Havoc and Mayhem Read online

  “Hey how’d you know that?” she asked becoming concerned.

  “Fuck! I hope I’m wrong, but I think that’s Havoc.” Diamond Ken said nervously.

  “Havoc? As in Havoc and Mayhem? But I thought they was just some stupid ghetto rumor.”

  “Yeah, well that so-called rumor knocked the gold fronts down my homeboy Roc’s throat so deep dat fool has to stick his toothbrush up his ass just so he can brush them. Buss it, keep him there, I’ll handle this.”

  “No problem Dee. I got your back.” Bitsy said picking up on the reverence and fear in Diamond Ken’s voice. In all the years she had known the evil natured cold as ice drug-pushing pimp, she had never witnessed anyone or anything take him off of his game. Until now. Which led her to believe that the mysterious man dripping in red might very well be Satan himself, here to personally escort the diabolical pimp to Hell for his life of sin. Bitsy hung up and came over wearing a three-dollar bill smile. “So, how are we doing?” she asked cheerfully.

  “Chillin’ like Bob Dylan.” The man in red answered drolly while mindlessly spinning a thin gold whistle on a medium sized rope chain around his finger. By the sudden metamorphosis in her attitude he anticipated something was about to go down. A second later, it did. The Lumberjack came in out of the cold and locked the door.

  “Roaches check in, but they don’t check out!” The Lumberjack hissed with an evil grin. At the same time a man larger than life came down the stairs shaking the entire structure with his weight and jingling from the ‘Mister T.’ starter kit around his neck.

  “This oughta be fun!” Bitsy smiled anticipating a good show as she pumped up the volume on the boom box then tore into a bag of Doritos.

  ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ by Queen began to play. Rising from his seat, the man in red felt like he was in the middle of an action movie complete with soundtrack. He placed his chain and whistle back over his head and calmly removed his gloves with his teeth shaking his head with a sigh. The questions, the lies, the big tough guys. It had all become so boringly routine.

  “Hey little red riding hood. Diamond Ken wants to see you.” The Lumberjack said while walking up on the Trouble Consultant from behind, then put his hand on his shoulder.

  The Trouble Consultant growled at the hand like a junkyard dog, “Yo Money-grip I should warn you that my patience is about as long as the hair on the top of my head.”

  “Ooh I’m shitting in my pants. Now move it tough guy!” The Lumberjack hissed unimpressed with a sharp shove.

  Suddenly in a one handed move the man in red removed the Lumberjack’s hand from his shoulder, twisting his arm behind his back bending it at an unnatural angle forcing him to drop to one knee.

  “You’re an eggshell,” he said.

  “Ow-shit! Huh-a what?” the Lumberjack asked cringing in pain.

  “An eggshell my friend.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh, it’s quite simple. A few pounds of applied pressure anywhere on the body and-Snap!” The Trouble Consultant said and with a gruesome popping sound he dislocated the Lumberjack’s arm like a bread stick. “See, what’d I tell you? An eggshell.”

  The Lumberjack’s shrieks blended with the prostitutes as a grotesque lump strained from his sleeve. The Trouble Consultant could no longer take his screaming and clubbed him over the head with his bottle of Asti Spumante then rolled his eyes frustrated, “I hate it when heads be frontin’ like they’re from Rikers Island, knowing Goddamn well they’re from Fantasy Island.”

  Everything was happening so fast that Mister T. never had time to act. The man in red walked up on him with eyes so mean they had no room for fear in them whatsoever and said, “Either I’m going past you, or through you. But I am going up those stairs. Make a decision.” The hired muscle paused for a second thinking over his options then went for his gun but before he could pull out, the Trouble Consultant landed a lead hook behind his ear and stretched him out like a rug. “Too late!”

  “Rasheed!” Bitsy screamed when she saw her baby brother go down, then clambered out of her chair and stared down the man responsible with murder in her eyes. “Ooh you done fucked up now!”

  “Come on Big Momma! Toro! Toro!” He goaded her flapping the tail of his coat like a matador. With a snarl and grunt Bitsy charged forward like a runaway bull.

