by Askari
“Grip, I’m glad you could make it.” Mook greeted him, and then gestured toward a seat at the table. “Here, have a seat. I was hopin’ we could relax a lil’ bit, and then get down to business.”
Sonny looked him up and down. He was sizing him up from his salt and pepper hair to his blue eyes.
Man, I hope this old mu'fucka accepts our offer. It'll be a goddamn shame if he survived in the game for this long, just to have me exterminate his old ass, he thought to himself.
Grip locked eyes with Sonny, and his heart skipped a beat. Nah, it can't be, he thought to himself. He then returned his gaze to Mook, “Who's this?”
“That’s my young bul, Sonny. He’s my number one soldier.”
“Yeah,” Grip replied in his deep, raspy voice. “Well, these are two of my street generals. This is Smack,” he gestured toward the medium built, brown skinned man that was standing to his left. “And that's Biggs," he turned to his right where the tall, chubby, brown skinned man was standing with a blank expression on his face.
Grip took a seat at the opposite end of the table and folded his arms across his chest. “Alright, let’s get down to business. There’s no time for pleasure. What’s this deal of a lifetime you’re so eager to tell me about?”
“A’ight, Grip, it’s like this—I know you been doin’ ya thing for the longest, and I respect that. However, it's a new day and time, and I was hopin' you could assist my movement.” Mook stated, while staring him in his unflinching eyes.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m in a position to supply you at $28,000 a key, but I would need you grab nothin’ less than a 100 per shipment.
Is this nigga crazy? Grip thought to himself. Shit, I’m getting my keys for $20,000 a piece, and that’s including what I pay to have them shipped into the country. And 100 per shipment? I wouldn’t waste my time with nothing less than a 1,000. He cracked his knuckles. “So, what’s the quality of the product?”
“It’s pure Columbian raw. It’s never been stepped on. You could easily put a one on one, and still have the best product in the city.”
Grip calmly removed himself from the table, and motioned for Smack and Biggs to follow suit. “Give me some time to think it over, and I'll get back to you as soon as I reach a decision.” He turned his attention to Sonny. “Hey, young fella, is Ervin Moreno your father?”
At the mention of Easy’s government name, Sonny tensed up and instinctively became defensive. “Yeah, that's my pops. Why?”
“Humph, you just look familiar that’s all.” Grip replied, and then turned to leave.
When they exited the restaurant, Sonny looked at Mook. “So, you think he’s gonna accept the offer?”
“I don’t know, Blood. That ol’ mu’fucka's so crafty that I couldn’t really read the nigga. But at the same time, who in they right mind would turn down $28,000 a key?”
*****
While driving back to South Philly in Grip’s money green Escalade, Biggs asked him, “So, whatchu gon' do, Mr. Moreno? You gon’ accept the nigga’s offer?”
Grip looked at him like he was retarded. “Fuck no! Who the fuck does this lil’ dirty mutha’fucka think he is? Trying to indirectly dictate some shit to me like he’s running something? I run this shit! I’m the boss of this mutha’fuckin’ city!”
“So, whatchu want us to do about him?” Smack asked from behind the steering wheel. “If you want, I can have them niggas missing by the morning.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” Grip responded in a calmer voice. He placed a Cuban cigar in his mouth, and then settled into the backseat. “We’re gonna slow walk him, and then strike when the time is right. If he’s offering to supply me with a 100 keys, then the lil’ nigga must be doing good for himself. Therefore, I’m gonna give him a little more time to fatten up, and then we’ll lead him to slaughter. For now, all I want you to do is keep your eyes on the young bul that was with him. Find out any and everything you can about him, and then report back to me.”
“Say no more, Mr. Moreno. We got it covered.” Smack assured him, while stopping the SUV at a traffic light. He looked at Biggs, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat, texting somebody on his Samsung Galaxy. “Did you hear what Mr. Moreno said about the young bul?”
“Yeah, I heard him.”
“A’ight, well, I’ma need you to get wit’ Murder and Malice. Tell ‘em I said to suit up and go do what they do.”
