by Dorian Sykes
Wink was the only one soaking up the game ole Gator was spittin’. The rest of them, that shit went in one ear and out the other.
Gator pulled in the parking lot of the Regency Motel off Clifford Ave. He parked the van and told the gang to come on. They all looked around at the motel like, Where the fuck we at? They reluctantly climbed out the van into the sweltering heat and stood near the rear of the van while Gator knocked on one of the motel doors.
Wink looked down Clifford Ave., which was nothing but a dirt road. The only thing he could see was heatwaves bouncing off the road in the distance. When J-Bo said they’d be going out of town, he imagined maybe another city, but this was some hillbilly hick town.
“Man, that nigga J-Bo know he wrong as shit. Got us way in Mayberry some fuckin’ where,” said Krazy.
“I know I won’t be going out at night. These crackers won’t hang my black ass,” said Willie.
“Ain’t nobody gon’ hang us, so chill,” Wink said. He was trying to calm everybody’s nerves.
“Nigga, stop fakin’,” said Trey. “You just as scared as all the rest of us.”
They all busted out laughing but ceased when the door to the room opened and Gator waved for them to come on. They all fell behind Wink as he led the way inside the room. On the bed sat J-Bo. He stood up as Gator closed the door behind them.
“Y’all enjoy the trip?” asked J-Bo.
“Hell nah,” said Krazy. “The whole way here, ole Gator-grill here wouldn’t even tell us where the fuck we was going. Then we gets flicked.”
“I told him not to tell you where y’all was going,” said J-Bo.
“Why?” asked Trey.
“You see how y’all got pulled over? Now, let’s say they would have made y’all get out, or if they would’ve asked all y’all where it was y’all were going. Somebody would’ve gave a different answer, and that would let them know y’all lying. It’s just best not to know,” said J-Bo.
That was part of the reason. The other half was just in case any of them had snitch in their blood, they wouldn’t be able to lead the police to their destination.
“What’s out here, though?” asked Wink.
“Money, and lots of it. I know y’all seen the dirt roads and barns on the way up, but trust me when I tell you these pink mothafuckas holding,” said J-Bo.
“Bo, I need to get out the street, baby,” Gator said. He was pacing the floor, geeking like shit.
“Let me get that so I can get this nigga something before he paces a hole through the floor,” said J-Bo.
Wink nodded at Trey, then toward the bathroom. Willie and Krazy snickered and hit each other as Trey bull-walked for the bathroom.
“You two niggas is silly. What y’all laughing at?” asked J-Bo, pulling back a wide grin.
“You got them two niggas stuffed like a turkey.” Krazy laughed.
“You’ll get your turn,” said J-Bo.
Willie and Krazy’s smiles disappeared at the thought of having to suitcase some dope. A few minutes later, Trey and Wink came walking out the bathroom with their packages.
“That shit on one thousand,” Willie said of the smell coming from the two shitty packages.
J-Bo took a deep breath, then said, “Ahh... that’s the smell of money.” He strapped on some latex gloves and took the packages from Trey and Wink.
“Gator, why don’t you take them to get something to eat while I put this together,” said J-Bo from the small makeshift kitchen where he stood, unwrapping the coke.
“Y’all heard him. Let’s go,” ordered Gator. He was getting agitated because he hadn’t had a hit all day.
Wink was standing over J-Bo’s shoulder at the stove, watching him like a hawk as he emptied the coke into a Pyrex jar. J-Bo turned around and saw Wink and stopped what he was doing.
“Why don’t you go with them to grab something to eat?” he said.
“Nah, I want to watch you,” said Wink.
J-Bo smiled, then wrapped his arm around Wink’s neck, all the while leading him out of the kitchen. “This game cost me ten grand to learn. When you get ten grand, come holla at me and I’ll show you all you need to know.”
J-Bo opened the door and patted Wink on his back. “But I tell you what. Grab a couple boxes of baggies, and when you get back, I’ll let you help me bag up.”
Wink was thirsty for any game J-Bo was willing to sprinkle him with. His brief disappointment was replaced by a huge Kool-Aid smile. He turned to hurry up and catch Gator before he pulled off.
