Junior points it out, but my eyes already locked onto it, piercing through the windshield like I can see into his soul.
“A it dat enuh,” Junior says from the back.
The others tense up in response. The way they’re driving. This drive by aguh tek dem by surprise. Every man a dead wid dem eye open.
Look how dark the man a meds…
“Wah wi a go do, G?” Gutta asks, glancing over at me.
“Just slow down,” I instruct, voice calm, hands steady as I draw the Glock.
“Even though a almost 2 o’clock now, yuh might still buck up police pan di road. So wi cya be reckless.”
They listen, every one locked in. Junior and Juaqína have their ‘matics loaded. Gutta’s got the Sig Sauer. Everyone’s ready.
“Anuh no undercover thing like we used to, yuh zimi? So we affi think smart and fast,” I say, scanning the road.
They all nod. “No joke,” Gutta mutters, watching the Voxy like prey.
“Fi real,” Juaqína adds from behind me. Junior’s on the other side.
We’re all dressed in black pullovers and ski masks. I watch the Voxy for a few more seconds.
“Pull ova yasso… cya 3 follow dem, might look sus.” Gutta pulls over and kill the lights.
Gutta pulls over and cuts the lights.
“Wi cya do this messy and wi affi member seh wen him dead police a guh look into the last shooting which would a be with we and that would a lead them to we so we affi do it in a way weh dem nah suspect we,” I say. Their eyes fixed on me.
“Wi a go do this like a drive by, but fi nuh mek we be a suspect wi affi mek it look like a robbery.”
Juaqína chimes in. “Worst like how dem nuh come from up here, and the area weh wi deh known fi things like this.”
“It a go be like another robbery and quick quick that fly over them head. But if we dweet otherwise, chances are we a go be suspect weh tek revenge,” I tell them.
“Yeah fi real. So the robbery thing a go change the whole look of it and limit our chances of being a suspect,” Junior adds.
“Wi nah drive pan the main,” I tell Gutta.
“Mi know that mi Don,” he says. I exhale slow, getting myself mentally ready.
“Ready?” I ask. They nod.
“Born ready,” Gutta mutters, before easing the car forward. As soon as we approach the Voxy, Gutta pulls up on the driver’s side, window sliding down inch by inch.
“Shit!” one of them shouts but before they can even grab their guns, shots tear into them. I open fire. The first bullet smashes into the driver. He jerks, scrambling low, trying to escape. I shoot him again. And again. Until he isn’t moving. The rest howl, panic spilling out of the Voxy. I keep squeezing, bullets shredding metal and glass. Everyone a dem affi dead.
I lower my aim, targeting the bottom of the bus door. A technique my father drilled into me, ensuring bullets cut through flesh and vital organs. I rememberhis words, his voice heavy in my head.
“If yuh a do drive by, it good fi aim fi dem head. But yuh might miss if yuh nuh steady. So mek sure yuh focus pan the door. That way yuh know fi sure it a hit them.” That man was a real killa.
Two minutes flat and it’s over. Me and Gutta jump out quick, guns raised. I circle to the back, weapon steady, scanning. Their bodies slumped. Eyes wide open. Just how I imagined. Adonis still twitching, blood bubbling at his lips, leaking slow.
Lovely. Just lovely.
My jaw tightens, my gaze cutting into him.
“Dem neva tell yuh fi nuh ramp wid me?” I ask, snatching his phone and wallet. He gasps, fighting for breath. I press the barrel to his head.
