The unmarked undercover police cruiser rolled slowly past the large circle of hustlers as weed smoke hovered above the crowd. White clouds floated slowly across the parking lot and thickened the air of the mild early August evening. The crowd temporarily tensed up and a few cats removed their hoods in a weak attempt to not look suspicious. They watched out of the corners of their eyes until the cruiser bent the corner on their routine pass through and then the scene returned to normal.
“Aight-all down is a bet!” K yelled out to the other hustlers participating in the cee-lo game.
Numerous bets dropped to the black top parking lot in front of the other 15 players. Bets ranged from the ten dollars from those trying to make a come-up, to two-hundred dollars and better around the inside of the circle.
“What’s the bank K?” Duke called out.
“Bank Money! If you drop it, it’s covered,” said K shaking the dice about to roll. K’s two young gunna’s Shooky Brim aka Pookie and Billy Blass held him down wit da burners watching his back and making sure aint nobody try no slick shit.
“I’m coming out!” K stated as the dice left his hand and bounced towards the center of the large circle.
The dice came to a halt on three sixes.
“3 sixes! Mark of the beast! Nobody move, you know what it is,” K said as he made his way around the circle picking up bets and handing the money to Blass who was holding the bank.
“Dam K, you on fire tonight! You aint rolled a point under a five in the last 20 rolls, “said GS Mike Seabury.
“This whip hand fam. Anything I touch wit it blow up! “Said K talkin big shit.
Just then a carfull of outta town cuties pulled in the parking lot and slowly rolled past the game eyeing the Crimedanch hustlas curiously. They pulled to the rear of the parking lot and found a spot where they could enjoy the show. And a show it was. Always! As a matter of fact they were only one car of many that filled Kentucky Fried Chicken parking lot on the fast paced active Friday night.
It was a typical payday in the hood. There were maad (a lot of) crackheads moving with motivation as money exchanged hands quicker than Wall Street. The mixed smells of the Colonel’s original recipe and the Chinese food spot with the banging house specials across MLK Boulevard aka Straight Pathmade it a constant battle of which type of grease the blunt smoker’s munchies would lead them to.
K had been home from a short stint in county jail for a few weeks and was already hugging the block like he never left. At 290 pounds he was to hustling what Barry White had been to R and B. But to the niggahs in his hood he was $K-Money$; known for his car and hustle game.
“Yo Pook. Let me hit that,” K stated reaching for the 40 ounce of St. Ides malt liquor he was holding.
Pookie handed K the bottle and whispered,“Yo, my cousin from Central Islip just pulled up. He called earlier and said he needed a big 8 if I could find it for him.”
“ I gotta check and see what I got left, but I should have at least that. He know the numbers (price) is the same as last time, right?
“$ 2,750.”
“No doubt. Go holla at em’ and find out what’s up.”
After a couple more rolls of the dice, K lost the bank to a ten dollar bettor that rolled 4-5-6. That meant automatic surrender of the bank and the timing was perfect. He counted his winnings as him and Billy Blass were walking away from the game. Minus the $1500 K had in his pocket before the game, he had a total of $4,200 in profit. Not bad for a couple hours killing time. K took out $1200 and gave it to Pook and Blass to split for holding him down.
After Pook talked to his cousin, he met up with K and Blass as they were headed to the rental car.
“He said he want a bigs(125 grams) and another half a big (62? grams) if you got it. He said it’s poppin in his hood and the block is dry.”
“I got the big 8 fa-sho, but its Friday and I got 3 spots to supply. I only brought 840 grams uptown yesterday and I’m still in grind mode trying to get back on top,” said K putting the rental in drive.
“I know K. And I know you been lookin out cause that’s my fam. Do what you can and he just gotta understand it is what it is.”
It was true K wanted to get all the money from the sale, but the risk and profit margin didn’t add up to it being worth it.
“He’s gonna meet us at my mom’s crib. I told him to give us around 15 minutes,” said Pook.
They pulled away from the parking space and headed to K’s stash house.
“Yo K man, I’m glad you back in the tha hood. Shit been fucked up since you bounced down to Virginia on the run last year. Me and Pook just barely been keepin our heads above water,” said Blass.
“You know this hustling shit aint really our thing no way K. I’d ratha let a monkey mafucka make it, so I can come thru and take it,” said Pook.
Pook was about 5’8 tall, medium build and brown skin. Blass was 5’5 with a medium dark complexion and sported a low cut with waves.
“ Yall already know what it is when I’m in town. Yall two niggahs and 40 ounce Rich is the closest I’m gonna get to blood brothers in this lifetime,” said K.
