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The Crown's Perception
Book Title: The Crown's Perception
Alter Ego Series; followed by Nalledge Born, Prince and Born Wise
Author: Sahib Reeves AKA Peace M.
Publication: Gemini Syndrome, ½ Real ½ Dramatic.
Why they call me the Crown?
Well. Everyone goes through a number of stages in life. There are certain aspects of responsibility. Certain levels of wisdom. Every aspect of life has it's stages. I was a man-child. Responsibilities came early in my life. Age 8 I was wise. I was born wise. So now, at the age of 24, I feel I'm in the midst of my highest level. I believe that, other than God Himself, there's none above me, so I'll never bow down to anyone. I don't care if he's the King of all Kings, I'm above him, and the only thing positioned above a king of kings is his Crown. So respect my position. Polish me off, and watch me shine.
(Narrator) He use to call himself, “Envy N.B. The Nalledge Born”, they called him Nalledge for short. He was small time. Had little a hood-fame, but it was anywhere he went; State to State; Coast to Coast. He'd make himself known in a some-what humble manner. Only 5'11 but possessed a presence and intellect that made him seem much bigger and powerful. His confidence, courage and “By Any Means” attitude is what got him his reputation in the street-life, and what, unknown to him at the time, would make him the most successful businessman in both the street and corporate world. Respected and considered the Boss of Bosses. King of all Kings. Nalledge Born was only the beginning to the legend of Jahlil's 360° rounded alter ego......... Crown. The core of all Kingdoms.
Chapter 1 – 2009:
Any and everybody that truly takes the time to really get to know me will know that anything I do is naturally calculated. I've always been a planner. How I see it is, everything in life involves numbers and all numbers connect. That connection, depending on the situation, can cause a certain reaction; like my body temperature, your body temperature, the temperature of the surrounding environment plus the zip code we're in at the time that we meet, can alter our reaction towards one another. You could look at me the wrong way at that particular moment and it could become killer season. It's all math. So the best way to move in life is by analyzing and calculating every step as if you see numbers. This is automatic for me. It's why wherever I go, no matter how many different times I've been there, I always adopt a new alter ego. I got more names than a contracted killer. All with different faces so I can adapt to my surroundings and read everyone to see them for who they really are. And it's almost like I'm able to see their futures. My perceptions are usually on point. This is why it's no surprise to find my wife in the front seat of my cousin's fucked up car with his little dick in her mouth. They're the perfect couple, like Bonnie & Clyde or Romeo & Juliet. Both destined to die together. Both destined to die tonight. But in order to understand my perception; let me tell you how we got to this point. It all started last year........
Chapter 2 – 2008:
Jail Central The marshals expedited me from Great Meadow Corrections in Comstock, New York, to see about a murder case down here in Charlotte. I'm being held at the Central Mecklenburg County Jail. New math. I adapt. I call up my father to let him know of my arrival and told him to tell Tara to bring my sons to see me. I really just wanted to see Tamar and Tyree. She's been driving me crazy trying to discreetly push Reymahn on me. Every envelope I do get and open has something he'd done in daycare or wherever, like he's the only child or some shit, but I see pass her game. Her desperation only makes my doubts stronger. So I was hoping to see the other two boys, but you could guess who she brought first... Trying to sport the wedding ring after she's fucked half the niggas in Charlotte. “You must think I'm a fool.” I told her. “Why you say that?” “Coming up here with that ugly ass ring on, knowing damn well it's off as soon as you leave.” I'm looking at her and the ring and I'm thinking, it's funny how things tend to look different when they no longer mean shit to you. She looked like she was stunned for a second, then came back with, “I'm wearing it to keep these niggas away. I don't got time for these niggas......” All I'm hearing is, “Blah, blah, blah........Yap, yap.” She'd just had a baby by a nigga who she'd basically abandoned me for until he commenced to putting his foot in her ass and she remembered who she'd rather be with. Good Ol' Jahlil ... She must think I'm Super-Save-A-Hoe. If so, she never knew me, but I play along. Anyway, I tell her to put some money on my books. I usually wouldn't ask because that's my biggest pet peeve. I'd rather do without or put something real in ya face and make you give it to me. Asking you puts you in a position of power and I prefer to be the one holding that position, but for some reason, I took a slight joy in demanding her to put money on my account and hearing her submit. I know she feels guilty, like she owes me for how she's doing me, so I use her. I use to love this chick; enough to fight for her, marry her and play daddy to her son, Tamar. Now when I look at her, all I see is bullshit. Everything she says smell like crap with toothpaste. It'll never be the same because all I do with shit is shit on it and flush. The rest of the visit went just like the rest of our relationship. Lame, with me trying to keep it hype. Tara barely speaks at all. She always let's me do all the talking, and it's not like she's a “Down Bitch”, 'cause if I ask her to do something most likely it wont get done. So the only reason I continue talking is because there's no point in wasting a visit staring at each other in awkward silence. I take her silence as an act of someone phony. I know she talks and she know I know she talks. I've been with her almost 5 years and I know she runs her mouth talking shit all day, and I know she has a lot to say to me, but she'd rather talk behind my back. I thought a relationship was about communication. I mean, how can you relate if you don't communicate? Monologues are for when I'm giving orders. I guess if I was the type, I'd have to pimp her ass 'cause she's the type of bitch that needs someone to keep her ass in pocket, but I'm not that type, so she's a waste of my time. She's lucky I still even care for her. The entire duration of our visit, this wide-body muthafucka from my pod was in the booth right next to me staring all in Tara's face. Usually that wouldn't phase me because, I'm a playa and I know niggas gonna sweat my hoes. Tara's 5'7 , about 135, caramel. She kind of favor Keyshia Cole in the face wih some big ass titties and a decent little phatty on her back. She's gotten a little thicker since having that other nigga's seed, so toast to that niggas cause please believe I will be smashing the pussy upon my release. She aint the finest, but you'd wanna hit it too, but this nigga was being real disrespectful with his. Trying to catch her eye, nodding and shit. So I played it off and said, “Oh yea, Family said he know you.” She didn't even realize this was the first visit and there was no way he'd been able to identify her before hand. I'm just getting here. I just wanted to see her reaction. If she knew him I'd understand his issue, but she looked at him like he was stupid, “Hell no! From where?!” I gave a questioning expression and said, “Maybe ya'll met before.” “I don't know that nigga!” She insisted with an attitude. Satisfied, I dropped it, “Fuck it then.” Telling myself, his respect gotta be put in check. I mean, who the FUCK he think he is? Better yet, who the FUCK do he think I am that he could just try me like this. Well, I'm the right one for his madness. Me and homey, whose last name I found out was Flood, visit ended at the same time, so the