Chino ducked back in the car; the biting December air was too much to bear hanging out of a moving vehicle. Chino and Joe Bub Baby rolled down the busy streets of Manhattan. One thing he loved about the city was its energy. It could be two or three o’clock in the morning, and Manhattan would be lit up like it was broad daylight. He particularly loved rolling through Times Square and the massive Port Authority Terminal to check out the wide variety of characters who hung out in those places. New York was like a zoo for humans. One could find a variety of different species wandering about.
“Yo, check that out, dog!” Joe Bub said, pointing to the white cats that had multicolored Mohawks.
Chino shook his head. “Only in New York.”
“Yo, let’s roll through Harlem.”
“Mos def, but we can do that later. First we gotta meet Fabian’s cousin.”
“A’ight,” Joe Bub agreed. “Aye, what’s that cat’s name again? Dragons, Dragoon, Dragoose?”
“Dragos, fool!” Chino spat. “This is my plug, remember that. You just along for the ride, so you be quiet and let me do all the talking.”
“Bet,” Joe Bub told him. “Hey, C, let’s hit that club The Roxy while we up here.”
“I’m cool with that.”
“So old boy is Fabian’s kinfolk?”
“Yeah, they moms are sisters or cousins or some shit.”
“That’s fucked up how them cops did you.”
“Fuck ’em.” Chino shrugged. “They just mad ’cause they knew I was gonna walk. My name wasn’t on the warrant, or the house, or any of the bills. I was just a visitor and had nothing to do with anything. At least that’s what the jury would have been led to believe.”
Joe Bub held up his hand and Chino shook it. “That’s how you beat that shit, baby!”
“They didn’t really have shit on Fabian but about two ounces worth of powder that didn’t fall into the bucket. That shit ain’t nothing but about twenty-four months. As long as nobody talks, that’s all he’ll get.”
“He’ll end up in a camp doing sweet-ass fed time,” Joe Bub added. “Golfing and playing tennis and shit.”
“The good thing is, he got the paper to just kick back and do his time real sweet,” Chino said. “He’ll be good.”
“Man . . . if I gotta do a bid, I at least hope it’s a fed bid,” Joe Bub commented. He glanced down at his Swatch. “Hey, where we gotta meet them fools at?”
“Right here,” Chino said, pulling up to his destination, watching a car leave, “and there goes a parking spot right there.”
Chino whipped his rented Corvette around into the newly vacated parking spot. He and Joe Bub climbed out of the Vette and made their way across the street, heads tucked down and hands in their pockets, protecting themselves from the frosty air. A group of Puerto Ricans were standing outside a deli.
“Yo, you know where I can get a good cheese steak sandwich?” Chino spoke, giving them the code that Fabian had told him. “A nigga hungry.”
“Cheese steaks are in Philly,” one of them replied, hunched over from the cold.
“Well, what do you have here in New York?”
“Coneys,” another one answered correctly.
A slim Puerto Rican dude with a long mustache and slicked-back hair stepped forward. He wore a black leather jacket, some black jeans, and some black boots. He looked like a cross between the Terminator and Fonzie from Happy Days, but something about him was intimidating. Maybe even dangerous. Perhaps it was his unassuming manner, or the way he held his cigarette in his mouth, or the way he talked so slow and steady and sure but everyone could see that he wasn’t one to be fucked with.
“I am Dragos.” The slim man extended his hand.
“Chino.” He took and shook Dragos’s hand.
Dragos nodded toward the interior of the deli. “Let’s step inside and talk.”
Dragos led the way and Chino followed. The men stepped in front of the entry, letting Joe Bub know that he wasn’t going inside with them.
“Shit, it’s colder than a muthafucker out here!” Joe Bub said to himself as he turned around and bounced up and down slightly, trying to keep warm.
Dragos seated himself at a table in the corner, and Chino took the opposite seat.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Chino.” Dragos looked closely at him.
“I hope it’s all good.”
