Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 4

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Table of Contents

by
J.M. Benjamin

To my number 1 rider, my mother, Rev. Jean M. Word,
and to all those who have been riding for me thus far.
Thank You!
-J.M.

“Naked I came from my mother's womb and naked I will depart. The Lord giveth and the Lord has taketh away. May the name of the Lord be praised. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” the Irish priest pronounced as he sprinkled dust on top of the casket. Everyone began tossing red roses onto Sammy Black Sr.'s casket.

“May God be with you and the family,” was what Sammy Black Jr. had been hearing all day long followed by countless kisses and hugs. He stood and watched as they lowered his father in the ground of their Ireland homeland. He tossed a handful of dirt onto Sammy Black Sr.'s coffin.

“Until we meet again, ol' chum,” he whispered under his breath.

He lowered his shades to shield his misty eyes, then did an about face and made his way toward his car. He nodded, shook hands, embraced hugs, and kissed cheeks until he reached his Lincoln luxury sedan, where his driver waited.

“You okay, sir?” his driver asked in a solemn tone.

No, I am not okay,
he wanted to say. Instead he nodded, then climbed into his Lincoln.
But I will be,
he continued with his thought, as he peered out of the backseat window.

The ol'man would be proud,
he thought as he watched the sea of people, who had come to pay their respects, make their way to their vehicles. The first part of his obligation was done. He had carried out his father's wishes about the way he wanted to be laid to rest. It wasn't a surprise to him that his father had left specific instructions in his will to be buried next to his parents. They were buried on the land that had been in their family for generations. It had cost a lot of money and footwork to pull it off, but there was no amount of money or headache that would prevent Sammy Black Jr. from carrying out his father's requests. The environmental health inspector from the local authority's health department gave him a hard time about making sure the burial site didn't pollute any water sources or drainage channels. The depth of the holes had to be eight feet. Then there were the crooked politicians who saw an opportunity to obtain funding for future campaigns, whose palms he had to grease to ensure all paperwork was approved fast enough to bury his father on private grounds. The cost of the burial itself and getting the preparations finished, from invites to all other funeral amenities, alone was enough to stress him out. But he knew he had to keep a level head and not let anyone see him sweat. In all, Sammy Jr. kicked out over one hundred grand to send his father home respectfully.

The money was the least of his worries and concern. He told himself that this was one of the things his father had groomed him for. He had been receiving calls from all of the tops of the other families offering their condolences about his loss. He knew their main concern was the financial loss they were all taking because of the situation. Sammy Jr. was not in the least bit surprised by the calls and the extent of the conversation. He was also not surprised when a meeting was called. He didn't know what to expect at the meeting, which was why he had all of his men on high alert and ready for whatever. He was not sure whether the death of his father was an inside job.

Although he hadn't fully gotten all the particulars, according to their contacts in law enforcement a young black couple randomly ran up in their storefront stash house and lucked out. He found the story hard to believe. He was under a lot of pressure and knew he had to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as possible. He had already told himself that if it came out that one of the families had anything to do with the death of his father he was all too prepared to go to war to defend their family's honor.

He was somewhat relieved when he found out that the meeting he was invited to was called to announce him as the new boss of his family. Still, the entire time he searched faces and questioned handshakes and hugs. His father had always told him, “Every smile is not a pleasant one and not every handshake is attached to respect.” It wasn't until now that he realized the depth of his father's words.

It was no secret; he had been prepped to become the head of the family in the event something were to happen to his father. Both his father and grandfather once ruled with an iron fist for nearly two decades. Now, after his father's untimely demise, Sammy Black Jr. realized it was his turn. Not only had he become the top dog overnight, as the boss, he had also inherited the responsibility of retrieving what was taken from the family during his father's death. He knew it wasn't personal, just business. The merchandise was taken on his father's watch, which made that Sammy Jr.'s problem. He was certain that's why the meeting to make him head of his family was put in motion so quickly. They wanted him to start tracking down what was taken from them. He knew his new position and how long he held it in the organization depended on whether he got back what belonged to them and took care of those responsible.

He ran his hand from the top of his red buzz cut down to his face, shook his head, and grimaced. In his mind, no matter how long it took, he would track down those responsible for the slaying of his father. And when he did, he would carry out the second part of his obligation to his family and his father.

