Blood of a Boss: The Moreno Family

by Askari

  Blood of a Boss

  Lock Down Publications

  Presents

  Blood of a Boss

  The Moreno Family

  A Novel by Askari

  DEDICATIONS

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my loving mother, Mrs. Edith Annette Farmer. I promised you that I'd do something great, and everyday I'm working extremely hard to fulfill that promise. I love and miss you so much. I wish you were here...I'm pretty sure things would be so much different.

  This book is also dedicated to my beautiful babies, Dayshon Kapone Farmer, Keyonti Nikkia Farmer, and Quamar Preston Adams. Daddy loves y'all more than y'all could ever imagine. I need y'all to always love, protect, and support one another, and never allow anything to come in between y'all. Day and Qua, y'all are Kings! Keyonti, you're a Queen! Never forget that! And no matter what, always know that daddy loves y'all!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my number one supporter, my beautiful auntie, Mary Dee Broomer. Thank you for always having my back and for being the closest thing to a mother that I could ever ask for. If it wasn't for your love and support, I would've never made it this far. I love you forever and beyond!

  To my little brothers, Tyron and Shamar Farmer. I love y'all dudes til death, and I'm extremely proud of y'all. I need y'all to learn from my mistakes, and use y'all God given capabilities to make an impact on this world! All the BS has to get put to the side. We're brothers and nothing can change that.

  To my beautiful sister, Chrissia Lindsay. I love you, Twin! And I'm so proud of the woman that you grew to be. Mommy would be so proud of you! I know we don't always see eye to eye, but you're my only sister, my mother's only daughter, and I love you!

  To my pops, Earl Preston Farmer III. I love you, Big Dawg! Hold ya head, bul!

  Most importantly, I need to give a shout out to my Queen, my everything, my beautiful grandmother, Jeanette Farmer. I love you Mom Mom, and I miss you like crazy!

  To all of my family and friends who held me down, I love y'all. It's too many to name, but y'all know who y'all are.

  I also want to give a shout out to my first and only love, you know who you are. It's crazy how things turned out between us, but when I told you "21", I meant it. That's something that'll never change!

  To the big homey, Cash, and my LDP family! Coffee, JPeach, Ms. Sandy aka My Angel, Linnea, Frank Greaham, Royal Nicole, Forever Redd, Kanari Diamond, Lady Stiletto (THE RAVENS SUCK!!), Mahaughani, Ms.Writer For Life, and my Philly homegirl, Jane Pannella. Thanks for welcoming me to the roundtable and giving me the opportunity to bring my creativity to the world. When one of us pops, we all pop! We got the book game on smash and we not lettin' up! They gon' have to deal wit us! I salute!

  Last but not least, I wanna give a very special shout out to my set 400 Block Pueblo Bishops. Our motherland Pueblo Del Rio Housing Projects in South Central, My 52st Bishops. And most definitely my 92st Bishops out in Watts.

  BISHOP LOVE!!

  Tali Da Don, I told you, brozay. The takeover is officially here!

  Copyright 2015 by Askari Blood of a Boss

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition January 2015

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Lock Down Publications

  Email: rdiordgz@gmail.com

  Facebook: Askari TheWriter

  Cover design and layout by: Dynasty Cover Me

  Book interior design by: Shawn Walker

  Edited by: Shelby Lazenby

  Chapter One

  August 2012

  It was your typical summer’s day in North Philadelphia, and all throughout the Bad Landz, the shouting of Weed! Dope! Wet! Crack! could be heard indiscriminately. The blazing sun was scorching down on the drug infested streets that were no wider than a New York City alleyway. Drug addicts of all races were patrolling the neighborhood. They were dying to spend the money they scraped and slaved for.

  Sitting on the hood of his black on black 2012 Chevy Tahoe, Sontino ‘Sonny’ Moreno was playing his position of caseworker. His job was to secure the block and keep track of the block’s revenue. At the age of twenty-three, he was 5’ 11" and a solid 205 pounds. He was light skinned with a chiseled baby’s face, and he had thick, dark, wavy hair. Although he was considered to be extremely handsome by the women he encountered, he was far from a pretty boy. He was more of a rugged type. Essentially, he was a thoroughbred young bul. The women loved him, and the niggas in the hood respected his gangsta.

