by Dorian Sykes
Chapter Twenty-two
Two weeks had passed, and everything Wink planned was coming together. He had sent two shipments down to Willie and Ball. The demand for that butta was growing fast.
Gary helped him get an apartment and a pearl-white El Dorado. He decked it out with Vogue tires and an Alpine sound system. Gary advised him to buy a new outfit. He told Wink that in order to be respected on the street as a major player, you had to dress the part. Wink obliged. Gary had him wearing linens and starter gators, as he called them, the ones that were only costing six hundred dollars. Gary took him down to Broadway’s and City Slicker to shop. He said Wink couldn’t be pushing no Caddy wearing rags.
Trey bought a triple-black El Dorado on Vogues. They said as soon as Willie got back, he’d get one, and whenever Krazy came home, they’d pitch in and get him one too. Trey had a bracelet custom made similar to Wink’s. They’d ride back to back, trying to make a name for themselves.
It was all fun, but Wink still had one more part of his plan that he had yet to accomplish. He wanted the city, and he was going to start with his hood.
They were parked outside Trey’s momma’s crib, leaning against their shiny new Caddies. Trey was making all these grand plans on what they should buy next and where they should travel to. Wink wasn’t listening. He was lost in his world of thoughts. He still hadn’t forgot how J-Bo got over on him for that ten grand. No matter what J-Bo said about teaching Wink a lesson, Wink knew he had been taken advantage of. It would never sit right with him.
Gary had told him that in the streets, you can never let a man take anything from you because once they start, they’ll never stop. These words played over and over in Wink’s head. Here it was they had all this money in their pockets, yet no one knew who they were because they were still nobodies. They hadn’t earned respect in the streets of Detroit. All their game was being played down south. Wink wanted his name known throughout Detroit.
“Ay yo, I’ma holla at you later, my nigga.” Wink pushed off his Caddy and gave Trey some dap.
“What you think about that?” asked Trey.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Just let me know.” Wink hadn’t heard a single word Trey said.
“A’ight. I’ma hit you on the hip later,” said Trey.
“In a minute.” Wink climbed behind the wheel of his El Dogg and pulled away from the curb. He reached over in the glove box and pulled his 9 mm Berretta from the stash spot. He massaged the handle while he planned his next move. It had to be done, he told himself. It was the only way niggas would give him his respect and he’d be able to sell crack in the city.
J-Bo may have been one of the sharpest hustlas in Detroit and one of the richest, but one mistake he made was thinking he would rule forever. Niggas didn’t know how to get theirs and pass the torch. They wanted all the money and didn’t have no plans on ever letting the next man get any. Another mistake greedy niggas like J-Bo made was they never really changed their schedules.
Wink looked at the dashboard clock. It was going on three o’clock in the afternoon. Every day at exactly 3:30 p.m., J-Bo would make his pickup and drop off a fresh sack at the spot on Linwood. Anyone slinging dope for J-Bo knew this. The dope fiends most assuredly knew this. On any given day, you’d start seeing an uptick in fiends roaming the streets around Linwood starting at around 2:30.
Wink got on the Davidson Expressway and leaned his seat back. He couldn’t wait to see the look on J-Bo’s face when he pulled up in his El Dogg, leaning to the side. It hadn’t been a full month, and Wink had surpassed half the niggas calling themselves hustlas. In a sense, Wink felt like he owed a great deal of his success to J-Bo for taking him under his wing.
“Nah, fuck that,” Wink said aloud. He shook those thoughts, thinking back to what J-Bo had told him about being a square on the board and him using niggas like him to get to the top.
Wink shifted in his seat as he turned down Linwood. He was trying to see which side he looked better on, leaning against the door or the console. He turned up the radio and stretched his arm out on the steering wheel, letting his dad’s bracelet gleam under the sun.
Wink parked across the street from the spot in front of Kennedy’s penny candy store. He watched as Gator fast-talked some white man parked in a brown tow truck. Wink laughed to himself. The spot hadn’t missed a beat in his absence. He looked up at the top window and wondered what young, dumb nigga J-Bo had sitting up there.