Chapter Six
When Wink got back to the motel, J-Bo was waiting on him in the kitchen.
“Come on. Time is money,” shot J-Bo.
Wink rushed over to the counter, setting the two boxes of baggies down. He waited like an eager third grader preparing for a science project.
“A’ight, here’s what we’re doing. You listening?”
“Yeah.”
“A’ight. We got two scales here. I want you to weigh out exactly .50 grams, a half of gram. Not a pinch more or less. Use this razor blade to cut it. Once you get .50, put ’em into a baggie and tie ’em in a knot.”
“That’s it?” asked Wink.
“That’s it,” said J-Bo. He cut a chunk out of the crack cookie and showed Wink an example.
“Once you bag it up and put it back on the scale, it’s gon’ weigh a little more. We could use the weight of the bag to get over, but these crackers is paying so good, ain’t no sense in beatin’ ’em over the head anymore.”
Gator promptly got his boulder from J-Bo, then disappeared into the bathroom. Trey, Willie, and Krazy were all in the front room, smashing their White Castle burgers. Wink was the only one focused on learning.
The shit was easy. Just cut and weigh. A first grader could do the shit, thought Wink.
Every so often, J-Bo would put one of Wink’s rocks on the scale. He nodded and said, “You got it.”
Now all Wink had to do was learn how to cook. Ten thousand was a lot of money, though, to be learning how to cook crack, he thought.
“How much one of these go for out here?” Wink asked, holding one of the packaged rocks.
“A hun’d dollars,” said J-Bo.
“For this? This is like, what? Two, three at the most dimes back in Detroit.”
“Yeah, but we ain’t in Detroit. You’ll see there’s a big difference in outta town hustlin’. It’s spots like this that’ll put a nigga on his feet.”
Wink looked at all the rocks before him and the chunks of crack yet to be weighed. That was a whole lot of hundreds.
“How long it’s gon’ take us to move this?”
“No more than a week. It’s gon’ move itself.”
Everything was on a need-to-know basis with J-Bo. He never just gave you his whole plan. He’d give it to you in pieces once you got to that point.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, stepping in front of the TV.
Wink, Krazy, Trey, and Willie all sat up at attention for J-Bo.
“Y’all gon’ be out here for a week. I already got everything set up. All y’all gotta do is sell the work. My man Jason is gon’ be runnin’ all the clientele through. He’s in a red pickup truck. You’ll know him when you see him. He’s an old white dude with a long, dirty white beard. Each one of these is a hun’d dollars, not a dollar less,” J-Bo said, holding up one of the rocks.
“So, we ’pose to just sit in here for a whole week?” asked Trey.
“Yeah. But I got another room right on top of this one. That’s where the money and all the work will be kept. Come on and follow me.” J-Bo led them into the small bathroom. He stood on the toilet seat with his hands reached up to the ceiling.
“Y’all see this?” he asked as he pushed up one of the drop ceiling boards. There was a large enough hole in the floor upstairs for a hand to fit through.
“Wink, you’ll be upstairs with all the work. You and whoever else you pick. It’ll be two of y’all down here. When a custo comes through, bring th
e money back here and send it upstairs. In exchange, Wink gon’ pass down the order. Make sure y’all close the door, though. We don’t want nobody knowing where we keeping everything at,” said J-Bo. He closed the ceiling and jumped down from the toilet.
They all walked back into the living room, where J-Bo continued to run down the operation. “It’s real easy. Everybody stick to the script, and in seven days, we’ll be back home breaking bread,” he said. This, of course, brought smiles to all their faces.
Willie’s funny-lookin’ ass was rubbing his fat, greedy fingers together. “How much we gon’ get?” he asked, his beady little black eyes peering over at J-Bo.
“Ten grand, minus what was lost the other day,” said J-Bo. He could see dollar signs light up in Willie’s and Krazy’s eyes.
Trey wasn’t impressed. He was only doing it because Wink kept pressing the issue. Soon as they had enough of their own money, he was cutting J-Bo off. Trey wasn’t even sure if he really like J-Bo neither. Something just wasn’t right about him.