“I got you,” Biggs confirmed, and then continued texting. “I just don’t see why this lil’ nigga’s so special.”
Grip chuckled, and then lit the tip of his cigar with a gold lighter. He took a deep pull and blew out a thick cloud of smoke.
“He’s special because he’s my grandson.”
Chapter Five
Tommy was a nervous wreck. He knew he was in a fucked up situation, and his paranoia was getting the best of him. The only thing that improved his feelings was the fact that Detective Smith had set him up with an apartment out of town, and the fact that he had twenty-eight kilos of cocaine and $24,000 saved up. He figured all he had to do was fulfill his obligation to Detective Smith, and then move on with the rest of his life.
“Come on, Imani, hurry up and eat the rest of your food so when can go to the movies to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.” Tommy said to his four year old daughter. They were at the McDonalds on Stenton Avenue. It was him, Imani, and his baby’s mom, Nahfisah.
“Yeeeeeaaaaah, mommy. We’re going to the movies.” Imani beamed, and then stuffed her face with French fries.
Nahfisah ice-grilled him, and then folded her arms across her chest. “Out of everywhere in the State of Pennsylvania, why we gotta move to Lebanon? What the fuck is so special about Lebanon?”
“Ooooo, mommy said a bad word!” Imani said to her father, while shaking her head in disappointment.
Tommy ignored his daughter’s hereditary snitching and responded to Nahfisah. “Because it’s a lot of shit goin’ on, and I don’t want us to be no where near the city when this shit hits the fan.”
“I’m sayin’ though, out of all places, why Lebanon? We don’t even know nobody out there.”
“Yo, we’ve been through this shit a thousand times, Nahfisah. Damn. I already told you that it’s money out there, and I’m try’na get it.” He calmed himself down, and then returned his attention to Imani. “Are you all done, lil’ mama?”
She nodded her head up and down. “Yes, daddy, I’m all done. Can we go to the movies now?”
“Without a doubt.” He kissed her on the forehead, and then used a napkin to wipe the ketchup from the corners of her mouth. “Do you love your daddy?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“This much.” She stretched out her arms and started laughing.
*****
For the past week, Easy had turned a new leaf. After the last confrontation he had with Sonny, the look of disgust he saw on his son’s face was enough to motivate him to clean up his act. He left North Philly, and moved to West Oak Lane to stay with his mother. He knew that in order for him to change his life around, he would need a change of scenery, and his mother’s house was the exact change he needed.
When he arrived at her doorstep and announced he wanted to get his life together, she fell to her knees and thanked God. For the past sixteen years, she had to stand by and watch her only son destroy himself. Now that he was ready to get clean, she was ecstatic. She’d always known him to be a man of his word, so when he professed he wanted to stop getting high, she had no reason to doubt him.
The first thing she did was make him take a shower, and then she gave him some fresh clothes from her husband’s closet. Next, she made an appointment with her dentist to get his teeth fixed, and then took him on a shopping spree for new clothes. After acquiring a wardrobe and getting a fresh haircut, Easy looked like a new man. Now, all he had to do was find a new source of income, and working a nine to five wasn’t going to cut it. His mother gave him $500
and loaned him her spare car to look for a job, but Easy had other plans. He used the money to buy a Glock .40 and a box of bullets, and began his climb to the top of the food chain.
He was always known for being a keen individual, and during his days of getting high, he noticed that the hustlers on the corners, where he copped his crack, always kept their product stashed in a vacant lot. He reasoned if they didn’t keep their drugs on them while they hustled, then nine times out of ten, they didn’t keep their guns on them either. He also recognized the way they handled business. They used a caseworker and two runners. The caseworker would collect the money from the runners, hold it until the end of his shift, and then pass it along to the owner of the block, who usually lived within a two block radius. Now, there he was, parked on Indiana Street, sizing up a group of Spanish hustlers.
Gordo, the caseworker on 4th and Indian, looked at his watch and saw that it was 5:45 p.m. About time, the fat Spanish man thought to himself. I’m hungry as shit. All I gotta do is take this money to Fernando, go to the Chinese store to get me some pork fried rice, and then take my fat ass home.
