"You ready? A'ight, let's get it."
>•<
30 clip, drop his whip, whoa
And ain't no cheat codes,
got a lot of bullets, let's reload
July 7, 2018
Today marked three years since Alionna's fateful departure from earth. Her anniversary usually had Michael cooped inside of his home, phone set on Do Not Disturb, and wallowing in his grief. But today was much different. Instead of doing those things, he brought himself to Inglewood Park Cemetery earlier that morning, and had an hour long moment of silence with just himself and his deceased wife. He's shared a few expressions as though she could hear him, but he knew she could in some spiritual way and it was by the little things of nature like the wind blowing or a leaf from the tree falling onto his shoulder from it's limb.
He missed her dearly and wished she could be here with him in the flesh, but knew deep down inside, it was never destined to be the way he would want it to be. He has finally moved on and found the woman of his dreams. And as a sign of approval from Alionna, the wind brushed up against his chiseled face once more as her way of saying to go on and be happy with his new found love. He deserves it. When he said his final goodbyes to her, he placed the bouquet of dandelions (her favorite flowers) over her vault, kissing the tips of his fingers and placing them on top of the warm cement. As he walked away, it felt as though it may be the last time he'd ever get to visit her gravesite again.
After his visitation, he and Yalayla found themselves at the Bank of America in downtown Los Angeles that afternoon and did what needed to be done. Collecting a total of twenty thousand in cash, they've managed to escape the scene yet barely got away. This time around, their chances of going unnoticed were now slim to none.
Michael and Yalayla then met up at Jernard's place to come to some solution to get rid of his car to keep the police off their tails. Prayerfully, the police didn't get the license plate number during the chaos in downtown and Jernard's homeboy Skeet came by and picked up the car-with the assistance of a partner of his-taking it to whatever location all the while loaning him the car he had driven over to the house in for Michael to use. Michael was appreciative for all he has done for him and let it be known before Skeet finally left for good.
Sitting in the living area of Jernard's home he shared with his family who were out visiting extended family, Michael pulls out his phone, checking the time which read 6:04p.m. on its screen.
"I have to meet this nigga in six more hours to give him this fuckin' money. Cordae has to hit me up when it's time so I'll know the location."
"Have you spoken to him since y'all left from Bank of America?" Jernard asked him, taking a pull from his blunt he rolled up mintues ago.
Michael shook his head. "Nah. I'm just waitin'. I guess he just gon' let me know somethin' when it's close to the time."
"So you hittin' up that rich man's crib again, huh?"
"Yeah. That's where Yaya gon' be at 'til I get this money to Slim Don."
Yalayla's face contorted in confusion hearing her man's response. "Wait. I thought I was comin' with you, Mike? That nigga may try some foul shit on you and you may need me there."
"Baby, I got this. Everything gon' go smooth. I promise you. He gets the money he wants, nobody dies tonight. Plain and simple."
"I mean," Jernard shrugged, taking another pull from his blunt before blowing out a huge cloud of smoke into the air. "She got a point. I don't know dude from Adam, and I don't trust him either. All I can say is, if you go alone to handle this, strap up on everything and move accordingly. These niggas shiesty out here, bruh."
"Look, I know all that. I witnessed him murder my wife to know this already. Trust me, I got this," Michael reassured them both. "And Yaya, if it ever comes down to it, I know that you'd kill for a nigga anyday, ma. Don't stress. I'ma be good."
"I hear you, Mike," she sighed, seeming unconvinced by his words.
"Then hear me good when I say that shit then." Michael stood up from the sofa with his hand held out for Yalayla to take as he helped her to her feet.
"'Bout to dip?" Asked Jernard, flicking the access ashes of his blunt into the ashtray resting on the arm of the sofa.
"Yeah," Michael answered. "While we got time, we can count this money and see how much is together before I do what I gotta do. I wanna make sure that nigga got everything he asked for so I can go on 'bout my fuckin' life."