officer took us back together. As soon as we stepped out of the booth we sized each other up. He was a big muthafucka compared to me. I'm only 5'11, 162 to his 6'2 at least 220 pound frame, but his body don't impress me. I'm dumb when it comes to threats. I lack the fear. I played it cool all the way down the corridor. He must've thought I was scared because him smirking after after we got in the pod, and he walked away. Now, I know I'm down here trying to beat a murder case and I should avoid all the bullshit I can, but he disrespected me, and respect's the most important factor in life's progression. I have to make him understand this. To my advantage, his cell was on the second floor with mine. He's 32 and I'm in 36. I'm gonna play possum, and I'm gonna catch this nigga sleeping. For the remainder of the night I stayed low-key in my cell while watching his every move. He's lucky I don't possess a banger, 'cause I'd probably open up his floodgates, cause I dont take threats lightly, but I'll get his ass right when he least expect it. This is when I see him go to the restroom. No one else in there but him. So I creeps out my cell, sneakers strapped up, and as soon as he flushes and open the stall door, I hook off on him, catching him in the nose. The few seconds he was stunned, I wailed on him with blow after blow to the body and chin. He dropped to a knee but didn't go all the way down. I tried to kick him in the face but he sought my lig and rushed me, scooping me over his shoulder and slamming me on the floor. I'm surprised the officer didn't hear anything. But shit, maybe he did. They love action too. By this time, a small group was in the restroom watching. Most of them probably hoping I get my New York ass kicked. They can't stand us for some reason. While I was on the floor I seen Flood pull a shank from his sock and my adrenaline accelerated. I jumped up and tackled his legs, picked him up and slammed him on his back. His head hit the sink causing him to drop his shank. Trying to take advantage of the opportunity, I went for it but he grabbed my shirt and kicked the shank out of my reach. I stomped his face and someone kicked the shank back towards me. I grabbed it and as Flood charged me, I jammed it in the side of his neck , yanked it to the front and snatched it out. It didn't have to go there, but it was me or him. Threatening me's a deadly game. He opened that door. I opened his gates. Not thinking straight, I'm in a zone trying to rush out of the restroom when this kat I heard the everybody call, Black blocked my way and told me to give him the shank. I pause and look at this nigga. What the fuck he want with the dirty banger?! I don't even know this dude. I see him around the pod or sometimes I'd catch him singing and I'll chill because, to be real, the man's like a Dave Hollister, Anthony Hamilton type. He's official with the vocals, but this dont make him known to me. Short on seconds, I make a quick decision based on pure instinct, slide him the shank and keep moving. I figure if he get caught with it, fuck it. I don't know shit. Little did I know; Black was known as the Black Angel aka the Grim Reaper. Niggas say they call him that because you'd barely see him until niggas life need to be took. I'm like, yeah whatever. Sound like some movie shit to me and this nigga look as friendly as as a teddy bear but, Black flushed the banger and made muthafuckas keep their mouths shut. His “weight” was up. I had to respect it. We didn't really holla for a few days until the heat died down. Nobody would talk so they just buried Flood and moved on. They could care less about another dead inmate. Much less about another dead nigger. When Black and I had a chance to politic, I realized he was a real flip mode, down to earth, cool brother like myself and I expressed to him my gratitude for what he did. I was so in a zone, I wasn't thinking about where or how I was gonna get rid of the weapon. That big muthafucka had me worked up and I was reckless. Being reckless is all the way against my swagger. Black didn't realize that his actions made him a friend for life. I didn't know then that, that bond was forming the most powerful alliance in the history of the U.S.. Like it was decreed to happen.
Jerome Black. About 5'9, 220 lbs. Brown skin and rugged looking but get all the baddest hoes just off his demeanor. When I said he was like a teddy bear, I didn't that, that's what his hoes called him, and that's a front. He's more like Chucky. He got hoes ready to ride for him. Now that's G. The perfect nigga to ride with me. Black's in here fighting the same charge as me. They're claiming he put the 4-5th to a nigga's ribcage and blew it inside-out. The difference between his case and mine is he has a co-defendant. Beside that, they have nothing. His qualifications are needed, but do he really wanna be blessed into my Kingdom? Because, with the Crown on your head, there's no turning back................. But, I guess we'll have to see.
Wednesday comes back around. It's visit day. I'm chilling in my cell cause that's what I do. I really don't come out until the evening because then I could have the Rec Yard to myself and get my work-out in. It's all part of my therapeutic process. I stay in my cell dreaming and planning meet of the day. Pray 5 times. Read. Take a shit at least 3 times and work out. On the weekends when we get the clippers, I sit in the chair and get freshened for the week to come. It's a repeated process. The only thing different about my day is my state of mind and the face I may be showing. So far, things' been going pretty smooth. Ever since that episode with Flood and my link with Black, my respect level has been at an ultimate high. My pops and Tara put a nice amount of greenbacks on my account so I'm able to eat good. Niggas seen my commissary come in yesterday and been trying to be my friend. I'm a giving guy so if you're hungry and I got it, you can eat. I'm a good person until you change that. I got a lot of niggas trying to get in, but there's very few I let in my circle because I aint feeling the way a lot of these clowns move. It's like they're natural snitches. They point you out before they even realize what's going on. We got the Deputy Inmates; the ones who try harder to be an officer than the officer. This being the case, I just cit back and watch. Analyzing these niggas. As long as I don't feel they're a threat, they're good. They know this. When I look at my history, I realize I move with a sort of calculated recklessness, but yet, no one seems to try me. Riker's Island for example; any prison or jail in New York now, is mostly Blood populated, due to shady, none gangster, C.O. Affiliated shit, gangster war shit or the use of enough pressure to crack a weak-minded rival gang member and turn them over. Smoke cleared, the system is Red, so whenever a Crip has the misfortune of being processed it's usually bad for them. Every nigga even suspected of being affiliated with Crip that goes to a certain Mod or Gallery on the Island or any New York State Facility, get mud-holes stomped in them. Me, telling niggas I use to be affiliated, had Bloods trying to recruit me. Riker's, Greene, and Comstock. Where's my mud-holes? I guess it's the science in the human anatomy. Maybe I give off a certain energy. Either way, shit like this tell me, I'm destined for something great in my life. What? I don't know, but niggas better get in where they can fit in. I'm just like the Red Hen; you don't contribute, you don't get a plate. Family or not, fuck you. Now is the perfect time for me to see who's real and who's a mirage, and judging by what I've seen so far, other than myself, I never knew real. “Roger's, visit!” The officer calls me about 9:30pm. I was in the Rec Yard going hard cause I knew she was coming and I planned to stunt a bit. I just got a fresh cut on Saturday and shaved any extras yesterday. I greased and brushed