By Mike Enemigo & Cascious Green
The following day, Nino had a Chevy Impala, Crown Victoria, and Lexus RX450 SUV delivered to him at his home, then he had them driven to his mansion in Rancho Cordova where Kano and his crew were staying.
Even before he stepped inside the home he could smell breakfast cooking. The aroma of fried bacon, eggs, buttermilk biscuits, and hash browns engulfed him as he used his key to open the door and enter. He was glad to find his transplanted crew already up and gathered at the table in the dining room.
Almost as if she had expected him, Kano’s mother greeted him with a beautiful smile and pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “Have a seat,” she said. “You’re right on time, the food is still warm.” She then rushed away, coming back a moment later with a plate of food and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “I hope you like it,” she said a little too softly, slightly closer to his ear than necessary.
“Something tells me I haven’t eaten a meal as good as this will be in years.” Nino stared into Debra’s eyes longer than necessary, sending her a message of lustful interest which she fully caught and reciprocated.
Nino waited for the men to eat their meals and the plates were cleared from the table before he told them he was taking them on a “ride.” As they filed outside, he went in search of Debra. He found her at the sink rinsing out a glass. She must have been in deep thought because she jumped when he quietly walked up beside her. Nino smiled, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
With a blush, she replied, “Oh, no, it’s okay … it’s okay.”
“I’ll be back shortly, have your things packed. I’ve got another place specifically for you. I wouldn’t feel like a gentleman knowing a woman of your stature was living in a house full of young men like this.” Then he took another step towards her and softly ran the back of his hand along the side of her face. “It’s a nice place and I’ll make sure you have anything you want. Would you like that?”
Her eyes lit up while her insides melted. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
Outside, Nino found them admiring the vehicles. First, he gave the Lexus keys to Kano. Kano hit the remote button on the key chain and the RX450’s lights flickered. As soon as he stepped inside and sat in the plush leather seat, he fell in love with the SUV. A second later, he started playing with the deck, and soon the cabin was filled with concert-quality sound from the Beats system.
Meanwhile, Nino had given Killa Kev the keys to the gun-metal grey Crown Vic. It had mirror tint and a set of 24” black 5-star rims. Jew Jacka was given the keys to the cherry-red Chevy Impala on 24” blades.
After that, Nino got into the Lexus with Kano and told him where to go. Ten minutes later, the parade of vehicles pulled into Nino’s ranch-style home, where everyone followed him inside and into a room with a table stacked with firearms in the corner.
After everyone found a spot to sit down, Nino began to address the group. “Today, we will establish your new territory. I know all of you just got out here, and under normal circumstances, I would recommend that you learn the layout of the city. However … these are not what you call “normal” circumstances, because your arrival was not planned, and there is no need for you to study the city since I can give you all the necessary information. With that said, please allow me to continue.
The streets are a jungle. If you are going to be in this jungle then you might as well be lions. Now, here are some weapons that I trust you all know how to handle. Everything here is military-grade and has never been used. Go ahead and choose what you will.”
Suddenly the room came alive. Kano’s crew rushed towards the weapons and started picking them up off the table. While this was taking place, Nino walked up to Kano and handed him a silver case with the words “U.S. Army” stenciled on its side. When Kano opened it he found a charcoal gray and black Mac 11 along with two fully loaded 100-round clips.
“I saved the best for you,” said Nino. “You can’t lose with this one if you try to.” Kano grinned before taking the automatic weapon out of its box and jamming a clip into its ass. The second he racked the slide Kano felt the gun come to life. Having control over something so powerfully destructive gave him an indescribable sensation.
“I don’t have to tell you this, but you are holding the power of life and death. One might tell you to use this power wisely, yet I will say… no love, no mercy!”
After everyone chose their weapon, they left Nino’s house and headed to South Sacramento. While on the freeway, the train of shiny vehicles could have been mistaken for a group of car enthusiasts on their way to a show, yet just behind each car’s set of tinted windows sat a mob of murderous thugs on a mission.
Nino had set the Lexus’s GPS for an apartment complex called the New Yorker and let Kano do the driving. When it came time for them to exit the freeway at the Florin Road exit, he turned to Kano and said, “I hope you don’t mind a few extra hands on this mission.”
It took Kano a moment to register the statement before he took his eyes off the road and replied, “Naw, I don’t mind the help as long as niggas know how to follow directions.”
