Gods & Gangsters. Solomon
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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