duce was patience. Shortly after speaking with the crack head, Duce found himself a cut and waited. It didn’t take long for Marsha to show herself. She came out of the building strolling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was dressed in a pair of pajama pants with her hair wrapped in a scarf so he knew there was no need to follow her. Wherever she was going it wouldn’t be far. Marsha was a girl who prided herself on her appearance and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere except the hood dressed like that.
When Marsha rounded the corner Duce slipped into her building. There were a few curious glances from the hustlers applying their trade, but no one questioned him. An icy chill clung to Duce that touched all he passed and common sense told them to give him a wide berth. Forgoing the elevator, Duce bounded the eleven flights of stairs. By the time he got to the top he felt a little winded. Just one more reason he needed to quit smoking. He found Marsha’s door with little to no effort. He and his brother had spent many a night at Marsha’s talking about their plans for the future. Those days were long gone and this visit was anything but a social one.
Placing an ear and the palm of his hand to the door, Duce checked for signs. There was no vibration, which would come from people moving around, and the only sound was that of the television, which had been left on a video channel. As he could tell, no one was inside. From within his pocket he produced a small case containing what he needed to get into the house.
For all the money Scott was supposed to be getting in the streets, he could’ve at least made sure Marsha had better locks. It took all of 30 seconds for Duce to gain entry into the apartment. Pistol in hand, he crept into the house, alert for signs of danger. The first place Duce checked was the bedroom. The king-sized bed was freshly made with red satin sheets, while scented candles were placed on both night stands. Apparently Marsha had a romantic evening with her baby daddy planned, but Duce would change all that. His mouth literally watered at the thought of getting Marsha and Scott at the same time.
Along the wall leading back to the living room, there were pictures of Marsha and her son over the years. From what Duce assumed was the most recent pictures, the boy looked to be about four or five. His guess was that Marsha had probably gotten pregnant by Scott just before or immediately after Knowledge’s murder. “Death before dishonor,” Duce mumbled as he casually knocked the picture to the ground, shattering the image.