Ripped Dollars 2

by Raymond Francis

  Tone’s plan had potential, and best of all it would get Lotta far away from Marv. Selling the half kilo wouldn’t exactly be an easy task, though. Tone was trying to move the work as fast as possible, and the problem was even with all the hustlers that Tone knew, there weren’t but so many who were in a position to cop that much work at once. It was nothing to a boss, but Tone knew way more scramblers and hand to hand trappers than he did bosses. The reality of the drug game is that a lot of hustlers grind every day, but very few actually stack up large sums of money.

  Making matters even more complex, Tone knew he was probably in hot water with his probation officer since they hadn’t had any contact in weeks. His past decisions were affecting his present situation, which is inevitable when someone is doing the type of dirt that Tone was accustomed to. Tone refused to let any of those things faze him though; he simply had to do what he had to do. He had ruined Lotta’s life, and he wasn’t going to be responsible for her having to suffer any more than she already was. Whether she wanted to be with him or not, Tone had to put her in a position where she was capable of surviving and not struggling.

  “So I’m gonna drop you off at the bus station and then head to the hood.”

  Lotta looked at Tone and smiled. Despite everything, she knew that he did still care about her.

  “So why don’t you just get on the bus, too? Let’s just go, now,” she asked.

  “Lotta, don’t say things you don’t mean. You was just tellin’ me I was a nut a few hours ago. Now you want me to come down there and be with you?” questioned Tone.

  “I was mad at you Tone. But I still got love for you. I just don’t understand why you do what you do. It’s frustrating because you have so much potential,” she said.

  Lotta definitely cared for Tone, but she was mature enough to know that she couldn’t change him. He would have to do that on his own.

  “Look, it will be easier for me to off this coke in Philly. Just let me make this one last move, then I promise you, I’m done with the bullshit. Just don’t give up on us,” he said.

  Even though things in her life were messed up because of him, Tone had hoped that Lotta would forgive him.

  “I never gave up on us, Tone. As a matter of fact…” said Lotta, reaching for her back pocket and exposing her half of the ripped dollar.

  “So where is yours?” she asked.

  Tone smiled and retrieved his half of the dollar, which he always kept close. Lotta knew at that moment, despite all the other women and the awful decisions, Tone undoubtedly loved her. Even with all the obstacles against them they both had faith that they could make it work. Tone just had to handle one last thing before that was possible. It was time to put his plan into effect.

  Tone dropped Lotta off at the Greyhound station on 11th & Race, leaving her with a goodbye kiss that had her feeling some type of way inside. If he could successfully sell the half kilo of cocaine with no trouble, he would be out the game and everything would be straight. Tone would have enough money to start a new, crime-free life with Lotta. However, things have a way of never going as simply as they should…

  *****

  In order for Roc’s plan with the Feds to work, things had to be put in motion quickly. The agent knew time was of the essence so he put the paperwork through to get Roc released into the custody of the U.S. Marshals. From the Federal Detention Center, the Marshals took Roc to an undocumented police station out in the country part of Pennsylvania where they handled their undercover work. The spot was equipped with all types of computers, radios, and surveillance materials.

  Before getting locked up, Roc was in the process of securing an 18 wheeler for the Mexicans to deliver cocaine into the city in. His plan was to buy the truck and enlist the Mexicans as his drivers. Then, Roc would have false compartments installed in the trucks to stash multiple kilos of cocaine, while the rest of the truck would be loaded with fruits and vegetables as a front. Even the Feds had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea.

  The Federal agents made all of Roc’s plans come to fruition with the snap of a finger. They had government money, which meant unlimited resources and connections in high places. In less than a few hours, they had the truck secured and paid for and equipped with the false compartments as well as video surveillance. Now, it was up to Roc to establish contact with the Mexicans like he had promised that he could. Roc had to deliver on his part of the bargain if the deal was going to stand. After that, he could at least gain some temporary freedom and then he could worry about protecting Lotta from Marv’s crazy ass. First things first, Roc had to start incriminating the Mexicans and it was all going to begin with a phone call.