out the naps, throw on the fresh white Barker's I just got from commissary and ride out. When I get to the booth I don't see Tara immediately, but I see some nigga looking at me smiling, then I noticed Tara's behind him. For a second, that rage kicked in and I had a flash back of Flood and his lesson on respect, until I looked closer and realized the muthafucka favored my father. A smile crept across my face because I haven't seen my cousin, Kevin since I was about 11 living with my Grandmother in South Carolina. So this is a surprise. I slide in the booth and put my fist to the window between us. His fist meets mine and we pick up the phone, “What's up, Big Cuz?!!” I ask, excited. He and I use to be close from what I remember. “What's good, Dobbie?!” He smiles, calling me my childhood nickname. “Nigga aint no Dobbie here. Dobbie's long gone. What's up with you? Looking like a real New Yorker and shit.” My cousin was a real country ass, funny looking muthafucka when we were younger. Now, he look like he be getting all the hoes. He rocked a navy blue NY fitted, matching flight jacket, white tee, blue jeans, construction Timbs with a gold chain and pinky ring. He kinda favored a thug. “Yeah, I'm just coming from Long Island. I was out there for a minute, kicking it with aunt Trina.” He said. We played catch up while I ask about the family and find what's happening out in the world. A lot's changed since last I was out in '05. I see Tara standing off to the side looking at me so I tell Kev to let me holla at her. She grabs the phone but we don't talk about nothing. I ask about the children, the family, ask about my pops and see if she's heard from my moms. She'd answer but that'll be it, so I asked her what her problem was. Why she even come if, after all these years of not seeing me, she still has nothing to say. What's the point? She says she's just tired. Well, I'm bored so I tell her to put money on my books and let me speak back to Kev. Kevin and I start talking about how his pockets been fucked up and he can't seem to get a job for shit. I'm a businessman and once you bring up an issue with money, I may have a solution. I told Kev I was gonna write him and put him on to a way to get some easy cream. He said he was game. For the rest of our time we continued to speak on the events of my old stomping grounds. He said he sees Cease around a lot. Cease is a nigga I pretty much created in my Nalledge Born days. When I met him, he was dressed in blue jean overalls with a red plaid shirt, smoking Marlboros. Now, style don't necessarily make a man, but DAMN!! Cease is a black ass, straight out of Africa looking muthafucka I met at Central Piedmont on my first attempt to get my GED. He said his name was Seamore, and he looked like he was straight off a plantation or farm, chewing on a hay stick with a straw hat on. I put him under the wing, told him wasn't nobody calling him, Seamore and I called him “C”, which eventually turned into Cease. Few weeks later, you would've thought Cease was 100% hood the way his whole swagger and gear switched up. He even switched from Marlboros to Newports. It was magical. It had to be the weed. Anyway, Cease's baby mother is cousin to this thick, sexy, chocolate chick name, Monique, I use to fuck with. Monique was my rider bitch. It was thug love between us. She knew me better than my own wife and I wanted to connect with her. Now, to see who niggas really are under the “front” they wear, I usually throw them a simple challenge. Small, but their reaction's important for my analysis. Yes, I really wanted to see Monique's fine ass but most of all, I wanted to see what my cousin did when I asked him, “Yo, next time you see cease, tell him to let Monique know I'm back and need her to get in touch with me. But don't tell Tara.” He agreed “I got you, Cuzzo”. I could look in his eyes and tell he thought he had something to his advantage, hmph. I just smile. Really I could care less whether or not Tara knows. She know she has no say so over shit I do as many times as she'd fucked up. I just threw that out there because funny-style niggas would tell and try to get closer to the pussy, and that light went off in my head with Big Cuz, so, I planted the bait. I was hoping he got me, Monique, but I knew better. Instincts don't lie. The officer came and signaled that the visit was over. Tara jumped on the phone before I got off and told me she loves me. I don't know what to believe. I know I no longer feel the same, but out of habit I say, “I love you, too. Be safe.” Fist to window for cuzzo and I leave the booth flirting with the female officer. That night I wrote Kev with the money plan and P.S.'d for him not to forget about contacting Monique for me. I tasted blood on the flap of the envelope as I licked ans sealed it shut. I had a fucked up vibe that night.
I woke up about 4 in the morning. I had a bugged out dream that I can hardly remember. All I know is I was at a park looking at a burning car, and I remember gunshots and a scream. It was wild. I had about an hour before the C.O. Start hollering about breakfast so I brushed my teeth and prepared myself to make a quick prayer, asking Allah for His Mercy and Forgiveness. The way my mind is set, I need all the forgiveness I can get. For my past, present and future. When I was done I did a few push-ups and shadow boxed before the C.O. screamed, “Food cart in the slider!!!” This is an everyday routine in jail. The system don't seem to know they're creating the worst kind of monster. An intelligence one with plans, that's trained to be up first and down last. I ate breakfast, sent out the letter and chilled in my cell reading the “Autobiography of Malcolm X” until shift change. I've never looked up to any man, because nowadays too many men are representing weakness. Women are taking over the game. I don't respect weakness, so Malcolm X was a brother with a soul I feel I inherited. His mind state was then, how mine is now. I have the highest level of respect for the brother; and Denzel Washington for being able to play the hell out of him in the movie. Shift change came around and this ol' retarded ass C.O. name, Wallace comes in. Can't nobody stand this dude, I believe I can't stand him the most and I know he feels the same about me. Our beef started last week when he was working the night shift. The pod had been locked down for the night and some kats in the back was clowning Wallace, calling him a “Dick-Head” and to be real, this muthafucka do have a funny shaped head; put with his skinny ass body and the way he stands makes him look just like a walking limped dick. So I couldn't help it, I busted out laughing and I guess he thought he was picking a herb since I was new because in the morning the sergeant comes and takes my visit for the next week. I'm heated, telling the sergeant I didn't do shit but he tells me to write a grievance which never works, turns his back on me and leaves. Although I'm mad as hell at Wallace, I calmly ask for a grievance form. He tells me no, I'd have to get it later. I ask again and he sucks his teeth like a little bitch and pushes it over the counter causing it to fall on the floor. Now I lose it. I'm not giving him the small, simple ass satisfaction of watching me pick it up. His fagot ass. “Muthafucka!!! Do I look like a bitch to you?!” He wont look at me, but still tries to act tough in front of the female officers standing behind him. “I already gave you a form, now go sit down!” I look down and tell him, “I'm not picking that up. I need another one.” The female officers were giggling. He repeats, “Go sit down!” but he's still trying not to look at me. I smell pussy so I calm down and say, “You know what, Wallace. Remove your badge and equipment and come to the Rec Yard.” All he could do was repeat himself. He was scared to death, this is just his job to act tough. I live this shit. I was serious as hell. I was gonna beat Wallace's