Ghost Dance

By Alexander Johnson

In Coty's eyes, loyalty means everything. A feature that helps him distinguish between someone who is a real nigga and who is a fake. Paris, his big homie, has shown nothing but how Coty is to handle himself. However, Coty's whole perception changes in a blink of an eye as deception, blood, and murder come between both Coty and Paris on a robbery together.

Now the horrors of that night chase Coty in the rearview of his old school as he rides around wrapping up his business before leaving the city, a road that includes murdering anyone he feels can expose his secret!

Hold on to your seats because Coty's every move will have you trying to figure out why Coty keeps pulling the trigger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781684981175

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Ghost Dance

Alexander Johnson

Copyright © 2022 Alexander Johnson

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-68498-116-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68498-117-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Iron Head

After the Shooting

The Case

An Evil Pass

The Setup

Natural Affection

Some Things Have No Answer

An Answer Will Come Callin'

The Key Witness Is Missing

Saying Goodbye

Fake Loyalty

Torture

In Coming Force

Love Will Set You Up

At Last

Bangin' on Another Level

Shared Information

Past Hurt

We Fly High

Searching for Answers

Work Calls

Fear in All Shades

Natural Love Explored

Hot Lead, No Feds

Leaving Everything Behind

Repercussions, the Results of One's Actions

Heartache but She Has to Let Go

Suspicion Drives Murder

A Plea for Help

Sucka Ass Niggaz

Fresh Meat

Dull, Looking for Something New

Change of Plans

The Strap Bust in Many Ways

Die, Fuck Nigga

Old News Brought in a New Way

Nigga on a Mission

Decisions across the Board

Darkness Falls

Crossing Da Line

All Eyes on You

Senseless Murders in the City

A New Beginning

Greed before Honor

Run, Nigga, Run

About the Author

Iron Head

Friday early morning

I knew this bitch would be loaded. Ol' boy be moving weight out here in these streets, Paris told Coty as they stood over the drug dealer. The man had multiple skull tattoos all over his neck, face, and back. He was also bleeding out of a deep cut over his right eye, a wound he had just received ten minutes ago trying to buck after both these jack boyz ran up on him and his girl as they entered the building through the security door. Coty looked at Paris, then around the living room. There had to be one hundred bricks or better in plain view, and Coty smiled, thinking of the street value of so much yayo in one spot. Dope ain't nothing new to him, and he'd dealt with a brick or two, but nothing like this. Y'all eatin' good around here, huh…? Paris questioned as he knelt down, right next to the Mexican dealer, tappin' the man on his forehead using the barrel of his smoke-gray .45-caliber handgun. The man jerked his body, mumbling something from behind the strip of duct tape covering his mouth. Everything felt surreal as Coty's hand shook slightly. Why, though? This wasn't his first jack move riding along with his big homie. In fact, Coty had learned a lot from Paris, and fear was definitely not a part of his schooling.

Coty tried to ease his mind by looking at all the bricks that were spilling out of the kitchen cabinets, stacked across the kitchen counters, and across the dining room table. There was also a deep freezer right next to where Coty was standing, and it had thirty or more bricks inside, all stacked to the very top and preventing its door from closing completely. This was certainly the mother lode of every lick that Coty and Paris had ever pulled, and this apartment was flushed out too, with an off-white champagne-style living room set. Mounted to the wall across from the leather sofa was a sixty-inch liquid-face flat-screen TV hanging over a multicolored stone-face fireplace. Electronics were everywhere, some brand-new and still in their boxes. Laptops, cellphones, and TVs, but it was the big money machine on the dining room table surrounded by dope that got Coty's attention.

Where is the real money, my man? And you know exactly what I'm talking about, because we just spoke the other day about me buying a few of these birds you have lying everywhere. Paris was staring the man in his eyes, and he could see nothing but fury in them. Coty watched Paris talk to the man as though the two were having a regular ol' conversation. Paris placed the burner to ol' boy's head again, causing the man to wiggle and flop like a fish out of water. You have something to say? Paris asked as he yanked the duct tape from ol' boy's mouth.

