by Beanie Sigel
“Shit, them niggas is crazy, too,” Terry answered dryly.
“Come on, T. You got crazy muthafuckas everywhere you go. You can’t avoid that. The real question is can we make a lot of money out there. Now I don’t know about other places, but I’m from Philly. It’s definitely money out there. My cousin is doing his thing in South Philly. I talk to him all the time.”
Terry paid attention to what Boogs was saying. He pondered over the option. “So, you think South Philly is a good place to relocate to?”
“Hell yeah! Do you know how big Philly is? It’s like one-point-five million people that live there. Do you know what that means? That means it’s a ton of fuckin’ money there...money that we could be touchin’.” Boogs rubbed his hands together greedily.
“Alright, I’ll tell you what. Call your cousin and let him know that we’re comin’ out there for a little vacation. While we’re out there, we’ll see if it’s a good fit for us.”
“You ain’t said nothin’. Matter of fact...” he pulled out his cell phone and sent a text to his cousin. Almost instantly he received a response. Boogs produced a bright smile. “He said come on down and he’ll pull out the red carpet for us.”
“Aaight, say no more. Everybody take care of your business. Just be packed up and ready to go by tomorrow morning. We’re going to drive our own cars, so we’ll meet up here at ten o’clock.”
The next day Terry, Jihad, Twan and Boogs were on the freeway by noon. The drive wasn’t a long one. Terry set his navigation system to direct him to the Merriott Hotel. Once they arrived, each man checked into his own room. After settling in, they met up in Twan’s room.
“So, what are we gonna do?” Jihad asked.
“Shit, it’s only one-thirty. I’m tryin’ to see what’s poppin’ in the City of Brotherly Love,” Terry said.
“You know I’m with that. I’m feigning to hit the streets. Let me call my cousin, Reek, and see what’s up with him.” He pulled out his phone and dialed Reek’s number.
Reek picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Wassup, cuz?”
“Who dis? Boogs?”
“You already know. What’s good?”
“I’m coolin’. I just came out. Where you at?”
“I’m at the Merriott Hotel near the airport.”
“Oh shit. You niggas was serious! Aaight, I’m in South Philly. I’ma be on Taylor Street. If you don’t see me, look for my Jaguar. I got a silver XJ. What ya’ll drivin’?”
“You’ll know it’s us when you see us. I’ma call you as soon as we hit the block.” Boogs hung up and told everyone that they were going to meet his cousin on his block.
“I need ya’ll to be mindful of some things,” Terry began. “No matter the city, everybody that hustles have one thing in common: we’re all very territorial. If it’s niggas on the block, then they’re trying to get that money. They ain’t going to let a bunch of out of town cats come on their block and take the food out of their stomachs. Especially out here in Philly. They’re known for pushin’ niggas’ wigs back without a second thought. That means when we pull up on that block, niggas is gon’ be staring. And we might even get some ice grills thrown our way.
“We got bigger plans than to get into beef with some dudes on the block, so don’t be muggin’ back. Not only are we trying to get a feel for the city, but we’re also campaigning. We need these dudes to see our faces and know that we’re big boys. So keep the bigger picture in mind.”
Satisfied that everybody was on the same page, it was time to go.
The cloudless powder-blue sky allowed the sun to heat Philadelphia to a comfortable sixty-three degrees. Just warm enough to urge people to put on something nice and go outside. Indeed, that was the case on Taylor Street. The dudes who were on the block hustling made sure their apparel was on point all the way down to the fresh out of the box sneakers. And there were plenty of women out there to admire the hustlers who were shining.
Reek leaned against the driver’s door of his Jaguar, while a cute young lady was complaining to him, basically clamoring for his attention. Reek was twenty-four. He stood at five-eight, with a slender frame that was toned like a prize fighter. He had a tan complexion, with full lips and chinky eyes that sat behind platinum and ivory Cartier frames.
The woman was complaining about not getting enough of his time when his phone vibrated. “Hold on a minute, Stacy.”