ass. Either that or get my ass beat, but I would've respected him more if he wasn't such a tough piece of pussy. The females were still looking and giggling. One of them handed me another form and I went on my way. I get what I want, I don't care who gives it. Wallace was heated. I looked at him, catching his eye, then at the Rec Yard to let him know it can be done. Whenever. So, i knew it would be a beef today, and just as I thought it, it happened. He came in with some rookies-in-training. I guess he thought he was gonna shine. I don't know why he thought that. Almost everybody wear their armbands inside-out because there's a lot of Fed cases around and nobody wants to advertise their identity, but Wallace waits until he gets to my name to feel the need to say something about it. “Turn you armband around so I can see the name.” Not feeling him right now, I show him the name without turning it completely over, and I keep walking. Calling me back, he says, “I said turn it all the way over and show me the name!” I'm thinking, it's too early in the morning for this shit. I can't stand him! I wanted to hit him bad but I looked at Black and reading my eyes, he shook his head. Taking a deep breath, I flipped the band all the way over and got as close as I could to Wallace's face and threw my arm in front of his eyes so he'd get a close look. Obviously he didn't the first time. I was taunting him. He still tried to stand firm but the fear was all in his eyes. I stared him down with murder in my eyes the whole orientation. The whole day afterwards, he didn't say shit to me. I wanted him to, cause I get to a point where I don't give a fuck and that's exactly where I was right then. It was after noon, I made my Asr prayer when I see Black in the Rec Yard. He and a few other kats were out there singing, I rolls out there because music is also therapeutic and since they don't let us watch any music channels, I gotta stay tuned in to “Black Radio”. A cute little female officer came into relieve Wallace for his break so everybody turned it up a bit and started showing off. Black took it back and sung Dru Hill's, “These are the Times”. Shit, everybody sang along on that one, including me. I ain't no singer but I get my point across. We thought we were an R&B group or something, looking at the officer, making gestures to the song. Fronting, but she was loving it. I pulled Black to the side. I'd just gotten my Discovery from my lawyer and from what it's telling me, the prosecutors have nothing but a witness who's threatening to testify. I relayed this to him; “Yo, I believe I know who it is because from what I can remember, it was only one person around that night. I know the nigga and his family. I need to know if you got anybody on the outside who'd handle that for me off G.P.?” He was quiet for a minute. Thinking. That's why I fuck with this dude. He doesn't just run his mouth, talking about shit he ain't capable of. He looks at me for a second and says, “I'm pretty sure my nigga'll do it. It's his MO.” I'm like, “Bet, but I need to make sure it gets done proper like. You dig? I can't afford no slip ups.” He gave me a serious look before giving me a pound and replying, “No question, Bruh. Say no more.”
His name's Anthony Mays. A spanish, black mixed kat from Harlem, NY. Some people call him, Harlem. Others call him, Tony Ski Mask. I hear he's a loose cannon. Down for whatever. He'd kidnap you, kill your moms and rape your seed all while you watch and wont give a fuck. Sick. But perfect for the job. It's nothing personal, strictly business. I can't risk a witness snitching. I hate snitches, so this plan's intoxicating like Crown Royal. So I make Harlem my Knight. Give a description and send him on his mission. Somebody's got to die.
Evening shift change comes around and this beautiful officer walks in. I'm awe struck. During her whole orientation I didn't hear a word she said. Not even her name. So I ask somebody and find out it's Ms. Shine. This name was perfect. She carried a light that could brighten anyone's day. This woman was special. “Carpe Diem” popped in my head. I needed to seize this moment.
Ms. Shine's Analysis:
Officer Shine's all I know for now. 5'4 about 130lbs in all the right places. Caramel skin. Beautiful smile. Sexy eyes. Gorgeous. I heard she use to have dreads, now she keeps a short cut and is the only female I've known that still looks perfect. Her style's just what I need. Keeps it real but she's a sweetheart. Perfect height. Perfect skin. Perfect body. Just perfect. Time to up my game. Polish my frame. Because a Crown needs it's Shine. This woman is mine.
I've never felt this way before. This lady has me mesmerized. When she walked in, everything around me disappeared and all I saw was her. I could've sworn I heard Maxwell singing about being “Fortunate”. She seemed to be surrounded by the moon and the stars, walking on a cloud toward me in a baby blue dress with a slit in the leg revealing sexy, firm thighs, wearing open-toed heels, showing feet that are suppose to be dipped in honey and savored like candy. I'm infatuated, seeing myself lacing her with all the finest things in life. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm going against my own G–Code, Never sweat a hoe. But she's different somehow. I can feel it. The whole night I was fronting. Hanging out anywhere she'd be able to see me. I felt like a damn school crush, so I took a different approach. Slid up to my cell and wrote a letter to her, expressing how I feel. I didn't want to risk getting caught and getting in some shit so I was gonna have to remain anonymous. I fell asleep and awoke around 4:30 that morning. It was so serious I had a dream that Ms. Shine and I were married, she was pregnant and we were living like royalty. So, I wrote another letter, this time based on the dream:
Ms Shine, I dreamt you were my wife. And, I don't know if it was a prophetic vision, or if it was just somehow inspired by the way I feel about you. But, it felt real. And, it's unfortunate to know that my Impression of you and your's of me, may be total opposites due to my current situation. It hurts even more to know that this opportunity may never come back around if we don't seize it now. It's also very possible that you may already be involved as beautiful as you are, and I respect that I have to. But I can guarantee you, that if I ever got the chance to sweep you off your feet and take you to Cloud 9, we'll never descend. You're my “Dream Girl”, like Beyonce, Jennifer Hudson and them, but although we can live like a movie my heart is real. I had to try and seize this moment.
I wanted to remain anonymous for my own securities because, although I couldn't see her being the type, she could flip and next thing I know, I have a Sexual Harassment charge, which is way against my style, but at the same time, I wanted her to know. I needed her to know. So, I got creative with numbers and ended the letter with;
2 4 6 6 10
( _ _ )
2, 4, 6, 6, 8, 10. Even numbers adding up to my cell number. 36. This way I could deny it if I had to. I hated doing it like this because I usually don't make the first approach but I would've at least preferred to speak to her face to face. A letter feels so elementary, but I have no choice right now and I can't let this moment pass and be asking myself, what if, later. So I folded the letter, put her name on it and after breakfast I dropped it on her desk while she wasn't looking. Everybody was feeling this woman. Usually I dont help these officers with shit, but after breakfast, I was right along with the “Deputy Inmates”, helping prepare for shift change. I did my part, so I played it cool while sneaking glances to see if she was reading my little love letter. Niggas was holding her up trying to spit some whack ass game. Asking all her personal business and shit, but when she get back to her podium, I peeped her reading it. I was ecstatic.
