Michael Valentine: Diary of a Hitman Book 2

By Reicko Antonio

Though the bond with his mother remains in tact after her deathMichael continues to narrate his first hand account of a savage journey as the number one hit-man contracted to the biggest crime families in the DC Metropolitan area and on the east coast. Nothing is predictable in this invisible society of deceit and friction. Hunger overshadows Loyalty and self-indulgence deters compassion. Witness the graphic violence, high adrenaline battle for power and sexual intrigue in this action packed Urban-Street Crime Thriller; surrounded by family; associates and enemies thirsting to come up in a world full of greed, vengeance, money, sex, drugs, power and corruption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499076844

Reicko Antonio

Reicko Antonio was raised in the Metropolitan area and graduated from DuVal High School. He attended Maryland University majoring in microbiology. No matter what obstacles might have gotten in the way, Reicko always remained confident, positive, and refused to become another statistic or a product of the environment. He’s first a husband and father of five children. Reicko enjoys writing. He refers to writing as the bridge that links our minds to our freedom. He’s always mindful of the reader when he’s writing. Reicko wants the reader to see what they read and feel what he’s written. He understands that the best things can be accomplished when you love what you do and feel what you say. Reicko isn’t trying to change the world; he just wants to change the game. Reicko’s aim is to write stories that are realistic that everyone can relate to. He also enjoys coaching the young youth in football and teaching them to work as a team and aiding them to become the responsible and successful adults of tomorrow. Reicko’s goal, as a responsible adult, has always been keeping the kids off the streets.

Book preview

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014917616

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4990-7685-1

   Softcover   978-1-4990-7686-8

   eBook   978-1-4990-7684-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/27/2014

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Contents

Acknowledgments

The Funeral

The Repast

Heat of the Moment

The Safe House

New Unions

Expansion

666

Blood Money

Betrayal and Revenge

Holy Matrimony

Conspiracy

That Bitch

Unforgivable

Severing Ties

Raw Deal

Bridging the Gap

Debt Sealing

Sworn Enemies

Bon Voyage

In Loving Memory

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my wife Oneika,

my kids RJ, Rick, Miya, Mello and Layah,

and to all that continue to support me.

Acknowledgments

Thank you God almighty for constantly touching my mind, body and soul giving me the strength to complete another project. without you, nothing would be possible. These last two years have truly been humbling but with your help I’ve been able to climb over the obstacles.

Sending special love to my wife—Oneika and kids—RJ, Rick, Miya, Mello, and Layah. My parents Thomas and Thomasine, my Fly Granny Annie, my brother and sisters, god kids, sis-in-laws, bro-in-laws, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, Ma Burns, and cousins.

A special thanks to all my family and friends from Landover, DC, New York, Kentland, Kenmore, DuVal, Classic Class of 92, UMC, Fort Wash, the DMV and across the globe. I’d be writing another book trying to name everyone but just know I do appreciate you and know who you are.

I want to personally thank everyone who purchased a Michael Valentine book and continues to spread the word creating a buzz in social media and out on the streets. Your support is key to my success.

I would like to thank the best photographer in the business, my man Richard SNAPhotos Herbert for an excellent variety of pictures. You bring my visions to life. You are more than appreciated. Thanks fam.

Thank you Ethan Pennil, Laina Baine, Tae Michelle, Valerie Turner, Netta Nicole, and Kevin Miller for a hell of a modeling job. Ethan thanks for bringing you’re A+ game and putting a face behind the name—you are Michael V. Laina great job on becoming the image of Michael’s ‘Ride or Die Congrats on the new bundle of joy. Tae thanks for all your dedication and hardwork, always dedicated. Valerie thanks for bringing a much needed change to the scenery, you tore it up. Netta you were the youngest but certainly not the shyest, thanks for handling your business. Thanks Kevin for bringing the G and coming through for your boy. Much love to all of you. We will always be Una Familia".

