Crave All Lose All (32 page)

The night went on, John-John and Red also caught cruel and untimely deaths. John-John was shot in the face six times in his car and Red was strangled and left for dead in the woods of Long Island. All over the city, Tyriq’s men were turning up dead and the authorities and the feds knew that they had a problem. The feds were bearing in mind that the men they were about to indict with federal charges were meeting a different kind of fate. That displeased the agency. The crew was dropping like dominos and suspected the Jamaicans orchestrated the murders.

 

The constant ringing of the phone infuriated Tyriq. He was naked and in the arms of Peaches. His gun wasn’t far from his reach, on a nightstand, fully loaded and cocked. The ringing disturbed Tyriq. He reached over and snatched it up, “This shit better be really fucking important for a nigga to be calling me so fucking early.”

“We need to talk,” Sgt Manny said.

“About what…?”

“Your whole crew was wiped out last night,” Sgt Manny informed.

“The fuck you talking ‘bout…?”

“Giant, Red, Loc, Malik….all dead.”

“What? By who…?” Tyriq barked.

“It was a hit against y’all, professionally done…”

“Them Jamaicans…?” Tyriq asked.

“We don’t know. It’s being investigated now. But you’re in danger. We need to link up,” Sgt. Manny said.

“Fuck!” Tyriq shouted. “Ayyite, where at…?”

Sgt. Manny gave Tyriq the location and he then hung up. Tyriq was furious but concerned for his life. His mind was racing—Malik, Red, all of them. He picked up his gun from off the nightstand and then shouted to
Peaches, “Bitch, get the fuck up!”

Peaches slowly awoke, looked over at Tyriq with droopy eyes and asked, “What the fuck happened?”

“We’re leaving outta here, get your ass dressed,” Tyriq said.

“Baby, why you so paranoid, don’t nobody know you’re here,” Peaches said rubbing her eyes.

“Bitch, I said get the fuck up and let’s go!” Tyriq shouted.

Peaches sighed and slowly dragged her ass out of bed. Tyriq got on the horn, calling Tip and Omega to let them know what had happened.

Late that evening, Tyriq, Omega and Tip drove into an isolated and discreet location to meet with Sgt. Manny about the murders and the Jamaicans.

The four-door grey Maxima slowly drove behind the desolate warehouse in New Jersey, the outskirts of Newark. The area was surrounded with high grass that stretched for a few miles. It was the perfect place to meet.

Tyriq felt a bit comfortable meeting outside of the city. He sat in the front seat of the Maxima with a walking cane in his hand observing his surrounding.

Tip was the driver and Omega sat behind Tyriq with a .380 in his grip. They all were waiting on Sgt. Manny to show up and inform them of the situation and give them details.

“I don’t trust this dude, Tyriq,” Omega let known. “Why here?”

“The city is too dangerous and Sgt. Manny, he knows not to cross me. I got too much dirt on that muthafucka. I own that cracker cop,” Tyriq said.

“Well, if he try to fuck us, I got sump’n for his ass,” Omega said raising the .380.

Fifteen minutes later and the three knew they were living dangerous. Demetrius was a powerful and very resourceful man. He had enough muscle, connection and reach, that to war with him, would be suicidal. Demetrius proved how deadly and ruthless he can be by murdering majority of Tyriq’s crew in a twenty-four hour time span.

Omega looked at the time. It was near seven.

“Yo, I gotta go take a piss,” he said.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Tyriq hissed.

Omega stepped out of the car and moved himself near the high-grass
to pee. He had his .380 tucked in his waistband and looked around the area while draining his unwanted fluids.

Tyriq perked up when he noticed a pair of headlights approaching the car.

“That’s him,” Tyriq said.

Tip removed his gun and kept a keen eye on the car—knowing that a war was brewing and anything can happen. The dark Impala came to a stop a few feet from the Maxima and it appeared to look as Sgt. Manny came alone.

“Let’s go talk to this muthafucka and see what he got for us,” Tyriq said getting ready to step out of the car.

Tip nodded.

But Tyriq caught an eerie feel that crawled up his skin. Something didn’t seem right. He looked around for Omega and saw him a great distance from the car. A nigga ain’t gotta go that far to take a leak, Tyriq thought. Everything seemed to be too orchestrated—the location, Omega happened to pee when the meeting was near. He glanced at the time and saw that it was nearing seven.

Tyriq turned to look at the high-grass and saw some movement in the shadows. He knew he fucked up. He shouted to Tip, “It’s a set up!”

Before they could react, three Jamaican men gripping Mac-11’s hurriedly emerged from the high-grass and began letting off intense barrage of bullets into the parked Maxima. Dozens of hot rounds tore into Tyriq and Tip as they sat like sitting ducks in the car. Bullets ripped through flesh, tore through their skulls and blood and brain matter splattered everywhere inside of the car.

It was a massacre. Omega watched from a safe distance as his one time friends were torn to shreds by the heavy gunfire that engulfed the car.

When it was finally over, the Maxima looked like Swiss cheese, with the windows shattered and the two bodies riddled with bullets, lying slump in their seats, their blood and flesh decorating the interior.

It was that time for new management—too much shit was pointing back to Tyriq and his crew. Tyriq instead of being a profit to the organization was now high risk. They had the dead daughter of a DEA agent hanging over their heads. The many informants that were coming out that crew, Spoon
turning snitch on them, and allowing Vince to bring Columbians on their turf, cutting into their lucrative drug market. Too many problems instead of layoff and cutbacks, the Jamaicans killed-off their problems.

