Malcom rolled over to his side, franticly searching for his phone was on his nightstand.
“Malcom turn off that damn phone,” Bianca said, seeking shelter from the blaring ringtone under her pillow. “I’m tryin to sleep dammnit.”
“Shit, girl. I’m tryin to find it,” Malcom said as he sat up on the edge of the bed. Finally locating his phone, Malcom slid his finger along the screen, answering the call.
“Hello?” Malcom said, reaching over to the nightstand to turn on a lamp.
“Eh, dog, we got ourselves a problem.”
“Ya, it’s you callin’ me at one in the fuckin morning,” Malcom grunted. “What you want, Roger?”
“Bitch, I don’t give a fuck what time it is. Look, the homie Gerald’s been snatched like a bitch. I need your help, dog.”
“Hold up, what you mean he got snatched? Like by the police?”
“No. It wasn’t no goddamn police man, it was them Mexicans. They snatched his ass right off the street and threw him in a van,” Roger shouted.
“Malcom can you go do this somewhere else,” Bianca grumbled. “I told you I’m tryin to sleep. Fuck.”
Glaring at his girlfriend who was still hiding under the pillow, Malcom slowly got up and walked into his bathroom, grabbing a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans as he walked by his dresser.
“Yo, what the fuck. This sounds like some Taken shit, dog,” Malcom said. “So what you want me to do about it?”
“What the fuck you think, man? I’m getting the boys together and we gon’ get his ass back.”
“Why don’t you just call the cops then?”
“C’mon man. You know me, dog. I ain’t no mark, and I ain’t gon’ snitch. There’s only one way we get this done,” Roger bragged. “We gon’ find these motha fuckas and introduce them to Mr. Smith and Wesson. Then, we gon’ rescue ole Gerald like the fairy princess bitch he is. Look dog, I know you tryin to turn over a new leaf and shit, but you know if you help me out I’m a break you off somethin.”
Malcom sat in silence, pondering the decision. “Ya ok, man…..I got you…. guess I’ll help you out.”
“My dog,” Roger barked over the phone.
He almost sounds like he’s excited for this shit…Roger hasn’t changed a bit.
“Alright, Malcom. Get yo ass over to my place and don’t forget to bring ya piece. Leroy already on his way over here so hurry the fuck up.”
Malcom hung up the phone and pulled on his clothes. He peeked around the wall of the bathroom and looked at Bianca, who was already fast asleep again. Making sure not to make a sound, Malcom crept into his closet and retrieved a large black box that was stuffed under several old blankets. He carried the box into his kitchen where he placed it on the counter.
Fuck I can’t even believe I’m doin this.
Malcom collected himself and entered the three-digit combination into the small lock that secured the black case. The locks snapped back, and Malcom pulled the heavy black gun from its prison. It was a MAC-11, a gift from Roger. Capable of firing 1200 rounds a minute, the gun cut through flesh like a knife, and paired with the hi-capacity magazine in the box, it could empty a clip in less than three seconds.
He snapped the case back shut and stuffed the gun and some magazines into a small yellow gym bag.
Damn. Bianca gonna be pissed if I fuck this new bag up.
Straining to see in the dimly lit kitchen, Malcom’s gaze shifted around the room as he searched for a new bag. Trash bags. He ripped the thick black trash bag from its box and placed the magazines into the bag, gently easing the submachine gun in last and taking care to make no noise. Malcom tiptoed his way to the front door, stopping only to look back into his room one last time. He confirmed that Bianca was still asleep and quietly exited his house.
By the time he got to Roger’s, he could feel how impatient the boys were getting waiting to start their daring rescue.
“So the Muertos got him in a van just fuckin’ goin’ around the city in circles,” said Leroy. “You think they tryin to throw us off?”
“Nah man. They just fuckin dumb,” Roger shouted. “They prolly don’t even know what to do with him. He don’t know shit about the operation, but he might lead’em here if they get’em talkin.”
“So we doin’ this or what?” Malcom said.
“Ya dog we was waitin’ fo’ yo ass to fuckin’ get here,” Leroy shot.
“Hey fuck you, dog I came didn’t I?”
“Both y’all shut the hell up,” Roger said. “Come on let’s go. Leroy we takin’ the Hummer.”
Roger said he had a guy tailing the van for hours. Eventually, the tail said they stopped outside some “shitty” house in “the fuckin’ ghetto” and then left after picking up “two or three more fuckin’ people.” It sounded like solid tactical information to Leroy, who was flailing his gun in the air as he bragged about using it to shoot the abductors once the van was found.