A Passionate Reader Book Club—Rene thank you and all the ladies for allowing me to visit your club and giving it to me straight with no chaser. Can’t wait to sit down and talk to you ladies about this one. Papaya Sistas On Lit, Vanessa Speaks, Mia, Dijon, and all the other book clubs and reviewers; thanks for the love.

Big shout out to Big Herb Belton and All Homes Financial LLC for taking care of your boy. Good looking John ‘The Ultimate Barber’ Hall for providing the razors edge. Ionathan ‘Shanko’ Simatos thanks for The Show Stopper plenty of heat for the streets.

To my Push Team The Real Lady O, Glenda, Andrea, Pooh, Pam Fish, Cornell, Maynard, Liz, Miarra, Roger Bowie, Wayne Titus, Moe Moss, LaJuan Watson, Vicki, Toloria, Wanda, Melissa, Ranetta, Desi, Dave, Lisa, Darryl, Kelvin, LaChrisha, Kevin, Yonas, Delores, Coach Kid Ed, Don, Leon, Ernest, Dan, Cliff, Francis, Eric, Ronald, Sean, Erric, Randy, Gerard, Monroe, Aaron, Calvert, Roosevelt, Quincy, Mechille, Leon, Daphne, and The entire 42—NCR and to all the members of the Xlibris family who worked on my project—thanks for all the help and keeping the heat on the streets.

Keep your head up Craig, there’s a light at the end of every dark tunnel.

The%20Funeral%20(page%202)_DSC5890.jpg

The Funeral

It’s pitch-black in here! I feel a draft on my skin, hear water dripping—dogs growling and barking. I’m straining and struggling, trying to get up. My wrist and legs feel bound, and I’m unable to move anything except the tips of my fingers. After struggling to get up, I finally get fatigued and fall asleep.

The sunrise on my face wakes me up. My hazy eyes clear and focus after adjusting to the light in the room. I go into panic mode seeing myself stripped down to a wife-beater and boxers, with my legs and arms duct-taped to a chair. My heart beats faster and faster as sweat starts trickling down my face. All of a sudden, someone walks up from behind and blindfolds me. Hey, what da fuck! You know who I am? I’m Black Mike, your worst nightmare. Let me go now, and maybe I’ll let you live.

Nigga, please! she announced aloud as she begins rubbing my shoulders. Her soft hands slowly work their way through my chest hairs. Shawty begins fondling my nipples with the nail tips of her two index fingers. I see you like, are the soft words whispered in my ears as one of her hands slides down my six-pack, eventually grabbing hold of my soldier, pulling him in formation until he’s at full attention.

She takes the blindfold off. I hear her heels clicking across the floor behind me. Standing in front of me is a sexy chocolate drop wearing a silk-cami, some gold pumps, and a pair of black tights. I hear Adina Howard’s Freak Like Me blasting after she pushes Play on the remote control. Shawty picks a knife up off the floor and struts toward me dancing in front of me for a few minutes, coming closer and closer until I’m within arm’s length. The knife slides down the side of my waist, and then my boxers are cut off.

Damn, you got a big-ass dick! With her ass pressed against my face, she pulls her tights down slowly to her knees. Shawty was ’bout it, no panties, exposing her juicy phat ass and thick tatted thighs. Her slow 360 twirls reveal her clean-shaved pussy and juicy full lips. She throws her blade on the floor and drops to her knees. Gripping my third leg—right hand on the bottom half, with the left hand on the top—she pops my head in her mouth taking in inch by inch until she’s choking herself out.

Damn, you a bad little bitch, aren’t you? Yeah, suck this dick! Spit on this big, thick black magic wand!

After sucking me off until I’m all rocked up, she gets up and walks over to a shelf to grab a bag. Shawty comes back over to where I am and pulls her tights down from her knees to her ankles. I watch her take some anal beads and a tube of Anal-Ese out the bag. She spreads a nickel size portion of the anal lubricant on her fingers and rubs it in and out of her backdoor slot inserting one bead at a time looking at me seductively until each and every one of them are down inside her dark tunnel.

