Chapter 18: “Nuth’n dawg.”

The loud belch erupted in the Cadillac, a grotesque symphony of onions, banana peppers, and salami. The sound reverberated off the car’s interior like an unholy foghorn, bringing with it a stench that could only be described as a biological weapon.

“God damn!” Ken shouted, his hand slapping the window button as fast as humanly possible. The glass rolled down with an electronic whir, and he thrust his head halfway out like a dog desperate for fresh air. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man? You smell like you need to see a damn doctor!”

Pete, unfazed, kept his steely gaze locked on the Cornice Place Apartments across the street. His hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his thick gold bracelet catching the faint glow of the streetlights. “What are you whining about now?” he asked gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching in mild amusement.

Ken recoiled from the question, flailing his hand in front of his face. “You, dawg! I’m talking about you and those nasty-ass smells coming out of you. You don’t smell that shit? You’re a walking biohazard!”

Pete finally turned his head, raising an eyebrow at Ken as if the younger man had just insulted his mother. “I’m paying you, ain’t I?”

Ken threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yeah, you’re paying me to fuck up a nigga, not to sit around marinating in your nasty ass all night.”

Pete’s expression darkened instantly, his voice dropping to a cold, sharp edge. “Hey. Watch your mouth,” he warned. “I don’t like that shit.”

Ken glanced out the window, seeking a distraction from the tension. Across the street, the white Escalade parked under the shadow of a tree seemed to hum with barely contained violence. Inside, his crew waited, their silhouettes visible through the tinted glass. The front passenger window rolled down, revealing Big D, a massive man whose skin gleamed under the faint light like polished onyx. He had the kind of face that could make grown men cross the street to avoid him, his dark eyes locked on Ken.

“Sup?” Big D asked, his deep bass voice rumbling through the quiet night.

“Nuth’n, dawg. Just airin’ out this mutherfucker,” Ken replied, jerking a thumb toward Pete. “A nigga be rank in this fucking ride.”

Pete’s hand slammed against the steering wheel, his voice slicing through the air. “Hey! I said I don’t like that word!”

Ken turned, his face a mask of disbelief. “What word?”

“The N-word!” Pete snapped, his tone laced with disdain.

Ken blinked, caught off guard by the bizarre shift in the conversation. “What?!!”

“You heard me. I don’t like that ghetto shit,” Pete growled, his eyes narrowing.

Ken leaned back, his lips curling into a sardonic grin. “Who the fuck are you talking to, nig—”

The sharp click of a pistol hammer interrupted him. Pete’s gun was out, the barrel aimed directly at Ken’s face. The old gangster’s movements were unnervingly smooth, the kind that came with decades of practice.

“Are we gonna have a problem?” Pete asked, his voice calm but menacing.

Ken’s grin didn’t falter. His hand casually dropped to the door handle, his gaze sliding toward the Escalade. The tinted windows rolled down just enough to reveal the gleaming barrels of at least three guns pointed directly at the Cadillac. Ken’s voice was cool, his tone razor-sharp. “You think I’m scared, old man?”

Pete smirked, the kind of smirk that made it clear he didn’t give a damn. “No, bitch. I think you’re gonna get shot bravely.”

For a moment, the air inside the car was suffocating. The tension was so thick it seemed to drown out the distant sounds of traffic and the faint hum of the Escalade’s engine. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, both men burst into laughter.

“I fucking love you, brother!” Pete said, holstering his gun with a grin.

Ken shook his head, chuckling. “You’re a crazy old bastard, you know that?”

“Damn right,” Pete replied, leaning back in his seat. His laughter was interrupted by a sudden, earth-shattering fart, one so foul it practically chased Ken out of the car.

“God damn, did you shit yourself too?” Ken yelled, throwing open the door and leaping out like the vehicle was on fire.

Pete just chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Ken storm off toward the Escalade. “Get over it,” he muttered to himself.

Ken slammed the door behind him, grumbling under his breath. “Crazy ass old man,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette as he leaned against the Escalade.

The quiet tension of the moment shattered as the screech of tires echoed through the night. Both Ken and Pete turned toward the sound, their eyes locking on the black El Camino tearing into the Cornice Place parking lot like a bat out of hell.

Jeff slammed the El Camino to a stop, the tires leaving thick black streaks on the pavement. He killed the engine and climbed out, his movements sharp and purposeful. His mind was a storm of questions, his body thrumming with frustration. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Pete leaned forward in the Cadillac, his grin spreading like a predator who’d just spotted his prey. “That’s the fucker right there.”

Ken took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing. “So how you wanna handle this? We can just drive by blasting when he comes back through. It’ll be clean.”

Pete shook his head, his gaze never leaving Jeff. “No. I told you, I want to talk to him first. I need to know how he managed to take out my boys.” His voice turned cold, the weight of his authority filling the space between them. “An example needs to be made of him. A major example.”

Ken nodded, flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with his boot. “Apocalyptic. I got you, dawg.” He bumped fists with Pete, who climbed into the Escalade with a satisfied nod.

Pete eased the Cadillac away from the curb, its engine purring like a contented lion. Ken watched him go, then turned his attention back to Jeff, who was striding toward the apartment complex like a man possessed.

“You sure you don’t want me to take him out now?” Ken asked, his voice low.

Pete’s voice crackled over the radio. “Not yet. Wait for my signal. I want this done right.”

Ken smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Jeff, oblivious to the danger lurking just across the street, marched into the courtyard, his jaw set and his fists clenched. He didn’t have time to notice the hunters circling their prey. All he knew was that Wallace had answers, and he was going to get them—no matter what it took.

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