You're dead, you hear me? Dead, the Mexican dealer yelled, trying to intimidate Paris. The man then turned his head toward his woman, speaking to her in their own language. She immediately eyed Paris and then Coty. It was clear that the man had said something that he shouldn't have. Paris didn't understand the language, but the fact that Coty did indicated that Coty had paid attention in his Spanish classes growing up. Still Paris knew that the man had been disrespectful by the expression on Coty's face. Paris slammed the butt of his forty-five down into the Mexican's jaw, and a loud crack sounded. The man cried out in pain from a broken jawbone and spat out a mouthful of blood. Coty was confused; they had been on this lick way too long. Paris had always told him that when you jack a nigga that it was all about getting straight to the check. He never once mentioned torture or inflicting unnecessary pain, but that's exactly what Paris was doing right now. Almost as though he knew the dealer personally and was settling a score.

Aye, blood, let's grab a duffel bag full of these bricks and get up out of here, Coty said, and it caused Paris to shoot Coty a mean mug stare.

So you on some scared nigga shit right about now, huh? I don't need no soft-ass nigga around me, blood.

Nah, it's just that we have everything, and you already know I'm about that life, so don't ever get it twisted, Coty responded, feeling like he needed to take the lead, and then that's when his heart sank down into his shoes. Something was telling him that this wasn't going to be a good night.

Coty looked toward the front door. This guy was a major kingpin around the twin cities, and here they stood with the fool stretched out, shaking him down. What would end up happening if someone knocked on the door looking to buy some work from him? Or what if some of his goons showed up wanting to know why everything was at a standstill, and why this nigga wasn't giving any orders. All of these thoughts were racing through Coty's head as he tried to figure out why Paris had the burner pointed at the dealer. Coty was only seeing darkness that had replaced his friend's normally brown eyes. A stare that Coty had never seen on his face before. One that had him wondering just where Paris's mind might be at, thinking that maybe it was the lean or the molly-laced blunt they had smoked together right before they had upped their straps on this couple, who now lay hog-tied and on their stomachs. Paris slowly and in an almost robotic manner turned his head and attention back to the Mexican kingpin and began interrogating him once again.

So you on that hush-hush shit now, huh? What? You plugged in with the cartel or something? All tight-lipped with it… Well, fuck all you taco-eatin' motherfuckers. Coty's stomach was in knots; he knew this was a sticky situation that was only getting worse.

Coty wanted to just say fuck it and get the fuck on somewhere, but if he backed out of the jack move now, niggas would check him, asking him why he went out bad by leaving the big homie on a job, some undue pressure that Coty needed right now. Then there was the reality of maybe having to shoot his way out of here if anyone showed up on the other side of that front door; the situation was getting more and more out of hand with every minute that passed.

Paris caught the Mexican chick staring at an orange work-style drinking cooler; it was a look that said she was ready for the nightmare to be over with. So Paris took hold of the dealer's hand and saw that it was well-manicured, with a coating of clear nail polish finish. There wasn't a single callous in sight. The girl was terrified and had given them a hint that Paris couldn't and wouldn't overlook. Aye, lil nigga, go check that cooler! Paris told Coty.

Jackpot, Coty said, pulling the lid off the container. Paris made his way over to Coty in two long strides, and they both marveled at the amount of loot in front of them. Rubber-banded knots of old and new bills filled its insides. Paris took one of the money rolls into his hand and estimated it to easily be over thirty bands. An evil grin curled on Paris's face as he dropped the money back inside the cooler. Both he and Coty turned toward ol' girl after hearing her mumbling a Catholic prayer. Paris laughed out loud.

Real talk, Ma. Religion ain't going to save yo ass! The comment caused Coty to again question Paris's motive. What did he mean by saying that to her? Aye, lil nigga, snatch up that cooler and run it to the truck, then come right back. Coty only stood, though, simply at a loss for words; Paris again had this half grin stuck on his face. Coty looked at the zip-tied individuals then back at the murderous glare that was in Paris's eyes… Killing them would be a line that neither of the jack boys have ever crossed before.

