Crave All Lose All (18 page)

“C’ mon man, don’t fuckin’ do this,” Stipple shouted.

He watched Nappy stand over his wife with the machete gripped tightly in his hand. Nappy crouched down over Via, grabbed her by the hair harshly, yanking her head back with force and put the machete to her throat.

Nappy glared at Stipple one last time and said, “Yuh get to watch ya Bombo-claat wife die in front of yuh, for betrayin’ Shotta.”

Nappy Head Don carved open Via’s throat with the machete. Blood
squirted everywhere like a sprinkler. Via’s sister and the daughter squirmed frantically in fear witnessing Via dying slowly. She gurgled with her mouth still taped shut and began choking from blood.

“God no, no, no,Via!” Stipple cried out, trying to crawl to his wife.

Nappy carved open her throat so deep, that he nearly took her head off. Rude Boy Rex smiled at the heinous act done and wanted next. Spoon shook his head looking stunned.

Nappy then stood over Via’s sister, and pulled her by her hair forcefully, snapping her neck back. She struggled but it was useless. Nappy put the blade to her throat and carved open the sister neck, spilling blood onto the white tiled floor, creating a crimson stain on the kitchen floor. She choked and died under his hands.

Stipple cried like a baby. His only concern was for his eight-year old daughter.

“She’s just a child, don’t do this to her. Please, I’m begging you!” Stipple exclaimed.

Nappy stared at Stipple with ice-cold eyes and smirked. He then reached down for Stipple’s daughter and grabbed a handful of her hair. He pulled her head back relishing the agony and fear building in his victim’s eyes.

Spoon’s heart raced.

“Why the kid…?”

“Bredren, mi wan leave no livin’ soul behind…mi spread dis room wit’ fear….to let all know, man, woman, and child… Shotta is king of all! Shotta rules!” Nappy shouted then butchered the girl.

Spoon closed his eyes and turned his head, but he still heard the painful wailing of Stipple. It was a dreadful sound like a wild animal being eaten. The painful cries of Stipple echoed in Spoon’s head. It was one he never wanted to hear again. Spoon thought of his own children and knew he would die protecting them before any savage muthafucka laid a hand on them.

With his hands red with blood, Nappy Head Don then walked over to Stipple. He looked at Rude Boy Rex and nodded. They both raised their machetes in the air and swung down with extreme force, hacking Stipple up and decapitating him like he was a lamb in the slaughter house. Nappy Head
Don then picked up Stipple’s removed head and looked into the dead man’s eyes—it was frozen with death and horror, just the way Nappy loved his victims.

“Y’ all some sick-asses,” Spoon said.

He watched Nappy placed the head over the sink and began draining the blood down into the kitchen sink. He then washed it off and placed it into a black plastic garbage bag.

“Da boss wanna see da head of a snitch,” Nappy said raising the bag.

By noon, all three men were out of the apartment and back out into the cold bitter air. Nappy and Rude Boy showed no remorse for the atrocious acts they committed. It was business and a strong message needed to be sent.

A frantic neighbor would find the bodies a few hours later. It’d be the most horrible crime scene that the neighborhood would experience. The media ate it up especially the part about an eight-year old girl being murdered and the headless corpse found.

Spoon knew that his world and the Jamaicans were completely different—the Jamaicans took murder to a whole new level. He witnessed firsthand what would happen to someone if they ever crossed them. From that day Spoon never trusted the Jamaicans and knew to be extra cautious whenever he was around them.

Spoon sat in his truck for awhile thinking about the meeting he had with the agents. Then mulling over about Tyriq calling him and why he wanted to meet. He was uneasy about the meeting and thought against going but didn’t want to have anyone doubting his loyalty.

He got out his truck and rushed back into the crib. He went down into the basement, went over to where his discreet safe was stashed and began punching in the combination to get it open. He swung open the door and dropped stacks of money into a blue duffle bag. He dropped three-hundred thousand dollars into the bag and quickly zipped it up and rushed back to the Range Rover.

