Animal 2 (19 page)

“I hear you been real busy, Zo-Pound,” Detective Brown said over his shoulder. He was in the passenger seat of their notorious Buick.

“I keep telling y'all, I don't know what you talking about. Stop speaking in riddles and shoot straight with me,” Zo said.

“OK, how's this for shooting straight? We know you killed Rick Jenkins, and we're going to make sure you fry for it,” Detective Alvarez said from behind the wheel.

“Who?” Zo asked, as if he had no idea who they were talking about.

“You think you're fucking cute, huh?” Brown turned around in his seat and tried to stare Zo down.

Zo blew him a kiss.

“Fucking little punk.” Brown leaned over the seat and started hitting Zo in the ribs with a blackjack.

“Cool the fuck out before you make me crash.” Alvarez kept one hand on the wheel and tried to pull his partner off Zo with the other one.

“You just keep talking slick, and you ain't gonna have to worry about a trial, because we gonna hold court in the streets.” Brown gave Zo another whack with the blackjack before returning to his seat.

“Zo, you don't have to play tough. Big brother Lakim isn't here to see you, so you don't have to keep up the front,” Alvarez told him. “Look, we know you, Zo. You're a gangsta, but you ain't no cold-blooded killer. That's Lakim's MO. You're a working dude who's just having a hard time, and it's forced you to make some poor decisions. We get that. The way we figure it, if you put Rick Jenkins to sleep, you had to be in a position where you didn't have a choice. So what really happened in that motel room?”

“I keep telling you that I don't know anybody named Rick Jenkins, and I haven't been to any motels,” Zo said.

“Well, we've got a witness that says different,” Brown said. “Picked up a chick for boosting, and she traded a bit of info for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Seems she was in the motel room with Rick that night when a guy of about your height and build kicked in the motel-room door, armed with a three-fifty-seven.”

Zo's mind went back to the girl he'd spared, and he wished that he'd killed her, too. “No loose ends,” he said to himself.

“What was that?” Brown asked.

“I said I don't know what you're talking about. That could've been anybody,” Zo said.

“Right, it could've been, but I doubt it,” Alvarez said. “Most of these little shitheads do their dirty work with automatics. There are very few who are still running around shooting revolvers like it's the Old West. The jig is up, Zo. If you come
clean, I'll talk to the DA and see what I can do. Maybe we can get it reduced to self-defense. You do a dime, and you're back on the streets in no time.”

Zo laughed. “Man, you want me to hang myself? Now, that's a new one. I'll tell you like this. Fuck you and the nigga sitting next to you. Y'all wanna hang a murder conviction on me, you gonna have to earn it.”

“OK, Buster Bad Ass,” Brown said smugly. “We'll do it your way. We're gonna take you to the precinct and put you in a lineup while we're waiting for your prints to come back off those shell casings. If the witness can't convict you, I'm willing to bet modern science can.”

“Whatever, nigga,” Zo said, and tried to get as comfortable as he could in the backseat with his hands cuffed. Outwardly, he didn't have a care in the world, but inside, his heart was racing. He was almost sure that he'd been wearing gloves the night he loaded up to go out, but he wasn't one-hundred-percent sure. There was no telling what would come back once they ran his prints, and it had him spooked. He just hoped they'd let him get his mandatory phone call so he could contact King James's lawyer. He had to get out of there before the prints came back.

The police radio squawked as a transmission came through from the dispatch. “Reports of possible machine-gun fire in the Hunt's Point area of the Bronx . . .”

“Who the fuck could be shooting machine guns in the Bronx?” Brown thought out loud.

“If I had to guess, I'd say it was one of his homies.” Alvarez nodded toward Zo-Pound, who looked nervous. “I say we go and check it out.”

“What about this idiot?” Brown asked. He wanted to get Zo back to the precinct and booked so he could question him further.

“Fuck it, let's take him along for the ride,” Alvarez said.

“You think that's a good idea?” Brown asked.

“Where the fuck is he gonna go? We'll leave him handcuffed and locked in the car while we investigate. Unless his last name is Houdini, he'll keep until we get back.”

“It's your call, partner,” Brown said, grabbing the handset off the dashboard. “This is car one-eighty-seven, show us responding.”

