by Cash
“He’s going to be real hard to touch, bae. He has so many niggas around him.” Kamora observed the scene.
“Yeah, but hard ain’t impossible. Besides, we’re not gonna rush this. We got other licks to pull off while we plan this one. I’m really just here to get an idea how the nigga roll.”
“You want me to go in VIP and slide up under Solo or one of his mans?”
“No, shawdy, we’re just watching tonight.”
A half hour later, a familiar face popped up in the crowd. It was Criminal, a young nigga from Zone 6 in the city who had gotten five minutes of fame when he spat a verse on one of Swag’s tracks.
Criminal’s style reminded many of Beanie Sigel. Swag had signed him to a record deal, but Criminal was so deep in the streets Swag had chosen to cut ties with him.
Niggas in the city whispered that Criminal was a fool for throwing away the opportunity to bubble in the rap game, but I understood his choice. He was a true street nigga, like me.
Criminal saw me and pushed through a throng of groupie bitches to make his way to my table. “What it do, bruh-bruh?” he said, taking a seat.
“I’m good, fam’. What about you?”
“I’m making it do what it do. ‘Sup, Kamora? You got ya sexy going on real strong tonight, don’t you?”
“You know I try to stay looking good for my man,” she replied, rubbing my arm.
“I salute that,” he said, standing there looking like Juvenile, except his eyes and his gangsta were as cold as mine.
He motioned a waiter over and ordered another bottle of Patron. “So, when was the last time you hollered at ya boy?” Criminal asked and slid into the booth.
“It’s been a minute. You know how that nigga is, he stay on the move. But he gets at me through Inez every now and then. He’s always tryna get me to put my banger on the shelf and fuck with the rap game, but that ain’t my thing.”
“I feel you.”
“And I feel you, too. I’m not one of those niggas who look down on you because you didn’t roll with the opportunity that Swag gave you. Some niggas are born and bred in the streets and that’s where they’ll die.”
Criminal nodded. “Bruh, the streets is all I know. My pop was a street nigga until the day he died. My oldest brother is serving life and fifty years and my baby brother got shot in our front yard and died in my arms. So, the streets owe me and I’ma collect what I’m owed.”
“That’s real talk, ‘cause I feel the same way,” I agreed.
“Excuse me. Bae, I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back,” Kamora said. She gave me a quick peck on the lips and went off.
The strobe lights flashed around the club as I chopped it up with Criminal. He was probably the only nigga outside of Swag who I respected and somewhat trusted.
As he turned his head to sweat a bitch’s ass as she walked by, I noticed a tat on the side of his neck that had not been there six months ago when I saw him last. “You GF now?” I asked.
“Yeah, and I’m about to take us to a whole ‘nother level. Before it’s all said and done. I’ma put the streets in a vicious headlock.”
I didn’t doubt Criminal. He definitely had the drive to do it. His reputation alone commanded respect from the streets. Niggas knew he was gangsta with his shit. His set, Good Fellas, was a relatively new gang in the A. They were about money and murder.
“Anyway, what are you doing here? I’ve never known you to hit the clubs. It must be a nigga up in here you’re plotting on,” guessed Criminal. He was dead on point, but I kept that to myself.
“I’m just treating my shawdy to a night out,” I lied.
Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion going on somewhere near the door. The dee jay announced, “Ladies and gentleman, Jeezy is up in the muthafucka!”
Bitches started losing their minds. The rapper, Young Jeezy, had a crew of real hard head looking niggas as his security team. Like if a nigga wanted some trouble they wouldn’t hesitate to serve him. I don’t ride no nigga’s dick, but since I’m not a hater I gave Jeezy his props. Bruh had his swag turned all the way up. On cue, the dee jay played one of his hits.
“Bruh doing it big. I fuck with him,” said Criminal.
“That can be you anytime you want it. All you gotta do is trade the streets in for the studio,” I reminded.
