Tick, Tick, Boom! Read online

  “Let’s keep it a hundred. It ain’t nothing; ain’t no thang.” Anika smiled seductively running her hands through her long braids. “I told you in the car we was family now didn’t I? And real family do real shit.”

  “Yeah, we good, but still I wanna say good looking. Plus I saw the flowers ‘the family’ sent. That shit really say something to me, you feel me? Hit home.”

  “Ain’t shit like a family’s love, and that’s straight up.” Anika’s voice purred as she spoke rubbing her hand seductively on Storm’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, Anika, you right. A family’s love,” he repeated thinking about seeing his newborn son for the first time. That was all that mattered to him: finally laying eyes on his baby boy. He had dreamed about that moment for what seemed like a lifetime. Now shortly his dream would be coming true. Snatching him back into reality and the here and now, his cell vibrated indicating he had a text message. Glancing down, he saw it was from Kenya. Pushing the button, he downloaded the two attachments that were envelopes posted in the upper right corner of his screen. Before he could see what was what, he heard a loud, thundering sound. That ear-shattering noise was swiftly followed by a strong force knocking him off his feet. Storm’s body was lifted up and dropped down onto the grass. As he lay there dazed, he had no idea what had just taken place. The street-born hooligan was oblivious he’d just been shot. With his cell still clutched in his trembling hand, Storm’s eyes barely opened to see the now fully downloaded picture of a small newborn baby: his baby.

  Anika was menacing as she stood towering over him. With sarcastic satisfaction, she smirked with smoking gun still in hand. “See boo-boo, I told you we were a hundred percent family. And family deals with family business, you feel me? So it’s better you learned this painful lesson early on in dealing with your newfound family. You know, before anyone else has to pay for your fuckups and short-ass payments!” Glancing upward, Anika saw several police cars, lights flashing. Directly on the cars’ tails was what appeared to be a raid van barreling down the usually quiet block. “Damn, Storm, what a waste. You had major potential; we all saw the shit in you. It was like you was born to do this street shit, kinda kingpin status. But, hey, right about now it’s the point and principle. Like Daddy said, no fucking shorts!”

  Storm paid what he could on the enormous ticket owed. Yet unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. If Kenya, being selfish and unreasonable, hadn’t stolen his stash money, he would’ve had enough. But now she was ghost, and she was going to be coming up off his money and jewelry. She was still going to be out here among the living, walking the streets doing what dirty bitches like her did. Storm was bitter with dealing with his sudden coldblooded triple dose of reality but had no more time to focus on her. He was lying face down on the grass, choking on his own blood, incidentally in the same spot O.T. had been dropped at by his surprise assailant. “Please, my son,” Storm somehow managed to mutter as a portion of the rear half of his head was blown off. “My baby boy. Kenya, why . . . I love . . .”

  Knowing she was sent to do a job, Anika was not moved one bit by his plea of scrambled words. A true street solder for the family she was loyal to, she eagerly raised her handgun once more intent on ending Storm’s life and any chance he’d ever have of holding his son. “Sorry I couldn’t have gotten none of that big-ass dick you packing, but it’s all in the game. Family is everything and family always comes first. Easy come, easy the fuck go.” With a matter of seconds, her finger once more tightened around the trigger. Pulling back, she let three more quick rounds off all finding their mark: the upper chest area. It was done. It was over. It was definitely over. Tony Storm Christian, a staple in the drug dealer game he loved so much, was gone. He was no more, like O.T. The once bright sun had set on the brother’s reign. Anika had come to do what she was sent to do. Her murderous mission was completed. Still on point, she wanted to try to make her way to her car, which was parked one block over. However, Malloy and his team had other plans for the femme fatale.

  “Freeze,” he loudly ordered upon seeing Storm lying near her feet not moving. “Drop that goddamn gun! Drop it! I’m warning you! Don’t make this ugly!”

  “It already is, playboy; it already is.” Anika devilishly smirked still standing tall. True to her own words, family takes care of family. She raised her pistol sucking on the barrel of the gun like it was a rock-hard dick waiting to get topped off.