  “Hey, yo, Sheed, grab ten more bundles from the stashspot!” He ordered as he glanced around, looking at the crowd of crack heads that were itching for a fix. “Yo, y’all mu’fuckas gotta stop crowdin’ around. Matter of fact, half of y’all walk around the block and come back. The rest of y’all, get y’all shit and keep it movin’.”

  Like the majority of the corners in the Bad Landz, Fairhill and York was poppin’. It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon, which meant it was rush hour, and you can bet your bottom dollar that the rush was there. As soon as Sheed returned from the vacant lot with the ten bundles, each containing fifteen dime rocks, Sonny sent him back for twenty more.

  "Tom Tom, we closing shop in like fifteen minutes,” he said to his right hand man, Tommy. “We only got twenty bundles left, and I’m try'na get the fuck up outta here.”

  “Yeah, I’m definitely feelin’ you, my nigga,” Tommy replied, thinking about spending some quality time with his daughter and her mother.

  After knocking off the last of the bundles, Sheed said, “Damn, the week ain’t even over yet, and we already moved a whole brick. That nigga Mook gon’ be feelin’ us somethin’ crazy. We got this shit poppin’ out here.”

  “Yeah, I know that’s right,” Sonny concurred. “I’m a call the big homie right now and let him know we closin’ shop for the rest of the day.”

  He reached inside of his truck and grabbed his iPhone from the passenger’s seat. After scrolling through the rolodex and stopping on Mook’s number, he pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.

  Ring! Ring! Ring!

  “Yo,” Mook answered.

  “Big homie, what’s poppin’? It’s Sonny. Where you at?”

  “What’s bangin’, Blood? I just left the sneaker store on the Ave., and I’m on my way to the block.”

  “Damn, I wish I woulda called you earlier, I woulda told you to grab me the new Lebron’s.” Sonny shook his head from side to side. “Fuck it, I’m a just shoot up there as soon as we shut down the strip.”

  “More or less,” Mook replied in a nonchalant manner. “What’s the block lookin’ like?”

  “Aw man, everything’s good over this way,” Sonny assured him. “And we just finished fuckin’ that lil’ white bitch you sent through the other day.”

  “Say no more, scrap. I’ll be around there in a hot minute. Soowoo!” Mook ended the conversation.

  “Bang! Bang!” Sonny replied.

  After disconnecting the call, Sheed noticed a light skinned chick with a face like Ashanti’s and an ass like K. Michelle’s walking down the block, demanding everyone’s attention.

  “Damn, Flo, is we fuckin’ tonight or is you just suckin’ my dick?” Sheed shouted loud enough for the world to hear.r />
  She stopped in her tracks and looked at him like he was stupid. “Only if you gon’ eat my pussy again like you did this morning!”

  “Bitch, ain’t nobody eat ya stank ass pussy!” Sheed lied, knowing damn well he had his face up in that twat. “Why you try'na play me in front of my niggas? Don’t get ya lil’ yellow ass smacked out here.”

  “Nigga, fuck you!”

  “Bitch, fuck you!”

  “Will both of y’all please shut the fuck up?” Sonny laughed. “Ain’t nobody try’na hear y’all ghetto ass soap opera bullshit.”

  As Sheed and Flo continued their dysfunctional way of flirting, Mook turned the corner in his candy apple red 2012 Bentley Continental GT. His 22" rims sparkled in the sunlight and the sounds of Meek Mills’ I’m a Boss was thumping from his customized sound system.

  I'ma Boss like my nigga, Rozay/Shawty asked me for a check, I told that bitch like no way/’Cause I started from the bottom, there was never no way/And I never had a job, you know I had to sell yay.

  He parked in front of his trap house, and then climbed out of the European coupe, all 6’ 5" of him. He greeted of his lil’ homies with their Blood handshake, and then he leaned against his Bentley and fired up a Vanilla Dutch.