He shook his head. “Nawl, I just fuck around on the mic, but it ain’t what I do. I’m a dope boy for life. Plus, I pull those hammers.”
“I can’t knock that, bruh. Let me ask you something. What is your bank like?”
Criminal looked at me like he was wondering why I would get all up in his personal business like that. So, I explained. “I’m asking because I know you’re thorough, and if you’re with it, I’ma bring you in on a sweet lick.”
“As long as we’re talking grown man numbers, I’m listening. But I’m not strapping up for no bullshit.”
“Bruh, I’m talking duffel bags,” I assured him. I took a sip of Patron from the glass in front of me and thought things over for a minute. Up until now, Kamora had been my only partner in crime, and I knew I could trust her completely. If I recruited Criminal into the fold, it would just for this one lick. But should I trust him? I wondered.
He was a solid nigga, as far as I knew, but that’s the way my pop had felt about Lonnie, who turned out to be a rat.
After careful consideration, I decided I would fuck with Criminal, but I would not leave myself vulnerable to betrayal.
“What you know about a nigga named Solo?” I asked Criminal in a hushed tone that was further blocked out by the music.
“I hear the name in the streets, but I don’t know who he is. They say that bruh is moving stupid work,” he reported.
“He is,” I said. “So, I’m about to go lay him down. He keep a lot of goons around him for protection, so that’s why I need your help.”
“I’m ready whenever you are. And if we need some help I got a team on deck. Niggas who won’t hesitate to pop them bangers.”
“Let’s just check it out before we involve anyone else,” I cautioned, because trusting Criminal alone was a big leap for me. Trusting his mans was unthinkable.
“You’re calling the shots, so it’s whatever with me,” he said.
I nodded imperceptibly toward the booth where Solo and his goons were seated. “You see that big, bald headed nigga over there with two bitches draped all over him? That’s Solo. The other niggas supposed to be his crew, I guess. All of them look old and soft to me.”
“Yeah, we can crush them with no problem.”
“Pump ya brakes. We’re not going at him tonight. I’m here just to watch him, because before we strike, we need to find out where his stash is.”
“That makes sense,” said Criminal.
We observed Solo for the rest of the night without drawing any suspicion to ourselves. Kamora and I were even able to follow him for a distance once he left the bar.
Once I turned off, Criminal kept me on the celly as he followed Solo home. Now that I knew where Solo laid his head, it was just a matter of time before I struck.
The next night, I scooped Criminal up and we drove around the city discussing loyalty.
“You remember my father’s story, don’t you? The nigga he trusted above all others is the very nigga that sold him out. But he wasn’t the only one to flip on my pop. My mother flipped on him, too. So, when it comes to trusting a muthafucka with information that could send me to prison for life, or even to death row, I’m very hesitant to do that,” I explained.
“I feel you, bruh,” he said.
I pulled into an apartment complex on Riverdale Road and parked three car spaces away from a familiar Range Rover.
“I’m glad that you do, homie. But before we go any further, you’re gonna have to prove that loyalty. I believe that you’re one hunnid, but the shit we’re about to do with Solo is too serious for me to gamble my freedom. See, I’m telling you straight up that whenever we run in
on the nigga, I’m not leaving out of there until ain’t nobody breathing but the two of us, and whoever we take in there with us. Because I don’t have time to be dodging bullets later if Solo finds out who jacked him,” I elaborated.
“I feel the same way,” he said.
“Another thing,” I didn’t hasten to add, “if we were to get cased up, you won’t ever have to worry about me turning state on you. Number one, I’m not built like that. But more importantly, I’ll do most of the killing; therefore, you’ll know I won’t have anything to bargain with.”
“Get to the point, bruh,” he said.
I cut straight to the chase. “In order to make me comfortable, I need something on you that you would not be able to bargain away,” I stated, turning to look him eye to eye.
Criminal swallowed.
“If I didn’t understand your paranoia, because of what happened to your father, I would feel insulted that you’re questioning my G.” He frowned.
“Trust No Man.”