Paris punch-shoved Coty! Fuck is wrong with you, nigga? You hard of hearing or something? he asked as Coty stumbled backward, tripping over the lip of an inch-deep thick black rug that was lying under a glass coffee table. Coty landed on the living room sofa, and for a split second, the reality of the robbery vanished as he was taken back ten years to a night that had changed him forever.

The year was 2009, and Valentine's Day had just passed. It was the night after. Coty had sat up in his bed after hearing the sexual moans that were coming from his mother's room. She's at it again, he thought to himself as he rubbed at the sleep still in his eyes. It was a special weekend for his mom, Rea, and her on-and-off-again lover Rodney, who just happened to be a married man. His mom didn't put up much of a fight because Rodney paid all the bills and gave her plenty of money. But there was one problem that Rodney had and that was beating on Rea and Coty. The beatings started on day one, leaving scars that would last for life. It was the weekend, and Rodney had shown up with a bouquet of flowers in hand, thinking that this would be enough to make up for the way he had left last time. Which was by Coty's mom with a black eye. She knew it was one of his usual tactics to get her to let him back in the front door. The love affair had been off and on since Coty was four years old, and it was something that he can't wait to be finished. Coty sat still in his bed, not sure if he should move even though he'd already been holding his pee for a couple of hours already and couldn't any longer.

Nervously he slowly rolled the comforter off his legs, eased off the edge of his bed, walked into the dark hallway, and turned toward the upstairs bathroom that was just past his mom's bedroom. Her room door was open, and a reddish glow from her lava lamp was the cue that Rodney was in her bed and that Coty had better not do anything to disturb them. Coty just stood there knowing he should go straight to the bathroom and return right back to his room, but this night, his mom's moans sounded more like a cry for help than from pleasure. He continued to walk down the hallway, all while feeling as if he should have done this many nights before, but knowing that the fear of facing Rodney stopped him every time. Coty felt cowardly for not standing up to his abuse. Especially since the role of being the man of the house fell on his shoulders the day his dad had skipped out. Now being only a foot away, he peeked into Rea's room and would have thought she was dead if not for her moaning.

A needle was hanging out of her left arm, and she had white residue on her face and nose. Rea's eyes were rolled into the back of her head, and she was only wearing her bra. Rodney was humping and choking Coty's mom all in one motion. Suddenly he turned his head and made eye contact with Coty. The shock of their eyes meeting nearly knocked Coty off his feet. Who told you to get out of bed, you lil motherfucker? Rodney shouted as he continued to have sex with Rea. Coty didn't say a word but only released the fluid he'd been holding.

Coty quickly came back from what could have been described as an out-of-body experience and found that all eyes were on him. How da fuck was Paris chumping him off in front of these niggas? Coty questioned as he dusted at his clothes and gathered his wits. Man, get yo little bitch ass up and handle business, blood, Paris yelled. Coty hopped up, scooping the cooler into his arms before leaving the apartment.

The hallway was dimly lit and short, its walls off-white and connected to a dark green-pea carpeting. An inkling deep inside nudged Coty to just split with the cooler full of money. Fuck Paris. That nigga had tried him like he was some lame-ass nigga. Why, though? Coty had tried to reason. Two apartments and a small lounge were the only things between him and the outside. Coty cringed as a sudden outburst of childish laughter came from the last brown door on his right just as he ducked in through the lounge and past the resident's mailboxes. He went straight out the security door and into the fresh night air.

The parking lot was full of cars and eerily quiet. The first thing Coty looked for was goons, and after he was satisfied that he wouldn't meet any resistance, he continued forward. The night sky was clear, and he definitely hadn't expected the night to take the turn that it had. Paris had never put his hands on Coty, and Coty had never given him a reason too. Still, everybody knew that Paris was a hothead, and if Paris thought someone was trying him, he was quick to up that burner, but this was something different. That nigga had no reason to put his hands on Coty. It reminded Coty of Rodney's bitch ass! Still Coty held the utmost respect for his big homie, having learned a lot from Paris, a nigga who had major street cred. Coty even recalled the sound of pulling the trigger that Paris was always so gung-ho about hearing. He recalled some advice given to Coty some two years ago on one of their first licks together:

Aye, nigga, why you always sayin' dat shit?