“Stacy?” she said with a shocked and disgusted look on her face. “Nigga, did you just call me Stacy?”
“I was just joking, girl...hold up.” He answered his phone. “Hello?”
“Waddup, cuz?”
“Waddup, Boogs. Where you at?”
“We’re haded down Taylor street now.”
Reek looked down the street. There was a Dodge Charger being trailed by a Camry heading towards him. “Is that ya’ll in the Charger?” All he could hear on the other end was laughter.
“A Charger? Nigga, don’t you ever disrespect me like that,” Boogs shot.
“Then you must be on the wrong block, because I don’t...” Reek stopped mid sentence when he saw the candy- red painted X5 followed by the matte black CLS 63 AMG, BMW 645 CSI and Range Rover Supercharged. Each vehicle looked showroom new and was complimented with aftermarket rims. “Pull over behind my car,” he said, then hung up.
“So, you’re just going to ignore me like that, Reek?” the lady continued.
“Look, shorty, you’re drawin’ right now. My peoples is here from out of town. Call me tonight.” Without waiting for a reply, he left her and walked towards the caravan of luxury vehicles.
Boogs hopped out of his SUV and gave his cousin a big hug. Boogs was dressed in a Polo knit sweater, True Religion jeans and wheat colored Nike ACG boots.
“I know this ain’t your whip. You ain’t doin’ it big like that!” Reek was all smiles.
“Come on, cuz. I’ll talk fly to you before I lie to you. It’s all mine’s.” Boogs, then, waved to Terry, Twan and Jihad, signaling for them to get out. They all came over and he introduced them to Reek. Everyone greeted him with a pound.
Their conversations flowed smoothly and everyone felt comfortable around each other.
Although, Terry, was relaxed, he was observant nonetheless. Not only did he notice people slow down to admire the line-up of cars, but he also noticed a few dudes who were using the streets as their place of business, eyeing them suspiciously. It was obvious that they were out-of-towners who were getting money, but beyond that, nothing else could be extracted.
Terry appeared to be engulfed in small talk, but he was actually studying this kid, Reek. His fresh brown Pelle leather jacket, crisp white T-shirt, hard denim jeans and Gucci boots were all new. He always maintained eye contact when talking and never appeared to be nervous. Those were all good signs. Terry needed to find out if he was respected on his block. There was no way he could consider making their mark in this area if their foundation, which would be Reek, was weak.
Several times during their conversation, someone called over to Reek. He excused himself and they went inside of his car for a few moments, then he came back as if he never left. None of this escaped Terry’s vision. The men that approached Reek did not appear to be addicts, and he knew that some type of transaction was going down.
“What you sellin’, weed?” Terry asked casually.
“I got some Piff if you want to burn somethin’, but I don’t sell weed. I sell eight balls.” His words were music to Terry’s ears. If he had been making his living selling weight on the block, he had to have a decent level of respect from the other hustlers.
“Let me holla at you real quick, Reek,” Terry said.
They stepped away and began to walk towards the Jaguar. Boogs smiled. He already knew what the conversation was going to be about.
“Wassup, T-Lova?”
“I wanna ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Nah, it’s cool.”
“
How many grams are you coppin’?”
At first, Reek was hesitant, but with one look into Terry’s eyes he knew that the question came from a man of business. “I’m buying eighths a hundred and twenty five grams.”
“Who’s the big boys in this area?”
“Shit, it’s a few niggas gettin’ money, but the bawh, Mack, and them SP cats is doing their thing. They’re the brick layers,” Reek informed Terry.
“Yeah? So, what’s up with them niggas? Are they thorough like that?”
“I’ma keep it real, the bawh, Mack, is a nut, and he got some certified cannons on his team. If somebody tries to take it there, they better be ready for war.”
“I take it that the streets is loyal to this kid, Mack, huh?”
“I ain’t gon’ say all that. The streets is loyal to whoever has the power. There’s niggas that don’t like him, but they still respect his gangsta. Plus, he keeps that work, so niggas ain’t got much of a choice other than to see him. Shit, I cop from him.”