“It has been,” Dragos told him, nodding his head in approval. “The family speaks highly of you and my uncle received some reports . . . impressive. Our family values loyalty, and a man who can take a beating and keep his mouth closed is thought of in highest regard.”
“Man,” Chino said, rubbing his hand across his chin, “there’s no way I’ll ever be a snitch.”
Rubbing his hands together, Dragos stared long and hard at Chino. “You have proven yourself.”
“Have you heard anything from Fabian?”
“Nothing since the last time we talked. The lawyers say that he is going to be fine.”
“That’s good.”
“I thought it was important that we meet, so I could get a good gauge of your character since we are going to be dealing with each another from here on out. Fabian thinks of you like a brother.”
“As far as I’m concerned, he is my brother.” Chino and Fabian were as thick as thieves and their friendship was true.
“I don’t know what kind of deal you and Fabian had, but I’m looking for someone who can move some serious merchandise for me in Columbus.”
“How much?” Chino asked, never losing eye contact with Dragos.
“A lot. Basically, I’m looking for someone who can take Fabian’s place. All of the people he was working with are going to need a new supplier.”
“And you think I’m ready to move that much product?”
“Only you can answer that question, Chino. Are you ready?”
Chino looked out of the window and thought about what Dragos was asking. Was he ready to move that much weight in Columbus? Could he move that much weight? At least twenty birds a week. And depending on the ticket, he might be getting two or three thousand off each bird. Did he know enough niggas that moved at least a key? Could he depend on twenty niggas to each get a key each week, or ten niggas to get two keys a week? His crew would definitely have to step up their game. Money would be flowing like water, if they could find the customers. Could he do it? If Fabian could, then he could too. Fabian was from out of state, whereas Columbus was his. He was from Ohio, and nobody knew those streets or the players like he did. Yeah, he was ready.
“What kind of ticket are we talking?” Chino asked.
“We’ll start off small,” Dragos explained. “How about twenty keys a week?”
Chino nodded in agreement.
“The first month, I’m only going to send ten a week. I want you to build up your clientele and get used to moving that kind of weight.”
“You can go ahead and send the whole twenty,” Chino told him confidently.
He was ready to ball and rake in all of life’s rewards. The streets had not been kind to him as of yet. In fact, the streets had been a real bitch. But now, the bitch had just opened her legs up to him, and he was definitely going to fuck.
Chapter 13
Wait Till I Get My Money Right
Chino walked to his closet, pulled open the door, and kneeled down. He turned the knob on his metal safe, entering the combination. After correctly entering the four-digit number, he turned the lever and pulled open the heavy metal door. Inside the safe were his life savings. He had amassed roughly one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars. Not enough for him to quit hustling for the rest of his life. Not enough for him to pack up and leave Columbus and go somewhere else and start over. Definitely not enough for him to buy a nice house out in the suburbs, furnish it, buy two cars, settle down, and raise a family; it was just enough for him to keep going. But with this new connect, things were definitely going to change.
Dragos was shipping
him twenty kilos a week. If he made two thousand dollars a key, just by playing the middleman, he could definitely live with that. Forty thousand dollars a week meant that his dreams were within reach. In a year, he would be a millionaire. In a year, he could afford to quit. In a year, he could pack up, leave Columbus, leave the heartless and cold streets, leave behind all the death, destruction, and hard memories that seemed to plague him. In one year, he would be able to afford that life in the suburbs. In one year, he would be able to marry Pooh, start a family, have two nice whips in the driveway and a nice family dog in the backyard. He wanted it all. He wanted the American Dream.
The thought of waking up in the morning, taking the trash can to the street, and waving at his neighbors made him laugh. Hard-core Chino, gangsta from the hood, wanting to live the Leave It to Beaver lifestyle; but then again, wasn’t that what it was all about? Getting out of the ghetto? White kids wanted to sag, listen to hip hop, talk black, dress black, and become a part of the hood. Real niggas from the hood wanted out of the hood. They would trade anytime. Give me Beverly Hills, you muthafuckas can have Compton. Deal. No backs, no jacks, no penny tax.
