As of right now, I’ve been without cocaine for four days now. I don’t know what’s going on with Juan. He told me something about a drought. Actually no one anywhere has cocaine. I was the last one in town with it, but that’s only because my last package was 25 birds. Juan tells me he has something coming through tomorrow. The only thing is, the price is going to be a little more expensive. Instead of $16,000 a pie, the price will be $21,000 a pie. I’ll be selling them for $23,000 or $24,000. That’s still good because the average guy will be paying $25,000, and trying to sell them anywhere from $28,000 to $30,000 a kilo. That means I’m still ahead of the game, thanks to my man Juan. That’s the advantage of having a strong connect. Where would I be without Juan, I don’t know.
There’s a drought every year traditionally. I learned that many years ago. Supposedly the Coast Guards catch x amount of pounds. But why do they catch these kilos at the same time every year? Is it coincidence, or is it bullshit? If you ask me, I think the people up top throw a bunch of bullshit work out and purposely let them get caught just so it looks like they’re doing their job. Then the big- time cats can hold the real work and sell it for whatever price they want. They know after a couple of days with no work, you’ll be desperate enough to pay whatever price they ask. I think it’s all politics. But it’s cool with me. I’ll just concentrate on this dope money until I get my hands on some work. Shit, the day isn’t over yet, and I’ve already sold 175 bricks of Bang Man.
Ring! Ring! “Hello?”
“Cash!”
“Yo, who is this?” I ask.
“Cash,” the caller shouts again. His phone is full of static. “Cash?”
“Yo!”
“Cash, can you hear me?”
“Now I can, barely,” I shout. “Your phone is full of static. Who is this?”
“This Sal,” the caller replies.
“Oh, Sal, what’s up?” This is Sal, one of the cats who buys blow off of me. He’s not a heavy hitter, but he is consistent. He only buys a half a bird at a time and it takes him about two weeks to move it. That’s slow money, but it’s sure money. He must be finished. He should have called me last week. The last time I served him was almost three weeks ago. He must not know about the drought. It just came in effect about a week ago.
“Cash, what’s up?” The phone is still not clear. His voice has an echo on it, making him sound like a robot.
“Sal?”
“Yeah!” he replies. “Cash, I’m ready. Meet me at the spot. I’ll be there waiting for you.” Then the dial tone. His phone cuts off. I try to call him back, but I get his answering machine. I’m going to go over to the spot. Besides, I can’t tell him over the phone that I don’t have any work. He would ask me a million questions. When will you have something? Will the price go up? All those questions on the phone could get me back to the fed pen. I learned my lesson. I don’t trust cell phones.
It takes me approximately 20 minutes to get to the spot. The grocery store parking lot is extra crowded today. We always meet here because it’s so busy that no one pays attention to us. I quickly glance over the parking lot looking for a silver, convertible BMW. I don’t see it. I decide to walk over to the Jamaican store to get me some oxtails and rice while I’m waiting for him. If he comes, he won’t leave because he’ll see my car parked in the spot.
I walk over to the store. A few people are sitting there eating. “Yes, may I help you?” asks the dread-headed woman.
Her dreads are salt and peppered. I have never seen anyone with dread locks this long. Not only are they long, but they’re thick, too. They hang to the back of her thighs. She’s an older woman in her fifties.
“Yes, I’ll have a small order of oxtails and rice, please.”
“OK, that’ll be ten minutes.” Her accent is so strong, I can barely understand what she’s saying.
“No problem.” I walk back to the doorway to see if Sal has pulled in.
As I approach the doorway, I notice a short, cocky man coming in. I slide over so he can pass, but he comes right at me. He bumps me with his shoulder. He knocks me off balance. He’s a solid little, wide-framed motherfucker. “Watch where you’re going, motherfucker!” he shouts. All the customers stop eating to see what the ruckus is about.
“You watch it! You bumped into me,” I shout.
“So what, you saw me coming. You should have moved,” he yells back.
“I should have moved?” I question. The nerve of this guy! I step closer to him, and he steps closer to me.
