Nude Awakening (24 page)

“Go! Go! Go! Go!” Swagga shouted as Yaffa pulled the pump back in. The Bentley GT sped off leaving the XJL useless.

Trevon was filled with frustration when he ran up on his Jaguar. Picking his speed back up, he ran toward the front security gate. What am I doing? These niggas are for real! Trevon cut through someone’s front yard when he heard a sharp clap like he had before. He kept running. I need help! I can’t be on this ego street shit. LaToria’s life is at stake. Rounding a corner, he saw the security booth two blocks away. He kept running.

Out of breath, he reached the booth and slowed down when he saw the guard laid out on the ground. “Oh shit!” Trevon walked up on the body. The guard’s upper chest was gone.

Trevon looked away. This is too much! He took a step back and reached for his cell phone. It rang. He answered it quickly when he saw it was Swagga.

“Yeah!”

“Finish changing that tire yet?” Swagga laughed. “We had to slow you down a bit. We’ll be in touch though. I think my nigga wants some pussy, so we’ll have some fun before we call you back.”

“Don’t—” Trevon looked up to the starless sky as the line went dead in his ear. He was driven now. Pushed to the edge. Walking back up on the body, he made a quick search. Two items drew his full attention. The first was the guard’s fifteen-round clip Glock 9mm still in the holster. The second was a set of keys clipped to the guard’s belt. Transportation. Trevon took both.

Trevon sped off on the yellow and black Yamaha R1. His high rate of speed gobbled up the pavement, making the yellow lines blur into one single unbroken strip. The responsive bike obeyed his slight adjustments. He would not let LaToria down. Not today, not tomorrow.

THIRTY-SIX

October 7, 2011

Friday, 1:48 a.m. - Coral Gables, Florida

Stan sat in the back of an ambulance staring down at his feet. He could still smell the blood and picture the horrid sights of Cindy and Chyna. The house was now a double murder crime scene. Since Stan had made the initial call to 9-1-1, he was questioned first by two homicide detetectives. He had nothing to hide. He told the detectives who the two bodies were and how they had been killed. Stan also gave them the most important information. The shooter.

“He killed them both,” Stan said in a flat tone. “Swagga’s bodyguard shot Chyna first. Then he—killed Cindy.”

“Swagga? The big time rapper?” the youngest of the two detectives asked.

Stan nodded yes.

Ten minutes later, a warrant was issued for Swagga and Yaffa’s arrest. Stan felt the lower pocket of his jacket. He still had Cindy’s cell phone. On it was the footage of Chyna in bed giving Swagga oral sex and the two clips of them having anal sex. Cindy had not given up her cell phone and Stan would not let her death go in vain.

Yaffa and Swagga were tipped off about the warrant by D-Hot. The Broward County police along with the Dade County police were waiting at Swagga’s mansion in Fort Lauderdale. The news had Yaffa and Swagga shook.

Yaffa had driven back to the grocery store parking lot at 62nd Street.

“How the fuck!” Swagga shouted.

“D-Hot said something about there being an eyewitness.” Yaffa lowered his forehead on the steering wheel. “We should have searched the crib.”

“Man, fuck!” Swagga punched the roof. “Ain’t going down for this!”

Yaffa jerked up and turned in the seat. “What! You gonna turn State against me, nigga? You snitchin’?”

Swagga flexed his grip on the Glock. Think I won’t! I ain’t kill no damn body! Swagga turned his head, punching the roof again. “How the fuck we gonna get outta this? All I wanted to do was set Trevon up with Chyna. Now I might be facing a double murder!”

Yaffa turned forward. “What we gonna do with this ho?”

LaToria sat in the front seat filled with fear.

Swagga closed his eyes wishing all this bullshit was a dream. All this bullshit over a dick sucking porn slut! He opened his eyes, mentally drilling the headrest where LaToria sat. He raised the Glock, lightly pressing it into the headrest.

“We need to split up and soon.” Yaffa glanced at Swagga. “Ain’t no need to body the bitch now. We might need her.”

“How?” Swagga lowered the gun. “Fuck her! I sure as hell ain’t ‘bout to carry her with me. I’m going on the run.”

Yaffa looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past two in the morning. He had not planned for this outcome. He had to think his way out of his predicament. He was mad at himself for being greedy. He had jumped head first at the chance to blackmail Swagga on the low once he knew what was going on. I should just body both of them right now! Swagga ain’t worth shit to me no more. I wonder if his dumb ass realizes that?

“How much dough you got on you?” Yaffa asked.

Swagga patted his empty pockets. “Not a damn penny!”

Yaffa ran a palm down his face. “This some real live bullshit!”

“You should’ve thought of that before you went on your killin’ spree!”

“Nigga, fuck you! Keep up that slick ass talk and I’ll add your bitch—”

“Bitch, what?” Swagga jabbed his gun under Yaffa’s chin. “All this bullshit got out of order because of your trigger happy ass! We—you ain’t have to kill no damn body! Now look at us.” Swagga waited for Yaffa to say something. “Shit don’t supposed to be like this!” He slowly pulled the gun from Yaffa’s neck.

