Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 4

Book 4: Ride or Die Chick

by J.M. Benjamin

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Life for Treacherous Freeman and Baby Love has been one nightmare after the next. After their escape from a Virginia mental institution and series of crimes, murder and armed robbery are added to their resumes as they try to evade the law. Their actions soon make them VA's most wanted by more than just law enforcement. Retired Ex-Chief Andre Randle has made a full recovery from his near death experience. Now, the only thing he can think about is taking down the young couple that is responsible. With the help of detective Arthur Love, father of Treacherous Freeman's ride or die chick, Baby Love, Andre Randle goes on a manhunt a second time around to track down the ruthless duo before it's too late. Now fugitives from justice, the Bonnie & Clyde pair knows there's no turning back. Determined to finish what they started, Treacherous and Baby move full speed ahead, with no clue about the heat that awaits them around the corner. It becomes survival of the fittest as this story unfolds. While authorities want them behind bars and others want their heads on a platter, for Treacherous and Baby, there are only two options: ride to the bitter end, or die trying!

Release date: November 24, 2015

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Fifty-two-year-old Robert Cole cruised through the downtown area of Richmond, Virginia, in search of potential customers in need of his services. He had been a taxi driver for the last fifteen years of his existence and couldn’t recall having had a worse day. Not only did he have a migraine headache that had been relentlessly pounding away at his skull for the past eight hours, but business had been slow all week. On top of that, the air conditioner in his taxi had been broken for just as long, so he had been riding around with the windows down, sweating profusely from the sweltering Virginia heat. Only the fact that the sun had gone down some and night began to fall made it better, but not much. Normally he wouldn’t be working in the particular area, but tonight he was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He was flat broke with no food in the house. He could literally hear his stomach whining as he drove in search of potential customers. Had it not been for the fact that he had gone nearly three days without eating already and his taxi’s gas light had been on for just as long, he would have turned back around and called it a night.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Robert Cole swore as he wiped his brow with the handkerchief he had clenched in his right hand.

He didn’t swear because of the heat though. He had used the Lord’s name in vain out of disappointment. Judging by the caliber of people roaming the downtown streets, he began to think it was a bad idea choosing to try his luck. In his eyes, all of the black faces he rode past were up to no good. His belief came from the bad experience he had endured a few years back.

He was the victim of an attempted robbery in Richmond not too far from where he was traveling now. Ultimately, he walked away scot-free but a young black teen was left dead. Let him tell it, had it not been for the licensed .38 revolver he possessed, he would have been shot and killed instead, despite the fact that no weapon belonging to the teen was found. Although he had been cleared of all charges and the incident was ruled as self-defense, the incident still haunted him. He had been shaken up ever since. He tried to steer clear of that part of town out of fear of possibly being recognized by one of the young black teen’s angry loved ones. But the hunger pains in his stomach overrode that fear. He was all too prepared and wouldn’t hesitate to use the .25 pearl-handle, nickel-plated semiautomatic pistol he now toted under his driver seat, if he had to. He refused to be the victim again, especially at the hands of some young black street punk.

Truth be told, Robert had a special kind of hatred for blacks since his run-in with the young teen. He found himself becoming a racist, often referring to people of color as African Americans in public, but in privacy he used the word “nigger” to best describe or refer to blacks. That was when he was in a good mood.

The altercation that had happened wasn’t the first time he’d had an incident with a black person. He actually bumped heads with blacks quite often. Whenever he saw a black person he expected trouble. He’d been written up several times and even suspended once. Because he had so many years on the job and was a part of the union, they couldn’t flat-out fire him.

Although he despised young black males, he was actually secretly fond of young black girls with tight bodies, which was why he came to a screeching halt when he saw the extended arm attached to the beautiful caramel specimen on the opposite side of the road. Robert put on his left blinker and made a U-turn in the middle of the street. Abruptly stopping in front of the pretty girl, he rolled down his passenger window.

“Need a ride, sweetie?” Robert Cole flashed his coffee-stained teeth.

“Yes, can you help me? I’m lost.” She flashed him a warm smile.

“Sure, where you headed?”

“I need to get to Chamberlain and Lombardy.”

“Aw, that’s not that far. For you, that’ll be seven dollars,” Robert Cole informed the girl. He could already taste the triple-decker cheeseburger from the twenty-four-hour Wendy’s. His mouth watered at the thought. “Hop on in!”

He peered up at the young, pretty girl. He could see the nervous look on her face. “Is there something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked. He had his suspicion about her facial expression, but needed to be sure.

“I . . . I . . .” the girl stammered. “I don’t have seven dollars.” She dropped her head in shame.

