Strong Arm (Short Story)

December 17, 2017

 

Strong Arm

Please, you can have anything you want.  Just don't hurt my girl, please!” The man begged as Dame pressed the glock .40 against his head with force.  The man closed his eyes, mumbling to himself a prayer that he hoped God heard instantly.  He already handed Dame the 3 thousand that he had in his pocket, but Dame knew that this phony thug had much more to give. Dame has been keeping surveillance on him for the past two weeks. His stash house, dope house, and home, all had money going in and out the door nonstop. Dame knew that the 3 g's was only chump change compared to his real stash. Like the saying goes, “it's only so long that fake thugs can pretend,” because sooner or later a real goon is going to test their heart.  And Dame did just that.  After staking out for three hours in the next door neighbor's backyard, Dame's patience’s finally paid off when he noticed the crystal clear  Mercedes Benz head lights turning into the stretched drive way.  Without a mask and two glock .40's tucked into his jeans underneath his black North Face coat, Dame hopped the neighbor's privacy gate and confronted Harold and his wife at the door with 80 problems. Forty in each hand without hesitation, Dame pulled out the two glocks, pointing them directly at Harold and his wife's head.  It was a cold night in Maywood, and the breezy wind made the temperature feel 20 below zero on the quiet suburban block as Dame handle his business like a true, seasoned goon.  Although, it was late and cold, Dame didn't allow the climate to disturb his mission.  He had one of the biggest Meth dealers in Illinois, Harold, on his knees, begging for his life, while his girl, Lauren watched from a short distance with tears in her chinky eyes. It was a normal night for Dame. He already ran through 2 crap games that night and this was his last job before he goes back into hibernation.  He only worked twice a week, but his monetary gain from the 8 jobs he performed each month easily placed him into a higher tax bracket. This was just another job on his list to complete and he was focused on doing just that.  The way Dame saw it, the only way he was going to eat, was to rob. No robbing equals no eating for Dame.  With a lengthy criminal record and no job skills, Dame felt that robbing was his only way to get some money. Sad to say, it was his niche and he did it well. He planned, prepared and attacked. His victims never saw their turn coming. Just look at Harold's helpless ass.

  Dame didn't know if it was the cold steel against Harold's head or the urine that was seeping from Harold's jeans that had him shaking.  Either way, Dame wasn't letting up his tactics until he had Harold's money in his possession.

“This isn't that hard motherfucker. Let's go in the house, get my money and then we can go about our business. I really don't want to mess up your bitch fur coat. I heard blood is hard to get out.  Dame joked as he rubbed the glock in his left hand against his own coat.

      “I told you!  I don't have any money. I'm broke as hell.”

      “Broke. Nigga you must think I'm a damn fool. You just handed me over two bundles of money out of your pockets and motherfucker you just pulled up in a 2012, 500 Mercedes Benz.  Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, or it's going to be time to call the morgue for yourself and the cleaners for your bitch!”

Dame pointed the glock at Lauren's head and winked.

      “Please! The money is downstairs in the laundry room.” 

      “Shut the fuck up Lauren!  What the hell are you doing?”  Harold yelled trying not to move too much, because Dame had the heater pressed firmly against his temple.

Dame started to laugh. 

      “She's trying to live nigga. That's what she is doing. Let's go, get up!” Dame instructed as Harold slowly stood up, watching the two guns in Dame's hand without a single blink.

Harold grabbed Lauren's hand as Dame followed them with the pistols rubbing against the back of their heads. As they walked into the house, Dame noticed a lot of high end paintings on Harold and Lauren's wall. He had knowledge about art because his cell mate at Joliet prison was an art burglar. He taught Dame about art and the value of different paintings.

      “What the hell is you doing with a Vincent Van Gogh painting? You taking them meth addicts money and buying expensive ass paintings with it? Fucking lowlife.”

      “Man, the painting is fake.”

      Fake?  And I'm supposed to believe that just like you said you didn't have any more money?  Shut the fuck up and keep it moving.” Dame said angrily poking Harold in the back with the heater.  As they walked through the house towards the basement, Dame began to feel good about robbing Harold.

      This motherfucker is living like a king in here, and in the hood, motherfuckers are starving to have just one meal. Dame thought as they headed down the basement stairs. Lauren quickly opened the laundry room door.