What's that, lil nigga? I have taught you a lot, Paris said as they were laughing at some fools from Minneapolis.

You know that thing about my heart beating fast when we're pulling a robbery. You always said that niggas have to have an animalistic rage to shake someone's pockets down, and that it's best to bust my gun in a fucked-up situation then sort the shit out later.

Look, blood, I gave that advice because I don't won't yo ass to get caught slippin' out here in dese streets. Don't ever approach any lick with some wannabe-gangster attitude. Either you built for this shit or not. The fear of death can never be a part of your DNA.

Coty soaked up these teachings, with the most important things being to always use intimidation and fear to control the robbery.

Coty shook off the memories of the past and continued walking around to the back of Paris's old dark-blue Chevy suburban. He pulled the back door open and looked up just as some old Black woman walked out the security door. She was wearing a green flower-patterned summer dress, dragging one of her feet in such a way that it made a loud noise that echoed and made Coty nervous. The woman was carrying a beige Crock-Pot in her right arm and a small purse in the opposite hand. The suburban's overhead compartments' light bulb was unscrewed exactly for times like this when one didn't need to be seen. Coty kept his eyes on the woman and realized that he still had his mask on; he could only hope that she minded her own business.

He looked past her and scanned the rest of the parking lot, trying to keep his bearings. The whole lick is up in the air right now, and Coty was unsure what would happen next. The wig-wearing, leather-faced woman looked up and locked eyes with Coty. He thought about running over to her and taking her identification card as some reassurance that she never saw him and that if she did, he could find her. The look she gave was an I don't know you one. Street instincts told Coty to allow her to make the first move, and if it was the wrong one, he would peel her wig back and smoke her ass, but thankfully the stare she gave was only a brief one before looking away. She continued walking onto her small compact car and placed the cooking pot she was carrying into its back seat, got into the driver's seat, and drove away.

Coty kept his eyes on the car and his finger on the trigger because there was too much money on this lick to allow a humbug to blow up the whole job. Coty placed the cooler into the back of the SUV, then pushed it up tight against the third-row seating. He then prepared himself mentally before going back into the apartment. Just go along with whatever, man, Coty told himself and hoped that all the bullshit had ended with that punch from Paris. A punch that had permanently altered their friendship in his mind. It was clear to Coty now that Paris wanted to run this robbery and with extreme violence.

The hallway was still abandoned as Coty hurriedly jogged back to the apartment. The closer he got, the more he could hear ol' girl's sobbing get louder and louder, and he knew that Paris was still on that crazy psycho shit. Coty was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the robbery. Both the mu'fuckas were tied up and the check was secure, so there was no need to still be here, yet still they were. Once back inside, Coty discovered blood splattered everywhere, and it looked like Paris had been beating the couple the whole time that he was gone. Blood ended up sprayed all over the furniture, walls, and, most of all, all over Paris's face, hands, and clothes. The nigga looked possessed, as if he worked in a slaughterhouse.

Paris maintained a face of stone, almost like this robbery was personal and not just business. What's up, my nigga? C'mon, fam, you are trippin', man. Let's get up out of here. Coty pleaded. Paris pushed the ski mask up off his face, his jaw clenched tight, and he was gritting his teeth. Coty saw that his friend's hand was swollen, and Paris kept trying to shake the pain out of it.

Shut up, nigga, and start taking this dope out to the truck. Paris was out of breath as he gave another command and it sounded sadistic and brutal. Coty felt a type of way and was uncertain as to what he should do.

Look, blood, I'm with you to the end, but you ain't gotta keep trying me like some fuck-nigga.

What you said, bitch-ass nigga? I'm the big homie, remember, Paris said. He then began pistol-whipping the dealer again, and it seemed like he was intent on inflicting the maximum amount of pain possible to