by Mike Sanders
I truly trusted the five men in my presence with my life. I paid them all well and treated them as equals rather than as employees. For that reason, they all respected me to the fullest. It was a known fact that if you kept a person dependent upon you they would remain loyal, and it was plain to see that I was these men’s bread and butter. For me, loyalty was worth more than any amount of money imaginable. Money was no object and fear was nonexistent. Each of us had money to burn and wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever or whomever to keep it that way.
I sat off in one corner of the large game room clutching a halfempty bottle of Armand de Brignac (Ace of Spades) champagne from which I’d been swigging. I was high as shit from the blunts that were being passed back and forth throughout the room. Jumping up from the money-green leather sofa, I spilled champagne on my Mek jeans. So I headed to the bar to get a paper towel to wipe myself off with. I noticed Ali on the phone and I could tell he was talking to a broad. I sat on the stool next to him and motioned for him to end the call so we could get down to business. I needed to holla at him about something that had been bothering me for the past couple of days. Checking my Audermars Piguet, I noticed that it was almost midnight.
“Damn,” I mumbled to myself thinking about all the pussy I was missing at Nine Three Five tonight. Thursdays was Ladies Night. But then I said fuck it because them hoes would be there the following week and the week after that and so on. We needed to handle this business.
After making plans to hook up with the girl he had been talking to, Ali ended his call. He turned on the stool to face me.
“What’s good Los?” He had a half-smoken blunt dangling between his lips.
I slowly swiveled around on my stool and looked out at the four men enjoying themselves. Without looking at Ali, I asked, “You know a nigga named Cross?”
Ali relit the blunt, then asked, “You talkin’ ’bout that nigga who be robbin’?”
I swigged the remnants of the champagne bottle I was holding.
“Yeah, that nigga.”
I reached for the blunt Ali had just lit and took a long, slow toke inhaling the ’dro. I added, “I just got word that him an’ two other niggas was the ones who did that kick-door last week. They had a bitch wit’ ’em too.”
I was referring to the robbery that had taken place a week earlier at one of my stash spots. No one had been hurt, but the robbers had managed to get away with eighty-three grand of my dough. I’d heard that they were in and out so fast it was like they were on a professional bank heist. Initially, no one had known who had been responsible for the robbery. However, the entire universe knows it never takes long for the streets to start whispering. This nigga told a bitch, who’d told some more niggas, who happened to tell another bitch, who ended up telling me. Same shit, different toilet. It always happens like that.
“Say word!” Ali was looking at me with perplexity as if he couldn’t grasp the finality of my last statement.
I didn’t respond, as I was lost in thought about how bad I wanted those niggas to suffer. I passed the blunt back to Ali, arose from the stool, and walked behind the bar to retrieve another bottle of champagne. After popping the cork, I leaned on the bar towards Ali.
“In all of my twenty-four years on this earth, I’on’ think I ever wanted somethin’ as bad as I wanna see them hoe-ass niggas shed blood.” I had venom in my voice.
“So how we gonna handle that? You gonna let Mark take care of it?” Ali asked, then blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.
“Mark? You serious? That was my dough them niggas took.”
I looked out at Supreme and Face and knew exactly how I was going to handle the situation. But I had to be smart with this hit because I had been picked up on several occasions and taken to Homicide for questioning. No witnesses, no evidence, no charges. I was too sharp for their asses. I always stayed two steps ahead of the game. I knew one slip up could cost me my freedom and everything I had hustled hard for. Therefore, I knew I had to handle this situation with Cross with extreme caution. Since so many people knew my spot had been robbed I knew I’d get the blame if the niggas who had done it suddenly wound up bodied. I just had to sit back and wait for a minute before moving on them.
I looked out at my boys and spoke up loud enough to be heard over all of the shit talking and berating throughout the room. “Yo! Yo! I need y’all to check this out for a minute!”
I reached for the remote to turn the surround sound down, which was pumping Lil’ Wayne’s new joint. I waited until I was sure I had their undivided attention before continuing.