Fully understanding the statement, Nino replied, “Everyone I bring to the table will be professional. You can count on that and plan accordingly.”
When they arrived at their destination, Nino had Kano drive into the apartment complex, all the way to the back. Immediately Kano recognized the same gang of Crips he had seen the day before, except today they seemed more animated. There were four of them, three openly flaunting bangers in their waistbands and the fourth one was wearing a bullet-proof vest. All of them had on dark blue latex gloves to go with their black and blue gang-land attire.
The gang-bangers were posted up in front of a high-performance Chevy Camaro with a spoiler kit. The top was down and it looked ready for business.
Kano pulled into the parking space next to theirs and the rest of his D&C gang followed suit. Within seconds, everyone had gotten out of their cars and Nino was introducing the two crews.
“This is Crazy Loc, Pistol Pete, Dirt and Mad Dog. They will be assisting you all on this mission. Because you are new to Sacramento, I want to be prepared for anything, so consider them your tour guides.” Then Nino went on to explain the plan.
Donzell wiped his dripping nostrils with the back of his hand while watching Manny Fly take his time with the plate of powder. Between the constant snot coming out of his nose and the itch from his dreads, he was in a constant state of flittering. “Man, dawg, pass the powder! Nigga, you snortin’ like you done paid for it or something.”
“Nigga, shut your Huckle-Berry-Houndin’-ass up! It ain’t like you earned none of this cheddar. You been blappin’ niggas with that battery acid, so all this shit was free!”
“Free-my-ass, nigga! You need to free that goddamn plate! And I can’t stand when niggas act like shit be free. It don’t matter how I get my money, nigga! Ain’t nothing in this life free. My time is money, so anytime I invest even a second of my time and thoughts into something, I’ve worked for whatever comes from it.”
That’s when Donzell snatched the plate from Many Fly and put the short straw to his right nostril and dropped his head to the plate. In a blink of an eye he inhaled the rocky line of powder causing his right eye to water. The rush from the drug quickly made his heart start pounding. Almost immediately he started tasting the nasty drip from the drug reaching the back of his throat, all signs of the potent product hitting its mark.
Then, just as his vision cleared, he saw a red Impala pull onto the block and stop in front his stoop. Another mark, he thought before hopping up and running towards the car.
When he reached the passenger side of the Impala, the window slid down and the passenger said, “Who got dat weight, cuz? We’ve been riding around this city all morning and can’t find shit.”
His mind, racing from the powder and the prospect of hitting a jackpot, started coming up with the perfect pitch for his counterfeit product. “What, you ain’t from around here, homey?”
“Hell, naw. We from Stockton, but it’s dry in the town right now so we took this road trip.”
“What you tryin’ to cop?”
Mad Dog reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of big-faced bills. “I need some White Magic and I got ten racks to spend. You got a plug or what?”
At the sight of the money, Donzell’s stomach started doing flips while a shot of adrenaline pushed through his system. “Do I! Shiiit, I am ‘the plug’! Just pull up to the curb, I’ll be right back.” Then he turned from the Impala and ran in front of it towards where his scraper was parked.
With his back to the block he failed to notice the Lexus SUV pull up behind the Impala. Not that it would have made a difference. The soldiers inside of its bowels were armed to the teeth with guns that could shoot bullets through concrete.
By then Manny Fly had made his way to the scraper as well. Donzell said to him, “Nigga, I’m ’bout to rape these off-brand niggas for ten racks! You wit’ me, loved one?”
“Naw, I’m good,” he answered. “One of these days, selling that battery acid’s gonna get ya’ scalp peeled.”
Manny Fly shook his head as he watched Donzell stuff a bag of fake dope into a backpack and jog back to the Impala. His homey was sick wit’ it, but he had to tip his hat to ’em … Donzell had nuts.
At the Impala, Mad Dog asked the dusty hustler if he had the work.
“Damn, right!” answered Donzell.
“Then get in,” he reached into the back and opened the back door. “You don’t wanna make your block hot by doing this in the street, do you?
If Donzell wouldn’t have been speeding through life with his senses fried he probably would’ve been a little more skeptical about stepping into a car without knowing its inhabitants. There’s a good chance he would’ve noticed the luxury SUV parked directly behind it, too. But he was high and expecting a win so nothing else mattered. He wasn’t inside the car long enough to unzip the backpack before the doors on both sides of him opened and he found himself sandwiched between two gun-toting thugs. The next thing he knew, he was on the shitty end of two different goons and being driven away.
