Street Kingz


Hearing the screaming and pleas for mercy, brought smiles to the twins’ faces. Speaking loud enough so his brother could hear above the racket, Terror said, "You think he's ready to talk now, or should we let Butcher get a little more acquainted wit em?"
"Shit, I don't think that’ll be a good idea. We better go down there before there's nothing left of his ass." Threat replied.
The scene walking down to the darkened cold storage room was like something straight out of a horror film. Looking at the blood-splattered floor and walls, blood was everywhere, even on the ceiling. Sitting on a chair in the middle of the dimly lit room was the twin’s once-trusted lieutenant, Gym Shoe, looking as though he'd just seen the most horrific atrocities imaginable, but then again, he had. On the floor next to him lay the severed torso of his partner Mad Ball.
Looking at The Butcher’s jump suit, one would think he had taken a bath in a tub of blood. Walking over to Shoe, Terror snatched the tape off his mouth. He squatted down so that he could look directly into the eyes of his disloyal lieutenant, waiting several seconds before speaking. Then, he got directly to the point, "Now that we've gotten through the formalities, are you ready to confess your disloyalty to the family? Don't waste my fuckin' time with the ‘boo hoo's,’ either. You're gonna come clean right now, with everything, leaving nothin’ out or we'll be walkin’ out this room and leavin’ you with The Butcher. So know this, there's no stoppin’ the inevitable. You’re a dead man, nothin’ can change that. What can happen, though, is you can either die fast, or we can make this an extremely long night. Leaving you something like ya boy Mad Ball over there, all in pieces."
Nodding his head up and down signifying he understood, Shoe contemplated telling them the truth about everything knowing that if he did, he would be putting several of his closest friends and family in danger.
As if sensing his hesitance, Terror instructed The Butcher to cut off Shoe’s feet. Smiling as if he'd been told he won a prize, The Butcher proceeded to saw at Gym Shoe's ankles. Just hearing the words spoken was enough to fire Gym Shoe back up, yelling at the top of his lungs. Threat put the tape back on that hollerin’ ass nigga’s mouth.
"Shit, I love to hear the screams of a dying man." Threat said.
Terror, having heard enough,  pulled out his Colt 45 and fired three shots into Gym Shoe's dome, startling The Butcher who was still kneeling at the bloody stumps that used to be Shoe’s legs. Turning around, Terror stepped out of the way as Threat unloaded a 17 round clip into the lifeless body. Looking over at The Butcher, Terror instructed him to sterilize the place and get rid of the corpses.




