Atlanta X-Men Homicide Squad #2
"...Good character development in depths that make them spring off the pages...This is the third book in this series and I read it for free to review. I really enjoyed this series as it goes on, as the individual characters are a spotlighted to shine within."
"Solid story of suspense and intrigue. This is the 2nd book in the series. If you enjoy watching CSI or NCIS this is the series for you!..."
"...For Sergeant Malcolm Hobbs and his elite X-Men Homicide Squad was quite a story with this team not only having to deal with the criminal organization but also the members of this Atlanta Police Department..."
Intersection of Foundry & Elm Streets
Vine City Neighborhood
Irving ‘Smack’ Black, Jr., ‘membered one of his movie heroes Gordon Geico or Gekko or whatever his name been was great philosophizin’, he ain’t never lied, ‘cause greed was good. Whether it been was Wall Street or insurance, he ain’t never known greed to be anything other than good. Right now, this homeboy was good and greedy and hopefully a little lucky, in additional. Lucky enough not to squeezed the trigger on his .380 semi-automatic. It been chillin’ in his front pants beneath his black hoodie hidin’ under a short brown leather jacket liked bottles of Cristal in a bucket a ice durin’ a Saturday night 70s ‘Blue Lights in the Basement House Party’ in the SWATs. He needed a breathin’ mask after all that been was done in his thinkin’.
He chilled with his back kissin’ the rear fender of a suped up 90s Cadillac and he faced a ol’ school Toyota Corollary. He kept quiet ‘cause this part of Atlanta was so fulled up with drugs and all that came with it that it was always bein’ raided by Red Dog and Narcotics Units of the ATL. They gots good reason to be out in Vine City and so did he. He peeped around the left side of the fender and there it been was: Like fifty yards away at Foundry and Vine Streets, couple a brothas eased down Vine and stood next to a apartment compound and the bent down ‘Stop’ sign. They watchin’ everything and everyone and everybody and everywhere and all them other everys.
His breathin’ raced now. He ain’t never prayed much in his 37 years mainly ‘cause again he was so lucky in his job. Plus, his .380 ain’t a bad god to have at his side whenever he needed a loyalty friend. Ain’t let ‘im down befoe, why tonight gotta be dysfunctionality at all? Dysfunctionality. Yeah, the sistahs gave up the lovin’ to a brotha with a good vocationary. Yeah, they did. He told himself to chill that and checked out the scene down the street. That’s it. Bags of cocaine and thick wads of cash like a sistah in baby-got-back-Apple Bottom jeans! He tasted the Cristal now!
Just as he started to shuffle backward toward the curb for the right side of the Caddy, a black van cruised straight up at him. He ducked and crawled under the Caddy. After the van passed him, his right hand founded the .380 and showed it with a stiff arm. He aimed lyin’ on his stomach tryin’ to spot a better view with another car parked in front of him. Motor oil and gas stanked on the pavement below him, which meant it was on his leather coat! Ain’t that some dysfunctionality chitlins with corn kernels and dirt at the bottom of the pot? Focus, G’!
As the van slowed down near the buy, he heard convo’. A little get-to-know-ya’ small talk from the van ‘foe the real deal jumped off. Now, two brothas in dark clothes popped out the front of the van. Red light, stop; yellow light, caution and slowed down…the green ain’t comin’ fast enough for everybody, anybody, somebody, nobody and all the other bodys includin’ him. Well, that changed like now, a’ight. He strained to slide with the grit and grime and gas and oil under the Caddy. That’s when a little somethin’, somethin’ jumped off with raised voices and gun hammer clickins. Yeah, it was on now.
From his snake belly crawlin’ spot, the van brothas gots the drop on the local homies. One man snagged the big blue canvas bag and the other latched on to the second black canvas bag. And the van boys gots on black masks, likewise. He needed to flow with his plan ‘foe them Red Dogs and Narcs crashed the party. Ain’t no house lights flicked on yet and that was mo’ luck and mo’ good.
