Blood of a Boss III Page 14

  “No,” Rahmello shouted as he rolled off of the bed and crawled towards them. “Sonny, what the fuck is you doin’, bro? She’s carrying my seed.”

  Olivia was shaking like a Parkinson’s patient. Her big, wide eyes were glued to the back of the gun, and the warm urine that darkened the front of her Juicy Coutures was beginning to make a small puddle on the carpet below.

  “Brozay, I’m beggin’ you,” Rahmello pleaded. “Don’t do me like this.”

  Sonny scowled at him. “Nigga, you knew about this shit, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  Rahmello was at a loss for words. Shaking his head, he said, “Come on, bro, chill.”

  “Nigga, answer the fuckin’ question.”

  “Yeah,” he replied in a soft, depleted voice. “She told me about it back at the hospital. I was gonna…”

  “Gonna what?” Sonny interrupted him and gave him the look of death. “You was gonna let them niggas get away wit’ killin’ pops, and damn near killin’ our whole fuckin’ family? Just to protect this bitch?” He pushed the Glock so far down Olivia’s throat that the knuckle on his trigger finger was pressed against her top lip. Her eyelashes fluttered and she damn near passed out. The blood from her broken teeth was running down the sides of her mouth, and she gagged so hard that a thick clump of snot-laced vomit shot from her nose and landed on the back of Sonny’s hand.

  “Sonny, please,” Rahmello shouted when Sonny’s index finger slipped inside of the trigger-guard. “I was gonna hold pops down, I swear it. I was gonna kill them niggas by myself. And the only reason that I didn’t tell you what happened is because I didn’t want nothin’ to happen to Oli.”

  “Sontino,” Grip’s voice boomed in his right ear. “Let her go, we’re going to need her. She has to tell Chatchi about her and Roberto, and explain why Poncho wanted him dead.”

  “No,” Rahmello protested. “Them Mexicans will kill her.”

  “Nigga, what the fuck you think I’ma do?” Sonny snapped at him. “Them niggas killed my mutha’fuckin’ pops, and now I’ma murder they whole fuckin’ family.”

  “Bro, please,” Rahmello cried. He was propped up on his right knee and his hands were pressed together as if he were praying. “If nothin’ else, think about my baby, bro. She’s carryin’ my baby.”

  Sonny was shaking with rage. Everything inside of him wanted to paint the walls with Olivia’s blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the life of a woman and her unborn child. Frustrated, he pulled the Glock out of her mouth and tossed her on top of Rahmello. She coughed and gagged, and Rahmello wrapped his arms around her, desperately trying to calm her down.

  Sonny aimed the barrel at her face and said, “The only reason I’m not gon’ kill you is because of that baby. But if it wasn’t for that,” he slowly shook his head and looked back forth between her and Rahmello, “I woulda popped ya fuckin’ top.”

  Gently, Grip grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the hallway. Closing the door behind him, he said, “Sontino, you seriously need to learn how to curb your anger.”

  Sonny didn’t respond. His left hand was still wrapped around the Glock and the only thing he think about was killing Poncho. Sleep well, my friend. Those were the words he remembered Poncho saying as he walked past Easy’s hearse and climbed into the white Benz.

  “Tomorrow night we have to drive to New York City to meet with The Conglomerate,” Grip continued in a calm voice. “The meeting was called by Chatchi, and he specifically told me that he’s expecting answers pertaining to the situation with Roberto.”

  Sonny was looking at him like he was crazy. “Nigga, we just found out that the Columbians killed my pops, killed your son, and the only thing you’re worried about is the next nigga’s son? Is you fuckin’ crazy, dawg?”

  Grip sighed and began to pace back and forth. “Listen, Sontino, and listen closely. These Mexicans are not to be fucked with. I know you’re probably thinking that I’m afraid, but I’m not. I’m just being cautious. These Mexicans are cut from a different cloth. They’re a different breed. They’re the type of mutha’fuckas that you just don’t go against.”

  “Oh yeah, and why is that?” Sonny asked him.

  “You just don’t,” Grip responded, incapable of coming up with a better answer. “For example, in the snap of a finger, they basically dismantled the entire Gervino Crime Family. Little Angolo, dead. Carmine, dead. And if we don’t hand over those goddamned twins, we’re going to be next.”

