“How was New York?” Rock asked.
“Lovely,” Joe Bub replied.
“New York is what I want to talk to you about,” Chino told them. “I met with my homeboy’s cousin, and dude is promising a major ticket, if we can handle it.”
Chris J rubbed his hands together. “If we can handle it? Man, bring that shit on!”
“No more quarter keys and halves,” Chino told them. “Do each of you think that you can move at least a key a week?”
“A key a week?” Corey shouted.
“Hell yeah!” Infa stated.
Joe Bub chimed in, “A key a week? Bring that shit on.”
“A least,” Chino told them. If they could move a key a week, then that would mean that he had just gotten rid of six keys a week. He could probably move four on his own. That meant that he would have to find a home for the other ten. He could definitely find ten niggas in Columbus to get a key from him.
“Man, I’ll be moving two keys a week in about a month,” Joe Bub Baby declared.
“Me too,” Infa said.
“Me three, nigga,” Rock added.
“But no bullshit,” Chino told them. “I know that I’m asking you to push more dope than you’re used to, but be careful with that shit. Don’t take no chances, don’t make no stupid decisions and end up busted or short. I know you niggas like to go shopping as soon as you get some money in your pockets, but we can’t roll like that no more. Pay me first, and put your profits up. I don’t want to be getting fronted, I want us to be straight up buying weight from these dudes. They don’t take no shorts; besides, we can get better prices if we buy straight up. I want all of y’all to come up. I want all of y’all to be buying two keys a week for yourself.”
Nods went around the table.
“Bet,” Infa said. “Boys, he’s looking out for everyone.”
“So, you gonna front us at first?” Joe Bub questioned.
“Yeah, at first, but like I said, save your money because I want us to start buying from dude instead of getting fronted. We can get a better price and that means more money for you.” Chino looked at all his soldiers. “With shit like this, we can sew up Columbus, Cincinnati, Dayton, and Cleveland. We can be the kings of Ohio.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, nigga!” Chris J said. “Being the kings of this shit!”
“Winning it all!” Ant said. He looked at Rock. “What you think, man?”
“Like Seabiscuit or something, nigga! I want to win it all.” Rock looked at Infa.
“The muthafucking Triple Crown!”
“That’s what it’s all about,” Chino told them, looking over his crew. “Winning it all.”
“The motherfucking clique that wins it all!” Corey suggested. “The Triple Crown Clique.”
“Bitches run in cliques, nigga!” Ant replied. “We outlaws, fool. Outlaws run in posses.”
“The muthafucking Triple Crown Posse, fools!” Chris J shouted and looked around the table. Smiles crossed all of their faces.
“Triple Crown Posse!” Ant confirmed.
Chino nodded. “I like the sound of that. From now on, this is the muthafucking Triple Crown Posse. A group of straight up outlaws dedicated to getting that paper and winning it all! Anybody who don’t think they can cut it, feel free to walk now.”
Chino peered around the table and all eyes remained on him.
Nobody moved. “Okay, then, this means it’s for life, niggas. We in it together, we ball together, we fall together. Nobody snitches and tries to save they own ass, is that clear?”
Nods went around the table.
“You snitch, you die,” Rock declared.
“Naw, nigga, you snitch, and your family dies!” Infa declared.
“Word!” Chris J said, nodding.
“If any one of us gets cracked, or we all get cracked, we keep our fucking mouths shut, is that clear?” Chino asked.
Again, nods went around the table.
“We’re going to have a cook house. If we all chip in a hundred dollars a week, we can rent us a place. Everybody cool with that?”
“Uh-huh.” Nods went around the table.
“Don’t keep your dope where you lay your head,” Chris J added. “Keep that shit at a bitch’s house, at a kinfolk’s house, anywhere but where you lay your head. Is that clear?”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“And don’t keep no guns with that shit,” Chino told them. “We’ll pull some bitches and use their house to keep our straps in. That way if a house gets hit, we won’t lose all our shit. Is that clear?”
“So, you gonna give us a ticket of a key a week?” Ant asked.
