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Nico had ten more rounds in his 9mm handgun. With Bebo on the ground, he ran up on him and stood over him.
“Yo, chill, man! Don’t do that shit! Don’t! What the fuck?”
Nico let off five shots, all of which struck Bebo in the chest. He wanted to empty his entire clip into Bebo, but his gun jammed.
Right on cue, BJ ran up the steps of the diner and almost slipped on the shattered glass. As soon as he caught his balance, he pumped four shots into Bebo’s chest and two to his head.
BJ tapped Nico, and the two of them ran down the steps of the diner and hopped into the Altima. BJ sped down 243rd Street, made a left turn on 133rd Avenue, and headed north on the Cross Island Parkway.
BJ and Nico were both breathing heavily. Nico told BJ to get off at the Linden Boulevard exit and to pull the car over as soon as he could and just park on any random street. At that point they were less than two miles away from the crime scene and could hear police and ambulance sirens coming from what sounded like every direction.
“You good?” Nico asked BJ as the car came to a stop.
“Yeah, yeah.”
BJ then popped the trunk, took out a container of gasoline from in it, and
doused the entire car. After Nico and BJ placed their handguns and masks inside the stolen vehicle, BJ lit a match and set the car on fire. In a matter of seconds, the car was engulfed in flames.
Nico and BJ both fled the scene, jogging about five blocks to Linden Boulevard, where they split up. Nico hopped on the first westbound New York City bus he saw, and BJ hopped on the first eastbound Nassau County bus. Prior to parting ways, they agreed to link up later that night via two brand-new prepaid cell phones they had purchased before the hit on Bebo.
The only thing the two of them were concerned with was whether any neighbors or any cameras in the neighborhood had caught a glimpse of them after they’d taken off their masks and torched the car. More importantly, they wondered if Bebo was in fact dead or had somehow managed to miraculously survive so many gunshot wounds.
Fourteen
Jasmine was sitting at home on the computer bored as hell and going absolutely stir crazy at her mother’s house, where she had been for a full seventy-two hours since leaving the hospital. Other than leaving the house to discreetly meet with Agent Gosling and Agent Battle at a local restaurant to finalize her plans to cooperate, she had been confined to her parents’ house. Although she had agreed to help the feds get incriminating information on Nico, she was having second thoughts about her decision. She never told them that she had met with him briefly on the day she was released from the hospital.
Jasmine was supposed to be gathering information on Nico, but she was just genuinely afraid to venture out of her parents’ house, worried that Bebo would learn of her whereabouts and come and finish her off. And she definitely didn’t want to go back and stay at Nico’s house until she heard from him again and knew that he would be staying at the house with her. So, she decided to just stay her ass put.
As soon as Jasmine logged on to Facebook, her cell phone started ringing, and she got a bunch of text messages. Everybody wanted to know if she had heard what happened to Bebo. Initially Jasmine thought that everyone was referring to her and Narjara being shot by Bebo, but that just didn’t make sense to her, since that was now old news. She called back her friend Simone, who asked her if she had seen the news.
Jasmine immediately turned on the four o’clock newscast and started watching the story about Bebo being shot multiple times at the USA Diner in Rosedale, Queens.
“It was crazy!” one eyewitness said to a news reporter. “I was just about to get out of my car with my girl and walk into the diner, and the next thing I know, I see a dude running toward the diner firing his gun, so I just took cover. It was multiple shots, like pop, pop, pop, pop, one after the other. I immediately grabbed my girl and pushed her to the ground and laid on top of her. I just couldn’t believe it. And then as soon as the shots stopped, they started again. It was almost like the shots wouldn’t stop.”
“Did you get a look at the gunman?” the reporter asked.
“Nah, things just happened too fast, and we hit the ground. From what I hear, people are saying it was two gunmen. I believe it, because there were just so many shots. I mean, it definitely reminded me of something from the Mafia. Whoever they were after, they were definitely trying to take him out. There’s no doubt about that. John Gotti, rest his soul, would have been proud. You feel me?”
The reporter seemed a little surprised by the eyewitness’ rhetorical question and his reference to John Gotti, but before she ended her report, she couldn’t help but allude to the irony in the eyewitness’ comment.
“References to mobsters might not be too far off, as we are learning that the victim of the shooting is allegedly the kingpin of a drug organization known as Ghetto Mafia. In Rosedale, Queens, I’m Sandra Livingston. Now back to you.”
Jasmine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She changed the channel and saw another station reporting on the same story. All she could wonder was if Bebo was dead. After watching the story on a different news channel, she was able to confirm that he had in fact died at the scene of the crime.
Jasmine continued to watch and she saw how the police had roped off USA Diner with yellow crime scene tape. She also was able to see Bebo’s body lying on the lobby floor of the diner covered with a white sheet and.
Upon seeing that, Jasmine felt instant euphoria. She felt like she could have her life back and walk around in peace without having to look over her shoulder in fear of Bebo. She knew her man had made good on his promise. Jasmine loved a strong man, and she especially loved a man who could protect her. Nothing was a bigger turn-on to her than a man who would kill for her. She couldn’t wait to fuck his brains out for doing only what a king would do for his queen. After all, she was wifey.
***
The FBI had given Jasmine a special BlackBerry phone that was almost impossible to be hacked into, and it had an FBI-approved app installed on it to track all of her movements via GPS technology. The phone was also going to be the FBI’s primary way of contacting her, and she could use it to record incriminating conversations so she wouldn’t have to wear a wire.
Jasmine saw that Agent Gosling was calling her phone, but she ignored him as she browsed for a new outfit in the mall, since she and Simone were planning on hanging out later that night.
Finally, at ten minutes past one in the afternoon Jasmine, dressed in a pair of black leggings, open-toe sandals, and a pair of Gucci shades, arrived at Dallas BBQ for her twelve-noon meeting. She tilted her shades slightly so she could see inside the dimly lit restaurant.
“Table for one?” the hostess asked her.
