Chapter 10
In the meanwhile, Marcus kept everything to himself; for some reason, the mission he was being sent on just didn’t feel right. Marcus was an elite now, so he never had to be hands on with certain situations anymore. Marcus had people in his crew to do all his dirty work.
Lately it was not normal for Steve not to be in contact with Marcus for more than a few days. Steve would drive through Avers hoping to bump into Marcus; he would ask the workers and whoever was running the block out of the crew about Marcus’s whereabouts, and the answers he would always get was either “you just missed him” or “he’s been gone since earlier.” The end result was that Marcus was rotating with Smitty all of those days.
Smitty always did his homework on important figures before he made them victims. Any other situation he would just send word to have guys dealt with.
“Yeah, this where his baby momma stay at,” Smitty mentioned while driving down Kostner Avenue, then making a right turn on Fifth. “Push come to shove this where we might have to catch‘em at.”
Marcus rode on the passenger side while Smitty drove through K-Town, lurking in a low-key short-body red ‘91 Cadillac Seville with dark tint. Most of the ride, Marcus sat in silence smoking on a blunt and being very observant of his surroundings. Smitty drove by every possible spot that J-Roc could go.
“Look, there the nigga go right there,” Smitty said while driving down Gladys Street, a side block off Kostner. “This one of the blocks that he hustles on . . . muthafucka over there laughing’ and joking’. Don’t even know’ what’s in store for his fat ass,” Smitty stated in a murderous tone.
Marcus, still sitting in silence, looked over to study his victim’s demeanor. From what Marcus could see J-Roc seemed like the type of leader that needed attention to feel important. J-Roc was a heavyset guy that stood about six feet tall. J-Roc was a solid three-hundred-pound dude that moved swiftly. He ran his crew of guys with force and intimidation. After Smitty circled the block a few times, they even witnessed J-Rock beat the shit out of one of his workers for coming up short with his money. J-Rock was one of the New Breeds main enforcers, and Smitty knew if he got him out the way, it would slightly weaken their army. Smitty was the sneaky type; he never let people know he had a problem with them. He just intruded when necessary.
On the way driving back toward Avers, Marcus never asked any questions about the matter. At that point, it didn’t make a difference what was the cause of this mission; it had to be done, and he was the chosen one to do it. After about a week of riding and lurking with Smitty, Marcus found out all of J-Rock’s locations and hideouts, that’s all he needed; now it was time to execute.
Pulling up on Avers, Marcus noticed the white Acura Legend that Steve had been rolling around in lately, parked on the block.
“A’ight, Chief, I’ll make sho’ I let you know’ when I’mma ‘bout to make a move,” Marcus said while exiting the vehicle.
“Yeah, you jus’ make sho’ you keep ya’ head up out here and stay focused like you been doing’,” Smitty responded, looking around at all the different types of traffic Marcus had circulating through Avers Street.
Before Marcus could get out of the car good, different people, from hypes to little children, was on the block calling his name, trying to get his attention. By Marcus mind being elsewhere, he inadvertently avoided the commotion that was headed his direction and instantly made his way to where Steve was stationed.
“Whudd up, ole man?” Marcus said once entering the passenger side of the car.
“I been tryn’a get up wit’chú. You had me out here worried ‘bout chú, everything straight?” Steve asked, looking concerned.
Marcus hesitated about telling Steve about the mission that he was being sent on, but it was eating him up, so he had to let it out.
“Yeah, everything cool, I guess,” Marcus said, still hesitant. “I was rotating wit’ Smitty the last few days.”
“I know who you been wit’, that’s why I’m asking’ is everything cool.”
“Smitty want me to ride down on this Breed nigga from out of K-Town.”
“You, personally ?” Steve asked while looking puzzled. “Or he jus’ want your crew to handle it?”
“He wants me to whack this nigga,” Marcus assured. “For what . . . the hell if I know,” Marcus explained, showing signs of confusion.
“What’s the nigga name?” Steve asked
“J-Rock. He be ova’ there off Kostner and Gladys.”
“I heard of that name befo’ . . . ,” Steve said while recollecting. “Is he a big dude wit’ braids, real dark skinned and always keep a mean mug on his face?”
“Yeah, that’s him!”
“I wonder why he tryn’a start a war wit’ them guys?” Steve asked himself as he contemplated.
“That’s why he claims he wants me to do it because he didn’t wanna start a war.”
“So what he think, them guys ain’t gon’ try to find out who the fuck did that shit!” Steve snapped. “And I think Big C got some type of connections wit’ them Breeds ova’ that way. You know what, hold off a minute befo’ you make a move; let me check on some things.”