As Method Man and Redman came knocking through the speakers in the rental playing How High, they cruised up Straight Path headed towards the Southern State Parkway. As they were passing the 5 Corners Market traffic lights, they noticed two police cars in pursuit of CBR 1100 coming in their direction on the opposite side of the street. K immediately recognized the bandit doing 80 mph on his back tire as Ill Will aka Joker and he was nice enough to ride with the best of the Ruff Ryder’s, but rode with the INFAMOUS 36.
“Go — Go — Go!” they shouted as he shot past in a blur. They all knew that cops wouldn’t catch him. They never did. They all watched until the strobes of the cruiser disappeared in the distance behind them. K turned off the main road onto Commander Avenue. This was a slightly more upscale neighborhood known as West Babylon that bordered the suburban ghetto hood known as Wyandanch. They drove about midway down the half-mile long street and K turned into the driveway of a low ranch single family home. From the street the residence appeared to be well kept.
The perfectly manicured lawn gave off the perception of quiet suburbia living, combined with the trimmed shrubbery that defined the property line. The home sat back well off the street, with a driveway that extended around to the rear of the house. As they pulled into the backyard, the vehicles of the homes occupants came into view. There were six new vehicles and K made his way to the rear entrance to which he had his own personal key.
“I’ll be out in five minutes,” K said over his shoulder before entering the house.
He was greeted by the lady of the house, who had undoubtedly heard him pull up outside. Being that she and her husband had been smoking crack and entertaining their company, her extrasensory nervous system was on blast!
“Hey K. We were wondering when you were gonna come thru,” said the 42 year old white woman.
“What’s up Marcie? You aight?” K inquired.
“We got about $1500 worth of sales waiting in the basement. We knew you would be here, just didn’t know when. Jeff was just about to ride down on the strip to see if he might see you or you might recognize the car.”
The cold look K gave her confirmed what she really already knew. That he didn’t agree with that idea at all. But K knew that a crackhead mind didn’t think anywhere near rational after hitting that pipe.
“Aight- Tell Jeff I said get the money together and…”
“I got it right here,” said Marcie quickly removing a wad of bills from her sweatpants pocket.
She handed the cash to him; her eyeballs bulging out of their sockets. K took the cash and told her he’d be out in a few minutes. He headed towards the back of the house. He approached a room with two padlocks on the door. He removed the locks and entered the large room. It had been used as a den before he was released from the county.
Jeff and Marcie had been a large part of his support during that 5 month bid in the county after Mattie had dropped off the face of the earth. Jeff and Marcie kept K with books and money orders after he wrote them telling them he was struggling. They owned a very successful chain of used car dealerships that were left to Jeff in his grandfather’s last will and testament. Jeff and Marcie had so much love for K because he treated them not as customers, but as human beings.
K entered the room; closed and locked the door behind him. They were cool, but he knew they really had no idea how much drugs he kept in their home. The room was simply furnished with a queen size bed, a desk, and a chair. He walked over to the closet and opened it to reveal the full size floor safe. K kneeled down and spun the dial to the appropriate numbers,26-12-33. He pulled open the safe door and removed the 2 large Ziploc bags containing the work. He then removed the small Tanita digital scale from the safe and sat it on the desk with the Ziploc bags.
From the 840 grams of raw cocaine he’d brought from Crazy Juan on 151st street in Uptown Manhattan the day before, K whipped it back to 980 grams; just 20 short of a brick. He could have brought it back to much more like he did while grinding Virginia and North Carolina, but didn’t to avoid complaints in a quality driven market. K was down to a little over 500 grams left, 300 of which was bagged up in single grams packaged strictly for his crack spots.
He removed what he needed to weigh out for Pooks cousin; 126 grams, and put it in a Ziploc bag. The 5g’s Jeff had loaned him on the day that he came home was growing nicely. If things continued to flow like they were, K would soon be able to repay the loan and the $1500 in interest that he’d promised Jeff. K put the remaining contents back into the safe and left the room.
By the time he secured the second padlock on the door, K heard Jeff’s footsteps coming up the basement steps. Growing up in his hood K learned that trusting white people buying drugs, was absolutely against the rules of the game. But what experience had taught him as a hustla was that an addict was an addict. If you were gonna put your freedom on the line, trust was something that was earned and never guaranteed.
“What’s up Supa Jeff?” K asked as he met Jeff in the kitchen at the top of the basement steps.
Jeff was 6 feet 3 inches tall and weighed 145 pound soaking wet six lighters in his pocket. He had long oily black hair and a large nose with a nasty looking bump on the tip. The truth was even though he was good people; Supa Jeff looked like walking death!
“Sup K-day?Everything going good? This new stuff is great! We’ll probably be partying (smoking crack and drinking)all weekend so don’t forget about us,” said Jeff.
K hated Jeff’s spinoff of his street name, but he tolerated it because Jeff was an alright dude. K had dealt with Jeff and Marcie for about a year and a half before he went on the run to Virginia. They met at a diner when K was on a late night munchies run, about 3:30 one Saturday morning. Jeff was with a crowd of his friends after leaving a local bar and was drunk as a bitch. He’d caught K in the parking lot and inquired if K could help him find some rock.
