Cut Throat Mafia. Derrick Johnson
the back pushing blood and brain matter on the wall and onto the two women sitting up on him.
The pretty girl that was leaning on the edge of the couch jumped up running towards us speaking in Spanish with a razor in her hand. Without hesitation, Splif pulled out the 9mm catching the pretty thing in the jaw, causing her to spin and hit the wall. She grabbed her face and blood was pouring out like a broken faucet but she still tried to rush. The final shot lifted her off her pretty feet, killing her before her body crashed to the soft white carpet.
One of the bitches on the couch tried to reach for the 357, which got her boy twisted and she found herself in the same position. Once she reached for the gun, I shot her in the elbow snapping it into two, causing her to realize shit was real up in this bitch. Before she was able to scream, another bullet caught her in the throat knocking her voice box and neck muscles up on the curtains. The last girl just sat there around her dead friends in silence not knowing what the next move was going to be. So, she took it upon herself to reach down and grab the razor on the floor. She looked up and said something in Spanish to us before taking the razor across her own throat.
CHAPTER TWO
BEAVER FALLS, PA. is where Damon Johnson was born and raised. It’s a small city north of Pittsburgh with a population of about fifty thousand residents. It’s a black town full of violence just like you would find in any city but on a smaller level. It’s been a long time since Damon has been back home because he was overseas doing time for a crime he never committed.
Damon did ten years in Hannover, Germany for the murder of a young girl, which he never did. He was in the U.S. Army training for a special unit team that did killings with anything you could think of. He could kill a nigga with an ashtray, that’s how good he was. He never liked to use guns because he felt you couldn’t get up close and personal with the one you had to kill. Plus his fingers kept getting stuck in the trigger of the guns he chose to be comfortable with. So, he chose to use all types of different knives.
DJ stood at 6’7'' and weighed in at 320 with no fat in sight. He worked out while he was in the Army and during his time in the walls. No one in prison tried bothering the giant American because of the look he carried with him. He had that look that made people just ignore him and go about their business and that’s the way Damon liked it.
When he got out of the joint he was driven straight to the airport and flown back to the states. Germany didn’t want to have anything to do with him, so he was kicked out and told to go back to the United States. When he got back there he found out that the military had turned their backs on him, which he figured out once he got sentenced for a crime he never committed. He took the money he had gotten from his release and his military issued knives and got on the bus from Pittsburgh to his hometown of Beaver Falls. He had a daughter who would be fifteen now and he was really happy to get the chance to see her. He wrote to her all the time but he would never receive any mail back from her. He knew it was her mother who was the cause of that because that’s the type of bitch she was. Damon hasn’t smiled in over ten years but a smile came across his face as he got closer to the place he called home.
Once DJ got off the bus on 7th Avenue, he just looked around at the changes the town took. There was young nigga’s on all the corners and cars flying pass with loud music, while the kids' clothes hung halfway off their narrow asses. But DJ still continued to walk down the street looking at all the things he remembered and all the things he didn’t.
DJ had on some tight ass sweatpants and a top that showed off the many muscles he packed with him, while people he walked past just starred. DJ never got the chance to buy some clothes and really didn’t care what he had looked like. To be honest DJ thought he looked just fine, Shit! It was in style when he left and maybe he was just a little bit behind. The young girls liked it because it left nothing to the imagination, while the young nigga’s made a joke of him.
DJ walked past a bar that had a motel on top of it and decided to get a room in there. DJ knew he wouldn’t be staying at the house that he once called his, so it would be best for him to get the room right now. It was a drug infested hole that was territory to the young drug dealers in the area. DJ went to enter the motel but was stopped by three young thugs who felt they had something to prove. “Yo! Hold up playa. Where do you think you’re going? Nobody cares how big you are and how tight that damn suit is you got on.” The other nigga’s thought it was funny and was laughing at the statement.
DJ looked at the little boy and had already knew what to do to shut the young boy up, but changed his mind. The young boy didn’t know what he was getting into, plus he meant no threat at all. DJ looked down on the little boy and said, “I just want to rent a room and find my daughter. I don’t want no problems from you, little man.”
The young nigga felt disrespected by that statement and said, “Little man! Who the fuck you think, you’re talking to like that, nigga?” The young boy broke the bottle of wine he was drinking up against the building and showed it to DJ.
DJ stepped down the stairs he was once on and made his way to the parking lot by the building. DJ was walking backwards trying to move out of the way of the little boy and his little weapon. “Look! I told you I don’t want any trouble and if you don’t put that bottle down you’ll pay in the end. I’ll promise you that.”
The little thug looked around to the crowd of people and cracked a little smile. “Nigga, you got to be kidding and you must not know who you fucken with.” The crowd of nigga’s followed the excitement, while blowing on blunts and talking shit.
DJ never let his bad side win and decided not to kill the young boy because he was someone’s child, but he would teach the boy a lesson and set the standards straight right now. “Don’t fuck with me.”
The youngster went to jab at DJ and he stepped to the side to avoid getting cut. “Old man you’re kinda fast to be so old.” The young boy was tossing the broken bottle around in both of his hands, which was a move he’d seen in some old gangster movie. He jabbed at DJ again and this time DJ stepped to the side taking a step forward at the same time, snatching the young nigga by the throat. The young boy was caught by surprise when his hand was smashed into the side of the young kids face. “Oh shit! Somebody get this old strong nigga off me” but the other kids were in shock by how fast this shit happened and the quickness of the old man.
While holding the young kids whole head in his hands, DJ said, “I don’t want no trouble from none of you young nigga’s. I just want to be left alone and find my daughter. I promise the next mothafucka that steps to me like this will get worse.” He let go of the youngster and walked towards the motel. The young nigga stood there holding his wounded head as the crowd opened up to let DJ through.
DJ paid for the room that had seen better days like twenty years ago, but he had to work with what he had. He took a shower and put the same tight ass sweat suit back on, which he also felt was too tight and made note to buy something else more lose. He made it back outside where the young nigga’s were at slanging dope and drinking in the parking lot. He hoped he didn’t have to go through it with the young cats again because of their ego problems.
He stepped outside and everyone was looking at him, but no one stepped to him with the bullshit. He was happy and went walking towards the last house he knew. On his way to 2nd Avenue, he was looking at all the familiar things to him and the shit he didn’t remember. When he got to the house, he instantly got butterflies in his stomach. What would he say to his daughter and what would his ex-wife say to him since she divorced him after his conviction? Fuck that bitch, because this was about his daughter now.
He made it to the stairs, then the porch and knocked a few times at the door. When he saw the older lady approaching the door, he knew there had to be some type of mistake.
“Yes! May I help you?” the older white lady said.
“Um! There must be some type of mistake. Does a Mrs. Johnson live here with a little girl named Daisy?” The old white lady said, “I’m sorry sir, but don’t no one by those names live here. I’ve been living here for eight years now.”
DJ was stuck