As they drove about the city, seemingly lost, Malcom began to doubt that they would even find Gerald. Suddenly, the phone rang, and Roger said the van was just a few blocks away from them stopped at a red light.
“Red and rusted. Some kinda weird American flag with a blue triangle and a star. Ok homie. Once we get behind ‘em you get the fuck outta there,” Roger said. “This shit gotta go down quick and we don’t need any rookie players on the field. Peace.”
Here we go again. We gon’ be fine. In and out. Roger know what he doin’.
Leroy pulled the hammer back on his pistol. The slide scraped back, grabbed a bullet, and slammed forward. Roger stomped on the gas, and the heavy SUV lunged forward as the engine growled. Malcom grabbed his black bag, retrieved the gun and stuffed the magazines into the pockets of his jeans.
“Aight y’all. We gotta do this quick and clean. Shoot the driver. Kill the passengers. Grab the homie,” Roger shouted as they approached the distant tail lights. “Once we get him out the van we gotta dip out quick or else the police gon’ be all over our ass.”
The red van quickly came into view as Roger accelerated through the gloomy city street.
“Leroy. When I pull up alongside at this next light, I want you to take out the driver.”
Leroy nodded his head and readied his gun.
Malcom began to feel a wave of anticipation sweep over his psyche. His mind raced and he felt his heart beating faster. His thoughts drifted back to his house, and his girlfriend, Bianca.
Fuck. I know I shouldn’t be here. But Roger fuckin’ needs me.
The SUV abruptly slowed to a stop as Roger brought the Hummer up alongside the unsuspecting red van. Leroy rolled down his window and brought the pistol up from his lap.
As Malcom began to open his door and exit the SUV, he heard Leroy unload his semiautomatic pistol.
“Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack…crack, crack, crack,” the gunshots rang out, and the sound of shattering glass spilling onto the asphalt was all Malcom could hear as he rounded the Hummer.
“Fuck you motha fuckas!” Leroy shouted.
“Crack, crack, crack, crack,” more shots rang out as Leroy finished off a clip.
One of the back doors on the red van slammed open as a tall, lanky man with greasy black hair wearing a bulletproof vest and a green bandana hopped out onto the street, shotgun in hand. He raised the gun up to where Leroy was still sitting in the passenger seat of the Escalade.
“Fraaaaaaaaaap, fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap,” Malcom’s submachine gun dropped the armored assailant in two quick bursts before the shotgun could deliver its lethal ejection. “Fraaaap,” the gun let out as Malcom gave his victim a quick coup de grâce before slamming another magazine into his gun.
Just then, the door on the side of the van slid open and someone inside began firing an assault rifle, “Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa, pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa.”
Malcom watched as the bullets ripped into the side of the Escalade where Leroy was shooting from.
Dumbass shoulda got the fuck outta the car.
Malcom rushed towards the back of the open van. He heard men shouting in Spanish, and then a gunshot rang out inside the van.
“Fraaaaaaaap, fraaaaaaaaaap, fraaaap.”
Two more down inside the van. Inside the confined space, Malcom could feel the gun rattle his bones as the MAC-11 fired. The air inside the van seemed to heat up around him as each bullet left the chamber. Malcom tried to discern between the four bodies that lay strewn around the van’s cabin.
Malcom identified what remained of Gerald’s headless body.
Malcom quickly exited the van, but as he stumbled out into the street, he fell to his hands and knees as began to vomit.
“Ahhh…shit. Fuck. Malcom!” Roger called out as he staggered around the front of the Escalade towards where Malcom lay, still on the floor trying to regain his composure. “I see lights. We gotta fuckin’ go dog.”
Malcom forced himself up to his feet and attempted to expel the image of Gerald’s mutilated face out of his mind.
“He’s fuckin’ dead man,” Malcom mumbled, staring into the distant city night. “They fuckin’ shot’em in the back of his head.”
The horrific images of Gerald’s remains flooded Malcom’s thoughts once again.
“Didn’t you hear me man. We gotta get the fuck out of here!”
The sound of approaching sirens could be heard echoing between the buildings that surrounded the last two men left standing in the road.
“Shit…we gotta…fuckin’ get out,” Roger collapsed against the side of the SUV and fell to the street.
Malcom looked down at his childhood friend, but was only met with the blank stare of death. He could now see that Roger had taken multiple wounds to his abdomen.
Damn. Bianca gonna be pissed.