After pleading his case that he wasn’t a cop and producing a rather large stack of bills, K’s love for money started the relationship that they now had established.
“Don’t worry Jeff, I gotchu. I would have been here sooner but I got caught up in a big dice game. That’s my bad; I know your people don’t like to wait.”
It’s okay. Once I get em’ started, they aint gonna leave anyway. How’s the rental running?” asked Jeff.
“She’s good. I might want to switch out after the weekend through,” K said handing Jeff the package that he put together for his customers.
Jeff looked at his sandwich bag inspecting its contents.
“Man, I’m so glad you’re finally home K-day. We were really getting fucked over when we copped while you were gone. This should definitely hold us for a while.”
“Aight Jeff. I’ll probably be back after I make my rounds. If yall aint stuck in the basement, I’ll see you then.”
K headed out the door and to the rental. He opened the door to a carfull of weed smoke and was hit in the face with a cloud of Kush. Blass passed K the blunt when he got in. Pook was in the middle of a freestyle spittin’ a verse over a track from their homey named NATO. Nate Tinsley was undisputedly the hardest working track monster in the hood that never got the recognition he deserved. K’s homey from five years old; he would always show him love.
As if on cue, when Pook came to a break in his freestyle, Blass came in right behind him. K was listening but he kind of zoned out for a second concerning matters of the heart. He was thinking about Mattie. Ever since the last time he’d seen her pull away from the side of Interstate 95 North in Maryland, she had never been totally off his mind. He’d been home for three weeks and still hadn’t seen her or had a clue as to where she was.
“Come on K-Mo, let me hear sumthin. I know you waswritin’ in the county,” said Blass bringing K back from his reverie.
They had been in the studio a few times before. K knew his skills were nowhere near the level of what theirs was metaphorically, but he was definitely a notable MC in his own right. And it was true that K had been writing while in the county, more as an outlet than anything else. So he couldn’t front on his dudes. K banged out 16 bars-o-heat and they went nuts.
“Oh yeah?! That’s how you doing it now? “asked Pook.
“Let me find out you holdin out on us big cuzzin, “said Blass smiling.
“You know I had to step my game up fuckin wit yall… nah mean?
A couple of minutes later they were pulling up at Ms. Vicki’s crib. Ms. Vicki was Pooks moms. Pook went inside and handled business with his cousin who was there waiting. When he came out and got in the car he handed K the money for the sale.
“Where we headed K?” asked Blass.
“I gotta check on Lonnie, Norma, and Cash,” K answered talking about the three crack spots he’d started since he came home.
“Drop me at the crib K. I gotta check in wit Wifey,” said Pook.
K felt a little stab in the heart, again thinking about Mattie.
“Aight Pook. What about you Blass? You wit me?”
“No doubt big cuzzin! Let’s make moves.”
K headed to drop Pook off at his crib, but he still couldn’t shake those thoughts of Mattie.
K-Mo and Blass had gone and checked out two of K’s spots. He picked up the money that had been in the streets from two spots and told Norma and Cash that he would be back to bring them more work in a couple of hours. K didn’t really feel comfortable riding around with over 10g’s on him. Especially knowing that the undercover cops turned the heat up a couple of notches on Fridays.
Wyandanch is a small suburban ghetto, but equivalent in crime to a city housing project. For this reason as well as many others it had earned the title Crimedanch. A niggah getting that money for real had to stay on point and on the lookout for them thirsty broke-ass stick-up kids. K learned to keep the heat (gun) close from the mistake of others. I’d rather be judged by twelve then carried by six, was his motto.
After thinking about the time it would take for him to go and put up the money he had on him and the time it would take for him to drive about five minutes to Lonnie’s spot to check on his dough, K put his faith in the Glock.45 automag and went to check on his paper. The front yard at Lonnie’s was poppin as usual on a Friday night. Lawn chairs were spread out and filled with people from the neighborhood and around town that was down with the set, sipping on something. Music from the 70’s filled the atmosphere from the one house speaker that sat on the front porch.
K and Blass pulled up in the rental and parked across the street from the house along with ten other cars that were parked out front. Lonnie was sitting at the table with a few of his sidekicks playing spades and smoking a joint when they pulled up. K was met with various greetings as he entered the front yard.
“Get you a partner and run a game wit us big boy,” said Black Justice.
“Why you tryna get dis niggah to sit in this hot ass front yard? You know he can’t be seen posted up over here by 5–0!” said Lonnie.
“Nah Lon,it’s cool. Fuck them pigs — I gots to fuck wit my peoples. The boys in blue already know what I do. I just can’t be dirty when I chill. But I got madd shit to do tonight. Sunday we gonna get down though, drinks and trees on me, ”said K.