Her words went straight to the pit of Robert Cole’s stomach. His original hunger pains resurfaced and mixed with a new set of hunger pains from getting his hopes up too high. Shit! Fuckin’black cunt, he cursed the girl out in his mind. He took another look up at her. His mind began to travel somewhere else: right between his legs. Lust invaded his thoughts. I haven’t made any money practically all day; the least I can do is treat myself and have a little fun before I clock out, he reasoned with himself.

“It’s okay. I’m sure we can work something out,” Robert Cole offered.

His words caused the girl to raise her head. She nodded innocently.

Robert Cole hit the locks to the back door of the taxi. His circumcised penis began to stiffen as he peered in the rearview mirror into the back seat of the taxi. His eyes zeroed in on the young girl’s thick caramel thighs. He dropped his hand in his lap and brushed it across his hardness as he stared at them protruding out of the jean shorts that rode all the way up in between her legs. His eyes trailed up until he could see her face. His heart nearly stopped as she licked her luscious lips in an inconspicuous manner. His imagination ran wild at the thought of her mouth on him. He threw the taxi out of park. Within seconds, he was cruising up the street.

She’s going to suck this cock and love it, thought Robert as he searched for a secluded area. Moments later, he made a right onto a side street that appeared pitch black from a distance. He pulled over, put the taxi in park, and killed his lights.

“Get out and come on up here, sugar.” Robert Cole unlocked the doors.

He began unbuckling his belt in a speedy manner as the caramel girl exited the back of the taxi. He was so anxious he fumbled with unbuttoning his pants. Just as he got the button to open, the driver’s door of the taxi flew open. When he peered up he was met with a pistol to the upper side of his face. Robert Cole’s dick instantly shriveled up at the sight of the caramel girl, who he thought would be sucking his dick, standing in front of him brandishing a pistol.

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed. He couldn’t believe his dumb luck.

His left eye was burning due to the blood dripping from the side of his head. With the eye he could see with, there was no mistaking the murderous look he saw in the caramel girl’s eyes. His entire life flashed before his eyes right before the explosion. Urine began to trickle down the inner part of his pants legs, soiling his light blue denim Wrangler jeans. The thought of possibly dying over greed and lust ran through his mind. The blow caught him off guard and knocked him off balance. Blood gushed out of the side of his forehead and leaked into his left eye, but the first shot didn’t kill him. It had entered and exited the side of his face. Before he had time to react and try to reach for his own weapon, he was hit again. The second tore into the right side of his neck. Blood sprayed the inside of the taxi’s front driver’s side window. Robert Cole let out one of the loudest screams he had ever let out in his life.

“What the . . .” was all that escaped his lips before she grabbed him up by the collar and yanked him out of the taxi.

“Get out, you perverted piece of shit!” Baby barked.

Robert Cole grabbed hold of his pants as he plunged to the ground. He stared up and saw the barrel of Baby’s gun aimed directly at him. A confused look was plastered all over his face. At that moment, he knew he should have gone with his first instinct about working the black-infested area.

“I should shoot your fucking little white dick off!” Baby growled. She lowered the gun and jerked it in Robert Cole’s direction, between his legs, to put emphasis on her statement.

“Get your bitch ass up!” she commanded.

Robert Cole did as he was told. He fastened his jeans then nervously stood up. He was scared for his life. The look on Baby’s face was psychotic. It was like she had an unquenchable thirst for hurting him. He was so frightened that he nearly lost control of his bowels. His stomach began to twist in knots. But it was not a notification of how hungry he was. His hunger pains had been replaced and turned into a warning sign for the danger he knew he was in. Bad enough he had just pissed himself. Now, here it was: he stood there in fear, clenching his ass cheeks as he struggled to buckle his belt while fighting to keep from shitting on himself. The distorted look he made while trying to prevent that from happening seemed to please Baby. Gas escaped the crease of his squeezed cheeks. The smell lingered in the air and found its way toward Baby’s nostrils. She covered her nose.

“Nasty-ass cracker,” she spat. “Give me your fucking wallet,” she chimed.

“I don’t have a dime,” Robert Cole warned her as he reached for his wallet. I wish my gun were behind my back instead of in the car because you’d be one dead black bitch.

He tossed Baby his wallet. She bent down and picked it up, the whole time never taking her eyes off of Robert Cole. She opened it up and scanned it. “I need this taxi, Mr. Robert L. Cole, 1964 . . .” She began to read off his address to him.

Robert Cole immediately got the picture. “I understand.” He nodded. “Take it.”

“I’ll leave it unharmed once I get another ride. Lucky for you, I’m not going to kill you. Your day will come though, you piece of shit.”

A sigh of relief swept through Robert Cole’s body. He had been sure Baby was going to leave him for dead.

“Where’s your cell phone?” Baby asked.

Robert Cole cursed under his breath. He was hoping she’d leave without checking. He knew it was in his best interest not to play with her. He pulled his old-model flip phone out of his front pocket and tossed it over to Baby.

