Page 1 of Dom 3
As soon as I hung up with Victoria, I tossed the phone on the marble and started making moves. I had my big ass chain on, and my guns tucked everywhere they needed to be. I then tucked a small blade in my sock too as I cleared my throat. I was still trying to shake that damn cold but now wasn’t the time to bitch up. That wasn’t in my DNA and El Blanca had me fucked up in multiple different ways. I still felt that ache in my joints and ignored that just like I ignored the scraping in my throat too but unfortunately kings didn’t get sick days, and Miami didn’t give nobody the chance to rest. Fuck around and slip if you want to, they’ll be trying to give somebody else the crown.
The elevator doors slid open like they knew I was on some kind of mission, much faster than they normally would. The lobby smelled like a mixture of lemon and money, if that made any sense. If people would ask how money smelled, they would know… and I was talking that new money smell, if you knew… you knew. On the outside, my people were lined up like sharksthat had been trained for whatever cause they had. Two of the Escalade ESVs sat idle, a Suburban held all the guns, and we had a few motorcycles just in case we had to weave in and out of traffic. My hittas were dressed in all black, black mafia style ready for the drill just like they were supposed to be.
Dique hopped in my passenger seat, smiling showing those bright ass teeth gleaming, and his chain was even brighter. He was fresh back in Miami. “Hector in the city means Blanca in the city,” he said, knowing damn well he didn’t give a fuck and was ready to shoot up the night. “I been bored anyway bruh. Let me warm up my trigger finger.”
“Save the jokes for the ride back,” I said. “Nigga, we ain’t here to be famous.” I reminded him.
We cut the causeway allowing the trucks to fall into formation. I called the floor at Royal Enterprises Headquarters. “Wake up the glass room. I want the board on as soon as I hit the door. Pull feeds from the lots, from the strip by the warehouse, from the corner stores that owe us free camera time too. I need all tag plates within six blocks that don’t belong to the block.”
“On it,” the floor manager said. You could hear keyboards clacking as he spoke.
I texted Tone and his bubble popped back up in one second telling me he was already dressed and just needed to know where to meet. I sent him the pin and told him to bring the case. In return, he sent me a thumbs up and a middle finger, which is his love language. We turned off onto our street three blocks out with the windows halfway down, just enough to catch the sound and smell. You could smell problems in Miami if you grew up around here. The night had that squeezed lime kind of tang from the taco trucks, with old oil from a fryer that been on half the day already, with hot concrete, and warm salt swirling in the air from the beach waters. Underneath all that, it was always something else like a set of eyes were always on you trying to take the spot.
Cars that didn’t belong sat the wrong way on the streets with their wheels close to the curb damn near scrubbing the rim, but most of them were tourist and weren’t from here anyway. I clocked three lined up back-to-back as I scanned. A baby blue Toyota Corolla with church tires, a white Altima with a missing hubcap; the whole car was dirty but magically had clean windows, and a Dodge Charger with rental plate frames that said some dealership in Texas. That rose suspicion right there.
“Spread out,” I said into the mic. “Two on the roof, two on the alley, one behind the dumpster. Rest of y’all cover the front. Don’t move till you see me move.”
We slid from the trucks like thieves in the night. I felt a tightness in my chest and ignored the cough trying to come up. I didn’t fear shit either, what I felt was just that pre-storm clamp when you held your breath in the calm before the storm came. I purposely walked dead center, with that deadly glow in my eyes as my hittas filled out into shadows like ants running into cracks.
That first shot came from my left side, followed by the breaking of glass. Somebody threw a rock at our warehouse window and didn’t bring the receipt to fix that muhfucka. The second shot came center, but it was too low and kind of sloppy.Sloppy niggas shoot like that, I thought to myself.El Blanca’s people were trained so this had to be some weak ass crew he hired to make sure he had muscle power here since he knew he was outnumbered on my turf. My Glock with the extended clips shot before my brain finished the math. One-two, and then three low, because ankles betrayed a man faster than his fuckin’ mouth could. The block lit up, and not with no fireworks either, when we showed up, the whole Miami knew the Royals never lost a fight.
Dique laughed in between shots because that’s who he is, a clown with a murder streak. “These niggas shoot likethey readin’ instructions!” he yelled, blasting and moving. “Muhfuckas learned from YouTube!”
“Shut up and swing,” I said, with a half-smile. I cut a quick right, dropped behind a concrete planter, peeked at what was up, and saw a barrel shining where it shouldn’t shine. I shot one shot through the hood and one through the tire.
Manny on the roof did our quiet work. You never even heard him half the time. You just saw a man who was about to aim at one of us, become a man who needed a doctor by the time Manny got finished with them. Two fell that way, and one tried to get brave taking a knee behind a stack of pallets and reached for a second clip with his hand too shaky for the job.Pussy!I spat. I shot the pallet twice where his wrist would be if his fear wasn’t getting the best of him. He yelled in pain and dropped the clip like it was boiling hot. Dique emptied a whole round high into the pallet causing splinters to shoot out into the dude’s cheeks, and then he curled up like a bitch as I silently chuckled to myself watching.