He backed out of his driveway like a bat out of hell and as soon as he
hit the stop sign at the corner, he got on his phone and called Melissa, one of his baby-mothers.

“What you want, Spoon?” Melissa asked, sounding disturbed.

“Listen, I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes,” he quickly said.

“You coming over?” she asked.

“I’ll be there soon, just be up.”

“Just ring me when you’re near.” Melissa sucked her teeth and hung up.

Spoon jumped on the Southern State Parkway hurrying to Queens. He had the duffle bag with the money right next to him on the passenger seat, and knew he was living on borrowed time. He did so much dirt in his lifetime that he knew one day karma would probably come back on him twice. He had this eerie feeling that something was about to go down.

Spoon pulled up to Melissa’s home in Queens Village and got out of the truck carrying the duffle bag in his grip. He wanted Melissa to hold on to the money in case something happened to him. He wanted his kids to have an optimistic future for themselves—one that he never had growing up.

He knocked on Melissa’s door, waiting impatiently for her to answer. Time was important for him. Melissa opened the door and snapped, “Nigga, I said call when you get near. I’m not even dressed.”

There was no time for arguing. He gently pushed Melissa to the side and made his way inside. Melissa looked at him like he was crazy, but kept her cool and noticed the small duffle bag on her couch.

She walked over to Spoon wearing a white Terry cloth robe and looked at the bag and asked, “What’s inside?”

Spoon looked at her and stated, “I need you to keep that for me. There’s three-hundred thousand in that bag for you and my kids in case something happens to me.”

Melissa suddenly became worried.

“What do you mean, Spoon? What’s goin’ on?”

“Just take the money and put it someplace safe,” he instructed.

“Are you in trouble?” she asked worried.

“Just take the shit and keep it safe, Melissa,” he barked.

Spoon was never the type to explain himself to anyone. He wanted to keep it moving without being interrogated. Melissa cared, but knew that jail
and death could be around the corner for him.

Spoon made his way to the front door, but Melissa pulled at his shirt, slowing him down. She looked deep into his eyes. Spoon returned the gaze. “Baby, please be safe. I love you your kids love you, too, please come back to us.”

Spoon smiled. This thang ain’t for him anymore, he thought. He was having mixed feelings about killings, the trafficking and the drugs he pushed that made him millions. The game was really ugly. He had seen things that’d make any man crawl into a corner, freeze up and have nightmares.

He was thinking about his kid’s safety and the real estate business he had started. Spoon wanted to get out the drug game and go legit. He wanted a new life, something the feds were promising him if he continued to cooperate. Spoon contemplated being a tax-paying civilian and raising his family like a regular father. The odds of that happening were stacked against him.

Spoon towered over Melissa’s beautiful petite frame.

“I love you, baby, and the kids. “

It was the first time Melissa had ever heard him say “I love you.” She had tears in her brown eyes when she leaned and their lips fervently locked. Spoon pulled himself away.

Melissa stood in her doorway, and watched Spoon get into his truck and tears flowed. She held herself with her arms folded across her chest, leaning against the doorway, watching. When the Range Rover was no longer visible, she closed the door and slowly made her way back into the living room. Melissa looked at the duffle bag and thought she might not see Spoon alive again. She fell to the floor and cried, knowing death was coming for him.

Spoon pulled up to the club, thought about his options, and cocked his weapon, securing a deadly round in the chamber. He concealed it in the waistband of his jeans and stepped out of the truck. Coolly, he walked to the entrance. Unsure, he was when greeted by security and his family, giving certain niggas dap navigating his way through the dense revelers that danced to the deafening sounds of Biggie Smalls,
Hypnotized.

Spoon made his way upstairs and saw Tyriq lounging on the couch talking to an associate with stacks of money on a table in front of them. The only other person in the room was Tip. He was lounging around on a nearby couch and nodded when Spoon walked in.

