MOB

you and you don’t want to die.” The manager stopped moving and Mr. Blue returned to his position.

With his attention diverted, Mr. Green accidentally allowed his hand to come in contact with one of the beams and set off the alarm. The manager reached for a gun; Mr. Green immediately pulled his gun and fired one shot in the direction of the manager. He stepped to the manager, kicked the gun from his hand then began kicking him in the head.

“Time,” Mr. Blue said as he put away the stopwatch. “Mr. White, your assistance.”

While Mr. White moved toward Mr. Green, Mr. Blue removed the pump from under his coat. Mr. White grabbed Mr. Green. “We don’t have time for that, Mr. Green. Stay focused and on task,” Mr. White said to Mr. Green before moving back over to where Mr. Blue was standing.

Mr. White placed the bag she had filled with watches and necklaces at the feet of Mr. Blue. Then Mr. White made her way out of the store. She got in the car, took off the coat, and moved the Chevy into position for the three to make their escape.

With the alarm blaring, Mr. Green returned to the case and removed the remaining pieces, placing them in his bag. Mr. Green stepped to Mr. Blue and placed the bag at his feet.

Mr. Blue passed the pump to Mr. Green. With Mr. Green now covering the room, Mr. Blue dropped to one knee. He opened the briefcase and emptied its contents into one of the bags, then placed both bags into one and secured it to his waist. “Mr. White, report?”

“As expected, one security vehicle approaching from the north with two rental cops inside. Estimated time to police intervention, ninety-six seconds,” Mr. White returned.

Mr. Blue looked at Mr. Green and shook his head. Knowing that his error caused their current condition, Mr. Green mouthed the words my bad.

“Acknowledged, Mr. White. Assume defensive position one and stand by.”

“Acknowledged and in position, Mr. Blue,” Mr. White said.

Mr. Blue turned to his partner. “Don’t sweat it, Mr. Green. Shit happens. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

As Mr. Blue and Mr. Green exited the jewelry store, the rental cops got out of their vehicle. They cautiously approached the two masked men. The two rental cops raised and pointed their weapons. “Freeze!” one yelled.

“Drop your weapons!” screamed the other.

“Mr. Green, repel with zero causalities,” Mr. Blue said as he continued toward the Chevy.

“Acknowledged.” Mr. Green raised the pump and fired several shots in the direction of the rental cops. He fired over their heads and they took cover behind some cars. This allowed Mr. Blue to get to the Chevy. Mr. Blue removed the bag from around his waist and handed it to Mr. White.

“Estimated time to police intervention, Mr. White?”

“They should be here by now,” Mr. White replied.

Mr. Blue took out both of his 9 millimeters and began firing at the rental cops, who were still pinned down behind the cars. This allowed Mr. Green to make it safely into the Chevy. Mr. Blue heard the sound of police sirens approaching. He got in the Chevy. “Escape pattern five, Mr. White.”

“Acknowledged.” Mr. White dropped the Chevy into drive and sped off down Canal Street then headed northbound on Baxter Street. Two police cars were now in pursuit.

Mr. White drove the Chevy up Baxter Street and made a hard left against oncoming traffic. They were headed westbound on Grand Street with the police car maintaining its pursuit. Mr. White made a sharp right onto Lafayette Street and proceeded northbound. With the police closing in on their vehicle, Mr. Green opened the sunroof and came up firing several rounds from the pump. The police car dropped back as Mr. White made a left on Bleeker Street and another left onto Broadway. With the police momentarily out of sight, Mr. White stopped the car at the Broadway-Lafayette Street train station.

Mr. Blue and Mr. Green exited the Chevy and headed down the stairs into the subway. Mr. White took off again and turned into a parking garage. She quickly made her way to the top level and parked the car near the steps. Mr. White got out and ran to the stairwell and down the steps to the next level just as the police arrived at the Chevy.

She took her time walking to the escape car, a silver 2004 Lexus sedan. She got in the car and started it up. “Mr. Blue.”

“Go ahead with your traffic, Mr. White,” Mr. Blue yelled over the roar of the train.

“Exiting parking structure now. Proceeding to pick-up point.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. White. Drive safely,” Mr. Blue said.

Mr. White turned on the CD player in the car. Once again, Tupac’s music filled the car. Outlaw, Outlaw, Outlaw, the game ain’t the same. Outlaw, Outlaw, Outlaw, dear God, I wonder can you save me?

Chapter Two

Mr. Blue, whose real name was Travis Burns, and Mr. Green, a.k.a. Ronnie Grier, stood on the corner of 34^th Street and 8^th Avenue and waited for Mr. White, whose name was Jacquelyn Washington, to arrive. While they were on the train, they went in between the cars and took off their coats and jumpsuits and were now dressed in business suits and ties, but they still wore their gloves.

Travis looked at his watch and wondered what was taking Jackie so long.

“Where is she? She should be here by now,” Ronnie said.

“It’s almost lunchtime. She’s probably just stuck in traffic. Don’t worry, Ronnie. She’ll be here soon,” Travis said, looking at Ronnie and recalling the day’s events. This was the closest they had ever come to getting caught. They’d had some issues before, had to do a little shooting, but the cops had never been close enough to chase them.

This was never the life Travis had intended for himself. He had gone to college and graduated with a degree in computer science, a field that promised plenty of opportunity. Ronnie had earned a dual degree in business and finance, but now look at them. Now Travis was standing on the corner of 34^th and 8^th with a briefcase full of stolen jewelry, wondering what went wrong with his life.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Is this what his years of college had prepared him for? Once upon a time they had been three eager college students, ready to go out and conquer the world, armed with their degrees. They thought they were so prepared; they had even created their own list of rules to live by to aid in their success.

It all began one night when they were fucked up, smokin’ bomb-ass weed and drinking Hennessey, and listening to 2Pac. While listening to “Blasphemy” from Makaveli, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory, the trio heard 2Pac rapping about the rules his father taught him.

“M.O.B., money over bitches,” Travis said. “That’s some deep shit.”

“That’s some true shit,” Jackie added quickly.

“I wonder what the other rules are? He only told us two,” Ronnie said.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Travis said as he hit the blunt and chuffed.

“Why not?” Ronnie asked.

“Cause Tupac is dead, asshole,” Jackie stated flatly and laughed.

“No, he ain’t,” Ronnie said and stood up.

“Yes, he is, Ronnie. I saw the autopsy pictures,” Travis threw in.

“That don’t mean nothing. Pictures can be doctored. My cousin edits film for the networks and he tells me all the time about the wild shit they have him do to put whatever type of spin they want on those images. If they can do it with film, they can do it with stills,” Ronnie argued. He hit the blunt. “If he’s dead, why wasn’t there no funeral?” He too started chuffing.

“’Cause his momma had him cremated,” Jackie explained, taking the blunt from a still chuffing Ronnie.

“Yeah, I know. That’s my whole fuckin’ point. Pac never said anything about crematin’ his ass. He said bury