Blow

by K'wan

  “Is that what I think it is?” Daddy-O smiled at the ounces.

  “You know it,” Prince beamed. “The old broad says that after we’re done with this, we can get that real weight. We in business, baby!” Prince gave his man a dap. For the next hour the two men smoked blunts and discussed their plans for the future.

  It was almost a week before the heat started to die down. The crack business was still flourishing, and Prince’s dope operation was starting to gain momentum. They had little dudes roaming through the projects and the surrounding areas with packages of dope. He didn’t want them sitting in one spot for too long, because Diego might catch on, so he kept them on the move. Either Scatter or Ebony would hit one of the young boys on their Boost phones, which Prince made sure everyone was equipped with. The two dope fiends had proven to be loyal and invaluable in getting Prince’s thing going, and he made sure they wanted for nothing. Scatter and Ebony were holding good dope at all times.

  Six days after Prince had gotten the dope from Cano, it was almost gone. Fiends were coming from Harlem and all points north to ride Prince’s train. The dough was pouring in, and he couldn’t wait to drop it off to Cano so he could get the half-bird Mommy had promised.

  After putting Mommy’s bread off to the side, Prince paid his workers. He then took fifteen hundred and put it to the side for Danny. He was still locked up, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to need a little something to help fight the case. The public defender was cool for the arraignment, but when Danny went to trial he was going to need a paid mouthpiece. He knew Danny was going through the motions sitting up on Riker’s Island waiting for them to make bail, but there was a method to Prince’s madness. It would look real suspect if they went in and got him out right away. Danny hadn’t had a job in God knew how long, and his mother was on a fixed income so there was no way to account for the money that quick.

  The next thing he did was drop a thousand dollars on Keisha and send her down to Tiffany’s for him. She returned with a beautiful sterling set consisting of a necklace and bracelet. Though Marisol was still thoroughly etched onto his shit list, there was no sense in him not caking off her. As long as she was happy, Mommy and Cano would keep him correct with the dope. He dug Marisol, but he loved paper.

  Prince packed Mommy’s money in a manila envelope and stuffed it in his pants. With the Tiffany’s bag dangling from his wrist, he headed out the door. As he was touching the avenue to get in his waiting cab, he bumped into Killa-E. The boy obviously had something on his mind because he was sporting a five o’clock shadow and an expression like he had lost his best friend.

  “E, what it is?” Prince gave him a dap.

  “Shit, out here stressing. I know you heard what happened?”

  “Yeah, niggaz said you wigged out on ya baby mama’s boyfriend? They said you popped the nigga and all that.” Prince recalled hearing through the grapevine.

  “Yeah, I blacked out on the nigga cause he was talking shit, but I didn’t shoot him, I pistol-whipped his ass,” E lied. “They’re charging me with assault and possession of an illegal firearm. I got lawyer fees up the ass.”

  “That’s a bad break, my nigga,” Prince sympathized. “What kind of time you looking at?”

  E thought about it for a minute. “On the assault, probably a two to six if this lawyer is any good. That Jew bastard is charging me fifteen thousand to do the case, so I’m out here day and night trying to get it up.”

  “True, so I know you working overtime at that spot downtown?” Prince said, with an idea forming in his head.

  “I’m rocking these niggaz as best I can with what I go to work with. I ain’t holding enough weight for it to be more than a side hustle and ain’t nobody trying to front me nothing. Knox plugged me to these outta-town niggaz he fuck with from upstate though. They come through and spend a few Gs with a nigga from time to time on the white, but that ain’t really their thing. They say that dope is the new drug of choice up in Binghamton. Just my fucking luck that all the dope connects I know out here got shit that can’t hold more than a three…four if I get lucky. I’m telling you, P, if it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have none.”

  Prince silently measured E’s words. E was in a tough situation, and Prince needed an alternative outlet for the blow he was moving. Not only had E unknowingly provided Prince with that much-needed outlet, but he had possibly found a way to help Prince triple his money. His mouth began to water at the thought of what he would charge the out-of-town cats for what he was holding on to.

