by Askari
While sitting at their dining room table, Tommy and Nahfisah were weighing ounces of yolk and counting the money he made throughout the week.
“Fis, don’t you know these crackas done snorted damn near a whole brick in the last month?” Tommy asked, while tying a knot in the sandwich bag he’d just filled.
“What? You mean to tell me these rich ass white people don’t do nothin’ but snort they life away?" She laughed, and then wrapped a rubber band around the $10,000 stack she’d just finished counting.
“Without a doubt.” He smiled, while examining the stacks of money on the table. “So, how much did you count?”
“Umm, one, two, three, four, five. That’s $50,000," she answered, and then placed the rubber banded stacks into a green book bag.
“Awwww, man. We ain’t even been out here for a full two months, and we already stacked up fifty gees.” He bragged, and then snorted a line of fish scale. “Here,” he passed her the rolled up hundred dollar bill, and slid the plate of cocaine across the table. “Rock out.”
As she inserted the bill up her left nostril and snorted the white powder, Tommy's cell phone vibrated on the table.
Vrrrrrm! Vrrrrrm!
“Yo, who dis?” he answered.
“Tommy, it’s me, Larry.”
“Larry, what’s up, man? Where you at?”
“I’m at the courthouse. Me and my firm just beat a high profile murder case, and to celebrate I'm throwin’ us a party.”
“A’ight,” Tommy replied, while wiping coke residue from the tip of his nose. “How much y’all gon’ need, and when and where is the party?”
“Umm, just stop by my house around seven o’clock, and bring us four.”
“A’ight, Larry, I’ll see you around seven.”
“Alright, buddy. I’ll see you then.”
“No doubt.” He laid the phone down on the table, then snorted another line.
“Who was that?” Nahfisah asked.
“That was the lawyer bul, Larry. I gotta go see him around seven.” He replied, and then snorted the last line on the plate. His cell phone vibrated again.
Vrrrrrm! Vrrrrrm!
He lifted his head from the plate, wiped his nose, and then held the phone to his ear. “Yo.”
“Tommy, it’s Smitty. I need to see you.”
“A’ight. When?”
“Tomorrow. Meet me at our spot at five o’clock sharp.”
Click!
Although he was enjoying his new life, he was still burdened with the dilemma of either telling on his big homie or going to jail. He knew that the only way to get close to Mook was to pay him his money, and that wasn’t an option. He also knew he had to come up with something to appease the detective, but up until this point, he hadn’t gotten that far.
While he was caught up in his thoughts of deception, he failed to realize Nahfisah had removed her clothes and was standing beside him massaging her swollen clitoris.
“Boo, this yolk got me horny as shit," she whined. “A bitch try’na get her shit off!”
He spun around to face her, and then he lifted her right leg over his shoulder. He looked up at her blue eyes and bit his bottom lip seductively. He then lowered his head and sucked on her pussy until she came on his tongue.
*****
Around seven o’clock that evening, Larry Santiguida and a host of friends were sitting in his living room snorting the last of the cocaine he purchased from Tommy two days ago.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned, Larry. This is the best shit I’ve tasted since the seventies. Where in the hell did you get it, and how in the hell can I get some?” Mark Rudenstein asked, and then gulped down the rest of his Corona.
“Yeah, Larry,” his colleague, Bruce Hagan, cosigned, while wiping coke residue from the tip of his nose. “This shit is friggin’ phenomenal.”
“Well, fellas,” he snorted a line of coke, and then threw his head back. “The man of the hour should be here any minute now.”
A couple of seconds later, soft knocking sounded the front door. Larry looked around the room and gave his colleagues two thumbs up.
“That should be the candy man right now.” He hopped up from the couch and wiped the powdered residue from his pointed nose. He waltzed over to the front door and looked through the peephole. “Yup, it’s the candy man!” He opened the front door and ushered Tommy inside. “Hey, fellas. This is my guy, Tommy, the man of the friggin’ century.” He smiled, and then wrapped his right arm around Tommy’s neck. “And, Tommy, these are my partners from the firm.” He pointed toward the skinny man at the end of the couch. “That’s Bruce Hagan. And the brilliant man sitting next to him,” he gestured toward the fat white man with the lazy eye, “that’s Mark Rudenstein.”