Chino counted out fifty thousand dollars and put the rest of his money back inside his safe. He gave the combination lock a few twists and pulled on the lever to make sure that his safe was secure. The worst thing in the world would be to get peeled by a fucking burglar. Man, that would be so fucked up, he thought.
Chino placed his fifty grand inside a large manila envelope and headed out the door. He was about to ball like crazy, but only if he could move that much yayo. How did one move that much product on a regular? By building up a customer base. How did a business build up its customer base? By advertisement. And in this game, how did one advertise, or let others know that you had product to move? By looking like you did. Nobody in the game would say two words to a scrub. The big-timers that he had just overshot wouldn’t give him the time of day. Chino had always been known as one of Fabian’s boys; now he wanted to be their supplier. He wanted to sell keys to niggas who had once been his peers, his competition, and even his suppliers when Fabian’s supply had gone dry. But he had to let them know that he was open for business, and if it was any flack, he had to let them know that this was a new day and that he was the man now. First things first; he needed a whip that said he was the man. What better way than to go foreign?
Chino pulled into the Porsche dealership in his bucket and headed inside to the showroom. He was met with some strange glances, snares, smirks, but mostly the salesmen simply ignored him. They thought him just another kid from the hood with Porsche dreams with a lot of questions and a big waste of their time. One salesman didn’t see him that way, though. He figured that the dreamers that walked into the dealership today were his customers of tomorrow.
“Hello,” the salesman said, extending his hand toward Chino. “My name is Tom, what can I do for you today?” At least this guy was giving him some respect.
Chino pointed toward a Porsche 944 Turbo convertible on the showroom floor. The 944 Turbo had an almost butter smooth gray leather interior, a Blaupunkt stereo system, and a gorgeous candy red paint job. “Man, I like this one.”
“Ahh, this is nice. The convertible nine forty-four Turbo,” Tom confirmed. “We just got her in two days ago. She’s a real beauty. Actually, the nine forty-four is our biggest seller, then the nine eleven, and our top of the line is the nine twenty-eight GT.”
“Yeah, I know.” Chino nodded. “My homeboy had a nine twenty-eight GT, a black one. It was nice.”
“The nine twenty-eight is a helluva vehicle,” Tom told him. “Expensive though.”
“How much is this one?”
“This particular vehicle is fully loaded. It stickers out at forty-eight thousand. You can buy a 944 in the thirties; same thing with a turbo model. You can get a nicely equipped turbo for about forty to forty-two.”
“How does it drive?” Chino asked.
“Like a beauty.” Tom smiled. “Have you ever driven a turbo before?”
“Naw, man.” Chino shook his head.
“Man, there is nothing like driving a turbo, especially one of these. This thing takes off like a fighter jet.” Tom looked around the dealership. “If you brought your driver’s license, I can take you for a test drive.”
Chino nodded. “I got my license.”
“I just need to make a copy of it for insurance purposes, and find us some keys to one of the demos, and we’re outta here,” Tom told him.
Tom returned and tossed Chino the keys to a demo. Eagerly Chino waved his hand to the other salesmen, opened the door, and climbed inside. He inhaled deeply. The new car smell, the smell of leather, and its soft, glovelike feel was a combination that Chino loved. Taking the car on the freeway and getting the feel of it, he was even more sure this was the car he wanted. Chino turned up the stereo system and found a hip hop station bumpin’ MC Breed’s “Ain’t No Future in Yo Frontin.”
“What kind of stereo in this?”
“Blaupunkt,” Tom told him, trying to look cool but praying for a sale. “Blaupunkt, Alpine, and Nakamichi are the stereos they put in high-dollar foreign cars now.”
“I see.” Chino’s mind was made up. He got off the highway and made his way back to the dealership.
This was the car that would tell the ballers that he was a serious player. That they could come and score from him, and that he would always be the man.
“I’ll take it,” Chino said, once he came to a complete stop on the parking lot.