Wink looked at the clock, 2:28 p.m. Just like clockwork, J-Bo bent the corner in his navy-blue Porsche. Wink watched his former idol climb out the Porsche and start barking orders. He honked the horn twice, and J-Bo turned around, squinting to see who was behind the wheel of that pretty mothafucka.
Wink climbed out the car and tried to conceal his Kool-Aid smile. He folded his arms into a B-boy stance with his bracelet showing.
J-Bo pulled back a phony smile, then crossed the street. Instead of giving props where props was due, he said, “Who you out here workin’ for that was fool enough to let yo’ young ass borrow they car?”
“I work for me. I’m my boss,” Wink said proudly.
“Wink, you know better than to lie to me. You know I can find out who you workin’ for,” J-Bo said. He walked around the car, looking for any clues.
“Well, when you do go asking around, they gon’ tell you she’s mine. And my man Trey’s got a black one.”
“You left me what, a month ago? Well, who you done robbed?”
Wink was starting to get pissed. J-Bo refused to give him his props, but he let it pass, because he hadn’t come to shoot the bobo, and at the end of the day, he didn’t need J-Bo’s nod of approval.
“Hop in and let me take you to get something to eat. We’ll hit Red Lobster’s,” said Wink.
“This car isn’t hot, is it? ’Cause I ain’t got time to be downtown about no stolen car.”
“Hell no, it’s not hot. Just come on. It’s my treat.”
J-Bo looked at Wink suspiciously. “Let me grab this money and I’ll be right back.”
Wink climbed behind the wheel and adjusted the Berretta under his shirt. A few minutes later, J-Bo came walking out the spot with Gator in tow. He pointed across the street at the Caddy, and Gator pulled back a wide grin, exposing his hideous grill. He rushed over to check the wheels out.
“My young playa, you ain’t waste no time getting y’all fronts up, I see,” said Gator as he leaned in the driver-side window. “That’s a mean bracelet. How much it run you?”
“That’s slum,” said J-Bo as he climbed in the passenger seat.
Gator peeped jealously, so he didn’t press the issue. He shot a wink at Wink, then said, “Take care of yourself out here, and you stop by and see me whenever you want.”
“A’ight, Gator.”
Gator tapped the roof, and Wink pulled away from the curb. He cruised down Linwood while thinking to himself how tight-faced J-Bo was about his come-up. It was exactly what Wink thought would happen. He knew the J-Bo was a jealous nigga that couldn’t stand to see anyone else get theirs. His plan was to flaunt his success in front of J-Bo in order to get his ass heated. Then he would sit back, watch, and wait for J-Bo to slip up because he was too emotional and his rage and jealousy would cause him to lose focus. Wink was loving every second of it.
“I’m really not all that hungry. Why don’t you stop at Henry’s so we can grab something to drink, then we can go downtown to Belle Isle,” suggested J-Bo.
“That’s cool.” Wink busted a U-turn, then headed up to Henry’s on Dexter.
“I’ma grab a fifth of Hennessy. You want me to get you anything else while I’m in here?” asked J-Bo.
“Nah, just get a bag of ice,” said Wink. He wasn’t big on drinking. He felt like it slowed him down and prevented him from being on top of his game. He would let all these other niggas get drunk and high while he planned and executed. His advantage would be to make clear decisions all the time, no weed and alcohol to cloud his mind.
&
nbsp; Wink was getting a little nervous. He felt like J-Bo was setting him up. The pit stop to the liquor store felt off. But he kept telling himself that he was the one in control. This was what had to happen if he wanted the respect of the streets and his right to hustle in the city. If that meant a few drinks with J-Bo, then so be it.
J-Bo walked out the store carrying a bottle of Henny, two plastic cups, and a bag of ice. He climbed in the car and set everything on the floor between his legs. He cracked the seal and poured them a drink. Wink cruised down Jefferson while taking an occasional sip from his cup.
“So, where you getting your work from?” asked J-Bo.
“Here and there. You know how it is.”
“How much you moving?”
“Enough to buy this car. You hear me?” Wink laughed.
J-Bo did not find it as funny as Wink. “Where you set up shop?”
“You know, here and there.”