"Hm, what about your revenge? You still down for that, right?"
Michael's doe like eyes were staring at Jernard with such intensity as thoughts begun to run rampant through his head. No words were exchanged from either of them. The silence of their communication was all they needed.
>•<
July 8, 2018
Time passed by and Yalayla and Michael were at the Santa Ynez mansion where they were done counting the stacks of money that equalled to one hundred and ten thousand dollars with the jewelry included (worth thirty thousand as Cordae predicted). It was now thirty minutes passed midnight and Michael had become too antsy. A part of him felt the need to text Cordae, but he didn't want to come off as overbearing so he continued to wait...while pacing the floors of the master bedroom.
"Baby, chill," Yalayla stressed, eyeing her boyfriend for the longest time. "I'm sure he just tryin' to get some shit straight before hittin' you up."
"I'm straight, ma. Just wanna get this money to this nigga."
"He gon' text you." She assured him.
And as soon as those words left from her mouth, Michael's phone chimed indicating he had recieved a text message.
Cordae - Pull up.
Flipping his burner phone closed, Michael locked his eyes on his woman. "That was him."
"Well, do what you need to do," Yalayla tells him, rising to her feet from the bed with the duffle bag in tow. She reaches it towards Michael as he takes it from her grasp, holding the black bag by its shorter straps it provided.
"Oh, I will." He stated with confidence but there was a hint of something else behind those words he spoke. Michael leans in just enough to kiss her lips tenderly before pulling away with a small of a smile on his face.
"Be careful."
He licked his lips and nodded at her words. "I am."
Mintues later, he makes it to 212 Artesia Boulevard to see Cordae's truck parked inside out as usual. Normally, he'd have light of the back door on, shining bright enough to see from the front of the house, but tonight, it wasn't on. And for some odd reason, an eerie feeling washed over Michael as he exited the car and made his way to the back of the house. After sending the door several knocks with no answer, Michael let's himself in, calling out to Cordae.
"Dae Dae, I'm here! And why the fuck you got it so dark in this bitch for?"
Feeling around for the light switch he remembered was on the wall near the front door, Michael flicked on the lights illuminating the entire living room, but almost loses his shit seeing a trail of blood coming from the direction of the kitchen. Quickly, he makes a dash into the next room, turning on the lights and what he sees before him made him not only panic, but angry at the same time. Cordae's lifeless body was seated in a chair with the front of his body lying face down on the table in a pool of his own blood that was continuously leaking from the edge of it.
"Fuck!" Michael yelled, punching a hole into the wall near him. "Fuck, bruh!"
From the distance Michael stood, it was clear to see the two holes on each side of Cordae's head that seemed to have been caused by a point blank range shot. Michael could only shake his head and slip out obscenities every few seconds with an expression and now a feeling of sorrow. At that moment, he wanted to cry yet he didn't. He just sucked it up and gathered his emotions. Crazy how it would have been something Cordae would have told him to do anyway. But this hurt him. It pained him more than anything because this was a man willing to help him no matter the cost and it has costed him his life.
Michael will forever be grateful for all he has done for him, but to lose his life in the end for the sake of it didn't feel right to him. Michael and Cordae developed a good rapport within a week. At first, it started off a bit rocky because of Michael's hesitancy, but as time went on, he knew that Cordae was a genuine soul. He never given Michael a reason to not trust him. He was the reason why his wife escaped the lifestyle she wanted out of. He has gone to extreme measures for others and if Michael knew any better, it was safe to say that Cordae cared about him because of Alionna.
But the question that lingered in the back of Michael's mind was who murdered him? The answer was plain and simple for he had an idea of who the suspect is.
Glancing at Cordae's body once more, Michael hadn't noticed the white college rule paper taped on his back. His brows furrowed as he made his way closer, snatching it off him to read what's written on it.
Niggas who play both sides, get bullets on both sides of the head. You could be next.