  “Don’t do it,” Malloy urged as huge beads of perspiration started to form on his worried brow. Locking eyes with the blond-braided beauty, he yelled out once more as she pulled the trigger splattering her own brains on the nearby bushes.

  Malloy was left speechless. He was infuriated to say the least, angry at the world. As they covered Storm’s lifeless body with a beige tarp, the longtime officer held on to the signed arrest warrants, which were now worthless. He couldn’t believe his luck. At this point, there was nothing left to do but at least execute the search warrants for the address Storm called home. Ramming down the condo doors, the fugitive apprehension team was met by an irate, still-blood-thirsty Reckless who had to be put down immediately; the shot killed him instantly. With a quick search of the premises, soon they discovered Marco Meriwether’s deceased dog-mauled body. It was stretched out alongside stripper Jordan Jamison, whose prints were also found inside the hotel room where Big Doc B was found murdered.

  “Well, at least we can charge her with the doctor’s homicide.” Detective Malloy expressed a small amount of satisfaction knowing she was a small fish to fry in compassion to Storm and his organization.

  As the neighbors again came out from behind the once tranquil confines of their homes, one of their own was noticeably absent. They each covered their mouths and turned their heads in disbelief when old Mrs. Farrow’s body was discovered after retracing Marco’s steps. A few of them used to gossip behind Kenya’s back when she first magically appeared to start living with Storm. They felt the Detroit-born female would bring trouble to their gated and otherwise picture perfect community and, considering the events that had popped off in the months since she arrived, they were correct.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  KENYA

  As the four of them turned into the funeral home parking lot, things seemed to be surreal to Kenya. Brother Rasul got out of the vehicle going inside. His mission was clear. He had to inform the director he had London’s body in the rear of his truck wrapped in a rug. The Islamic man of faith wanted him to know that all was a total go on their end and they could proceed with their illegal plans to ship the deceased back to Detroit so she could have a proper burial. As he disappeared behind the double doors to put the plan into full throttle, Kenya sat in the truck in a semi-daze.

  I don’t need that cheating, backstabbing motherfucker! First he was knocking off my rotten-ass, no-good sister like I wasn’t there every night sucking his dick, but now Jordan? Now that slimeball got that nothing ass lying up in my crib, washing her stanking ass in my shower! Damn, I was a fool for that faggot! I hate the fuck outta him! On everything I used to love, I swear I should take this baby he care so much about and choke the little bastard out. I got a right mind to throw his crybaby ass right in that Dumpster over there! Still distraught from finding Jordan in the house she’d decorated, taking a shower and cooking like she was the new queen of the trap, Kenya sat back in the passenger seat. Squirming in the passenger seat, she grew more and more infuriated. As her cell kept ringing, her fury at and animosity for Storm increased. Fuck his fake ass. Now he wanna be begging me. Fuck him! Hanging up on the once love of her life repeatedly, she finally let him get out how he wanted to see his son so damn bad and how Jordan ain’t mean shit to him. And this off-brand nigga had the nerve to say he loved me in the same breath as asking where my sister was at. I hate his cheating ass! One day somebody gonna fuck his lying ass up! Karma is a real bitch and one day soon he gonna meet that bad bitch for how done treated me!

  Kenya’s cruel thoughts were abruptly interrupted as she
heard Li’l Stone start to cry from the back seat. His tiny cries were giving her chills. It was as if someone or something were nudging her shoulder to come to his innocent aid. Kenya was hardcore as they came. She fought the feeling and put up a good fight, but she soon lost the battle. Being a woman first before a bitch, her maternal instinct kicked in. She wanted to give her tiny, helpless nephew a bottle or his pacifier. She stared back over her shoulder and paused. If she chose to put the infant out of his misery and herself for having to hear his pleas, she’d be too close to his mother, her sister, who was only a few feet away still frozen, undoubtedly stiff as a board.

  Thinking about London and reminiscing about her grandmother, who were both now gone, a part of Kenya got a small bit of remorse. Fighting a guilty conscience for all the bullshit her jealous behavior had caused, she got herself back together. After getting her emotions in check, she got out of the truck. Standing in the semi-empty funeral home parking lot, she stretched her arms while taking a deep breath. She wished she were back at home, in Detroit, sitting on the stairs of her childhood home. Kenya wanted nothing more than to turn back the hands of time, but regretfully she knew that task wasn’t possible. London was dead by her hands, and she wasn’t coming back. That was her reality, one she’d have to live with the rest of her life.