  “Yo, how many times I gotta fuckin’ tell you?” Sonny bellowed. “Under no circumstances are you or anybody else touchin’ my fuckin’ young buls.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?” Grip retorted. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, we only have about twenty-four hours to figure this shit out.”

  Sonny gritted his teeth and scowled at him. He started to call him out for being a bitch, but decided that it wouldn’t make any difference. The Mexicans had already taken his heart. After wiping away the tears of rage that trickled down the sides of his face, he stuffed the Glock .40 in the small of his back, and took off down the hallway.

  “Sontino,” Grip called out behind him. “Where are you going? We need to figure this shit out.”

  Sonny didn’t reply. He just continued walking and ice-grilled Muhammad, who was coming up the hallway in the opposite direction.

  “Muhammad, where the hell is Gangsta?” Grip asked the lanky old man as he slowly approached him.

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Muhammad said. “He stormed out of the house about a half an hour ago.”

  “Goddamnit,” Grip sighed, knowing that Gangsta went looking for Detective Sullivan.

  “What’s the problem?” Muhammad asked him. He’d been working for Grip for over thirty years, so it wasn’t hard to tell when his boss was upset.

  “The trip to Cuba,” Grip said. “We have to reschedule.”

  “Reschedule?” Muhammad looked at him skeptically. “Why?”

  “Because tomorrow night we have to drive to New York City to meet with The Conglomerate.”

  “The Conglomerate? But your next meeting isn’t until July. Did something happen?”

  Grip sighed. He knew that The Nunez Brothers were long gone, and that Sonny would rather wage war than sacrifice his twins. “It’s Sontino,” he said, and then gave a look that could only mean one thing. “Unfortunately, for the sake of business, that’s what has to happen.”

  “Should I have him stopped at the front gate?” Muhammad asked with a sense of urgency. He absolutely hated Sonny, and for the past two years he’d been patiently waiting for Grip to give him the green light. “We can take care of this situation right now.”

  “Not at all,” Grip said. “That would defeat the purpose. It has to be done in front of The Conglomerate. The sacrifice of my own flesh and blood for the sake of one of its chairman is something that will undoubtedly be appreciated.”

  “I see,” Muhammad expressed his acquiescence. “But what about the other one,” he gestured towards the bed room door, “Rahmello?”

  Grip smiled at him and slowly rubbed his hands together. “We’re still going to need a figure head for the family, right? Well, who better than the grandson who looks just like me?” he said with a slight chuckle. “It’ll be like the sixties all over again.”

  Muhammad smiled back and saluted him with a light bow. “Long live The Moreno Family.”

  ***

  Back At the Twins’ Trap House

  Zaire was laying on his bed smoking a Vanilla Dutch when he heard Egypt and Daphney walking down the hallway and descending the stairs. He sat up and listened closely. A couple of seconds later, he heard the front door open and close, so he got up from his bed, and approached his bed room window. After pulling back the curtains and ascending the blinds, he peered down and shook his head in disappointment. Egypt was escorting Daphney to the black Benz truck that was parked across the street from their house. His right arm was draped across her shoulders,
and she was holding him around the waist, and strutting with a slight limp. “Damn,” Zaire said aloud, referring to the way she was walking. “Ya triflin’ ass got the Ghost Dick.” That’s what he and Egypt called it whenever they fucked some new pussy. And just like any other chick who ever had a dose of the twins, he knew that the only reason Daphney was walking funny is because she was still feeling the heaviness of Egypt’s dick pressed against her spine, and would feel it for at least another hour.

  “Yo, this shit is crazy,” he said to himself as she wrapped her arms around Egypt’s neck and kissed him passionately. Their chemistry was so intense that he began to wonder how long the two of them had been creeping behind Sonny’s back. After releasing their embrace, she climbed into the Benz, closed the door, and started the ignition. As the truck came to life and the halogenic lights illuminated the block, the tinted driver’s side window rolled down, and she was saying something that Zaire was incapable of hearing. Egypt nodded his head a couple of times, and then leaned inside of the SUV to kiss her once more.