“For right now,” Chino said. “I want you buying your own keys as soon as possible. If I got you buying your shit, plus I’m buying my shit, we can all put our money together and score big. When a muthafucka fronts you, then you owe that nigga. Old boy in New York seemed okay, but I don’t want to owe them cats shit.”
“When we gonna get the first ticket?” Infa asked.
“This weekend. For right now, we gonna have to cook it here like we’ve been doing. Is that cool, Corey?”
“Hell yeah,” Corey said.
“Then that’s it,” Chino declared. “The Triple Crown Posse is officially in business. We down for each other and we down for whatever. We’re in it to win it all.”
“Triple Crown Posse . . . TCP!” everyone yelled in unison.
Chino extended his hand to his boys. “Let’s do this shit!”
Chapter 15
The Sky Is the Limit
“We rollin’, baby!” Infa said, shaking hands with Corey outside the club.
The crew had decided to step out and hook up at Jazzy Jay’s to celebrate their good fortune. It had been three weeks since that fateful meeting at Corey’s house, and they had received three tickets since. That was sixty kilos total for Chino and he had been able to move them all. Soon each member of the crew would be pumping two keys apiece a week. With the exception of Joe Bub Baby, Infa, and Chris J, who had moved ahead and would be pumping three apiece. Times were good.
Corey pointed toward his new champagne-colored BMW 325i. “Just got her today.”
“How are you going to explain that to your parents?” Chris J asked.
“My pops financed it,” Corey explained. “As long as I keep my grades up, they’re paying for it.”
“Ah, ole schoolboy-ass nigga!” Rock said laughing.
“I thought you got her by balling, nigga!” Ant said.
“Me too!” Infa laughed.
“Why you acting like you balling out of control when Mommy and Daddy got this shit for you?” Chris J asked. “Faking the funk ass nigga!”
Chino and Pam walked up holding a large shopping bag.
“Damn nigga, you could have left your bags in the car,” Rock told him.
Chino held up the bag. “These are gifts for you ugly-ass niggas.”
Chris J rubbed his hands together. “Hell yeah. I like gifts, especially when they for me!”
“Gifts?” Rock asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Who you think you are, Santa Claus or something, nigga?”
“Shut up, black-ass nigga!” Chris J told Rock. “I want my gift. Kinfolk, what you get a player?”
Pam laughed. Chris J always made her laugh. He and Infa were the two in the crew that kept her rolling.
“C’mon,” Chino said, nodding toward the parking lot. The crew followed him to a nearby car. It was cool, because Chino knew the owner of the black BMW 750i. He sat his large bag on top of the hood. “We a crew, we need to show these hook-ass niggas that we roll together. We need to let it be known that Triple Crown Posse is where the ballers are.”
Chino reached inside the bag and pulled out a large gold rope chain with a large gold crown medallion attached to it. He placed it around his neck and then reached back into the bag and pulled out another one. He placed this one around Pam’s neck.
“That bitch is clean!” Corey said exci
tedly.
“That ho is cleaner than a muthafucka!” Ant agreed.
“Where you get them hoes from?” Rock asked.
“I had them made,” Chino told them. He pulled another chain out of the bag and placed it around Infa’s neck.
Infa examined his gift. “Man, thanks, kinfolk. This bitch is on point!”
Chino placed the next chain around Joe Bub Baby’s neck. Joe Bub embraced him.
“Much love, kinfolk!” Joe Bub Baby told him.
Chino placed the next chain around Rock’s neck, then another around Chris J’s neck, then Ant’s, and then Corey’s.
Pam produced a camera. “Let me get a picture of y’all.”
The crew gathered around Chino in front of the black BMW. Infa, Corey, and Chris J stood to his left, Rock, Ant, and Joe Bub Baby at his right. The crew had the latest gear on, from Gucci warm-up sets to Kangol hats to Gazelle glasses. They all had their large Triple Crown pieces and gold chains displayed prominently. None of them knew it at the time, but they had just taken the infamous Triple Crown Posse picture. It was a picture that would be splashed across newspapers and in magazines all across the country once the feds came down on them. But for right now, times were good.