  “Yo Pablo, buenos dias,” said Roc, in his best street-learned Spanglish.

  Every true hustler knew at least a little bit of Spanish because that was the language of cocaine.

  “Who this?” replied Pablo, who was a high ranking cartel member stationed near Mexico, but wasn’t much of a phone person at all.

  “This is Roc from Philadelphia,” nervously he replied.

  The Feds and Roc both waited as a long awkward silence ensued on both ends of the phone line. Finally, Pablo responded.

  “Long time, no hear from you,” he said.

  “Yeah. I took a vacation,” lied Roc.

  The federal agents were recording the conversation, but still listening intently. They wanted as much detail as they could about the members of the Mexican cartel that Roc was infiltrating.

  “So where you go to?” inquisitively asked Pablo.

  Roc had to think quickly on his feet, which was always the difficult part about telling a lie to someone.

  “The Virgin Islands.”

  Pablo took another long pause before responding.

  “Beautiful place. I go down there last summer and lose my money gambling in the casino,” said Pablo, with a laugh.

  “Yeah, I lost a couple dollars too,” lied Roc.

  “Ay Roc, which casino you gamble in? Was it Caesars or uhh, the Trumps Taj Mahal? asked Pablo in his Spanglish dialect.

  The Feds were egging Roc on, trying to make him get something incriminating out of Pablo instead of just a vacation story. However, Roc knew what he was doing. Pablo didn’t talk direct business over the phone. If Roc was calling him, Pablo already knew what it was for. They had codes and phrases they used, but the incriminating words that the Feds longed to hear would never be dropped directly by Pablo in a phone conversation. Pablo was much too smart and had sold drugs for way too long to do that.

  “I played at Caesars. Blackjack. Couldn’t beat the dealer to save my life. I lost like $20,000,” said Roc.

  Once again, Pablo took a long pause before responding.

  “Ok. So I send my children to visit in Philly. You pick them up at our normal spot. Should they come on the 15th or the 20th?” asked Pablo.

  That was the phrase Roc was waiting for. The code he had developed with the Mexicans always involved a date and some talk of Pablo’s children. The ‘children’ was code for cocaine and date of the 15th meant 15 kilos, while the 20th meant 20 kilos. Since Roc wasn’t spending his own money anyway, he arranged for the ‘visit’ to occur on the 20th, which meant he wanted 20 kilograms of cocaine! Pablo agreed and the wheels were in motion. Roc went on to explain that he would be sending the 18 wheeler they had previously talked about down to Pablo’s spot near the Mexican border. Pablo agreed, since he had been wanting to start using trucks for transport for quite a while anyway.

  The Feds were thrilled, they were finally making headway. Roc confirmed that he was having the modified truck sent down to the pickup spot, which was just near the border to Mexico. Then, the Mexican traffickers would load the cocaine into the hidden compartments and drive it back up to Philly. The Mexican driver would then meet up with Roc at their usual place in South Philly where money would be exchanged. It was an elaborate scheme, but the Feds loved the plan and had confidence that it would work.

  Roc ended the recorded call and t
ook a deep breath. He had gotten through what had been one of the hardest things he had to do in his life since burying Sharmaine. Roc had officially become a government informant. Becoming a rat was the worst thing Roc could ever consider himself doing, but at least he had good reason. Roc needed his freedom to get to Marv before he got to Lotta. While the Feds were waiting on the arrangement put in place with the Mexicans, they had agreed to hold up their end of the deal and allowed Roc to remain free on pre-trial supervision. Instead of going back to the Federal detention center, Roc was released into the streets.

  Damn near everything of value had been taken out of his luxurious home, but the Feds allowed Roc to reside there while he was out on bond and working as their informant. He had to live with strict stipulations, which included having a pre-trial probation officer check in on him, but Roc didn’t really mind that. It was just part of what he had to do. Roc knew that he had a small window of time that he had to find either Marv or Lotta, before they found each other!

