by K'wan
Justice shrugged his shoulders. “It’s like he said before he gave me this beauty mark,” he pointed to the scar on his face, “we ain’t brothers no more.”
K-Dawg smiled. “See, just like I said; everything is going to work itself out. But if you’re still afraid of the blow back from this, I’ll make a phone call or two and see about getting these little niggas cleaned up. I think twenty-thousand per head should be enough to get every broke nigga in the streets to try and collect.”
“We’ve tried to use hired killers on Animal in the past and it’s never worked out well for them,” Shai said, recalling the countless men he had sent after Animal over the years only to have them get sent back in bags or go missing.
“Of course hired help wouldn’t be able to do much with Animal, which is why I’m putting the paper on the heads of his homies. Making Animal the target, would be the obvious choice, which is why we’re not going to touch him…at least not yet. I’m going to target his support system, Ashanti, Brasco, the whole Dog Pound. All them little dirty niggas is about to get it. I’m going to cut Animal off from anyone who I know that would bust their guns for him. Let’s see him go to war with no army.”
Shai shook his head in marvel at K-Dawg’s cunning. “You had to be a general in some past life,” he said sarcastically.
“I’ve been a general in every life that I have or will ever live, including this one,” K-Dawg matched his tone.
“Do what you gotta do, K-Dawg. Just make sure this shit doesn’t come back on me or my family,” Shai warned.
K-Dawg stood and gave a mock bow. “As you command, your highness. Let’s blow this joint, Jus. It smells like sex in here and I don’t want that stench getting in my suit,” he looked Shai and Angelo up and down before strutting out of the office. Justice made to follow his friend, but stopped short and spared a glance at Shai and Angelo. There was a strange expression on his face, and he opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it and walked out. “I don’t like them cats, especially that slimy muthafucka K-Dawg,” Angelo said once they had gone.
“I’m not a big fan of K-Dawg either. He’s sneaky, dangerous, and I can’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” Shai said.
“Then why continue to deal with him?” Angelo asked.
“Because right now he’s the lesser of two evils. We could’ve probably got the deal done on our own, but there are certain guarantees that he brings to the table that we couldn’t get anywhere else.”
Angelo shook his head. “I still don’t like it or him. That dude is a grease ball and it’ll only be a matter of time before he double crosses us.”
Shai smiled. “I would expect nothing less from him. I know K-Dawg has a card up his sleeve that he hasn’t played yet, but before it’s all said and done, he’ll find out he isn’t the only one who knows how to deal from the bottom of the deck.”
CHAPTER 3
The night was quiet…too quiet depending on who was listening. There was the usual hustle and bustle that came with living in New York City, too much traffic in the streets and seemingly too many people on the sidewalks, but it felt like something was missing…something only a naïve New Yorker would be able to pick up on. There was an absence to the night that Alonzo aka Zo-Pound couldn’t put his finger on, but it made him clutch the .357 jammed between the driver’s seat and center console, a little tighter.
Zo-Pound was a man who had learned early in life that it was always wise to be on point, no matter where you were, but he had always felt at ease in Harlem. It was the only home he had ever known and every time he stepped into a familiar neighborhood, it hugged him like a mother’s embrace. He loved Harlem and for a long time could never imagine being anywhere else, but that had all changed over the course of the last year.
The crew he ran with was led by his biological brother Lakim and a man who he loved like a brother, King James. They were an ode to the throwback gangsters of the eighties and were fast on the come up. For the last couple of years they had been locked in a turf war with New York’s resident king, Shai Clark. There were heavy casualties on both sides and Zo was happy when they were finally able to put the conflict to bed and got back to making money. King James became known as the man who had stood against a tyrant and lived to tell about it. It made their crew notorious seemingly overnight, which turned out to be both a good and bad thing. They were able to open their lanes up and see some real paper, but with more money came more problems. It seemed like every time they turned around there was another upstart crew looking to come at them trying to mimic what they had been able to do against the Clarks. The crowns Zo and his team wore were getting heavy, but six months prior, they became down right backbreaking. Unbeknownst to them, they weren’t only on the radar of other crews, but also of the police. It was like they couldn’t go a week without somebody getting locked up or killed. Zo could feel the fire getting close, but it actually burned him when they lost Dee.