Baby picked it up and tucked it in her shirt. She backpedaled her way to the taxi then hopped in. “Turn over and lie on your fat stomach, you piece of shit, and count to a thousand,” Baby instructed him.

Robert Cole did as he was told. She kicked him in his ass, causing him to let out a grunt.

“A thousand motherfuka’!” She repeated.

Seconds later, Baby was headed to where she had left Treacherous tucked away in the car. She knew it was just a matter of time before the police tracked down the car they had fled. She couldn’t afford any mishaps. Not when the love of her life’s own life was on the line.

She was focused. Her only thought now was getting Treacherous some medical attention. Baby pulled up to where she had parked the stolen car. She looked over at Treacherous. He was still unconscious. She took hold of his wrist. She became somewhat relieved once she felt a pulse, but she knew she was running out of time. Baby struggled to load two large, heavy duffle bags into the trunk of the taxi. She then transferred Treacherous from one vehicle to the other. Moments later, she peeled off in the stolen taxi.

You killed my mother. I won’t ever forget you! were the words that echoed in Andre Randle’s mind as he struggled to find a comfortable position to lay in. The discomfort from his injuries to the shoulder and face kept him up tossing and turning for most of the night. It had been the norm for the past few evenings after his release from the hospital. The painkillers he had been prescribed by the physician didn’t do anything to ease the pain. Instead, the pills had caused him to become nauseous, overly sensitive, and emotional so he discontinued taking them. He chose to fight the pain off naturally and was now realizing how difficult it actually was.

He couldn’t help but reflect on why he was laid up in bed in the first place. Ever since the gun battle at Detective Love’s house, his first encounter with Treacherous Freeman Jr. kept playing in his mind. The words, “You killed my mother,” repeated over and over in Andre Randle’s head. Yeah, kid, I had to, or else she was going to put a bullet in your skull, he wanted to say back to young Treacherous that day; but he knew it was not the right or appropriate thing to say. Now, here it was: a young and dangerous man with a vendetta toward him was roaming the streets of Virginia. That didn’t sit well with Andre Randle.

He remembered how he tried his best to defuse the situation. “Hold your fire!” he yelled out to Teflon Jackson.

Andre Randle sat upright. He reached over and grabbed the pack of Newport 100s on his nightstand. The nicotine from the cigarette seemed to relax him. Andre Randle closed his eyes and let out a gust of silver smoke. He shook his head as his pleading words replayed themselves in the front of his head: “Ms. Jackson, please don’t do this, and don’t do this to your child!” he remembered saying to her.

“Fuck that! It’s not my fault!” he bellowed. “I did all I could. She made a choice.” He continued to talk aloud to himself. An image of Teflon putting the gun to young Treacherous’s head illuminated in Andre Randle’s mind right before he heard the loud boom and saw the flashing white light.

Andre Randle’s eyes shot open. He shook the image of Teflon Jackson’s suicide by cop out of his head and turned on the television to get his mind off of his present condition. He rubbed the swollen part of his face gently while he flicked through channel after channel with nothing in particular in mind to watch. He surfed through cartoons, reality shows, and reruns of CSI. He shook his head at the fact that nothing on television seemed to interest him, not even the news, and that was his favorite thing to watch. Today he was just not in the mood for anything. He was simply going through the motions. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t shake the thought of what happened back at Arthur Love’s house between the two of them, Love’s daughter, and Treacherous Freeman. It was a close call, but they had survived. His only regret was that he and Love were unable to finish what they had started together, which was take down the Bonnie and Clyde couple.

He stopped pressing the channel button on the remote when he came across the Discovery channel. He was sure that if anything could relax his mind, it would be watching something dealing with nature. Just as he was about to get into the show featured, his mind did a quick backtrack. Subconsciously he thought he had recognized something or, rather, someone a few channels back. Randle’s television slowly traveled backward as he pointed the remote at the screen. Four stations later, he could not believe his eyes. He increased the volume on the television as his mouth fell open at the photo on the television screen.

“Authorities still have no leads as to the whereabouts of the suspects in connection to the murder of alleged Irish crime boss Samuel Duff, known as Sammy Black. Mr. Black was buried in his homeland of Ireland some days ago. We’ll have more as this story continues to unfold.”

“Christ,” Andre Randle cursed as he switched to another channel. He had no luck finding the report on any other station. Normally he would have been watching the news, but since being out of the hospital and taking the medication he had been prescribed he hadn’t been up on anything as of late. For Richmond news to make it all the way over to the seven cities’ news meant whoever Treacherous Freeman and Baby Love killed was a major figure in the underworld.

“This just keeps getting better and better.” He let out a disheartened chuckle.

He flung the cover off his body with his good arm. Time to get up, he told himself as he climbed out of bed. A sharp pain jol. . .