Bankroll Squad

by David Weaver

  $ $ $ $ $

  Marco was fuming. He wasted half of his night with Catfish, trying to help him out only to come home to gargantuos sized problems. Every soldier that reported to him said that they were out. They needed coke. Fast! It usually wouldn’t be a problem, but that was because Kyla would work her magic. But with no Kyla ... no magic. Marco knew that there was a big chance that the Dynasty Cartel could take over easily if they stayed out of product long enough, and he wasn’t having that. He hit speed dial 1 and called Malcolm.

  “Hey bro ... we out ... completely.”

  There was a pregnant silence as Malcolm measured the effects of his next statement.

  “Okay ... I’m sending contamination control this evening to fix things....” Silence again.

  “Man, you know that shit’s not gon’ work Malcolm...”

  “Fuck, it has to work right now! Besides, we got bigger problems ... Sweetback declared war!”

  The pitch of Malcolm’s voice was eerie. It reminded Marco of the times when Malcolm used to go handle shit with Catfish, instead of just sending him solo or sending him with Prince Tron.

  “Damn ... a war? It’s gone be another war going on in the streets if The Dynasty Cartel confiscates our turf, our street and mid-level soldiers, and our clientele. Nigga’ ... we need product!”

  Malcolm sighed into the phone.

  “Marco, I said I was sending Contamination Control. Everything’s about to be back on track.”

  Marco shook his head as if Malcolm had lost all comprehension.

  “Mal, they are not going to do business with someone new and you know it.”

  “Homeboy calm down, I got this ... trust me. If worse comes to worse then I have a reserve that should last us about long enough to find a new connect. But we’ll take this one step at a time.”

  “Okay then, your the leader ... just keep me posted so I’ll know what to tell these young hungry niggas.”

  “One.”

  ten

  P

  am was dressed to impress. She had on a skin tight black and red mini shirt with some closed toe black and red heels. Her hair was dark and

  silky; not to mention laser beam straight. It made her look as if she had walked straight off of the cover of a magazine. Her nails were french-tipped, her skin was glowing, and she had applied a light coat of lip gloss which truly transformed her into a supermodel. Malcolm had called her and told her to meet him at the Ihop for lunch and so that they could discuss some urgent matters. Pam was already there when Malcolm arrived. He didn’t even know if she was early or if he was late because he was so stressed out. He gave her a hug when he reached their table and couldn’t resist getting an erection when he wrapped his arms around her body. Her body was so tight and petite that he couldn’t help but to imagine himself toting her around her bedroom on his dick. Malcolm noticed that Pam wasn’t in a hurry to break away from the hug and politely took it upon himself to pull away. As he sat down, she couldn’t help but to smile as her eyes wandered from his bulging crotch to his handsome face.

  “You look beautiful, as always Pam.” Malcolm said, truly meaning every word.

  “You look good too Daddy.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence lingering in the air as they both thought about what happened the last time she called him “Daddy.” Kyla had been outraged and ready to fight her at The Power Building on that fateful day. Malcolm cleared his throat.

  “Pam, I was going to wait before I sent you and Brink to see Franco Roberto, but Marco told me that we’re completely out of cocaine. I trust you to make the deal go through just as smoothly as Kyla would have. The only issue existing is the one that Marco raised.”

  Pam glared at Malcolm defensively.

  “What did that bastard have to say about me this time?” Pam said, rolling her eyes at no one in particular.

  “Nothing major ... he only stated that Franco Roberto wasn’t going to do business with someone new. I just want you to prove him wrong,” Malcolm said to her while staring in a different direction.

  Pam reached out and tilted Malcolm’s chin towards her so that she could make eye contact.

  “Anything that Kyla can do, I can do too. I won’t let you down Daddy,” Pam spoke in a seductive tone.

  Malcolm kissed her on the back of her hand, and then dismissed the waiter irritatedly. He glanced out the window and saw Catfish pull up in his Escalade.