He looked up the block and saw his cousin, Angelo, coming his way. “Hey, cabrón,” he called out. “For once in ya life, you came outside to do some work. Lemme guess, ya mom kicked you out the house so we can be alone when I’m bangin’ her back out?”
Angelo, the boss’ nephew smiled. “Fuck you, punto. The only reason I’m out here is because I was fuckin’ ya fat ass wife, and she tried to stick her finger up my ass like she be doin’ you. I had to get the fuck outta there,” he joked back, and then adjusted the book bag full of bundles he was carrying on his shoulder. When they finally approached one another, they shook hands.
“But listen,” Gordo told his cousin. “Esataban and Alex are in front of the bar waitin’ for you. I would stick around and shoot the shit wit’ y’all, but I gotta go fuck ya baby mom.” He laughed, and then continued walking down the block.
Two blocks away, Easy was sitting behind the steering wheel of his mother’s Ford Taurus, watching the exchanges between the two men. As Gordo continued walking toward him, he hopped out the car. He left the door open, and the engine running. When Gordo was a half of a block away, he pulled out his Glock .40 and held it by his right leg. Had Gordo been more aware of his surroundings, opposed to thinking about feeding his fat face, he would’ve noticed that Easy was watching him the same way a lioness watches a gazelle. As soon as he came within arm’s reach, Easy grabbed him by his shirt and placed the barrel of the Glock to the side of his neck.
“Pussy, you know what it is?” Easy snarled through clenched teeth. “Say one word, and I’ma blow ya fuckin’ head off!”
“Please, poppy, don’t lay me. Here,” he extended the book bag full of money. “You can have this shit, poppy. Just don’t lay me.”
“Didn’t I just tell ya stupid ass not to say nothin’?” Easy barked, and then smacked him in the face with the side of the gun.
Whop!
Gordo fell to the ground and held his hand to the side of his face. As Easy reached down to grab the book bag full of money, he heard Angelo yelling in Spanish. He looked up, and saw three Spanish men running toward him. Without an ounce of hesitation, he raised the Glock .40 and fired.
Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc!
The first bullet burned through Angelo’s face, sending a chunk of his left cheek out the back of his skull, and the last three bullets ripped through his chest, folding him like a lawn chair.
At the sound of the Glock .40 firing, Angelo’s brother, Estaban, and their friend, Alex, dove behind a parked car. Gordo, on the other hand, was still lying on the ground, paralyzed with fear. He prayed to God and begged Him for protection, but unfortunately God wasn't listening. Easy aimed the Glock .40 at his forehead, and then squeezed the trigger.
Boc! Boc! Boc!
With no time to waste, he hopped back in mother’s Ford Taurus and sped away from the scene.
*****
It was 5:59 p.m. when Easy pulled up in front of the check cashing store on Germantown Avenue. He killed the ignition, and then grabbed the book bag off of the passenger’s seat. He opened it and to his astonishment there were approximately twenty separate rolls of money. After counting them out one by one, the total came to $18,550. He placed the money back inside of the book bag, and then tucked it under the passenger’s seat.
Damn, I hope these mutha’fuckas got some serious bread, he thought to himself as he watched a middle aged Arab woman leave the check cashing store and pull off in a red Volvo wagon. He stubbed out the Newport 100 he was smoking and climbed out the car.
Inside of the store, the proprietor, Abraham Erdogan was standing behind the bulletproof counter eating a turkey sandwich and counting the $20,000 he just removed from the safe in his office.
“Tomorrow is the first of the month, and I’ve gotta be ready for the social security and welfare checks, Insha Allah.” Nobody was there except for him, but for some strange reason, he was in the habit of talking to himself.
The bell rang on the front door, alerting him that a customer had just entered the store. Unfortunately, he didn't look up fast enough to see Easy lock the door behind him.
“I am sorry, sir, but we are closed for the evening,” he stated in a thick Arab accent.
Easy held up a white envelope and fanned it back and forth. “I’m sayin’, though, I need you to cash my check real quick.”