“Hey, Tommy, it’s nice to meet you.” Bruce Hagan smiled.
Tommy nodded his head.
“It sure is,” Mark concurred, and then saluted him with an empty Corona bottle. “And you’ll definitely be seeing a lot of me.”
“A’ight,” Tommy nodded in his direction. He then turned to look at Larry. “Here,” he handed him a sandwich bag that contained three ounces. “I’ma need $8,400 for that.”
Larry took the sandwich bag and sat it on the coffee table. He reached inside of his Tommy Hilfiger slacks and pulled out a thick wad of hundred dollar bills. After peeling away ninety of them, he handed them to Tommy. “Keep the change.”
Tommy wrapped a rubber band around the stack of money, and then shoved it inside of his coat pocket. He turned his attention to the two lawyers on the couch.
“Y’all can get my number from Larry, and whenever y’all need to get right,” he held up his right hand as if it were a telephone, “just give me a call.”
The three lawyers were too busy divvying up the white powder to respond. Tommy shrugged his shoulders, and then left the house without saying another word.
Chapter Ten
For the past two months, Easy kept a low profile, and patiently put his plan together. The first thing he did was lease a two bedroom loft in Center City, which set him back $5,000. He spent another $10,000 on furniture, and $60,000 on a wardrobe that consisted of tailor made suits, alligator shoes, and a black full length mink. After that, he went to a car dealership on Roosevelt Boulevard to meet the man, who in the late eighties and early nineties, supplied him with his fleet of luxury vehicles. He used $8,000 to lease a black on black 2012 Range Rover Sport, and left the lot feeling like his old self. Although, he spent $83,000 of the $118,000, in his mind it was more than necessary. He knew that in order for him to get big money, it had to appear as though he already had it. With the right connect and the $35,000 that he had left over, that was more than enough to put him back in position. All he had to do was buy a kilogram of raw, put his whip game to work, and bag up nothing but dimes. His only problem was that he didn’t have a block to move the work, and most importantly, he didn’t have a connect.
He thought about paying a visit to his old supplier, Columbian Poncho, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. I mean, how could he bring Poncho a punk ass $35,000 to buy one key, when he used to purchase a hundred at a time? After deep contemplation, he realized that the only person he trusted enough to get him back in the game was Sonny. He doubted that Sonny was capable of providing him with a whole brick, but at the very least, maybe he could point him in the right direction. All he had to do was convince Sonny to fuck with him, and that in and of itself was going to be a daunting task.
Today he planned on speaking to Sonny, but first he took a trip to his favorite restaurant, The Oak Lane Diner. After placing his order, he took a seat at the back of the restaurant, and fiddled with the features on his new cell phone. For some strange reason, he felt the urge to look to his left, and when he did, he spotted a middle aged white man talking to a young black man. He took a closer look and realized that the young black man was Sonny’s friend, Tommy, and that the middle aged white man was a detective. He did his best to eavesdrop on their conversation,
but due to the distance he could only hear bits and pieces. He did, however, hear enough to know that Tommy was lining somebody up to get pinched, but he didn't know who. This lil’ rat ass, nigga, he thought to himself while shaking his head from side to side. Disgusted, he went to the camera app in his phone, pointed the phone at Tommy and pressed record.
*****
An hour later, on Fairhill and York, Egypt and Zaire were serving a crowd of customers, and Nasty was sitting on the front steps smoking a Newport and cautiously watching their backs.
“Nast, we need about five more bundles to get this crowd out the way.” Zaire informed him, and then sold the last gram in his possession.
Nasty nodded his head, and then disappeared inside of the house. When he returned, he handed Zaire a zip lock bag that was stuffed with bundles, and then fixed his eyes on the black Range Rover that was parked across the street. Damn, where the fuck that jawn come from? He thought to him. It wasn’t there when I went in the house.