Ms. Shine didn't come back until the next week. I still haven't gotten a reply from Kevin and my visit was gone for the week but I was still chilling, doing my routine shit. Then she made an announcement during her orientation that crushed me. She switched to officer mode and announced, “Let me get one thing straight. Some of ya'll seem to get it twisted and think I;m your friend or your girlfriend. I am neither! So don't be trying to holla or ask anything about my personal life. I wont keep secrets so don't slide me any notes. Don't call me baby, shorty or sweetheart. I'm an officer and you will address me as such or don't address me at all!” Damn that hurt, but I recouped. I waited until about 10:00, when no one was in her face and told her that I didn't mean any disrespect by it but it was me that slid her the letter. To my surprise she says, “Oh, I didn't know it was you.” So I asked, “Did you read it?” She said she hadn't, that she only gave it to her sergeant. She was fronting because I seen her read it but I understood her position. She said, “You have to understand, this is my place of business. If we were outside it would've been different because you seem like a really nice guy.” I just smile and say “I feel you and I respect that. I just wanted you to know I didn't mean any wrong. I was just speaking truth.” She nods as another admirer walks up to ball block, so I spin off to the Rec Yard. I was in. Now, if I'm lucky enough to bump into her in the town, she'll already know what it is and we can skip that part. I'm cool. So, as if I never felt the way I felt, I continue to be cool. I made my move. Now, I'm gonna give her time to make hers. The Art of Seduction.
Some brothers were in the TV area watching the news and I happened to catch the anchor's report: “A family of 3 were found murdered in their North Charlotte home today. Police says, Carl Phillips was found dead along with his wife and 16 year old son this morning. They were bound together, shot in the chest 3 times each and set afire. Police have no leads on a suspect.........” All I could say was, “damn”. R.I.P. Carl Phillips was the nigga gonna snitch on me.
It's the week after last. Exactly a week after Carl's demise. I feel kind of bad for the wife and child but I could give a fuck about Carl. He was gonna send me to jail for life without any remorse, not even considering the circumstances that may have caused me to do what I had to do. This world is built on the “Survival of the Fittest” concept. Kill or be killed. Nobody thinks about what may have caused the next man to act as he did. What would they have done in my situation? Live that moment to die or be willing to die in order to live? I'm not a murderer, but I follow the unwritten law of the 48 Laws of Power and the 5th Amendment. The police are allowed to kill an innocent man over a wallet or for sticking his arms out the window when told to do so, just because the officer felt like their lives were in danger. They always walk free. The government give only the government the benefits of their constitution. Well fuck the government and anyone who feel they were put here to judge someone else. I'll die before I live on my knees. I'm never gonna hide this fact. You're either the type to fold under pressure or react. No time for remorse or regret. Rare like a black diamond. I'm the type to rise above the pressure and shine.
I get my visit back today, so Tara should be coming after she gets off work but I never know with her. She's inconsistent. She'll start something, do it for a little while then just give up. So I know not to rely on her for too long. But I'm good because I just received a letter from my Public Defender stating what I already knew, about the State no longer having any evidence against me do to an unfortunate tragedy that took place so they would have to dismiss the case. My next stop's to go back to New York, finish off my year and I'm paroling back down here. For me, Charlotte's a gold mine. I'm a gold digger. The officer calls me for a visit and I decided to keep this bit of information to myself. When I'm brought to the booth, I see Tara brought Kevin again. Kevin picks up the phone and ask what happened with my visit last week. I told him about Wallace and how I clowned him. Then I get serious and ask him if he received my letter;
“Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you face to face about” he says, and continues, “I'm gonna keep it real with you , Cuzzo. I don't trust you, but it's nothing personal. I just don't trust anybody, family or not. A lot of family's fucked me over, including my own moms and now your father's trying to play me for a few G's. I can't trust nobody.”
I understand his being cautious but scared don't make money. I don't trust his ass neither but I'm a risk taker.
I let him continue, “If I did this, I'd have to wait until my brother gets out, because I'm not doing it without him. Plus it's too hot, so if I'm gonna do it, you have to let me do it my way.”
He's pretty much asking me for my blessings. He respect's a Crown position. I'm ready to grant him leeway until he says his next statement and make my antennas rise.
“I'm not going back to jail for nobody... Nobody!”
The way he said it and looked at me just didn't sit right. My instincts kicked in and I recall my suspicions on how he may have gotten released 4 years early on a 7 year drug charge. He says some type of technicality. I say, bullshit, and his last statement was all I needed to hear. Then he topped it off by telling me,
“I'm gonna start getting this crack money again......”
Is this dude serious?
My letter was only telling him how to turn some regular weed into some exclusive so he'd be able to triple his profits, and since he mentioned he's trained in cutting hair, I told him he could start a “Hood Shop”. All the hustlers he know could holla at him for a quick cut and some bud. He could save up to invest into his own barbershop. That's my mindset. My focus is money, legit or not. I'm a businessman, by any means but that don't mean I'm just gonna make any dumb move. Niggas know the crack game is super hot. Muthafuckas snitching left and right, up top and down low, right now. I'm fucking with bud! The slow but for sure money. I believe it's not about the product, but how you market and distribute it. If I can triple my profit, why wouldn't I? Especially if I were more likely to get away with it. I'm a hustler from the soul. I'd sell Saturday to Friday and Tuesday to Monday. Taking advantage of their only means for a day off. Advertise a Fish Fry with so much conviction, the fish would wanna come jump straight into the fire. I get it By Any Means, BAM. And if you don't buy my product voluntarily, I'll put the “hammer” to your skull to help you change your mind.
Something's gonna give.
Jay told me, “Being broke was childish.” I was born grown.
Kevin's crying about the heat but he wants to jump in the fire. He's older than me but young minded. He ain't making no sense so I tell him to let me speak to Tara.
As soon as he hands her the phone she says, “What you asking about that bitch for?”
For a minute I didn't know who or what she was talking about. My mind was elsewhere.
So I said, “Who?!”
She sucks her teeth and roll her eyes as if she was putting on a show for Kevin and it dawned on me. She was talking about Monique. I shut that down quick, “What the fuck you care? All them dicks you sucking. Don't be coming at me like you're built like that. You're gonna fuck around and get ya feelings hurt!!”
She sucks her teeth again and says, “Whatever.” Then goes back to her normal quiet shit.
Kevin took the jewel but couldn't shine with it. He failed the test. I can't fuck with him.
“Put Kevin back on.” I told her, frustrated. I can't stand a weak man. As soon as he's on the phone, I say, “I can't fuck with you. I see you're confused and weak minded........”
“Fuck you talki......” He tries to cut me off but I cut back in,
“Hold on. I respected your time. This is mine.” He reluctantly let me continue, “When I told you about Monique and asked you not to tell Tara, it was only a test. I could give a fuck whether or not Tara knows. I just wanted to see the type of nigga you are, and......”
