“My Initials aint S.I.C. for nothing Nigga.” –Spencer Chance
Spencer stood on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge as he amusingly watched his henchmen dangle “Budda,” a once loyal street lieutenant from the bridge.
“I’m sorry Spencer, I’m sorry” Budda cried in hopes that Spencer would have mercy and allow him to live.
“Where’s my money Budda,” Spencer said as he removed his .45 from his waist and loaded a bullet into the chamber. “Pull that mutha fucka up,” he shouted as he laughed aloud. Spencer looked Budda dead in the eye as he used his gun to wipe away his tears. “Now I know you didn’t mean to cross me and because you’ve been such a loyal little nigga and made me so much money I’m going to let you live, but if you ever cross me again…” Spencer paused and looked at the other four men who stood spectating with smirks on their faces. “I might not be so fucking forgiving, you feel me,” Spencer completed.
Budda nodded his head in agreement because he was too choked up to speak.
“Now about the money you owe me, you’re going to pay me back, with interest… Right, Spencer aggressively insisted.
Budda’s eyes widened as he didn’t respond, but seeing the fearful look in Spencer’s eyes caused Budda to quickly gathered himself and take advantage of the opportunity at hand.
“Yes, yes Thank you Spencer, I love you man,” Budda replied shaking and emotional.
On bended knees Budda pleaded with Spencer as if he was God and he had just granted him access into Heaven. Spencer snatched his feet from Budda’s grasp, hoping to save his Gucci loafers from the flow of his continuous tears. Spencer turned his back and walked away but before he got into his candy apple red Cadillac convertible he shouted “The Penthouse we got to celebrate… Budda's alive.” Displaying an abundance of theatrics with his hands and facial gestures, his face exhibited forgiveness and joy but the true contents of his heart and thoughts were filled with deadly revenge, and just like God whatever Spencer thought was soon to become a reality.
Later that night Spencer and his entourage enjoyed the pleasures of expensive liquor and half naked women as they sat in the VIP section of the Penthouse, a strip club in D.C.
Every man including Budda was given stacks of one dollar bills to splurge on the women. As the night became the wee house of the morning, Spencer suggested that they continue the party at a nearby hotel.
He signaled for Juan the club’s owner, when he arrived Spencer informed him that he wanted to hire ten of his finest girls for an overnight assignment. Juan laughed and quickly rushed off to retrieve the women. On the outside Juan appeared to be an honest man, with a smile of gold and the gift of gab. One would have never suspected that he was involved in human trafficking in his native homeland of Mexico City. He returned to Spencer with the requested women, all varied in height, color, shape, and size as they stood before Spencer as if they were on a show room floor. Spencer quickly glanced at the women admiring their individual beauty. He then called for Budda to come over, when he arrived Spencer said “Pick one, anyone; it’s on me my man.” Budda’s eyes lit up as if he were a kid in a candy store. Carefully eyeing each woman he picked the second to the last in line. “Her, I want her,” he said anxiously and eager as he felt a slight hard on forming in his cargo shorts. “Well her it is,” Spencer said as the woman stepped out of line and walked over to him, recognizing that he was in charge.
Budda stepped up and said “What’s your name baby.”
“Juicy” she replied seductively.
She was moderately attractive with large breast, a double wide ass, a tad bit on the heavy side, and just how
Budda liked his women, raunchy. Spencer allowed his entourage to claim the remaining women before he paid the $4,600 tab, and left the club.
Spencer pulled up to the $700 a night W Hotel, reached inside the glove box, and retrieved a large envelope containing the finest of Kush. He proceeded into the hotel lobby and checked into the Penthouse suite.
Once he reached his destination, accompanied by his entourage he made sure things were ok, then left his men to their pleasures.
Spencer exited the Hotel and got into his car. Sitting there starring into the distance, he picked up his iPhone and called Whispers.
Whispers was one of the Council’s oldest and most elite hit men. He was known for his straight razor abilities and his raspy voice. He had been abused physically and sexually by his father as a child. When he was seven years old he shot his father after he found his mother beaten and unconscious on the kitchen floor. Before his father took his last breath, he grabbed Whispers and slit his throat damaging he vocal cords forever. After this Whispers became a professional with the very weapon that almost claimed his life.
“Yo Whispers handle that,” Spencer stated calmly.
“Okay” Whispers replied in a low raspy tone.
Whispers had clandestinely entered the suite and after ending the call he started down the semi lit hallway of the penthouse. As he approached the last door on the left the sounds of a woman moaning filled the atmosphere. Whispers silently opened the door, removed his pearl handle blade and stood over the couple as they obliviously continue their sexual escapade. With a smile on his face and a blade in his hand Whispers leaned over the couple and softly stated “It’s time to die.” Whispers took hold of Budda’s long locks as he began to plead for his life. “No Whispers, No, don-…” Before he could complete his statement Whispers sliced him from ear to ear. Blood splattered across the wall, the exquisite headboard, and the young woman’s screaming face. Whispers then moved towards the woman as she also pleaded for her life.
“ No, please she cried.”
He reached out and embrace her, “Shhh,” he whispered as he slid his blade into her chest and through her heart. He loosened his grip and laid her on the bed as the small blood stain quickly spread across her chest. Her eyes were wide open as she slowly slipped into eternal rest.
Whispers exited the hotel suite, removed his cell phone, and dialed the last number that called his phone. “It’s done” he stated then hung up the phone.
Spencer sat pondering Budda’s betrayal and the outcome of his actions, then stated aloud “My initials ain’t S.I.C for nothing nigga,” after which he sped off into the night.
Welcome to Relentless Ties, the first of a Trilogy…