Three weeks had passed since he had been with Monica and they’d become close. He realized that she was a down ass lil’ chick. After their first night together, Gangsta threw her fifteen stacks to get her gear right. He’d been wining and dining her for the past three weeks; he knew that he had her just where he wanted her. She had run everything to him about her past with Young Money. He now knew how the nigga achieved his status; now all he needed to find out was where this nigga was keeping his work. He never asked Monica about that for two reasons because he didn’t want her to think that she was part of his plot and he was waiting on Keisha’s body to be found so that he could justify his reasoning.
In the meantime, he was on another mission. That nigga Fat Joe was about to feel his wrath and he had spared that nigga on the strength his uncle fucked with dude, but the shit he pulled the other night at the club had put him on the radar. Trish was at the bar asking him about Extra, when the nigga walked up.
“Bitch, what the fuck are you doing disrespecting me and talking to this bitch ass nigga?” Fat Joe yelled.
Dude was pissy drunk; he had to be, Gangsta thought to himself, because this nigga knew how he got down. So, he let him go with the smart remarks until the nigga tripped the fuck out. He pulled his money out of his pocket and threw it in Gangsta’s face. Gangsta’s gorilla instinct went into motion and he grabbed Fat Joe by his neck and slapped him with the Heineken beer bottle he had in his hand. He saw the fear in his eyes as the bouncer pulled him off of his bitch ass and led him towards the front door.
His uncle called him the next morning, telling him that Fat Joe didn’t know who he was because he was so drunk. One of the niggas he was with told him what he did last night and he immediately got in touch with Gangsta’s uncle to let him know that he was tripping. His uncle told him to let the nigga ride on the strength of him but he’d know after tonight that Gangsta wasn’t the type to hear that shit. As he turned off of Acadian onto Boardwalk, he made a left on 32nd Street. He pulled in front of his dawg Red Johnny’s house and blew the horn.
Red Johnny was another nigga Gangsta felt that he could trust, Johnny was his silent assassin. They were from the same hood and had grown up together. Johnny had his own clique, but whenever Gangsta needed him, he was a phone call away. Johnny would occasionally get dope from Fat Joe, so the plan was to set up a buy and nap his fat, stupid ass. Johnny came out of the house with a book sack on his shoulder and jumped in the car.
“What it do, thug? Everything straight or what?” Gangsta asked.
“It’s all good, thug; I just got off the phone with that nigga and I told him that I need a nine piece.”
“Yeah, nigga, I’m gone put a nine piece in the top of that nigga’s head!” They both laughed.
“I feel you, nigga, but the nigga said we had to handle it like thirty minutes from now. That’s why I brought the book sack; I’m ready if you are.”
“Fuck it. No nuts, no glory, ya heard me!” Gangsta said, rolling off.
“Dawg, go on Edgewood so that we can jump in my shit. The nigga want to meet at Albertson’s on Airline,” Johnny said.
Johnny had a new Charger that had dark, tinted windows so that would be perfect. When they switched cars, Johnny got straight on the phone and called Fat Joe. He told him to meet him at the spot in twenty minutes and then he hung up the phone. He asked Gangsta, “How are we going to do this?”
“Thug style!” Gangsta replied.
That meant that they were gone snatch the nigga out of his shit in broad daylight. Johnny and Gangsta both lived for the action so this was going to be fun. They both had smiles on their faces as they made their way onto Airline Highway. As soon as they pulled into Albertson’s parking lot, Johnny spotted where Fat Joe had parked. He pulled on the side of him, grabbed his heat, and jumped straight out of the car with the book sack in his other hand. He hopped in Fat Joe’s car.
“What’s up, Fat Boy?” he asked, smiling.
“Look, I’m in a rush, so let’s take care of biz and be out,” Joe replied.
He didn’t see Gangsta jump out of the Charger with two guns in his hand. Fat Joe grabbed the work from under the seat and all he heard was glass shatter. When he looked up, Gangsta had the guns in his face. “Remember me, bitch ass nigga?” Gangsta yelled.
“Man, what the fuck?” Joe said in panic mode.
“Get your fat ass out of the car and move quickly,” Johnny said.