Fifty-two-year-old Robert Cole cruised through the downtown area of Richmond, Virginia, in search of potential customers in need of his services. He had been a taxi driver for the last fifteen years of his existence and couldn't recall having had a worse day. Not only did he have a migraine headache that had been relentlessly pounding away at his skull for the past eight hours, but business had been slow all week. On top of that, the air conditioner in his taxi had been broken for just as long, so he had been riding around with the windows down, sweating profusely from the sweltering Virginia heat. Only the fact that the sun had gone down some and night began to fall made it better, but not much. Normally he wouldn't be working in the particular area, but tonight he was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He was flat broke with no food in the house. He could literally hear his stomach whining as he drove in search of potential customers. Had it not been for the fact that he had gone nearly three days without eating already and his taxi's gas light had been on for just as long, he would have turned back around and called it a night.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Robert Cole swore as he wiped his brow with the handkerchief he had clenched in his right hand.

He didn't swear because of the heat though. He had used the Lord's name in vain out of disappointment. Judging by the caliber of people roaming the downtown streets, he began to think it was a bad idea choosing to try his luck. In his eyes, all of the black faces he rode past were up to no good. His belief came from the bad experience he had endured a few years back.

He was the victim of an attempted robbery in Richmond not too far from where he was traveling now. Ultimately, he walked away scot-free but a young black teen was left dead. Let him tell it, had it not been for the licensed .38 revolver he possessed, he would have been shot and killed instead, despite the fact that no weapon belonging to the teen was found. Although he had been cleared of all charges and the incident was ruled as self-defense, the incident still haunted him. He had been shaken up ever since. He tried to steer clear of that part of town out of fear of possibly being recognized by one of the young black teen's angry loved ones. But the hunger pains in his stomach overrode that fear. He was all too prepared and wouldn't hesitate to use the .25 pearl-handle, nickel-plated semiautomatic pistol he now toted under his driver seat, if he had to. He refused to be the victim again, especially at the hands of some young black street punk.

Truth be told, Robert had a special kind of hatred for blacks since his run-in with the young teen. He found himself becoming a racist, often referring to people of color as African Americans in public, but in privacy he used the word “nigger” to best describe or refer to blacks. That was when he was in a good mood.

The altercation that had happened wasn't the first time he'd had an incident with a black person. He actually bumped heads with blacks quite often. Whenever he saw a black person he expected trouble. He'd been written up several times and even suspended once. Because he had so many years on the job and was a part of the union, they couldn't flat-out fire him.

Although he despised young black males, he was actually secretly fond of young black girls with tight bodies, which was why he came to a screeching halt when he saw the extended arm attached to the beautiful caramel specimen on the opposite side of the road. Robert put on his left blinker and made a U-turn in the middle of the street. Abruptly stopping in front of the pretty girl, he rolled down his passenger window.

“Need a ride, sweetie?” Robert Cole flashed his coffee-stained teeth.

“Yes, can you help me? I'm lost.” She flashed him a warm smile.

“Sure, where you headed?”

“I need to get to Chamberlain and Lombardy.”

“Aw, that's not that far. For you, that'll be seven dollars,” Robert Cole informed the girl. He could already taste the triple-decker cheeseburger from the twenty-four-hour Wendy's. His mouth watered at the thought. “Hop on in!”

He peered up at the young, pretty girl. He could see the nervous look on her face. “Is there something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked. He had his suspicion about her facial expression, but needed to be sure.

“I . . . I . . .” the girl stammered. “I don't have seven dollars.” She dropped her head in shame.

Her words went straight to the pit of Robert Cole's stomach. His original hunger pains resurfaced and mixed with a new set of hunger pains from getting his hopes up too high.
Shit! Fuckin'black cunt,
he cursed the girl out in his mind. He took another look up at her. His mind began to travel somewhere else: right between his legs. Lust invaded his thoughts.
I haven't made any money practically all day; the least I can do is treat myself and have a little fun before I clock out,
he reasoned with himself.

“It's okay. I'm sure we can work something out,” Robert Cole offered.

His words caused the girl to raise her head. She nodded innocently.

Robert Cole hit the locks to the back door of the taxi. His circumcised penis began to stiffen as he peered in the rearview mirror into the back seat of the taxi. His eyes zeroed in on the young girl's thick caramel thighs. He dropped his hand in his lap and brushed it across his hardness as he stared at them protruding out of the jean shorts that rode all the way up in between her legs. His eyes trailed up until he could see her face. His heart nearly stopped as she licked her luscious lips in an inconspicuous manner. His imagination ran wild at the thought of her mouth on him. He threw the taxi out of park. Within seconds, he was cruising up the street.

She's going to suck this cock and love it,
thought Robert as he searched for a secluded area. Moments later, he made a right onto a side street that appeared pitch black from a distance. He pulled over, put the taxi in park, and killed his lights.