  “Pam, I want you to be careful because a war has been declared against us and I don’t know when or where the first strike will come, nor do I know who it will come against. I left you some weaponry in your Aston Martin. Brink is in the Escalade with Catfish. He’s going to drive it to your house since he also has to go over some do’s and don’ts of the negotiations game.”

  Pam nodded her head, all the while thinking “what have I gotten myself into ... a war?”

  “Pam ... try your best not to let me down baby.”

  Even though she was nervous inside, she still managed to display her most confident smile.

  “I won’t let you down Daddy.”

  “Okay, good. I’m about to ride with Catfish and see if I can have this war shit settled by the time you return from your trip. Be careful Pam.”

  “Noooo, she said with concern in her voice, you be careful Daddy.”

  He smiled at her and exited the restaurant. She didn’t know whether to have a solo lunch, or leave the place like Malcolm did.

  $ $ $ $ $

  The last time that Catfish was involved with a street war, he tried to send his wife clear across the country so that she could go stay with her sister until the mayhem died down. Instead, Tricia’s home girl convinced her that she could just stay with her and just say that she was in Boston. This time was no different from either angle. He told her to pack it up and she asked him why. He told her not to question his authority and she acted like she was mad. He paid for her a plane ticket and she went straight to her girlfriend’s house.

  “Not again Tricia. What’s wrong with Catfish? Hasn’t he made enough money so that he can get outta’ this shit? You know if you play with fire, you might get burned!” Tricia’s girlfriend, Bonnie, said as she fired up a blunt.

  The weed was so strong, that when she exhaled, a wheezing sound stirred from within her lungs as if she had the flu.

  “Damn! Tricia, where the fuck you be getting this weed from girl?” Bonnie managed to choke out before passing it to Tricia.

  “Shit, Catfish and Malcolm nem’ be flying to Egypt to get this shit,” Tricia said before almost choking on the second hand smoke.

  “Egypt? Niggas smoke weed in muthafuckin’ Egypt? Got damn.”

  Both women started laughing at Bonnie’s silly joke, but both women secretively wondered if niggas really did smoke weed in Egypt. Tricia got up and walked into the kitchen. After looking into the refrigerator, she went back and sat down on the sofa.

  “Damn Bonnie, what you got in this house to snack on?”

  “Man my food stamps ain’t came yet girl.”

  Tricia eyed her with a teasing look on her face,

  “Damn, B, you just as ghetto as I don’t know what.”

  Bonnie giggled, then shook her head at Tricia’s remark, although it was true. No doubt about it, Bonnie ... was ghetto as hell.

  “Shit, I ain’t got it like you Trish ... you wanna’ go to the grocery store?”

  Tricia already knew that question was coming. She was beginning to think that Bonnie only invited her over so that she could buy the grocery, and Bonnie could just sell the food stamps. Nevertheless, Bonnie was her home girl and she had no problem with that. Besides, Bonnie was always there when Tricia needed her.

  “Yeah B, let’s run to the grocery store ... wit’ yo trifling ass.”

  Bonnie started laughing and went off to retrieve her keys. Bonnie’s car was an ashy black, 1996 Nissan Maxima. She had possessed the same vehicle for numerous years. When Tricia got in the car, she couldn’t get away from notici
ng the similarities between Bonnie’s apartment and her Nissan. They both could use a thorough cleaning, and both smelled of cheap weed masked with an even cheaper cherry incense.

  “Damn B,” Tricia said after observing the empty Mc-Donald’s’ bags covering the floor of her car, “you need to clean up yo’ car, girl.”

  “Yeah Trish ... I know right? It’s just that I haven’t been motivated to do nothing lately. I need to find me a man ... I’m gettin’ so sick of using my Lil Pocket Rocket that it’s a shame.”

  “B, that’s too much info.”

  Both women started laughing. Bonnie inserted the keys and turned the ignition, but the car wouldn’t crank.

  “Damn! You see what I mean Trish? I don’t know shit about cars ... I’m sick of being lonely.”