Then ta-a-dow! What was goin’ on with a dark four-door sedan stoppin’ at the corner a Graves and Foundry. Might be APD U.C. The driver kicked a little gas and made the short trip up Foundry and stopped in front a the van. Two mo’ dudes in baggy dark clothin’ and black masks announced they presence like Santa Claus and Rudolph at Xmas. ‘Cept they used .9mms aimed at the van boys. Man, this ain’t no good. He didn’t figure on usin’ his own black mask hidden in his inside jacket pocket since he black as night moreover, but with all this noise now, he ain’t got no choice.
He flipped his vision on the scene and into his jacket pocket, the scene, his jacket pocket, the scene, his jacket pocket. Then shots shocked his body like he got shot! His head slammed into the under the carriage of the Caddy. He froze liked a snow cone. Voices panickin’ and like God in the Bible said, “Let there be light” and there been was in a house needin’ Extreme Makeover ‘Hood Edition. He scrambled like eggs in a cast iron pan to his feet. Now, he tripped out so bad he wanted to snag a handful a ol’ cigarette butts layin’ ‘bout and smoke ‘em right there. Heart beatin’ and sweat pourin’…body and mind quittin’, but naw, he ain’t goin’ nowhere without the score, baby.
Mask on and his mind tellin’ him he had heart, he breathed three times, bended down and ran along the parked cars and the concrete curb with the .380’s hammer cocked. From the front of the Caddy, he saw two men down on the ground. The van brothas. The dark sedan dudes pointin’ them shiny black 9 mils at them apartment/stop brothas ‘bout gave ‘im a Fred Sanford, “This is the big one”, heart attack momentumum. They arguin’ somethin’, somethin’ ‘bout, ‘Can’t take the money, fool!’ When he started risin’ up, mo’ shots woked up the dead or alive. This time the apartment/stop brothas, unarmed, they fault, just died. Them dark sedan dudes tripped out now. They runnin’ for they sedan when mo’ lights turned the night into a Smoky the Bear fire.
Seconds after that and he ran along that curb behind cars so close they right across from him now, he down low and aimed again when mo’ shots from some brothas on his side of the street tap danced the road and the dark sedan. Funny thing was though he ain’t heard no laughin’, the dark sedan dudes ain’t fired back in self-defensive. All they done was run to the sedan with both bags in hand. Then mo’ shots breaked some of the sedan’s windows. The driver dropped his bag as the sedan rolled through the shootin’. Footsteps pounded the sidewalk for him and he hated to do it, but he ducked under another car and played dead. Those feet ran passed and behind him. Screamin’, shoutin’, guns firin’, feet runnin’, tires squealin’. Chaos, man. Again, through that snake belly spot, the brothas who done did the shootin’ and runnin’ ran across the road and dragged the two apartment/stop brothas down Elm Street and outta sight. It was now or never, Irving.
He checked the area everywhere and all those other everys. Saw the black canvas bag ‘bout three feet in front of ‘im. The blue bag just sat next to the two dead van brothas. Too far away and now mo’ sirens, mo’ sirens, mo’ sirens, mo’ sirens. He dove for the bag that was closest. He heard mo’ gunshots around the corner. Luckily for him, he ain’t parked around that corner. He fastwalked west on Foundry and hung a quick left on Sunset Avenue. That’s where he parked his tricked out green Mazda Hatchback 323 that would make them West Coast Customs and Pimp My Ride TV shows proud. His imagination seen cops and ambulance on the scene now. The gunshots stopped. So did the screamin’, shoutin’, runnin’ and squealin’. Peace, man.
When he unlocked his Mazda, he thew the bag on the passenger front seat. Still hyped all over, he lost the temptation not to check inside. Was it been the drugs or the money? Unzipped the black bag, either one was a solid, and hello Benjamins! He laughed lookin’ around as he did. This was easier than he ever thought it could been was. It all been a part of his philosophizin’ strategically that went down a somethin’, somethin’ liked this: Firstly, ‘Done did unto others befoe they done did unto himself’. Secondarily, ‘Life helped them who then helped themselves’. Thirdarily, and the bestest one, ‘Revenge was a dish bestest served by takin’ everything from anyone, everyone, someone but not no one 365/24/7’. Yeah, baby!
In the midst of his merriment, someone watched him through a camera lens and snapped his photograph. Then, cross hairs sized him up when he cranked the Hatchback’s engine and calmly slipped unnoticed into the distant crying and agonizing night.