  The Trouble Consultant coolly waited for her to get closer then at the last possible second stepped to the side, yanked open the closet door behind him and slammed her inside then braced a chair up against the doorknob, barricading the hefty woman inside. He then hit the staircase and his adrenaline went from zero to one hundred in three seconds when a third man with dreadlocks appeared at the top clutching a Choo-Choo automatic and reminded him that this shit was real. Deadly real! Mechanically he reached behind his back for his own burners and swore loudly remembering that they were under his car seat. The dreadlocked gunman shouted, “Bon Fi-yah!” at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh shit!” the Trouble Consultant yelled and dove over the banister as the Jamaican opened fire with a shower of hot steel. Meanwhile below the staircase amidst the panicked prostitutes running out the door screaming for their lives, Mister T. was regaining consciousness when a pair of size thirteen Wallabees dropped out of the sky and lullabied him back to sleep.

  Relieving the pitiful fool of his weapon, the Trouble Consultant scrambled to his feet and fired up from below into the shooter’s legs then stepped over him as he tumbled down the stairs.

  Once he reached the top of the stairs, he faced down two more of Diamond Ken’s goons. The bigger of the two grabbed him in a bear hug lifting him off the ground and squeezed until the man in red could hardly breathe and dropped his gun over the banister. The second rushed forward wildly swinging, burying his fists in his ribs and kidneys. Ignoring the pain, the Trouble Consultant kicked him in the chest knocking him down then slammed his head back breaking the nose of the man holding him as well as his bear hug. With the fight taken out of him, he was tossed over the banister. The second man climbed to his feet and tossed a few misguided punches that were no match for the Trouble Consultant’s vicious street-fighter moves as he 52 blocked them and sent him flying over the banister as well.

  After taking out the trash, the man in red brushed his hands together then rolled his eyes as four more huge goons appeared.

  “Aw geez fellas for crying out loud. Didn’t you see what I just did to Kid and Play back there? I mean honestly, why would you wanna put yourselves through that?” Unfazed, the leering crew advanced forward, “All right. But for your sake, I hope you have good medical and dental.” he said raising his hands defensively and switched to a South-Paw fighting stance. “Let’s do this!” Then, using good footwork, sharp jabs, elbows, knees, clenches, his opponents as barriers against each other, all the while sticking and moving, he proceeded to tear through the motley crew like a tornado. Once they were down for the count he called out for Mercedes down the long brown-carpeted hall.

  Muffled cries and the sounds of someone being abused came from behind the first door on his right and he violently kicked it off its hinges to discover an androgynous pale-faced man on all fours getting spanked by a shapely dominatrix in a leather corset, nipple rings, 6-inch spikes and panties to hide her modesty.

  “Oops my bad. Carry on,” the Trouble Consultant frowned. A woman’s sudden screams for help snatched his head alert and he took off. He knocked down the door where the screams came from and discovered a naked woman with her back facing him. She wore her hair in long braids with white beads, Stevie Wonder style. “Mercedes?” he asked unsure and she shook her braids yes. He was immediately suspicious. A ‘trouble consulting’ gig was never this easy. But then again, there’s a first time for everything. “Throw something on, time to leave!”

  “Maybe it’s you who should leave.” the naked woman said and turned around in slow motion with her hands wrapped around a shiny silver nickel-plated
22. and a wide smile across her face. “In a pine box!”

  “Shit!” it was the right hairstyle, but the wrong girl.

  “Hands behind your head handsome. Now! Do it!” the naked imposter barked. The Trouble Consultant reluctantly obeyed. “Diamond I found him. He’s out here baby.” she yelled.

  “Trifling bitch!” he hissed.

  “Oh I gots yo’ bitch right here.” she retorted and cocked her gun.

  The door behind him snatched open and someone stepped out holding a double-barreled shotgun. Covered in sparkling jewelry Diamond Ken was as clichéd as the cocked fedora he sported. In his left ear he wore a large diamond stud. All the fingers of both hands were covered in sparkling diamond rings. On one wrist was a diamond bracelet and on the other a glistening diamond faced nugget watch. Even the Gazelle shades he sported were diamond laden along the top of the frames. For a brief second, the man in red’s riveting appearance left the iced-out pimp frozen but he quickly shook it off and the Trouble Consultant heard the all-too-familiar Cha-chink of a loading shotgun.