  Bonnie got out and pulled up her car hood, more in an effort to signify that she needed help, because she definitely had no clue as to what the hell she was staring at. After a few minutes, a guy pulled up in a Ford pick-up truck. He got out of his truck wearing a Jiffy Lube jacket and a concerned look on his face.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” The guy asked in a concern manner.

  Bonnie instantly started flirting as she told the man about her vehicle not being able to start. He grabbed his toolbox from off the back of his truck and made his way back to the car.

  “Hey Miss Lady, turn the ignition so that I can try to fix it for you.”

  “Okay,” she said delightedly as she hurried back to get behind the wheel, “I hope you can fix everything.” She smiled at Tricia, who smiled back at her girlfriend’s inside joke.

  “Okay, hold it ... now turn it ... hold it ... try it again ... okay stop.”

  The man fidgeted in his tool box until he found the tool he was looking for. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and motioned for Bonnie to roll down her window.

  “Hey, ain’t yo’ name Bonnie or something like that?” The man asked while smiling.

  Surprised, and caught completely off guard, Bonnie stared at the man, trying to see if she knew him from somewhere. She couldn’t recall.

  “That’s my name. Where do I know you from?” She asked inquisitively.

  The man started to laugh, and then his face turned serious.

  “You don’t know me from a can of worms!”

  He then laid the stainless steel Glock on the side of her head and despite the women screaming, and despite the “Please! You can have everything!” Plea from Bonnie, he still blew her brains clear across to the passenger side window. The woman slumped her lifeless body over sideways as blood rushed from her head onto Tricia’s trembling hands. The gunshot itself sound like four 15-inch subwoofers being powered by four 3,000 watt amps all hitting simultaneously. The car was the speaker box. It was good music for Sweetback Fatty, who was sitting inside the Ford pickup truck behind the tinted windows. Another one of Sweetback’s men jumped out and helped carry an already traumatized Tricia into the truck. She was shaking and convulsing so hard, they thought that she was going to shatter. They gagged and hog-tied her, then they drove off. Sweetback had struck, and he was only warming up.

  $ $ $ $ $

  The Dynasty Cartel was the most powerful organization in the city before The Bankroll Squad emerged. At one time they were pumping coke, crack, weed, and heroin on almost every street corner and project housing unit in the city. They had even infiltrated the suburbs by setting up trap houses in some of the most upscale communities inside and on the outskirts of the city. Those days, Malcolm’s newly formed crew simply wanted the South side, leaving The Dynasty Cartel with the North, East, and West side of the city. Out of courtesy Malcolm set up a meeting with Rally, who was the leader of the cartel. At the meeting Malcolm made his case, and by the end of the meeting, Malcolm’s request for control of the South side was denied. He politely shook Rally’s hand, then he exited the meeting. That same night

  Malcolm made a decision that would propel the Bankroll Squad from ambitious hustlers to the ultimate bosses. Malcolm, Catfish, Marco, Prince Tron, and Veronica all went on a rampage. It was mayhem in the city. They successfully took out entire blocks and neighborhoods that were being run by the Dynasty Cartel. They shot up trap houses and used the street sweepers to clean up the corners where the work was being served. Rally was pissed when he heard that all of his soldiers were getting knocked off the map, so he immediately sent a message to Malcolm to let him know that him and his Squad can have the south side. But by the time he could deliver that message to Malcolm, the Bankroll Squad was already running the whole city. They had run the Dynasty Cartel off of all major corners within the time span of four hours. Just like that, they went from asking for the south side to setting up shop on every side; leaving the Dynasty

  Cartel powerless. The Bankroll Squad’s reign went from local to global in under four months. Malcolm had weight and break-downs selling in his city, but had Marco strategically place small teams in every other major city in the U.S. that strictly sold weight. Rally was seething with anger because of what had turned out to be a huge disaster for the Dynasty