At this very moment, bullets were flying and stretching within’ a whole block from both of the crews. Bullets tore into the corner of our warehouse sign, taking the R and part of the O. That shit was replaceable, but my throne wasn’t. Tonight, I only cared about math, counting our shooters, count theirs, and counting who’s not moving while keeping my people breathing and our spot standing. One of ours, lil Lou, got hit in the thigh and screamed out in pain. Then he remembered what block he was on, bit down on his sleeve, and crawled behind the tire where he wouldn’t catch a second one.
I grabbed his vest on the way past and dragged him deeper on the sidewalk then tossed him a tourniquet from my belt. “Put that shit high and tight,” I told him. “You do it wrong and I’ma let yo’ ass bleed out before I fix it. You a fuckin’ soldier, you know what to do!” I told him. I didn’t allow no pussy shit in my campor around me, everybody had to move like a boss in order to be around one.
“Aiight boss,” he grunted with his eyes watery, and jaws locked. He was younger but he was tough. He would one day brag about that scar to somebody who loves him if I kept us breathing. All niggas loved to brag about their war wounds.
The last two of El Blanca’s little audition team tried to break left and found Tone already there, with his hoodie up and eyes calm like he was at a damn funeral. Looking into Tone’s eyes was like looking at the grim reaper himself. He shot multiple rounds into his torso and one in the head for good keep showing no mercy. Rule number one, show no mercy, mercy gets you killed. After that, there was a moment of silence like everything got still again. You could hear the taco truck radio again, and a DJ playing Spanish music. You could hear a dog barking somewhere in distance, maybe a few blocks away and you could hear my hittas using this time to calmly change.
“Clear!” Manny said from the roof.
“Not yet!” I said. “They didn’t send that crew solo. Keep ya’ll eyes open.” I warned.
We could hear the sirens from far away but that wasn’t our problem yet. We moved fast as the Royal Cartel started stripping everybody of phones, cash, and a few cheap chains that’ll go in a drawer, not to pawn. We confiscated one folded paper with a name in block letters and a little drawing of a palm tree, that said San Telmo Imports. “Cute,” I smirked right before we took that. We took a wallet with a membership card for a gym in Hialeah nobody goes to for fitness, and we took a key fob for a car that wasn’t here, which means it was close. We stripped them of all this shit just to make shit more complicated because we could, plus everything we took was a clue. We were richer than anything we took. They were lucky I didn’t order them to stripthey ass naked. Those phones were going to Carmen to break in and download every encrypted message or email off of them.
“Blue SUV!” Rell called from the alley. “I just checked it, it’s still warm but ain’t no driver,” he shrugged.
“Open the door,” I ordered watching him open it up. That shit smelled like cheap cologne and old fries. There was a half-smoked cigar in the cupholder that was gnawed off at the tip, but that was about it. I closed the door and got our people out before the police arrived. We cleaned what needed cleaning and made sure wasn’t no bodies left for the city to play detective with. We assisted Lou and sent him a private ride to the clinic where ‘Doc’ was located. He answered all of my answers and my calls with a yes, and no questions even if he had to come to my place. We’d fixed that warehouse sign in the morning and in the afternoon too if we had to, but tonight, we left no cameras for nobody but our own.
“Let’s go,” I said, fighting against my raw throat.
Back upstairs at the Tower, the crew was posted up in the glass room. Screens were lit with street maps, GPS hits popping, and corners marked where business moved. I slapped my hand down on the table, allowing the city to light up under my touch, showing me everywhere we owned. This was a place we never came to unless it was active war in our city, like now. O’Shynn stood up looking focused always ready for whatever although she wasn’t going with us.
“I already checked the rentals for the last three days,” she said, not waiting for me to ask. “All them cash drops hit the radar. There’s a bunch of whips sitting around Hialeah and Homestead, and none of them match the crib addresses. Bet you can guess which gym two of them stay parked at?”
“Hialeah Fitness,” I said already knowing. That explained that fake ass membership card I confiscated.
She nodded, “San Telmo moved fifty last night, split across two shells, then tied into a yacht service in Key Biscayne. The yacht has no name in the dock registry, which is how I know it has a name in real life.” O’Shynn spat, always on top of her shit. I didn’t know what she did or what kind of kinky shit she was into in her personal life but when it came to business, she was on it.
“He needs a boat,” I said. “That mean he thinks he’s leaving and, on my watch, that pussy muhfucka ain’t goin’ nowhere. That means we’ll be catchin’ that muhfucka at the dock or catchin’ his money on the water. I’m tired of playin’ with El Blanca and his people.”
Tone returned with a black case and a grin on his face, the same grin when killing niggas was on his mind. He opened the case, checked a short rifle with a can on it, slid it back, looked at me, and then at the screens. “We doin’ this now or what? Shit, you know I’m with either one. I got a pregnant girl at home that’s crabbin’ about me makin’ it back home, and these nachos eatin’ muhfuckas makin’ my ass itch.”