•  •  •

Once inside, the three shooters fanned out. Dave took the right, Will the left, and Chess down the middle. The plan was to drive Ashanti out into the center and overwhelm him.

Dave moved cautiously down the right wall of the warehouse, clutching a Mac 11. His eyes scanned the dark corners and nooks on the oversized shelves, alert for anything out of place. The warehouse hadn't been used in quite some time, but it was still cluttered with trash and abandoned containers. Some were even big enough to hide a man, so there was no telling where Ashanti might pop up from.

A can clanked to the left. Dave spun and saw someone moving between the aisles. Reflexively, his finger tapped the trigger of the Mac 11. The bullets looked like fireflies, whisking through the dark and ripping through their target. Holding the machine gun at the ready, Dave moved in to finish him off. That's when Dave realized that it wasn't a man he'd assassinated but a mannequin draped in a dry-rotted dress.

“You missed, muthafucka.” A voice came from behind
Dave. He turned and found himself staring down the barrel of a .357.

Dave dropped his gun and raised his hands in surrender. “Fam, I'm jus' the help. Can I get a pass?”

Ashanti weighed it. “Fuck yo pass.” He pulled the trigger and blew Dave's brains out. Before the body hit the ground, Ashanti was already moving in on his next target.

•  •  •

Chess dropped to a crouch and held his weapon at the ready when he heard the gunshots. Unlike Dave and Will, he was a soldier, and battle was his element. This was the reason Ty had asked Chess to come along. He knew that he wouldn't flinch or hesitate when it came time to spill blood. What he didn't know was that Chess was planning on double-crossing him and keeping the fifty thousand for himself.

“And then there were three.” Ashanti taunted him from the darkness. His voice echoed off the warehouse walls, so Chess couldn't figure out exactly where it was coming from.

“Why don't you stop hiding like a lil' bitch and let's square off?” Chess swept his gun back and forth, looking for movement in the shadows.

“I've got a better idea. Why don't you get the fuck out of here while you still can?” Ashanti countered. “If you leave now, I won't send you home to your mama missing your face.”

“Sorry, but I got fifty thousand reasons to stay.” Chess tightened his grip on the gun.

“Fifty stacks? Swann must want me dead pretty bad if that's what he dropped.” Ashanti chuckled. “Ever ask yourself why he's so eager to silence me? What do I know that's worth fifty thousand to keep it from getting out?”

“Can't say that I know or care, but those fifty stacks will make a hell of a difference in my life right now,” Chess told him. From his peripheral vision, he could see faint movement between one of the shelves and an oversized container on his left.

“Not if you don't live long enough to collect it. This is your last warning. Leave or get peeled,” Ashanti told him.

“I think I'll take my chances.” Chess fired in the direction of Ashanti's voice.

“Fuck!” Chess heard Ashanti yell.

Chess saw Ashanti hobbling in the darkness, trying to escape, but he wouldn't be denied. He fired twice more, hitting him in the back and dropping him.

“Got you, lil' nigga.” Chess moved in on the injured Ashanti. He was crawling on his belly, trying to escape. Chess shot him in the back of the thigh. “You ain't talking big shit no more, are you?” He flipped him over, ready to finish him off. Chess was shocked to see that it was Will and not Ashanti whom he had shot.

“Fuck,” was all Chess could say when he felt the cold touch of the .357 behind his ear.

“With no Vaseline,” Ashanti said sinisterly.

“As soon as you touch that trigger, I'm gonna touch your bitch.” Ty stepped from behind a tall shelf. He was holding Fatima in a reverse choke hold, keeping her body between him and Ashanti.

Seeing his girl hemmed up made Ashanti furious. “You bitch-ass coward.” He turned his gun on Ty. “I'll rock yo faggot ass if you touch my lady!”

Ty huddled further behind Fatima and put his gun to her
temple. “All that tough shit sounds good, but you and I both know you don't wanna see this bitch's brains. Now, stop fronting like you don't love this ho and put that hammer down, before I feel it necessary to motivate you.” He cocked the hammer back with his thumb.