Gangsta slapped Fat Joe. “Bitch, you hear what the man said.” Then he grabbed Fat Joe by his shirt and drug him out of the car. He fell to his knees and Gangsta kicked him in his ass. “Bitch, get in the other car before I blow your fuckin’ brains out,” Gangsta demanded.
Fat Joe got up and Gangsta led him to the back door and they both got into the back seat. “Dawg, please don’t kill me, gee; you can have whatever I got, just let me slide,” he said. “Listen, nigga, I want at least a hundred stacks to spare your life,” Gangsta said while holding the guns to his temple. “You got five minutes to tell me everything you know or it’s off with your fucking head.”
“You got that, gee, but I don’t have over ninety-three stacks to my name. I got it stashed in the attics at my mom’s house on Alabama Street. Just take me there and I will get it for you.” “Jay, drop us off on 32nd Street; go to his mom’s crib and get that. If it ain’t there, call me, so I can kill this fat bitch.”
When they made it on 32nd Street, Gangsta handed him his phone. “Now call Mom’s house and let her know that Red Johnny is coming to get something for you, so let him in.”
He made the call and Sandra, his older sister, answered the phone, “Sis, where’s Mom?” Joe asked.
“She went to her doctor’s appointment, why?”
“Listen, I am about to send Red Johnny over there to get something for me. Let him in to handle that for me, alright?”
“Alright,” she said.
Gangsta grabbed the phone and hung it up. “Johnny, take care of that and call me when you’re finished,” Gangsta said, getting out of the car with the gun in Fat Joe’s back. Johnny pulled off and they made their way inside. “Dawg, tell me that you won’t kill me once you get the money.”
Gangsta slapped him with the pistol again. “Shut the fuck up and sit yo fat ass down. We’ll know all of that once the phone rings.”
Johnny made it on Alabama Street and pulled into Fat Joe’s mom’s yard. This would be the last time he came here, he thought to himself. As soon as he got out of the car, Sandra was opening up the front door. “Boy, it’s about time; hurry up ‘cause I got things to do and people to see,” she said.
“I hear you, baby girl. I won’t be but a minute,” he said, walking into the house and shutting the door behind him.
Sandra didn’t see him lock it. He walked down the hallway and spotted the attic door. He pulled a chair over and climbed up to open the attic door. The ladder fell when he opened it; he got off the chair and let the ladder fall to the floor. He went up and saw what he was looking for; it was a duffle bag lying in the corner. When he looked inside, he mumbled to himself, “Point seen, and money gone.”
He made his way down and went to see where his sister went. He heard her talking and went into the direction of her voice. Her bedroom door was open and she was lying on her stomach talking on the phone. Damn, she is fine too bad. She gotta go though. He pulled his gun out, walked behind her, and pointed the gun, and pulled the trigger four times. Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom! He picked up the phone and looked at Sandra’s head busted wide open.
“I’m sorry, but your girl is resting in peace. Heaven or Hell; choose one,” he said, laughing. He threw the phone to the wall and broke camp. When he got on North Street, he called Gangsta, “We good, my nigga!” he said and hung up as he headed in his direction.
Gangsta looked at Fat Joe with a devilish grin on his face. Fat Joe stared back at Gangsta hoping that he would let him go. “You know who that was right?” Gangsta asked.
“That was Red Jay telling you he got that issue, right?” Fat Joe replied.
Gangsta stood up. “Nah, dawg, wrong answer. That was the reaper; he just told me he wanted your soul,” Gangsta said, pointing both guns towards Fat Joe’s head. “Die, bitch nigga!” he said and squeezed the trigger five times, sending chunks of meat out of Fat Joe’s skull as he lay slumped on the couch.
Red Jay pulled into the yard and heard gunshots. “Fuck!” he yelled. “I should have waited ‘til I got down the street to call Gangsta because he wanted to see this nigga blood spill when Gangsta pushed his skull back.”
He looked around to see if anybody had heard the gunshots; the coast was clear so he made his way inside. “Nigga, why the fuck you ain’t wait for me?”
“I wanted to split this nigga myself,” Gangsta replied.
“I feel that, nigga, but I wanted to watch,” Johnny said, smiling.
“Nigga, you fucked all the way up in the head.”
