to the side of the head that almost knocked him out. Before he knew what was going on, the stock boy had retrieved the Colt and was now aiming it at him.
“El Pogo is gonna pay me top dollar for your thieving ass head,” the boy told him, just before his shoulder exploded. With a shocked expression, he collapsed to the ground. As Cowboy passed him, he popped the kid once more in the face.
“Yo, Cowboy…” Rico began.
“I don’t even wanna hear it,” Cowboy cut him off. “Lets just get the fuck outta here,” he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit. On the way out, he stopped in front of the young man who had come into the store. Pointing his gun to his head he asked him, “What did you see?”
“Not a mutha fucking thing!” the kid said, with his hands in the air.
“Good answer,” Cowboy replied before hitting the street, running.
SEVEN
One thing life walking the shadows had taught Duce was patience. Shortly after speaking with the crack head, Duce found himself a cut and waited. It didn’t take long for Marsha to show herself. She came out of the building strolling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was dressed in a pair of pajama pants with her hair wrapped in a scarf so he knew there was no need to follow her. Wherever she was going it wouldn’t be far. Marsha was a girl who prided herself on her appearance and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere except the hood dressed like that.
When Marsha rounded the corner Duce slipped into her building. There were a few curious glances from the hustlers applying their trade, but no one questioned him. An icy chill clung to Duce that touched all he passed and common sense told them to give him a wide berth. Forgoing the elevator, Duce bounded the eleven flights of stairs. By the time he got to the top he felt a little winded. Just one more reason he needed to quit smoking. He found Marsha’s door with little to no effort. He and his brother had spent many a night at Marsha’s talking about their plans for the future. Those days were long gone and this visit was anything but a social one.
Placing an ear and the palm of his hand to the door, Duce checked for signs. There was no vibration, which would come from people moving around, and the only sound was that of the television, which had been left on a video channel. As he could tell, no one was inside. From within his pocket he produced a small case containing what he needed to get into the house.
For all the money Scott was supposed to be getting in the streets, he could’ve at least made sure Marsha had better locks. It took all of 30 seconds for Duce to gain entry into the apartment. Pistol in hand, he crept into the house, alert for signs of danger. The first place Duce checked was the bedroom. The king-sized bed was freshly made with red satin sheets, while scented candles were placed on both night stands. Apparently Marsha had a romantic evening with her baby daddy planned, but Duce would change all that. His mouth literally watered at the thought of getting Marsha and Scott at the same time.
Along the wall leading back to the living room, there were pictures of Marsha and her son over the years. From what Duce assumed was the most recent pictures, the boy looked to be about four or five. His guess was that Marsha had probably gotten pregnant by Scott just before or immediately after Knowledge’s murder. “Death before dishonor,” Duce mumbled as he casually knocked the picture to the ground, shattering the image.
Marsha’s crib was ghetto fabulous. There was nice furniture and a plasma television hanging from the wall, but the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in days. Clothes were scattered across the living room floor and something he couldn’t identify was marinating in a bowl on the coffee table. Mess aside, her shit was plush, but not as fly as when Knowledge was hitting it. This left the lingering question of
why
? The whole situation was twisted.
“El Pogo is gonna pay me top dollar for your thieving ass head,” the boy told him, just before his shoulder exploded. With a shocked expression, he collapsed to the ground. As Cowboy passed him, he popped the kid once more in the face.
“Yo, Cowboy…” Rico began.
“I don’t even wanna hear it,” Cowboy cut him off. “Lets just get the fuck outta here,” he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit. On the way out, he stopped in front of the young man who had come into the store. Pointing his gun to his head he asked him, “What did you see?”
“Not a mutha fucking thing!” the kid said, with his hands in the air.
“Good answer,” Cowboy replied before hitting the street, running.
SEVEN
One thing life walking the shadows had taught Duce was patience. Shortly after speaking with the crack head, Duce found himself a cut and waited. It didn’t take long for Marsha to show herself. She came out of the building strolling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was dressed in a pair of pajama pants with her hair wrapped in a scarf so he knew there was no need to follow her. Wherever she was going it wouldn’t be far. Marsha was a girl who prided herself on her appearance and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere except the hood dressed like that.
When Marsha rounded the corner Duce slipped into her building. There were a few curious glances from the hustlers applying their trade, but no one questioned him. An icy chill clung to Duce that touched all he passed and common sense told them to give him a wide berth. Forgoing the elevator, Duce bounded the eleven flights of stairs. By the time he got to the top he felt a little winded. Just one more reason he needed to quit smoking. He found Marsha’s door with little to no effort. He and his brother had spent many a night at Marsha’s talking about their plans for the future. Those days were long gone and this visit was anything but a social one.
Placing an ear and the palm of his hand to the door, Duce checked for signs. There was no vibration, which would come from people moving around, and the only sound was that of the television, which had been left on a video channel. As he could tell, no one was inside. From within his pocket he produced a small case containing what he needed to get into the house.
For all the money Scott was supposed to be getting in the streets, he could’ve at least made sure Marsha had better locks. It took all of 30 seconds for Duce to gain entry into the apartment. Pistol in hand, he crept into the house, alert for signs of danger. The first place Duce checked was the bedroom. The king-sized bed was freshly made with red satin sheets, while scented candles were placed on both night stands. Apparently Marsha had a romantic evening with her baby daddy planned, but Duce would change all that. His mouth literally watered at the thought of getting Marsha and Scott at the same time.
Along the wall leading back to the living room, there were pictures of Marsha and her son over the years. From what Duce assumed was the most recent pictures, the boy looked to be about four or five. His guess was that Marsha had probably gotten pregnant by Scott just before or immediately after Knowledge’s murder. “Death before dishonor,” Duce mumbled as he casually knocked the picture to the ground, shattering the image.
Marsha’s crib was ghetto fabulous. There was nice furniture and a plasma television hanging from the wall, but the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in days. Clothes were scattered across the living room floor and something he couldn’t identify was marinating in a bowl on the coffee table. Mess aside, her shit was plush, but not as fly as when Knowledge was hitting it. This left the lingering question of
why
? The whole situation was twisted.
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