  “Havoc!”

  Spinning around when he heard his street moniker called, Havoc brazenly seized Diamond Ken’s wrist. As the two struggled over the shotgun a misdirected shot fired blowing the naked woman back into the room.

  “Faye!” the pimp called out visibly upset over all the revenue he saw flying out of the window.

  In the blink of an eye Havoc head-butted the pimp to the floor then spun on his heels and zig-zagged down the opposite end of the hall as shotgun blasts chased after him tearing huge chunks into the walls. He came upon another flight of stairs and looked back to see Diamond Ken gun in tow, coming for him then bolted up another flight of steps. The third floor was dimly lit and every door he tried was locked. He put his hand on the last doorknob at the end of the hall when Diamond Ken entered the floor.

  “You ain’t gonna MacGuyver your way outta this one motherfucker!” Diamond Ken promised with a bead on Havoc.

  Havoc clenched his teeth and twisted the knob. To his surprise it opened and he burst inside as the pimp fired a missed shot and cursed up a storm. Once inside he caught his breath and locked the door behind him. There was a large dresser in the corner and he pushed it in front of the door as a barricade, then backed away awaiting the pimp’s forced entry when something moved behind him. He spun around with his fists raised to find a girl in bra and panties gagged with duct tape and handcuffed to an iron ring bolted to the wall. She too had white beaded braids like the girl from the picture but the room was dimly lit and her face was swollen, so Havoc was not one hundred percent certain if it was her or not. He checked himself for the photo and remembered Bitsy never returned it.

  “Mercedes?” he asked unsure. Shaking uncontrollably with fear the girl managed a nod but that wasn’t good enough for the Trouble Consultant. Moments ago, Faye claimed to be Mercedes too. He removed the tape from her mouth and asked in a stern voice, “What’s your mother’s middle name?”

  “Huh?” she asked not sure if she heard him correctly.

  Havoc clamped his hand around her chin, “If you’re planning something sneaky, we ain’t the two and I ain’t the one. Now tell me your mother’s middle name!”

  “It’s Jean. Barbara Jean Holiday.” she replied meekly.

  Havoc glared at the girl then let go of her face hoping that an impostor wouldn’t know something as personal as the middle name for the mother of the person they were impersonating. Now that he located the goods all he had to do was figure out a way to get them both out alive. Piece of cake.

  A toilet flushed.

  “Somebody in there?” Havoc asked gesturing towards the bathroom door.

  Mercedes nodded with wide frightened eyes and whispered, “Big Fella.”

  Havoc shook his head and sucked his teeth. “I swear this place is like Christmas, full of surprises.”

  The bathroom door creaked open and the room instantly became infected with a funky combination of shit and Lysol. Standing in the doorway naked and stretching was a horribly fat pear-shaped black man, twice the size of Mount Fuji, with thighs the size of infants. The obese man fanned the air and grimaced rubbing his stretch marked belly that hung so low it hid his dick.

  “Coming out feeling ‘bout ten pounds lighter. Okay baby let’s do this-Nigga where in da fuck did you come from?” Big Fella demanded when he saw Havoc.

  “What did you just call me?” Havoc asked through clenched teeth.

  Big Fella waddled over shaking the claustrophobic small, room with each step. “What iz you deaf?” The obese man snarled but Havoc did not answer, “I said Nigga where…hold up…wait a second. It’s you-” a choke gurgled in his throat as he locked on Havoc allowing his eyes to travel over his signature red attire and trademark Kangol. He nervously took a step back as if he’d just seen his own death. “The one who whooped Roc’s ass.”

  Havoc pushed his Gazelles back on his nose and smiled. It was nice to be recognized for his work.

  Outside the door Diamond Ken listened with a confident grin certain that his huge friend would make quick work of the smaller Trouble Consultant. Havoc set it off and hit Big Fella in his large belly that jiggled like jello with no real effect. Big Fella looked down at his sloppy gut unphased by the punch. He patted his belly then wiggled his eyebrows at Havoc. With a smirk he lifted Havoc and put him on his back across the room with a hard uppercut punch.

