Page 3 of Quasim II: King Inferno

“Wylie on his way.”

“You called crazy ass Wylie?”

RATTATA! RATATTA! RATTATA!

We both dived onto the floor, and I military crawled over to the fat bitch that I was sure shot my baby’s bedroom up. Even in the middle of shots, I started beating the shit out of him with my gun.

“You niggas need to start letting me know who we got beef with… since when we got beef with the Del Devils?” Wylie walked in calmly from the backyard, shooting a nigga creeping down the steps. “The fuck you thought you were doing?” He looked at the man in disgust and emptied his clip in his face.

I didn’t respond as I checked on my wife, hearing the loud sound of motorcycles taking over my quiet block. The loudest thing on this block was usually the delivery driver that liked to blast his music on the truck. Other than that, it was almost always quiet, which is why I chose this block to live on.

I jumped to my feet, running out the door and shooting at whatever I could. Wylie was right beside me, letting bullets fly as sirens came closer to us. The motorcycle dipped down on theblock and was scarce, as the flashing lights illuminated off the houses on the street.

“Fuck.” Wylie muttered.

Three cop cars pulled onto my lawn and jumped out with their guns drawn at us. “Put the guns down now!” They hollered through the speakers on the cars.

I looked across the street at Helene holding my youngest daughter while my oldest clung onto her with tears coming down her face. “Daddy!” she screamed.

“Put the fucking gun down!” The most aggressive of the six hollered with spit flying from his mouth.

His finger was itching to pull the trigger and end me on my own property. I couldn’t stop looking at my daughter as she screamed for me. I wanted to go to her and console her, knowing that I couldn’t move, or they would light me up.

“Meer, get the fuck down… you know they won’t hesitate to lay our black asses out and pretend their cameras don’t work,” Wylie whispered as he slowly put the gun down and got on his knees with his hands up in surrender.

“Daddy, please!” Peach screamed as Helene held her back.

One of the officers moved from behind the car door, and had his gun drawn, ready to pull the trigger. “Put the fucking gun down now or I’m going to sh?—”

“Daddy!!” Peach continued to scream.

I never wanted her to witness this shit. Having to see the police with their guns drawn on her father was something she was never supposed to see. Cherry wouldn’t even remember this, but Peach would. She would always see the police and think of the time they had their guns drawn at her father.

“Don’t fucking shoot!” Capri came running out of the house. “Don’t you fucking shoot!” She stood in front of me with her arms up.

I watched her hands, specifically the one with her wedding ring on, and saw how her hands were shaking, but she stood firm. “Get the fuck down, too! Put the fucking gun down!” another one hollered, clearly scared.

Suga pressed her body against mine while still facing them. “Meer, put that gun down for me, please… I need you to listen to me, baby. Put the gun down and get down with Wylie… please.” She begged me.

I snapped out the daze I had been in and did as my wife told me. Placing the gun down in front of me and getting down behind her with my hands in the air. I rested my head against her ass, while saying a prayer in my head.

“Get the fuck down!” The pressed officer wasn’t pleased that she had gotten me to put the gun down, he wanted her down on the ground, too.

“I am the fucking district attorney of New York City… come get my fucking badge out my back pocket.” She told him, her hands still in the air. “Come get the fucking shit now!” she barked.

“Suga mama!”

“Peach, I promise it’s alright… okay, baby. Daddy and Uncle Wy are going to be alright… Suga mama is gonna make sure of it, okay?”

Peach calmed down listening to Suga’s words. “Okay.”

“Helene, take my babies back inside, please,” her voice shook as she watched her nod and take them back into the house.

My heart had finally stopped beating in my ears, and I could hear the sound of motorcycles and sirens in the distance. The only woman cop came over and took the badge from my wife’s back pocket.

That must have been what she was getting before she ran out here. She flipped it open and saw her identification and the look on her face should have been a picture. “I… I am sosorry, District Attorney Fern,” the woman profusely apologized as Capri took a minute to catch her breath.

Her hands came down, and she reached behind her and touched my head. “The guns are all registered and legal.... someone broke into my home with my children… they tried to fucking kill my daughter.”

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