“You can trust me.”
“We’ll see.”
Criminal couldn’t help but respect my apprehensiveness. Trust in a nigga had cost my pop his life. I would have been a fool not to learn from my pop’s mistake.
“How can I prove my loyalty, bruh?” he asked.
I laid my head back against the headrest and told him how I was putting my press game down on the dope boys and weed man, Ladell. I further went on to explain how Ghost was stepping on my toes by robbing Ladell. “I want you to do Ghost for me.”
“Oh, that’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Bruh, that’s easy. In fact, I enjoy slumpin’ niggas. Just show me who this Ghost nigga is and where he rests at and it’s a done deal.”
“He rests in that apartment right there.” I pointed.
Criminal pulled out his banger and locked one in the chamber. “How does this nigga look?” he asked, ready to go put in work.
“Nah, we ain’t doing it like that. Ghost probably got dumb guns up in his spot, and he ain’t slow to use them. Let’s just sit out here and hope he comes out before morning.” I said.
According to the clock on my dash, it was 10:41 p.m. Hopefully, Ghost was not in for the night. Patience turned out to be a virtue. At about 2:30 a.m., Ghost came out with a thick redbone.
“You get Ghost, I’ll do the bitch,” I hurriedly instructed.
We were out of the car and up on our prey within seconds. Ghost spun toward the rustling of our feet and looked dead into the business end of Criminal’s banger. The .45 erupted with no mercy, snapping his head back and showering his brains up in the air.
The chick screamed, but only once because I ended her cry with two shots to the throat. After watching her crumble to the ground I put another shot in her head.
“Make sure he’s dead,” I called out to Criminal.
Boc! Boc! He exclamated my point.
When I dropped Criminal off at home I demanded he give me his banger.
“For what?” he hotly protested.
“Because it has your prints on it. That’s my insurance that you can be trusted not to flip.”
“What’s my insurance that you won’t flip?” He challenged me.
“My bloodline,” I replied proudly.
I could sense some trepidation when Criminal handed over his banger, but he needed not to worry. I came from the blood of a real nigga.
CHAPTER 12
While Criminal stalked Solo, I turned my attention to a lesser mark. A young nigga named Soldier Boy had begun ringing in Southeast Atlanta. Word was he touched up to ten bricks at a time. Soldier Boy fucked with a stripper named Erotica, who ran her mouth a little too much. I had gone to school with this female named Ava who worked at the club with Erotica. Ava knew what my hustle was, so when I ran into her one day at the Golden Corral, out in Forest Park, she put me on the lick.
“Ava, are you sure Soldier Boy keeps his stash at Erotica’s spot? Because I don’t wanna kick in the door and end up getting nothing but a lap dance,” I said, making my intent clear.
“Trust me, his stash is there. Just last night she was complaining about him hiding six kilos in her dryer. She’s afraid the Feds are going to kick in her door and arrest her,” Ava said.
“Okay the lick sounds easy, but tell me this: Who’s at home with Erotica when Soldier Boy ain’t there?”
“Nobody. He won’t allow her to have company, not even a pet dog.”
“Well, when is she usually at home by herself?”
“I can’t say for sure, but if you don’t see a black Chrysler 300 or Silver Escalade with big rims parked outside, Soldier Boy is probably not there.”
“Okay, give me Erotica’s cell phone number. Is she working tonight?”
“She’s supposed to,” answered Ava. Then she scrolled through her cell phone to find Erotica’s number. I stored it in my own phone and told Ava I would holler back at her when the lick was complete.
“Don’t do me wrong,” she said.
“No, lil’ mama, I’m not grimy like that.”
Ava was surprised when I showed up at the strip club that night. I paid her to spend most of the evening entertaining Kamora and me in our booth, but neither of us was really interested in her performance. We were there so Ava could point out Erotica.
After she had done so, I just kicked back and counted down the hours until the club closed for the night.