After leaving the warehouse, the twins went to meet with both their under-bosses and capo's, at a location they named Detox. It had been three long years since the twin brothers left the federal U.S.P. Leavenworth. During their 10 year stint for conspiracy, they had met Escubar; their Columbian connect. Keeping good on his word, Escubar put the twins on consignment with a hundred bricks at ten a slab, creating a win-win situation as they proceeded to flood the entire Midwest with the pure Columbian cocaine. They took over all major distributions in a six month time span.It was during their prison bit that the twins also methodically made an outline of the process it would take to conquer a whole region. They started by first hiring Tom Shiah, the best defense attorney in the region. The old man was well connected and respected. Then they assigned under bosses and capos to run their regime.Looking over at his twin, Threat said, "Dis situation with the crew that holds down the projects on the low end; ends tonight. What the fuck we look like comin’ this far and lettin’ these pussy-ass niggas, let alone anyone else, stop us from doin’ what the fuck we want.” Terror patiently waited for his brother to finish, knowing that once he got fired up it could be a while. Finally, seeing his queue, Terror replied, "It's as simple as this; we've extended our hand of friendship to them. Being as we couldn't resolve the situation with diplomacy, we on some lay down shit. I'm sendin’ the murda squad through they hood wit so much heat, it will turn their whole block into a sauna. See, this is why niggas can't eat. They allow their arrogance to interfere with logic which ultimately ends up with a barrage of gunfire coming at their tuff ass. It was understood that when we embarked upon this endeavor, there was gonna be those who didn't share our ideology, thus creating mass casualties. At what point does this stop? Niggas, see we're the winning team, yet an still, they want to go against the grain. Well, the buckin’ starts tonite, everyone who ain't wit us, is against us. There are no more second chances; mutherfucka’s options have run out, and believe me, it's about to rain blood in these streets." Smiling as he soaked in every word his brother said, because if it had been solely up to him, Terror would have clapped everyone on the team who didn't jump down with both feet. At an early age, the two of them discovered the advantages and disadvantages of being identical twins. Realizing that they both would do whatever it took to obtain the almighty dolla, but at the same time understanding that Terror had an edge on Threat when it came to violence. His first reaction to resistance was to eliminate it, which usually led to the demise of the person. With Threat being more methodical, they found other means to remedy the majority of obstacles they'd encountered throughout life. After driving around the perimeter of Detox, Terror called inside to make sure all was well. After hearing things were in order, they pulled up to the back of the building and proceeded inside. Upon entering the safe house, both brothers were greeted with the respect and admiration they rightly deserved. Sitting in front of them were both of their under-bosses, Biggs and Mista, along with their capo's, Freeway and Gutter. These individuals were interrelated and had a long history together, starting in their earliest childhoods. So, it was mandatory the twins included all four of them in the equation when they devised their plan within the confines of the United States Penitentiary. Sensing everyone in the room was curious about what happened to Gym Shoe. Threat spoke up, "Gym Shoe got beside himself and thought he was slick enough to steal from this family. So, as we all know, the price of betrayal is death, does anymore need to be said? Iz we family? Do we not all eat off the same plate? So if anyone," pausing as he looked his four closest associates in their eyes, “and I repeat anyone of y'all decide you've outgrown this family," pointing a finger at himself and his brother, Threat continued, “and want to step off, then the last and final chance is right muthafuckin’ now! Because what we’re about to discuss tonight, will place all of you in the major leagues, makin’ us the number ONE drug distributors inside the USA.Threat looked at each one carefully and went on, “I've known all y’all my entire life, so out of respect for that, I give you the final chance to walk. Because thirty seconds from now, ain't no looking back. We're on a conquest to; literally, take by force every major city in this country. Failure ain’t an option. There’s no yesterday, only tomorrow. In case one of us meets an early demise in our pursuit to take this bitch over, it’s the remaining members of this family’s duty and obligation to provide a safe and secure means of living for our fallen brother’s loved ones. There's going to be mass causalities on all levels, keepin’ in mind that this country was taken with lead and lots of blood shedding, and now it's the most powerful country in the world-we're going to apply the same concept to the cities from within the country’s borders. Never has anything of this magnitude been attempted or accomplished. Then again, never has a crew like ours, taken a shot at it.” Looking over at his brother, Threat paused asking, "You got any more to say?""Nah, lil bro, looks like you said it all," Terror replied.Then, as if responding to some silent cue, everyone in the room stood up, pounded their balled up fist in the air and chanted, "Street Kingz, Street Kingz."Seeing that everyone was in agreement, Terror settled into his seat and everyone else followed suit. "Look we're going to bring our focus back to the home state and work our way outward. When we first started, we had our sights set on a chunk of the pie. Now, after seeing how easily we cornered the market in the Midwest, it became apparent to us. Why settle for a chunk when we can have the whole pie? So, here's where we start; Freeway, Gutter, assemble the murda squad, I want them to lay siege on the entire housing complex on the low end, annihilating the entire crew from down there. After that we need you two,” he said, pointing at Biggs and Mista, “to make contact with everyone living on the top floor informing them of their options. Plan A: everyone gets moved into a house of their own, free of rent and bills, compliments of Street Kingz or Plan B: die right then and there; it's as simple as that. After that we'll have all the walls connecting the apartments knocked down making it one huge laboratory. Does everyone understand their assignments?" questioned Terror.Heads nodded and several grunted in agreement.Terror decided to drop the bomb. "This plan goes into effect immediately. Within the next thirty-six hours, I expect to have control of what we will now call headquarters."Looking over and speaking directly to Biggs, Terror informed him that they had recently purchased an arsenal of weapons which included; HK-MP5 sub-machine guns, 10 Norinco-SK’s with hundred-round drum clips, 20 fully-automatic Steyr assault rifles, 10 fully-auto FAL .308 assault rifles and 20 fully-loaded auto Cobray M-11s. "Hell, nah, niggas ain't playin’, we got enough fire power to equip a small platoon," Biggs replied."And that's exactly what it's for: Our own platoon of Street Kingz. It's all about who's willing to go all in for theirs. When it comes to these streets, we run em, Street Kingz or nothing."


Chapter 3 

 Walking into detox carrying a military duffel bag, Drama placed the bag on the table and proceeded to empty out its contents. “Aww, snap, check out this SK. I’m taking this wit me,” said Drama, one of the notorious murda squad,’ niggas is gone bleed tonight.’ Check it out, word just came down that we’re going to lay siege on the project complex on the low end. From what I’m told, everyone from the 19 crew gets it. We just got in a fresh batch of tools and this time everything fully automatic. I received information from Shareka, saying that on Friday they’d be having their weekly meeting on the blacktop. I figure that’s the best time and place because they all be there. Yo, Kill-shit, pull out all the photos of the blacktop.  Digging into the black duffel bag he was known for carrying, Kill-shit placed several photographs of not only the blacktop, but also the surrounding areas on the table. Once again taking charge, Drama pointed out the areas where they’d enter. He was making sure each team wouldn’t be in the line of fire knowing an abundance of hot lead was about to be flying.  “Yo, Gutta, I been thinking about the shit Terror and Threat was kickin’ last night. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all in, but do you think what we’re trying to pull off will actually work? I mean, damn, my nigga, we were talking about the entire country.” Sitting back patiently he waited for KS to finish, listening to see if he heard anything that would hinder the growth and development of the Street King family. “Dig this, last night we had an option and by refusing that option we signed up for this shit. By no means do I question the leadership of the twins. I’m fully committed to whatever endeavor we’re about to embark upon win, lose or draw. I’m there with the strap or sack in hand.” Drama looked KS directly into his eyes, because the eyes will tell one’s intention. Seeing no curr in them, he continued on loading his SK without saying another word. 



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