Murderville 2: The Epidemic (11 page)

Liberty hesitated and looked up at Po. “I’ve spent a lot of time telling you about my life. About Shai, about Sierra Leone. I haven’t done much listening, Po. Tell me about her,” she said.

Po kissed the top of her forehead and said, “She was a lot like you. Very dear to me, but she’s gone, and you’re here. We’re here, ma, so let’s live.”

Liberty gripped his hands tightly while looking up at Po.
“Let’s live,” she agreed. She kissed his cheek and walked away.

The tension between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife, but inside, they both knew that neither of them could walk away from the other. Something was happening between them, a friendship so organic that it seemed as though it was constructed by lost loves. As Liberty lay in bed staring at the wall she couldn’t help but wonder if A’shai and Scarlett were pushing her and Po toward each other, simply so that they wouldn’t have to be alone. She touched the scar on her chest and closed her eyes.
Thank you, Scarlett,
she thought, knowing that a girl that she had never met had died so that she could live. “Let’s live,” she whispered, before falling asleep.

SEVEN

PO AND ROCKO WERE GETTING MORE MONEY
than they could spend. Together, they were the perfect combination. Po handled the weight, and Rocko ran the streets. As a pair they quickly dominated the streets of L.A. Po was able to sell the coke at dirt-cheap prices because it was 100 percent profit to him. With Rocko as his street lieutenant and enforcer, they were taking over the streets with ease.

Rock had assembled a small squad of hungry young goons from Compton. They were all live wires and under the age of eighteen. Each of them was loyal because before becoming affiliated with Po they were starving. Po fed them well, and because of this, they all were ready to shoot on Po or Rocko’s command. Rocko provided them with money and put them onto the game with Samad’s cocaine. The young boys went from catching buses and standing on blocks to driving new whips and running trap houses. They looked at Rocko and Po like they were gods.

Po sat in the backroom of Rocko’s main trap spot running cash through a money machine. One of his youngins had just sold three bricks to a crew in Crenshaw and things were rolling. Po was flooding the streets with uncut cocaine so rapidly that he was making a name for himself. He had always hustled. He had never been legit a day in his life, but this level of the dope game was a different ballpark for him. Things were going good, but he had to find another coke connect; the bricks he had relieved Samad of were dwindling quickly. Soon he would be out of product. He needed to find a plug immediately.

“Yo, Rocko! Send one of the youngins back here,” Po said as he rubber banded the last G-stack. Rocko sat on the front porch along with six youngins; they were all strapped, protecting the territory.

“Yo, run back there and get that from Po,” Rocko commanded the youngest of the crew, Mikey, who quickly stood up from the stoop and entered the house. He went to the backroom and saw Po zipping up the duffle bag. A blunt hung out of the left side of Mikey’s mouth as he approached Po.

“What’s up, big homie?” Mikey asked as he approached Po with an open hand.

“Yo, put that shit out around me,” Po said, referring to the blunt Mikey was smoking.

“Oh, my fault,” Mikey said as he quickly put the blunt out on the bottom of his shoe. He walked over to Po and grabbed the bag from him.

“Put that in the back of my truck,” Po said without making eye contact with Mikey.

Mikey was only seventeen, but he was as ruthless as they came. He didn’t care about life, not his own or anyone else’s. He was a true live wire, and that’s why Rocko had recruited him.

Po usually wouldn’t have been posted in the trap spot like he was that day, but he liked to show his face from time to time to make sure that niggas knew who they were eating off of. If he disappeared too long his presence wouldn’t be felt. Po ruled with an iron fist, and at no point or under no circumstances would he loosen his grip. If any of his workers got sticky fingers, Po would cut them off, literally. Luckily, his crew had remained loyal so far, and, as always, the money was on point.

Po made a mental note to watch Mikey. He noticed the look in the young boy’s eyes when he grabbed the bag full of money. It was the look of greed and envy. Mikey left the room as Po stood to his feet. He was about to pull Rocko’s coattail about his suspicions but the ringing of his cell phone interrupted him.

“Hello?” Po answered.

“I need to speak to Po.” A voice with a heavy Hispanic accent boomed through his receiver, and he immediately picked up on the larceny in the caller’s tone. Whoever it was, this wasn’t a friendly call.