  “Yo, E, I’m about to put you on to something, but if I find out you told anybody not only am I cutting you off, but I’m fucking you up,” Prince said seriously.

  E’s eyes flashed hurt. “Prince, we’ve known each other too long for you to even feel like you’ve got to come at me like that. What’s popping?”

  Prince sighed. “A’ight, check it out. I just came up on some shit that’s got the whole Westside popping….”

  During the time he spent talking with E his cab had left him, forcing him to call another one. While he was posted up waiting, he heard a voice that sent chills up his spine.

  “Prince, what’s good?” Diego smiled at him.

  “Ain’t nothing, my dude,” Prince gave him a dap. He made sure that his voice was neutral.

  “I’ve been trying to get at you for the last few days but keep getting the voicemail. You ain’t fucking with me, poppy?”

  “Oh, I lost my phone a few days ago, that’s all.” Prince played it down like it was nothing. His phone was actually still over at Marisol’s. He made a note to himself to get it back when he got a chance.

  “So what’s up, you ready to get back on the money?”

  “You know I’m always about my chips, baby, that ain’t changed,” Prince said eagerly. Though he was making respectable money slinging dope, the money he got with Diego was still his primary source of income.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Diego clasped him on the shoulder. “So, that means no more funny business, right?”

  “No more what?”

  Diego’s face became serious as he spoke. “Prince, I haven’t gotten to where I am in the game without watching everything that goes on around me. I know you’ve had your boys moving this new shit you got with mine.”

  “Diego I…”

  “You don’t have to explain, Prince. I blame this on myself.” This statement threw Prince off. “See, people told me, but I didn’t see the writing on the wall. You were born to lead, my man, not live in the shadow of someone else. I see that now. This is the reason why I’m gonna put you in charge of your shit. You win, poppy.”

  Prince looked at Diego disbelievingly. For as long as he had petitioned him for his own thing, Diego had fought him on it tooth and nail. Now he was supposed to believe that he had a change of heart overnight? There had to be more to the story.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Diego looked at him as if he was genuinely hurt. “There’s no catch, poppy. Of course you’ll pay the street tax.”

  “Of course,” Prince agreed.

  “Then there’s the little matter of the heroin.”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem, D. I don’t mind kicking in a tax on that as long as I can rock in the hood with it.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want a tax on the blow. I want in.” Prince made to protest, but Diego waved him silent. “Prince, it’s been a long time since there was good dope down this way, and I hear the shit you got is some of the best. Me being a natural business man, I’m trying to capitalize on it. From now on we put our money together on the dope and become partners, fifty-fifty, amigo.”

  Prince couldn’t believe the nerve of Diego. A few days ago he suspended him from the block, now he wanted to be his partner. Prince wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he settled for, “D, I don’t really need a partner on the dope. Me and my people got an understanding about this, so let’s just keep it with the street tax. Look, I’ll even bump it up
to twenty percent as opposed to fifteen.”

  Diego looked at Prince as if he couldn’t believe he was talking to him like that. “Who the fuck are you to give me a handout? Prince, I made you, not the other way around. Had you been anybody else hustling on my block, I would’ve had one of your own soldiers put something hot in you, but you’re my little man so I let you rock. Don’t you think that entitles me to a little something?”

  Prince was so shocked by the move that he just stood there. Diego was still talking, running down the new arrangement between Prince and him. The arrogant bastard even had the nerve to suggest that Prince introduce him to the connect. After he was done, Diego patted Prince on the cheek and headed up the block. Prince watched him leave, feeling nothing but contempt for the man.

  There it was. Diego had laid the gauntlet, and now it was Prince’s turn to react. Diego had to be out of his fucking mind if he thought that Prince was just going to allow him to try and muscle his way into his heroin business. Prince would see him dead first. Wiping the spot on his check where Diego had touched him, Prince hopped in the cab to Queens.