“How much you payin’ for an eighth?”
“Coke is scarce right now, so I’m payin’ forty-two hundred.”
“How’s the quality?”
“It aint’ the best, but it’s enough to keep niggas comin’ back.”
“I got one last question for you. Is your loyalty with Mack and his SP crew?”
Reek brooded over the question for a moment, then gave Terry his answer. “My loyalty is given to those who want the best for me, and those who are loyal to me. I’m not a grimy nigga, so I’m not against SP or anything like that, but I understand that the relationship we have is strictly business.”
“I’ma keep it real with you. I’m thinking about coming down here to Philly and making a few moves. Boogs speaks highly of you. We can easily take your game to a higher level, but I need to know two things: if you want more for yourself than what you’re getting right now, and if you’re scared of these SP niggas?”
“I ain’t in this game just to float above water, I’m tryin’ to navigate the ship. And as far as being scared of Mack, SP, or anyone else, there’s nothing wrong with fear, anger, or any other emotion. Fear inhibits action. I’m far from a sucka. If I take action, muthafuckas gon’ die.”
Terry was beginning to take a liking to Reek. Spoken like a true G. I’m going to give you a chance to navigate that ship...”
CHAPTER 8
Haitian had successfully reached a deal with the State. He provided information on Terry and a few other people throughout Syracuse. According to his deal, he had to play a pivotal role in leading to their arrests and convictions. The stipulations of his release was for him to call in every forty eight hours. He also had to assist in a successful bust within seventy two hours of his release.
He knew that he had made a deal with the devil the moment he signed the agreement. He was also aware that his only chance at having a second shot in the streets would come at the cost of his only true friend’s demise.
“Fuck it,” Haitian said out loud as he sat on his couch staring at the two kilos of cocaine that he stashed before his arrest. “I gotta do what the fuck I gotta do.” He picked up his phone and dialed Terry’s number.
“Hello?”
“What’s good, T?”
“Who dis?”
“This is Haitian. What’s poppin’?”
“Oh, shit, what’s poppin’, my G?” Terry said excitedly.
“Ain’t nothin’. I just got out. I need to see you.”
“How in the fuck did you get out of jail, my dude?”
“You know the kid is gonna make moves,” Haitian boasted. “My grandfather put up his house and twenty G’s for my bail. Now I can fight the case from out here. I know I’m gonna have to do some time, though, so I gotta get my money right. That’s why I need to holla at you. I got this—”
Terry quickly cut him off. “I’m out of town right now, kid. I’ll see you as soon as I come back.”
“When are you coming back?”
“In about a week or two.”
“Aaight, kid. I’ll see you then.” They hung up. “Shit!” Haitian tossed the phone onto his well-worn couch in frustration.
He removed the wrapper from one of the kilos, shaved off about thirty grams and put it into a sandwich bag. After concealing the drugs in a safe place, he left his apartment and got into his six year old Honda Accord. Haitian rolled down the driver and passenger window to remove the stale air, then pulled off. The subtle and slightly chilly breeze also helped to clear his mind.
It was hard to believe that after all that occurred, he was once again a free man. He thought about the ill-fitting orange jail uniform that he was forced to wear, and the terrible trays of slop that he was given to eat. He, then, reflected on the price he had to pay in order to be freed from confinement. Haitian shook his head at his circumstances. A somber look made its way onto his face. He selfishly made the choice to become what most people despised.
He exhaled a long, stress filled breath. With one hand on the steering wheel, he used his free hand to grab his cell phone. He punched in the newly memorized numbers and the phone was immediately answered.
“Shwarts speaking.”
“What’s up Shwarts. This is Deshawn.”
“How ya doin’, kid?”
“I’m okay. Listen, I can get you an arrest for a few guns today.”
“A few guns? I guess that’ll be good to get your feet wet. What time?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Well, come down to the building and we’ll get everything on paper, and set up.”
