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Kip took a few more pulls from his burning Black and flung the rest into the river. He sighed. Time was winding down and Big Sean needed to die. He was determined to find him. He had scouts looking everywhere, calling in and informing him on locations. Big Sean wasn’t a hard man to miss. He looked like he weighed a ton. The spread of money to different people Kip trusted brought back some information, but nothing concrete.
As he stood in the park staring at the picturesque scenery under a clear night, his cell phone rang, breaking his thought. “Who this?” he asked sharply.
“You lookin’ for Big Sean, right?” the caller said.
He caught Kip’s attention immediately. “Depends. Who the one calling me?”
“Look, I know he likes to gamble. He be at this gambling spot in the Bronx, a warehouse in Hunts Point.”
“The address?”
“I’ll text it to you,” the caller said.
“And what you lookin’ for? How much?”
“Nah, no payment. I just want the same thing you want—that nigga dead. He killed my cousin a month ago, and I would do it myself, but I’m no killer like y’all niggas anyway.”
The caller hung up.
The call had Kip on edge somewhat. Who was he? How did he know about Kip being a killer? Could it be a setup? Most importantly, how did the nigga get his number, never mind it was a burner phone he was using? Kip wasn’t stupid enough to give people his real cell phone number. He had to think. It seemed like solid information. He and his peoples would check it out tomorrow. If it was legit, then he would be grateful.
He stood in the park for another fifteen minutes and then left. He needed to sleep and he needed to check on his brother. Tonight, he would recharge and then be ready to go hunt and earn his payday.
***
Kip sat riding shotgun in Devon’s Expedition and smoked his Black. They crossed over the Willis Avenue Bridge into the South Bronx and made their way toward Hunt’s Point. It was after midnight. The men were dressed in black, and eager to get the job over with.
Papa John handed Kip a .9mm. He quickly inspected it, removing the clip. It was fully loaded—new, no bodies, no heat. Perfect.
Papa John handed Devon a similar .9mm, the same origin, and he held on to the .45. He then handed them two silencers to suppress the gunfire if needed.
They were mentally ready and equipped. This was a job for them. You just did it and got paid.
The mood in the truck was chill. No stress. If they stressed and became nervous then that meant making mistakes, and they couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. So they smoked and thought about what they needed to do.
“How far?” Kip asked Devon.
“GPS says three more miles away,” Devon replied.
Kip nodded. It was about to be game time soon, and the men already had their game faces on.
They neared the location in Hunts Point and soon arrived at the after-hours gambling spot— a decayed-looking brick warehouse on Oak Point Avenue. Several cars were parked around the location. The area was industrial and commercial and was a ho stroll, where a few pimps stood on certain blocks and watched their hoes flag down cars and work tricks.
The men sat parked across the street from the place, watching the front area. Few people came and went. The place was definitely low-key. They had no idea if Big Sean was inside.
“How we gonna do this?” Devon asked.
Kip said, “Simple. I’ll go in, scope it out, look for this nigga, and if I see him, I’ll text y’all niggas. I’m gonna lure him outside, and we hit that nigga then.”
It was a straightforward plan, but they could be walking into a setup. Kip was determined to fulfill the murder contract and end this hunt. He climbed out of the truck, leaving his gun behind. He knew there was a chan
ce he would be searched at the door. He casually crossed the street and walked toward the front entrance, ascending the small concrete steps leading to a black door. There were no bouncers outside, but he was sure they were inside.
Kip knocked, and soon the black door swung open. He was led inside.
Two men flanked him. They asked, “Who you?”
“I’m here to win some money,” he replied composedly.
