''Happy born-day, Deon!...this is for you, my nigga,'' he said, handing me the keys.
''What are these for?'' I asked, looking surprised.
Jay-Roc looked back at me like I was stupid and pointed to the white BMW that was parked behind me.
I couldn’t believe it. I looked over at Asia and she had a smile on her face that spread from one ear to the other.
''Nah, you didn’t do that!'' I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
''Yeah, my nigga...that’s all yours right there. I remember the day you saw that kid on Fulton Avenue with the black BM. You were open off that joint. Now, you got your own. You like it?''
''Hell yeah I like it! This shit is proper,'' I yelled out. ''But I don’t have a driver’s license.''
''Don’t worry about that,'' Lou spoke, passing me a New York state driver’s license with my picture and a fake date of birth to say that I was 21 years old. ''You legit now. If the cops ever pull you over just give them that and the paper work that’s in the glove compartment.''
I could not stop cheesing. Asia went around and immediately got in the passenger seat. She was claiming her spot early.
I popped the door open and jumped in the driver’s seat. Nothing compared to the smell of a brand new car. Asia leaned her seat back and looked over at me.
''Do you know how to drive?'' She questioned, popping her spearmint gum.
''Of course I do,'' I answered. ''Jay-Roc and Lou taught me how to drive in Lou’s Lexus.''
That summer was also the time when the jealousy got to be real thick. The haters were coming from every direction. So many people were envious of Jay-Roc it came to the point where he and Shareeka had to move out the hood.
They went and found a nice apartment in Flushing, Queens. It wasn’t far away at all, but he said it was better that way because he could move around Brooklyn and not have to worry about people knowing where he rested his head.
Around this time I was doing a little more than bottling up and holding the stash. I had a shift now. From two-o-clock in the afternoon until ten at night the block was mine. I was serving customers eight hours straight, seven days a week. Every night I would pull in about two to three thousand easy. The guy’s who I used to see every morning in front of my building didn’t like the fact of Jay-Roc giving me my own slot time and they still had to rotate their shift.
Once Jay-Roc killed Royal, Ant and his crew started working for him. Their spilt was 70-30 and I could tell they didn’t like it.
Ant and his crew worked the 6am to 2pm shift. It was three of them so they had to divide the time and the profits.
One afternoon I came through the block fifteen minutes before my shift started. I was staying at Asia’s house most nights, so when it was time for work I would just jet across town. When I got to my building, I saw Ant and his two homeboys sitting out front. I parked my car across the street and got out.
''Ant, what’s up?'' I said, extending my hand to give him some dap. His pound was kind of weak and he gave me a funny look, but I just brushed it off.
''What you mean...what’s up?'' He replied with malice in his voice.
I just stared at him. ''Whatever...your shift is over,'' I said.
''Deon, you think you the shit now ‘cause Jay-Roc got your back. You think you gettin’ a lil’ money now ‘cause you got a lil’ Beamer...nigga you ain’t tuff!'' He shouted.
I had no idea where all this was coming from. Ant and I never had any problems. I guess his pockets were kind of light and he was mad at me.
I put down the bottle of juice I was holding and said, ''Fuck you, Ant!''
''Nah...fuck you! Punk ass nigga!'' He came down from the steps and stood directly in my face. ''What’s up?''
I backed up and threw a quick left jab that struck him in the mouth. It was so fast he never saw it coming. He stumbled and grabbed his chin. His two homeboys sat there laughing.
We squared off right there in the middle of the street. I guess Ant thought I couldn’t fight because he never once put his guard up. I shot another swift, right hand jab and caught him on the nose. He started bleeding immediately.
Someone screamed from the sideline, ''Fuck him up, Ant!''
Ant swung a wild haymaker that missed me by a long shot. I weaved under it and pounded his rib cage with a fierce, right hook. The blow curled him and sent him stumbling backwards up against a parked car.
His homeboys weren’t laughing anymore. It was silent on the sideline.
I stood over Ant and repeatedly kicked him in his stomach. It wasn’t until I saw Mrs. Baker coming out the building that I stopped.
''Bitchassnigga!'' I snarled and spit on him.
His two boys came to his aid and picked him up off the ground.
Mrs. Baker just shook her head and continued down the block.
I couldn’t understand why Ant would flip on me the way he did, but I would soon find out that money made people do a lot of grimy shit.
Later that night I told Jay-Roc all about what happened and he was furious. He wanted to go find Ant and beat him up again, but I convinced him that it wasn’t worth it. He made it known that Ant and his boys could no longer get money on the block.
The next day Jay-Roc came to Asia’s house early in the morning. She woke me up and told me he was at the door.
''Get up, nigga,'' he said, walking into the room and taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.
''What’s up...is everything good?''
''Yeah, everything is good. I just came over to give you something,'' he said, throwing a black gym bag onto the bed next to me.
''What the fuck is this?'' I asked, opening the bag. When I seen what was in it my eyes widened and I looked over at him.
''Yeah,'' he replied, nodding his head. ''Shit is real on these streets, Deon. We gettin’ a lot of money now and niggas are hatin’. Just incase somebody tries to come at your head...'' he said, picking up the silver .38 revolver with rubber grip, ''don’t hesitate to use this.''