“Nigga I.......” He tries to cut me off again. Pissed off, I demand,
“Nigga, shut the fuck up and let me finish!! See I can tell you're a sensitive muthafucka. You the type of funny-acting nigga trying to take a nigga's pussy cause you can't get your own and you hating!”
“Muthafucka ain't nobody trying to take your girl!!!” He stands up trying to seem tough. “Nigga please. Sit ya ol' punk ass down.”
He still ranting and raving, “You think you gangster cause you locked up. Pop that shit when you get out!” Tara didn't think I was gonna beat my charge. She told me herself, maybe he feel the same. I smirk and tell him, “Nigga, you soft. Stop trying to front. You wanna fuck her, got the fuck ahead. By now she might cause ya dick to fall off. If you even have one, you pussy!!” He slams the phone on the receiver, pointing his fingers at me like a gun. He must really believe I'm not coming home because that's the wrong gesture to make. He never poked or popped nothing but he's threatening me. Hmph. Deadly game. Tara picks up the phone and I tell her, “Tell your man he better be about that gun play he claiming. You should warn him thatI'm 'bout it!! You better talk to him.” She asks me why I'm tripping but all the commotion made the officer end the visit before I decided to respond. Stupid muthafuckas. Family or not, that nigga just signed his Death Certificate. Blood's thicker than water? Shit. We gonna find out if it's too thick to leak.
That night I couldn't sleep. I don't play with guns, and finger or not, he pointed one at me. He's gonna learn his lesson. His final one............ Coincidentally, that morning, the marshals arrived to take me back to New York. I hollered at Black and anybody else I fucked with. Switched from oranges back to greens and was on my way. It was the beginning of the end of my mission. With more to come..........
1 Year Later
Chapter 7: Charlotte, N.C. March' 09
Whenever or whatever I plan always goes accordingly. It's like it's inevitable. This is why I'm back like cooked crack. Back here in Charlotte, and this time instead of being dressed in orange with an armband and handcuffs, I'm immaculate in a brown Giovanni suit with a light brown silk shirt. No tie. Top 2 buttons loose to show off my solid chest and a simple but classy gold and diamond chain. Brown, gold framed Prada shades. Gold and diamond watch, pinky ring and light brown leather Prada shoes. Bossin'. I usually wouldn't rock gold because to me, it gives a dark skinned brother like myself, the look of illegitimacy, and I don't need the heat. But, since I left, I've stayed connected with my homey, Black and I told him that me and another homey was gonna slide over there to see him. I wanted him to see that I wasn't just some ol' fly bum ass nigga talking shit in jail. I gets money. I've been out since January. As soon as I got to Charlotte's bus depot, I called up my Muslim brother, Qabir.
Qabir Jabril Muhammad. 6'4, 230lbs. From A.C., New Jersey. I met him while in Jail Central A good brother but dangerous to his enemies. An expert in torture. Professional at making statements. Some call him by his middle name, Jabril because he loves to send deadly messages to any and all who consider trying him. I have nothing but love and loyalty for this brother. I Crown him King and bless him with a Kingdom. I didn't tell no one other than Qabir and Black about my release. I prefer it this way for now because haters always gotta see a nigga on his feet or they'll try to keep him down. Qabir rolled up to the bus station, stuntin' in a candy apple red, Cadillac Escalade sitting high on chrome 24's with red gems and mirror tented windows. I seen the truck pull up but I didn't pay it no mind because I never sweat the next man's shit. It's against my G-Code, but that was until I seen that it was “Q” stepping out with two bad ass broads. One he introduced as his wife, Keisha, and her friend, Tameika. I had to give it to Q, he was stuntin' hard. I felt like a straight bum wearing some tight ass shit the prison gave me, with only $40 to my name. The women got in the back and I threw my bag back there and hopped in the front. I was happy as hell to see my boy. In jail we automatically clicked, both being from up north and all. Plus he had an easy going attitude and could be silly as hell sometimes. I showed him love and we rode out. I didn't say too much during the ride, I just enjoyed the music and scenery. I had plans. Since '05 I've been planning, building an ambitious fire. This air of freedom's like napalm. I'm ready to Flame On!!! Q's house looked like a mini mansion. It had a 3-car garage that had a blue , 2005 Corvette and a black Chevy Tahoe, also sitting on chrome 24's, parked inside. In the house he had a Game Room with a lounge, pool table and bar. He had an office, 4 bedrooms and 2 ½ bathrooms. He showed me the room I'd be using, gave me a change of clothes, towel and washcloth and told me after I got ready, we were going to North Lake Mall. I felt like a birthday child. I had to eat like this. Remembering being locked up with nothing but cold, 10 minute showers, I was planning to take at least an hour. Using Almond and Mango scented Black Soap, I was get all the smell of jail off. I was loving it. I didn't hear the bathroom door open but off instinct, I look from behind the shower curtain and see Tameika standing there butt-ass naked, looking fine as hell!
5'5, 135. Smooth chocolate skin. Pretty long hair, favoring that shorty from the show, “Parent Hood”. Standing in front of me with pretty pedicured feet and firm, sexy thighs. A fat ass with that gap between her legs that's always turned me the hell on! Nice firm titties. Chocolate nipples. Thick sexy lips.
Got that figure that'll make a nigga wanna kill!!!
While locked up, I told myself I would be careful with these females and practice safe sex, when I got out. I've been healthy and I want to stay that way. I'm pretty sure if I looked, I would've found a rubber but, I've been on involuntary celibacy since '05 and Tameika's fine ass got me standing rock solid. Everything else was out the window. She looked at me with them pretty eyes and smiled, all I could say was, “Get in”. She abided and it was on. I was like an animal. Tonging her down. Nibbling on her neck. Palming her titties while pinning her to the wall. Her nipples stood like Hershey's Kisses and tasted just like chocolate with the warm water glazing our bodies. I had to go further. I got on my knees, putting her thighs on my shoulders and started tenderly writing all of the alphabets on her clit with my warm, wet tongue while exploring the depths of her temple with my two middle fingers. By the time I reached “K”, her moans increased and got louder, while she tightened her thighs around my head. “O” had her screaming and shaking uncontrollably. Holding my head like it was for dear life. “Z”, had my face covered in her honey. The taste of it, brought the beast out of me. Satisfied, I hooked both of her legs in my arms while easing my manhood into her warm, juicy abode. Slow but deep. Catching the rhythm, she throws it back at me. Seductively screaming for me to fuck her. So I go harder and faster and we began dancing around around the shower grinding as if we were hearing reggae. As her moaning got louder, “Ohhh Shit!!” I got stronger, bit her on the neck and said, “Yeah. Shut up.” Turning her around, I lifted that fat ass and began smashing it from the back with long, deep strokes. I grab her hair, Rodeo Style. Stroking from all angles like “Giddy up”, an as soon as she's about to cum, I push down on the nape in her back and stick my middle finger in her ass, enhancing the effect. Holding on tighter as she goes crazy. “Ohhhhh Myyyyy!! Ohhhh Shiiiitttt!!!” Hearing her delight, I explode with her. Lifting her off of her feet like, “Yeah. Yeah. Yeeaaahhh!!!” It was ecstasy. I could've sworn I heard her scream she loved me. Shit, I almost felt the same way. Almost. Damn that was good!!! We were under the water but still sweating. She took a shower with me. I got out and got dressed, feeling like a “G”. All I need now is to get my cash right and I'll be back in my element. Boss!