“What!” he barks.
“Sir, your order is ready,” hollers, the lady at the counter. “Sir!” I look over at the counter. “Small oxtails and rice, you’re ready to go.” She shakes her head, gesturing for me to stop.
“Boy, oh boy,” I whisper, as I walk away. “Can I have a Guinness Stout with that?”
“You sure can,” she replies. “That’ll be $6 even.”
“Here you go, ma’am.”
“Son, let that go. It’s not worth it,” she whispers. “You’re too handsome to be out here fighting. Look at him, he’s ugly. That’s why he’s jealous of you.” I crack a smile as she hands me my food. No matter how old a woman gets, she never loses her touch. They know just what to say to have you eating out of their hands.
“Have a nice day,” I shout.
“You too, son.”
I walk to the door where the man is still standing. Only now he’s not by himself. He’s with another man. This man is much taller than him, but not as wide. I lock eyes with both of them as I walk out the door. Neither of them says anything.
Before getting in my car, I look around once more for Sal. He’s still nowhere in sight. I sit in the car and start opening my container. I’m starving.
After putting a hefty forkfull in my mouth, I look up. I see a black car with pitch-black windows coming at me, full speed, head-on. Beep! Beep! Beep! I hit my horn to catch his attention. Maybe he’s not looking. Beep! Beep! My heart is racing. The car stops right before he rams me. Sccuuurrrr!!
I sit up with my hands raised in the air, like what’s up. Then comes another car to the right of me, and then another to the left of me. They have me blocked in. Then the two men come running out of the Jamaican store, full speed. As they get closer, all the passengers of the three cars charge me. I’m baffled. I don’t have a clue what’s going on until I see badges dangling from all of their necks. It’s the police. “Put your hands in the air,” the white cop yells. What the fuck is going on? I quickly throw my hands in the air. The man who bumped me in the store runs over to my side, while the man who was with him runs to the passenger’s side.
“Don’t move punk!” barks the man on my side. He opens my door and snatches me by the collar, while the other cop has his gun aimed at my head.
“Go ahead, tough guy. Say something. Give me a reason to bust your motherfucking head open.” He drags me out of the car like I’m a rag doll. He’s strong as hell. “Lay down!” Before I can lay down, he punches me right on my chin. My legs buckle immediately, and I fall right on my face. I’m dizzy as hell. Everything is blurry. I try to shake it off, but he kicks me in the ribs. “You think you tough, huh?” he asks.
“What’s up?” I ask. “What the fuck did I do?” He kicks me again. “Aghh!” I grunt. That kick was harder than the first one. That one really hurt. I’m furious, but I can’t do anything. By now all the police are searching my vehicle. I don’t understand what’s going on. Do they know me? I never saw any of them before.
“Cashmere!” the white cop shouts. “Where is the shit?”
Cashmere? This cracker knows my name. What the fuck is going on? “What shit, sir?” The cop kicks me again. “Ugghh!” I grunt.
“Don’t act stupid, motherfucker. Where is the shit?”
“I don’t have shit.”
“Don’t make this hard for yourself!” he threatens. “Tell us where it is.”
The cocky officer drags me onto my feet and bitch slaps me. “Turn around!
” As I turn around, through the corner of my eye, I see the silver BMW pulling out of a parking space. Right next to his space sits a white Chevy Lumina with two white men in it. Sal is now pulling out of the parking lot. “Give me your hands,” the cop shouts. He twists my arms and puts them behind my back. He then handcuffs me and drags me to the car that’s parked directly in front of mine. He throws me in the backseat of the car and slams the door, catching my foot in the door. “Aghh!” After sliding my foot over, he slams it again. The other cops are tearing my car up. They’re searching everywhere. They’re looking in places I didn’t even know existed.
I don’t believe this shit! I wonder did Sal set me up? I don’t think he would do that. He’s a real nigga. He’s done three bids. I’ve never known him to be a snitch. Maybe they didn’t know he was with me and he snuck off. I don’t know. This shit doesn’t look right!