I reached for it and he put it in my hands. The cold steel felt like power. Besides the time when he passed me that gun before he killed Royal, this was the second time I had ever held a gun, and it felt good.
In my hood damn near everyday someone was getting shot. Police knocked on my mother’s door three or four times a week to ask if we heard any gunshots or seen any suspicious people. She always said no.
I wondered what it was like to shoot a gun, but I had never needed one until now. Everybody had guns in the hood. Jay-Roc said, ''it was better to be judged by twelve than carried by six''. It took me a second to catch on to what he was saying, but I figured it out.
He also made it very clear that the only time I should pull the gun out is if I intended to use it.
I thought about the first time I saw someone get shot. That frightful scene of my father killing Mr. Williams and those two militiamen never left my brain. For years I had terrible nightmares behind that.
Now here I was with this .38 revolver in my hand ready to shoot the first person that disrespects me. Ironic isn’t it?
After Jay-Roc gave me that gun I kept it on me everyday, everywhere I went except for the night that stick up kid came through and almost robbed me. Luckily, Jay-Roc was across the street watching the whole thing take place. Later on we found out the kid was one of Ant’s boys that used to hang out on my steps. Jay-Roc screamed on me after that went down.
''What the fuck did I give you the gun for, Deon?...You suppose to keep that shit on you at all times. Don’t let these niggas catch you slippin’ out here...they’ll put your fuckin’ lights out...this shit ain’t no joke out here.'' He warned me.
''That was my fault, Jay-Roc...I left the joint in the car by accident. It won’t happen again.''
My knowledge of how these streets work was increasing by the second. Everyday I was learning something new. I now knew how to react in certain situations and what to say and what not to say. I learned to read people real good. If you’re a pho
ny individual I could tell by just one look into your eyes.
My respect amongst the gangsters and hustlers was rising and my name rang bells throughout the city. Jay-Roc and I decided it was time to expand the business. We were about to enter new territory.
Chapter Seven
After we established ourselves in Brooklyn, we decided to move some work into Queens. Jay-Roc’s man, Lou, was from out there and he was telling us that we should branch out. He said it was an open market with a lot of money to be made.
One afternoon, Jay-Roc, Lou, and me took a ride out to Queens Bridge projects to meet Lou’s people.
The Bridge was infamous. I had been hearing about it in all the rap songs from Nas to Mobb Deep. They would always glamorize their hood. Queens Bridge is one of the biggest projects in the world. I figured if we could move some product out here it could only help our business down the line.
We pulled up to the hill on the 41st side of the Bridge. It was packed. We parked in front of a bodega and Lou made a phone call to his people. Ten minutes later a crowd of dudes dressed in red from head to toe came over to where we were standing.
''What’s poppin’,'' one kid said, as he and Lou did their ritual handshake and threw up their set.
''Reemo, this is the homie, Jay-Roc right here,'' Lou said, pointing in Jay-Roc’s direction.
''No doubt, Blood...I heard a lot about you. You been puttin’ in work for a long time now,'' Reemo said.
He introduced the rest of his people to me and Jay-Roc and then we discussed some business.
By the time we were leaving the connection was made and we were about to start making major money in Queens.
In a month’s time we had workers all over Northwestern, Queens and our lucrative business was expanding.
''This crack shit is ill, kid,'' I said to Jay-Roc one late night as we sat in my car.
He rolled some weed in a Philly blunt and lit it up. The interior of the car was suffused with a strong, haze aroma.
Jay-Roc inhaled the herbal essence and blew the smoke through his nostrils.
''Yeah, my nigga...we got this shit on lock out here. Niggas can’t fuck with our team,'' He said, passing me the blunt.
I leaned my head back against the headrest and thought about how the crack-cocaine epidemic had come full scale. I had been doing serious research on how this one drug had taken over entire communities and I found out that the U.S government may have had a great hand in spreading it throughout the black ghetto.
During the Regan era’ there was a claim that the CIA intentionally looked in the opposite direction while large quantities of cocaine got shipped to America in order to fund the war in Nicaragua.
I told Jay-Roc about the things I had learned and he was astounded.
''Word, son...Deon...you a smart ass nigga. I don’t know where you coming up with the shit you be talking about, but from what you tellin’ me it all sounds like the truth. I mean, how else do all these drugs get to the hood?''
''I don’t know, Jay-Roc...but that’s why I try to read as much as I can...it’s a lot of information in those books,'' I said, looking down at the halfway smoked blunt. ''This shit got me high as a motherfucka!''
Jay-Roc and I sat in my car for hours getting high, telling each other stories and laughing all night long.
Over the years we built a strong bond and I felt like he was the brother I never had. He looked out for me and I looked out for him. We had each other’s back.
By the time I was 18 years old I had over sixty-thousand dollars in my stash. As soon as I could I planned on moving my mother out of Brooklyn. That’s all she ever talked about. I knew if I didn’t accomplish anything else, I would make sure I did that.
My relationship with Asia was growing and we were even talking about having some kids and starting our family. I admit, I stepped out on her a few times, but those other girls never meant anything to me. I love Asia with all my heart.