Ashanti felt like he had just been kicked in the chest, seeing Fatima in the clutches of danger, knowing he had put her there. In his mind, he could hear Animal's voice the day he first taught him how to shoot a gun.
In battle, your weapon is your best friend. Never surrender your gun, even if it means the death of one of your homies. You keep your strap and avenge him another day.
Until that moment, Ashanti had always taken everything Animal said as the gospel without a second thought, but this was different. It wasn't one of the homies, it was his girl.

“A'ight.” Ashanti held the gun up. Slowly, he placed it on the ground.

Now that Ashanti was disarmed, Chess rediscovered his courage. He picked the .357 up and held it like a club, barrel first, and approached Ashanti. “So you was gonna fuck me with no Vaseline, huh?” He slapped Ashanti in the head with the butt of the gun and dropped him. “Before I kill your bitch ass, I'm gonna make you hurt,” Chess promised, and began stomping the life out of Ashanti.

•  •  •

“That's enough!” Ty shouted. “Bring his lil' ass over here where I can see him.”

The shooter dragged the bloodied Ashanti by his shirt across the floor over to where Ty was standing with Fatima and tossed him at Ty's feet. Ty shoved Fatima to the side and hovered over Ashanti.

“So this is the protégé, the one they say was next in line to play the role of the boogey man.” Ty shook his head sadly. “Look at you now.” He kicked Ashanti in the face.

Ashanti pushed himself up on his knuckles and spit blood onto the floor. “You got me, and that's what it is. Soldiers understand the rules, but my lady is a civilian. Let her go.”

Ty twisted his lips. “Yo, what is it with all you niggaz and these broads? First Animal and now you. When are you gonna learn that in war, a chick is only good for two thing: making you lose focus or crippling you with grief when you watch her die over your bullshit.” He turned the gun on Fatima.

“No!” Ashanti screamed at the top of his lungs, but his voice was overshadowed by another sound: the loud roar of an engine.

The window overlooking the spot where they were standing was suddenly flooded with light. Against the glare, a silhouette formed. It was a dark angel, wings spread and menacing as it swooped ever closer.

“Sweet Jesus.” One of the shooters gasped.

“Not Jesus. The Reaper,” Ashanti corrected him, before tackling Fatima to the ground and out of harm's way.

•  •  •

Paulie hated the fact that Ty had left him on guard duty while the others got to join in the hunt for Ashanti. From the amount of money Swann had put on his head, he knew the kid was someone important, and it would've looked good on his résumé if he had been the one to take him down.

“I never get to see any action,” Paulie said in disgust, and sat on a milk crate in front of the warehouse.

Paulie spotted something coming in the direction of the
warehouse. Curiously, he got up and squinted to get a better look at whoever was approaching. At first, Paulie thought it might've been the police or reinforcements, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a lone motorcycle. Whoever it was wasn't the police, and he damn sure wasn't with Ty's crew.

Paulie let off a burst of shots that perforated the dirt around the motorcycle. The rider swerved but kept coming. Paulie squeezed again, this time managing to hit the bike, shredding the front tire. Expertly, the rider popped a wheelie and continued coming at Paulie on one wheel. Paulie tried to fire again, but the gun jammed. It took him three attempts before he was able to dislodge the bullet, and by then, it was too late. Paulie let out a blood-curdling scream as the motorcycle tore up through his chest and his face when the rider used him as a human ramp.

E
VERYTHING SEEMED TO MOVE IN
slow motion. The window exploded in a magnificent spray of glass when a ball of smoke and flame crashed through it. Against the backdrop of moonlight, a sneering gold and diamond grille became visible in the smoke. Animal swooped in like a dark horseman mounted on a pink demon steed. His arms were outspread, clutching the Pretty Bitches as he threw himself from the bike.

Ty dove for cover, but Chess wasn't as quick to react. The motorcycle hit him and dragged him screaming across the floor, pinning him in a corner. Animal hit the ground in a roll and came up holding his Pretty Bitches. Chess was in his sights and at his mercy. “Die,” he hissed, and pulled the triggers. One by one, the guns flared to life, expelling vengeful hellfire from the barrels.

The bullets tore through Chess's neck and torso, with the last one hitting him between his eyes. Before his light was snuffed out, his last thoughts were of the fifty thousand dollars he'd never get a chance to double-cross Ty for.