The Weight Watchers

Chapter 9: n.r.

    While Pork was calling Reem to see what the verdict was with Phil, I was coming to the conclusion that I was getting tired of all this weight watching, going to war over phones nonsense. I got a family and an excelling career as a boxer. I've been training hard trying to go pro. Since 16 I boxed off and on. When I met my trainer Rick at age 21, I began to take it more serious. It's the only thing I have a passion for and, I'm a natural at it. Not just good, really good. Let Rick tell it, It's the reason he stays on me the hardest. I had the most potential, pure skill and talent. My goal was to beat the undefeated Floyd Mayweather Jr.
    After picking my daughters up from school, we made a pit stop at McDonald's before heading home. Those happy meals drive kids crazy. My girl was watching TV when we walked in. Sitting pretty, the only thing she seemed to be good at. My daughters ran to hug her. That would stop in a few years. I'll still get mine though.
    Pork called me saying Reem said it was a go. Forty mintes later I was calling Pork telling him to be outside in advance of my arrival. He wasn't out there. I honked the horn nonstop until he opened the door.
    "I told you to be outside."
    "I was shitting." Pork said. "Is that ok with you father?"
    "Don't be complaining if we miss him."
    "I won't. If we miss him, I'm running in his mom crib."
    "What's in the bag?"
    "AR-15. First time using it."
    "What's wrong with a handgun? It's only one nigga."
    "Niggas survive, that's what's wrong. You did all that rushing. We still sitting in the same spot."
    "Keep talking crazy. You see what Savage did to that youngbul."
    "You saying that will be me?"
    "Damn right."
    "I can fight too."
    "Since when?" I said laughing as I pulled off. "Remember Kia beat your ass?"
    "That was 15 years ago."
    "Rhonda used to beat your ass all the time."
    "I was a kid."
    "My point exactly. You been getting your ass whooped since a kid. Elementary school. And, Rhonda beat your ass like 3 years ago. Imagine what I'll do to you. These niggas won't fight you but, you ain't shooting me. I'll beat your ass."
    "I let her get out on me. She my sister. She heavy handed. Man, just drive chump."
    "Don't be backing out when we get there."
    "Who?"
    "Who? You! Temple owl."
    I parked the car on Juice mom block about 10 houses away. All we had to do was wait. I turned on WDAS FM and listened to oldies to mellow out. These dudes now days wanna smoke wet, snort, pop pills. Listen to Chief Keef and all that just to put in work. Then be spitting up all over the place, having nightmares after. Not me. Unless it's about family or a threat to my life, I don't have no work to put in anyway. In twenty minutes Pork had to smoke five cigarettes. I tried to ignore it due to the task at hand but, he was killing me. And, he kept moving around.
    "If you smoke one more cigarette in this car."
    "What you gonna do?"
    "Light another one and find out."
    He didn't. The moment Pork went to dial Reems number Juice and Phil rode down the block in a blue Ford Crown Victoria. Juice jumped out after parking in front of his moms house. I tapped Pork on the shoulder. "GO." Making sure his AR was loaded, he hopped out creeping down the street crouched beside the cars. It was a good thing no one happened to be outside at the moment.

_______________________________________
Pork

    All this waiting shit aint for me. I get to think too much. I like to get it done and go. This nigga N.R. bitching about me smoking. I'm doing the shooting, not him! Of course he would be calm. It's broad day light on top of that. All this Al Greene, Marvin Gaye shit. Put on some Rick Ross. Meek Mill. Chief Keef. Jeezy, something. NR tapped me when he spotted the Crown Vic Juice was driving. I put on my ski mask already wearing gloves before I even touched the gun. Bullets loaded with gloves then wiped down to be sure since I had nothing but time to waste waiting for this nigga to show. Double checking the safety, I hopped out.
    Creeping down the block keeping close to the cars trying to stay low I was about twenty feet away now. I could see Phil in the car fidgeting with the center console. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. He sat up straight looking in the rearview. Seven feet. Turning to look back at me and probably reaching for his gun, there was too much movement for me. I fired early. He was too late. Raising up I fired all thirty shots in about three seconds. The back window and passenger side windows exploded as I walked down on the car firing. Holes in the doors, seats, dash, Phil. I tore that shit up. I could see blood all over the dash and what was left of the front windshield. I ran back to the car, N.R. had it running, as I reloaded just in case Juice ran outside.
    "Pull up next to the car." I said.
    Just as I assumed, Juice came running outside. He tried to shoot back. I already had the AR out the window. My first shot hit him, knocking him down the steps. More bullets followed. Tossing the rifle in the back seat of the Crown Vic N.R. pulled off. I ain't gonna lie that shot that hit Juice in the head was a lucky one. I aimed at the body.
    We made a right at the corner headed to Girard avenue. Turned right again once we were on Girard, taking 42nd street. A left down Poplar until we hit 38th coming backout on Girard before getting on the expressway. I don't know why he chose to go this way but I been stopped questioning niggas driving tactics as long as I get back safe fuck it.