Marcus agreed to delay the hit as long as he could, but in all actuality, he had his mind made up to take care of that business. Marcus looked at the situation like a personal favor to Smitty, and if he got the job done, it would not only display his loyalty to Smitty but to the nation as well.
A week went by, and Marcus didn’t want to waste any more time. He was trying to wait on Steve’s information, but he could feel the pressure in the air, so he had to make a move.
While riding with Smitty, Marcus found out that J-Rock goes to a nightclub on Friday nights called the Dragon Room on the north side of the city. J-Rock also had a low-key apartment close by the club that too many people didn’t know about. These were usually his weekend trick-off spots.
On a Friday night in late September, Marcus stood on Avers, laughing and joking with his crew like he normally does on Fridays. “Where them hoes at for the night, Pee Wee?” Marcus asked as he stood in the midst of his crew while they all enjoyed the fruits of their labor by smoking good and drinking on a gallon of Hennessy.
“Pee Wee ain’t got no hoes. That nigga be fuckin’ wit’ all dem fat bitches ‘n’ shit,” Marlin blurted out, causing the crowd to burst into laughter.
Marcus knew from his comment that he would cause a humorous commotion within the crowd. Pee Wee was the least person out the crew that went to clubs looking for women, and Marlin was always the one to let it be known. Mikey and Lil G was more of the club hoppers that had females lined up for late-night action.
Pee Wee and Marlin continued to crack on each other, trying their hardest to get the others to side with every point they made on each other. As they continued on, Marcus kept glancing at his watch, keeping track of the time.
“I jus’ felt some raindrops, it look like it’s about to do some raining out here,” Marcus said, breaking up the back-and-forth joking.
“Yeah, it’s supposed to rain the rest of the night,” Mikey responded amongst the other conversations that were going on in their circle.
Hell yeah! This perfect weather for me to gone do what I gotta do! Marcus thought excitedly to himself.
“Marlin, you running the block for the night shift, right?” Marcus said.
“And you know iiiitt! This little rain ain’t stoppin’ shit, I’m out here!” Marlin answered, showing signs that he was a little tipsy from the gallon of Hennessy the four of them were sipping on.
“A’ight, make sho’ you check wit’ Lil G when you get to the last few packs. I’m ‘bout to make a move real quick. Lil G, let me get the keys to the Maxima and you drive the Crown Vic tonight,” Marcus demanded.
Marcus had three different work cars on the block for his crew to rotate in. Marcus jumped in the Maxima and left out the neighborhood.
About an hour after Mar
cus left off Avers, Big C and Steve turned the corner in hopes of catching up with Marcus to let him know the mission was bogus. The person Marcus was sent off to kill just happened to be a distant relative of Big C. Smitty was aware of the relationship Big C had with J-Rock; that’s why the situation seemed so suspicious.
See, Marcus had the mind-set and the patience for this type of work. Marcus sat on the block where J-Rock hustled on; the rain started coming down hard, and as planned, J-Rock drove up around 11:30 p.m. Pulling up in a clean two-door midnight blue ‘83 Monte Carlo sitting on nineteen-inch hundred-spoke rims, banging a Chicago-style mixtape by JD Wax master (a popular Chicago land area DJ), J-Rock hopped out the car while leaving it running as he entered one particular house on Gladys Street.
J-Rock stayed in the house for all of ten minutes before racing out to the car due to the rain, to approach his Monte Carlo. Before J-Rock could pull off, two Chevys filled with guys, everybody in both cars moving to the rhythm of their loud sound systems with all their hats cocked to the right, pulled up next to the double-parked Monte Carlo.
“Wassup, G!” The driver hollered out from the first Chevy that pulled up. “Where we headed for the night?”
“Jus’ follow me,” J-Rock replied as he skated off, slightly burning from his tires.
J-Rock and his crew had no clue that they were being scoped out by a parked car on the same block where they hustled. Instead of being aware of their surroundings, their minds were set on drinking more liquor and partying with some hoes.
Marcus kept a good distance behind all three cars as they weaved wildly on the wet pavement between other cars while driving down Kostner, headed toward the 290 East Expressway. Marcus followed the cars without them having any suspicion. As they continued to drive wildly, Marcus noticed each car switching lanes entering Interstate 90, heading toward the north side. As they exited the North Avenue exit ramp, Marcus followed them all the way to their location, which just happened to be the Dragon Room nightclub. The club was located on North Avenue, a main street off the expressway, which meant no parking on the main streets, only in the club’s parking lot.
Marcus paid for parking as if he was attending the club; instead he reclined his seat all the way back and watched the large crowd gathering.