Inside the scraper, Manny was just raising his head from another bout with the powder plate when he saw the two men step into the back seat of the Impala with Donzell. A second went by before it drove away and the SUV that was parked behind it followed. Something didn’t seem right, but he hadn’t seen any guns, nor a struggle. Nevertheless, something was out of sinc and he could sense it.
Then, suddenly the driver’s door and the door to his side both flew open. Manny instinctively jumped causing the coke plate to tumble onto the floorboard. “What the fuck–”
The lights went out when he was struck on the side of the head with the butt of an M-16 assault rifle. So he had no way of knowing that he had gotten zip-tied behind his back and tossed into the trunk of his homey’s car.
Shaka, Triple C’s and Sav then all hopped into the scraper. With Killa Kev leading the way in his car, they fled the block with their prisoner in custody. Sav, who was behind the wheel, turned up the music in the stereo and Nipsey Hussle’s song “Loyalty” filled the cabin. For the rest of the ride they rode in silence, each one of them engulfed in his own private thoughts of murder.
Twenty minutes later the crew pulled up to a large factory. It looked as if at one time it could’ve been some sort of packaging plant. But now it was just an old factory with dusty machines and equipment.
From that point on it was all business. Donzell was led to a chair and sat down in front of an old, dusty table. Manny Fly still hadn’t woke up from being knocked out so Sav and Triple C’s unceremoniously dropped him onto the concrete a few feet away.
In true professional manner, the room was quiet in lieu of so many strapped soldiers currently occupying it. The attention was zeroed in on Kano, who was currently crushing up a chunk of battery acid that Donzell had attempted to pass off as White Magic.
Suddenly the silence was broken. “Come on, homey. I don’t want no problems. I was just tryin’–”
A vicious back-hand across the jaw put a halt to Donzell’s whining.
“Shut da fuck up, bitch-ass nigga!” shouted Kano. “You said this shit is A-1, right?”
“Yeah,” replied Donzell while blood dripped from his mouth.
“Is that right?” said Kano with a mischievous smile forming on his face. “Well, then, you won’t mind partying with us, huh?”
Back-peddling, Donzell said, “Naw, man, I’m cool. I don’t get down.”
“Come on now, why you being a bitch? Just one time ain’t gonna kill you, is it?”
Suddenly the whole room burst into laughter. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind what a line of that poison would really do to a person.
Beads of sweat began to form on Donzell’s forehead. He looked around and saw an entourage of murderous beasts with malice oozing from their irises. The guy who had been doing all the talking had his hand out with a rolled up dollar bill. He knew he had only two options: He could go out like a man by jumping out of his seat and trying to knock the nigga’s head off, most likely resulting in instant death by a bullet, or he could try his luck by snorting a line.
It was a gamble, but at least he’d have a fighting chance.
“Ma-ma-man, why you doing this?” he stammered nervously.
Kano clubbed him over the head with the clip of his Mac 11. Blood immediately started leaking from a huge gash in the center of his forehead. “Bitch, you’re doing too much talking and not enough snortin!”
Accepting the straw and looking at the pile of dry acid, he debated on making a run for it. But run where? He had nowhere to go. He decided to man up and face his fate, but at the last minute he told himself that if he had to go he’d at least try and take someone with him.
As he leaned down to snort the lethal poison, he suddenly grabbed a handful and tried to fling it into Kano’s face. But Jew Jacka was much too quick on his trigger game; he let off two shots from the Glock 40, hitting him in the chest. The velocity from his weapon knocked Donzell up against the wall before he fell and crashed through the glass window to a side office.
Suddenly, Manny Fly woke up and became hysterical. As he spotted Donzell’s beaten and bloody remains, he began to scream, then tried to get up and run. With lightning speed, Triple C’s silenced him with an uppercut and an over-hand right to his temple. Manny Fly was unconscious before he hit the floor.
After dragging his limp body to the assembly line and lifting him onto the conveyor belt, his hands were chained to both sides. Then his feet were fastened to the electric pulley mechanism.
Pulling Kano to the side, Killa Kev said, “We need to make this nigga tell us where the rest of his crew is. Ain’t no use in half-steppin’ on these niggas. We don’t know what kind of connects they got, so we need to inflict the wrath of God on ’em. This’ll be our demo, so any other niggas who even think they might want to test our Gangsta, will know that the consequences for their stupidity is a death penalty.”