  Moving away from the window, Zaire took another pull on his Dutch Master and inhaled deeply. His heart was beating rapidly and a plethora of goose-bumps popped up on his arms. He sat on top of his bed and released the Haze smoke. “Eyg, what the fuck is you doin, dawg?” He couldn’t believe that his twin was stupid enough to put them in such a predicament. He was dead wrong, and Zaire knew it would only be a matter of time before his reckless actions got the best of him.

  The front door opened and closed, and he could hear Egypt coming up the stairs. A few seconds later, the light from the hallway illuminated the dark room as Egypt opened his bed room door and stepped inside. A look of determination was written across his face and he was cracking his knuckles one at a time.

  “How long you been home?” Egypt asked him.

  “About thirty minutes,” Zaire responded, giving him a look that insinuated he knew exactly what Egypt was up to.

  “A’ight, so you seen the work that’s downstairs in the livin’ room?”

  Zaire nodded his head.

  “Do you know who I had in my room?”

  Again, Zaire nodded his head.

  “A’ight, so I’m assuming that you know what’s goin’ on?”

  “Yeah, I know what’s goin’ on,” Zaire responded. “But why? Why would you do this to Sonny? Why would you do this to us?”

  Egypt was happy to hear the word “us”. This assured him that come hell or high water, his twin was rocking out with him. He sat down beside Zaire and took the Dutch from his hand. After taking a nice long pull, he said, “Listen, bro, there’s a time and a place for everything. Our time is now, and our destination is the top. Sonny ain’t the same, Zai. The money done went to his head, and now he’s turnin’ his back on everything that made him. He turned his back on Mook, and without Mook, niggas would be broke and stuck in the hood right about now. You’re my twin brother, we came from the same womb, and we both believe in loyalty. I just need you to be loyal to the right mutha’fucka, and that’s Mook.”

  “But what about Sonny?” Zaire asked. “He was the one who groomed us and put us in position. Don’t get me wrong, I got crazy love for Mook, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t the nigga who fed us when we was starvin’, Sonny was.”

  Egypt released the Haze smoke that was festering in his lungs, and then took another pull on the Dutch Master. “Naw, Zai, Mook was the one who made sure we ate. By feedin’ Sonny, he was feedin’ us, and that’s the realest shit I ever spoke. And now that Mook’s gone, and he left Sonny the whole empire, this nigga got the nerve to make moves wit’ the nigga who killed him. Naw, bro, it ain’t goin’ down like that,” he shook his head from side to side. “I ain’t lettin’ that shit ride.”

  “So, whatchu sayin’, Eyg? You gon’ kill Sonny?”

  Egypt shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the only way, but for now we gotta chill. It’s just like I said, there’s a time and a place for everything.”

  Zaire took a deep breath and sighed. He knew that siding with Egypt and going against Sonny was a bad move, but at the same time, Egypt was his twin brother and he couldn’t see himself turning his back on him. “A’ight,” he continued after collecting his thoughts, “what’s the situation wit’ Daphney? How does she fit into the equation?”

  “She is the equation,” Egypt explained. “She’s the one callin’ the shots. She has a connect on standby, just waitin’ to flood us wit’ work. And the second she gives us the green light, we gotta make that shit count.”

  Zaire reached out for the Dutch Master, and then placed it to his lips. After taking a deep pull, he said, “So, what we gon’ do about the work that’s downstairs? You know he’s gonna flip the fuck out when he finds out that somebody hit the stash house.”

  “That’s simple,” Egypt replied. “Me and Daph already got that figured out. We’re gonna blame it on Sheed. Who’s to say he didn’t hit the stash house before he shot up the funeral?”

  “I feel you, bro, but how we gon’ move it?” Zaire asked and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. “If we pop up outta nowhere and start movin’ birds like crazy, Sonny’s gonna know it was us. At the very least, we gotta get somebody else to move it, somebody that he’d never expect.”

  “Chino,” Egypt smiled at him. “I’ma have him and his team movin’ the work for us. Trust me, bro, Sonny will never figure this shit out. All we gotta do is stay on point, continue to play the flunky role, and as soon as Daph gives us the go ahead, we gon’ cock back, squeeze, and send his ass to the fuckin’ moon.”

  Zaire hit the Dutch Master one last time and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. Looking at Egypt, he extended his right hand and said, “Whatever the situation, I gotcha back, bro.”