Q and I roll to the mall. Back in '02, '03 Eastland Mall use to be poppin'. Cliques from all over could be found there just chilling, with hoes galore. Shit, Eastland Mall was the 'hood. Now it's just a mall. So we bypass it. Once in North Lake, we hit up every spot, buying jewelry, suits, kicks, whatever. Qabir was going hard. I was calculating everything he bought because, like I said, I don't ask nobody for shit, and even though he's my Muslim brother and is doing it from the heart, I'm gonna make sure he's paid back. Not to say it's where his mind's at but, his generosity puts him in a position of power. Nobody has that position over me. Period. He's my brother and it's nothing but love, but you never know if there's an ulterior motive. So regardless, I stay on point. Hungry, we hit up the food court, buy some hot wings, fries and drinks, and sit down. I was hungry for food but starving for money. It was time to talk business: “Yo, Q what's good, homey? What you into and how can I blend?” He looked at me and laughed. My mind's always on money, “I knew eventually you'd bring up this topic. I'm gonna keep it one-hunnit. Lately I've been focused on my property. I've been trying to monopolize in this realty. But on the side, sometimes I'll come across a good “lick” and help myself to a taste, you feel me?” I'm like, “Bet. You know I'm on it, as long as it's on point and ain't no waste of time, but do you have something in mind now, because I can't continue to ride broke waiting. You know how I am about hand outs. I'm grateful but I hate feeling like a charity case.” He looks at me, “Brother, I know how you think and how you feel. I know you, but it's all blessings for me to help out another brother. I'm doing it outta love and I know you'd do the same. But yes, it just so happens I'm eying something for the taste buds on the south side. I know a young brother from D.C. Who tells me these Kats be getting it but they're reckless like they can't be touched. Little homey's usually on point so I'ma check it out and we'll go from there.” “True,” I say “You know I got plans, so all I need is one good lick and I'm royal. Just let me know when. You know I can't be sitting like this too long. I gotta get right.” He gives me dap, “I got you, B.” We grab our bags and roll out.
Back at Q's crib, I get to my room and see Tameika spread across the bed in nothing but a T-shirt. I have to admit, she's gorgeous. If I wasn't so focused on me right now, I'd probably consider a relationship. But, “I'm focused man!!” Tired as hell, I slide in beside her for some much needed rest. She rolls over, laying her head across my chest, saying my name in her sleep. Wow. I put my pipe game down tight!
I wake up and Tameika's gone. It's 11pm. I walk through the house and find Qabir in the living room rolling some Dro, watching the “American Gangster” movie on DVD. It had just started and I wanted to watch it but Q stops it and says, “ Yo, I made a few moves.........” “Ill stupid, dope moves??” I say, and we both bust out laughing because we use to clown that part of the movie “Fresh” when the little latino kid thought he was too tough. A lot of kats we were locked up with reminded us of him. Always thinking they were making big moves for a few Ramon Noodle soups. He lit the “L” and continued, “Yeah, I made some ill stupid dope moves while you were sleep. I dropped Tameika off and rode out to the south side to see about the area D.C. Was talking about.” He paused and took a pull off the Dutch, passed it to me and continues, “Sweet like candy. Only thing is the 'hood is mostly spanish populated and I wanna scope out the kats for a minute, but we're too noticeable. You got any ideas?” He looks at me. I pass the “L” back and nod, saying, “I know exactly who to call. A spanish nigga from the BX I fucked with after you left Central. He's thorough. Beat up niggas and bitches, but he's mad cool.” He nods and says, “ Aight, you can use the house phone, just don't get detailed. You feel me?” I take another few pulls off the Dutch before heading to the room and searching for the number. When I return, Q says, “Oh, Tameika wanted me to give you this.” He hands me a card with her number on the back. I flip it over and see she's a Business Attorney, how convenient. I say, “Damn, how old is Shorty?” He says she's 28 and official with her shit. “Give me the run down on her.” I ask and he replies, “There's nothing to tell from what I know. I heard you smashing that, and it surprised the hell outta me because I thought she was a man hater or some shit. She's really feeling you though, Jah.” He said it with so much sincerity that all I could think was, damn. I do want a beautiful, intelligent woman but all women come with so much I'd have to be prepared for due to their prior relationships and society inflicted insecurities and I'm not ready at the moment. I don't wanna hurt her. Back to business, I ask if I could help myself to his bar. He says yeah and for me to bring back the bottle of Henney. I grab the bottle and two glasses and go back to the living room asking, “Where you wanna meet him?” He replies, “I got a crib on the west side, off Tuck, we can meet there tomorrow night.” I pick up the phone and call up, Mojica, tell him about the meeting, then call up my nigga, Eli.
Micheal Mojica aka Violent, 'cause that's exactly what he is. He don't discriminate. Anybody can get it. He can be of some use, I'm gonna see if he's wit it.
Eli “Trey Locc” Madison A young, trained boxer that's made a few bad choices but still has potential. His street creds suggest he's the man for this particular job. So I'ma throw him a punch. See if he stumble. Ding! Ding! Ding!!! Let's get ready to rumble.
