As understood, they went in blazing, tying shit up, then wetting shit up! They collected the diamonds, some cash, gold bars, and more stuff. They were just stuffing shit in bags.
They blew the spot. Dynamite!
They left through the woods. ATVs, sticking to the play. Speeding, wheeling through the trees, the forty was in this nigga’s hand, rifle was over his shoulder. They hadn’t made it yet, but they were getting closer to the crib.
Heart pumping and thumping through this nigga’s chest. Army fatigue bandana wrapping his face. Fatigue pants and hoodie on. He was camouflaged with the woods. Grenades strapped to his waist. Hope was in his heart, hoping he made it back safe. Aware, knowing that danger could be lurking, unseen, blending with the trees.
As planned, they hit the crib, grabbed the goods, the dog and loaded the truck. Then this white bitch blew the house up!
She grabbed the wheel of the truck. She was the driver. The responsibility of making it was on her. So, she did the speed limit. She was hoping that the law would not be suspecting a woman.
However, she was a crook. In her mind, she was adding up what they took… millions! They would be set up properly. She was thinking about buying property in Bogota Colombia, or somewhere in the Dominican Republic. Fuck the government, was how she felt. However, if she could make it, she would take her talents somewhere else. Spain or Jamaica.
The cops were coming. Just her luck, the engine started sputtering. Her dreams could be shattered quickly.
“It’s okay, honey, don’t panic.” White boy was the guide. It was his duty to keep everyone alive. He was patient, looking and waiting, hoping that they passed by. He was playing the front of the pickup truck, snorting the coke up, and praying that this bitch didn’t choke up.
“If they pull us over, stick to the play,” said the white boy. The play was: she’d roll the window down, he’d lift the Colt up and blast the cop. He’d then take the badge, and the car would speed off.
The cop was approaching, with the lights on. He was getting closer. White boy was gripping the toast. The efficacy of the coke had his military mind taking over.
Oh Lord please don’t let him pull us over. This nigga prayed to the Lord up above. He knew that if the pigs saw his face, they would shoot him on sight. The cops had his head on the news, he was trending on all of the social sites. They wanted him dead! However, he could not die. His faith was in his gun. His trigger finger hadn’t failed him yet.
Vest on. Teflon. He pumped up his chest. He was ready for whatever including death. Heavy metal in his ear, nicotine in the air.
Ready to ride, this bitch was prepared. The truck, she wanted to gun it, take them on a chase down a dirt road that only she knew, but, the engine was sputtering. She pulled over. Only one pig. She was content with letting her husband kill this local member of the government.
The cop got out of the car, his hand was resting on his weapon. He had a hunch that the occupants of this vehicle were hairy. He called backup. He was hoping that they would be there in a hurry. Big bust!
He had a knack for this cop shit. His gut was telling him that this particular group: a white boy, a white bitch and a nigger was responsible for blowing up that stuff.
He was a racist ass cracka, and this nigga sensed it. He knew it… it was all in the cop’s walk. He was already grabbing his gun like he already suspected them.
The cop approached and the dog started growling. Grr, he hated the law like everyone else in this car. The dog barked. Roof! The pig panicked and shot the dog!

“Fuck!” The white boy yelled. This shit was already going wrong. He heard more sirens. Backup was close to arriving. The cop had the drop, he held the advantage. If the white boy tried to shoot he would get shot. So, he told his bitch to, “Go!”
Plain Jane, turned up the heavy metal death music. She put the pedal to the metal. She gassed it on them! The engine was gunning. It stopped sputtering. She was racing to freedom on a high speed chase, running from a demon.
This bitch was switching lanes back and forth. She was moving the truck down the wooden road like a horse. The cops could never catch her. The pigs were too slow, and they could never muster the courage that the coke gave her. She snorted more coke off of her elbow. She was high. It was going to be a rough ride. She punched it harder, trying to get farther away. Her diamonds would be forever or they were dying today.
Shit got hectic! As understood… Plan B. This nigga was on the truck’s bed, big weapon mounted… .50 caliber. This nigga bust it on some army shit. He was sending mini missiles at the government. The heavy metal that he was listening to had him bugging.
He was killing the government. He had gold and diamonds, he wanted to wear them. He had a bag of cash, he was thinking about the south of France, or Sicily. Big gun busting.
Doom, Doom, Doom!
The cops would never catch him. “Fuck the world,” He screamed. He was still dumping missiles in the pig’s direction. Death mission!
White boy had the grenade launcher. Fuck it! Over kill because he was an over killer. His man was dumping the .50 cal, and he was launching the grenade. The bombs were blowing chunks out of the asphalt.
The cops were increasing then decreasing. Their vehicles were flipping when their tires hit the holes in the asphalt. He was proud of his man, through practice he got his aim up.
Metal was screeching as squad cars were skidding across the asphalt. This was the white boy’s type of glory: blazing at the authorities trying to get away. He had real blood diamonds that he wanted to display in Africa. Trade them for ivory, then head to China.
“Fuck it,” the white boy grabbed the flamethrower.
The pigs were coming from everywhere!
She smashed it! This white bitch had the wheel. This driver shit … she mastered. A thought too soon. Damn, “a road block,” she whispered. And there was no way around it. So, she turned the wheel quick and drastic! The tires screeched, the truck spun, then flipped. She crashed it! 

Published by korymcclary1221

My name is Kory McClary, I am 34 years old. I am currently serving a lengthy sentence at the New Jersey State prison in Trenton, New Jersey. I am fighting for my freedom so that I may return to my family and loved ones. Yet, I know that it is a long, tough, and bitter battle to achieve that goal. But, with the grace of God Almighty, and for the sake of my family, I will fight on. I am using this blog as a medium to enhance my voice and to bring awareness to my unfair condition leading out of my unjust conviction. While spending almost all of my time in a cell, I chose to write so that I may voice the reality of my situation, because without awareness there can never be Justice...! To escape the harsh reality of prison, I use the pen to release my frustrations. I use the pen to manifest my imagination. And, most of all, I use the pen to Fight. I am fighting for my Life! Just by reading Kory McClary's Blog, you are giving my plight and my word's a voice. Thank you. Please, stay tuned...

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