Rise of a Gangsta 2 by Crystal Rayne

Author:Crystal Rayne [Rayne, Crystal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Urban, 90 Minutes (44-64 Pages), Genre Fiction
Amazon: B00OSNQEYQ
Publisher: Credence Press
Published: 2014-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

I bought a couple ground beef tacos at a small restaurant close by and wolfed them down before heading to the Save-A-Lot I’d seen from the taxi on a side street a couple blocks away. The store had everything from towels to cereals. Everything was the cheap, no brand-kind. Dre and LT wouldn’t have been caught dead shopping in a place like that and neither would Yan but I was Jehiah now and Jehiah didn’t care about brands and bling. Jehiah only cared about one thing.

I stocked up on as much as I could carry but I’d probably need to make a return trip tomorrow. By the time I got back to the apartment, it was almost nine thirty. I put everything away and then sat on the couch waiting. I didn’t have a phone, no cell, no internet connection, nothing. I was just wondering if I should go down and wait on the sidewalk when I heard someone’s footsteps on the stairs and then a quick knock on my door. I peeped through the peephole. A thin brown-skinned man with curly black hair stood, frowning, outside.

“Who is it?” I asked. It had to be Pablo aka El Gato, of course it did, but it didn’t hurt to play it safe and ask.

“It’s El Gato. You expecting Barack Obama?”

I opened the door to find him chuckling at his own joke. “So, Jehiah, eh? A friend of El Toro’s.”

I didn’t think I’d go that far but if somebody wanted to give me the Cartel leader as a friend, I wasn’t going to refuse him.

“Good to meet you.” We shook hands. “El Gato Zepeda, also known as el Gato Flaco. You get it?” He laughed again.

“Er, not really,” I replied, locking the door before I headed to the steps.

“It is a little play on words. Soy un gatillero, you understand. So gato and then I’m not a man with much meat on my bones as my Mami used to say, so flaco.”

“What does gatillero mean?” I understood ‘flaco’ and ‘gato,’ thin and cat, but I’d never heard the other word before.

“Gunman.”

Oh. A chill wrapped itself around my heart as he led me to a beat up red Dodge Ram parked across the street. Had El Toro set me up? Was El Gato supposed to take me out somewhere and kill me?

But would the gunman have introduced himself to me, mentioned his Moms and all, if he were planning to kill me. That would be cold, real cold but then you didn’t get to be, what did he call it, a gatillero by being all warm and cuddly.

I inched my hand out to stealthily grab the door handle just as we swung up a ramp leading to a six-lane highway. A sign thanked us for visiting Brownsville. We were heading out of the city. Except for the lights of a few cars flashing past the road ahead was empty. I swallowed hard. I was right after all. El Gato Flaco was taking me out into the desert to kill me but he was driving so fast.

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