Tom laughed. “Wow, I like a man who knows what he wants. I don’t mean to pry, but you must have a heck of a job.”
“Yup.”
“You look a little young, though. Are you a lawyer or something?”
“I’ll give you forty-eight for it, but that’s with tax, title, and license.”
Tom shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if my general manager is going to go for that.”
“It’s the end of the month, you want to close out your sales month strong,” Chino told him knowingly with a smile. “He’ll take it.”
Tom grinned at the slick-tongued youngster. “So, you’re a car salesman, huh?”
“I’m a salesman.”
“I knew it!” Tom beamed. “No wonder you knew exactly what you wanted. Most customers have to be shown a couple of different models before settling on one.”
“Forty-eight, cash.”
“Cash?”
“Cash,” Chino repeated.
Tom rubbed his face. “Let me talk to my boss and see what he says.”
“Look, Tom, you and I both know that you’re going to go around that corner, go into that office, and tell your boss that you just sold this car, but you want to see if you can squeeze a little more out of the deal.” Chino looked at Tom. “It ain’t gonna happen. I’m not paying a penny over forty-eight, so you better squeeze tax, title, license, and the extended warranty all into that forty-eight.”
Tom looked at Chino and gave a fake smile.
Chino stole a glance at his watch. “I’m trying to pick my girl up from school in my new ride, so I don’t have a lot of time, so we got a deal?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom confirmed.
“Cool. I don’t have a lot of time. Make this quick.”
Chino opened his manila envelope and took two grand out of it. “Tell your finance manager and your sales manager to come and see me. I’ll take care of the money and the paperwork while the service guys get the car ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Tom said again.
Chino handed the salesman Pam’s information. “The car is going to be in my wife’s name. I’ll bring her in to sign whatever she needs to sign once I pick her up from school, but in the meantime, make sure that you register the car in her name. It’s going to be a gift for her.”
“I’ll take care of everything right away, sir.” Tom exited the car and disappeared inside the building.
Chino leaned back in the seat of his brand-ne
w Porsche. He was somebody. Somebody who was finally on his way. He could definitely get used to giving orders, and he could definitely get used to having fine German leather beneath his ass.
Chapter 14
The Family
Chino gathered the crew together to let them know of their good fortune. He pulled up to Corey’s house in his new Porsche and revved the engine. The loud, high-pitched whine of the turbo motor caused the guys to look outside.
“Chino, what the hell?” Rock asked, looking at the car, then back at Chino.
“No you didn’t!” Corey shouted. “My nigga, tell me you didn’t knock off this drop-top Porsche!”
“Cabriolet is what Porsche calls their convertibles, you uncultured fool,” Infa told him.
“Whatever it is, this bitch is nasty!” Joe Bub Baby declared. “Stank nasty!”
“Kinfolk, what this set you back?” Ant asked.
“We gon’ pull some hoes in this muthafucka!” Chris J declared.
Chino smiled and took in all the adulation.
“I know this muthafucka was a cool fifty Gs,” Corey said.
“When did you knock this bitch off?” Infa asked.
“Yesterday,” Chino told them.
“Yesterday? And you just now coming around your peeps to show it off? Fuck you, nigga,” Rock joked. They all went to look inside the ride.
“Man, this bitch got a Blaupunkt in it and everything!” Corey exclaimed.
“How this bitch move on the freeway?” Ant asked.
“Shit, like that wind, my nigga,” Chino confirmed.
“Damn, I want one of these hoes!” Chris J declared.
“We all gonna be rolling foreign . . . if y’all ready, that is,” Chino told them.
“Hell yeah!” Ant said.
“I been ready!” Chris J chimed in.
“Nigga, what is you talking about?” Rock asked.
“We can all ball till we fall, if y’all ready to get ya grind on,” Chino replied. “C’mon in, let me break it down to you.”
The crew followed Chino inside and took seats around Corey’s parents’ dining room table while Chino sat at the head of the table.
The Reason Why Page 6