  Mook was a big black ugly mutha’fucka, but the crazy part about it was that he kept some bad bitches and whenever the team would grind him up about his appearance, he would always counter by saying, “Yeah, I’m an ugly nigga, but my money make me cute.”

  If what he said was true, then he was the cutest nigga in the world because his money was longer than Broad Street.

  After exhaling a thick cloud of kush smoke, he smiled at Sonny, “What’s poppin’, Skoobie?"

  “That five poppin’ and that bix droppin’. Suit dat or shoot dat. If you ain’t Bishop, then move back.” Sonny quickly responded, while throwing up his set.

  “More or less.” Mook smiled, and then led him away from the small crowd that quickly formed around him. “So, what’s the count?”

  “Well, we just finished the brick you dropped off the other day, and we racked up $45,000. I’ma run in the spot and grab it for you.”

  A couple of minutes later, he returned from the house with a gray Nike gym bag. “Here,” he handed Mook the bag. “It’s $35,000 in there. I already took out my $4,000 for the week, and I took out another $6,000 to pay Tommy and Sheed.”

  Mook took the bag of money and used his key ring to open the Bentley’s trunk. After laying the bag beside his customized speaker box, he locked the trunk and then took a seat next to Sonny on the trap house steps.

  “Let me put you on to somethin’,” he said just above a whisper. “When the time comes, you, me, and the team, we gon’ run Philly. Right now, we got a stronghold on most of the North and Uptown, but once we get our hands on Downtown, Southwest, and West Philly, we gon’ have this shit sewed up, my nigga. Then after that, we takin’ over South Jersey and Delaware. I’m ‘bout to turn this shit up, Blood. You wit’ me?”

  Sonny looked at his big homie and smiled. “Come on, bro, you already know.”

  *****

  Looking out of the windows of an abandoned row home, Detectives Ronald Sullivan and Adam Smith had spent the past three hours watching Sonny and his team sell crack like it was going out of style. The differences between the two detectives were many, but the ones that stuck out the most were their motives and experience. Detective Smith a/k/a ‘Smitty’ was an overweight, middle aged white man who’d been on the force for the past twenty-five years. He was a piece of shit and was known for being a dirty cop. Over the course of his career, he’d extorted everything from street level drug dealers all the way up to mafiosos, and with his mind set on retirement, he had no plans to stop.

  Detective Sullivan, on the other hand, was a rookie detective from Norristown, Pennsylvania. He was a thirtythree year old black man and was known for being an honest and over the edge street cop. A couple of months ago, he transferred to the Philadelphia Police Department where his father-in-law was the police commissioner, and he was immediately promoted to detective. Although he was black, the only black thing about him was his beige complexion. As a small child, he was adopted by a middle class white family, and sadly, they never taught him about his culture. Consequently, he grew to be the type of black man that hated any and everything that reminded him of his race. He preferred to attach himself to the white slave masters that raped their way into his bloodline instead of identifying with his oppressed African ancestors.

  “Goddamnit, Smitty! We’ve been sitting in this shithole watching these bastards sell crack like it's friggin’ legal for the past three hours! Why can’t we just radio in, and have a unit storm the corner and arrest these fuckers?” Detective Sullivan asked, sounding like Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

  “Because, Sully, it’s all a part of my strategy,” Detective Smith replied while feasting on a jelly donut. “Right now they’re comfortable and that’s just the way I want ‘em. Sure, we could easily raid the corner and confiscate a few bundles of crack and some chump change, but that’s nothin’. They’ll just post bond, and reopen the corner in a couple of hours. Obviously, that’s not what we want.” Detective Smith tried to reason with his young partner.

  “Well, what is it that we friggin’ want?” Detective Sullivan shot back. He was full of frustration. “I’ve personally witnessed these son-of-a-bitches rake in every bit of $4,000 in the past two hours, and here I am, struggling to pay my friggin’ mortgage while these drug dealing bastards just blow through money without a care in the world. This is friggin’ ridiculous!”

