Crave All Lose All (19 page)

Beng looked at Tyriq knowing not to push the issue. He sat back on the couch and took a deep pull from his cigar and went on to minding his business.

Tyriq stood up and walked over to Spoon. He then said to Spoon in a calm voice, “I know you’re still a wild nigga on the inside, even though you ain’t bust off your gun in a minute. But let’s not let these niggas forget who we are and what we about. Remind them how we came up in this game, murdering niggas that fucked wit’ us. Us, always…right Spoon?”

Spoon nodded and replied. “Us…”

Tyriq then embraced him a strong hug so close that if Spoon was
wearing the wire, Tyriq would have felt it on him. Tyriq then broke away from Spoon and looked him in the eyes and alleged, “We get this money like brothers out here.”

“Like brothers,” Spoon returned.

Spoon then walked out the room feeling uneasy. Everything seemed all good and calm, but that was the problem, it was too calm. Spoon began to wonder why Tyriq hugged him so close, yeah it was love, but to Spoon it felt like Tyriq was searching for something when he hugged him.

Tip followed Spoon out of the room and they both got into his truck and drove off toward Supthin. Spoon glanced at the time. Five minutes passed ten. He was supposed to meet with the agents at eleven off the Turnpike. That meeting wasn’t happening.

Spoon was behind the wheel, heading toward Foch and Supthin, knowing that his situation was getting tighter by the moment. It’s been a year since he bodied anyone. The last was in Connecticut. The feds threatened to charge him if he didn’t cooperate. Spoon had committed a dozen bodies and only been tried twice.

He was acquitted of both murders due to lack of evidence and witnesses not showing up. He felt his luck running out on the streets. The game was tightening like a noose, squeezing breath out of him.

His cell rang when he reached Supthin Blvd. He looked at the caller I.D. and it said, “Bitches…” It was the feds trying to reach him. Tip was riding shotgun, he had to be careful.

“What up, baby,” Spoon answered.

“Where the fuck are you?” Smith barked.

“I’m kinda caught up doing my thang, right now,” Spoon said.

“Spoon, we need you here with that audio ASAP. Stop fucking around.”

“I know, baby…but I’m gonna be late.”

“How late…?”

“In the morning, or tomorrow night sometime,” Spoon said.

“Tomorrow night, the same location, no more games, Spoon. We need you to play ball with us all the way, or you’ll find yourself striking out sooner than you think…”

“I’ll see you soon, baby,” Spoon said and hung up. His stress level
zoomed upwards.

Never one with many words, Tip looked at him. He was about action and his gun did all the talking. He continued to look at Spoon.

“You got a new bitch on the phone?”

“Yeah, some ho I’ve been fuckin’ for a minute now. Why you ask nigga?” Spoon asked, not fearing Tip.

“I’m just asking,” Tip deadpanned.

“Then don’t ask, I’m doing my thang with the bitch, not you,” Spoon said.

“Ok, my nigga,” Tip returned.

Tip took a pull from his Newport and turned his attention from Spoon. Tip had a feeling that something was up with Spoon. There was a vibe about him that wasn’t good. Tip could stare a man down and knew if there was fear in him. Or he would know if that man was flaky and couldn’t be trusted. Because of Tip’s strong sixth sense about people Tyriq liked having him around. He told him who to trust and who not to.

Tip took a few more pulls from his cigarette and knew that wasn’t a bitch Spoon was talking to on his phone. He wanted to take a look at Spoon’s last call to confirm his suspicions.

Spoon rolled up on a few niggas chilling on Foch and Supthin Blvd, but none of them was Tate or his crew—just associates. The Range Rover came close to the curve and Spoon rolled his window down, staring at three young knuckleheads lingering in front of a bodega.

“Yo, anyone of y’all niggas seen Tate around?” Spoon shouted.

One of the young thugs recognized Spoon and approached the car with his pants sagging.

“Nah, he ain’t been around all day, Spoon. He probably at his girl’s...”

