Angel's Revenge

Inside the stall, World had finished shitting and was about to wipe his ass when he heard the muffled shot in the club. His ears easily picked out the sound of gunfire from the bass of the music.

Nitti heard it, too, and knew he had no time to waste. He barged through the stall door. Young World found himself staring down the barrel of a.45 silencer. The game was over and he had lost his crown. He’d never know Lana as his wife or the mother of his children. He’d never know life without the game. He’d never know life at all.

His last thought was of Lana. Stay with me, World. Please.

Two shots caught him in the forehead and two more imploded in his chest. He slumped against the wall as Nitti pumped four more into his body. The lit blunt fell from his hand. He was still breathing and his eyes were still open when he saw Nitti’s gloved hand lift the dragon chain from his neck.

“You wasn’t rockin’ it right.” Nitti smirked, putting the chain in his pocket.

Tank kicked the bathroom door open, his pump ready to blast. He saw no one, just one of the stall doors swinging open.

“World?”

Tank pushed the bathroom door against the wall to make sure no one was behind it. He looked under the stalls and saw blood and World’s boots.

“World!” he yelled, running over to the open stall. He grimaced at the sight of World’s bullet-ridden body and his pants around his knees. He never noticed Nitti, who had been standing on the toilet in the next stall. Nitti knew whoever had the shotgun had come for World.

Just as Tank turned his eyes from World, Nitti leaned over the stall wall.

“And behind door number two…” Nitti joked as Tank’s eyes widened in surprise.

He fired a bullet into his head and Tank slumped to the floor. Nitti exited the bathroom, leaving an unsolved double murder.

The news of Young World’s death sent shock waves through the streets, and everyone scrambled into position to best exploit the situation. Teams that had been under his control made new alliances or posse’d up to lay claim.

Duke was no exception.

After the failed hit on Roll, Duke took refuge with Vinnie Z in Hoboken, a town known for its mob ties and strong Italian community.

“I can’t believe the fuckin’ guy died on the toilet,” Vinnie Z joked. “Since when do gangstas die on toilets?”

“They don’t,” Duke replied, implying that Young World wasn’t a gangsta in his book.

He showed no remorse for his slain friend and ex-boss. In truth, Duke was relieved at Young World’s demise. He was glad to be out of Young World’s shadow. He felt World had inherited a position he didn’t earn or deserve and being left leaking on a toilet confirmed it. It was time to make the moves necessary to solidify his position, and Duke planned on wasting no time. He planned on sending many of Young World’s team with him.

Vinnie handed him a glass of Henny and held his own up. “To the new boss of bosses, eh? Salud.”

Vinnie toasted and they drank to new beginnings. Duke was now the nigga he’d been itching to be. All he lacked was Dutch’s dragon, and he planned on taking it from Lana. He didn’t realize that Nitti held the chain.

With the mob behind him and the streets at his feet, he felt like the new Dutch. But the mob had been a front for Dutch, and Duke would only be a front for the mob.

The news of Young World’s death reached Rahman, and he prayed an absentee Janazah prayer for him, a prayer for dead Muslims. Rahman was devastated because he felt responsible. He questioned himself and his decision not to assist Young World out of the bind he was in.

“To Allah we belong and to Allah we return,” he whispered to himself, reciting a verse from the Qur’an.

Lana was a mess. She refused to believe that her World was gone, no matter how many times it was explained to her. She waited for him to come home. She had yet to cry. Her mother and Peaches were worried sick.

“We going to see World?” Lana asked with childlike innocence.

Peaches looked at Lana’s mother.

“Yes, baby. We’re going to see Shahid. But he’s not the same,” her mother answered.

“Why not?” Lana seemed to sing, head cocked to the side. “Is he sick? I hope he’s not sick. I miss him so much.”

Her mother tried to respond, but tears choked her. All she could do was pull her daughter to her bosom and hold her tight.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. We’re going to see World. Aren’t you happy?” Lana smiled.

“He… help her get ready, Peaches,” Lana’s mother said, shaking her head as she left the room.

• • •

The wake was held at Whigham’s Funeral Home in Newark. It looked like the president had died and it was his funeral instead of a local drug dealer’s. Young World was well respected by the street elite. The hustling community showed up in full force to prove it. Bentleys, Benzes, and multicolored SUVs double-parked in the streets for two blocks. Platinum, diamonds, and furs seemed to be worn by everyone.

Inside, hustlers mingled and females flirted like it was club night. The life of a hustler was good, but sometimes death was even better.

Angel and Goldilocks sat at the back of the room, both wearing full-length chocolate-brown minks and dark- brown Gucci shades. The whispers of Angel’s return burned up the grapevine, but only a few had enough heart to approach her.

“I’m sayin’, you come home and don’t even holla at your peoples?” a hustler named DC playfully remarked as he approached Angel.

“You know how it is, DC. Only fools rush in,” replied Angel.

“I hear that, ma. At least you could give a nigga a hug and introduce me to your friend,” DC signified, eyeing Goldilocks’s tantalizing frame peeking through her mink.

“The hug ain’t a problem, but, ahhh, I don’t think you’re her type,” Angel replied, squirming out of the embrace.

“Why is that?”

“ ’Cause you ain’t got a pussy,” Goldilocks calmly answered, showing no expression at all.

“Damn, ma. My fault,” he said before turning back to Angel.

“Fucked up how they did World and shit. I know them was your peoples, so I’d hate to be whoever did it,” DC said, trying to see where she stood. But Angel wasn’t ready to play her hole card yet.

“That’s the game, DC. A bitch did too much time to need this drama in her life. I’m just here to pay my respects.”

“That’s gangsta,” he replied, not believing a word of it. He knew Angel too well. Drama was the bitch’s middle name.

“Well, holla at me if you need anything, aiight?” he said before breaking away.

Angel surveyed the room. A new generation of ballers and hustlers had cropped up in the short time she’d been gone. Many names had reached her, but no one impressed her in style or reputation. They were all just chasing the crumbs off the table Dutch left behind. He was more than a legend. He was a spirit that haunted the streets, and every gangsta would be forever judged by him.

Just wait. We ’bout to take it to the next level. Y’all muthafuckas ain’t ready, Angel thought as she looked toward the rear door. She watched Duke make his entrance. He had two girls with him, one on each arm. Straight dimes that even made Angel look twice. Duke was outfitted in an all-white Armani suit and matching Gucci shoes. He had a gold-tipped cane, and his diamonds twinkled and winked like they were stars in the night sky.

Angel watched Duke closely until he noticed her. Their eyes met through the crowd. Duke acknowledged her with a nod and Angel did the same in return.

Duke walked up to the casket and peered down at Young World’s body. They had done a lot of work on him to have an open casket. Young World was sewn together like a stuffed rag doll, but he was dipped. He was to be buried in a black silk Versace suit with all his jewels except the dragon, which Duke believed Lana was holding. He turned away from the coffin to find Angel eyeing him. He knew who she was at first sight. He just hadn’t been