The cocky cop comes over to the car and gets in the driver’s seat, leaving the other officers searching my car. “Cashmere, where is the shit?” he asks calmly.
“Listen man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to get something to eat. You saw me in the restaurant!” I answer. “I ordered oxtails and rice.” I look down; the whole order is all over my leather coat.
“Yeah, all right!” he shouts.
By this time, another officer jumps in the passenger’s seat. “They can’t find it,” he whispers. “Yo man, where is the shit?” he asks calmly. “You might as well tell us. We’re going to find it. If you cooperate, it’ll make it easier for you. The longer you make us look for it, the harder the sergeant will make it for you. The quicker you turn the shit over to us, the quicker you can get processed and get bailed out. If you tell us now, you’ll probably be out by tonight.”
He’s furious. His entire face is cherry red. He wants to bust me so bad. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to eat.”
“All right Cashmere!” he shouts sarcastically. He then looks over to the other officer. “What is it he’s supposed to have?” the cop in the passenger’s seat asks the cocky one in a low, whispering tone.
“A half a kilo,” he whispers. “He was supposed to meet him here with it,” he mumbles. Oh shit! Sal did set me up! I’m going to kill that motherfucker! That bitch ass nigga put my freedom on the line. He thought I was going to bring the work with me. It’s a good thing I don’t have anything, because I surely would have brought it.
That bitch ass nigga was setting me up all the time. Acting like his phone wasn’t working. That was all a front. I swear to God, I’m going to kill him! He fucked up now, cause I ain’t got shit. They have to let me go.
Seconds later, a tow truck pulls up. The driver of the car I’m in backs the vehicle up, allowing them to pull in front of my car. The tow truck backs up close to my bumper.
“Yo, what the fuck ya’ll doing?” I ask.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Man, ya’ll can’t take my car! I don’t have shit in there!”
The sergeant walks over to the back door where I am at and yanks the door open. He slides in. We’re face-to-face. The smell of garlic bites my nose. “Cashmere, I’m going to ask you a question,” he whispers. His breath is atrocious. Each word stuns me. “Before you answer, think about it. Think about your freedom, and then think about having no freedom. You shouldn’t have a problem visualizing that. You just did seven years. If you tell me the truth it will be a lot easier for you. Do you have a stash spot? Think before you answer,” he whispers.
“No, I don’t sir,” I reply.
“Listen, we’re taking you down. They already issued us a search warrant. If you have a stash spot, they’ll find out when we get the car there. Don’t make this difficult. If you have one, let me know so we don’t have to go through with this. The tow truck and all this shit costs money. No one likes to spend money. Save us the money and the bullshit, and I’ll do my best to save you.” Yeah right! Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? Like if I had something I would tell him where it is. Shit, I’m not going to make his job easier; find it. That’s what he gets paid $30,000 a year for.
“You just did almost eight years. I know you don’t want to do more time than you have to. Save yourself, Cashmere.”
“Sir, I don’t have a stash spot,” I reply calmly.
“All right!” he yells. “I tried. Don’t say I didn’t try to help you. Take him in.” He gets out and slams the door.
As we pull off, the driver speaks. “You should have told him where it’s at.”
“Listen, I don’t have shit.”
“I mean, it don’t make me any difference either way,” the cop admits. “I’m going home in two hours regardless. I don’t give a fuck about you. But you should have told the truth for your sake.” I don’t even respond. Do they think I’m stupid? If I had something, it wouldn’t make a difference whether I told them or they found it on their own. Shit will still be the same. They’re trying to play me like a young boy.
Before I know it, they’re dragging me from the car. I don’t know where we are. I’ve never seen this building in my life. They drag me through the back door and we get on the elevator. When we get off, I see nothing but little cells. The cop at the desk doesn’t have a uniform on. He has on a football jersey and some tight ass jeans. They open the cell and push me in. “Can I make a phone call?” I ask.
“No!” he replies. “You should have cooperated. I would have let you get that.”
“Whatever,” I mumble.
Two hours later
It feels like I’ve been sitting in this tiny cell for about eight hours. Maybe it hasn’t been that long. It just feels like it. I fell asleep, then I woke up, and then I fell asleep again.