“I know, nigga, but what about you?” They both laughed and Johnny dumped the contents out of the bag and there were five more keys inside. They started to count the money while Fat Joe was lying there dead. It came out to be one hundred and four stacks. Johnny pulled his gun and shot Fat Joe again.
“That’s from lying, you fat muthafucka! Man, let’s get the fuck out of here, thug. Call somebody to clean this shit up. We should dump this bitch in the cellar; he done shitted all over himself,” Johnny said.
They both laughed as they walked out of the house. As they walked to the car, Gangsta’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Monica. “What’s poppin’, baby girl?” he asked when he answered the phone.
“Hey, Daddy, I’m missing you like crazy. When are you coming home?” His phone beeped.
“Hold on, ma, let me answer the other line,” he said, clicking over. “What it do? Run yo’ mouth.”
“What’s up, my nigga?” Extra asked.
“Nothing, nigga. Me and Jay just took care of some biz,” Gangsta replied.
“Dawg, I was calling because they just found your girl and I was making sure that everything was straight. It’s time for me to pop back on the scene,” Extra said.
“I’m glad you said that, thug, because I got Monica on the other line as we speak. Meet me on Edgewood; I’ll run it down to you then,” Gangsta said.
“I’m on the way, nigga, one!” Extra said, hanging up.
Gangsta clicked back to the other line. “Sorry, boo, but you won’t believe who was on the other line.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Extra, baby girl. My nigga is still standing,” he said, sounding excited. “He told me how he got away from the bitch ass niggas and the reason your cousin got killed. Don’t trip; we definitely gonna ride for your people. Believe that. I’m ‘bout to meet him now. He gone tell me who those niggas are and we gone take it from there, alright?”
Monica started to cry on the phone. Gangsta just let her go as he listened. Then she said the magic words, “I wanna know who these niggas are, daddy; them bitches gone pay for this. I wanna be in on this ride, so don’t leave me in the dark,” she said.
“You got that, boo; let me go so I can hurry home. Cook something. I’m bringing Extra over so that we can all sit down and plan our revenge,” he said, smiling. He hung up the phone and put Johnny down on what he was about to pull off.
“Nigga, I know you down for whatever so be ready when I holla. After that we gone turn this fucking city upside down.”
“I love it when you talk that Gangsta shit, nigga!” Johnny said, smiling.
He pulled up next to Gangsta’s car on Edgewood and they sat there, smoking on hydro while waiting on Extra. “Nigga, we tripping. You forgot to call somebody to clean your crib.” Johnny hit the blunt hard. “Man, fuck that nigga and that crib. The nigga already in hell as long as he stays there.”
They both laughed hard.
“Nigga, you crazy. Call Baby June and tell him to get on top of that,” Gangsta said.
As soon as Johnny got on the phone, Extra pulled up. He got out of his ride and jumped into the back seat of the Charger. “What’s up, nigga? Pass the dro; it feels good to be back in motion again,” Extra said.
“I feel you, dawg, but the game is about to get so much sweeter. I got a couple of them thangs for you and some cheese. Here’s the deal with Monica. I’m about to tell her that Young Money was behind her cousin’s kidnapping and death. You got away from the nigga, so we gone have to scratch you up a lil’ bit, ya feel me.”
“I feel ya, nigga. Then she will really hate this nigga and want revenge and we’re the niggas who are going to give it to her,” Extra said, smiling.
“Now, we’re on the same page, my nigga, so let’s get this show on the road. We gone plot Monica’s revenge at the house with her. I promise you that she ‘bout to tell us everything that we need to know.”
Will be available on Amazon.com
In the first part of this trilogy, authors Ralph Holmes and George Johnson tell the story of Baton Rouge hustlers Gangsta and Young Money.
From the start, Gangsta, the treacherous thug is out to get money by any means necessary. He bumps heads with Young Money, the Drug Lord of the city; what starts out as a “get rich quick” scheme, turns into a bloody street war.
When they find out and put together a deeply rooted secret from Arthur Ramsey, incarcerated in Angola, that plugs the two hustlers together. They form an unstoppable click by combining their forces into one.
Take a ride with Ralph and George as they navigate their readers through the streets of BR.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS.
Ralph Holmes and George Johnson are from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. They met while incarcerated, where they both learned their gift for writing. Now released, they’re on a power driven journey to success.