“Nigga, you a tight-lipped mothafucka.”
“Come on, we all good. We can all enjoy a piece of this game. Like chess. All of us have a position.”
J-Bo squinted his eyes at Wink, looking as if he was trying to read his mind. Wink took a sip of Henny and raised his cup in salute to J-Bo.
J-Bo smiled. “Look at you. Young gun is moving up from a square to a pawn. You know I’ll never let you be king, though.”
Wink raised his cup again and gave another salute and a head nod.
“Now to business. You know I can give it to you for a good price. How much you paying?” asked J-Bo.
“The last time I bought something off you, I lost ten grand, remember?”
“Wink, we already know whose fault that was. I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Yeah, right, thought Wink. The only person you care about is J-Bo. Wink looked for a good spot to park at on Belle Isle. He pulled near the river and killed the engine. There wasn’t but a few cars scattered around the island and a few joggers. For the most part, the Isle was deserted. The weather was changing, and nobody liked hanging on Belle Isle around that time of year because the water whipped the wind something serious. Wink checked all his mirrors and made a mental note where everyone was situated.
“You know, Wink, I knew you’d figure it out once you were forced to. I don’t think that I ever told you this, but you remind me so much of myself when I first started hustlin’.” J-Bo laughed, then took a sip from his cup. He continued, “You actually made out good having me as your turn-out. When I came up, them old niggas who put me down were heartless. They didn’t care if ya ass lived or died. Long as you had their score straight, they could care two shits less.”
Wink was wondering what angle J-Bo was trying to scheme. He ain’t never heard J-Bo be so complimentary toward anyone. There must have been some ulterior motive, but Wink didn’t know what that would be. In the end, Wink figured it must be the liquor talking.
“What I’m try’na say, Wink, is that had you not gone through the little tribulations of bumping your head, you might not be right here having this conversation with me. You’d still be at the bottom somewhere.” J-Bo raised his half-empty cup and said, “So, good job.” He downed his drink, then reached for the door handle. “I’ll be back. I’ma step over here and use the bathroom.”
Wink downed his drink and pounded his chest, trying to get the burning to go away. He watched J-Bo cross the street and enter the little public restroom. Winked pulled his Berretta from his waist and cocked one round into the chamber. He tucked the gun underneath his shirt, then got out the car and quickly crossed the street. He could hear piss splashing into the toilet as he leaned against the brick wall of the building.
He gave himself a pep talk. “Come on, Wink. Don’t freeze up on me now.” He heard the toilet flush. He may never get this clear of an opportunity again. It’s now or never, he thought.
Wink slid into the bathroom with his gun drawn. When J-Bo looked up from the sink, his shock and confusion looked like he’d seen Satan himself. Wink tossed a black pawn piece at J-Bo. As soon as J-Bo caught it, Wink pulled the trigger. Boom! Boom! Boom! Three gut shots sent him to the floor. He walked over to J-Bo and put two more slugs in his dome. Boom! Boom!
“Now I’m the king of the chessboard.” Wink spit on J-Bo and walked out.
Chapter Twenty-three
Wink left J-Bo on the bathroom floor with his brains hanging. He thought about it all night. He lay in his bed at his new apartment in downtown Detroit off Jefferson. He stared up at the ceiling with his mind locked on when he squeezed the trigger and the amount of blood pouring out of J-Bo’s skull. Wink had no intention of telling anyone about what he did, not even his main man Trey. He was going to the grave with that secret. If one person knew, eventually everyone would know. Wink wasn’t about taking any chances, so he’d keep this to himself.
It was almost eight o’clock in the morning, and the sun was peeking its way through the blinds in Wink’s room. He snatched the sheets off his frail frame and rolled out of bed. It was time to hit the streets and claim what he took yesterday: his throne, his respect, and right to hustle. Wink knew that there was going to be a battle for who would take J-Bo’s throne, so J-Bo wouldn’t be the last nigga he put in the dirt. If he wanted to stay above ground himself, he’d have to bury niggas. The quicker he squeezed the trigger, the faster he could get the job done. It was all part of the game.