“Have you decided who you want upstairs with you, Wink?” asked J-Bo.
Wink looked at his crew. His first thought was to pick Trey because that was his best friend, but he looked at Willie and Krazy and knew it’d be a disaster if he left them two together.
“Yeah, I’ma take Willie. Trey, you and Krazy post up down here,” said Wink.
J-Bo nodded his approval. He put his arm around Wink’s neck and they excused themselves from the room.
“Help me carry this stuff up,” J-Bo said as he grabbed up one of the grocery bags full of rocks. “I’ma clean up on this residue before I leave.”
“Leave? Where you gon’ be at?” Wink asked as he followed behind J-Bo with both hands full of grocery bags.
“I’ma be in the city. As long as y’all stick to the script, everything is gon’ be straight.”
The thought of J-Bo leaving them out of town had Wink a little nervous, but he wouldn’t show it. He had to show J-Bo that he could handle it and that the last fuckup was a fluke.
The room upstairs was identical to the one below. In the living room sat a small table, sofa, two stiff wooden chairs, twenty-inch Zenith television, and a queen-size bed. Wink made mental notes of all this as J-Bo led him through the room back into the bathroom.
“Com’ere, I want to show you something.” J-Bo pushed open the bathroom door and walked over to the window. Tied around the base of the toilet was a rope.
“You see that rope?” J-Bo nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Well, just in case the police hit the downstairs room, I want you to pack everything up and use that rope to climb down. Look, there’s an alley right through there.” J-Bo moved to the side so Wink could see. “There’s a Denny’s about a square mile down. If something happens, just call me from the Denny’s and I’ll have you scooped up.”
“A’ight.” Wink’s lips said one thing, but his mind was filled with all kinds of scary questions. He hadn’t planned on no raid popping off. He’d seen them in action almost every week growing up, watching niggas on his block book down the street with police on their heels. It was funny to watch, but the thought of it being him made his stomach turn.
“One more thing.” J-Bo stopped in the living room and dug in his pocket. He handed Wink a business card with some woman’s name and address on it.
“There’s a MoneyGram inside the motel lobby. Every three thousand that you make, I want you to wire the money to that name A.S.A.P. And don’t worry. The little redhead working at the desk knows the business.
Wink stared down at the card. “I got it.” He tucked the card into the pimp pocket of his Guess jeans, and then followed J-Bo to the front door.
“One week and you’ll be home countin’ ten grand,” said J-Bo as he stopped on the balcony just outside the room.
Wink pulled back a smile, and for a second, the butterflies disappeared. He couldn’t believe that he was actually out of town on a mission with J-Bo, not to mention J-Bo leaving him in charge.
“One week,” J-Bo said again, then walked down the two flights of stairs.
Wink watched as Gator backed away from the motel with J-Bo riding in the back seat. The van turned into a speck on the dirt road, then disappeared into the horizon. He stepped back inside the room and closed the door, leaning against it.
Suddenly, the butterflies were back as Wink looked at all the crack sitting out on the bed. “One week,” he told himself, then pushed off the door and over to the phone. He flopped down on the bed and called downstairs. Trey answered the phone.
“Y’all ready to get this money?” asked Wink.
Chapter Seven
Five minutes after Gator and J-Bo left, Jason pulled up in his beat-up Ford pickup. He climbed out the truck exactly how J-Bo pegged him—dingy-ass mothafucka with a long, white dirty beard. Jason tapped on the door with his keys a few times. Trey and Krazy both looked at each other like, It’s on, but still, neither really wanted to budge from their spots on the sofa. They were kicked back, watching a special on the Greek mafia.
“Why don’t you get it, my nigga? I’ll get the next one,” said Trey.
Krazy reluctantly popped up and walked over to the door. “Who is it?” he yelled.
“Um, Jason.”
Krazy undid the chain, then the locks. He cracked the door, peeking out at the old white man.
“J-Bo sent me.”
“A’ight,” Krazy said as he backed away, allowing Jason to enter the room.