“Get out and come on up here, sugar.” Robert Cole unlocked the doors.

He began unbuckling his belt in a speedy manner as the caramel girl exited the back of the taxi. He was so anxious he fumbled with unbuttoning his pants. Just as he got the button to open, the driver's door of the taxi flew open. When he peered up he was met with a pistol to the upper side of his face. Robert Cole's dick instantly shriveled up at the sight of the caramel girl, who he thought would be sucking his dick, standing in front of him brandishing a pistol.

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed. He couldn't believe his dumb luck.

His left eye was burning due to the blood dripping from the side of his head. With the eye he could see with, there was no mistaking the murderous look he saw in the caramel girl's eyes. His entire life flashed before his eyes right before the explosion. Urine began to trickle down the inner part of his pants legs, soiling his light blue denim Wrangler jeans. The thought of possibly dying over greed and lust ran through his mind. The blow caught him off guard and knocked him off balance. Blood gushed out of the side of his forehead and leaked into his left eye, but the first shot didn't kill him. It had entered and exited the side of his face. Before he had time to react and try to reach for his own weapon, he was hit again. The second tore into the right side of his neck. Blood sprayed the inside of the taxi's front driver's side window. Robert Cole let out one of the loudest screams he had ever let out in his life.

“What the . . .” was all that escaped his lips before she grabbed him up by the collar and yanked him out of the taxi.

“Get out, you perverted piece of shit!” Baby barked.

Robert Cole grabbed hold of his pants as he plunged to the ground. He stared up and saw the barrel of Baby's gun aimed directly at him. A confused look was plastered all over his face. At that moment, he knew he should have gone with his first instinct about working the black-infested area.

“I should shoot your fucking little white dick off!” Baby growled. She lowered the gun and jerked it in Robert Cole's direction, between his legs, to put emphasis on her statement.

“Get your bitch ass up!” she commanded.

Robert Cole did as he was told. He fastened his jeans then nervously stood up. He was scared for his life. The look on Baby's face was psychotic. It was like she had an unquenchable thirst for hurting him. He was so frightened that he nearly lost control of his bowels. His stomach began to twist in knots. But it was not a notification of how hungry he was. His hunger pains had been replaced and turned into a warning sign for the danger he knew he was in. Bad enough he had just pissed himself. Now, here it was: he stood there in fear, clenching his ass cheeks as he struggled to buckle his belt while fighting to keep from shitting on himself. The distorted look he made while trying to prevent that from happening seemed to please Baby. Gas escaped the crease of his squeezed cheeks. The smell lingered in the air and found its way toward Baby's nostrils. She covered her nose.

“Nasty-ass cracker,” she spat. “Give me your fucking wallet,” she chimed.

“I don't have a dime,” Robert Cole warned her as he reached for his wallet.
I wish my gun were behind my back instead of in the car because you'd be one dead black bitch.

He tossed Baby his wallet. She bent down and picked it up, the whole time never taking her eyes off of Robert Cole. She opened it up and scanned it. “I need this taxi, Mr. Robert L. Cole, 1964 . . .” She began to read off his address to him.

Robert Cole immediately got the picture. “I understand.” He nodded. “Take it.”

“I'll leave it unharmed once I get another ride. Lucky for you, I'm not going to kill you. Your day will come though, you piece of shit.”

A sigh of relief swept through Robert Cole's body. He had been sure Baby was going to leave him for dead.

“Where's your cell phone?” Baby asked.

Robert Cole cursed under his breath. He was hoping she'd leave without checking. He knew it was in his best interest not to play with her. He pulled his old-model flip phone out of his front pocket and tossed it over to Baby.

Baby picked it up and tucked it in her shirt. She backpedaled her way to the taxi then hopped in. “Turn over and lie on your fat stomach, you piece of shit, and count to a thousand,” Baby instructed him.

Robert Cole did as he was told. She kicked him in his ass, causing him to let out a grunt.

“A thousand motherfuka'!” She repeated.

Seconds later, Baby was headed to where she had left Treacherous tucked away in the car. She knew it was just a matter of time before the police tracked down the car they had fled. She couldn't afford any mishaps. Not when the love of her life's own life was on the line.

She was focused. Her only thought now was getting Treacherous some medical attention. Baby pulled up to where she had parked the stolen car. She looked over at Treacherous. He was still unconscious. She took hold of his wrist. She became somewhat relieved once she felt a pulse, but she knew she was running out of time. Baby struggled to load two large, heavy duffle bags into the trunk of the taxi. She then transferred Treacherous from one vehicle to the other. Moments later, she peeled off in the stolen taxi.