“No. I cannot,” Abraham replied with an annoyed expression. “The sign on the door says we are closed. The door should have been locked, but my employee must have forgotten to do it when she left. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but you need to leave my store.”
“A’ight, well thanks anyway,” Easy responded.
As he was about to leave, a painful expression appeared on his face, and he clutched his chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you, man? Get out of my store!”
Instead of responding, Easy fell to the floor and acted as if he were having a seizure. His body convulsed, and the Alka Seltzer that he inconspicuously threw in his mouth produced a white foam on the side of his face.
“What is going on?” The little Arab cried out. “Do not die in my store. Please, do not die in my store!”
He ran from behind the bulletproof counter and came to the front of the store. As he hovered over Easy’s shaking body, he noticed he was foaming from the mouth.
“Oh, no. This can’t be happening in my store.” He knelt down beside Easy. “Don’t worry, buddy. I will call for help.” He pulled out his cell phone and began dialing 911.
“Nah, Osama, you better drop that mutha’fuckin’ phone.” Easy dictated, while aiming his Glock .40 at Abraham’s face.
Stuck in a state of shock, the little Arab dropped the phone. “I am sorry, buddy. I will cash your check. Here, give me the check, and I will cash it. Just calm down,” he nervously stated.
Easy stood to his feet and placed the barrel of the gun to the back of Abraham’s head. As he led him to the back, he thought about asking him if anyone else was in the store, but disregarded the thought based on the fact that nobody followed him to the front of the store. When they got behind the bulletproof counter, Easy spotted the stacks of money, and nodded his head in approval.
“Yo, where the rest of the money at, Osama?”
“That’s all the money I have. That is all of it.”
“Pussy, you wanna die?"
“No!” Abraham cried.
“Well, stop fuckin’ lyin’, and give me the rest of the money!” Easy snapped.
“But, I already told you, buddy, that is everything.”
Boc!
“Aaaaggghhh! You shot me in the fucking stomach!” Abraham screamed in pain.
Easy aimed the Glock .40 at his face. “Fuck ya stomach. The next bullet I gon’ rip through ya mutha’fuckin’ face if you don’t give me the rest of that money!”
“Okay, Okay! I will give you the rest of the money. Just plea
se, buddy, do not kill me.” Abraham continued crying.
He staggered over to the closet in his office and showed Easy the two foot high safe that was screwed into the floor.
“Don’t stand there lookin’ stupid, bitch. You better open that safe ‘fore these hollow points open the back of ya fuckin’ head.”
Still crying and coughing up blood, Abraham punched in the combination numbers, and then opened the safe. At the sight of his $80,000, a surge of courage spread throughout his body, and he decided to wrestle the gun away from his attacker. He sprang forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun. Easy stumbled backwards, but quickly regained his balance. He then landed a short left hook to the right side of Abraham’s face, knocking him into the closet. Abraham was dazed and growing weaker by the second. In a fit of desperation, he shot past Easy and darted for the door.
Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc!
His heart and lungs reached the door before he did.
Without missing a beat, Easy removed his shirt and tied the sleeves together to make a napsack. He bent down and took the stacks of money from the safe and placed them inside of his shirt. He then went over to the money on the counter and did the same thing. He looked around for any additional assets, and noticed a security camera.
“Damn.” He shook his head from side to side. “That woulda been a bad look if I ain’t run across this mutha’fucka.” He walked over to it and removed the tape. After that, he wiped down everything he touched, and then quickly left the store.
Chapter Six
“Damn, this cheesecake poppin’.” Sonny said to himself, referring to the mouthwatering pastry he was eating.
He was parked outside of the Tiffany’s Diner on Roosevelt Boulevard, waiting to meet his man Diamondz. For the past three weeks, he’d been making money like never before, and he was loving every minute of it. One brick here, two bricks there, three bricks here, and a half of a brick there. Out of the thirty bricks he started out with, he only had four of them left, and his man Diamondz, was about to cop at least two of them. Damn, I gotta call Mook and order another shipment, he thought to himself. He turned down the sounds of Peedi Crakk’s mixtape, The Crakk Files, and called Mook.
