“You did it but that nigga almost got his life cut short,” he says and she continues to smile.
Since there are only twelve homes in Marina Bay, the distance between each is massive. After turning onto Marcelin’s street, Akeem pulls to the side and kills the lights and engine. He pops the trunk, gets out, and removes his gun cases, a handful of zip ties, and a squeezable bottle of accelerant from the trunk. When he returns, he gets into the back seat and Sunjiya fixes her eyes on the rearview mirror to see what he’s doing.
Quickly but carefully, he opens the rifle case, assembling the desert tech, ensuring each required step is done precisely. Then he tests the trigger and the safety mechanisms before seating the magazine. Once out of the car, it’ll be just him and his guns. No room for error. After loading his favorite guns—his two, custom-made, 1911 TRP 9mms—he tucks one into his back then looks at Sunjiya.
“Come sit back here with me,” he tells her. “You should be fine back here as long as you stay in this car. When I get out,you’re going to sit in the driver’s seat. If anything feels off, turn this shit on and leave.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she scoffs.
“Yes you will,” he says sternly. Then he places one of his nines in her lap. “If any muthafucka other than me approaches this car, you shoot them then drive the fuck away. Don’t look back and don’t look for me.”
“I’m not le—” she begins and her voice trembles.
“Yes, you are.” He lifts the nine. While pointing it downward, he shows her the location of the safety and how to release it. After she successfully demonstrates the steps, he places one hand behind her neck and she exhales. “I one hundred percent plan on coming back with Tanjaya. The gun is just a precaution. I really don’t think you’ll need it, but if you do, use it,” he says sternly and she nods. Then she leans in and kisses him passionately.
“You better come back,” she asserts. Akeem pecks her lips then tells her to get into the driver’s seat. He exits, puts his other nine in his holster, then places the rifle strap across his shoulder and secures it. Before jogging toward Marcelin’s house, he taps the window and hands her the nine once she opens it. “Come back, Akeem,” she repeats.
“On everything, I am.”
Sunjiya watches anxiously and pensively as Akeem jogs and disappears into the darkness. Then she bows her head and says a quick, silent prayer. As Akeem jogs, he recalls all of the details from his first night here.
Nine guards. Two at the gate. Another two at the main entrance. One by each of the three large trees and another two by the four-car garage. A long driveway, at least a mile and a half, then another hundred and eighty-nine steps to the main entrance. Then Big Man and a shooter inside.
He’s in his zone. All outside noise is tuned out and his focus is his targets and how he’s going to reach each one. Failure isn’t an option and not making it back to Sunjiya is unthinkable. A swift, precise in and out is his plan and he’s mentally mapping it out. When he’s a few feet from the gate, he pulls out his utility knife and pops the blade.
The knife is for the two guards at the gate. They need to go first, fast, and without any sound. Their booth is ideal for setting up his desert tech. Because it has a reach up to four thousand yards and extreme power and muzzle energy, Akeem will be able to pick the other guards off one by one before they know what’s happening or see him.
After removing the rifle and laying it in the grass, Akeem approaches the gate booth. As soon as the first guard spots him, he walks out.
“Hold up,” he says in an authoritative tone. “This is private property,” he says. The other guard walks out too, confused.No one walks back here.When Akeem keeps approaching, the guard calls out louder. “Hold the fuck?—”
His words halt when the blade from the knife slices his neck. Before the other guard can register what just happened, Akeem is in his face running the bloody blade across his neck. Both men reach for their sliced necks then fall to the ground. One by one, Akeem hooks his arms under theirs and drags them to the other side of the booth. Then he retrieves the rifle and steps into the booth.
Although security lights surround the massive home and light illuminates from actual rooms in the house, he needs crystal clear sight for clean, one-shot kills. After setting up the rifle, he adjusts the scope for thermal vision and surveys the grounds. Unlike his first night, only six guards are on the property tonight. The main entrance is down one.
Starting with the guards around the house, he swiftly takes out the three by the trees. The two by the garage are next. The last one in front of the main entrance is so close to the door. There’s a risk that his falling body might hit the door and cause noise to alert the inside of the house. So Akeem packs his rifle, straps it onto his back, pulls out his nine, then sprints toward the door.
By the time the guard sees him, it’s too damn late. Akeem sends one right between his eyes. As suspected, the main entrance to the house opens and it’s Big Man. His life ends the instant Akeem’s bullet pierces his heart. His large body slams into the floor and bullets fly through the door from the shooter inside. They miss Akeem and he stealthily moves to the window. Shots continue to fly through the door as Akeem grabs his rifle. Once it’s positioned, he peeks through the window and spots the shooter walking down the stairs. Akeem sends a shot through the window, piercing his heart. When the shooter falls forward down the stairs, Akeem enters the house, rifle in hand.
“Pierre! Pierre! Louis!” Marcelin’s thick accent booms. “Sa k pase!” he yells. Akeem follows his frantic voice to the very room where they’d first met. Marcelin stands behind his desk, gripping a gun. When he sees Akeem, his eyes widen in surprise. “You?”
“Yeah, me. Where is she?” Akeem barks.
“I’m paying you to find her!” he yells.
“Drop the fucking gun and cut the shit. Where the fuck is she?” Akeem demands as he steps closer to Marcelin.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Marcelin says, angering Akeem. He fires his gun and sends a bullet clean through Marcelin’s shoulder. The force and pain cause Marcelin to drop his gun and yelp out in agony. “Get manman ou!” he yells.
“English, muthafucka!” Akeem grits.
“Fuck you,” Marcelin spits before dropping into his chair. His arm hurts like hell and blood’s pouring out.
Akeem gets into his face and rests the still hot tip of the rifle on Marcelin’s forehead. “Tell me where she is?” he demands and Marcelin sucks his teeth.
“I don’t know what the fuck you talking about,” Marcelin grits. His refusal to tell Akeem where Tanjaya is located fuels Akeem’s anger and annoyance. He pulls the rifle back and slams it into the side of Marcelin’s face. “Get manman ou!” he repeats in his native tongue before spitting out blood.
Akeem may not know exactly what Marcelin’s saying but he gets the point.
