I moved silently through the shadows, using the alleyways and parked cars for cover. The neighborhood was quiet, and no one was in sight, the shit was perfect.
I positioned myself behind a dumpster with a clear view of Gizmo's cherry-red Cadillac truck. I settled in to wait, my body still but my mind churning with images of Lizzy and that nigga Kyle together, each thought added to my rage, and that kept me focused on what needed to be done.
At 4:27, the side door opened. A few guys stumbled out, clearly drunk or high, dapping each other up. It wasn’t Gizmo. So, I stayed perfectly still and controlled my breathing.
Three minutes later, the door opened again. And there he was. Gizmo Wallace in the flesh,. His dark skin looked ashy under the harsh fluorescent lights, He was talking on his phone, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Even from a distance, I could see he was heated about something.
Since he was clearly distracted, I moved out from my hiding spot, staying low using the parked cars as cover. The nigga was so caught up in his conversation he didn't even notice me closing in on his ass.
"Yeah, that nigga don't even know," Gizmo was saying. "Trust me, by the end of the week, Yatta 's operation is done. I got—"
"You got what?" I asked, stepping into the light, my Glock aimed at his chest.
He froze, as his eyes widened as soon as he recognized me. The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering to the pavement.
"Yatta," he said, trying to sound calm but I could hear the fear creeping in. "The fuck you doing out here?"
"I heard you been looking for me," I replied, my voice deadly quiet. "I thought I would save you the trouble of having to comefind me," His eyes darted around, looking for his niggas, but they were long gone, Sloppy. So, fucking sloppy.
"Listen, whatever you heard—"
"Shut the fuck up," I cut him off, taking another step closer. "You been moving on my shit for months. That's business. I can respect the hustle, even if I gotta shut that shit down."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by a smirk that made my blood boil. "So that's what this is about? My nigga it aint nothing personal. Like you said, it’s business."
"Funny thing about business," I said, stepping closer until my gun was inches from his chest. "Sometimes it gets personal whether you want it too or not."
In one swift motion, he reached for his pipe, I wasn’t expecting that and the shit caught me off guard. Before he could level it at me, I pulled the trigger on my pipe.
The first bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. The second hit him center mass, right where I was aiming. He staggered back, with shock written all over his face as he looked down at the blood spreading across his crisp white shirt.
"Yo’..." he gasped, dropping to his knees. His gun clattered to the ground beside him.
I kicked it away and stood over him, watching as life drained out of his eyes. "That's for thinking you can try to take what's mine, Bitch ass nigga," I said quietly. The shots echoed in the empty lot, surprisingly loud even though I was used to the sound.
He tried to say something else, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, but the words never came.
I should've felt something, remorse, regret, maybe even satisfaction. But all I felt was nothing. I did what needed to be done.
One less problem I had to deal with.
I picked up Gizmo's phone from where it had fell, I was curious to see who that bitch ass nigga was talking too, but as I tried to get into the phone, the sound of distant sirens snapped me back to reality. I needed to move around and fast.
I pocketed the phone and checked the area for my shell casings. I found them both and pocketed those too. Then I searched Gizmo's pockets, taking his wallet, his keys, and the wad of money he must’ve won tonight.
As the sirens grew closer, I took one last look at Gizmo's body. Then I melted back into the shadows, making my way to my car without being seen. My mind was already shifting gears, planning my next move.
CHAPTER SIX
Zurie Maddox
"Jamie, can you please get JJ dressed while I finish making breakfast? We running late." I hollered from the kitchen, flipping pancakes while trying not to burn the bacon. Not that I expected him to move his lazy ass off the couch, but a bitch could dream.
"In a minute, Z. ESPN just about to show the Lakers highlights," Jamie shouted back, of course he was glued to the damn TV like it was oxygen.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out my damn head. Same shit, different day. Jamie Wallace, former college basketball star turned professional bum ass nigga, I always had towaitfor him to try and do something useful. Story of my fucking life for the past four years.
"Mommy, I'm hungry!" My baby boy JJ came running into the kitchen, still in his Spider-Man pajamas, his curly hair sticking up in all directions. At four years old, he was the spitting image of his daddy, all caramel skin, and bright eyes. That Wallace gene was strong in my baby. I just prayed to God he didn't inherit Jamie's lazy ass gene.