Monday, December 17, 2012

All Money Ain't Good Money - Episode 9

     10 minutes ago
Elyssa, the badass Alpha Angel, stood on her own feet after the fight, pushing Jackie's dead ass body off her like so much garbage, which that bitch was. She paid the price for an attempted double-cross; her life. I patched El's leg up with a first aid kit we kept in the house and tried to make it as clean as I could. Lamar held her hand the whole time I dug a few shots out from her leg. She didn't scream.

      5 minutes ago
El and Lamar drive south with no direction as I take the motorcycle to duval's crib. I told her to drive until the gas ran out and I'd follow as soon as I could. She knew this fight was personal to me, and she knew she had to get our son as far away as she could.
I gave my boy a hug and kiss. My whole reason for living these past nine years. I'll make sure after tonight, he'll never have to go thru this bullshit again.
Elyssa? Can't help but be mad at her a bit for all of this. It's the past, but if she would've just came to me first with her troubles, opened up to me a little more, we could've handled this together. Fuck yeah my marriage to that other bitch was an attempt for me to move on, get a real life for our kid, do something. Guess I failed at that. 

I drive to the nigga's house, stomp through the front door, and know one to greet me. Now that's a huge fucken surprise. I'd have thought he'd have a bunch of his boys running interference like some movie thug. Duval's voice blaring over the intercom isn't a surprise.

“Bring yo ass to the living room, nigga. I got a fresh bag of tricks just for ya, nigga!”

Ain't gotta tell me twice.

I make my way to Duval's living room. He's waiting for me and dressed for a fight: jeans, boots, tank top, his hands wrapped. None of that's gonna help. He smiles that shitty cheshire grin, and I'm gonna enjoy knocking that shit off his face.

“What it do, nephew. Always told you a ho makes you weak. Can't make a ho a housewife, you know that rule.” He points to the couch. “El knows how to work a nigga on that couch, let me tell ya. All latinas know how to bounce those hips and ass.” He mocks me as he makes humping motions in the air, and I lose it.

I rush him like a defensive tackle, ramming him into the wall and headbutting him in the face. Blood pours out his nose and I smash an elbow to his nose. Tough bastard takes it. He turns the fight around by kneeing me in the jimmy, and it's my turn to drop.

“Family feud, just the way I like it, babyboy!” He kicks me in my side. I feel something move that pisses my body off big time. Pain shoots through my side.“Damn mutts in the fam always got on my fuckin' nerves. Didn't know if I should've said nigga, spic, peck, or trog to you lil muthafuckas!”

He kicks me some more in the same spot, making my body disagree with each kick. He yanks me up by my shirt. It hurts to stand. “Been waiting for you to come back. Knew you'd always need one more thing from me, so I took something from you.”

He socks me in the face, still hanging on to my shirt.

“I took your girl.”

He does it again.

“I took your dignity!”

And again.

“I took your wife, nigga!”

I laugh at that one.

“You can have the fat fuck.” I spit in his face and he socks me again, this time letting me go and I fall on my knees. Duval kneels beside me. It's his turn to laugh.

“Check it, nephew.” He grabs my chin and points it in the direction of the patio. Standing in the doorway is Wilda, wearing a tight black dress and tons lighter. She's posing like some porn star, but to me, she'll always be that piece of shit who didn't try. She walks to us, squats in front of me, and pokes her finger on my forehead.

“Mmm. Love a man on his knees. Don't know about the man part, far as your sorry ass is concerned.” She slaps me, and I laugh some more. That pisses her off and she slaps me again. Pushing Duval's hand from my face, she grabs me by the chin and comes face to face with me. “Sick fuck, I forgot you like the rough shit. Is it that funny, baby?”

“Not as funny as this.” I headbutt her on her nose, causing blood to explode everywhere and she falls back. I swing an elbow on Duval's chin, stunning him. I pick him up by the shirt and knee him in the nuts. Pay back.

I turn to Wilda and push her down with my shoe as she tries to get back up. Years of anger boil over as I look at her. She looks at me, the anger in my eyes making her tremble. I see Duval slowly getting up from the corner of my eye and I kick him in the side several times so he stays down. Wilda jumps on my back, screaming and cursing and slapping me on the head. I flip her over my shoulder and slam the fuck out of her on the floor. I mount her, death-gripping her throat.

“You're right. I'm a hella sick fuck! Tired of tramps like you and Duval fuckin' wit my life while I'm trying to do good!” I spit in her face and whisper in her ear: “This is how sick fucks do work.”

I unload bombs on her sorry ass for 10 seconds. Every hit draws blood and crunches and memories: of “my kid”; of me wasting my time for two and a half years on a lazy fuckless bitch; her hurtful words as she waddled out the door after Christmas.

I wipe my bloody hands on her dress before standing and turning back to Duval, who's staggered back to his feet. Nigga swings a wild haymaker and misses. My front kick doesn't, slamming him into the wall. We talk as I grip his throat.

“We're done, without question. You tried to keep me in something I didn't want a part of anymore. Just wanted some help from fam, get mine, and I'm done. This shit is your fault. Now you have beef with your Phoenix crew. They'll be blood, and I won't be around for it. Too bad. I'd like to see who's left standing.” Duval glares, is silent, and pissed off. “After today, leave me the fuck alone. My family, me, my son, Elyssa. We have this talk again, I'm bringing this whole operation down. You taught me well, and you know I'll do it.”

“That I did, nephew,” he chuckles between painful coughs. “That I did. Now get the fuck outta her before you piss me off and I forget we're blood.” Shit, from everything that's happened, I'd say we forgot. I'm walking out the door when I see a dufflebag full of cash sitting in the middle of the floor. I pick it up and toss it at his feet.

“That's yours, mutt. You earned it.” He kicks the bag back at me and lands by my feet.

“Nope. Remember that crucial lesson? All money ain't good money. Wipe your ass with it for all I care.”

He laughs at me as I walk off. A gun goes off, my left leg goes numb, and fucken wicked pain shoots through my body. Goddamit! I drop to my right leg from big time pain, turning on it to see Wilda—beaten and bloody--pointing a gun at my face. This is the last bitch I was hoping who'd end my life.

Another shot. Fingers, blood, the gun, and a very high scream fly from Wilda.

Another shot. A bullet rips through Duval's left shoulder and he hollers like a bitch.

I look slowly in the direction of the shooter, thinking it's the police and I'm fucked. It's something better. My alpha angel.


But the surprise comes from me seeing who's holding the smoking gun.


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