Dee was a stand up young dude who had been running with their crew. Zo had known Dee since he was a little dude on the block slinging nickel bags of crack. Over time, he had gotten his weight up and became a part of King James’s inner circle. When Ashanti started pulling away from their team to pursue other ventures with Kahllah, it had been Dee who stepped up to fill the void he’d left in not only their crew, but as Zo’s right hand man. All Dee wanted to do was fuck bitches and get money, but sometimes men aspiring to reach certain heights were called on to do more.
A dude Dee had met through a friend had been buying ounces from them over a span of a few weeks and decided he wanted to step his order up to a half-bird. Zo and Dee were supposed to go and close the deal and bring the money back, but in a strange twist of fate, Zo had gotten into a car accident on his way to pick Dee up for the exchange and ended up spending the night in the emergency room. Zo urged Dee to reschedule, but Dee wanted to prove that he could carry his own weight and went to do the deal without Zo. As it turned out, the dude who wanted the coke was really a stick up kid and had been lining Dee up the whole time. Dee walked into an ambush and when the smoke cleared, two people were dead and Dee ended up sitting on sixty-years for the bodies.
Losing Dee hurt, not just because he was a part of the team and Zo’s friend, but also because he was a young man who had just been stripped of the rest of his youth over some bullshit. Getting into that car accident was a blessing in disguise for Zo- Pound. Had he been with Dee instead of in the emergency room, he’d likely be occupying a cell next to his friend or a plot in a cemetery. That was the second bullet Alonzo had dodged, and he didn’t intend to test fate for a third time. When the game he’d played all his life started coming with more risks than rewards, it was time to switch hustles. This is what had him sitting in his car on 148th and Riverside Drive in the middle of the night.
When Zo’s cell phone rang, he was hopeful, thinking it might be the person he’d been waiting on for the last twenty minutes. He looked at the face of his stereo and saw “Boo” lit up in digital letters. Wifey was calling to check in with him, no doubt wondering where he was since he’d promised to be home by then. After letting it ring a few times, Zo finally hit the answer button and activated the car’s Bluetooth.
“Nothing, waiting on you,” Porsha’s voice came through the speakers.
“I know, and that’s my fault. This shit is just taking a little longer than I expected,” Zo said apologetically.
“Obviously,” Porsha said with a hint of irritation in her voice. “I still don’t see why they couldn’t come fix the lift in the morning during normal business hours.”
“Because I’m not a normal business man,” Zo reminded her. “Listen, baby, if I wait until the morning to get this done I’m gonna lose money. I own a garage and people wanna get their cars in early so they can be out early. I ain’t got time to slow this money up. Besides, these Mexican niggas are gonna fix the lift for me at half cost of what most of the other places wanted to charge. So if bei
ng at the shop afterhours is gonna save us a few dollars, I gotta do what I gotta do. I hope you can understand that?”
“You know I do, but I guess I’m just missing you. Since you retired from the block you’ve gotten me spoiled on you being here at night.”
Zo smiled as if she could see him. “Yeah, I can’t front, I dig being home at night with you too. You know at first I was skeptical about going back to this nine-to-five shit, but the transition wasn’t as hard as I thought.”
“That’s because you’re an owner now and not a worker,” Porsha said proudly.
“True indeed, baby, and I have you to thank for giving me the push I needed,” Zo said sincerely. When Zo first stared contemplating retiring from the drug game, he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do for money. It had been Porsha who pushed him to invest some of the money he stacked into a business. She thought they should open a store or boutique, but Zo had something else in mind. There was an old timer he knew that owned an auto body shop in the neighborhood that was swimming in debt. Zo paid off a large chunk of what the old head owed in exchange for a majority stake in the auto body shop. Zo didn’t make what he would’ve from selling drugs through the auto body shop, but it brought in enough money for him and his lady to live comfortably. More importantly, he owned something that was worth something for the first time in his life.