“Let’s make it happen then,” responded Kano as he walked over to Manny Fly and snatched him up by his perm, then slammed his head back onto the conveyor belt. As Manny Fly groggily tried to get his bearings, Kano said, “Wake yo’ bitch-ass up! This ain’t the Marriott.”
“Yeah, nigga! Welcome to hell, cuz!” hollered Crazy Loc as he fired up the blow torch and waved it next to Manny’s perm.
“Hey, man! What the fuck!” yelled Manny as he jumped away from the flame and tried to struggle against the chains that held him captive. “Why y’all doing this to me?!”
“Why y’all doing this to me?” mocked Crazy Loc. “Shut yo’ scary-ass up, mark-ass nigga!” He then burned him on the face, filling the factory with the stench of burnt flesh.
“AAAHHH!” screamed Manny in excruciating pain.
That’s when Kano slapped him across his burnt face. “Hey… hey! Nigga, this ain’t the opera. Shut the fuck up! Now, where’s the rest of your crew?”
“What crew is you talking about?” he answered with an obviously fake look of ignorance on his face.
Silence filled the room for several seconds before Kano erupted into a fit of contagious laughter. Pretty soon the whole factory was filled with the explosive sound of chuckles and snickers.
Kano continued, “Nigga, you think this is a game? So you’re into game playing, huh? Well, why didn’t you say so … let’s let the games begin.” Kano then pressed the green ‘start’ button on the conveyor belt’s control panel and suddenly the assembly line came to life.
“AAAHHH! Oh my God! Alright. Alright. Okay, I’ll tell you!” yelled Manny Fly.
Kano pressed the red button and the machine stopped. “What happened, pretty-boy? I thought you wanted to play?”
“No. No. No … I’ll tell you,” he said while shaking his head back and forth.
It had already become hard for him to breath from the pressure of his body being pulled in two different directions on the machine. “We got a little hideout over on Astron Parkway. It sits on the corner, you can’t miss it. But there’s a gate and you need a code to get in.”
“What’s the code?” demanded Kano.
“Man, I can’t! Them niggas will know it’s me who crossed ’em and they’ll kill my family.” Before he could say another word, Crazy Loc put the flame from the blow torch to his perm. “AAAHHHH! Okay! Okay!” he screamed while making useless attempts to blow out the flame.
His hair was on fire and it was gaining traction by the second. Shaka then blasted it with the fire extinguisher. “Nigga, if I was you I wouldn’t be worrying about later, I’d be worrying about now!” Laughter filled the factory again as the majority of the gang covered their noses from the horrible stench of burned hair and flesh.
“Please … don’t make me do this,” he pleaded.
Kano, tired of waiting for his victim’s cooperation, pushed the green button again. As the machine jerked to life, the chain around Manny Fly’s ankles began to tighten and his joints started their painful journey into dislocation.
“AAAHHH! Shut it off … I’ll tell … shut it off … please!” he screamed. Suddenly there was a sickening popping sound throughout the lower half of his body. From the waist down it looked as if he had grown an extra foot and a half.
What the men who witnessed this gross debacle didn’t see was that both his hips and knees had been dislocated. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he wailed in complete agony. Then, as if he had died, Manny passed out from the pain of being pulled apart by the conveyor belt.
Shaka sprayed him with the fire extinguisher again causing him to wake up in even more pain.
Kano, with his finger on the green button said, “Tell me the code, bitch.”
With a whimper and a goal to make the pain stop, Manny said, “4-2-8-9-7.”
Killa Kev shot Manny in the top of the head with his Desert Eagle. Then he looked at Kano and they both walked away from the bloody scene leaving the others to clean up the mess.
Mac Money and Sam were engaged in a fierce game of Call of Duty, which was their daily ritual when they weren’t out hitting licks or mackin’ at bitches.
“Nigga, where the fuck is Manny? I knew we shouldn’t have sent him on that mission to find the powder with Donzell’s fiending-ass in the car with ’em. Ain’t no tellin’ where they’ll end up with Donzell navigating on where to go,” said Mac Money as he hit the blunt of kush.
“Damn, that shit smells good,” said Lolita, who stepped into the room, clad in a pink thong and a silk see-through T-shirt that was so tight her erect nipples made a clear imprint in the material. The dark outline of her aureoles were as visible as if she was wearing no shirt at all. “Let me hit that.”