Now I’m really getting turned on watching her pleasure herself, going in and out of that big well-proportioned black ass—throwing the beads across the floor when she’s done. Out of nowhere comes the other girl—crawling on her hands and knees—fetching the beads like a dog—picking them up with her mouth and crawling away.

Baby puts some X-Cream on her clit and some sweet-smelling lubricant all over my hands. Sexy turns around and spreads her ass cheeks with her hands. With her legs more than shoulder with apart, she squats and rubs her jewel box against my tied hands. This continues until my hands are moistened with her fluids. She gets off for a few more minutes, and then she gets on top of me sideways.

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Mama slowly works the dick inside her cookie box until she’s taking a ride on me sideways. I lean over until my lips embrace the side of her hard left nipple as I roll my tongue licking and gently nibbling with my teeth making the right one jealous. I feel as though I’m a paraplegic, unable to use my hands or move my legs. It’s like I’m a slave breeding for the master. All I can do is sit back and enjoy the pussy.

Ah! OOOOO! Damn! I’m riding this dick and feeling every inch of it! I feel it! Feeling it! Riding this big thick hard long dick!

She turns around straight, facing my chest tights wrapped around the back of my neck where her ankles rest. This piece of dark chocolate is working me over, going back and forth, straightening and arching her back. I’m coming ever closer to a climax, and she’s shaking and squirting in orgasm. Shit! Shit! Get up, bitch! I’m ’bout to cum!

I close my eyes as the semen pushes from my sack, flowing through my pipe down her canal. Ah shit! I scream, looking down at the other bitch holding the knife that just cut across my chest. What’s wrong with you, bitch?

Nigga, take this message from Don Rosario! She takes three steps back and runs toward me, shoving the long nine-inch butchering knife through my spleen. Ah fuck! I scream out in agony as she cuts me up, stopping just below my heart. I want you to suffer, nigga. Then you can die like a fucking bitch!

The chocolate drop hops off my lap and snatches my head back as her submissive bitch shoves the end of the blade through my throat cutting across my jugular until blood is gushing out of my neck. Then the bitch drops the knife to the floor as I bleed profusely. Blood covers my body in minutes. They free me from the chair just before I bleed out. Both of them walk over to me and spit in my mouth just before bending over and shitting in my face. The girls walk away, hand in hand, laughing at me, shouting, Squirm like a dog, bitch-ass nigga!

I move around in a struggle, but I just can’t get up. I can’t believe this is how it’s going to end after all those real so-called tough guys I’ve killed. Dead at the hands of some freak-ass bitches. I’m getting weaker by the second. My eyes are closing, and it hurts to breathe. Just as my eyes close, the loud sound of my heart makes me jump up swinging.

I wipe the crust away from my eyes and check myself out. My throat and abdominal region are killing me, but there’s no sign of cuts or blood anywhere. The loud sound is a pounding on the front door. What a crazy-ass dream. I turn over with my hard dick poking through my silk boxers, swinging. I’m not use to having any visitors at my door so early in the morning, so I grab my .44 revolver from under my pillow and walk to the door cautiously. Who is it?

It’s us.

I look through the peephole and then open the door. To my surprise, it’s my mother’s sisters—Janice, Beth, and Julia. It’s been a long time; I haven’t seen them in years. They all gather around me and hug me tight taking turns kissing my cheeks. I manage to slickly tuck my pistol in the back of my boxer shorts during the affectionate greeting, but trying to hide my soldier standing at full attention was something else.

Aunt Janice’s eyes become enlarged as she looks down at my shorts with lustful eyes, acknowledging, You must’ve had some type of dream. Look at how fine you’ve become. If you weren’t my nephew, I’d take you to the back room and reveal my vintage.

Aunt Julia berates her, Janice, that’s your family. You know good and well you shouldn’t be talking like that.

