No Love In These Streets
As Fang Lang sat in the van, surrounded by his comrades, a sense of tension hung thick in the air. With practiced precision, he loaded his Desert Eagle, the metallic click of the magazine sliding into place echoing through the cramped space. He checked the chamber, ensuring a round was ready, and flicked the safety off, his movements smooth and deliberate.
'I haven't had to kill anyone yet,' he thought. 'But… I know it's bound to happen at some point.'
Beside K-9, Pitt bobbed his head to an invisible rhythm, the barrel of his M1911 gleaming in the dim light. Next to Pitt, Dane loaded his shotgun, the acrid scent of cannabis mingling with the sharp tang of gun oil as he held a lit blunt between his lips. With a casual flick of his wrist, he cocked the weapon before passing the blunt to Bully, who sat alone in the back seats, his expression unreadable behind the haze of smoke.
Shepherd, ever vigilant, occupied the passenger seat, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. The group remained silent, their anticipation palpable as they awaited their leader's orders. The gang would come to realize that they wouldn't even have to go to the warehouse.
As Dober skillfully maneuvered the van onto the freeway, the gang's target came into view. Shepherd's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his tone commanding as he pointed out the cargo truck a few cars ahead.
"There it is," he announced. "That's our target. They all drive those green trucks. We need to get closer, suffocate they asses and get 'em out of bounds — Dane, shoot the wheels."
Dane nodded in response, a determined glint in his eyes as he rolled down the window and braced himself for action. The van steadily gained ground on the cargo truck, thanks to Dober's skillful driving, inching closer with each passing moment. With a focused expression, Fang Lang prepared himself for the impending confrontation, his senses heightened as adrenaline surged through his veins. This was it — their moment to strike.
Dane's shotgun blast ruptured the back wheel of the cargo truck, causing it to veer uncontrollably and flip, rolling seven times before crashing onto its back with a deafening clamor. The gang swiftly maneuvered their van off the road, filed out, and approached the overturned truck with cautious steps, guns at the ready.
Fang Lang peered inside, his stomach churning at the sight of the lifeless bodies strewn across the wreckage. He could see the mangled faces and bodies of Ramirez's men, mashed together and bloodied.
"They're all dead…" Fang announced, swallowing a tiny bit of vomit back down.
"Good aim, Dane," Shepherd praised.
"Thanks, Boss! Just doing my part," Dane replied coolly, resting the shotgun on his shoulder and wiping a bead of sweat from beneath his dourag.
Shepherd wasted no time, yanking open the cargo door to reveal a stash of packages stacked from floor to ceiling, each containing precious cargo — heroin. A hungry gleam lit up his eyes as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
"Aww yeah, we in there now," he declared, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Bully, get the bags. Let's start loading this shit up. We gotta make this as quick as possible."
Bully nodded in understanding and dashed back to the van, returning moments later with six enormous duffle bags. With a sense of urgency, he distributed the bags among the group, each member clutching their share tightly. Without hesitation, the gang sprang into action, clambering inside the back of the cargo truck and feverishly stuffing as many packages into their bags as possible. The air buzzed with tension as they worked swiftly, knowing that time was of the essence in their race against the clock.
As the sound of approaching sirens pierced the air, Fang's heart leaped into his throat. "Hey, I hear sirens. Shepherd, I hear sirens!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with urgency.
Shepherd's gaze flicked toward the remnants of the haul, his men still bustling around him in a frenzy of activity. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he surveyed the scene before him. "Leave the rest here for the pigs to find," he commanded, his tone resigned. "Come on, in the van! Let's go!"
Without hesitation, Fang and the gang piled into the van, their movements quick and efficient. Seatbelts were ignored as they scrambled to secure their positions, adrenaline coursing through their veins. With a roar, Dober ignited the engine and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward as it tore through the field of grass. The tires screeched in protest as they regained traction on the road, propelling the vehicle back onto the asphalt with a jolt.The van sped away into the sunrise, leaving behind a trail of dust and chaos in its wake.
As the police sirens wailed in the distance, Dober's hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. With expert precision, he maneuvered the van through the congested streets of the city, deftly weaving in and out of traffic, his movements fluid and precise. Pitt and Dane erupted into hysterical laughter, their voices mingling with the roar of the engine as they careened around corners with reckless abandon. Bully remained stoic, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror, watching the flashing lights of the pursuing police cars with a steely resolve.
Shepherd's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his jaw tight with tension. "Come on, Dober," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Get us home. Get us back to the dog house."
Dober remained silent, his focus unwavering as he navigated the maze of streets with single-minded determination. Every turn, every maneuver was executed with flawless precision, his skill behind the wheel undeniable. Suddenly, as if by sheer luck or sheer skill, Dober managed to shake off the pursuing police cars.
The van burst into cheers, the collective euphoria palpable in the air. Pitt and Dane whooped with delight, high-fiving each other in jubilation. Bully allowed himself a rare smirk, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Shepherd let out a triumphant whoop, his voice ringing with elation as he pounded his fist against the dashboard. "That's how it's done!" he exclaimed, his adrenaline still pumping as they raced towards the safety of home.
As the van rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, Fang and the gang breathed a collective sigh of relief, their successful mission behind them. Shepherd wasted no time in issuing orders, his voice cutting through the air with authority.
"Time to unload this shit. Take the bags to the third floor guest bathroom, and dump the packages in the tub," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Fang stood there, duffel bag in hand, a puzzled expression crossing his features. "Third floor?" he questioned, his confusion evident.
Dane chuckled knowingly, shaking his head in amusement and poking Fang with his shotgun. "Oh yeah... you ain't been around long enough yet, man," he teased, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Just wait. You gon' find out."
