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Kip stared at them; it already had gotten complicated. He was still adamant about going through with their plan.
Everyone climbed out of the cars. Meeting with armed strangers when tons of cash and drugs were involved was always a risky business.
Kip held a straight-faced glare and approached Lance, the man in charge. Lance was average height, and he was a dangerous-looking man with a protruding chin and cold eyes. He was dressed in a white tank top with gangland tattoos up and down his arms. He flashed a gold grill and exposed a pistol in his waistband.
“So, you the man, huh?” he said to Kip.
“Yeah, and I just want to get this over wit’.”
“It’s just the three of y’all?” Lance asked.
“Why the questions?”
“Just making conversation, yo. Relax,” Lance said in a greasy way.
There was a quick size-up from both sides, and then Kip started to politick with Lance. Kip already saw the man’s arrogance, his overconfident body language suggesting that since his goons had the machine guns and there were four of them, they obviously had the upper hand. Kip was quickly feeling things out. He couldn’t wait too long to make his move. If it was a setup, then they had to do their part fast.
Lance looked around, and then he nodded to one of his henchmen. The machine gun-toting goon stepped away from the group and proceeded toward the Expedition and the gray Altima.
“What’s going on?” Kip asked.
“Just checking things out,” Lance said. “Relax. Why you so paranoid?”
If Lance told him to relax one more time, Kip was going to chop his head off. Things were going from uneasy to extremely tense in a heartbeat. Something was wrong.
Kip threw a subtle head nod Devon’s and Papa John’s way. They watched the goon approach the SUV and the Nissan. He carried his machine gun in a hostile manner. He moved closer to the vehicles in silence.
Kip, Papa John, and Devon were strategically placed, so they wouldn’t be hit with friendly fire. And as the man walked closer to Devon’s SUV, it happened suddenly—a burst of machine gun fire erupted deafeningly, and the goon was hit violently with a barrage of bullets. Maniac, who was hiding in the back of the truck, gripped the smoking Uzi and tore into the man with vengeance.
“What the fuck!” Lance screamed.
Before Lance and his men could react, Kip and his men were already on them. Kip swiftly put a Glock to Lance’s head and fired—Boom!—blowing his brains out. Stupid muthafucka should have had his weapon in hand and ready, instead of in his waistband.
The other two goons desperately lifted their weapons, but Papa John and Devon lit into them with automatic weapons, striking them with head and chest shots. They collapsed on their back, dead.
The bloodshed happened in a matter of seconds. Kip and his men breathed out with some relief. They were still alive. They looked at each other intently. Everyone was okay, no holes in them, no blood.
“That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, my niggas!” Devon hollered.
They looked around. The bodies were slumped on the cold concrete floor, a testament to their ruthlessness.
Maniac grinned. Finally, he had gotten to use the Uzi. The smell of blood and death was an exhilarating feeling for him. He was psychotic. He was the perfect piece in Kip’s plan.
“Papa John, check the car and see if the money’s there,” Kip said, doubtful that there was any cash.
Papa John went to the black Toyota, where there was supposed to be $800,000 inside. He lifted the trunk and saw two large duffel bags. He unzipped one, and bingo! Cold, hard cash. “Yo, we rich, bitch!” he shouted elatedly.
Everyone smiled. It was a great feeling.
Kip loved it when a plan came together perfectly. It definitely had to be a setup—an ambush from Maserati Meek. Kip still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why would Meek trust them with that much cash, guns, and drugs? He thought there wouldn’t be any money, but there was plenty of it. “Yo, grab that shit and let’s be out,” he instructed.
Papa John removed the cash from the trunk and hurried toward the SUV. Kip and his men carefully removed the dead men’s jewelry, cash, and cell phones, wearing latex gloves to make sure not to leave behind any fingerprints. They then dumped the bodies into the black Toyota.
Devon climbed back into the gray Altima, the others piled into the Expedition, and they left the crime scene. Their hearts were still beating intensely. The easy part was done. Now they had to face Maserati Meek and tell him what happened.
Kip turned off the men’s phones and tossed them over the bridge, and into the water.
“Y’all niggas be on point,” Kip said to his men on their way to Maserati Meek’s place.