Bitch, please, if he wasn’t your sister’s son, you’d be down on your knees—jerking, choking, slurping, sucking, swallowing, and all that shit.

Aunt Beth screams, Would both of you stop the bullshit. Nobody wants to hear you two arguing. We’re not here for that. We’re here to support Michael.

I see my aunts are still crazy. Aunt Julia is the oldest and always trying to regulate. She’s supposed to be super religious, but I guess she forgot her religion when she was selling pussy back in the seventies. There was nobody she wouldn’t fuck for fifty bucks. If you had a benji, you got the whole nine yards. She bears a close resemblance to Vanessa Williams; unfortunately, her personality is that of a cold bitch.

Then there’s my gorgeous Aunt Janice, with her Coke bottle shape. Her titties are so big her bras be screaming for help. I can only imagine a thong dividing her ass while she’s popping it. If she wasn’t my aunt, I would surely have her head banging against the headboard.

Aunt Beth is my favorite and the peacemaker of the sisters. Of course, she’s beautiful just like the other two—pretty face, great body, and a beautiful head of hair. Beth is blessed with the brains Janice lacks, and her sweet personality makes up for Julia’s grumbling and bitching.

Trying to be cordial, I ask, Can I get you ladies anything to eat or drink?

They look at me and start laughing; and in unison, they decide. Boy, please, we’re going to cook you something this morning. You just get your things together, and we’ll take care of breakfast.

No argument here. That sounds good to me. You ain’t gotta tell me twice. I take my aunts’ advice and go to the bathroom to take a hot shower. While in the shower, I get to thinking bout how phat and sexy my aunt Janice is. I imagine picking her up and fucking her right in the shower. My thoughts become temptation that leads to me touching myself and making my soft dick get long, fat, and brick hard. I work both my hands, beating off as the warm water runs down my back, like a blue-balled teen. I jerk off until my knees get weak, and I’m shaking bussing off all on the shower wall.

I know all niggas masturbate, or at least they have at one time. It’s all good, and I ain’t afraid to admit it. It’s not like I don’t get plenty pussy, but this shit just feels good. Smoking a bong of the bombest weed got nothing on the high I just had.

I dry off and put on my Polo lotion, Polo cologne, Polo T-shirt, and Polo underwear. I throw on my blue Polo robe and walk to the kitchen. I sit at the kitchen table as my aunts serve me the breakfast they cooked. The French toast, corned beef hash, and pepper-filled egg-and-cheese omelets are delicious. I eat every piece of food, not leaving a spec of a crumb. Thank you so much for the breakfast. The food was delicious. I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in ages. This was more than good—it was great.

You’re welcome, honey. Anytime, Aunt Beth replied with a smile on her face.

On my way back to my room, I hear the doorbell ring. Aunt Beth looks and motions for me to keep going. Don’t worry, baby, I got it.

I continue walking back to my room to finish getting dressed. Aunt Beth answers the door as I walk to the back to gather the rest of my belongings. I go in my closet and pull out the new black Versace suit with white pinstripes. I put on my white French-cuffed Versace shirt and tuck it in my slacks. The black Versace belt goes through the belt loops and around my waist. My black Versace socks go on my feet, followed by the black Stefano Ricci crocs. A pair of diamond cuff links slide through the holes at the end of my shirt cuffs, and then I put my new white-gold-and-diamond Cartier watch on my left wrist. I tie a pink necktie around my neck and place a pink handkerchief in my blazer pocket to match my mother’s dress. I slide on a three-karat diamond-and-white-gold pinky ring—grab my black Versace shades and walk out to the family room.

To my surprise, my father’s brother Dalvin is standing in my living room, hugging my aunt. My uncle and I exchange handshakes, and then we all get in the limousine. My uncle bears a look of serious concern as he asks, Michael, are you doing OK?

I’m doing as well as I can, considering the circumstances.

It’s good seeing you, youngster. You’re the spitting image of my brother. Looking at you makes me think of him. You’ve grown up a lot since the last time I saw you.