  Cartel’s reputation and for their income. But there was nothing that he could do about it without placing his entire fortune at stake. He would have to rerecruit and spend money to go to war with a group of young wild ass niggas who had nothing to lose. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough money to handle it, it was just the opposite. He had too much money to handle it. He didn’t want to risk catching a case and not being able to enjoy the fruits of his labor; or somebody in the Cartel catching a murder case and telling on the whole Cartel. Rally just couldn’t see the war being an intelligent response during the time. Besides, he figured that all those young niggas lacked the wisdom that the dope game required in order to have longevity. He estimated that they would all have Federal convictions within a year’s time frame. His estimation was wrong. The only person to catch a case in the Bankroll Squad was Veronica; and she only had about a year left on her manslaughter conviction. During the first year of the Bankroll Squad’s reign, Rally just sat back and watched. He didn’t need the money and he was planning on taking an extended vacation anyway. But during the year that he prayed for their downfall, he saw them floss, stunt, and ball like no other. He saw them do things with their money that wasn’t possible for him to even think about during his first year hustling. They threw parades for the city, had food drives every month, celebrity-hosted parties every week, and did donuts in Bentleys. When Malcolm started the potato chip business, Rally nearly lost his mind. The Bankroll Squad’s lifestyle had become so attractive, that almost half of the Dynasty Cartel’s remaining soldiers were begging to be a part of their squad. That was the last straw for Rally, who had no intentions on having his Cartel dissolve completely. However, it was nothing that he could do to prevent that from happening. Malcolm paid his soldiers double of what Rally paid his, and since Rally was aging, it also made his Cartel less appealing. Rally was suffering of jealousy until one day he came up with an ingenious idea. He had to send multiple buyers to the Bankroll Squad; all of them requesting a different product from them, just to see if the idea would work. And it did work. It turned out that they had almost every other drug except for meth. On a hail mary attempt, he tried to flood the city and state with the drug. And they bought it. He was back in the game, but not the game that he loved the most: cocaine. His Mexican connect berated him as if he was beyond incompetent for letting a young group of niggas take over the coke game. The part that hurt the Mexican the most was that he had tried to supply the Bankroll Squad at $12,000 per kilo; provided that they buy at least 100 at a time, and Malcolm declined his offer. Then Malcolm had the audacity to try to sell him his coke at $9,000 a kilo. The Mexican was baffled, and when he told Rally, he too was baffled. Rally stepped back into the shadows, while continuing to peddle his meth. He stepped back because of two reasons that he always believed in: one was that every dog had its day, and two was that all things must come to an end. The day he had waited
for for so long had finally arrived. The run had come to an end.

  eleven

  R

  ally was sitting in the game room of his mansion massaging his temples when Diaz, his right hand man barged into the room.

  “Hey Ral, guess what?”

  Rally gave Diaz a dumbfounded expression before covering his face with his hands and shaking his head.

  “I’m in no mood for guessing games Diaz.”

  Rally then leaned back on his leather couch and stared at Diaz weary-eyed. Knowing Diaz, he would probably force him to guess before he told him what the deal was.

  “What D ... you saved a whole bunch of money on your car insurance by-”

  “No silly,” Diaz said, cutting him off.

  “I got a surprise visitor for you with some surprising information. Information that I guarantee will make you a very, very happy man!”

  “Diaz,” Rally said with a hint of heavy fatigue in his voice, “I’m not sure that any visitor can surprise me. When you get to be my age, my man, the feeling that most people identify with as surprise starts to register in your brain as irritation.”

  Diaz’s forehead wrinkled up, then he shook his head at Rally’s foolish philosophy. He walked out of the room, then a tall, lanky guy entered the room. The man looked in both directions, as if he was crossing a street with heavy traffic. He made his way up to Rally and kept looking around as if he was paranoid. Rally recognized the man instantly, he had known him since he was still in Huggies. It was his little brother, Dexter.

  “Hey bro-”

  “Don’t hey bro me after you betrayed your own flesh and blood by working for that damned Bankroll Squad! You sell out!” Rally snapped at him.

  “Ral, I begged you to give me a job in the Dynasty Cartel and you told me no! I wasn’t good enough to work for you? I needed money man, and my joining them was an attempt to get paid. It was a decision that any young hustler would have made. Even you, my brother.” Dexter shot back.

  “I’m not your brother!” Rally snarled at Dexter.