He looked at the Range Rover skeptically, and when Easy climbed out the truck and walked toward him, his jaw dropped to the ground. This wasn’t the crack head Easy that he was used to seeing around the hood. No sir, this Easy was different! This was the Easy that he grew up hearing stories about. His fresh baldie and neatly trimmed goatee gave him a refined look. A black mink was draped over his shoulders, and underneath, Nasty could see the gold Versace buttons that accessorized his white dress shirt. His Versace blue jeans were extra crispy, and his black wing tipped alligator shoes had a glossy shine.
“What’s goin’ on, youngin’? You seen my son?”
“Naw, Mr. Easy. He ain’t been on the block all day,” Nasty responded, while looking at him from head to toe.
“Whatchu mean you ain't seen him all day? Don’t he hustle out here wit’ y’all.”
“Nizzaw.” Nasty shook his head from side to side. “He don’t hustle out here no more. You must ain’t get the memo.”
“The memo? What memo?”
“Man, they callin’ that nigga ‘The Prince of the City’. He dis shit on lock ‘round here.”
“Naw, I ain’t heard,” Easy said as he reached inside of his coat pocket and pulled out his Samsung. “Here,” he handed the phone to Nasty. “Call him for me.”
Nasty did as he was told, and a couple of seconds later Sonny was on the line.
“Big homie, what’s poppin’? It’s Nasty. I’m on the block right now, and it's somebody out here that wanna holla at you.” He handed the phone back to Easy.
"Sonny, where you at? I need to see you about something.” Easy spoke into the receiver.
“Yo, who the fuck is this?”
“Who the fuck is this?” Easy pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. “Umm, umm, umm. I forgot you don’t know how to talk to ya pop!”
“My pop? Nigga, I ain’t got no mu’fuckin’ pop.”
“Hey, yo, Sonny, I’m gettin’ tired of this disrespectful shit. You better calm the fuck down.”
“Yeah, whatever pussy. I’m on 8th and Diamond, and when I come around there, ya ass better be gone.”
Click!
Riri was sitting in the passenger’s seat, and listening to their conversation. She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Sontino, why do you keep comin’ at him like that?” She asked after he disconnected the call.
“Yo, first of all, slow ya roll.” He checked her. “This is between me and my pops. This ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ you.” He started the Benz and gunned down Diamond Street. He banged a left on Fairhill Street, and drove three blocks until he reached his trap house. He jumped out the Benz and went straight at Nasty. “Yo, why the fuck you give that nigga my number, dawg?”
Nasty was speechless. He shrugged his shoulders, then looked at Easy for help.
“Nigga, I made him give me ya number.” Easy stated.
Sonny couldn’t believe his eyes. When he jumped out the Benz a few seconds ago, he shot right pass the man in the mink coat. He would’ve never imagined in a million years that the man was Easy. As he stood there looking at his father from head to toe, his mind traveled back to a time when Easy was the closest thing to Superman. But then, his heart reminded him of all the years that he and his mother had to struggle while Easy was running the streets getting high. At the thought of all the nights that his mother cried herself to sleep because Easy had stolen her money to buy crack, he became enraged. He balled up his left hand and punched his father square in the face. Easy shook it off and returned a blow of his own. He caught Sonny in the mouth. He followed up with a right hook, but Sonny dipped it and caught him with a right jab and left hook that knocked him a few steps backwards. Simultaneously, they both pulled out guns and aimed them at each other’s face.
“Pussy, I’m a blow ya fuckin’ head off!” Sonny shouted, and then spit blood from his mouth.
“Well, shit nigga, if you got it like that, then do ya thing!” Easy shot back with his hand firmly gripped around his pistol.
Riana leaped out the passenger’s side of the Benz and ran over to Sonny. “No Sontino, don’t do it!” She cried and wrapped her arms around him.
Sonny snapped, “Get ya ass back in the car, Riri!” He looked to his right, and noticed that Nasty was standing by his side with an AK-47 aimed at Easy’s face. To his left, Zaire was holding a .44 Bulldog, and out the corner of his eye, he peeped Egypt creeping up behind Easy with a machete clutched in his right hand.