“Alright, I’ll be there within an hour.”
The meeting was over within thirty minutes. Haitian informed Lieutenant Shwarts of who the men were and what types of guns they could expect to retrieve. He acquired this information because he had just left the house late last night.
Shwarts assured him that his officers would be in position and waiting. As Haitian was preparing to leave the building, Shwarts placed a pudgy hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn slightly. Their eyes met. “Good job, boy. You’re doing the right thing.”
His milky colored skin contrasted with his silver-streaked black hair that was more prominent on the sides of his head than the top. His thick, black mustache hung just above his thin lips. He wasn’t obese, but the years of being in great shape were behind him. His brown, beady eyes cast a deep, direct look at Haitian, causing him to look away.
“Thanks Lieutenant.” Haitian forced a weary smile upon his face, turned and left the building. He made it to his car engulfed in an influx of emotions. He was angered that this son of a bitch, Shwarts had the audacity to act like they were friends. Shwarts despised him and he knew it. Haitian was disappointed in himself. His stupidity and weakness caused him to switch sides. Now that he worked for the enemy, his friends were no longer safe around him.
Finally making it to Lincoln Avenue, he pulled over in front of a small two story gray house that was desperately in need of some TLC. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text: Waddup Butter. R U at the crib?
He received a response within seconds: Yeah, I’m here.
Haitian reached under his seat, grabbed the sandwich bag of coke, and shoved it into his pocket. He, then, closed his eyes and took a few deep, collected breaths in order to calm his nerves. With a now-or-never frame of mind, he got out of the car, walked up the battered wooden steps onto the front porch and rapped on the door.
“Who is it?” a voice from inside yelled.
“It’s me, Haitian.” A moment later the door opened.
Butter’s girlfriend, Tasha, stood at the door. Wassup, Haitian?” she spoke evenly.
“What’s good, girl? Damn, you gettin’ big.” Tasha was dressed in a simple white T-shirt, pink sweat pants and house slippers. The bulge in her stomach was evident. He stepped inside and closed the door. “How many months are you?”
“Seven.” She gazed down at her stomach, giving it a gentle rub. “I’m having the
baby shower next month. You comin’?”
“No question,” he lied. “Where’s your man at?”
“Same place as always. In there with his stupid ass friends playing them stupid ass video games.” Her face clearly showed her disapproval. “Go on in there. I’m going back upstairs.”
“Aaight. You better stop being so mean, girl. Your baby’s going to come out talking shit to the doctor.”
“Shut up.” For the first time, she smiled.
The pleasant smell of weed hit Haitian as soon as he walked into the living room. Butter and the rest of his friends were lounging, smoking, and playing Playstation.
“Waddup, Butter?”
“Waddup, kid?” Butter said, not taking his eyes off the flat screen. His concentration was on the game he was playing.
Haitian, then, spoke to everyone in the room. They greeted him back.
“Let me hit that.” Haitian extended his hand out to Pook, who sat on the couch. He casually passed the Dutch and Haitian took a much needed pull. “Listen, my dude, I ain’t got a lot of time,” he began, taking another drag of the blunt. “I got a big come up, but we gotta move quick.”
“For what?” asked Butter.
“For two ki’s and at least twenty thousand.”
Haitian’s reply caused Butter to pause the video game and redirect his attention. “Are you serious?”
“Mothafuckin’ right.” He pulled out the bag of coke. “This out of town nigga heard I fuck with T-Lova and started showing off. I saw the work and mad money. He just gave me all this.” He raised the bag of drugs as evidence to solidify his story.
“Who is the nigga?” Pook asked.
“This older cat from Yonkers. It’s four people in the house, and it ain’t no problem for me to get in. All we gotta do is hold everybody down and take all the work. Ya’ll tryin’ to get this money?”
Everyone was hyped up and willing to move out. However, Butter seemed a little reluctant. “I don’t know about this shit. It sounds a little crazy.”
“It is crazy. That’s why we gotta get them before somebody else gets them,” Haitian said convincingly.