Uncle, a lot changes in over twenty years.

It hasn’t been that long.

Man we in the 90’s, I haven’t seen you in decades.

From all the things I heard about you, I figured you didn’t have much time for your family.

You can’t believe everything you hear. Sometimes it’s best to come out and check things for yourself.

Nephew, either you’ve fallen into a hell of a fortune, or I’m sure the things I heard about you are true. When are you going to get your life together and give it to the church?

I’m doing fine, thank you! I’m a very successful businessman. I have my own private contracting business that brings me lucrative profits. The church turned its back on me when I needed them the most. The majority of the pastors are looking for some easy money and fast pussy. In this world, the only one that’s going to look out for Michael is Michael. I’ll never betray myself. That’s a lot more than I can say for you.

My aunt Julia reasons, Michael, I think your uncle is just trying to say you need to live more of a Christian lifestyle. You can’t go around bullying people and living an organized crime lifestyle forever. Show me a gangster retired and drawing a pension. Sooner or later, your time is going to run out.

How would you guys know anything about me?

Aunt Julia and Uncle Dalvin both turn and look at me with shock.

Oh, now you’re lookin at me like you don’t understand. You niggas got some fucking balls. So I guess a Christian lifestyle would entitle you to turn your back on your sister when she needed you the most. I never saw one of you come over and see how she was doing or to see if you could help her with her son. I do recall all the times she sent you checks to keep the water running in your houses, along with keeping the heat and lights on. Mom must’ve kept the sticker off your house at least ten times before she became ill.

The arrogant looks on their faces turn to looks of discernment. It’s as though I’ve struck a nerve or something. The looks of shock and concern have turned to embarrassment and anger. For a moment, I consider keeping the peace, but the real nigga in me is geared to keep shit one hundred. I roll with the flow and keep going.

Like typical niggas, y’all got ghost when shit got tough. When mom needed y’all the most, you bitches were nowhere to be found. There were no more phone calls, not even one card in the mail. You wrote her off the second she was no longer able to bankroll your failures. I only did what I had to do—to support my mother and take care of the house like my father instructed me. So the last thing I need is for some fair-weather family members to resurface, trying to act like they were there for their deceased sister and sister-in-law. I pray every day that God will forgive me for all my sins. God, and God alone, is the only one who can judge me. Truth be told, with family like y’all, who needs enemies?

It becomes so silent in the limousine you can hear a pin drop. Like clockwork, my aunt Beth saves the day, changing the subject, announcing, Look how handsome you’ve become. Look at you all grown up and stuff. Your father would’ve been proud of the way you took care of your mother and the house. Michael, I’m not going to judge you. It’s hard enough trying to take care of yourself these days, being able to take care of your mother when you were just a kid yourself is truly a testimony to God and an accomplishment in itself. I’m not going to pretend like I agree with your means of how you’ve managed to do what you’ve done, but the ends will, hopefully, justify the means. I will love you no matter what you do. Just make sure you’re doing what you’re doing for the reasons you say you are. Valona is gone, and she left you a small fortune, so you don’t have to do this anymore.

Aunt Beth, I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, it seems I’ll, be a lifer. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to

Why would you say that?

Some things you can’t just walk away from, even when you’ve had enough. Like it or not, we truly reap what we sow, and sometimes the price of success and fortune could cost you your soul. If I could turn back the hands of time, there would’ve been a lot of things I would’ve changed, starting with my father going to Vietnam.

She proudly acknowledges, Your father died for everyone in our country.

Honestly, you wouldn’t believe how much trouble the United States of America has caused my family. They owe me, and now I’m just out here collecting.

Sweetie, I just want you to know there’s always a way out, and it’s never too late to stop the madness. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve, but I’m telling you now, from this day forward, please, if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call me. There will be no questions asked, no strings attached. You are my sister’s son, and you’ll always be my family. Blood to me will always be thicker than water.