      “There it is. Take whatever you want, just don't hurt us.”

      “Shut the fuck up. I can see. Grab this bag and fill it up.  Don't take all damn day either.”

Lauren quickly went into action doing what she was instructed.

“Harold, your ass can help too.”

      “I'm not doing shit. I'm not packing up my hard earned money so you can run off with it. I'd rather die.”

      “You promise?”  Dame asked as he pointed the gun at Harold's head.

      “Wait. I'm just talking shit.” Harold admitted as he held the bag open for Lauren.

Dame watched as Harold filled the brown duffel bag with bundles of money.

      “Keep about $50 for yourself Harold, cause you're going to need a bottle of Hennessy after this one.” Dame said as he snatched the duffel bag out of his hand, laughing.

Harold didn't say another word as Lauren gripped his arm, hoping Dame was done with terrorizing them.

      “Start counting out loud to one hundred.  It was a pleasure doing business with you Harold.” Dame said as he slowly walked backwards up the stairs. When he made it to the top of the stairs, Dame dropped one of the guns into the duffel bag and darted out of the house. When Harold heard the front door close he ran upstairs to the front room and grabbed his gun from underneath the couch. By the time he made it outside, Dame and his 500 Benz was gone.

      “Fuck!” Harold screamed as he scanned the dark block looking for Dame and his Benz.

Dame turned the spotless Benz down a side block, reducing his speed as he noticed a police sitting on the corner with his interior lights on.  After passing the non-observant officer, Dame headed to his hideout that was far in the western suburbs of Chicago. With at least ninety thousand in the back seat, Dame knew that Harold wouldn't let him get away with this one. 

      I should've just killed that nigga. I know this shit is going to bite me in the ass. Dame thought as he merged onto the 290 expressway with all of the windows down in the Benz. Despite the cold weather blowing in, Dame's adrenaline was boiling from all of the excitement that just took place.

***           

 

About 20 minutes went by and Dame finally made it to his hideout. When he walked into the apartment his TV was blasting re-runs of Def Comedy Jam. He tossed the duffel bag on his kitchen table and removed the clips from his glocks, before lowering the sound on the television. 

      Damn! I'm in the wrong business, Dame thought as he poured the bundles of money onto his kitchen table. The table was greener than a baseball field on opening day. 20's, 50's, and 100's swallowed the small kitchen table as Dame stared at the mountain of bills. Dame sat down and began to count his profits, he heard a couple of car doors slam outside of his window.  Dame walked into his bedroom, where the lights were off, and peeked through the curtains to see who was outside his first floor apartment.

      “How did they find me?” Dame whispered as he watched two men get out of the car. Dame rushed back into the living room and grabbed his glocks from the coffee table.  After reloading his guns, Dame quickly put the money back into the duffel bag and turned off the lights. Dame could hear the men walking down the hallway towards his apartment. Suddenly there was a soft knock on the door. 

      Just shoot. Ask questions last. Dame thought as he pointed the glocks at his front door.  The door knob began to turn slowly.  After the men noticed the door was locked, one of them began to mess with the dead bolt lock. Dame tiptoed to the front door, placing the duffel bag on the ground.

He contemplated shooting through the door, but didn't want to waste any bullets just in case he missed. He knelt down in front of the door and waited for the men to enter.  After about 2 minutes, the man was finally able to unlock Dame's door.  As soon as they opened the door, the light from outside shined in on Dame, kneeling by the entrance. 

      “What's up?” Dame said as he began shooting at the unprepared men.

They were unable to return fire, because Dame emptied both clips into the daring men’s bodies, dropping them in the doorway in a pool of their own blood.

The rattling bullets woke up Dame's neighbors. Apartment doors slowly crept open as the commotion stopped. Dame dropped his guns into the duffel bag and pulled the men’s bodies inside of his apartment.  After struggling to get the once healthy and heavy, but now dead men inside of his apartment, Dame grabbed his guns, money and left out of the back door of the apartment building.  He didn't see anyone as he got into the Benz and peeled off. He tried to keep a moderate speed as he drove through a series of red lights, but his nerves had him on edge.

      “How the fuck did they find me?  I have to get out of town, before I run into another one of these lames that I robbed.” Dame said to himself as he reduced his speed and turned on the radio as he drove towards the expressway.