“That’s what a good woman is supposed to do; push her man to be great. Now how much longer do you think you’re going to be?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t be too long at all,” Zo told her. His eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, and the white Maserati that had just parked two car spaces back. In that neighborhood, the car stuck out like a sore thumb. “I’ll hit you when I’m on my way home to see if you need anything.”
“Okay, love you babe.”
“Love you too,” he replied and ended the call. He hated lying to Porsha, but he didn’t feel like hearing her mouth that night. Since Zo stopped hustling on the block their relationship had been going great. She didn’t have to worry about late night phone calls telling her he was dead or in jail and she no longer had to be ashamed when people asked her what her man did for a living. As far as she knew Zo was now completely legit, but it wasn’t entirely true. He was no longer on the block, but he was still hustling harder than ever. The difference between his new hustle and his old one was if he got caught he wouldn’t get state time, he was going to straight to the Feds.
Zo grabbed the manila envelope from the passenger seat and got out. At the exact moment, he was exiting his Audi, the Maserati driver was easing out from his vehicle. In his hand, he carried a Barney’s bag that looked like it was carrying more weight than it was meant to. He was a young light-skinned man who wore his hair in a wavy fade. A diamond studded chain hung down over his white V-neck t-shirt that played tricks with the streetlights. His jeans sagged slightly, showing off his Ralph Lauren boxers and cuffed at the bottom to lay perfectly over his Ferragamo high tops. To those who didn’t know him, Ocho could’ve easily been mistaken for a dope-boy, but he had put street level crimes behind him when he hooked up with Zo- Pound and traded in his iron and lead for paper and plastic.
“What up wit’ it my nigga?” Ocho greeted Zo.
“Waiting for your slow ass,” Zo gave him dap. “You know I hate to be kept waiting.”
“My fault, big bro. I had some shit that demanded my attention, feel me?” Ocho said in a serious tone.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah, some niggas tried to burn my lil’ mans and them on some paper they owed for some numbers and I had to step up and let them know just what type of animals they were dealing with,” Ocho patted his waist where he had his gun stashed.
“Be cool out there, Ocho. Don’t let that street shit get in the way of this money,” Zo warned.
“I feel you on that, my G. The money we been getting off them numbers is way sweeter than what I was seeing on the block, but beneath these fancy clothes and cars still beats the heart of a goon. Ain’t no nigga living will ever be able to say they took something of mine,” Ocho boasted. “Again, my apologies for making you wait, Zo, but I came bearing compensation,” he held the Barney’s bag out to Zo.
Zo took the bag and peeked inside. There were three boxes inside, the one on the top contained a pair of women’s boots, and the two on the bottom were brimming over with cash. The money was what had added the additional weight to the bag. “Nice,” he nodded in approval. “How did you know Porsha wanted these?”
“When we double dated last week I remember hearing her telling Lauren how bad she wanted them, but her size was on backorder everywhere she looked. I had the Pop-Out-Babies on the lookout for them, so you know when they came through we booked ‘em,” Ocho said proudly. When he saw the apprehensive look on Zo’s face, he realized his mistake. “Yo, my fault Zo. I should’ve probably cleared it with you first. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“It’s all good my G. When you know better you do better,” Zo said nonchalantly. He knew Ocho hadn’t meant any harm, but it still didn’t stop him from being quietly irritated. He wanted to be the one who tracked the boots down for Porsha. “Nice ride,” he turned his attention to the Maserati.
Ocho shrugged. “This shit fly, but it’s a temporary arrangement. I got some white boys poppin’ out with us. I had them rent three of these from that exotic car place that caters to the celebrities when they’re in town. Between that pale skin and them clean credit card numbers they never gave my boys a second look when they came down to pick them up.”