Lil’ Joe and Dave both turned to face me while holding the customized pool sticks in their hands. They leaned back against the expensive pool table side by side looking like a black Arnold Swartzeneggar and Danny Devito in that old school movie Twins. Lil’ Joe was towering over Dave by almost a foot.
Supreme and Face paused the video game again and craned their necks so they could see what all the fuss was about. Face was apparently agitated because I’d just interrupted his game and he was losing fifteen hundred dollars.
“Nigga, you can’t wait ‘til we finish this last quarter? It’s almost over.” Face had a thick blunt between his burnt lips as he spoke.
“It ain’t gonna take long. I just wanna put y’all niggas up on the reason why we all here tonight.” I was standing behind the bar speaking as if I was standing at a podium. “Y’all know a nigga been tryin’ to figga out who them niggas was that tried me like that last week, right?” I saw everyone nod in agreement. “Well, I found out who one of them snakes is.”
Preme was the first to speak up as he sat the controller pad down.
“Yo, god, you know all you gotta do is give a nigga some names an’ we’ll toe tag them bitches.” He had a one-track mind—murder. I knew Preme was ready to put in work but this situation wasn’t as simple as just murkin’ a few niggas and calling it a day. This one had to be handled with delicacy.
I told Preme, “I wish it was that easy, my nigga.” I took a deep breath, “but it ain’t. Y’all know how them investigators keep harassing muthafuckas about unsolved murders an’ shit?”
I didn’t wait for a response.
“Well, my name keeps comin’ up.” I knitted my brow as I remembered something I’d heard a while back. I added to my previous statements, “Oh, and that bitch-made ass nigga Junior told Face that some niggas in the county jail was talkin’ ’bout I had somethin’ to do wit’ slumpin’ them two niggas in North Charlotte a couple of months ago.”
The group looked at Face as he nodded in agreement to what I’d just said. I sat the bottle of champagne on the bar and looked out at Supreme.
“Now, Preme, tell me,” I tilted my head to one side, “how the fuck a nigga know I had somethin’ to do wit’ that shit?” My voice had unconsciously risen.
Supreme’s brows furrowed in confusion as his mind replayed the incident in which I was speaking about. He had went on that mission alone and had slumped those two dudes in a parked car in a dark parking lot on Pegram Street, execution-style. He hadn’t left any witnesses and no evidence. All the police had found when they had arrived at the scene had been two dead bodies and thirteen .9mm shell casings with no prints on them. As usual, Preme hadn’t uttered a word about the hit so he truly had no idea how someone could have come to that conclusion.
“Come on, Los, you know damn well I didn’t let that shit leak.” Preme made that statement with all seriousness.
“See, that’s what I mean, lucky assumptions like that’ll get a nigga a forever sentence!”
Felony murder charges were getting niggas fried in the courtroom. I knew some niggas who had gotten so much time that their future PO hadn’t even been born at the time they were being sentenced.
After a moment of silence, “That nigga Cross was the one who robbed Mark last week. Him, two more niggas, and a bitch. I don’t know who the other two niggas and the girl is just yet, but best believe I’ma find out. And for real, it real
ly don’t even matter ‘cause when we do this nigga, we doin’ every muthafucka in his presence at that time. I’on’ give a fuck who it is!”
I paused to take a swig. All of my boys had begun talking amongst themselves but I quieted them when I begun to speak again. This time my tone was a little calmer.
“I’on’ give a fuck if his mamma, his grandma, or whoever is around when we go get this nigga. I hate it for ‘em. Consider ‘em guilty by association. We gonna teach muthafuckas that when you around snakes, you get bit!” My words lingered in the air as my niggas waited for further instructions, but there weren’t any.
I had learned years ago that if a person wasn’t part of the solution then they were more than likely part of the problem. I knew the only way to solve a problem is to eliminate it so that it has no room for manifestation. This nigga Cross had definitely become a problem.