One time she found another female’s number in the pocket of my jeans and went crazy on me.
''Deon, who the fuck is, Cheri?'' She asked, holding up the piece of paper with the number on it.
''I don’t know,'' I lied.
Cheri was this girl I met from Harlem. She was bad too. Her walk was straight off the runway on some model type shit and she had the sexiest set of lips I had ever seen. She was brown skinned with short, curly, red hair that she kept styled, a nice, firm ass and her shoe game was mean. Her conversation wasn’t too bad, but she was one of those chicks who fuck with dudes based on what they got. It didn’t matter to me though I just wanted to fuck.
''Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, Deon...I called the bitch yesterday and she said you were fuckin’ her!''
''Why the fuck are you going through my shit anyway, Asia?''
''That’s beside the point, Deon are you cheating on me?'' She asked.
''Asia, that girl ain’t about nothing.'' I said. ''We met, we went out a few times, I fucked her and that was it...no feelings involved.''
I could literally see the fire in her eyes after my words registered in her head.
''Oh, that’s it, huh? And I’m supposed to sit back while you run around fuckin’ all these nasty ass bitches! Fuck you, Deon! If the shoe was on the other foot, what would you do?''
I smiled, but it wasn’t anything funny. ''Don’t get fucked up, Asia,'' I replied. ''Let me find out you fucking with another nigga and I’ma break your fucking neck!''
She curled her lips up. ''You ain’t gon’ do shit!'' She said, rolling her eyes and making hand gestures.
That was one of the many arguments that escalated into a fight. Asia and I fought hard and made love harder. Make up sex was always the best. Our relationship was starting to remind me of my parents. I knew one day she would get fed up with my shit, but I kept pressing my luck.
Shareeka was four months pregnant with Jay-Roc’s seed and I think it was the most I had ever seen him smile. Everyday he talked about his soon to be baby boy. They didn’t know whether it was going to be a boy or a girl, but of course Jay-Roc wanted a boy, bad.
Since we were getting so much money I thought it was time to switch up the game a little bit. I invited Jay-Roc up to my house so I could tell him the plan I had come up with.
We walked up the steps to my mother’s third floor apartment.
''Deon, is your mother home?'' Jay-Roc whispered as I put my key in the door and undid the lock.
''Yeah, why?'' I asked, and before he could answer my mother was greeting us by the door. ''What’s up, ma?'' she kissed me on my cheek and then looked toward Jay-Roc.
''Hello, Mrs. Toure. How are you doin’?'' He said.
''I’m doing just fine, Jayson...how are you?''
''I’m good,'' he answered as we headed to the back where my room was. We got in and I closed the door. ''Deon, I don’t think your mother likes me.''
''Nah, she likes everyone...don’t worry, you good,'' I replied.
I sat on my bed and turned the radio on. Nas’ Illmatic pumped through the speakers.
''So, what’s this big plan you been talkin’ about, Deon?''
''You know how we been buying our work already cooked up right?...Well, what if we bought the cocaine and cooked it up ourselves. We would be able to make much more money than we are now because we wouldn’t be putting all the bullshit in it that they use to cut it up. Our product would be purer than all the other shit out here.'' I said.
Jay-Roc stared at me like he was thinking of something to say.
''You know something you might be right Deon. The only problem is that I don’t know how to cook that shit up...do you?''
''Nah, not yet, but Mrs. Baker next door told me she would teach me how to do it. She said it’s easy. Plus, she said if we cook up half a kilo she can show us how to make an extra 250 grams.''
Jay-Roc looked at me like I was telling him a lie.
''I’m serious Jay-Roc. We can go talk to her if you want to.'' I said.
''Yeah, we ne
ed to do that. Tell her that we gon’ come and see her tomorrow with some coke and then she can show us how to do that shit. Once we learn how to do that we can really be big.''
The next day Jay-Roc and I went uptown to 151st street and Broadway to see the Dominicans. A few months back I had met this guy named Rico who always tried to get me to buy work from him. I was only in the area doing some shopping, but I had to admit, Rico was consistent and he even gave me a sample of his product.
I took what he gave me and bought it back to Mrs. Baker and that’s when she told me that we should start cooking our own product. She told me that was the best cocaine she had come across in years.
We got back to Brooklyn and took the coke to Mrs. Baker’s house so she could show us how to cook it up. We bought a hundred grams just to see how it would turn out. If it wasn’t what we expected we weren’t taking that big of a loss.
Mrs. Baker was glad to see that I listened to what she had suggested. She told us we would get more clientele once we had the cook up.
She asked us to have a seat at her kitchen table while she got everything she needed.
She placed a Pyrex coffee pot on the table and told me to put the cocaine in it. While I did that she turned the flame on the pilot and began boiling a pot of water. She then measured out some baking soda and mixed it in with the coke. We carefully watched as she cooked the product like a true chef.
When it was all said and done Mrs. Baker produced a slab of crack that looked like an oversized piece of soap. When I put it on the scale it weighed 127 grams. That was 27 grams more than we had come with. She said she could have put 50 on it, but she didn’t want to stretch it too much and make it lose potency.
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