“You know where she stay?” Spoon asked.

“Yeah, in LI.”

“You know where?”

“Nah, but Notch probably knows where, he be fucking her sister. I’ve been hitting these niggas all day. Ain’t no one picking up. Everything alright, Spoon?”

“Yes, its okay,” Spoon dryly answered.

The young thug peeped Tip and got nervous, fearing his murderous rep. To gain rep with the infamous duo he went on, “Yo, if y’all wanna know where Notch be, I can take y’all there.”

Spoon glanced and Tip and then turned his attention back to the youngling.

“What’s your name lil’ nigga?” Spoon asked.

“Ronny…”

“How old are you, Ronny?”

“Fifteen,” Ronny answered willingly.

“You sure you know where Notch is at right now?” Spoon asked.

“Yeah, he be shooting dice at this spot on Liberty, some back alley shit.”

“Get in nigga and show us,” Spoon said.

“Yo, hold it down, I’ll be right back,” Ronny said to his friends hanging with him. He jumped in the backseat and rode with gangsters he respected and heard much about.

Ten minutes later, the Range Rover pulled up to a back block off of Liberty, near 169
^th
street. A few men were standing outside a dilapidated two story house smoking. They glared at the vehicle like it was trouble. Spoon moved his truck close. The back window slowly came down. The men had their hands near their weapons, preparing for anything. They chilled when Ronny stuck his head out.

“Yo Moe, is Notch back there?”

Moe took a pull from his cancer-stick and replied, “That nigga’s back there collecting paper.”

“I hear ya my nigga,” Ronny said and sat himself back in the seat. “Y’ all want me to go get him?” Ronny asked.

“Yo, just tell that nigga to come to the truck,” Spoon said.

Ronny nodded and jumped out the truck and rushed to the back, not before giving Moe and his man, Left some dap. He then disappeared into the backyard leaving Spoon and Tip waiting. Moments later Ronny emerged with Notch by his side. Notch towered over Ronny by five inches. Notch was six-three, and lean, with nappy black hair. He came from the backyard smoking an L with a clump of money in his hand.

He knew the truck and approached it without a care. He stared at Tip
and then noticed Spoon.

“What’s good my niggas?” Notch asked puffing the burning L.

“You strap nigga?” Tip asked.

“Nah, shit’s in my ride. Why, we got beef?” Notch asked. “Let me go get my gat.”

“Nah, you good…just ride,” Tip said.

Notch took one last pull from the L and flicked it into the street. He jumped into the truck. Ronny tried to follow.

“You stay here,” Tip said handing Ronny a C-note

“Good looking.”

The truck pulled off leaving Ronny smiling.

Notch sat quietly, wondering what this was about.

“Where’s Tate? I’ve been looking for him.” Spoon asked.

“He’s been at his bitch’s crib in LI for the past two days. He told me he was going out there to get his mind right.”

“We just need to get up with him,” Spoon said.

“I’ll show y’all where it is,” Notch said.

Spoon steered the truck toward the Southern State Parkway and pushed seventy to Brentwood. In no time, they were pulling up at the location.

“There’s his ride right there,” Notch said pointing at a white Porsche in the driveway.

Spoon got out the truck, followed by Tip and Notch. The three walked to the door covered by the thick shrubberies that lined the paved walkway and the cool air that blanketed the suburbs of Long Island. It was tranquil and the streets were lined with tall trees.

Spoon got to the wide oak door. He hoped that Tate was alone with his girlfriend. Notch was getting suspicious and wished he had brought his gat.

“The nigga in trouble?” he asked.

Tip didn’t answer, in one rapid motion he held the 9mm to Notch’s head.

“Get your boy outside to the door,” Tip said.

Notch’s eyes widened with fear. He had his arms spread out.

“What we do?” Notch asked panicking.

“Your boy fucked you,” Spoon answered.

“I don’t know what the fuck y’all are talking about,” Notch said.