  Opening the rear door of the vehicle, Kenya took her cell out taking a few more pictures of the fussing infant. As her finger trembled, she sent them to Storm. Even though she felt he needed to suffer a little bit more before she’d possibly let him off the hook, she did it anyway. In her twisted mind, since London was gone, maybe they’d have a slim chance to make shit right. That was, if he was willing to practically kiss her ass.

  Closing her eyes, she reopened them seeing her twin sister was still in the rear hatch wrapped in the rug. Suddenly she felt a strange chill come over her body.

  “Damn, excuse me.”

  Kenya was startled as she turned around seeing an older woman standing practically face to face with her. “Do you need something, miss? Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes, there is.” The lady struggled to speak as she frowned with a strong flow of tears streaming down her jaws.

  Putting both hands on her hips, Kenya was confused but sympathetic. It didn’t take her long to now recognize the woman as the same lady she’d bumped into earlier inside of the funeral home. “Are you all right? You need me to call somebody out here for you or what? You seem like you need some help or something.”

  “No, I don’t think anyone can help me but you. Matter of fact I know you are the only one who can.” The woman paused. She was obviously in her emotions as her face appeared distraught.

  “Huh? What, me?” Kenya questioned wondering what the strange older woman could possibly be talking about. “Look, lady, I don’t mean no type of disrespect, but I don’t even know you. So if you want me to go get somebody outta the funeral home, I can.”

  “What, are you serious right now? We’ve apparently been sharing all this time, and you don’t even know me? Is that how you young girls carry yourselves these days, so nonchalant about the things you do and the people you hurt along the way?”

  Kenya had enough problems to deal with and some random off-the-wall-talking, crying-ass lady was not gonna be one of them. Kenya wanted to get her away from the side of truck before she noticed her sister’s dead body and made more of a scene than she already was doing. “Sharing, me and you? Look here, lady, I already done told you I don’t know you from a hole in the wall so I’ma need for you to get the fuck away from me okay? I’m straight on whatever game you trying to run. I ain’t got the time or the patience okay? So just beat it before I start really disrespecting my elders.”

  “Game. Me running game.” The hysterical woman stepped closer to Kenya with one hand extended fully outward. “Just tell me, why? Why in God’s name did you do it? Why? Why did you think it was okay?”

  Placing one hand up to shield the brightly beaming sunlight, Kenya raised her eyebrow. She couldn’t believe it. Her heart sank to her feet. Ashamed and embarrassed, Kenya took a good look at what the woman was holding. “Oh my God,” she whispered underneath her breath while watching the video of her sucking Big Doc B’s dick. “Where did you—”

  “Don’t worry about that, you lowlife, home-wrecking tramp. Just know he was my husband. He was the love of my life and the father of my kids, and because of you and your slutty lifestyle, he’s gone. So just tell me, why? Why do I have to explain to my children that Daddy is gone and never coming home? Why do you think it’s okay for you to be out here in the world among the living and he’s gone? It’s not fair. You smiling and coming to see someone in this place when you the one who should be in a casket.”

  At a loss of words or an explanation for the XXX video, Kenya momentarily lowered her head in shame. As the woman continued her verbal tirade, the Detroit-born, self-proclaimed diva had lost her nerve to face the facts of what she had done and who she had become. As bad as she didn’t want to admit it, the scorned wife was indeed 100 percent correct. She had done way too much over the prior year to even be standing here to see the awful illicit video. Kenya quickly had flashbacks to the many lives she had ruined. She got chills knowing that she had caused so much chaos and destruction to others. She knew her grandmother would be disappointed that despite all her efforts to provide her and London with love and support after their mother’s murder, she had turned out to be who she was. Kenya took ownership that she was no more than a true menace to herself, her family legacy, and any other person she came in contact with.

