Memphis Streets 2 (Urban)

Chapter 44- Lucifer

Melvin Smith stands proud while our people open crate after crate of new weapons for tonight's bloodbath. As usual, I hang back while Mason and Cousin Skeet discuss business. During the entire time they're talking, I can't help but steal sideway glances at them and wonder. Could they be? The idea doesn't sit too well with me because that would mean that this whole time Mason was fuckin' his ... no. I don't even want to think no shit like that. But it's not impossible. I knew Skeet got around, my mother and Aunt Nikki were testimony to that shit. But damn.

I'd long thought Skeet was just slumming in Ruby Cove. Skeet and Smokestack had the perfect setup—one brother neck-deep in the game while the other ran the police department and made record busts on our main enemies the Vice Disciples. To complete his double life, Skeet raised and kept his perfect, bougie family on the other side of town. That was another reason why I couldn't stand his ass. His family was too good for us, including this Vice Disciple–fuckin' daughter. Irony.

You'd think with my ass giving him Snake's name for plugging his daughter that he could've at least dragged his ass in for questioning, but as usual, if the Cartel Lords don't hand shit to him on a silver platter, he's worthless. So tonight we're going to handle this shit ourselves. Street justice. I think that's what Skeet wanted this whole time. He wants Snake dead, not behind bars. Tonight, we're hitting two hot spots to let the street know that we're taking this shit to another level. Dressed in my usual Grim Reaper black, I turn to join up with my peoples on Ruby Cove. We have seven black Escalades lined up with plates off. Mason dubs them the Murder Train. It's fitting. When Mason and Cousin Skeet slap palms together, shoulder bump and separate, it's time for us to roll out.

"Looking good, Leah," Skeet says, shooting his handgun at me and hopping into his vehicle.

I glare at him while he rolls out and then disappears down the Ruby Cove. Mason strolls back out from his crib, in his own black gear and with his flag draped around his neck. My heart starts hammering at how good he looks and how well he's walking.

"Let's do this!" Niggas break and head to their vehicles.

"Yo, Lucifer," Mason calls out.

"You ride with me."

I stroll to the front of the line and climb in with Mason.

"I'm honored."

Mason starts up his shit.

"You know you're my right hand ... and my fucking lucky charm."

" 'Bout time you recognize."

"Oh, I've recognized that shit. Didn't want your head to get any bigger than it already is."

He reaches over and surprises me by taking my hand and squeezing it. Smiling, I slip on my shades.

"If that's your backhanded way of telling me that you can't live without me, then I guess it'll have to do."

"Hard-ass."

He slips on his own shades and then pulls away from the curb. It doesn't take us long to reach our first spot: the Fat Monkey. One by one, we all pull into the parking lot and block entrances and exits. Next we jump out, armed to the teeth and ready for the slaughter. Half of us march toward the door. The bouncers inside take one look at our asses and go for their weapons. That's the last muthafuckin' thing they do on this earth. My new .22 LR semiautomatic blows the biggest muthafucka back nearly ten feet. Bitches scream and run, but their naked asses get blasted, too. What the fuck, I'm an equalopportunity killer.

The only time we get some exchange of gunplay is when some niggas come running out of VIP, but other than that, this shit is an easy hit. We're in and out in less than four minutes. Heading back outside, there are a few more bodies facedown on the concrete. They must've tried to escape out of the back door but were picked off by our soldiers who remained outside.