“Yo, who is this?” Po asked as he frowned and looked down at his caller
ID
. He noticed that the number was blocked.

“This is Castro, and I can be your best friend or I could be your worst enemy,” the man said boldly.

“Yo, how did you get this number, and who the fuck are you again?” Po said, getting more upset with each passing second. “Matter of fact, come see me. I’m not hard to find. Fuck this phone shit.” Po pressed the
END
button, deading the conversation. He shook his head in disbelief and headed outside to join Rocko and the crew on the porch.

“Yo, I got to get my number changed,” Po said as he stood in the doorway and rubbed his hands together. He looked down the street and saw a couple corner boys standing at each corner and smiled. They all worked for him, and they had the whole strip jumping. The strip was like a drive-thru for drugs, and Po had managed to take it over. Everybody on it worked for him or bought from him. He owned the block.

“Yo, what’s good?” Rocko asked, noticing that something was bothering his right-hand man.

“I’m good,” Po said as he looked onto the street. “Yo, we need to find another plug. What about the cat you were telling me about from Arizona?”

“Yeah, I checked on that, and I got a funny feeling about him. His prices were
too
low. He had them
federal
prices, feel me?” Rocko said referring to the kilo cost.

“Word?” Po asked.

“Word,” Rocko confirmed with a head nod.

A stupid nigga would have easily fallen for the okeydoke, but Rocko immediately sniffed out the setup.

“How much was he talking?” Po asked.

“Like six a pop,” Rocko said while shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, that nigga federal as hell. You can’t get them straight off the boat for that price. Leave that nigga alone,” Po instructed. He could smell a cop from a mile away. Usually when cops entered the street game undercover they didn’t really know the market and tried to sell low to bait the kingpin. On the other hand, when a fed is trying to cop, they usually agree to buy at a price to which no true hustler would ever agree. Feds sell too low and buy too high. Typical Street 101.

They noticed a custom-painted drop top car pull onto the block. The car stopped directly in front of the trap spot, and three Mexican males hopped out. All of them wore wife-beater shirts and had fully tattooed bodies. The young boys stepped off the stairs with their hands on their guns, meeting the Mexican crew on the sidewalk.

“What’s good?” Rocko said as he stepped off the porch. He had a menacing scowl on his face as he immediately felt disrespected that these unfamiliar faces would come on their block.

“Yo, slow ya roll, homes. We come in peace. We want to deliver a message,” the leader said as he stepped to the forefront. He was a stocky built, bald-headed, full-blooded Mexican. His eyes were heartless, and he showed no sign of fear.

“Message?” Rocko asked as he stepped into the leader’s face. They were the same height, so they were looking at each other eye to eye.

“Yeah, from our big homie. He’s looking for someone named Po,” the leader said with his head held high. Po
overheard his name and slowly stepped off the porch and headed toward the crowd.

“I suggest you get the fuck off this block, homeboy,” Rocko said as he began to heat up. The young boys pulled their guns out and aimed them at the Mexicans. “See that?” Rocko asked arrogantly as he slightly smiled.

“We came here in peace. We just need to speak with Po on business. Nothing more, nothing less,” the leader said as he put his hands up in peace.

“Who sent you?” Po said as he stepped to the forefront.

“Castro. He wants to make a deal with you,” the man replied.

“What kind of deal?” Po asked.

“Well, if you didn’t know, this is Castro’s turf. This whole strip has been his for years. There are certain rules you have to play by when you are in L.A. You can’t just move in and set up shop. You have to pay your taxes. And with these taxes, you get security, a pass from the law, and a green light to sell whatever you want.”

“Oh yeah?” Po said with fake interest and a sarcastic grin.

“That’s right. We just need 30 percent of your take and you’ll be good,” the leader said as he rubbed his hands together and smiled.

“Thirty percent?” Po said as he stepped closer to the Mexican. Rocko moved to the side and put his hand on the gun in his waist. “I have a different number in mind,” Po added.

“What’s that?”

“I was thinking more like zero percent. Fuck outta here,” Po said just before he clenched his jaws tightly, causing veins to form in his neck.

