True To The Game Part 27

Being followed was a frightening thing any day of the week, but being followed when you had millions of dollars in dope money in the trunk of your car was something else entirely. Maybe someone seen me; maybe someone else knows. n.i.g.g.as had killed for less. And n.i.g.g.as had went hard in the paint to get paid. But this, this would be an easy come-up for anybody. She had taken the treasure out of its safe hiding place, and now someone had painted a great big f.u.c.king X on her f.u.c.king forehead. It would all be so simple for someone to rob her right now. She wondered if they even had instructions on how to do it. Peel back cap, dump bullets inside, take money, congratulations, now go live happily ever after, motherf.u.c.ker.

Gena switched on her turn signal, slid over into the exit lane, and left the highway. Her eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. The BMW took the exit. Fear bordering on panic overtook her.

It's not supposed to be like this! Gena thought. Who the f.u.c.k is following me? They must know I got the money. She hadn't asked for this. She didn't deserve to get f.u.c.ked off, just because she claimed what was rightfully hers. Qua was her man. He was going to marry her after all, and she was ent.i.tled to the money that he left behind. I should have never took that key chain. She had put up with a lot of bulls.h.i.+t for this money; b.i.t.c.hes calling, b.a.s.t.a.r.d children, and ho's sweatin' her man all the time. Yes, I shoulda took them keys. Quadir wanted me to have them, so he must have wanted me to have this money. She had lost her best friend, she had lost her fiance, she had lost Lita. She had earned that f.u.c.king dough. And n.o.body had the right to take it from her. Not jackers, not the Feds, not the Philly PD, n.o.body. f.u.c.k this.

Gena turned onto the access road, and accelerated as hard as she could. She would head back to Philly, where she could lose this motherf.u.c.ker in the tiny, narrow side streets she knew like the back of her hand. At worst, whoever it was behind her wouldn't be so stupid as to risk following her back to Gah Git's house. n.i.g.g.as weren't trying to run up in Richard Allen and cause no static, especially at Gah Git's house. Gah Git was too well loved by everybody in the hood for that s.h.i.+t to happen. Naw, she would run back to safety, and worry about stas.h.i.+ng the dough later.

The black BMW accelerated hard, trying to keep Gena in sight. The driver didn't want to be detected but could tell he had been spotted by the way Gena was driving.

"f.u.c.k!"

There was no doubt he had been spotted and there was no doubt that Gena was trying to lose him. The good thing was that the mouse was heading back to the mouse hole, and that was exactly where she needed to be. She would be easier to catch that way. And so would the money.

Gena raced down the highway, trying to get away from her pursuer. She could still see the halogen lights of the BMW in her rearview mirror. And with each pa.s.sing mile, she became more of a wreck. She had her whole life ahead of her, and she didn't want to die; not like this.

A yellow light blinked on, and a soft chime rang out, causing Gena to look down at her dashboard. It was her fuel light. She had millions of dollars stuffed inside pillowcases in her trunk, and no gasoline in her tank. d.a.m.n, I ain't never got no gas when I need it. What the f.u.c.k am I going to do now? Pull over, all alone, on the side of the road, with a gank of money in the trunk of my car, be robbed or, even worse, murdered. No, that b.i.t.c.h ain't me, Gena thought, while shaking her head. She was going to find a gas station. Maybe the motherf.u.c.ker wouldn't risk popping her in front of so many witnesses; especially if she found a big gas station. An Exxon, Mobil, Valero, Sh.e.l.l, or even Luk Oil. f.u.c.k it-we'll take Wal-Mart out this b.i.t.c.h! Just somewhere where there's a bunch of people around. She spotted the red, white, and blue Exxon sign just down the road, and a smile slowly spread across her face. She was going to make it.

Gena exited the turnpike riding on nothing but fumes and raced into the gas station parking lot. The black BMW exited with her, and followed her into the gas station parking lot. Gena pulled up to a pump, while the Beemer pulled into a faraway corner and sat idling. The black sedan's dark tinted windows prevented her from seeing who, or even how many, were inside of the car. She climbed out of her Benz, hit her alarm so that her trunk would lock, and raced inside of the store.

"May I help you ma'am?" the store clerk asked rudely.

Gena rubbed her sweating palms on her pants. "I . . . I . . . I . . . think that I'm . . . I don't know." Gena stuttered so bad and her mind raced so fast, that she could not form a coherent sentence. "I . . . think . . . Help me."

"What's the matter, pretty girl?" a voice asked from behind.

Gena turned in the direction from which the voice had come. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

When Jerrell saw her, he recognized her instantly. Although he didn't know her name and he couldn't place her face, he knew that she looked familiar.

"What's the matter, ma?"

Gena shook her head. "I'm just . . . having a rough day, that's all."

Jerrell smiled at her. "Well, what can I do to make it better?"

Jerrell's smile was infectious. It made Gena crack a slight smile.

"There you go, pretty girl," Jerrell told her. "That's the way I want to see you looking. You feel better already, huh?"

Gena exhaled and peered out of the gla.s.s window. "I think I had somebody following me."

Jerrell frowned, as thousands of thoughts raced through his head. Why would someone follow this broad? She ain't even wearing no jewelry. Let me find out this b.i.t.c.h got a stash. He would certainly stick around and find out. If not for some dough, then at least she would be a good f.u.c.k.

Jerrell clasped Gena's hand. "Show me who they are, ma. I'll take care of them n.i.g.g.as."

