Once the drugs were safe and sound in the hidden compartment, the men turned on some reggae music, lit some spliffs, and got their drinking on. King Kong was really on top of the world now. Smooth Suave who? Queen Bee what?
Boom! The loud sound ricocheted around the living room. The house shook a little as the front door was knocked off its hinges, plummeting to the floor.
“What the—?” King Kong rolled over on his big gut, his beady eyes bulging out of his head in alarm.
Saddam grabbed his gun beside him on the couch, jumped up, and dashed toward the back of the house.
“Police! Police! Police!” Ten DEA agents burst into the living room, their guns drawn and pointed at King Kong. “Don’t move,” the task force leader screamed, his gun a few inches away from King Kong’s head. “Search the house for the other one,” he instructed. Some of the other agents ran off to various rooms in the house.
King Kong scanned the cops surrounding him, groaned, and lowered his head in defeat. What happened to the two men standing guard outside?
“Where’s Saddam?” the agent barked at King Kong. He got no response.
Saddam hid under the bed in a back bedroom, his heart galloping in his chest as hurried footsteps approached. He waited, perspiring profusely, his breathing irregular and his finger on the trigger of his gun.
Two DEA agents cautiously entered the bedroom, their eyes and guns scouring the room. They searched in the closet and behind the dresser but found no one. The agents shared a look. Then one nodded toward the bed before they slowly backed out of the room, pulling the door closed.
Back in the living room, King Kong was handcuffed, read his rights, and was sitting on the couch shaking. He had enough drugs hidden in the kitchen cellar that could send him to prison for the rest of his life.
“He’s hiding in a bedroom,” King Kong overheard someone telling the taskforce leader.
“Okay. Take this worthless piece of trash to the car,” the leader said of King Kong to two agents. “The house is surrounded, so Saddam has nowhere to run.” He walked toward the bedroom where Saddam was hiding.
“Saddam!” said a loud voice outside the bedroom door. “Come out now with your hands in the air. You’re surrounded by the police.”
Saddam’s head began to throb. The strong weed and alcohol he drank earlier only intensified the craziness going on inside his head. “I’m not going to prison.” Saddam shook his head. He peeked out from under the bed, and realizing he was alone in the room, he crawled out. Down on all four, he moved to the window and sneaked a quick look outside. There were at least three agents in the backyard.
“I’m giving you another chance to come out before we come in,” threatened the menacing voice. “Surrender yourself now!”
Saddam stood to his feet. He kept glancing from the bedroom door to the yard, over and over.
“Okay, we’re coming in!”
As the bedroom door was kicked in, Saddam opened fire at the police, yelling and screaming obscenities, firing off one bullet after the other.
The DEA agents returned fire, unloading a massive amount of lead into Saddam.
Saddam’s now empty gun fell from his hand, his body following it to the floor. As the life slipped out of his bullet-riddled body, Saddam’s blood leaked out, staining the beautiful beige carpet. Taking one last deep breath, his eyes wide open, staring up into the heavens, Saddam died.
* * *
One of the sinful angels slipped out of her bikini top, dropped it on the floor, then strutted her nude bootylicious body across the living room floor. Sprawled out on the long couch looking like a stuffed chicken, Queen Bee moaned and groaned as two naked girls kissed on her. They were at Lizzy’s, Queen Bee’s right-hand lady’s house in Norbrook.
Ninety minutes ago, Queen Bee, Lizzy, and five sinful angels had entered the house with large suitcases containing bricks of cocaine. The ladies disappeared into the basement for about an hour before they came back to the living room to celebrate and party.
Drinking and smoking joints, with the sinful angels wearing only their birthday suits, the women kissed and fondled each other, giggling and frolicking in a big orgy fest. Queen Bee was in her own heaven—or was it an undercover hell?
Suddenly, a loud explosion reverberated around the room as the front door fell in. “Police! Police! Nobody move!” A dozen DEA agents rushed into the room, waving their guns at the occupants.
The sinful angels screamed and scrambled behind the couch for cover. Lizzy leaped for her gun on the coffee table. “Touch it, and you’re dead.” The cold butt of the M16 Magnum was resting on Lizzy’s forehead. She looked up, and her eyes met and held those of the DEA agent. Lizzy lay down on the floor and put her hands behind her back.
Queen Bee remained seated on the couch, looking as cool as VapoRub. However, her heart was hammering away in her chest. The largest shipment of cocaine she had ever bought was hidden in the basement with her present in the house.
“Hello, Queen Bee.” Detective Stone had a smirk on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt your party, but I have a search warrant for this house.” He waved a piece of paper in her face.
Queen Bee hung her head.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to—What in heaven! We need an ambulance!” Detective Stone shouted.
Queen Bee had fallen off the couch, landing facedown on the floor, shaking the house. Lying as still as a log, the queen was out cold... fainted at the reality of her demise.
* * *
Pat was curled up on his couch, feeling sexy in a short black