“Let’s hit the club and pop bottles, kinfolk!” Joe Bub said. “Moët and Cristal is on me!”
The crew headed for the club’s entrance. Bystanders stopped and stared, and people stood to the side and let them pass. Many wondered aloud who they were. People knew them as individuals, and even as partners who hung out with one another, but now they were something different. The massive gold necklaces set them apart and told the world that they were special. The Triple Crown pieces told the world that this was a crew that was down for one another, and that they were ballers in the first degree. The Triple Crown pieces put the world on notice that these niggas were not to be fucked with.
Haters in the club paid attention. Dayton, Cleveland, and NY crews as well as the scrubs inside the club all shifted their attention to these local niggas getting paper. The Triple Crown Posse now represented Columbus, and what getting money in Columbus meant. The women paid attention as well.
Women flocked to everyone in the crew except Chino. Pam walked arm in arm with her man, and guarded him like a watchdog. She was ready to whoop any bitch who disrespected her and tried to step up to what was hers. She had hid his gun and risked going to jail for him, she had set up in a dope spot and watched him cook, and she had almost taken a bullet while watching him shoot ball at the basketball court. He belonged to her. She had taken enough risk to claim him for life. Besides, she wore the Triple Crown piece just like the rest of them did. She was a part of the posse, and wearing that necklace made her feel invincible.
The sound system in the club was bumping. The club’s multicolored lights were in full effect and the atmosphere was beyond hype. The stereo system was bumping Eric B. and Rakim’s song “I Ain’t No Joke.” It was the perfect song. The posse was no joke.
Chino led his crew up the stairs to the club’s VIP section. Joe Bub had his arms wrapped around not one, but two honeys. Chris J had managed to round himself up a pair as well, while Infa chose quality over quantity. His girl looked like she had just stepped out of a music video. She had smooth vanilla skin, and long silky hair all the way down to her waist. She also had a body that could make a grown man scream, shout, and holler for mercy. The rest of the crew hadn’t done too bad either. Ant, Corey, and Rock all managed to pick up some nice little pieces.
“Three bottles of Cristal!” Joe Bub told the bartender. She nodded and disappeared. Joe Bub turned to one of his honeys. “There comes a time, in a man’s life . . . ,” he started singing.
“No, no, no!” Rock shouted. “No Gerald Levert impressions tonight!”
“Hell naw!” Chris J shouted. “We gonna just chill tonight.”
The champagne and glasses arrived. Joe Bub poured everyone a glass of bubbly and lifted the remainder of the bottle in the air and toasted, “To the Triple Crown Posse!”
“Triple Crown Posse!” Chino said.
“Triple Crown Posse!” Pam toasted.
“To the Triple Crown Posse!” Infa shouted.
“To the moneymaking, bad ass, take no shit Triple Crown Posse!” Chris J toasted.
“Triple Crown!” Ant said, lifting his glass. “One love, homeys!”
The posse clinked their champagne glasses together in toast. As the night progressed, the champagne flowed, and more and more people flocked around the crew. They had truly become the heroes of Columbus, the new “it” crew. Everybody wanted to be a part of, or know somebody in the Triple Crown Posse. While celebrating the good life, spending money, and toasting their success, they became the talk of the town. Everyone knew where to go in order to get work. The good came with the bad. The ballers in town knew that Triple Crown was where the dope was, but the jackers knew it too. It was the jackers, haters, and rival crews sitting in their corners that began to plot that night. These new niggas weren’t going to steal their shine and they certainly weren’t going to have all the money to themselves. The plotting and whispers began.
Chapter 16
I’m a Hustla, Baby
Winter was now in full swing, and the streets of Columbus were dusted with powdery February snow. Pam was in full swing as well, but not with her classes. In fact, Pam’s winter break had turned out to be a permanent one. With her attendance and grades failing, she was on academic probation.