      I don't have a clue to where I'm going, but it's definitely going to be home for a while especially after this bullshit. Dame pondered as he cruises the quiet suburban streets.

After about 5 hours, Dame was in Cincinnati. He drove around for a while before stopping at the Ramada that was only minutes from the 75 interstate. When Dame pulled the now highway dust filled, Benz in front of the Ramada he noticed a sexy looking Puerto Rican out front smoking a cigarette.  Dame wasn't too much into women, mainly because he didn't have the confidence to pull and keep one.  He only stood about 5 foot 5 and he wasn't easy on the eye to a lot of women growing up.  After the rejections kept piling up, Dame just gave up on women.  In fact, he might be the only goon walking around that's a virgin.  Odd, but it didn't matter to Dame, because he was aroused by fear and money.  Fear he put into his slipping victims and the money he received in return from his strong arm methods. This sexy Rican could be one of two things for Dame, a victim or just another cute bitch that didn't pay him any attention.

Despite the Benz looking average, because of the highway dust, Velma still had to take a double look at it.  Dame parked a little past the door and hopped out, mean mugging Velma as she crushed her half finish Marlboro underneath her scuffed up Air Max.  As Dame walks towards the door Velma stepped in front of him, blowing her smoke in his face.

      “What that hell is wrong with you? That shit stinks.” Dame angrily yelled, looking up at Velma who had an inch or two on him.

      “My bad papi. I was about to cough so I had to let that shit out.  My name is Velma, and yours?”  Velma asked, preparing to shake hands with Dame.

      “Dame, excuse me, so I can go in.”  Dame replied, walking past Velma with shaking hands.

      “Damn, it's like that Papi? I'm just trying to be your friend. You must not be from around here?”

      “Look, Velma or whatever your fucking name is. I don't have time for this small talk, and I don't want any motherfuckin friends especially, from some bum ass bitch like you.” Dame said scanning Velma up and down. Here, take this twenty dollars.”

      “Hold on Papi it's not like that. I don't fucking need your twenty dollars. That's what I spend on blunts every day.  Don't ever come at me like that, Papi!”

Velma's tough demeanor was attractive to Dame, but what was more attractive was her mentioning the twenty dollars spent a day on blunts. Two things Dame never turned down was a robbery opportunity or a smoke session.

      “Twenty dollars on blunts, you don't look like the weed smoking type. And you probably be smoking that bama ass weed.  You know that brown huff.”

      “No, not me papi, my boyfriend.  Well, my ex boyfriend use to get that shit straight from Cali that presidential Kush.  It goes for $600 an ounce.”

      “Yeah, I know all about it.  A couple of people donated some to me a while ago.”

      “Donated?  What do you mean donated?”  Velma asked.

      Yeah donate. Dame said pointing down to his gun that was in his cargo shorts waistband.

      “I got you papi.  Velma was impressed by Dame's style.  Although, he was short in stature, she knew he was straight from the streets.

      “You don't have to get a room papi.  I'm here for two more nights then I'm gone. You can chill with me until I leave.”

      “First of all, I'm cool.  I do appreciate it, and second, stop calling me papi the name is Dame, understood?”

      “Whatever papi let's go smoke some of this presidential.”

Dame followed Velma back to her room. When they walked into Velma's room, a heavy stench of marijuana hit Dame.       

      “Damn that's loud as hell. How many times have you smoked today?”

      “A couple of times, but the smell is coming from this.”  Velma handed Dame a tan book bag that had to large zip bags of marijuana in it.

      “That's presidential.  If I sold that, I could make about 15 stacks.”

      “That's all.  I wouldn't even take the risk. That's no money.” Dame said as he sat on the edge of the bed.

      “What?  You have to be out of your mind.  I could do a lot with 15 stacks right now.”

      “Really? Your dude must have been small time.  He must be a nickel and dime ass hustler. Them type of niggas never see any real paper.”

      “No, he had weight. He just starved me from all his money.  I never spent his money, not one dime of it.  I never saw any of his money, because he had another bitch on the side. He was supporting her and her son. That's why he's my ex.  I found out this morning when he was out playing ball.  I went to his personal stash and took these pounds of weed.  I don't know what to do with them but, I know it can make me some money.”

Dame's ears turned into radars when Velma mentioned her boyfriend stash.

