Runaway Love: 1st Born

It was a Friday night in Bogotá, Columbia.  The strip was live.  There were partygoers everywhere.  The sound of Latin music could be heard for miles.  John Stephens, II, J.J, had just pulled up to the hottest nightclub on the strip with his girlfriend, Jennifer Santana.

He was the son of the top cocaine trafficker in Columbia.  Everyone knew him.  He was a baller.  He was born in the Bahamas but grew up in Columbia, because his mother and father moved there when he was just a child.

That night was a celebration of sorts.  His father had just given him complete control over one of their many cocoa plantations.  This meant that he was no longer under the wings of his father.  He was side by side with him.  He was a handsome young man.  He stood an impressive six feet, six inches tall.  His presence was overpowering wherever he went.

They were inside the club.  He went to the restroom.  Jennifer was at the bar when trouble approached.

“Excuse me miss, but do ya mind ifa dance a lika bit wit ya,” a man with a Jamaican accent and dreadlocks down to his waist said to Jennifer.  He was clearly drunk by his demeanor.

“And just who the hell are you?” she replied.

“Me name is not relevant, ya see. I an I like ya style ya see.  Come an dance pon me nah!”

“Man, please.  I suggest you leave before J.J gets back.  He is quite the jealous one.”

“Do ya know who ya tawkin ta right now?  I an I is one of da rudest Jamaican ya see dis part of de equator ya know.”

Just then J.J, walked up.  He was not pleased with the situation Jennifer was in.

“Who are you?  Baby is he bothering you?” he asked as he looked at the man.

“No baby.  Let’s just go,” Jennifer pleaded.  She knew J.J’s temper and she knew what would happen if they stayed.

“Batty boy! Run pon ya lil woman!  She ain’ shit no way!”

“Come on baby let’s just go,” Jennifer said as she tried to avoid a confrontation. But, before she could say another word, J.J had pulled out a gold plated .45 and pistol-whipped the man, who didn’t know what hit him.  Every time the man tried to get up J.J would hit him again.  There was blood everywhere.  Two bouncers rushed over.

“J.J, calm down man!  That mutha fucka’s done,” one of the bouncers yelled.

“Yeah get him out of my sight,” J.J said and kicked the man.

The bouncers took the man outside and left him in the alley at the back of the club.  He was severely beaten.

“Damn!  I think I broke my finger,” J.J said as he held his right hand.

“Let me see baby.  I told you it was nothing,” Jennifer said as she looked at his hand.

“I can’t stand them mutha fuckas!  They always try to run shit!”

“Come here, baby. Let’s get some ice for your hand.”

“Yeah, it’s throbbing really bad.”

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