“We got to split up, yo,” Yaffa said, remaining calm and keeping his hands on the steering wheel.

“Not until we get that fucking phone!” Swagga reminded him.

“A’ight. How you wanna do this? We ain’t got all night. The police is at yo’ crib and you know damn well they got an APB out on this car.”

Swagga looked around the parking lot. His Audi R8 GT surprisingly had not been stolen nor jacked for its forged triple chrome Asanti rims. A homeless woman trudged by sluggishly pushing a rusted shopping cart with her belongings.

“Let’s do this shit and I’m getting the fuck outta this country,” Swagga stated.

“Okay. I’ma drive the other car. We can put the ho in the trunk.”

LaToria mumbled behind the gag, shaking her head.

“Where we going?” Swagga asked.

“Remember that vacant warehouse where we shot your last video?”

“The one at the harbor downtown?”

“Yeah. Let’s go there. Call Trevon and make the swap.”

“And then what?”

“We kill ‘em if we can. If not, your yacht still down there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Yaffa looked up at the rearview mirror. Catching Swagga’s eyes he smiled. “I hope those boatin’ lessons of yours can get us to Cuba.”

Swagga returned the smile. “Damn right I can! Yo, I fogot I even had a fucking yacht. Yeah, let’s get this bullshit over with.”

Yaffa followed closely behind in the Audi R8 GT as Swagga drove toward the warehouse. If Yaffa could set it up right, he could finish off Swagga and Trevon and maybe later have his fun with Kandi. Yaffa had no intentions of letting Swagga live. In no way could he trust a man that slid his dick up another man’s ass. Fuckin’ faggot ass nigga! Yaffa kept his eyes scanning the rearview mirror for any signs of the police. Picking up his cell phone he called Swagga.

“Yeah!” Swagga answered, driving at the posted speed.

“I got a plan.”

“I’m listening.”

“A’ight. When we get to the warehouse we’ll also swing by the boat harbor to get your yacht ready.”

“What about the ho in my trunk?”

“We gotta use her to bait Trevon out. I’ma be in the cut. Once I see his face and I know the phone is wit ‘im, I’ma take his ass out.”

“Then we bounce to the boat?”

“Yeah. Shit, we can be in the Bahamas in three hours or less.”

“Three! Try an hour and about thirty minutes! My boat can top out at forty-five knots. But yo, I thought we were going to Cuba.”

“Man, fuck Cuba! Once I hit dem islands, I’ma get missin’ like a Muslim at a pig pickin’, straight up!”

“Whateva. Let’s just finish this shit up and then we can talk about where we going and shit.”

“Yeah. Yo, Trevon ain’t call you back yet?”

“Nah.”

“Odd, but fuck it. Maybe he busy puttin’ that spare tire on.”

They both laughed even in the center of their building troubles.

Yaffa slid back behind an empty wood crate near the back of the huge warehouse. Looking toward the entrance he saw Swagga sitting in the Bentley GT with Kandi. Going down to one knee he laid his shotgun on the ground then pulled out his cell phone to call Swagga.

“Where the fuck you at?” Swagga answered.

Yaffa could see Swagga searching for him. “Close by. Yo, you get the yacht ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, call the nigga. Call ‘im three-way.”

“Hold on.”

“A’ight.” Yaffa waited while watching Swagga making the call. A few seconds later, the line clicked back over with the line ringing.

“You ready to do business or keep playing games?” Trevon got right to the point.

“Nigga, I’m the one with the bigger chips in this game, so I think you need to play your position!” Swagga spat. “But yo, let’s get this done and over with. You got the video and I got your bitch. Now, you come here without the phone or come here with the police. The ho is good as dead and I put my word on it! Ain’t got shit to lose, so offing this ho ain’t gonna stress me.”

“Fuck the police! You doing a lot of talking, but you ain’t saying shit I wanna hear.”

“And what the fuck do you wanna hear, tough guy?”

“Tell me where you’re at so we can make the swap. It might take me some time to get to wherever you are, but I’ll come. Kinda slowed me down by using my ride for target practice.”

Swagga smiled. “Yeah, that was my idea. You dealing with a nigga that likes to think on his toes.”

“Yeah, and one that likes to put his dick in another man’s ass.”

“FUCK YOU NIGGA!”

“Nah homie, I don’t get down like that.”

Swagga punched the dashboard causing LaToria to flinch. “Bring your bitch-ass to the boat harbor on Miami Beach! Come to warehouse seven-two-ten. You got thirty minutes to get here, nigga!” Swagga killed the line ending Trevon’s connection.

“Nigga sound too calm,” Yaffa spoke. “Too fuckin’ calm.”

“Fuck him! I’ma kill his ho ass when I see ‘im!”

“Yo, drive about halfway inside this warehouse and turn around. We’ll be able to see ‘im when he come through the gate. We’ll let him see Kandi. Once he’s in the open, I’ma take his ass down.”

“Good. But make sure I get the phone from him.”

“A’ight. I’ll holla. My battery only got two bars left.”