“That’s what’s up,” said Justice.
K knew Lonnie was only looking out for his best interest as well as his own by screaming on Justice. Lonnie removed himself from the table and directed K to follow him into the house. The interior of the home was furnished with all the latest rent-a- center exclusives. A 60 inch HD flat screen was the first thing that was noticed after entering the front door. His daughter’s Mya and Moesha were enjoying themselves playing X-Box-360 in the small living room as Lonnie’s wife of 12 years lounged on a large green leather loveseat.
“I fried some chicken and made some bangin’ ass mac and cheese if you hungry K,” said Lonnie’s old lady Gwen.
K had the munchies but he was more focused on handling his business and getting up outta dodge. He saw the look on Blass’s face and knew that he was trying to grub. The munchies had that niggah too.
“Why don’t you fix my man Blass a plate and if you got some paper plates and aluminum foil, fix me up something to go while me and Lonnie handle business.”
“Go ahead and hook that up babe. We’ll be out in about ten minutes,” said Lonnie.
As they headed into Lonnie’s bedroom, K said to Blass over his shoulder, “I’ll be right out.”
“Man you got here just in time. I only got eleven of them thangs left and the fiends been runnin all day long,” said Lonnie going into his closet.
K had had a drop floor stash spot installed to hold all the work in Lonnie’s bedroom closet floor the week before. Lonnie removed two large $TAXXX of bills and tossed them on the bed.
“That’s $7000; $3500 in each stack. You know I always make yours first. I’ve had that there for a few hours now.”
K sat down and removed the rubber bands off the money and began counting. That was one rule he had when it came to his paper. Always count money during a transaction. By the time K finished counting his money Lonnie was patiently waiting and counting his own. As K put the rubber bands back on his $TAXXX, there was a knock at the bedroom door. It was Lonnie’s chick.
“Babe I know you handlin business, but you got about six customers out here,” she said through the door.
“Aight-aight. I’ll be right out,” he looked at K. “See what I’m sayin K? This shit is poppin!”
“I’ma go and put this paper up and I’ll be back in 20 minutes.”
As they exited Lonnie’s bedroom K saw the line of customers waiting to be served. The first one to catch his eye was the skinny white dude. He looked out of place and extremely nervous. Lonnie noticed the expression on K’s face.
“Paul. Why don’t you wait in my room? I’ll be in there in a minute,” Lonnie said to the cab driver.
After Paul went into Lonnie’s bedroom, Lonnie turned to K.
“I saw the look on your face and I’ve seen him get high enough times to know he aint no cop. He drives for SUNSET YELLOW cabs. He usually rounds up his friend’s money and comes to holla at me alone. But I keep tellin him about comin round here in that big yellow cab.”
“Look Lon. This is your show and you been runnin’ it for a while. All I ask is that you use your best judgment. I got a lot invested in you,” said K.
“Yo, K. Come and check this shit out,” said Blass coming in Lonnie’s front door with something in his hand.
K took the STATE OF VIRGINIA driver’s license out of Blass’s hand and looked at it. K’s heart skipped a beat and then started to beat rapidly.
“Where the fuck you get this from?” K asked Blass
“When I seen that cracker come in here, I went and checked to see who he came here wit. Mafuckas out in the yard said he drove a cab so I went and checked it out. I opened the backdoor of the cab to see if it was anybody inside duckin down and shit. When the inside light came on I seen that shit layin on the backseat.”
That was one of the reasons K had so much love for his dudes. Because they stayed on point. But now his focus was shifted and he had a personal interest in the white dude in Lonnie’s bedroom. As K looked at Mattie’s face on her license he was bombarded by an array of mixed emotions. K told Lonnie he wanted to holla at Paul. When he entered the room Paul was visibly confused as well as nervous. Lonnie was still clueless as to what was going on.
“This chick been in your taxi? “ K asked holding the license up to Paul’s face.
“Dam she must have dropped that when I dropped her off at work a little while ago. She’s a regular as well as gorgeous. I’ll make sure she gets it- “said Paul reaching for the license.
K grabbed his fingers and twisted them viciously. The sound of fingers breaking echoed disturbingly throughout the room.
“Aw fuck dude. What’s wrong?! “Paul screamed out in pain.
“Yo K, what’s going on? “asked puzzled Lonnie.
“Where is she now? “ K asked in an even determined tone ignoring Lonnie’s question.
“She’s at work over at the Five Star Cabaret! “
“You mean that white people strip club out in Commack? “ K asked in disbelief.
“Yeah she’s the headliner. Fill’s up the spot every Friday night.”
K heard voices talking, but his mind was racing with thoughts. He was brought back by Lonnie’s wife knocking on the door telling him that he had even more customers. Lonnie was still oblivious as to what was happening until he finally blurted out in frustration, “will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?!”