We were all ready to deal with this nigga, but I knew better than to jump the gun. I made sure each of my boys understood that nobody was to make a move until I gave the word. I knew each of my boys wanted to get at this nigga for different reasons. Ali wanted him dead because he had tried me, and trying me was just like trying him. It was like taking food off of his own table when my money had gotten taken. If I took a loss, then so did he.
Lil’ Joe and Dave wanted to get at the nigga because they knew if Cross had tried my stash spot, then he definitely wouldn’t hesitate to try theirs sooner or later.
Face and Preme wanted to nod him just because they hadn’t murked a nigga in a few weeks, and they were starting to get bored and restless.
I’d always believed that an enemy left alive is like a half-dead serpent that you nurse back to life. Consequently, his bite will become more venomous with time! I felt like these niggas were testing my gangsta when they’d robbed my spot. So I was determined to make an example out of their asses.
Everyone stood in agreement that Cross was a walking corpse that refused to lie down in the casket.
CHAPTER FOUR MONK
It was a blazing Sunday evening, which meant Hornet’s Nest Park on Beatties Ford Road was off the hook. On Sundays in the summer Hornet’s Nest was the place to be! It was like the club before the club. It was a place where niggas flossed their freshly detailed whips and chicks flaunted the shortest shorts or skirts they could find. On this evening, the park was so crowded it looked like a concert was taking place. Niggas had their doors open, blasting music while the chicks stood in groups gossiping amongst themselves. I was enjoying the view of all those bitches that were dressed as if they were in search of a stage to get naked on. Ass and titties were everywhere; the only thing missing was the pole. The best part was being able to watch these hoes for free. I was also taking in the sights of all those dope boys who were flossing their jewels like Liberace at a piano recital. Ice was in abundance! This was definitely a stick-up kid’s heaven.
My T-shirt was draped over my head. I was only wearing a wife beater and still burning up. It felt like July in a microwave oven and my skin felt like it was frying.
What I’d give for an ice cold beer. But Charlotte PD was patrolling too thick to take a chance with drinking alcohol.
Me, D.C., and our new partner in crime, Cross, were parked side by side on our motorcycles with me in the middle. D.C. and Cross both owned Kawasaki’s. Their chromed out custom-painted ZX-13s were tight to death. But they couldn’t fuck with my shit. My preference was the Japanese-made Suzuki Hayubussa 1300. My bike was chromed out and painted with that candy chameleon shit that changed colors with the light. I loved it because it came in handy when fleeing from the Jakes! One minute they would be searching for a green bike and the next minute they would be searching for a blue joint! Kept them muthafuckas confused.
We were situated in a corner of one of the large parking lots just off the strip so we could have a clear view of everyone entering and exiting the park. Since we had robbed so many niggas and had accumulated so many enemies we had to be on point, especially when we were out like this. We were parked so we could watch the crowd because we didn’t need any surprises. We needed to be able to see everything that was moving.
“Hey, Chinaman. Can a bitch ride wit’ choo?” I looked up from my bike and saw that the voice came from a young redbone who looked no older than sixteen in the eyes, but twenty-two in the thighs. She and two of her girlfriends were walking past us looking like younger versions of the video models Vida Guerra, Buffie the Body, and Ice T’s white wife, Co-Co. The confusing thing about the trio was the fact that the white girl had the fattest ass.
I wrinkled my eyebrows as I watched the three young girls stroll by smiling at us. My eyes were glued to the snow bunny’s backside.
Where da fuck white girls gettin’ all this ass from these days? I thought.
The redbone saw me staring at her friend. She looked at me, then followed my gaze to her friend’s ass and commented with a knowing smile, “Oh, so that’s yo’ flavor, huh?”
I snapped out of my trance and sarcastically replied while puffing on a Newport, “Ain’t y’all a little too young to be out here without a chaperone?”
They had gotten a nice distance away but they still heard my comment. The redbone looked back, rolled her eyes and swung her ass even harder as she walked off. The skirt she was wearing was so short it barely covered her shapely ass cheeks. My remark must have irked her because she didn’t look back again. They disappeared into the throng of niggas who were gaping and foaming at the mouth like hungry wolves waiting to devour them.