      “Stash?  How much does he have in his stash?”

      “Shit.  I don't know. He has garbage bags of this shit, but no money.  I don't know where his money is at.”

Dame's grimy instincts kicked in as he got up and walked over towards Velma.

      “Is that nigga getting money out here in Cincinnati?”

      “Hell yeah he is!  He bought the new Escalade, and he just got a fresh shipment of this shit. Velma said tossing the bag to the floor.

Dame stood up and walked over and sat down in a chair near the window.

      If she has about 4 pounds of his weed, then he must have at least 50 in his spot.  I'm going to get on her good side, because that's my come up until I figured out what to do. He thought to himself as he turned his back to her looking out the room window.

      “Let's smoke.” Dame said as he pulled out a box of Dutches cigars.

During their smoking session, Dame and Velma discussed a plan on how to rob her boyfriend of his weed stash.  Velma didn't give Dame too much information, but Dame knew she had more to tell.

      “Damn, I'm high.” Velma said as she stood up and yawned. “I'm sleepy, but I can't lay down until I take a shower.”

Velma grabbed a towel from her bag and began to strip out of her one piece jean outfit.  Dame didn't know if it was the weed that had Velma's ass looking extra bubbly as she undressed.  Dame watched Velma as she slowly walked around the room in her plum colored Vickies. Although, he was a virgin, Dame felt his sexual urges building up as he watched Velma. Velma glanced over at Dame, and noticed how he was staring at her.  She began to walk around the room with a meaner strut, glancing back at Dame every few steps. 

      “What are you looking at papi? Don't watch me,” Velma said as she bit her bottom lip.

Velma slowly cat-walked over towards Dame, straddling his lap in nothing but her bra and panties, Dame couldn't resist as his eyes danced across Velma's smooth golden brown skin. Velma was indeed sexy to Dame. Long black, shoulder length hair, green eyes and a diamond dimple ring was one of the many features that Dame couldn't help but to gawk at.  Her slim body wasn't going to win her any beach competitions, but it was perfect for Dame at the moment.  After a short sex session, Velma and Dame participated in another round, causing Dame to fall sound asleep.  About an hour went by, and Dame woke up to the sound of the shower.  He slowly crept out of bed and grabbed his clothes.  He was about to go into the bathroom, he figured this was his chance to leave.  He didn't have a good feeling about Velma. Despite her good love making and rescuing him off of Virgin Island, Dame knew Velma was lying about her boyfriend’s stash.  He just wanted her pounds of weed and he was gone on to his next city. Dame grabbed the book bag off of the floor and left the room. When Dame finally made it to the parking lot, he began to search for his keys.

      Damn, I left the keys up there. I have to get those keys so I can get my money out. Dame thought as he walked up to the Benz he noticed that the back door was open.

      “What the fuck!”  Dame screamed to the top of his lungs when he noticed his duffel bag of money missing from the back seat. “That bitch stole my shit.” Dame ran back up to Velma's room and kicked open the bathroom door glock in hand he yanked open the shower curtain the water from the shower ran and fogged up the bathroom but the shower was empty, Velma wasn't in there. He ran back into the room, looking around and all of her clothes and bags were gone.  Dame threw the bag of weed against the wall and flopped down on the edge of the bed.  When he lifted his head from his hands, Dame noticed a card on the floor by the door.

      “This bitch just slipped up.” Dame said as he picked up Velma's driver licenses off of the floor.

He grabbed the phone off of the receiver and called for a cab.

A couple of weeks had gone by and Dame finally was able to locate Velma. He only had a couple thousand dollars to his name.  He had to buy a car to get around in, until he found Velma. She had his money, and the rest of his cash was back in Illinois, so he was basically starting over from scratch. Velma and her so called ex-boyfriend were staying in a house in Forest Park, Ohio.  Not too far from one of Cincinnati local boxing sensation, Pierre “lights out” Miller. Dame drove around the neighborhood in a beat up Chevy Blazer while he did his homework on Velma.  He can tell that Velma was spending his money, because she left out every day and came back with bags from every store you could think of.  Dame saw Velma's boyfriend at the house the few times that he did spot him, he was in a different car. After about a month of watching Velma, Dame was ready to attack.  It has been about 4 or 5 days since Dame has been back to Velma's house to stake out.  He didn't feel the need to prepare any further because he already had his plan in gear.  The morning of his attack, Dame shaved his head bald and removed all of his facial hair as well.  He wore a white button up shirt, black church slacks and black loafers and reading glasses. He grabbed a bible from his hotel room, folded up some paper to make them look like brochures.  Dame gave himself a quick overview in his bathroom mirror.  He was definitely fitting the role of a Jehovah's Witness as he left out to go and redeem himself with Velma.