S.D.
Slim Don was the one who texted him to pull up just so that Michael could get an idea that he was next in line. His phone chimed and he hastily removed it from his back pocket. It was a text from yours truly still using Cordae's burner phone.
Cordae - Meet me under the bridge east of Slauson in twenty minutes. If you late, you deal with the consequences, nigga.
>•<
"Cordae is dead?!" Yalayla exclaimed over the phone. "What the fuck, bruh?"
"Yeah, he's dead and that nigga Slim is the one who done it. I knew something wasn't right. I kept gettin' this bad feeling when Cordae didn't text me on time like he said he would. This shit is bogus, for real, bruh."
"It honestly is," she agreed with him. "Where are you now?"
"I gotta meet this nigga on East Slauson under the bridge. That's where he wanna get his money."
"Michael, I don't trust that nigga. He might pull some fuck shit on you and murk yo' ass like he did Ali and now Cordae. This is why I wanted to roll with you to give him the money. He obviously cannot be trusted."
"And you think I don't know this shit by now, Yaya?" Michael voice had rose, but he lowered it realizing what just occured. "Look, I'm sorry for raising my voice. But I know you said you'd kill for me. I will blame myself if I allowed you to come and you get killed by this nigga. I'm not havin' that shit. I told you I already lost one person, I don't wanna go through that bullshit again. I love you too fucking much for that, Yalayla."
"I know...but-"
"But nothin'," Michael interrupted her. "You gon' stay at the mansion, and when this is all over, we gon' dip. A'ight?"
There was a long pause before Yalayla's voice spoke up again. "Alright."
After making two left turns and traveling down a long road, Michael could see the bridge from afar where Slim Don told him to meet. He cruised his way over to see the same 2012 Impala, glossed black coated with the twenty-four inched Forgiatos rims from three years ago. Looking at that car, flashbacks of that night reoccurred for him. Parking several feet away as he left the car running, Michael reaches over to the passenger seat and retrieves the black duffle bag of money and jewelry. He closed the door behind him as he stepped out and walked a few feet closer as his eyes remained on the black Impala, seeing the passenger and driver doors opening.
Standing in the flesh was Slim Don and one of his partners who was the obvious driver. This was the very first time Michael has ever gotten to put a face to the notorious name after all these years. He was not a bad looking guy and he definitely had the aura of a true gangster and pimp. He definitely looked like someone that should not be fucked with, but Michael could care less about any of that. Slim Don takes a few steps closer himself before stopping right in front of his car, his hands going behind his back.
Before giving him the money, Michael asks him, "why you killed Cordae?"
"You saw the note I left on that fat ass nigga's back," Slim Don answered, swiping his thumb across his nose. "But the real answer is, 'cause I found out he helped our wife leave me. Can't be cordial with people like that."
Michael's jaw clenched then unclenched hearing him say our wife as if they'd shared her. Not even saying anything in response, Michael tosses the duffle bag as far as it could go.
"Everything you want is in that bag." He cautiously watches Slim Don walk up to it and kneeling down, opening it to see all its contents inside.
Slim Don nodded in approval. "A'ight. Looks about right."
"So we good now? I got places to be."
"Yeah," Slim Don nodded once more. "We real good."
Just when Michael turned around on his heels to leave, he stopped in his tracks causing himself to turn around with a glare in his eyes, hearing Slim Don's voice talking behind him. His words, they were like fire and they fueled whatever fire Michael have had in him for three long years.
"I should have killed yo' ass with that bitch that night. Tsk tsk. Stupid move on my part. But it's never too late to finish what I started."
Bullets.
They started to fly every which way as Michael thought quickly on his feet and zig zagging to hide behind his car. Luckily, he had his gun on him for protection or else, he would have been another lost cause. More bullets rang out and it seemed as though Slim Don's partner started aiming at Michael as well. With experience from years ago on how to use a gun in every way that could kill a person on sight, Michael used those skills he learned by reappearing from behind the car-crouched down-and hitting the other guy three times in the chest area. His body fell limp to the concrete ground.