  “I understand your frustrations, Sully. Honestly, I do. However, the fact still remains that the key to shutting down this organization is Michael Brooks. He’s the one that just pulled up in the red Bentley a few minutes ago. He’s the one we want. That cocky sonofabitch right there,” he pointed at Mook.

  “Well, what about the other guys? Who are they?”

  “The stocky light skinned guy that’s talkin’ to Brooks, his name is Sontino Moreno, and he’s the second in command. The short dark skinned guy with the braids, his name is Tommy Wilson, and the tall brown skinned guy, that’s Rasheed McDaniels.

  “According to the Gang Unit, they’re members of the Bloods Street Gang. The Block Boy Bishops to be exact and that fuckin’ Brooks is the ring leader. Do you know that motherfucker supplies weight to damn near every coke block in our district? To make matters worse, our buddies over the bridge in New Jersey are telling me that this bastard is beginning to branch out to Camden and Trenton.”

  “Well, shucks, Smitty, that’s interstate trafficking. Isn’t that a federal issue?”

  “Sure, it’s a federal issue,” Detective Smith replied, slightly agitated that his partner felt the need to state the obvious. “But fuck the feds! This shit is personal. I’ve been trying to get Brooks off the streets since ‘97, but every time I get my hands on him, that greaseball attorney of his always turn my cases into shit. But not this time, Sully.” He shook his head from side to side and smiled mischievously. “This time around I lucked up and found myself a new friend,” he nodded toward Tommy, “and he’s my ace in the hole.”

  *****

  The Following Morning...

  Sonny was sound asleep, enjoying the comfort of his Tempur-Pedic mattress when he was awakened by the loud shouting of his mother.

  “Sontino! Get yo’ ass outta that damn bed and pick up the goddamned phone! Riana, I love her to death, but she better stop calling my house so goddamned early.”

  “Hello,” Sonny said, picking up the cordless phone from his nightstand.

  “What’s up, boo? Why ya mom screamin’ on me like that? She be hatin’.” Riana stated and then started giggling.

  “I don’t know,” Sonny replied, still bundled under the covers with his face buried in the pillow. “She’s always buggin’ about somethin’. At the same time, it is early as shit and why ain't you just call my cell phone?” />
  “Boy, I’ve been callin’ your cell phone since 7 o’clock this morning, and I ain't get nothin’ but your voice mail.”

  “Damn, that’s right, I forgot I turned that shit off last night. What’s up wit’ my baby girl? How you feelin’ this morning?”

  “I’m good. I was just callin’ because me and Erika wanna go and get our hair and nails done, and I need you to bring me some money.”

  “How much you need?”

  “Um, about a stack.”

  “A thousand dollars? Damn, Riri, what is you try’na do, buy the whole fuckin' salon?”

  “No,” she laughed. “And you better stop gettin’ smart. I wanna buy me a new outfit too.”

  “A’ight, I’ma give you the money. But that’s only because I love you next to ya girl, Erika, you got the best pussy a nigga ever had.”

  “What?”

  “Sike, naw, I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you,” Sonny laughed.

  “Yeah, whatever, pussy! Let me find the fuck out! I see the way that you be lookin’ at her too.”

  “Man, whatever. Don’t nobody be lookin’ at no fuckin’ Erika. She ain’t even my type.” He continued laughing.

  “Umm hmm, whatever, nigga. So, when is you comin’?”

  “When am I comin’? Do you really want me to answer that question?”

  “Eeeeew, boy! You are so fuckin’ nasty,” Riri laughed. “That's all you think about—pussy.”

  “Naw, I be thinkin’ about ya mouth too,” Sonny chuckled. “But on some real shit, I’ma be up there in like an hour.”

  “Alright, I love you, daddy.”

  “I love you too, ma.”

  Click!

  After placing the cordless phone back on the charger, he rolled over on his back and thought about his future with Riana. She was different from all of the other chicks he was slinging dick to. Riri was his heart. He reached into the ashtray on his nightstand and grabbed the Backwood that he stubbed out the night before. After sparking it up and taking a deep pull, he thought about the day that he first met the love of his life.