Shrugging off his confusion, Fang followed Pitt's lead as they entered the mansion. Pitt clapped him on the back playfully as he ran past, his laughter echoing through the halls. "Yo, you slow! Slow as hell, nigga, haha!" Pitt taunted, his words punctuated by his boisterous laughter.
Fang grinned, his spirits lifted by the rush of adrenaline from their successful mission. "Ay!" he called after Pitt, his voice filled with playful rivalry.
As they navigated through the opulent halls of the mansion, Fang marveled at its grandeur. They eventually arrived at Hehrbenstrautz's private library, its walls lined with towering shelves of books. Adorning the ceiling in panoramic splendor was a familiar masterpiece: "The Creation of Adam."
"Pretty cool place, huh? One of my favorite spots in Mr. Hehrb's crib," Pitt remarked, a nostalgic sigh punctuating his words. "Gave a bitch some d in here a few times, actually." He spoke as though lost in reverie, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
Fang shook his head, chuckling softly at Pitt's candid confession. Redirecting his attention to the towering shelves of books, he marveled at their sheer magnitude. "Wow… you think he's read all these?" Fang wondered aloud, his voice tinged with awe.
Pitt scoffed dismissively. "Pssh, nahh," he replied. "He's too busy making money."
Fang nodded in agreement, admiring Hehrbenstrautz's pragmatic approach to life. "True," he conceded. Fang and Pitt leaned casually against the bookshelf, both men casting their eyes upwards in contemplation.
"I think that's what I like most about him. He's to the point — looks for opportunities, and strikes as soon as they present themselves," Fang said.
"Exactly," Pitt agreed, a grin spreading across his face. "He's the 'Multi-Million Dollar Man,' after all."
Intrigued by the nickname, Fang couldn't resist probing further. "Where did Mr. Hehrb get that nickname, anyway?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
Pitt smirked knowingly, his hand coming to rest on Fang's shoulder. "I would tell ya, but ion know if Mr. Hehrb wants you to know all dat yet," he replied cryptically, before reaching up to pull a book from the shelf above him.
To Fang's astonishment, the seemingly ordinary book revealed itself to be a cleverly disguised lever. With a click, a hidden elevator silently whirred into action, its mechanical doors sliding open to reveal a futuristic interior bathed in bright, white light. The bookshelf split apart, creating a doorway for the passengers to step inside. The sight was almost surreal, reminiscent of a scene from a sci-fi movie. Without hesitation, they entered the elevator, Pitt's hand reaching out to press the button for the third floor.
"Up, up, and away, nigga."
As the elevator ascended to the third floor, Fang couldn't shake the lingering sense of apprehension that tugged at his nerves. These were the same men who had once tossed him into a dog pit, yet here he was, learning to embrace and even enjoy the wild, opulent lifestyle of the Miami Dogma. With each passing moment, he found himself relaxing into the familiarity of his new surroundings, his grip on the duffel bag loosening as he came to terms with his newfound life.
'I don't want to go back to Hong Kong anymore,' he mused silently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
The elevator chimed, signaling their arrival on the third floor. Stepping out into the hallway, Fang's eyes widened in amazement as he took in the array of doors, each promising its own unique form of entertainment: a gym, bowling alley, movie theater, basketball court, indoor pool, game room, and even a café.
"Holy shit... how big is this mansion?" Fang marveled aloud, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Pitt chuckled in response, leading the way to a door labeled 'Guest Room.' With a flick of the switch, the cozy suite-like room was illuminated, inviting them inside. Making their way to the adjacent 'Guest Bathroom,' they were greeted by a sight of pure luxury. The bathtub, more akin to a hot tub, beckoned invitingly.
"In here," Pitt instructed, upending his bag and emptying the packages of heroin into the tub. Fang followed suit, his movements fluid as he deposited the contents of his bag.
"Leave the bags here," Pitt directed, setting his bag down beside the bathtub. Fang complied, mirroring Pitt's actions. Suddenly, Dane's voice broke the silence as he rounded the corner, his expression one of pride and camaraderie.
"Mr. Hehrb said he proud of us," Dane announced, nodding approvingly as he exchanged dap with both Fang and Pitt. "Shit, I'm proud of us too. What we did was boss, my nigga."
"Shii, we had that truck flipped. We really are some dogs," Pitt agreed, a smirk playing on his lips.
One by one, the rest of the gang filed into the room, each dumping the contents of their bags into the tub.
"Ramirez ain't gonna know what the fuck hit 'em," Shepherd proclaimed, his voice ringing with confidence as he clapped his hands together in a show of solidarity. "We the mothafuckin' top dogs in this bitch! Miami Dogma!" The gang erupted in cheers, their jubilant energy filling the room as they danced and cavorted around the bathtub brimming with heroin.
"How much you think we gon' make offa all this, Boss?" Bully, typically the silent one, interjected, his voice low and measured as always.
Shepherd's smile widened. "Me and Mr. Hehrb are gon' crunch some numbers later, but… we reckon we lookin' at about 7 million. We made off with 1500 pounds."
"El Diablo's gonna be pissed," Dane remarked, his gaze fixed on the mound of heroin packages.
Shepherd began to speak, but before he could continue, Fang interjected, his tone sharp and determined.
"Fuck El Diablo," he declared, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed their impressive haul. "Somebody's gotta put him in his place — Miami Dogma owns this city, and we'll fuck up anybody who's got a problem with that."
"Damn straight," Dober chimed in, nodding in agreement.
"Damn, kid. Didn't think you had that kinda fire in ya," Shepherd remarked, impressed by Fang's sudden assertiveness. "And you're right. As long as Ramirez thinks he belongs here, we'll just have to keep showing him that he doesn't. This is our territory — he'll learn that soon enough. Kick a stray dog enough times, and it'll leave the neighborhood."
Pitt mused, "No love in these streets for stray dogs."