  Egypt smiled at him and accepted his right hand. “I already know, Zai. I already know.” As he got up from the bed and began walking towards the door, Zaire called out to him.

  “Hey, Eyg.”

  “What’s poppin’, bro?”

  “I don’t trust, Daphney.”

  “I don’t trust that bitch, either,” Egypt concurred. “And as soon as we kill Sonny, we killin’ that bitch, too.”

  “More or less.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Delaware County, Pennsylvania

  Detective Sullivan was sitting at the computer in his home office. A hot cup of cappuccino was resting on the wooden coaster to the left of his keyboard, a chocolate bear Claw was nestled in between his left thumb and index finger, and his right hand was casually placed on top of his mouse. He clicked on the Google website and curiously surfed the internet looking for any and everything he could find on Agent Long. There had to be a connection between him and The Moreno Crime Family, and Sullivan was determined to find it. His wife, Rebecca, and their six year old daughter, Chelsey, were sound asleep, but he vowed to stay awake the entire night if he had to. Nothing or no one would stop him from breaking this case.

  “Gervin,” he said aloud as he typed in the characters, “Moreno. Search.” In a matter of seconds, his 19-inch monitor was flooded with images of Grip and a slew of Philadelphia gangsters, past and present. He saw pictures of the legendary Sam Christian, Nudi Mims, Aaron Jones, King Tut, and Lil’ Man to name a few. But the only picture that piqued his interest was a 1955 mug shot of an adolescent Grip. The young hoodlum appeared to be no older than fifteen. He was holding a police identification card, and his icy blue eyes were distant, yet determined at the same time. A stitched up two-inch gash was prominently displayed above his right eye, and his pink lips were fixed into a slight smirk. It was the look of a young gangster thirsty for recognition.

  “You little bastard,” Sullivan spoke to the picture. “They should have locked your little ass up and threw away the goddamned key.”

  He moved the mouse and clicked on the News option. Almost immediately, a surplus of news articles dating back to the early 60’s popped up on the screen. For the past year and a half, he’d been studying the boxes of pol
ice reports that were connected to Grip and his organization, but to actually see the news articles that the citizens of Philadelphia had to witness firsthand was a different experience. One after another, for forty minutes straight, he meticulously went through the articles and crime scene photos that vividly depicted the crimes and atrocities committed at the behest of The Moreno Crime Family. Looking at these items, he developed a better understanding of the dreadful mystic that hovered above Grip and his organization like a black cloud. There were stories of entire families being slaughtered in cold blood, with the children being drowned in bath tubs, stories of witnesses being burned alive in the middle of the street in broad daylight, and horrific narrations where the spouses of their enemies would wake up in the morning only to find the decapitated heads of their husbands laying on the pillows beside them. True savages, The Moreno Crime Family were every bit of the Boogey Man stories that spread throughout the streets of Philadelphia like urban legends.

  As he continued scrolling down the screen, a particular news article from February 18th, 1975, piqued his interest.

  Gervin ‘Grip’ Moreno, Acquitted in the Murders of His Sister and Her Fiancée. The Couple’s Infant Child is Still Missing, Presumed to be Dead.

  "What the hell was this about?" Detective Sullivan said aloud as he clicked on the article and began to read.

  Yesterday, a Philadelphia jury consisting of five women and seven men acquitted Gervin Moreno on two counts of first degree murder and kidnapping. The charges stemmed from the murders of his sister, Angela Moreno, and her fiancé, Russell Fitzgerald.

  On the morning of January 10th, 1974, residents on the 2200 block of Carpenter Street called the police reporting the sounds of loud gunfire erupting from the Fitzgerald residence. Upon their arrival, the police discovered the dead bodies of Angela Moreno and Russell Fitzgerald. Ms. Moreno’s body was discovered in the living room. Her hands were tied behind her back and a T-shirt that was used as a blindfold was wrapped around her face. Mr. Fitzgerald’s body was discovered on the second floor, in the couple’s bedroom. He was also blindfolded and held captive with his hands tied behind his back. Both were murdered execution style with a single bullet to the back of the head. It was also determined that the couple’s one month old child, Terrance Moreno, was missing from the South Philadelphia row home. His whereabouts are currently unknown.