  CHAPTER 16

  J ail was turning out to be a less-than-pleasant experience for Danny. He had spent his first night at the police precinct where they grilled him for hours about his position in Prince and Diego’s organization. Apparently the local police thought that Prince was one of Diego’s partners as opposed to an employee. Danny kept his mouth shut, only speaking to say that he wanted to see a lawyer. Daddy-O and Prince had always taught him never to say anything to the police and let your lawyer do the talking. And he was determined to follow their lessons to a T during his stint.

  The next morning, Danny was at 100 Centre Street to see the judge. Just after lunch that afternoon, he was called down to meet his lawyer for the first time. From the moment he met the public defender, he didn’t like the man. He was a short white dude with thinning hair and a wrinkled suit. As soon as they sat down, the man started talking about a plea bargain. Danny got uptight, stating that it was the lawyer’s job to fight for his freedom, and this would’ve been true had it been a paid attorney as opposed to a public defender.

  What most people learn their first time going through the system is that a public defender doesn’t actually try to insure that you don’t do time, they just try to make sure you get as little time as possible. Whether you go to jail or not, the city still pays their salary.

  The public defender tried to explain to Danny that being on probation for the same thing that had knocked him wouldn’t sit well with the judge. Two years prior, Danny was caught selling coke inside a nightclub. Because of his age he had escaped with five years felony probation. Now he found himself in yet another bad situation.

  Of course Danny wasn’t trying to hear about a plea bargain and belligerently said “Not guilty!” when questioned by the judge. The judge rambled off some things he didn’t understand, gave him a date to come back, set his bail at twenty thousand, and called for his next case.

  Danny was then moved to the Tombs, which was just two buildings down from the courthouse. The first thing Danny did was call Daddy-O and update him on the situation. Daddy-O told him to sit tight, and they would get him out in a minute. Thankfully the Tombs weren’t as bad as he thought they would be. Of course they were crowded, filthy, and the COs treated you like shit, but Danny knew quite a few people so his stay wasn’t that bad. Danny thought he would just kick back and enjoy the ride until Prince and Daddy-O got him out. No sooner than he got comfortable, they shipped his ass to Rikers Island.

  Though it was supposed to be one of the largest facilities in the country, it still felt like they were packed in. Whereas everyone was grouped in together at the Tombs, Rikers Island was as segregated as the sixties. Bloods over here, that’s a Crip house, this phone is for the Puerto Ricans. It was deplorable living conditions and heavy tension. He had been coming from the commissary the other day when he saw this kid run up the line with a razor and slit several bags, while his mans and them swept through and snatched the spoils. After a week in, Danny felt like he was ready to hang himself. It was a welcomed escape when he was informed that he had a lawyer visit.

  Danny expected to be led to the area where he would normally meet his lawyer but wasn’t. Instead the CO escorted him to a small room on the other side of the building. He ushered him inside and slammed the door behind. Danny recognized his weasel-faced lawyer, Coalfield, but the other man he didn’t know. The man was immaculately dressed in a midnight blue suit and wire-rimmed glasses. He smiled broadly at Danny and motioned for him to sit down.

  “Danny,” Coalfield began, adjusting his brown tie. “This is assistant district attorney Michael Stern.” Danny got ready to say something, but Coalfield held up his hand for silence. “Now, I know you’ve expressed that a plea bargain is out of the question, but I think you need to listen to what he has to say.”

  Danny glared at the lawyer viciously. He had already told Coalfield that he didn’t want to cut any type of deal, but after the week he had endured within the halls of C74 he figured it couldn’t hurt to listen. “Talk,” he said to Stern bitterly.

  “Daniel, I’m not gonna sit here and try to bullshit you because you’re too smart for that, so I say let’s cut to the chase,” Stern told him as he flipped open a large folder. “You were picked up holding twenty bags of crack-rock and eight bags of heroin. Couple that with the fact that you’re already on probation, and I’d say you’re fucked pretty good.”

  Danny cut his eyes at Stern and chuckled. “Man, I ain’t trying to hear nothing you gotta say. I don’t do deals. I’ll fight the case and if I lose, I’ll do my time like a man. The hood will still be here when I touch down.”