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with. You just made a big mistake,” the leader said as he shook his head in disappointment.

“Have a nice day, gentlemen,” Po said as he stepped back and looked past them as if they weren’t even there.

“Have a good day,” the dude said as he turned around still shaking his head in disbelief. He gave them a look that said, “You just fucked up” and Po caught on.

At that point, Rocko was heated. He leaned and whispered to Po, “Just give me the word and it’s a wrap.” Rocko acted like a loyal pit bull waiting to get released off of his chain.

“Go head,” Po said giving his approval. He wanted to make a statement to the streets. There was a new sheriff in town, and his name was Po! As soon as the words slid out of Po’s mouth, Rocko went into action. He drew his gun and quickly shot twice, hitting two of the Mexicans in the ass. His crew ran over and grabbed the third guy, who was the leader, and stripped him of his gun. While the other two Mexicans were on the ground in agony, they were getting stomped out by Po’s crew. In a lot of ways the beating was worse than the bullet as the young wolves stomped the Mexican crew ruthlessly, introducing their skulls to concrete. Po stood back and watched with his arms folded. He didn’t have to put in his own work. He simply pressed the buttons.

“Hold him up,” Rocko instructed. They held up the leader, and Po walked over to him.

“Yo, tell Castro that I’m not paying shit. I’ma do me, and he can do him. He has nothing to do with my business. He send any more messengers this way and I’m sending ’em back in pine boxes,” he said just before he walked to his truck. As he reached the door, he heard two gunshots ring out. Rocko had rocked two of the Mexicans to sleep forever.

The game had just got real. Rocko had let the leader live, so he could run back and tell Castro what time it was. Rocko smiled sinisterly as his goons threw the two bodies in the backseat of their own drop top car. He let the leader drive off, but they knew they would see him again. He sped off and the sound of screeching tires filled the air.

Po sat in his truck and started his car as Rocko entered his passenger seat. He looked at Rocko and said, “We have to move the trap spot. Tell everyone to strap up and keep their eyes open because I know they’re coming back.”

“Fuck them niggas. We right here! This is
our
strip,” Rocko said as he put both of his hands out.

“Then ready your li’l niggas for a war. Them Mexicans are heavy out here. If we staying put, then we blazing on every one that come on our block,” Po said.

Rocko nodded his head and slapped hands with Po before he exited the car. Po pulled off knowing that this was the beginning of a war.

*    *    *

Po entered the penthouse and the smell of cooked food filled the air. He smiled as he shut the door with the duffle bag in hand.

“Liberty,” he yelled as he entered the main floor and saw
her standing in the kitchen over the stove. “Damn, you got it smelling good in here.”

“I got hungry and decided to whip up some steak, potatoes, and broccoli,” Liberty said as she snatched off the apron and began preparing her plate.

“You didn’t have to cook, ma. You could have ordered room service,” Po said.

“I wanted to,” she replied with a warm smile. “Of course, I didn’t go shopping for the stuff myself. The concierge did a grocery run for me, so it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Well, in that case, did you make enough for me?” Po asked as he set the duffle bag on the couch and walked toward the kitchen.

“Of course I did. Is that ready for me to count?”

“Yeah, it’s the week’s take. You can take care of that in the morning though. Just hook me up one of those plates. I’m starving,” Po said. They had a routine. Po would come in every so often and drop off money. Liberty would then count and put it away in the safe for him.

“Okay. One plate coming up!” Liberty said as she began to make both of their plates. Po sat at the bar-styled counter and looked at Liberty. She had such a natural beauty, and for some reason she looked as if she was glowing that day. Her smooth skin and soft hair enhanced her pretty face. Po then looked down at her body and sexual tension began to grow. He admired her plump ass that her comfortable yoga pants couldn’t hide. Her small T-shirt displayed her enticing frame, and Po licked his lips in admiration.

“Here you go,” she said as she slid the plate in front of
him. She then sat across from him, and they both began to eat.

“Thanks,” Po said as he glanced into Liberty’s eyes. She quickly looked away out of embarrassment. She still felt funny about the kiss they shared days before. “It seems like there’s an elephant in the room,” he said.