Shred of Evidence

“You stay here. I’ll get the shit.”

“No way,” She says. “You ain’t goin up there alone.”

“Fuck I ain’t,” I tell her. “You ain’t gonna risk it neither.”

“Stay here in the car. I’ll go up. I ain’t back in ten minutes take this thing and walk on up.” I hand her a .22 revolver from the glove box.

She handles the metal. “Fine.”

“I love you.” I say. “Can’t wait to get back to the crib.”

“Yeah?” Starting to smile. “How come?”

“You know,” I say. “You gonna give me that ass shot thing you always do?”

“What ass shot thing?”

“You know,” I say. “That bent over thing you do.”

She laughs.

“You got the greatest bubble-ass around. You know that?”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But I love you, and that sick round butt.”

“Love you too.” Shakes her head. “Crazy. Be careful.”

She kisses me.

I get out of the 1986 Mercury Monarch, walk up the brick path. I get my serious head on. I got a 9mm semi-automatic Glock in my right coat pocket. All I want to do is get the anabolic agents and get on my way. Sell the shit, make some money. Get this piece of ass back to my apartment; bang the shit out of her.

I knock on apartment 3B.

There’s a muscle-head gangbanger standing there, tank-top, delts and guns hangin out everywhere, goddamn twenty inches. Covered in tats.

He says, “Sup.”

“Yo,” I say. “Pickin up the shit is all.”

“Ay’ite,” He steps back, lets the door swing a bit.

It smells of reefer. It’s dim and grungy. I make my way to the center of the room, look around. I see a bed, covers messed, some Chinese food containers opened on a small table against the wall, a bong on the night stand.

“You got the cash?”

“Sure do, bro,” I pat my coat pocket. He walks past me, sits on the bed.

“So where’s the shit?”

“I got it bro, chill out.” He reaches under the bed.

I hear a slam and some dude comes jumping out of the closet by the door all crazy and
shit. He’s got a rifle in his arms, waving it at me, like he’s jacked up on some speedball crap.

“Put the fuckin hands up bitch!” He says and has the barrel next to my head before I can get into my pocket.

“Fuck yo dudes!” I throw my hands up. “What the fuck!”

“The fuck money bitch!” The guy with the rifle says. The other guy is now on his feet standing in front of me, growling.

“He tell you where the fuck money, bitch.” And he swings and slams his fist across my jaw, sending me sideways, spit and blood spraying. The other guy clocks me on the head with the butt of the rifle and this sends me to the floor, face down, head spinning.

“The money bitch!” The rifle guy says.

I figure that the money ain’t worth getting killed over so I make some noise. I tell em, “Yo—the pocket, man.”

The big guy pats me down, finds the Glock and laughs to his friend. “Lookit bro!” And he holds it up smiling like he’s just won a prize. He goes through my pockets and finds the envelope with the cash, swinging it.

“Whatcha gonna do now bitch?’

“Guess I gonna leave.”

“Don’t think so bitch.”

“The fuck?” I say. “You got the cash.”

“You a piece a shit!”

“Take it easy man.”

“Stand!”

I struggle to my feet and face the guys. They have their backs to the door. That’s when I
see my ass girl standing in the doorway, gun drawn.

I try to stay cool. “Yo, you got the cash man. I won’t say nothing.”

“That’s right you ain’t gonna say nothing,” Rifle boy says. “You going bye bye.”

“Yeah bye bye,” the other guy says. “Let’s go.”

“Freeze a-holes!” my girl says, sounding like a cop.

The guys tense up. Not quite sure what to do.

“Drop the guns!”

They don’t do it right away so my girl scares them with a blast into the wall.

They drop the guns.

“Now drop your pants dirtbags!”

They look at each other. Shrug. Laugh a bit. Another shot and they undo their pants, drop them to the ground.

“Underwear too.”

“Yo lady,” Rifle boy starts but another blast and he’s got the shorts around his ankles.

“Turn around!”

The guys turn.

My girl laughs. “The fuck is that?” She says. “You call those dicks?”

“It cold in here,” The rifle guy says and they look at each other.

“Turn around you ugly dickless shits,” my girl says.

They turn toward me and then I hear POP POP and the guys fall to their knees screeching and the muscle guy says, “Fuck,” and he falls to his face. The other guy twists and goes down toward the side and I see their asses all covered in blood.

I pick up the rifle off the floor and I can’t stand the moaning so I clock rifle boy in the head with the butt and the other guy takes two slams before he’s out cold.

Then it’s quiet.

I look at my girl by the door, smiling.

“Nice shot,” I tell her.

“Seemed the right thing to do,” she says. “All I could think was that ass shot thing you were telling me about.”

I reach down, pick up my envelope of cash off the floor, put it in my pocket. I look under the bed, nothing. I go to the closet, yank the door open. There’s a puffy gym bag on the floor.

Bingo.

Boxes of shit; Dianabol, Anavar, Anadrol, Teslac—a load of growth hormone.

I smile, show my girl.

She grins.

I give her a clap on that bubble-ass. “Lookit those dicks? The heck was that?”

“Knew that would throw ‘em off.”

“Harsh.” I say and we bolt.