Her attendance was terrible and had affected her grades even more. She faced looming midterms, which she surely wouldn’t be prepared for. Even Erik and Tomiko were giving her grief. She had begun to avoid Tomiko whenever she could and stayed at Chino’s most of the day and on the weekends. Pam had to return to her dorm room at night during the week because of a mandatory campus curfew for underclassmen, and that was enough of Tomiko for her. She was usually in there with her ex anyway, bumpin’ and grindin’ away.
Pam wasn’t about to take shit from anyone else when her parents were already discussing her grades with the dean of students. Her mother had threatened to cut off her allowance and to take a trip to Columbus just to put Pam in check. Pam had promised to work hard this semester, but she found ways around it.
She paid other students in her classes to give her their notes to copy and to turn in her homework for her. Pam was beginning to question whether college was right for her. She was head over heels for Chino and had made studying him and his game a priority over OSU. After all, who needed college when your man had money in the bank and plans for a bright future? In Pam’s eyes, she was safe in Chino’s arms. School wouldn’t give her the love Chino had for her.
“Pass me that Pyrex dish,” Chino told Infa. Pam’s thoughts were interrupted and she looked over at Chino.
“Which one?” Infa replied.
“The long one.”
Infa passed Chino a long, three-inch-deep Pyrex dish from the stove. Chino took the dish, opened up a kilo of cocaine, and poured it into the dish. He took a cup of water from the table and poured it into the dish.
“Pammy, pass me that baking soda, honey,” Chino told her.
Pam grabbed two boxes of baking soda from the counter and handed them to Chino. He punched open the boxes and poured them into the dish with the cocaine and water. He took a spoon and began to stir carefully.
“Baking soda?” Pam asked.
“Yeah.” Chino nodded, stirring, careful not to waste anything. “This is what makes the cocaine harden into a solid slab. Chemically, when you cook it together, all the impurities are removed, and the remaining product hardens into crack. And it also stretches it, so you get more coming back.”
Pam nodded. She understood some of what he was saying, but not all. Still, she didn’t want to look extra lame in front of Chino’s friends.
The crew was gathered at Corey’s house to cook up the weekly score.
“Yo, how that shit coming?” Chris J asked.
“Stop aski
ng questions, nigga!” Rock told him. He checked on the other kilo, which was already cooking in the microwave.
Chino stirred his mixture until it reached a thick, pasty consistency. “This one’s ready, kinfolk.”
“All right,” Rock said. He opened the microwave and pulled out the other dish and placed it on the table.
“It looks like jelly!” Pam said. Her eyes were wide with discovery.
“It’s supposed to look like that until it cools and hardens,” Chino explained.
“Put that shit in the refrigerator,” Ant shouted from the front room. He was posted up by the window as the lookout for police and jackers. Niggas in Columbus were notorious for robbing drug dealers. The cops weren’t as big a concern, because Corey’s house was in a nice area, and his parents never received so much as a parking ticket.
“You can’t put it in the refrigerator, idiot!” Chino shouted.
“Why not?”
“Because, you’ll fuck it up if it cools too fast, dumb-ass!” Rock shouted for Chino. “Let the niggas who know what they doing handle this shit. You just keep looking out!”
Rock took the dish that Chino had been working on and placed it inside the microwave. “You stirred it real good?”
“Yeah, nigga! You seen me stirring it, didn’t you?” Chino said.
“I don’t want this shit coming back with no holes and bubbles and shit in it,” Rock told him.
“Nigga, this shit is gonna come back butter,” Chino reassured him.
“Butter?” Pam asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Chino nodded and smiled. “You’ll see.”
Rock touched the substance inside the other dish. “This shit is hard already.”
“We’ll let it cool a little bit longer and then cut that shit up,” Chino said. “Get the scale out.”
Rock went into the cabinet and pulled out a food scale. Chino pulled out two single-edged razor blades and handed one to Rock. Pam watched as they pulled off the brown paper wrapping from the razor blades and then turned their attention toward the hardened substance.
The Reason Why Page 7