Slim Don hid behind the black Impala, peeking from behind and shooting out more bullets. More shots fired on Michael's end as he almost succeeded in hitting Slim Don in the center of his face had he not moved away in time. Back and forth they went which lasted another minute and a half until Michael grew tired and stood up. He was always known for being bold, and this was definitely a bold move as he walked from behind the car until he made his way to the other side where Slim Don was. Taking notice of what was going on, he, too, rose to his feet and gradually made his way to the front of his car, meeting Michael halfway until they were both standing a mere four feet away from one another.
With a smirk upon his face, Slim Don, lowers his gun down seeing that Michael had already done it. "So you big and bad now, nigga?"
"Nah. If yo' ass gon' kill me, then be 'bout that shit. I don't got time going back and forth in a shooting match."
Slim Don started laughing then stopped abruptly and replied, "I rather watch you suffer first."
"You takin' my wife and unborn seed made me suffer long enough for three years, bruh," Michael told him truthfully. "Check this. If I die first, I lose. I took two L's already. They say three times the charm so, I win this time."
Before Slim Don could react, his eyes widen and dilated with his mouth falling open with his hands clutching the front of his neck as he drops to his knees on the ground. Michael just stands there watching in rage seeing his body bend backwards taking his last breath. But that wasn't the end for Michael who emptied the rest of his clip-overkill is what it's called. He places his gun in his back pocket and goes over to grab the duffle bag that was sitting on the ground next to Slim Don's deceased body.
As though his words could be heard upon dead ears, he says in gravelly tone, "you lose, motherfucka."
Spitting on him, Michael makes his way to his still running vehicle, the sounds of police sirens being heard from a distance.
>•<
"I killed him, Nard."
"You did it?" Jernard queried.
"Yeah," confirmed Michael. "Can't lie, that shit felt too fuckin' good, bruh."
"Damn. So you got the money now? It's yours?"
"Yep. But look, I wanna give you a cut of it, though. You helped me a lot with finding out Ali's killer."
"Nah, bruh. Keep that shit for you and Yaya. I'm straight."
"You bein' serious?"
"Dead ass," Jernard chuckled. "I don't want a cut. What I done wasn't much, but it was from the heart. And you may need that money for you and Yaya to get away by tonight."
Michael brows knitted together in confusion. "Why you say that shit?"
"'Cause the feds are lookin' for both y'all asses. It's all over the news, bruh..."
Back at the mansion, Michael greets Yalayla in the bedroom in a rush, catching her off guard. Him barging into the room spooked her.
"You good, babe?"
"We gotta leave. Like, now, Yaya."
Growing concerned, she couldn't help herself and ask, "what happened?" Her eyes followed his every move as he was gathering some of their belongings to take with them.
"I finally killed that nigga Slim Don and now the money is ours. But Nard just told me the feds are on our ass so, we gotta move 'round and quickly. We can't stay here any longer."
"Baby, what-" she couldn't even continue her sentence as he cut her off.
"Yaya, pack yo' shit so we can leave. We gotta get outta here by tonight. C'mon!"
Without much so of a response, Yalayla does what she is told as she and Michael gathered all their belongings, double checking to not leave anything behind for evidence that they've been trespassing.
Within mintues, they've made their way downstairs and through the front door not caring to lock up behind themselves. The only thing that was on their minds while they hopped into the car was getting away.
>•<
i do not have covid. i have both vaccines but i do have a fever of 100.2. i feel like shit. i was trying to edit this shit last night and became agitated because of my illness so i dosed off to sleep. but i wanted to get this chapter out by the weekend but here it is earlier than planned. i knew with the way im feeling it wouldnt have gotten published at all so yall caught me at a good time. i just wanna rest. im burning up in this bihh rn and the air is blasting 😭.