  Stern and Coalfield exchanged comical glances. Stern closed the folder and placed his elbows on the table. “How fucking stupid can you be?” he asked bluntly. “Danny, do you think we don’t know who’s doing what in those projects? We know what you were selling and who you were selling for.”

  “Those was my drugs. I wasn’t selling for nobody,” Danny insisted.

  “Give me a fucking break here, Danny. You can play that tough guy shit all you want, but you and I know what the real deal is. You’re a third-rate nobody that’ll probably end up sucking some buck nigger’s dick if you get shipped up north, but fortunately you have that working in your favor. Danny, I don’t wanna send you to jail. Hell, someone will probably murder you before long, saving me the paperwork it would take to prosecute you. But I do want your bosses. Give us something on Diego. Hell, we’ll even take Prince at this point, but you gotta give us something to turn you lose.”

  “Man, if you called me in here to insult me, I’m going back,” Danny stood up to leave but Stern’s next words halted him.

  “Eight-and-a-third to fifteen,” He blurted out.

  “What?” Danny stopped short.

  “That’s what you’ll wind up with if you don’t help us out. Not only are you a repeat offender, but you’re a lieutenant in a continuing criminal enterprise. Do I have to spell it out for you?” Seeing the color drain from Danny’s face brought a smile to Stern’s lips. “Danny,” Stern placed a recorder on the table and hit the button, “that’s a long time for a handsome young guy like you to be behind the wall. Come on, Danny, help us to help you.”

  Eight-and-a-third years was a long time. Though Danny would still be relatively young at the end of his bid, the stretch definitely wouldn’t be an easy one. He thought about the small roll he played in the organization and felt he didn’t deserve it. Football numbers were reserved for bosses, and Danny was hardly a boss. They’d never get him to turn on Prince, but maybe if he gave them Diego…. No, he immediately pushed the thought from his mind. He hated Diego just like the rest of them, but he would hate himself more for snitching.

  “Nah,” Danny said weakly. “I can’t help you. Now, if you’d let me go back to my house…”

  “I understand, Danny,” Stern said easily. “Tough gu
y ain’t gonna talk, huh? That’s cool. Go ahead back to your dorm and pack your things.”

  “Pack my things? Where am I going?”

  “Oh, we’re transferring you to the Beacon,” Stern said with a wicked smile. The Beacon was one of the most notorious buildings on the whole compound. Shit jumped off from time to time in all the buildings, but in the Beacon violence was the norm. If he thought he was having a hard time in C74, the Beacon would be like Hell.

  “You can’t do that. I’m supposed to be in the adolescent block!” Danny protested.

  “Oh, we know that. But it seems that C74 is overcrowded, so we’re transferring most of the tough asses to the Beacon. Maybe after spending a week in that place, you’ll change your mind.”

  The CO came and escorted Danny back to his dorm for transfer. Along the way he allowed Danny to stop and cry in the hall, where the other inmates wouldn’t see him.

  “So, you spoke to that nigga, Prince?” Manny asked, taking deep pulls off a blunt of haze.

  “Yeah, I spoke to him last week about that shit. I told that nigga I want half off that dope shit, nonnegotiable,” Diego said.

  “You think he’s gonna go for it?”

  “What choice does he have? Those are my fucking projects. If he don’t pay he don’t play, simple as that. Just to be on the safe side I’m gonna send him a little message.” Manny didn’t have to ask to know what Diego meant.

  Manny nodded. “And what if he don’t wanna go along with it?”

  Diego looked at him seriously and said, “Then you do what you do.”

  CHAPTER 17

  P rince had gathered his team for an impromptu meeting at the Wedge Hall in the Bronx, just off Hunts Point. It was a small strip club where you could go and watch the women shake their asses or even get yourself some pussy if your money and your game was right.

  It was a special night as they were celebrating two things: Danny being home from Rikers and them stepping into the big time. As promised, Cano had given Prince a half-kilo of some of South America’s finest. That’s what he had been out of town putting together. The shit was even more potent than the Mexican blow he had gotten from Marisol and would draw in even more money because it could stand a heavier cut. This was the beginning of something big for the former small-time crack dealers.