“How’s it going?” Jason asked, sounding country and friendly as hell. He rocked back on his heels while fiddling with a roll of money in his hands.
“We chillin’. What can we do for you?” asked Trey.
“Whatever you can for five hundred.” Jason unfolded the dirty bills and handed them to Trey.
Trey’s eyes bucked at the sight of all that money—and off of just one sale! “I’ll be right back,” he said, then shot to the bathroom. He climbed up on the toilet and pushed the ceiling aside.
“What he want?” asked Wink. He was already on point.
“Five hundred. Here.” Trey passed Wink the bills and waited for the order.
A few seconds later, Wink passed the five little rocks down and said, “Y’all niggas stay on point.”
“A’ight.” Trey closed up the ceiling, then rushed back into the front room. He handed the work to Jason and awaited his approval.
Jason didn’t even look at the rocks. He already knew J-Bo kept some good stuff, so he just stuffed them inside his old, stained, no-name jeans pocket and turned for the door.
“Like I said, my name’s Jason. I’ve been knowing J-Bo for a long time. If y’all need me to make a food run or something, just give me a holla. It’s not a problem.”
“A’ight, that’s a bet,” Trey said, walking Jason out to the parking lot.
“See y’all in a bit.” Jason climbed in his truck and handed the young blonde riding shotgun one of the rocks. Trey watched as the woman packed her pipe and set fire to it. Jason backed away.
Before the night was out, Jason had made at least thirty runs, and each time, he was spending no less than five hundred dollars. Word had gotten out that J-Bo’s good crack was back in town, and that was all the reason for every redneck in a twenty-mile radius to hit up the bank and make a withdrawal. As they made withdrawals, Wink was making wire transfers through MoneyGram.
Sleep was impossible for all of them. They tried working in shifts, one sleeping while the other served, but it was just too much traffic, to the point where they were all scared to close their eyes. Money was changing hands too fast, and none of them were used to seeing that much money in their life.
Willie would be standing in front of the bed, counting and recounting the money, pretending it was all his. “What we gon’ buy once we start gettin’ our own money like this?” he asked.
“Shit, the first thing I’ma buy is some game. I want to learn everything, so we can have niggas sittin’
in a motel somewhere. Feel me?” asked Wink.
Willie hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he nodded as he daydreamed and envisioned everything Wink had said. “Yeah, I feel you, my nigga.”
“I was thinking, too. When we do get straight, maybe we can shoot down to Mississippi and set up shop. I know they probably paying just as much as these crackers since it’s the South. You know y’all niggas slow as shit down there,” Wink teased.
“Fuck you.” Willie laughed. “I’ll see what’s up,” he said. Willie was originally from Mississippi, but he moved to Detroit when he was ten to live with his moms. But every once in a while, he would go back down south to visit his grams.
“Yeah, right now we just stackin’ and learning. Pretty soon we gon’ have all this shit, and some,” Wink confidently said as he waved his hand at the crack and money sprawled out across the bed.
Downstairs, Trey and Krazy were making short-term plans on how they were going to run a train on the white chick Jason kept pulling up with. The only problem was she never got out the truck.
“Let me holla at him,” said Krazy as he stood up to let Jason in for the fortieth time.
“Here’s eight hundred,” said Jason.
Trey took the money, while Krazy stayed out front, rapping with Jason about pink toes.
“Who is she?” asked Krazy.
“She’s a buddy of mine’s old lady. He’d flip his wig if he knew I had her do something like that,” said Jason.
“I mean, he ain’t gotta know. And I’ma make it worth both y’all while. I ain’t gonna lie. I’ma try’na see her,” Krazy said, peeking from behind the curtain out into the truck. He flicked his tongue seductively at the woman as they met eyes. She broke into a smile and shook her head.
“See, she’s with it,” said Krazy as he let the curtain close.
“I tell you what. Let me talk to her, and if she’s okay with it, I’ll send her up. But it won’t be tonight, ’cause her old man’s at my house partying.”
“A’ight, just set it up for whenever,” said Krazy. He was lost and turned out ever since Gator sicced those white broads on him at the spot. Lately, all he wanted was some pink toes.