“Hey, yo, y’all niggas fall back,” he ordered, and then lowered his Sig. The trio did as they were told, but maintained their positions around Easy.
Riri was still holding on to him, and tears were streaming down her beautiful face. “Sontino, this shit is gettin’ out of hand. This is the shit that I been talking ‘bout.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “Yo, stop cryin’ ma. It’s a’ight. Just go wait in the car, and I’ma be there in a minute.” He kissed her on the forehead, and nodded toward the 550.
Easy put away his gun, and then told Sonny about Tommy. “Listen Sontino, I’m just try’na look out for you. Earlier today, I was at The Oak Lane Diner, and I saw ya man in there bustin’ it up wit’ a detective.”
“My man? Who?”
“I don’t remember the lil’ nigga’s name, but here.” He showed him his cell phone. “Look.”
At the sight of Tommy talking to the detective, Sonny wanted to vomit. He shook his head in disbelief, and then returned his gaze to Easy.
“I’m sayin’ though, how you know what they was talking ‘bout? They coulda been talking ‘bout anything.”
“Naw Sonny, that rat ass nigga was talking ‘bout settin’ somebody up. The reason I say that is because I heard the detective tell him that he needed to have his connect front him another brick, and that he would give him the consignment money to pay for the last two bricks.”
“Damn.” Sonny shook his head. “They must have been talking ‘bout Mook. He’s the only nigga I know that fronted Tommy some work.”
“Well, whatever the case,” Easy shrugged his shoulders, “I knew the bul was ya man, so I had to let you know what was going on. It’s some other shit that I need to talk to you about too, but now ain’t the time. My number’s in ya phone, so just get at me when you get a chance.”
“A’ight, pops. I need to holla at you about some shit, too.”
An awkward feeling washed over them because they didn’t know whether to shake hands or what. They each noticed the other’s uneasiness, so they settled on a mutual head nod, and climbed back in their cars.
*****
After taking Riri home, Sonny drove around the city thinking about everything that happened. He smiled at the thought of his father getting his act together, and he reached for his iPhone to give him a call.
“Hello,” Easy answered on the second ring.
“Yo, pops it’s me. I need to see you.”
“A’ight, where you at?”
> “I’m on my way to the block.”
“Say no more. I’ma meet you there in like twenty minutes.”
Click!
When Sonny pulled up on Fairhill Street, he parked the Benz in front of his trap house, and then hopped out. He walked up to Nasty, who was sitting on the next door neighbors steps, and greeted him with their Blood handshake.
“What’s poppin’, big homie?” Nasty greeted him.
“That Five, you already know.” Sonny shot back. He noticed that the strip was relatively empty, and he asked, “Yo, where the twins at?”
“We ran outta work about an hour ago, so I told them niggas they could bounce for the night.”
“A’ight, well tomorrow is Sunday, so when you see them lil’ niggas, tell ‘em to stop by my house so I can pay ‘em for the week.” Sonny said, then reached inside of his pants pocket and pulled out a brick of hundred dollar bills. He removed the two rubberbands that held the money together at both ends, then peeled away fifty of them and handed them to Nasty. “That’s ya $5,000 for the week.”
Nasty placed the money in his back pocket and said, “Yo, I got about $40,000 and some change in the house for you. Want me to grab it?”
“Yeah, lemme get that.” Sonny replied, while wrapping the rubber bands back around his brick of money.
As Nasty got up to go in the house, Sonny thought about his young bul, and smiled. He’d known Nasty ever since he was thirteen, and watched him grow up to be a strong and loyal soldier. At that moment, he decided that as soon as he reached his financial goal, he was gonna hand his operation over to Nasty, and give him the opportunity to make a better life for him and his family.
When Nasty returned from the house with the duffle bag full of money, he handed the bag to Sonny, and watched him as he stashed it in the trunk of his Benz. When he returned to the trap house’s front steps, Easy’s Range Rover turned the corner and parked directly behind the Benz. He hopped out, and with tears in his eyes, he wrapped his arms around Sonny.
