G.A.B.O.S. (Original Version)

Chapter XXI

"Aye, nigga, you need to sit down and have a drink or something. All that pacing and shit is making me nervous," Ice complained, taking a hit of the flakka in his hand. The new drug, which had surfaced on the streets of South Florida only months earlier, was his new choice of poison, next to weed. "Walking around all mad won't change the fact that you got your ass beat," he said, laughing.

December, who was still heated over the previous night's events, turned around and came to a standstill. "He caught me off guard. I already explained the shit to you."

"He caught you off guard, left bruises on your face, and stole your bitch? Mad disrespectful." Ice sat the flak down and took a deep breath to fight off of the feeling of euphoria that was starting to come over him. "What you gon' do about it?"

"What you think? I'ma get back at him." December walked over to his kitchen table and motioned for Ice to follow him. "And you're gonna help me." He pointed to the two manila folders on the table. "I'm not sleeping on the situation with Tremaine. He got me yesterday, and I'ma fuck his world up today. I let Santana slide for a couple of months, and now I'm about to teach him a lesson too. I was up all night thinking about what I wanted to do, and I finally figured it out. Pick a folder, nigga."

Ice hesitated for a second before grabbing the folder on the right. He opened it, and looked at the person inside of it. "Aye, you talking about-"

"Yup."

"You're an evil ass nigga, yo," Ice said with a chuckle.

"Killing those niggas would be too easy. I wanna inflict maximum suffering onto them."

"Word up. When you want this done?"

"As soon as possible. Now, if you're up for it."

"I could do it now, but I wouldn't know where to find her."

"I'll text you the location." December looked down at his watch to see that it was right around twelve o'clock. "And this is actually the perfect time. You got the phone I gave you?"

Ice searched through the pockets of his khaki shorts before locating the Android. "Right here. I need some heat and a whip, though."

December reached into his own pocket and pulled out the key to a vehicle that he'd had an associate of his steal just for that occasion. He tossed the key to Ice and went over to the flowerpot on the other side of the kitchen. He pulled his Glock pistol out of it and handed it to Ice. "It's fully loaded. I want 'em to feel pain. Make that shit hurt."

"That's what I'm good at." Ice dapped December up. "Where's this car at?"

"In my garage. It's already open. Just back out."

"Alright. I'll be back in less than an hour. Put some ice on your face, D." Ice picked up the folder and went into December's garage. He spotted the car that he knew didn't belong to December and got into it. He started the vehicle and waited for December to text him the address to where he was supposed to go. When the notification came a minute later, Ice typed it into the GPS and backed out of the garage.

He turned on the radio and bobbed his head to the beat of the Outkast throwback that was playing on 99 Jamz. If anyone was there to see him, they would easily be able to tell that he was excited. Though a part of his elation could be attributed to the fact that he was sky-high, most of it was because he was about to catch a body, which was his favorite pastime. A coldblooded killer, Tariq 'Ice' Jameson had earned his title in Houston, Texas years ago and had come back to his hometown to let the residents of Miami know just how much of a beast he was.

Ice drove for around thirty minutes, and then the GPS system alerted him of the fact he was approaching his destination. He slowed down as he drove around to the front of the building and observed the plethora of children, teens, and adults that were outside at the moment. He rolled his window down and squinted his eyes so that he could locate his target. Once they were in his line of sight, he pointed his gun out of the window and pulled the trigger repeatedly, firing a hail of bullets in the direction of the unsuspecting target and soon-to-be casualties of war.