  *****

  Tone made his way back to the hood and put word out through some of the younger hustlers who hugged the corner that he had A-1 cocaine for the low. He told them that no matter they were paying their current connect; he could beat their price by 10%! If his plan worked, they would get back to the bigger drug dealers that they worked for, and they would contact Tone. Since there was a drought in the city due to Roc’s indictment and a few robberies courtesy of Tone, he knew drug dealers were itching for a new connect. Tone strategy was to start a bidding war like he was auctioning off the half kilo!

  Besides getting rid of the cocaine, Tone also had other business to take care of while he was back around the way. For the first time in way too long, Tone decided to make his way back around to Melinda’s house. Tone had ducked his probation officer way too long, and if he was going to make true changes in his life he couldn’t run from that situation either. He wasn’t necessarily going to turn himself in if it came down to it, but at least he could see what his P.O. was talking about.

  Walking up to Melinda’s building, the first person Tone saw was Roscoe. Roscoe had gained about five pounds since the last time Tone had seen him. He was actually sticking to his declaration to be drug free. He had even started attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings once a week.

  “Long time no see,” said Tone.

  “Whatever, Tone,” snapped Roscoe.

  Roscoe was none too thrilled about the way Tone had used him to come up, and then basically abandoned him. After doing the robbery with Tone and then hanging out with him for a few days, Roscoe thought that the two of them had developed a bond and even formed a friendship. After all, Tone had even taken the time to go to the dentist with Roscoe and fill out his paperwork for him. However, Roscoe was coming to see that Tone only viewed him as nothing more than a crackhead who he had used to complete a scheme. For Roscoe, that was a cold and heartbreaking realization.

  “So how you been, oldhead?” asked Tone.

  “Why you care to know, nigga? You don’t give a fuck ‘bout me!” spat Roscoe.

  Tone wasn’t completely coldhearted, so he let Roscoe vent his frustrations.

  “You know, I ain’t had a real friend in over 10 years Tone. These crackheads you see me with, they ain’t my friends. They’d slit my throat over some good rock. But I thought things between us were different. We actually got some money together. Shit, you even set with me through my dentist’s appointment. I thought we were more than that,” explained Roscoe.

  Tone was taking in all of Roscoe’s drug addict philosophy. He didn’t realize that he meant so much to the man. Tone quickly realized this was another situation in his life that he needed to make right and he had a way to do just that.

  “Well look Roscoe, I’m a slide up and see if Melinda got any messages from my P.O. Wait right here and I’m a be right back. I’m gonna handle some things and then I’m a make that shit it up to you, I promise you that. Just wait here, aight?” said Tone.

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I’m just a damn crackhead. Where the hell do I got to go?” sarcastically said Roscoe, skeptical that Tone would come back for him.

  *****

  It wasn’t everyday a nigga came through the hood with a half kilo of cocaine to sell for the low during the middle of a drought, so Tone had the drug dealer grapevine buzzing quickly. Naturally, every hustler’s phone was ringing off the hook. Some were trying to borrow money, collect on debts, or do whatever they had to do to get in position to cop the work. One hustler whose phone was ringing was Marv.

  Marv knew it was no coincidence that he had just gotten robbed for the same exact amount of work that this mysterious new hustler was trying to sell. Once word got back that the man with the cocaine was pushing a burgundy Caddy truck with out of state plates, Marv knew that he had found his man! Now, he had a big fish on the line and it was time to reel him in. Marv could taste sweet revenge on the tip of his tongue and he wasn’t about to blow it! He knew that Tone was somewhere in West Philly and Marv was on a manhunt for him. With his Desert Eagle loaded, Marv hit the streets in search of the infamous burgundy Cadillac truck.

  *****

  Terrified, Lotta sat in the bus station waiting for the Greyhound bus that would take her out of Philadelphia and into South Carolina. She couldn’t really explain it, but she knew that something was wrong. A feeling kept coming over her that she was about to lose someone that she loved very, very dearly. It was like God was telling her that she would never see this man again. It was the same feeling she felt when her mother had gone missing and eventually ended up dead. Uncontrollably, tears ran down Lotta’s face. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she knew that something was about to go terribly wrong and that she had to try and do something about it! Quickly, Lotta made her way up from her seat at the bus station and headed outside.