I hate being in a cell. The day I was released, I promised myself I would never be in anybody’s cell again. And here it is, not even six months later. All because of this snitch ass nigga. I’m going to kill him. I hope them cops don’t plant anything on me. You know how dirty they can be.
I’m going crazy in this cell. I just want to punch the wall. I can’t believe this shit! I swear, I hope they don’t put nothing on me. Please God; don’t let them plant nothing on me, please!
After pacing the floor for an hour, I lay back on the cold, hard floor. I put my coat under my head and fall asleep again.
“Yo, get up!” the cop yells. I open one eye, hoping all this is a nightmare. “Get up!” he repeats. I stand up. I look at the clock on the wall behind the cop’s head. It reads 10 o’clock. I’ve been here for almost eight hours. I know Love is worried to death. I haven’t spoken to her since this morning.
The officer opens the cell. “Get out of here,” he shouts.
“I can go home?”
“Not unless you want to stay,” he replies sarcastically.
I hurry out of the cell. “Where’s my car?”
“Go to that door. An officer will escort you to your car.”
One second later, the short, cocky officer comes out of the back room. “Come on, Cashmere!” he shouts. “The world-famous Cashmere, big-time drug kingpin!” he screams sarcastically. “I don’t know how you did it, but you did it. They checked your car thoroughly. They couldn’t find it. Tell me where it is. I won’t tell,” he says, in a joking manner.
“They didn’t find shit, because it wasn’t shit in there.”
“Cut the shit,” he replies. “You’re over for now, but watch yourself. We’re on you. We’re going to be up your ass with a microscope from now on until we get you.”
The elevator comes up. We get on. “You better count your blessings,” he shouts.
When we get outside, the car is parked right in front of the building. “Later, Cashmere!” he shouts. I don’t say shit.
I get in my car. It’s a mess. All my papers are thrown around, and all the shit from my trunk is in the backseat. They even ripped my passenger’s seat. Jealous ass motherfuckers!
I look in the glove compartment to check and see if
my owner’s manual and insurance card are there. Everything is in place except for a stack of photos that were in there. I had pictures of everybody in there; my wife, in front of our house, my kids in front of their house. I also had a picture of my dogs standing on the roof of my Lincoln. Damn, they got everything. I could kick myself up the ass. Now I really have to be careful. Sometimes it seems like the older I get, the dumber I get.
I’m heading home. What a day!
CHAPTER 28
Me and Love argued all night. She insists that the reason I didn’t answer my phone yesterday was because I was with a girl. If I tell her the cops had me, she’ll really be on my back. I don’t want her to worry too much. Being that I’m on her bad side, I decide to spend the day with her. I have to do a little ass kissing.
She has the whole day planned. First, we’re going to the bakery to pick out a wedding cake. Then we have to sample some food at the caterer. From there she has to meet with the decorator.
My whole day will be spent on this wedding planning. At first, I was pissed at the thought, but being held by those police yesterday made me appreciate my freedom more. Besides that snitch ass Sal, who I’m going to murder when I catch up with him, I couldn’t keep Love off my mind. The whole time they had me, I kept thinking about the long speech she gave me about me going to jail again. I’m lucky I didn’t have anything. With my criminal jacket, I would have been gone forever. The thought of Love leaving me drives me crazy. I don’t think she’d actually do it, but who knows? How much can one woman take?
Those few hours made me realize that I have to get myself in order. I have to start thinking more like a husband and a father and less like the typical drug dealer.
Later that day
We finished up earlier than planned, so we spent the rest of the day shopping for Christmas gifts. I blew so much cash on my boys. I bought them everything I wanted as a kid but couldn’t afford. I bought them a mobile basketball court for the backyard. I bought them a new video game, a racing track, and a gigantic fish tank about the size of the entire wall. And last but not least, I bought them two racing dirt bikes. No, they can’t ride, but I’ll teach them. OK, those might be more for me than them. I’ll probably have more fun with them than they will.
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