The next day I get dressed in an all black Sean John suit, platinum'd out, with S.J.'s on my feet. Royal Thuggin' I like to resemble professionalism when attending a business meeting. No matter what type of business it may be. Q felt the same so he was dressed in a Navy blue, pin striped Gucci suit and loafers. But we had a couple hours before the meeting so Q took his Corvette to close a deal on some property he was buying, and let me get the Tahoe. I was going to Sharon Chase to see my boys. I pulled up in front of the apartment and called Tara to let her know. I didn't want any surprises. She picks up the phone, “Hello” “Yo, what up?” “Who dis?” she asks. “Nigga you know who the fuck this is. Open the door.” I tell her and she gets excited, “Oh shit!” I hear her screaming to everyone saying, “Guess who's here?!” She opens the door looking for me, so I stunt a bit, I sit in the truck and she asks, “Where are you?” “Right in front of you.” I tell her, enjoying the disappointed expression on her face. Looking at her from behind the tents, remembering how she and I use to seem so good for each other. We were the 'hood couple everybody use to know, mostly because they'd always have a place to chill, smoke and eat. We had cook-outs, threw parties, sold weed, got high, and shit, if you got lucky, you might have been able to fuck her sister, Shay. I sure as hell wanted to. Tara's the only person other than my boy, Ralphy, I grew up with, who I let enter both my worlds. She was with me when I was friendly, working legitimate jobs, being the respected family man and she'd be with me a few hours later, when I'm kicking in someone's door or being chased by police. Most of the time it was involuntary. Spur of the moment, but she was there. I would ask what happen, but I already know. I took advantage of her and when I finally tried to change for the better, she took advantage of me. So it'll never be the same. Too much resentment. She's still looking at the truck and saying, “Where?” She ain't the smartest chip on the board, so I hop out and her eyes light up. She runs towards me and jump in my arms. I give her a warm hug and kiss on the forehead. Thinking about our past, I realize, I did miss her. I ask, “Where's everybody?” She looks me up and down with a mix of approval and concern, because she knows how I get down. B.A.M. She looks at me and says, “Where were you and how you get all this stuff?” So I get cocky, “I'm a hustler. Now stop fucking interrogating me. Where my boys?” She rolls her eyes, grabs my hand and leads me into the house, “I was about to put their bad asses to sleep. They're lucky you're here.” “Naw, they ain't lucky, you lucky. You know I'm the only one can bring about change.” She says, “Yeah, don't we all know.” She meant that in so many different ways it's impossible to explain. I'm like a coffee bean in hot water. Destined to change my surroundings to fit my likings. We get inside and Shay jumps in my arms. Say's my girl. She's more street, so she rode with me a lot of times, too. For some reason we just connect on a higher level than Tara and I. “What's up, nigga?!!” Shay hollers. “Aww shit, you got your little titties on me. You know I'm a freak. You must wanna get fucked!” I joke. She and I always play like that but she just don't know, I'd tear that ass up. She's 5'6, 140. Brown skinned and thick with small but pretty titties and a big ass. She has that cute, hood sexiness about her. A rider. And she goes both ways, which is a plus. “You stupid! Uh oh. All iced out and shit. Where you get all this stuff nigga. How long you been out?” “ Yo, what's up with all these questions?” I kiss her on the check just as Tamar, Tyree and Reymahn comes downstairs, followed by Tara holding her daughter. I've never seen her and I have to admit, she's pretty but I still feel some sorta way. I can't help it. I grab all 3 of my boys and start tickling them, “Come here boys!” I play with them, making them laugh. I needed to break the ice. I know they haven't seen me in a while. Tyree was only 9 months when I got arrested and Tara was still pregnant with Reymahn. The only one that remembers me but still be acting shy is Tamar. I wasn't a role model at all for him, but he looked up to me none the less. Going to his Head Start school telling everybody his daddy's a gangster, Crip walking and throwing up gangs signs I showed him. I wasn't shit and I'm hoping I can reverse what I embedded in his young mind. I hang out with everybody for about 45 minutes. Tara tries to get me to her room but I'm not trying to go there with her. Not yet at least. I look at my watch and excuse myself to call up, Q. “Yo.” Was his answer. “I'm on my way. How's the deal go?” I ask. “Oh all is well. Shit, everything go right for the taste buds and we should have enough chedder to turn it into something, know what I mean.” “That's good. I'm over here with my children, but I'm 'bout to ride out. Yo, give me the address so I could relay it to these niggas.” He gives me the info. I call up Mojica and Eli, giving it to them and telling them, we're on our way and to wait. I give my love to the boys and let Tara and Shay know I'll be back soon, and ride out to meet up with Q.
Q and I arrive at the rendezvous, 11 on the dot. There's 3 cars in front of the house. Q says he called up his little man, D.C. To meet us, also. D.C. Analysis: D'Angelo Copperfield. 5'7, 131. A young Rollin' 60's Crip from D.C. who's loose but useful. He's a natural hustler. I don't trust him just yet so I'ma let Q continue to deal with him. Their relationship's already board steady. I'll just keep the sword ready. We tell everybody the part they'll have to play. Violent on the stake out. D.C. getting us a “Hot Box” for a temporary get away and Trey Locc as the get away driver. The plan is me and Q are going to run in on there Dominicans staying over in Windgate Apartments. Violent will lay on them to see how many people be in and out, and how many people are on their squad. Trey Locc will have the ride ready for us to burn out. After we said what needed to be said, we sent them to do what needed to be done and gave them a week. Next Friday it goes down. They left while Q and I stayed behind. I asked him, “Alright, that's done. Now what about equipment?” He went to the fire place, removed the back panel and pulled out a duffel bag. He said, “I don't have much right now, all I got is an Army Blade, a Glock 9, a .357 Dessert Eag., a 12 Gauge, and a hell of a lot of ammo.” I looked at the stuff, shocked and said, “Damn, looks like you were planning a one-man recon mission. How many the Glock hold?” He said, “16. Plus one in the chamber.” I told him, “ I'ma take the Glock and the Blade with about 3 extra clips.” He looks and asks, “Why the blade?” I tell him, “I got this, I'm on a mission. You just be ready with the Eagle and Shotty. I'ma slide though the window, you be outside the front door. You hear a gunshot, you blast through that bitch like the Punisher, you dig?” “Aight. Bet.” He says.
A week passes. Today's the day. The date is 2/11. I'm sipping on a 211 and we're about to commit a 2-11. It wasn't planned this way, but I'm an optimist and it's all good signs to me. I got a green heart. Some people claim that when their dirty hand itches, they're about to receive money. Shit, to me that's a superstitious hand out. I'm a real life Go Getter, and I always feel in my heart when I'm about to get it. We pulled into the lot in a big body, Chevy Caprice Classic. Triple C's. Black with tented windows. D.C. was on point popping this one. Gloved up. Dressed in all black. We pulled up next to V's caddy. Eye's wide, V says, “What's good my nigga? They had like five but two of them just left, the rest are in the crib. Business was booming today but it's been slow for like an hour. I know they're packin; cause a nigga came out flossing his 4-5th, besides that, it's just them and it's all gravy my nigga.” Speed talking. My boy was jacked up on that powder. Nose running. Teeth grinding, but was on point. Q and I hopped out and Trey Locc kept going so he could bake a U-turn and position the car, facing the exit. On our way across the lot to the apartment, V hollers out to us, “ Yo, my nigga. That's the other two rolling up now!” We both look and see a red Jeep Cherokee coming up, so adapting to the situation, I tell , “Yo, follow my lead, we gonna use these two niggas to get in the crib.” Nodding, Q ducks shotty and I pull out a blunt I had, lean against another jeep and Q and I front like we're talking and chilling. Q's wearing a black hoody and sweats with black Timbs and I have on a black Dickie suit with a black Avirex jacket and black K-Swiss' on. I guess we don't look too suspect because, not paying us no mind, the spanish kats were gonna wa
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