“Get him to the door or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off,” Tip threatened.

Notch knocked on the door, both men stay hidden. Tip’s gun was trained on Notch.

Notch knocked on the door, acting like everything was good. Soon movement behind the door was heard.

“Who…?”

“Tammy its Notch, open up.”

When she opened the door, Notch asked, “Tate here, right?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bedroom. Why are you here so late? Sandy’s at home,” Tammy said.

Before Tammy could say anything else, Tip and Spoon quickly emerged from their hidden location. Tip grabbed Tammy and covered her mouth with the gat before she could shriek. Spoon pushed Notch inside closing the door.

Tip quickly pulled out the silencer to the .9mm and twisted it onto the gun. He pulled out white latex gloves from his pocket and tossed Spoon a pair.

Tammy was on the thick carpet clad in pink panties and a small T-shirt. She had an attractive slim figure with long blond hair and deep blue eyes.

“Bitch don’t scream, yell or move,” Tip warned with the gun aimed at her.

“How many in the house…?” Spoon asked.

“It’s me and Tate,” she answered in fear.

“You sure…?” Tip asked.

She nodded.

Tip then fired three shots into her scantily clad figure. Then he turned to Notch who had his back against the door and fired three times, dropping him. Tip didn’t care if Notch was involved. There was a message to be sent to other crews.

Both men quietly made their way upstairs. They heard the television from the master bedroom. They walked down the corridor and pushed their way into the bedroom to find Tate sprawled out butt-naked on a king size
bed.

When Tate saw Tip, he tried to jump out of bed and reach for his gun. Tip fired one shot into the back of his leg. Tate collapsed gripping his injured leg

“I ain’t do it. Spoon. We boys, please...”

Spoon stood over him with the .45 in his hand.

“What you do with them two keys?”

“They gone man, but it wasn’t on me. I wouldn’t cross you like that. You fam.”

Tip rushed up to Tate, grabbed him by his head and shouted, “Open up.”

Tate tried to resist. A violent blow to his head with the gun ended that. Blood trickled from his mouth.

“Open up, nigga…!”

Tate slowly opened his jaws and felt the 9mm being stuffed down his throat, causing him to gag. Spoon looked down at Tate, staring into his pleading eyes.

“I’ll make sure Melissa sees that you have a good home going service,” Spoon said.

Poot-Poot!

The silent sound of death ripped through the back of Tate’s throat. Tip stood up and looked down at his work. Gun smoke came out of Tate’s wide opened mouth. There was a large crimson stain expanding in the back of Tate’s head. They left Tate and Tammy’s bodies for her parents to witness when they got home.

Leaving no prints behind, both went back to the truck and drove away with one problem solved.

Miles away from the murder scene, Spoon pulled up to a local bodega for a drink and some cigarettes.

“You want anything?” Spoon asked, as he was about to exit his vehicle.

“Nah, but let me use your jack for a moment,” Tip said.

“Where’s your phone?” Spoon asked.

“Battery’s dead,” Tip answered showing Spoon his low battery signal.

Spoon looked reluctant, but didn’t want to cause any suspicion. He removed his cell-phone from his hip and passed it to Tip.

“Don’t call Tahiti,” Spoon said. “I’ll be right back.”

Spoon ran into the store while Tip went searching incoming calls. He remembered the exact time of call. Surprisingly, the call Spoon got at eleven-fifty five was not there—
probably erased it
, Tip thought. He continued scrolling and saw Spoon had an unknown call at nine-forty five. Tip had reasons to believe that Spoon wasn’t being straight-up.

Before Spoon came to the truck, Tip quickly called a bitch, talked for a short moment and hung up. Spoon came to the truck with a small bag in his hand. “You good…?”

“I’m good,” Tip responded dryly.

He gave Spoon back his phone and knew they needed to dig deeper. He would tell Tyriq about his concerns. Spoon started the truck without knowing that the wheels of fate already began turning.

“To Vince, you always got love in Philly.”