“Shit, you took the words right out of my mouth,” said Mac Money with a look of lust in his eyes.
“Boy, shut up!” she said as she playfully slapped him on the side of the head. “Nigga, you need to be worried about knockin’ the bottom out of yo’ bitch Nina’s pussy. Cause she said every time she turn around, you can’t even get it up! Instead of snortin’ that powder, yo’ ass need to be snortin’ some Viagra.” Her and Sam fell out laughing after that.
Even Mac Money had to smile at that one as he passed her the blunt and said, “She the one dat don’t like to suck dick. Hell, why I gotta get it hard and put in all the work? I’m gonna get me one of those video bitches just as soon as I get my money right.”
“Have you heard from Manny and them yet?” she asked as she took a hit from the blunt. “I’ve been callin’ ’em but it keeps going to voicemail.”
“Naw, we been tryin’, too. Don’t trip, they’ll be back,” replied Sam, never taking his eyes off the video game.
That’s when Green Eyes, Manny’s brother, stepped into the room. “Damn! The niggas ain’t back yet? Bitch, what’re you doin’ in here wit’ that skimpy-ass shit on? You better take yo’ ass up outta this room before you get fucked up!”
“By who?” she spat defiantly, hands on her hips, trying to save face in front of Sam and Mac Money. But she quickly broke it down once she has seen the look in her older brother’s eyes. “Here, Sam,” she said before handing him the blunt and storming off in a huff.
“Man, them niggas shoulda been back by now. I’m ’bout to slide through 42nd to see if they over that way.” Then he lifted the cushion on the recliner, snatched up his chrome .44 Bulldog, and headed out the door.
Moments later, as he was about to climb into his Mustang he spotted two men rushing at him from behind through the reflection in his car’s window. By the time he tried to turn around and pull his pistol, it was too late. Triple C’s delivered a vicious dropkick to his face that slammed him into the door of the Mustang. Stunned and confused, Green Eyes was suddenly staring down the barrel of Jew Jacka’s Glock 40.
“Who’s all inside?” asked Triple C’s while clutching Green Eyes’ shirt in one hand and holding a P89 Ruger to his chest. “It’s not you we want, so make it easy on yourself.”
“Just my little sister and two others. But wha–” was as far as he got before Triple C’s hit him twice in the chest with the deadly Rhino slugs that shattered the glass behind him when they exited his body.
The rest of the D&C murder squad rushed the house with military precision before Green Eyes even hit the pavement. With the force, they used it could’ve been a group of Navy Seals going after someone like Bin Laden. The street punks inside never had a chance.
Sam was already waiting for them by the time Kano and Killa Kev came through the door. With his banger cocked and aimed, he let off three rounds in rapid succession, two hitting Killa Kev in the upper chest, knocking him back through the door. Kano was able to take cover before spraying a hail of bullets that wound up slicing through Sam’s upper torso. Having only taken the slugs to the vest, Killa Kev came rushing at the mortally wounded Sam, while firing round after round of his 50 calibers Desert Eagle into his body.
When Mac Money tried to run for the back door, it was suddenly kicked open. Pistol Pete came barging in, dumping slugs from the twin Glock 18s that were clutched in each of his hands. As the first bullet slammed into Money’s chest, he was stopped with the force of a 300-pound linebacker. The second and third bullets knocked him off his feet.
Suddenly a loud piercing scream rang out from somewhere in the house. Sav entered the living room dragging Lolita by her long, silky hair kicking and screaming. “Look what we got here. This bitch was hiding under the bed.”
“Please don’t kill me! I won’t tell! Please, I don’t wanna die.”
Lustfully, Sav admired her body and said, “Under different circumstances, I would’ve loved to have a piece of you, Lil’ mamma. But as you can see, this is about business, not pleasure.” Then he blew her brains all over the plasma screen television.
After that, the men doused the house in gasoline. Then they set it ablaze and escaped with no witnesses in sight.
Mike Enemigo is America’s #1 incarcerated author with over 25 books published and many more on the way. He specializes in writing about prison and street-culture. His book Money iz the Motive, with Cascious Green, is available at thecellblock.net and Amazon. Be sure to subscribe to The Official Blog of The Cell Block at thecellblock.net, where we provide raw, uncensored news, entertainment, and resources on the topics of prison and street-culture from a true, insider’s perspective, and follow us on all social medias @mikeenemigo and @thecellblock.