“Yo, why didn’t you holla at shorty?” D.C. asked while laughing.
“Man, you see how these hoes sweatin’ a nigga like we celebs an’ shit. Why should we run down the hill and fuck just one sheep when we can walk down an’ fuck ’em all?” I looked over at D.C., “Slow ya roll, nigga, we got all day.”
After the girls left, we sat there and kicked it for a few minutes. The park began to get congested with cars and bikes. I was on my cell talking to Justice when I heard Cross’s raspy voice call my name. When I looked over at him he was pointing towards the park’s entrance where I saw a midnight black 760i with dark tinted windows turning into the park.
“You know dem niggas?” Cross asked, sounding just like the rapper Jada Kiss.
“Not yet,” I replied. I told my sister I’d call her back. I snapped my phone shut while we all watched the sleek Beemer sitting on 24s slowly cruise up the strip in the slow moving traffic that were attempting to enter the parking area. I didn’t know who these niggas were, but I was itching to find out.
As we watched the BMW finally park approximately fifty feet away from where we were, we waited to see who would exit. When the doors finally opened, we were surprised to see two females step out. The passenger was a pecan tan Amazon and the driver looked to be Hispanic. Both women were dimes, hands down, and they seemed to possess air sophistication about them. They both stood next to the car wearing dark sunglasses as they laughed and conversed amongst one another.
I looked around and saw every nigga in my vicinity staring at the two chicks. Even a few females were checking them out and pointing in their direction. I knew most of the niggas who were watching the pair was more than likely thinking about trying to fuck. However, my mind was way in the gutter! I was thinking about the actual owner of the vehicle the two girls had just emerged from. I had a gut feeling neither of the girls owned that joint and I was willing to bet money that it belonged to a dope boy.
The jack-boy in me always made me look at things beyond the surface. What can I say? It was like second nature for me. My enjoyment of taking shit from people almost ran as deep as my enjoyment of busting a nut. Maybe it was the sense of power I felt whenever I aimed my burner at a mark and watched as they trembled with fear and anxiety. I loved that shit!
From an early age I’d had a fetish for jackin’ niggas. Ever since I was a youngster in the “Wild Hundreds” back home in Chicago I’d been running with stick up kids. Most of which were Gangsta
Disciples and Black Disciples who used to terrorize housing projects like Argyle Homes and other spots around the Hundreds. The Hundreds were the most ruthless streets in the Southside of Chicago from the early 70s to this very day. Famous gangsters like Al Capone once roamed the Hundreds, reeking havoc.
Thinking about Chicago, I took a deep breath and looked off in the distance and thought about my family and friends back in the Midwest. When my mom had first moved me and Justice to N.C. I was homesick as hell! I had immediately started missing everything about Chicago, especially my niggas, who I used to run with. And my favorite hangout spots like Harold’s Chicken on 89th and The Underground club downtown. Of course, I was too young to get inside the club, so me and my niggas used to rob niggas in the parking lot. We knew they didn’t have any burners on them as they exited the club so we caught those niggas on the way to their cars. Those were sweet come ups. Eventually I’d gotten over that homesickness when I had started meeting all of these southern bitches who seem to get mesmerized by a nigga’s chinky eyes and slick ass tongue.
I had even started meeting a few jack boys. One of whom turned out to be my nigga D.C. We’d met through a bitch we had both been using to set niggas up. We eventually hooked up and started robbing niggas together. Since we’d hooked up we had robbed countless niggas and had been involved in enough gunplay to make those niggas over there in Iraq look like fuckin’ boy scouts!
We hooked up with Cross one day when we had a lick that would take three niggas to pull off. Cross was dating D.C.’s cousin at the time, so we propositioned him and he had agreed to come along. That was our first caper with Cross, and those bitch ass football players at the Embassy Suites who Justice had put us up on had been the second.
When I rob a nigga I’d give him an ultimatum: “Give it to me or give it to God! I can do more with it than He can!”
Most took my advice of giving it to me, but there were those who had tried to buck and I usually kept my promise of making them give it to God. God rest their souls!