Following Erotica was simple. Baby led us right to her front door without realizing she had been followed. I looked around the parking lot for a Chrysler 300 or an Escalade but saw neither. That was good.
I allowed twenty minutes before calling Erotica from a restricted number.
“Hello,” she answered, sounding tired.
“Yo I’m tryna reach Soldier Boy. He gave me your number because when I spoke to him earlier his battery was going dead and he didn’t have the car charger with him.”
“Who is this?”
“His cousin,” I lied.
“His cousin who?” she questioned.
“Damn, baby, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” I laughed.
“I can do that when you’re calling my phone at four o’clock in the morning. Anyway, Soldier Boy ain’t here, but I’ll tell him ya called if he comes by tonight.”
“Please do. And tell him I need to see him about some work.”
“You tell him that yourself. That’s y’all business.” She hung up before I could formulate a response.
I looked over in the passenger seat at Kamora and told her that I was going in.
“You stay out here in case he comes home or in case po-po arrives. I’m about to kick in the back door,” I said as I felt my adrenaline begin to pump.
“Be careful, bae,” said Kamora.
I slid out of the car and found my way around the back of the apartments. Once I found the right apartment number, I pressed my ear to the door, listening for voices. I heard none, so I pulled on my ski mask, eased my banger out of my waist and lifted my foot in the air.
Two kicks busted in the door. I moved swiftly from one room to the other until I found Erotica showering in the bathroom. When she saw me she screamed, but I quickly grabbed her by the throat and choked off the shrilling cry.
Erotica clawed at my hand, so I cracked her over the head with the gun, knocked her out cold. When I slapped her awake she was laid across the bed, bound and gagged. I had covered her nakedness with a comforter.
“Just tell me where the drugs and money is at and I’ll be gone. You don’t wanna die over Soldier Boy’s shit. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have the shit in your house no way,” I said. Then I removed the duct tape from over her mouth just long enough for her to cooperate.
True to my word, I grabbed the cocaine and a shoe bag full of money and left up out of there without harming her. Back home, Kamora and I tallied up our gain. We had five bricks and seventy-five bands. Not bad for a night’s work.
The next day, I hi
t Ava off with Twenty-five stacks and one brick. I warned her not to mention anything to anyone.
“And don’t go spending crazy.” I added.
“What am I supposed to do with a kilo of cocaine? I don’t know anyone to sell it to,” She griped.
“Give it back. I’ll sell it and bring you fifteen bands,” I said.
“Don’t keys go for like thirty stacks?”
“Girl, you better take fifteen and be happy,” I advised, but she decided to keep the brick and try to sell it for more. I knew she was making a mistake, but I wasn’t going to sit there and try to change her mind.
“Do what you do then, lil’ mama. Just be careful not to make the same mistake Erotica made. Keep your business off of your lips because you never know whose listening.” I lightly lectured her.
Ava thanked me and gave me a hug. All I could do was hope she would follow my advice.
CHAPTER 13
As soon as I got rid of the four bricks I took from Soldier Boy, I returned my full attention to Solo. After watching his movements for almost a month and a half, I decided that tryna run up in his house was not a wise move. Not only was his home a fortress, I wasn’t convinced he kept drugs or money stashed there. But our efforts had not been in vain. While following Solo, I drew the conclusion that he met up with his supplier at this little Mexican restaurant in Stockbridge, Georgia, thirty minutes or so outside of Atlanta.
Observing him on two different occasions, I figured out how the move went down. Solo would be driven to the restaurant by the same nigga in his crew every time.
The nigga was light-skinned with light gray eyes that stood out. He drove a white Suburban to the restaurant and parked next to an identical truck, which would already be there when they arrived. They would go inside and have dinner with two Mexicans. One of the Mexicans was small and clean cut and wore business suits. The other one was much younger and rocked a baldhead. I judged him to be the enforcer.
After dinner, both parties would exit the restaurant together. When they drove away they would have already switched vehicles with each other.
“That’s when the exchange goes down,” I said to Criminal.