Omega walked over to the car and peered inside, witnessing the gruesome death of his former bosses. Their bodies were bloody and contorted, and their eyes forever closed. He grinned knowing it was his time to shine. He would be the Jamaicans next man in line to control the drugs and other illegal activities that overwhelmed Queens and in other states.

Sgt. Manny walked up to Omega.

“You happy…?”

“Copasetic,” Omega replied with a wayward smile raising the .380 to Sgt. Manny’s head and fired.

Sgt. Manny dropped dead in front of Omega. It was to be done, strict orders from Demetrius to kill the cop too. Afterwards, they stuffed the cop’s body into the backseat and set the entire car ablaze—burning everything around them.

In one night, Tyriq’s entire drug crew met with ghastly deaths. They were distorted with greed, lust for power and influence. There was an intense craving for self gratifications. They murdered for control and poisoned others with drugs to feel like demigods.

In the end, the results remain the same.

Five weeks later, I regained consciousness in Jamaica Hospital. I had been shot five times by a former friend. I was lucky to be alive. God had spared my life and allowed me to have more time on this earth.

The doctors told me that it was a miracle, no arteries were hit and one bullet missed my heart by half a centimeter. I had a collapsed-lung, and swelling of the brain and a few other areas. I was in critical condition for a long time. I had over a dozen surgeries performed on me. They said it would be a long time before I’d be able to walk. I needed months of physical therapy and a good aide after my release.

My life was spared but a few weeks ago, my mother had passed away. She hung on as long as she could. There was nothing else the doctors could do. God spared my life but took my mothers’. I cried so hard.

I needed to hear her prayer one more time. I wanted guidance. In the end, all I had were good memories and regrets.

I woke up feeling like I was in a nightmare. I was alive but my freedom was still in jeopardy. Being shot five times and put into a brief coma didn’t mean the feds forgot about me. I still had criminal charges pending and they were still persistent in carrying out the indictments. I was handcuffed to the bed, while in the process of healing.

I found out that I was one of few still alive from Tyriq’s old crew. Everyone was murdered or incarcerated. They found Tyriq and Tips charred and riddled bodies a few miles outside of Newark. Sgt. Manny was also burned to death and found in the car with them.

Tyriq died the way he lived. Part of me was saddened when I heard
the news. We never could rekindle our friendship. His bitterness towards went with him to his grave. And that was a ending that I didn’t want for myself. But I didn’t know what the future held for me.

I also got the news on SS, after he gunned me down. He got into a gun battle with the cops and was shot six times. He died on the streets a block away.

Within a year, many friends and family were dead because of me, that thought made me numb. I lost my ability to walk and needed some intense physical therapy. I lost everything and gained nothing in the end. The money and car were seized. Girlfriends gone and my health was fucked. Freedom looked bleak.

I started to ask God why He left me on this earth to suffer and took my moms. I had done so much dirt, I didn’t deserve to live. Lying in bed, I kept thinking about living right.

I tried not to think about death but couldn’t help it. My life changed considerably. I stared up at the ceiling and even though I was grateful to be alive—I kept asking, why?

Thinking of the many mistakes I’d made brought tears to my eyes. I sighed heavily and wished I could start over. My reality—I craved all and lost it all.

I closed my eyes and whispered, “God please help me and give me some meaning why I’m still here.”

“Daddy,” my son shouted.

I opened my eyes and saw my lil’ man coming my way with a huge smile on his face and his arms open. I cried and let out a smile. There was still hope, but who would be my son’s heroes? Thoughts of my father telling me about Dr. King emerged:
The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy…

 

 

 

Soul laid comfortable on the green tattered couch with Keisha nestled against him, being in his arms clad only in a blue thong and a skimpy white T-shirt that barely covered her tits. He had just finished fuckin’ her and now had his thoughts on America, his wifey going on five years now. Soul looked at the time and saw that it was five in the morning. He was still tired but knew he had to finish packing up the work that was sprawled out on the coffee table.

Three keys of uncut cocaine, three keys of Ecstasy, and a loaded
.9mm
laid on the cluttered table in front of Soul. This has been Soul’s world since he was young. He sold his first vial of crack when he was ten and got his first piece of pussy when he was eleven. And it was all he knew and loved, besides America, who’s been by his side since he was seventeen.

Soul glanced at the time again and saw that it was five-thirty. He closed his eyes and told himself,
another half-hour and I’ll get back to work.

With Keisha nestled against him, he suddenly felt her tugging at his jeans, with her hand reaching into his zipper.

“You don’t get enough dick,” he said lightly.

“You go ahead and sleep and let me do me, baby,” Keisha replied, pulling at his thick piece of meat and stroking herself up a hard-on again.

But Soul didn’t resist. He positioned his hands behind his head and
allowed for Keisha to do what she did best—suck dick. He felt her thick sweet lips wrap around his member and moaned when she began deep-throating him.

“Mmmmmm
….shit,
uh
…damn,” Soul moaned.

He began running his fingers through her thick and rich weave and pushed her face further down into his lap. He was put in bliss and was ready to cum in her mouth when they suddenly heard an abrupt and loud sound bang against the apartment door.

Reacting quickly, knowing it was police, Soul pushed Keisha off him, pulled up his jeans and ran for the nearby work.

Bang—Bang—Bang.

“Police…open the fuck up!” they were heard shouting.

Soul knew he had to move quickly. Lucky for him, the apartment door had heavy-duty, reinforced steel doors that were able to slow the police sudden barge into the apartment. With Keisha’s help, they snatched up the keys off the table and ran for the bathroom to flush it.

They were racing against time, knowing that each key could fuck them over.