Part 3 of Chapter 22 Three and a Half Months Later ( Gabos )

“Word, nigga,” Fatboy said, as he saw Pokey looking him dead in the eyes. “I guess the nigga trying to see fear but ain’t none,” Fatboy said. As Pokey closed the door behind him, jogging to catch up with Rim and Lo-P. As they made their way back through the woods to reach their ride, “Damn, nigga, what took you so long?” Lo-P turned around, asking Pokey as he jogged up to them.

“Oh, I had to make sure, shit was solid with them niggaz back there. We done did enough slipping already,” Pokey said. As he walked behind Rim, carrying Mr. Big on his shoulder, while Lo-P kept the Glock 40’s trained on his skull. Once they reached their destination, Pokey hopped up front, with Rim and Lo-P jumping in the back, with Mr. Big between them.

“Hold up, Lo-P, this shit gotta look right, just in case Po Po jump behind us. Shit, gonna look suspect with me driving, and three niggas coped up in the back. So Lo-P slide up front with me, Rim—”

“I know,” Rim said, cutting him off. “Stay in back with this nigga, and if he try anything, bust his fuck ass, no more said.”

“You on point, young nigga,” Pokey replied to Rim.

As they pulled off, “Listen, if we get stopped by the police, I’m letting y’all know I’m holding court in the streets,” Pokey said, “’cause I ain’t going back to prison, not with no kidnapping charge and possibly rape. Those crackers will fry our black asses.”

“We with you, dog. Anywayz, you ain’t have to warn us, ’cause we live by the code of the streets, live by, die by,” Lo-P said, dapping Pokey.

“All right, nigga, we on the highway. Where to now?”

“Get on 1-95, when you reach the exit up ahead, bend a left,” Mr. Big said, showing signs of pain from the beating.

“All right, we did all that. Now where to?”

“Make a left up besides the McDonald’s up ahead.” As Pokey was making the left turn, he snatched up the celly and called Fatboy.

“Yeah,” Fatboy said on the first ring.

“All is good,” responded Pokey.

“All right one, one,” Fatboy said, passing the woman something cold to drink.

“Can I ask you a question?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, go ’head.”

“Why y’all doing this to us?”

“To be honest with you, it’s something personal. Not with you but your husband. I guess you can say, with you, wrong place at the wrong time.” As they watched tears slowly fall down the woman’s face, she asked, “Are y’all gonna kill us?”

“I wish I could tell you yes or no, but I can’t. Only time will tell,” Fatboy said.

As the woman started crying harder, “Listen, you gonna have to chill with all that fucking crying,” Turtle said. “That shit getting on my nerves. We already slipping by letting you get comfortable, so unless you wanna get tied back up, I’ll suggest you kill the crying.”

“Okay,” she said, dropping her head to her chest.

Twenty minutes later, Pokey found them pulling up to what looked like an abandoned building, but it was more like a warehouse when you got closer to it.

“All right, y’all, we here. So be on point, for any flaw shit.” As Pokey climbed out the car, he grabbed his AK-47 and slipped the chamber back, ready to blast anyone, and anything if he had to. “Y’all get out and grab this nigga.”

“Man, fuck carrying this heavy-ass nigga!” Rim screamed, bending down and unwrapping the tape from around his ankles. “This bitch can walk on his own two feet.”

“You right, dog. Just keep ya eye on the nigga,” Lo-P said, placing the same two Glock 40’s in Mr. Big’s face. “Try anything, nigga, and I promise these bullets will open your head like a melon. As they started walking toward the building, Mr. Big stops.

“Look, once y’all get what y’all came for, I’m free to go right, yeah, you free to go,” Pokey said, looking at Mr. Big. And Lo-P and Rim stared in dumbfounded amazement.

“Remember a man ain’t shit without his word,” Mr. Big said.

As Pokey pushed him forward, “Man, shut your talking ass up and let’s get this bread.” Once they reached the door, they noticed the bitch had a lock on it. “Nigga, what’s the combo number?” As Mr. Big stepped forward, he turned the lock this way and that way, but realized he couldn’t open it with his hands taped, so he stepped back and screamed out the number: 26-17-17-10. As he watched Pokey turn this way, then that way, he heard the slight click of the lock popping open. As all four men walked in the building, looking for a light switch, Pokey put the AK to Mr. Big’s head and said through gritted teeth, “Nigga, turn on the fucking lights.” As Mr. Big did what he was told, the lights came on, momentarily blinding everyone. As Pokey screamed, “Damn, these some bright-ass light!” As their vision slowly came back, in front of them was a big-ass oak table that had twelve chairs and a big ass sixty-inch flat screen TV hanging on the wall. In the far left corner was a pool table, but what stood out the most was all the expensive paintings hanging on the wall.

“All right, nigga, where the money?”