As time went by, Marcus waited in the car patiently while smoking and sipping on his cup of Hennessy. Out of nowhere his pager began going off rapidly. “Who the fuck is this paging me like they crazy,” Marcus said as he ignored the unfamiliar number. Little did Marcus know, the unfamiliar number was Steve trying to inform him to hold off on the mission, not knowing Marcus was already in position for the kill.
Nightclubs in the city usually shut down around three o’clock on Friday nights. The time was approaching; it was a quarter ‘til three, and the club was starting to let out. People began staggering outside, and it was obvious by their actions that majority of the people had a few drinks too many.
A crowd of loud and drunken guys stood in front of the club, trying to converse with every fine female that crossed their path. In the middle of the group of guys stood J-Rock, the person whom Marcus had his eyes on throughout all the commotion that was in progress.
After about fifteen minutes of standing outside the club, mingling, J-Rock and his clique connected with a group of the tipsy females that they were conversing with. Once making it to the parking lot, they continued to laugh and joke with one another.
“Aey, G, let me holla at'chú real quick,” J-Rock whispered to one of his guys as they walked off from the crowd in the direction of his Monte Carlo. “Here go the keys to the apartment, I’mma about to ride out.”
“You tellin’ me you ain’t fenna get up wit’ them bad-azz hoes wit’ us!” one of his guys said with excitement while glancing back at the crowd.
“Nah, not tonight. I got my bitch waitin’ up at the crib for me. She been trippin’ lately.”
“A’ight, G, I guess I’ll holla at'chú tomorrow, then.”
“Now, call my phone tonight and let me know y’all made it to the crib safely,” J-Rock insisted as they performed the New Breed handshake before going their separate ways.
J-Rock jumped into his Monte Carlo and skeeted out the parking lot, burning rubber, with his music blasting. As he was leaving, so was Marcus. On the way out the parking lot, Marcus noticed J-Rock left alone—that made the situation seem even sweeter in Marcus’s eyes.
Something unusual was happening; instead of J-Rock going in the direction of his low-key apartment, located ten minutes from the club, he jumped on the 290 West Expressway, heading toward the west side of the city.
The expressway was clear, and it seemed as if these were the only two cars on the expressway. The visibility was impaired because of the major fog due to the rain. The thick fog made it difficult to see the cars ahead of you.
J-Rock ended up exiting off at the Cicero exit ramp. Marcus knew from the exit that either he was going to the block where he hustled or his baby mom’s crib, which was only a couple of minutes off the expressway. J-Rock made a right turn onto Cicero and then a quick left on the cross street, Arlington. Nine times out of ten, J-Rock was headed to his baby mother’s house.
Marcus raced over to the block where the house was located to scope everything out. The house had an enclosed front porch; Marcus saw that the lights were on as if someone was waiting up.
Marcus parked his car a block away and changed into his proper attire—an all-black hood and a black ski mask. Marcus then stuffed his snub-nosed chrome .38 revolver on his waistline, got out the car, and crept through a gangway to an alley that connected with the back of the house. Marcus then posted up on the side of the house; where he was kneeling down at, he was able to see all angles of the street without being noticed.
J-Rock passed by twice before parking directly in front of the house. “Damn, I should’ve got up wit’ them hoes. Fuck it let me go in here ‘fore I won’t have to hear her gaddamn mouth,” J-Rock mumbled to himself as he contemplated on his present situation. When Marcus saw J-Rock was getting out the car to approach his destination, he pulled the ski mask over his mug and pulled his pistol from his waistline. As soon as J-Rock took one step on the porch, Marcus ran out the gangway immediately! J-Roc saw Marcus as he got close-up on him. “Ohhhhh Shit!!!” J-Roc shockingly yelled out as he froze up in likes of someone seeing a ghost.
Marcus let off three close-ranged shots; all three of the shots landed in the chest area. After the third shot, Marcus heard the footsteps of a person running to the door right before hearing a woman’s voice screaming at the top of her lungs.
As the woman frantically made it to the door, she witnessed a man in all black with his face covered with a ski mask, standing over J-Rock with a gun to his face while J-Rock held his chest grasping for air with his eyes growing to the size of golf balls. “Noooooooo!!! Please, GOD, No!!!” The hysterical woman shouted out with her hands placed over her face in the midst of witnessing the execution. Without any hesitation, Marcus released the fourth shot to J-Roc’s facial, which put him out of his misery. Immediately after the last shot, Marcus then fled the foggy scene into the wet and dark alleyway, only to hear the desperate sound of a woman screaming, “Please, somebody help meeeee!!! Please!!!” These were the screams of J-Rock’s baby mother.