I hug Aunt Beth and wipe the tears off her face and kiss her cheeks. We ride in the vehicle quietly for the next five minutes, listening to Aretha Franklin, until we finally arrive at the funeral home. The finality of everything hits me like a ton of bricks when I exit the family vehicle and walk inside the facility. There are so many faces of people from the neighborhood, people who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. The young boy I paid to bring the Christmas tree to my family’s house approaches me and shakes my hand, sympathetically uttering, Sorry to hear about your mother, Mr. Valentine.

Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.

I know this probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, but I’ve been thinking about starting my own little business, and I was wondering if you might be able to help me, if not give me some guidance.

You’re right. This isn’t the right time to be talking to me about anything like that. Kid, I like you, and maybe one of these days you’ll thank me for telling you that there’s no way and no how I see us doing any business in the foreseeable future. Now if you’re looking for a legit job, come and see me sometime. I could use someone to help run my family’s sporting goods shop. Thanks for the condolences, but I really have to be moving on.

Donny, Reicardo, Pooch, and at least twenty other members of their entourage greet me. It’s good to receive love from your family, friends, and associates in a time of mourning. We exchange hugs and handshakes, and I receive at least twenty-five cards from them.

The family’s generosity and thoughtfulness humbles me. Donny, thanks for coming out here today in honor of my mother.

Mike, after all we’ve been through, there’s no way I wouldn’t have made it. Your father was a good man, so I had to come out and show my respects to his family. Make sure you put those cards up. They’re filled with a lot of cash. The one with the gold envelope is the other half for the services you supplied on such short notice, especially in a time of mourning. I even threw in an extra bonus for the extra cash you bought to me and to complement your loyalties. It’s true of the saying that out of all bad things something good can be salvaged.

Donny, usually I’m feeling you, but not this time. I can’t see nothing positive out of my mother dying.

Mike, I’m sorry for everything your mother went through with the pastor, but I’m not sorry I met you. You’ve become a very valuable ally definitely worth your weight in gold. A snake-in-the-grass imitation Christian was killed and returned to the dust and out of nowhere, a strong kid developed to become the biggest contractor in the world.

I walk away from the family, feeling used. Donny never referred to me as a friend or an acquaintance. To him I’m more like a commodity or possession under his control. In his position, I assume everything is business orientated. But I’ve been through too much to let that shake me.

Business is business, but today is all about my mother, and that’s as personal as it gets. So many people are gathered in this funeral home to pay respects to a wonderful woman. I’m trying to be strong but viewing her body is hard. I’ve seen so many dead bodies that I can’t even count them on both hands. I done dropped plenty niggas in ditches and returned them to dust without remorse, or even breaking my stride, but seeing my mother’s body is different.

No matter how much I try to hold back, the tears flow like a stream of water down my face. I miss my mother more than ever. Even the peaceful smile on her face isn’t enough to cheer me up. It’s like someone snatched my heart out of my chest. I stand at the casket shivering and crying until Aunt Beth comes over and consoles me convincing me to have a seat. I’m a grown-ass man but she holds my hand and consoles me during the entire service, taking care of me as though I am a young child again.

No more bickering. All of us are crying during the limo ride to the cemetery. It hurts so damn bad as the reverend reads the scripture and prays over my mother’s body. We all stand united broke down; if my aunts aren’t holding me up, they’re leaning on me for support. The recessional at the gravesite is the finality of it all. I’m forced to say good-bye to my mom. Several roses and carnations are thrown on top of the casket as it lowers into the ground. All my aunts are screaming, No! Valona! No! Why, my beautiful sister!

My knees weaken as I collapse to the ground crying out, I love you, Mom! I love you so much! Nothing or no one will ever replace you. I’ll never forget you. Till we see each other again. You were and will always be the queen of my heart.

I can’t take one more second of riding around in the limo with Aunt Janice and Uncle Dalvin, so I catch a ride with Rina. She drops me off at the house to pick up the Cadi. My black Versace shades hide my tears as I ride down the block in my champagne Cadi sedan listening to Al Greene en route to the repast. A black Suburban passes by my left side—all passengers and the driver flipping me the bird. As much as I’d like to ignore them, I just can’t.