  Chapter 10

  The Feds always worked quickly, so after Roc’s phone call they immediately went into action. The 18 wheeler was on the road headed South within a matter of hours. Once the truck arrived at its destination, the cocaine would be loaded onto it and one of Pablo’s men would drive the truck back to Philadelphia to deliver the cocaine and accept payment from Roc. Obviously, that was where the DEA sting would go down. With everything in motion, all the federal agents could do was wait impatiently as one of the biggest possible drug busts in recent city history unfolded.

  Roc’s time was of the essence, so he had to act quickly. Basically, he had two options. Roc could try to find Lotta and get her to safety or get to Marv and eliminate the threat altogether. After weighing both scenarios and their repercussions, Roc decided that trying to find Marv was the best idea. Marv was the root of the problem, so he had to be dealt with. Lotta was best left wherever she was at, figured Roc. All he could do was hope that she was using the knowledge that he had bestowed on her and making smart decisions.

  The Feds had confiscated all of Roc’s possessions, including his arsenal of guns, but luckily he was able to holla at the local gun trafficker and get right. The man was generous and understood Roc’s situation, so he blessed him with a .40 cal with a scratched off serial number. The gun was loaded with slugs that Roc had every intention of putting into Marv. No matter what the situation was, Roc wasn’t going to allow Marv to threaten Lotta under any circumstances. By doing that, Marv had essentially signed his own death certificate as far as Roc was concerned. Now, there were two men on the Philly streets on their own personal manhunts. The clock was ticking, and it was just a matter of which one would find his target first!

  *****

  Philadelphia has a reputation as being a small town masquerading as a big city. While everyone seems to know everyone else on some level or another, tracking a person down is no easy task. Marv had been on a mission all day looking through West Philadelphia for a man named Tone in a burgundy Cadillac SRX with out of state plates who had cocaine for sale. He let it be known that if he couldn’t find him, he would settle for Lotta.


  As darkness began to fall over the city, Marv continued to creep through the streets in his 2010 Pontiac Bonneville. The windows were tinted and inside he was smoking on a codeine dipped blunt and sipping on a half pint of Hennessey. His Desert Eagle was riding shotgun. Marv went by the age old theory of doing his dirt all by his lonely. He didn’t want to involve anyone in his drama that could eventually become a witness against him in a court of law.

  Grab ya glocks when you see 2Pac / Call the cops when you see 2Pac

  Who shot me, but you punks didn’t finish / Now you ‘bout to feel the wrath of a menace

  Nigga I hit ‘em up!

  2Pac’s ride or die anthem “Hit ‘em Up” was on repeat in Marv’s whip, and it conveyed everything that Marv was feeling in his heart. He felt so betrayed by Lotta and Roc that his heart held no sympathy or remorse. Marv was on a mission to get revenge, but he had no idea that his stepbrother Roc was out of jail and was on a mission of his own! Roc’s mission was to protect the only thing in the world that he truly cared about, which was Lotta. Marv was a predator and prey at the same time, and he didn’t even know it.

  After driving around West Philly for hours to no avail, Marv’s frustration began to set in.

  “I gotta get me another fuckin’ drink,.” mumbled Marv, as he parked up the Bonne and headed into a local hood bar called the Watusi Lounge.

  The Watusi was sometimes a hustler hangout, so Marv figured that there might be some information available in there that would lead him to this Cadillac truck driving stick-up kid named Tone that he was pursuing. People began to run their mouths when liquor got into their system. Marv posted up at the bar and got his eavesdrop on, listening for any inkling that might lead him to his target. However, as Marv sipped his Crown Royal and Coke waiting for something to pop off, his own house was actually the place where all the action was going down!

  *****

  Startled from the banging on the door, Joy pulled herself away from her phone just long enough to make it to the peephole and peer out of Marv’s front door. After all the drama she had been through with the robbery, she wasn’t opening the door for anyone except Marv. The man she was peeking out the window at was definitely not Marv. Instead, Joy was staring into the eyes of his enraged step-brother, Roc.