“That’s where that white privilege comes into play. You know they would’ve put one of us through all kinds of bullshit if we had tried to roll in there to grab something.”
“Word up!” Ocho agreed. “Them white dudes wanna be down so bad that they’re ready to fuck up a life that most of us would kill to have, just to hang in the slums and be able to claim a set. By the time the car place realizes the cars ain’t coming back, we’ll already have them whacked up, put back together, and re-sold.”
“Y’all be careful with that. These ain’t some Honda Civics y’all ripped off; they’re luxury cars. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had low-jacks on them,” Zo warned.
“Man we got all that shit covered,” Ocho said dismissively. “I know some El Salvadorians out in Queens who’ll disable all that shit for a few dollars.”
Zo was impressed by his foresight. “You little muthafuckas cover all bases when you steal, huh?”
“Not at all. If you gonna do, you gotta do it right. See, that’s why a lot of these niggas wanna run with us, but they ain’t built for it. They pop out, but they ain’t really poppin’ out. We the original Pop-Out-Babies,” Ocho said proudly.
The Pop-Out-Babies were the larcenous band of young thieves he held sway over. They were a collective of the best boosters, scammers, and con artists in the city. The young crew had the swag of Hollywood players but criminal minds worthy of the I.D. Channel. When Zo first hooked up with them they were pulling credit card scams and boosting things to re-sell in the hood, but he taught them to refine their hustle. They excelled at identity theft and could clone credit cards better than anyone he had ever seen. The best part was that Zo didn’t have to deal with them directly unless he wanted to. The Pop- Out-Babies answered to Ocho and Ocho answered to Zo. For all everyone on the outside knew, Zo was just the part owner in a garage, but it was his business with Ocho that allowed him and his lady to live a cut above everyone else. Porsha wasn’t dumb, she knew what Zo and Ocho were into, but she had no idea of the level at which they were playing.
“Y’all just make sure you don’t hold onto them cars for too long, O. Have your fun, but don’t be stupid about it,” Zo said.
“C’mon, you know me better than that. We’re supposed to drive them out to Queens tomorrow night and that’ll be the last time you see them,” Ocho assured him. “You know, it’d be a lot easier if you let us bring them through your shop to get the body work d
one. The money we giving them Queens niggas we could be kicking to you.”
“You must’ve lost your damn mind. I told you before; I ain’t mixing no dirty paper with this clean shit. If it ever goes down the garage is one of the few things the government won’t be able to seize because it’s totally legit. I ain’t trying to fuck that up for no punk ass few dollars.”
Ocho raised his hands in surrender. “Hey man, it was just a suggestion.”
“Well, suggest it to somebody who don’t mind going to federal prison,” Zo told him. “Oh, while I’m thinking about it, I got some fresh numbers for y’all to get to work on,” he handed Ocho the manila envelope he had been carrying.
Ocho peeked inside the envelope. “How long do you think we have?”
“I don’t know. I just came up on them earlier, so I’d say you got a couple of days. Still, you might not wanna wait that long to burn them out. Don’t blow them on stupid shit like Ubers and Jordan’s, tear down those electronic stores. It’s almost tax season so you know niggas gonna be on the hunt for them flat screens and shit. Grab a few of them GPS systems too. We got more than enough lost niggas in the world who could use some direction.”
“Kind of like how you came along and started giving us direction, huh?” Ocho asked.
“I don’t know if I’d say I gave y’all direction, more like I helped you get organized.”
“That’s why I fucks with you, Zo, because you’re humble as hell. You got all these young niggas working under you, but you still carrying on like you’re one of the soldiers.”
“That’s because I am,” Zo said. “Regardless of whether I’m calling the shots or not, I’m still going to be a soldier. That’s just how I was raised.”
“Right, right.” Ocho nodded. “Yo, speaking of soldiers, I gotta show you this new chopper I just copped,” he started back towards the Maserati. “I got a home girl who lives down in N.C. Her baby daddy is stationed at a marine base and he be getting his hands on all the high powered shit.”