When Dame pulled up on the block, He noticed a moving truck in Velma's drive way. He got out of the car, grabbing his bible as he jogged across the street.

      “Hey buddy, what's going on here?  I'm supposed to bible study with someone who lives here.”

The mover began to laugh. 

“You must have the wrong address cause this couple moved out a couple of days ago.”

      “What?  Moved?  Where did they go?”

      “I can't tell you that type of information. Good bye sir.” The mover said in a sarcastic tone.

Before Dame could say another word, another mover interrupted.

      “I'm walking to the store Dave. Here's the clipboard.”

Dame glanced over at the clip board.

      I bet that bitch address is on there, Dame thought as Dave grabbed the clip board.

      “Are you still here buddy? I said goodbye.”  The man said before turning around.

      “Shut the fuck up bitch, and give me that clipboard!” Dame said as he pulled out his gun.

The man dropped the chair he was carrying and handed Dame the clip board.

      “Are you on drugs?  What type of person pulls a gun on someone for a clipboard?

      “It's funny you say that, cause I am on drugs. I'm on that one called I don't give a fuck. You should try it. Run those motherfucking keys trick.”

The man quickly handed Dame the keys.  Dame snatched the keys and got inside of the moving truck. As he pulled off, he carefully typed Velma's address into the GPS device that was mounted on the dash board.  Velma's address was already in the system.  Dame laughed and stuck his hand out of the driver side window, given the mover he left behind the finger. About 20 minutes later Dame was pulling up to Velma's condo in the D&D moving truck. He noticed Velma's all black Tahoe parked in front of the condo with the engine running. When Velma noticed the moving truck pulling up, she grabbed her flip flops from her room and went outside to meet the assumed movers.  Dame jumped out of the truck, still wearing his eye glasses, with the gun pointed at Velma.

      Surprise, surprise now you thought that you were going to give me some ass, take my money and leave you can't get over on a nigga like me.  That's what I do.  That's my profession.”

      “Please, I'm sorry Dame.  I just need some money.”

      “Some money, bitch save that for another nigga. If you needed some money, you would've taken the money out of my pants when I was sleep. You gave me some pussy and thought I was going to be sleep until the next morning.  Went in my Benz and took my shit.  That was my plan.  I was going to rob you and you beat me to the punch. Let's go.”

Dame and Velma walked into the condo, and boxes were scattered everywhere. 

      “And then your ass tried to move on me. I should just blow your head off and say fuck the money.”

      “No, please.  The money is right here.”  Velma opened one of the large boxes and Dame's money was neatly packed at the bottom.

      “I don’t understand you Dame.  I know you're not a killer, because a real killer would've shot me outside when they first saw me.”

      “That's cause I'm not a killer. I make shit happen with this heater.  It's a good feeling when people hand over their money to you.  The look on their face is priceless.” Dame said as he glanced at his money in the box.

      “So it's a game to you? You rob people for a living.”

Dame rubbed his hand across the neatly stacked money.

      “No, it's not a game.  It's an addiction.  But this right here is on GP.”  Dame said as he pointed his gun at Velma's head.

      “GP?” Velma repeated closing her eyes as the steel imprinted her forehead.

      “Yeah, general principle robbing is my addiction, the money is my drug and this murder is just... Well, let’s just say it's a part of my addiction to robbing.  Bye mami.” Dame said as he pulled the trigger.  Before Velma's body stopped twitching on the floor, Dame was out the door with his box of money. Dame looked around, before he placed the box in the back of Velma's Tahoe.

      I guess it's a new city, new money, and new victims for me, Dame thought as he got into the Tahoe and pulled off.

 

Taken from the Addiction Anthology Download Now: https://www.amazon.com/Addiction-Antwan-Floyd-Sr-ebook/dp/B018EVI0VM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1513523738&sr=1-1&keywords=the+addiction+antwan+floyd

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