“What’s good, Tyriq?” Spoon hollered.

“Nigga, I called you what, an hour ago…? Fuck, you just coming now,” Tyriq spat.

“I had to take care of some thangs,” Spoon informed.

Tyriq looked at Spoon for a moment. He reached down to the floor and tossed a package to Spoon. A kilo of cocaine landed in Spoon’s hand, and Spoon barked.

“Nigga, what the fuck is wrong? You know we don’t keep drugs in here.”

“Taste it,” Tyriq said.

Spoon looked at Tyriq and then cut open the package with a small blade and tasted the kilo that was supposed to be pure uncut cocaine. It left a bitter taste of baby powder mixed with baking soda.

“What the fuck is this?” Spoon asked.

“You tell me, nigga…your peoples were supposed to deliver five bricks to Beng here, and all he got was three pure bricks. The rest was some bullshit. Niggas switched up,” Tyriq informed.

“Tate…?” Spoon asked.

“Them your peoples, Spoon…you need to handle that,” Tyriq said.

“Tate’s sixteen year old, younglings…”

“Uh huh… and played you. He’s stealing from us, Spoon. I mean an ounce or two, that’s one thing, a nigga get beaten down, hospitalized and shit. The disrespect had our organization looking like we a muthafuckin joke—we out two bricks to Beng and a message needs to be sent. That’s your peoples, you handle yours, ayyite!” Tyriq sternly stated.

It was a situation that Spoon didn’t want to be in. Tate was Melissa’s younger cousin. He put Tate onto the game a few months ago, to help put some money in the little nigga’s pockets. He had Tate bagging up drugs and making deliveries. Tate was really smart. He was from a broken home like Spoon and needed a break. Tate was wilding before Spoon put him on, robbing people and shooting folks in the foot. The streets were swallowing him up. All Tate needed was guidance. Spoon offered him fifteen-hundred a week to work for him. Tate jumped at the opportunity.

Within three months, Tate had put together his own network and they started getting money with Spoon. They all hung out on Supthin and Foch and were given respect. They were all a young, fresh crew and some too smart for their own good.

Now hearing the news that Tate was stealing from them, upset Spoon. He had love for Tate who was like family. But stealing two keys was the death penalty.

“You gonna handle that, right Spoon?” Tyriq asked.

“I’m on my thang,” Spoon replied nonchalantly.

Tyriq and Spoon locked eyes for a short moment. Tyriq then took a pull from his Black & Mild, and then said, “What’s up wit’ you nigga? You acting like you bothered by this shit. What, you bitching up on us, Spoon? You scared to kill now? Or are you stealing too, nigga?”

“Nigga don’t go there…you know I’ve been doing my thang since day fucking one!” Spoon barked.

Tyriq smirked and nodded his head. “Ayyite, fucking around my nigga... You’ve been like distanced from us the past few weeks. Everything good…?”

“Everything’s good.”

“Alright, I like that, but Tate gotta go,” Tyriq reiterated.

“I understand.”

“Matter fact, take out his whole crew, clear that corner up…bitch asses probably all stealing.”

“Why?”

“Cuz nigga, one message ain’t strong enough. I want niggas out there to understand that if one nigga fucks up by stealing, everybody in the crew fucking pays. That’s how you keep little niggas like that in check. I want everybody watching everybody!”

Spoon was against what Tyriq was saying. He was the one who brought Tate into the game and had to be the one to take him out. Tate trusted Spoon it’d be easy to kill the nigga since he was close.

“When will I get the two keys I paid for?” Beng asked.

“You’ll get your shit, nigga. Let us handle this problem,” Tyriq snapped at Beng.

“Time is money, Tyriq,” Beng replied.

“You think I don’t fucking know that. How long we been doing business, Beng?”

“Too fucking long,” Beng replied.

“You’ll get your shit, you just fucking chill,” Tyriq barked.