Yaffa sat down on the floor in the pitch-black warehouse. Swagga was parked about fifty yards away with the engine still running. Trevon’s calm demeanor nagged at him. Something was not right. Standing up, he searched for any headlights outside of the warehouse. Though the trap was set for Trevon, Yaffa was beginning to feel like he was the one in a trap. Ten minutes had gone by. Yaffa’s third eye was telling him that something was not in order. Wanting to remain hidden, he pulled out his cell phone and called Swagga.

“What?” Swagga answered in an agitated tone.

“Call Trevon.”

“What for? Ain’t been but ten fuckin’ minutes!”

“Call, man. Fuck!”

“Shit, hold on, yo!”

Swagga took the mobile phone from his ear and dialed Trevon’s number. Seeing the call going through, he clicked over to put Yaffa on three-way.

“It’s ringing now, so—”

“What the fuck! Gotdamn, dis nigga—”

“Yaffa! Hello? Yaffa, what’s up, yo?” Swagga took the phone from his ear to see if he had lost the signal. To his shock, both calls had dropped. He snatched up the Glock 19 and dialed Yaffa’s number. The line started to ring. No answer. “What the fuck?” Swagga hit redial. No answer. Dropping the phone in his lap, he scanned the pitch-black warehouse. Nothing. What did Yaffa mean by ‘dis nigga?’ He probably just bullshitting to fuck with my head. Well, this shit ain’t funny worth a fuck! Swagga lowered the tinted window.

“Yaffa! Answer your damn phone and quit the games, nigga!”

LaToria still had her mouth gagged and now her hands were tied in front of her. If only Swagga would let her speak, she could tell him that she had no idea what was going on. She feared for her life. The added pain of maybe losing Trevon was too much to take. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Life was not fair.

Inwardly, Yaffa scolded himself for slipping. When Swagga called Trevon he heard ringing in his ear and behind him. Trevon had been watching them. Yaffa was up against the crate with a gun up under his chin.

“Breathe too hard and I’ma put one through you,” Trevon promised. “Now slowly drop your piece then stay still. Now do it.”

“A’ight I’ma—”

“Nigga, you don’t need to talk, so shut the fuck up.”

Yaffa lowered the shotgun. Shit! Dis nigga got the upper. Not all the way he don’t. We both can’t hardly see shit. Okay, I gotta be smooth. Put the shotgun down and slip my .380 in my palm and then it’s fair game. Yaffa heard Swagga yelling out his name. He laid the shotgun down and carefully reached under his left pant leg. He did it smoothly without pausing.

Swagga drummed the steering wheel. Unable to control himself, he lowered the window once more.

“Yo Yaffa! Answer your phone! Shit ain’t fuckin’ funny no more!” His voice echoed off the rafters above. He waited. “Yaffa! A’ight now. Fuck around and leave your ass in this muthafucka!” Swagga had the window halfway up when a gun went off.

“Oh shit!” He ducked, dropping the gun. “Man, fuck this!” Swagga put the Bentley GT in gear and floored the gas pedal. The rear tires responded instantaneously. Smoke billowed, clouding the rear quarters as the Bentley sped off at a fishtail cant.

Trevon was fighting for his life having knocked the .380 out of Yaffa’s hand. The chrome .380 glinted from the moonlight, drawing Trevon’s attention. When the .380 fired, Yaffa took the opening to elbow Trevon in the chest. Trevon’s weapon was knocked from his grip as Yaffa slammed him against the crate. Yaffa outweighed Trevon by 65 pounds. The two traded blows that would have sent the average man to the hospital with internal bleeding. Trevon kept Yaffa close, hitting him hard with quick solid jabs on his face. Trevon’s natural power slowly began to wear down Yaffa’s bulk. Yaffa grunted, ducked, then fired a blind uppercut in the dark. It grazed Trevon’s chin slightly dazing him. Yaffa grabbed Trevon by his waist, and then used all his mass to shove Trevon off balance. They began to tussle. Two bulls.

Hearing the car peeling off galvanized Trevon. It was simple. Lose the fight—he would lose LaToria. Trevon grabbed Yaffa’s head in a headlock and used Yaffa’s momentum to fall backward. Yaffa realized his mistake a second too late. Trevon squeezed Yaffa’s neck as they fell backward. The top of Yaffa’s head met the hard concrete with a sickening thud. Trevon quickly untangled himself from Yaffa, frantically searching for the Glock on his hands and knees. Yaffa moaned. Slowly, he rolled over with blood leaking from the gash on his forehead.

“Fight ain’t over, nigga!” Yaffa struggled to his feet but fell to one knee. Pushing the throbbing ache in his head aside, he rose to his feet. “Come on!” He swung at the air and nearly spun off his feet. “Where your bitch ass—”

CLICK CLACK!

Yaffa turned to the sound of a slug being jacked into his shotgun. Ten-feet away he saw Trevon standing under the dim cast from the moon.

“You ain’t tryin’ to go back to prison for that bitch!” Yaffa shouted. “They’ll give you life dis time, boy!” Yaffa staggered forward. “You ain’t built like me! Look at ‘cha! Shakin’ like a lil ol’ bitch!”

“I might be.” Trevon raised the shotgun. “But this time, I’ma keep my eyes open.”

Yaffa spat and then rushed Trevon like a bull.