  Suddenly the sun seemed to beat down on her even more. Her head was pounding. The sides of her temples seemed to be keeping a rhythmic pace with her racing heart. She couldn’t face Doc’s wife any longer. Kenya hastily turned back around to get Li’l Stone out of his car seat and go inside with Brother Rasul. She felt it was best to just remove herself from the explosive confrontation until Doc’s distraught wife left.

  Leaning over in the truck trying to block out the angry woman’s screams of betrayal, Kenya was caught off guard. She definitely wasn’t ready when the half-crazed woman attacked. Kenya unexpectedly felt the lady grab her from behind. Feeling the woman’s hot breath on her neck was swiftly followed by a sharp pain. Not being able to break free because of the position she was in, Kenya reached upward wrapping both hands around her own neck. She was confused. She was in immediate denial. But the damage was done. It was too late. Doc’s wife had used one of her husband’s many surgical scalpels to slit her throat.

  Kenya’s world was spinning. Her eyes were bulging out of her head. They blinked repeatedly as if they were trying to focus. She couldn’t speak. She could not scream out for help or even breathe. Her once perfect world had spun out of control. Kenya’s drama-filled life was flashing before her eyes as her attacker walked away in a zombie-like trance with the bloody death weapon still dripping from her blood.

  Being top dog in high school, the day Gran died, and the first day she danced at Head’s Up, meeting Storm, Swift getting killed in her hallway, finding Deacon’s head in the fish tank, her having to shoot Chocolate Bunny and, most memorable, the day she found out her twin sister was pregnant by her man; all those memories, some good and some most certainly bad, took over her thoughts. Life was short, as Gran used to always say. And now as Kenya lay slumped over on Li’l Stone bleeding out on his powder blue sleeper, she realized that fact, but it was much too late. All the manipulation, plotting, and scheming had run its course. It was over for the Detroit-born boss bitch, and she was paying the ultimate price: death. No more “I’m sorry,” no more “I can make shit right,” and no more “maybe things can get better.” For Kenya James, just like her twin, London who was wrapped in a rug on the other side of the truck seat, it was lights out. They would both soon be back with their parents in heaven or hell. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Convicted
on first-degree murder charges, Jordan sat behind bars on death row wondering how things had gotten so fucked up. Her plans of being a boss’s bitch and taking over Kenya’s place were over with. Considering everyone she dealt with were criminals, dead, or just didn’t give a shit about her conniving ass, she failed to produce a witness who was willing to testify on her behalf to exactly where she was when Big Doc B was killed. Her fingerprints were all over the room and, unfortunately, the surveillance tape failed to show the time she left the hotel premises. She was cooked and knew it. She had offered to tell them a boatload of other crimes and awful transgressions that she knew of, but none of her confessions really mattered. There was no one to prosecute. Her snitching would be in vain.

  Since Marco was dead, someone had to pay. The public was infuriated about all the surge of murders that had taken place over the past year. It was more than just the residents of the city, but the nation as well. They wanted at least one high-profile arrest and conviction, so Detective Malloy gave them one: Jordan’s ass served on a silver platter. Since her sister had recovered from Marco’s brutal attack, she not once had been to visit Jordan in prison. Maybe at Jordan’s execution she’d show up, just maybe, but only time would tell.

  Paris finally came back to her right mind. She was doing well physically only to lose her mental state of mind once again after finding out the supposed patient who’d pretended to care so much about her was the police and was only using her for information. Pretending to accept his apology, she played it cool like most predators did when hunting their prey. When she got the opportunity, Paris grabbed his firearm. He didn’t see it coming. The staff didn’t see it coming and, truth be told, Paris didn’t know what she was going to do to get revenge on him until she did it. Wasting no time, she raised her arm and discharged the police-issued firearm. Two rounds were fired causing loud thunderous sounds to ring out and echo off the hospital walls. As if she were a trained marksman, each bullet found a home: one in the temple for his betrayal and the other directly through the heart. As she was already mentally disabled and under strict psychiatric care and monitoring, no criminal charges could be pressed. She would literally get away with murder. Spending her days and nights in the nuthouse, Paris had no idea whatsoever that her new roommate, Big Doc B’s widow, had killed her best friend. Maybe one day in group therapy the truth would come out, but for now, it was what it was.