I follow dem fools for three blocks, down a hill and through a back alley to an old apartment complex around the city. They park the SUV just in front of the fire hydrant. I pull up beside the curb a block down and parallel-park the whip. I look through the glass windows from outside, watching what apartment they go in.

I pimp back to the Cadi and sit down in the driver’s seat. I lay my blazer on the front passenger side headrest, pull my .45 from under the seat and tuck it into the waistband of my slacks. I push the button to pop the trunk, and then I shut the driver’s side door and walk back to the trunk. With my right hand, I pull back the carpet and grab hold of the Mossberg 930 SPX semi auto 12 gauge shotgun. I rack one in the chamber and take the magazine out to replace the round, giving me six 3-inch rounds in the magazine plus one in the chamber. I throw the Mossberg in a black duffel bag and throw it over my shoulder. I close the trunk and stroll back to the apartment, shotgun in the large camping duffel bag and my black hoodie concealing the .45.

I’m chilling at the bottom of the steps, duffel bag in hand, patiently waiting for the hallway to clear out. Five minutes later, my black Stefano Ricci crocs are walking up the steps ending in front of an apartment door. I stand outside the door like a dead man, not making a sound. If it wasn’t me, I wouldn’t know I was breathing. I unzip my duffel bag to get a hold of my shotgun. I pound the door with the barrel of the Mossberg and step to the side.

The door screeches open, and my 930 is flush against the side of his right temple. I don’t say shit—I suppress the trigger allowing the slugs to do the talking. The blast shatters the hallway windows leaving his head wide open and half gone. Blood is gushing out of his wound as his body hits the floor, convulsing all over the place.

Hey, what the fuck are you—

Two facial shots shut his partner up and drop him to the floor. I lower the Mossberg and cover what’s left of his face and pull the trigger. He isn’t saying anything, but for some reason, he’s still moving. I put the 930 flush on his chest firing the slug straight through his heart out his back and through the floor.

Mr. Tough Guy is the only one left standing in front of me, shaking, with a big piss stain in his crouch area and a cigarette in his mouth. I fire a 12 gauge slug in both knees, dropping him to the ground. I walk up to him as he’s lying flat on his back, crying and screaming like a bitch. Please! Oh my God, please help me! Why? Why are you doing this? I thought we were cool!

Nigga, you one of Frog’s boys. I bet you thought I’d be too busy with my mother’s funeral to deal with you? Punk, I ain’t never too busy to handle my business.

Come on, Mike, you know I wouldn’t fuck with you! Ahhh, my fucking knees!

Curley, it sure looked like you were saying ‘Fuck me’ a couple minutes ago. Your finger was long as a mafucka pointing all up and shit. Nigga, you been mad ever since I fucked your hoe in the back of the Cadi.

Fuck dat bitch Ressa!

Oh, I fucked her and got my ass licked and my dick sucked too. She drank my nut like a shot of Patrón. Where’s my cheddar?

In the back room, in the closet, in the blue Adidas shoebox.

I check to make sure he doesn’t have any weapons, and then I leave him hollering as I walk to the back. The money is all here in this blue shoebox. I grab the ten grand and walk back to the room. Shit! Ahh! Please don’t leave me like this.

To bad I don’t have time ’cause I’d love to get on my knees and bite his fingers off one by one. Instead, I grab a pair of wire cutters from a toolbox under the coffee table and snip his two middle fingers off.

Ahh shit! Fuck! You cut my fucking fingers off! My knees! My fucking knees! Kill me, you fucking animal.

Oh I’m going to do that, not because you demand but because I want to.

Oh! Oh God! Shit! Somebody help me please!

Nigga, shut the fuck up! I scream, pulling the trigger and firing the last round of the Mossberg through his shoulder blade. I grab the