Gena was startled. The n.i.g.g.a was fine as h.e.l.l, mad cute. But even beneath his good looks, a motherf.u.c.ka could tell that he wasn't to be f.u.c.ked with. Thank G.o.d. I've been saved. This n.i.g.g.a look like he can go round for round, and he talks like he might have a little gangsta up in him. Yeah, he can handle this s.h.i.+t, Gena told herself. And suddenly, she began to relax.

"It's that black car right there," she told him feeling every bit of a snitch.

Jerrell walked out of the store and peered in the direction that Gena had pointed. The black BMW was pulling out of the store parking lot and turning back toward the direction of the turnpike. Jerrell counted to ten and then walked back into the store.

"Did you see it?" Gena asked nervously.

"I took care of them, ma," Jerrell told her. "You don't have to worry about them no more."

"Are you for real?" Gena asked.

Jerrell nodded.

"Thank you so much!" Gena told him. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name. What's your name?"

"Jay," he told her. "My name's Jay."

Gena shook Jerrell's hand. "I can't repay you for this."

Jerrell nodded. "Yeah you can."

"How?" Gena asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Let me pay for your gas, and let me walk you to your car and pump it for you." Jerrell told her. "And then, let me follow you back to where you are going, so that I can make sure you make it home safely."

Tears fell from Gena's eyes and she hugged him again. "I just met you, and you're so nice. I'm telling you I was really being followed."

"Hey, don't worry about nothing anymore, ma," Jerrell told her. "You're safe with me. I got you, okay?"

Gena nodded.

"Which car is yours?" Jerrell asked.

"The blue Mercedes," Gena told him.

Hot d.a.m.n, that's what I'm talking about, Jerrell thought. Let me find out this broad is rolling. No wonder she thinks she was being followed. n.i.g.g.as was probably trying to jack the b.i.t.c.h for her ride. Probably a bunch of youngsters trying to make a quick come-up. Jack her car, take it to a chop shop, make a few thousand. See, that's what's wrong with youngsters today; no f.u.c.king vision. Why yank the b.i.t.c.h from the car and risk catching a carjacking case? All you got to do is just finesse these broads out here; stroke 'em, f.u.c.k 'em, and milk 'em until they credit card bills look like a New York Lottery number. Youngsters these days have no finesse, no G. But, I'ma show 'em how it's done, baby; old-school style.

Jerrell tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. "Put it on the blue Benz," he told the cas.h.i.+er.

Jerrell clasped Gena's hand and led her out to her car, where he sat her inside of the vehicle and closed the door. Then he pumped her gas.

Inside of the Benz, Gena closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest. She felt a feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time. She felt that she had someone looking out for her again. She felt like she had just met a really good man, one who wanted to take care of her and keep her safe. Wouldn't that be something? She missed that feeling. She missed being able to wrap her arms around a man and feel safe. She missed having the man of life in her life.

Jerrell finished pumping Gena's gas and then walked to the driver's side window, where she had it rolled down.

"Hey, I want to call you tonight," Jerrell told her. "I want to make sure you're okay."

Gena nodded, pulled a pen from her purse, and wrote her number on the corner of an envelope. She tore the number off the paper, and handed it to Jerrell.

"I'ma follow you home to make sure you're safe, okay?" Jerrell told her.

Gena smiled. "Thank you so much, Jay. You're the nicest guy who I've met in a long time."

"No problem, pretty girl," Jerrell told her. He caressed the side of her face and then turned and headed for his vehicle, where he climbed inside and waited for Gena to pull off. Jerrell pulled off just behind her, and trailed her as she headed onto the turnpike, back to Gah Git's house, and back to safety.

His f.u.c.ked-up crew had blown through all of his bread while he was locked up, and he had spent the remainder of his dough fighting that bulls.h.i.+t case. And now-now he had been given a beautiful, lonely, scared b.i.t.c.h to f.u.c.k. Ain't life grand? And it'll be even grander if this b.i.t.c.h got a couple of dollars so I can come up again.

"Wooooooeeeee!" Jerrell let out an excited scream as his imagination ran wild. He dreamed of f.u.c.king Gena on top of a pile of money, and then suffocating the b.i.t.c.h in that same pile of Benjamins afterward. It was obvious that she didn't know who he was, and it was obvious that she was feeling all of the nice, concerned, protective s.h.i.+t that he was throwing her way. Which meant she was lonely and didn't have a man to turn to. Maybe her man's in jail or maybe the n.i.g.g.a's just steppin' out on her every night. Either that or the n.i.g.g.a is a weak motherf.u.c.ker and don't know how to protect his b.i.t.c.h. Either way, I got to find the story out on Ms. Gena.

Jerrell had made up his mind and he had decided that he would get to work on that as soon as time permitted. But first, he had major important things to attend to first; like catching up with all them n.i.g.g.as who f.u.c.ked up his dough and had nothing but excuses about why he was broke. Yeah, he would take care of them, and he would get with his baby girl, too. One thing at a time, though. One thing at a time.

"Don't worry, boo," Jerrell said to Gena's taillights. "Daddy's here! Daddy's gonna spank that monkey real good, and give you all the man that you need!"

Jerrell settled in for a long drive back to North Philly, dreaming of what he was going to do to Gena and everybody who owed him. I can't believe them n.i.g.g.as f.u.c.ked up my money. They must've never thought I was coming back home. Never once did he realize that the treasure he so deeply desired was only fifty feet away from him-in the trunk of Gena's car.

end.