“Nigga, look behind the third pictures on your right. The number is 17-23-10, the money is in there,” he said, nodding his head in the direction he just told them, ’cause he couldn’t open it himself ’cause his hand was taped together. “These niggaz so stupid, they don’t even see the video recording all this shit,” as Mr. Big fell into thought, “he said one thing for sure, if these niggaz off me, they got the same thing coming, so it’s a rude awakening.”

“Nigga, this better not be no trap either. Nigga, open the safe.”

“The money in there,” Mr. Big said, spitting blood out his mouth. As he saw Pokey open the safe and remove a bagful of money and screamed jackpot, reaching he hands inside the bag, feeling the Benjamin’s. “This what I’m talking ’bout!” Pokey screamed. Now what was so hard ’bout this? See, all this shit that went down could have been avoided, but Na’ll you wanna play big man. Now look, we still got the money.”

“Yeah, you got the money, now what?” Mr. Big said.

“Hey, Rim, Lo-P, y’all check behind the rest of these pictures, and make sure this nigga ain’t holding out.”

“Man, you got what you came for, and that’s it,” Mr. Big said. “That’s close to a mil right there, nigga. Come on, I know you got more than this, you sitting too pretty, just to be sitting on close to a mil.”

“You gonna believe what you want, so fuck it, once they finished looking behind the pictures,” Pokey told them to take the bag and wait on him at the car, he gotta have a word solo with Mr. Big. As he watched his two friends leave, he told Mr. Big to have a seat, pulling the chair out for him. Mr. Big limped over and took a seat as instructed. Once seated, he kept his eyes glued to Pokey as he walked around the table and sat in a chair of his own.

“So Mr. Big, a.k.a. Sterling, Pops, Dad, let me ask you a simple question, how does it feel to fall victim to your own flesh and blood? Not so good, huh?”

“Nigga, fuck you!” Mr. Big shouted. “I know that’s how you feel, so you ain’t gotta keep stressing the issue.”

“I never was shit to you, that’s why you was never around, huh?”

“Listen.”

“No, you listen!” Pokey screamed, cutting Mr. Big off. “Just know it’s a thin line between love and hate. See, I never told no one this, but while I was in prison, ’cause I tried to feed my family. An old school nigga told me he knew Uncle Sico, and that you was his older brother, and was supposed to have a son name Pokey. So I put two and two together and realized why Sico told me to call him Unc, and now why momma hated him, it’s because of you. But what made mad sense was when he said the woman he had a son by was name Queen. Right then I knew it was me, and still to this day I never told a soul ’bout this but you. I knew one day I would find you and repay you for shitting on me and my momma.”

“Boy, I didn’t even know you existed!” Mr. Big yelled.

“I know, maybe if you would’ve choose us over the street life, things wouldn’t be like this, but karma always comes back around and kicks you in the ass. Good thing I’m on her side,” Pokey said, pulling a Glock 40 from behind his back and pointing it at Mr. Big. As he was ’bout to pull the trigger, he stopped. “Damn, I gotta call Fatboy,” he said, dialing the number. On the first ring Fatboy answered. “Yeah.”

“All is good with me,” Pokey said.

“Damn, nigga, one second later we was gonna off this bitch and burn up.”

“Dog, we should be back in thirty minutes, so sit tight,” Pokey said.

“Um, Pok, before you go, I want you to know we got somebody else tied up, but I promise we ain’t gonna do shit till you get here.”

“All right, as long as you got shit under control, I’m cool,” Pokey said, hanging up. While Pokey was locked in on the phone, Mr. Big got up and slowly made his way up to Pokey. When Pokey finally noticed, Mr. Big was trying to pry the gun away from him, but he was too weak from the blood he done lost.

As Pokey pushed him down, Mr. Big started pleading, “Look, I swear I didn’t know you was my son. Anyways, y’all got what y’all came for, so let bygone be bygone.”

“Come on, old man, do I look stupid to you? I know if I let you live, you coming for me, and I can’t take that chance. These streets will now belong to me,” Pokey said.

“Man, I promise I won’t fuck with you, that’s my word.”

“Yeah, and promises are made to be broken, right?” As he watched his own son raise the gun, he heard the words. “You showed no love, you will receive none.”

“Wait, wait,” Mr. Big said, stalling for time. “I’ll make you a deal, you already have, and you just don’t know it. I win, you lose. I’m your blood, you just gonna off your own father over money,” he cried.

“Na’ll, this ain’t really about money, and this is something personal, between me and you. You was never around, so why try to be now?” Pokey said, letting a lone tear slip down his cheek. As he raised the pistol again, this time not to be sidetracked with all the talking, he lowered the gun from his face and shot him in the chest three times. Boom, boom, boom, the Glock 40 sang out in frustration. As Mr. Big felt the bullets enter his body, he said a quick prayer, “God, help me please.” As he watched his own son leave him to die, as he struggled to breath, he had one thing on his mind, “If I can only make it to the phone, sitting on the table, I’ll probably make it,” he said, trying to pull himself up as he struggled to breathe. It was hard, but through all the pain, he reached the phone and dial a number. On the first ring Sico picked up, knowing the number by heart.