After Wink killed J-Bo, he threw his Berretta over the Belle Isle Bridge, so he was going to need a new piece. He called Gary on his car phone as he drove down Jefferson.
“What happened to the one I just gave you? It was brand new,” said Gary.
“Something came up,” said Wink.
There was a short pause on the other end. Gary knew exactly what something meant. “You make sure you stop by the house and talk to me before you get lost in them streets for the day.”
“A’ight.” Wink hung up the phone and pressed down on the gas. He was on his way to scoop Trey from his mom’s crib.
When Wink pulled up on Trey’s house, his mom stood on the front porch with her hands on her hips. She flashed at the sight of Wink sitting in front of her house.
“Trey! This nigga is out here!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
Wink honked his horn out of spite and waved. “Hi, Ms. Shelton!” he yelled. He got a kick out of mocking her because he knew she couldn’t stand his black ass.
Trey came walking out the door, fastening his Marc Buchanan leather jacket. He kissed his mom on the cheek, then started down the stairs. His face tightened as Ms. Shelton scolded his back for having that heathen at her house.
“What up, doe.” Wink laughed.
“You,” said Trey as he climbed in the car. “Pull off,” he said, looking up at his mother, bitching her heart out.
Wink gladly laid rubber to the street, drowning Ms. Shelton out as they sped away.
“What you need to do is get your own spot. They got some empty units in my building,” Wink said.
“I might fuck with it. But what’s up? Where you was at all yesterday? I kept paging you. I had these two young freaks.”
J-Bo lying in a pool of blood flashed through Wink’s mind. “I had to take care of some business. You got yo’ heat on you?”
“Yeah, why? What’s up?”
“Nah, we ’bouts to take over all of J-Bo’s old spots.”
“What you mean, his old spots?”
“Somebody killed J-Bo last night.”
“Word? You bullshittin’.”
“Nah, I’m not. They found him on Belle Isle this morning. Somebody blew his candle out.”
“Daaaaamn. I can’t believe somebody touched his ass. Who do you think it was?”
Wink shrugged his shoulders. “It could have been anybody. You know how it is out here. Niggas probably wanted him outta the way.”
“And them same niggas gonna want J-Bo’s spots.”
“That’s why we strap our nuts and go to war. Sooner or later, somebody’s go
nna try us once they see how much money we gettin’. My nigga, we can’t be scared to kill, ’cause you know damn well they won’t hesitate to kill us too.” Wink looked over at Trey. He could tell that he was a little shaken up. If J-Bo could get his shit pushed back, that meant nobody was exempt.
Wink pulled up on the spot on Linwood. He parked behind J-Bo’s Porsche. It hadn’t moved an inch since yesterday. Wink popped the glove box and pulled out the stash box. He cuffed the plastic bag into his drawers, then grabbed the door handle.
“Come on,” he told Trey.
Trey fell in step behind Wink as they climbed the porch up to the front door. They didn’t bother knocking. Wink pulled the screen open and walked right in and up the stairs to the spot. Two young niggas were sitting in the front room, smoking weed and playing Nintendo. They looked to be no more than fifteen years old. Wink elbowed Trey with a smile. He couldn’t believe that J-Bo started getting them this young. It was brilliant, thought Wink. The younger the better, because you could use their dumb asses even longer.
Wink walked around the coffee table and paused the game. He and Trey stood blocking the TV.
“Nigga, who the fuck is you, and how’d you get in?” snapped the young nigga seated directly in front of Wink. He reminded Wink so much of himself, and the little yellow nigga sitting beside him looked just like Trey. “What, you deaf? How’d you get in here?”
“You left the door open. And if you’re going to be working for me, that can’t happen again,” said Wink.
“Nigga, we don’t work for you. This J-Bo spot,” said the other li’l nigga.
“Nah, it used to be J-Bo’s spot. But he’s no longer with us, so you’ll be working for us.” Wink pointed at Trey. “This is Trey. I’m Wink.”
“What happened to J-Bo?”
“He, unfortunately, came to the end of his game. What’s y’all names?” asked Wink.
The one sitting in front of Wink spoke first. It was obvious he was the leader of the two. “They call me JT, and this is my man, Dilla.”