  The nude obese man waddled over and stood over Havoc smiling victoriously. Havoc rubbed his jaw repulsed by the view. He climbed to one knee eyeing Big Fella through dark slits. Every fiber of his being accusing him with absolute rage. Then, without warning he planted his fist hard in the center of the fat man’s crotch. The pain forced Big Fella’s eyes to roll up in his head and he doubled over in pain holding himself. Havoc rose to his feet and dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a massive four-fingered ring that spelled out ‘HAVOC’ in big bold block letters which doubled as a pair of brass knuckles and slid it on his left hand.

  “A-yo fat ass, wanna know why I wear all red?” Havoc asked in a voice that sounded like boulders crashing. Unable to answer, Big Fella meekly shook his head. “Well aside from the fact I look flyy as hell, it’s because it hides the bloodstains!” he said then twisted back and landed a tremendous blow exploding Big Fella’s face and sending blood spraying like a broken water main.

  With one hand protecting his face Big fella tried to fight back and Havoc went to work, working the fat man like a punching bag landing solid blows until his legs gave out from under him and he came crashing to the ground like a ton of bricks.

  Once Big Fella was down for the count Havoc immediately began searching for a way to free Mercedes. On the nightstand next to a hot plate keeping Big Fella’s pot of chilli steaming hot was a set of keys. He scooped them up and smiled when they fit Mercedes’ shackles.

  The doorknob twisted back and forth wildly. “Hey what the hell’s going on in there? Yo Big Fella is everything aight?…Big? Nigga you good?” Diamond Ken called out trying to Humphrey Bogart his way into the room. After no response it was obvious what had happened to his fat homeboy. “Havoc listen up, I don’t know how the fuck you managed to take out Big, but the only way out of here is past me so open up and make it easier on yourself.” he reasoned from the opposite side of the door.

  “Yeah, picture that!” Havoc retorted then looked around the room for something to defend himself with but there wasn’t anything. Frustrated he ripped the newspaper from the window and looked out then got an idea.

  “I want to go home!” Mercedes cried frantically.

  “Chill. I got this.” Havoc said as he forced the window open and let in a surge of freezing air. Suddenly a loud shotgun blast ripped through the door and removed a chunk of the dresser. Mercedes screamed when she saw Diamond Ken’s angry face peek through the hole. After blowing off the lock he still could not push open the door because of the heavy dresser and Big Fella’s unconsciou
s torso in the way.

  “Fella, get yo family-sized ass up! Mercedes get over here and help me!” he ordered.

  The sound of glass breaking startled Mercedes as Havoc shoved a twin sized mattress out the window. “Time to go!… Out the window!” he said sharply.

  Mercedes looked up from sliding into her clothes, “Out the window?” she said feeling nauseous from fear.

  Havoc grabbed her by the hand and pointed out the window. “Look, down there. See? Try to aim yourself right there,” he said referring to the mattress he dropped onto a pile of garbage below the window. “I know it’s not much but if you land on it it’ll absorb some of the impact from the fall.”

  Mercedes was scared and didn’t know what to do. “But-but, um I don’t-” she stuttered.

  “Bitch I know you ain’t thinking ‘bout leaving with that chump cause if you iz, so help me you’ll be even sorrier than he’s gonna be once I get in there.” the pimp threatened.

  Havoc grabbed Big Fella’s pot of hot chilli and flung it at the door. “Who’s sorry?” Havoc asked as the pimp screamed in pain. “Nice guy. Now I can see why you’re having such a hard time making this decision,” Havoc said, “So what’s up, you staying?”

  Mercedes pictured her face on the side of a milk carton and nervously climbed out the window. “As soon as you land run for the red Chevy across the street. But do not open the door. Wait for me I’ll be right behind.” Havoc instructed.

  The teenager nodded, hung for a moment, then let go screaming and landed on her plump behind. She was sore and would definitely wake up with bruises tomorrow but just like Havoc assured her, the mattress and trash pile absorbed the blunt of her fall. It was now Havoc’s turn and when he climbed out he noticed Diamond Ken was no longer at the door. It was definitely time to leave. When he landed he was staring up at the business end of the pimp’s shotgun.