Crave All Lose All (11 page)

The lyrics reminded me. Pussy could wait. I had too much money parked on the streets to be distracted by a bitch’s smile. I scanned the area. There he was wearing a Jets Jersey at the end of the bar with a beer in his hand. The barstool next to him was empty. I quickly took the seat.

We both were quiet for a moment. I continued to smoke my black and he sipped on his beer. We kept our eyes peeled on a Hershey, nude thick ass doing it on stage.

“You need anything?” the bartender asked.

“Corona,” I said.

A short moment later, she returned with the beer. I gave her a ten.

“Keep the change,” I said.

“¿El esta aquí para el trabajo?” I asked in Spanish without turning to look at him, which meant,
is he here for the pick up
.

“Si,” he replied.

I took a sip from my beer and subtly handed him the car keys. He nodded and passed me his. I informed him in Spanish that it was the blue Intrepid parked five cars down from the club on Germantown, and he said his ride was across the street, a white Honda Accord. He got up, took out his cell and quickly took a picture of me.

“Insurance,” he uttered and then walked out the club.

I put the keys in my pocket, took a few more mouthfuls of beer and eyed the stage. One caught my eye. Her curvaceous, thick figure was wrapped in skin like night. When she moved her body shimmered, glistering like baby oil. Her long sensuous black hair tickled her back, her smile was golden. The tattoo on the small of her back, made her even sexier.

Our eyes locked briefly. She smiled liking what she’d seen. I drifted closer pulling out a wad of bills tipping her big Willie style. Tens, twenties rained on her. I quickly caught her attention.

She spread her legs like wings to a jumbo jet. Then took her fingers parted her sugar lips and played with her pussy. I watched, enjoying the show letting ten dollar bills chase her.

“That’s right, baby, make it rain on me,” she said moving around mischievously under the rainfall of tens.

I ran my hand up her thigh and rested it in between her legs and
massaged her pussy. She moaned as my touch entice her.

I fondled her tits, thighs, and her sweet ass. She had my money all around her, butt-naked in six inch heels.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” I asked.

She came closer to me, took my chin into her hand, molested my earlobe with her tongue and her lips, and seductively whispered in my ear, “Cashmere.” She then stuck her tongue in my ear again.

“I like that.”

…
Sexing you is all I see…freak’n you is all I need...what

Her moves were accompanied by Jodeci. The song crept in my mind, alcohol and her body did the rest. Another twenty, another round and I asked her to leave with me. I wanted to fuck her. My dick had never been so hard. Cashmere was down but wanted me to pay for it. Her fee was two-hundred. I had the bread and took her offer.

We left around one-thirty. I found the white Honda Accord parked across the street and deactivated the alarm to the car. Soon I popped the trunk to see if there was anything inside, and it was empty. The money was concealed somewhere in the car. I wasn’t worried.

We were soon on our way to get a room at a nearby motel. Once inside the room, we went at it hard-body—fucking and sucking, contorting each other like pretzels. Cashmere had good pussy and let me come in her mouth. She swallowed my kids effortlessly.

“You a freak,” I said sounding breathless and looking spent. She put the pussy down on me.

“You enjoyed it though. You wanna go for two for half?” she asked.

I glanced at the time and saw that it was four in the morning. “I’m good.”

“You coming back soon?” she asked.

“Of course,” I smiled.

Then storing her number in my phone, I quickly got dressed, leaving Cashmere naked under wrinkled bed sheets. I hated leaving but had to get this car and money back to Tyriq.

I was alone in Philly with a hundred and fifty-thousand dollars
concealed somewhere in the trunk, without any protection. It was bad enough I left with the bitch to get a room.

It was five in the morning when I got on the New Jersey Turnpike. I hit Tyriq on the horn and told him that everything was cool.

I got to Queens around seven that same morning and drove the car to a chop-shop on Liberty Ave. There were three men present dressed in blue overalls. Two men were Haitian and the third was Jamaican. They looked like mechanics and ordered me to leave the car parked and wait.

No one touched a thing until Tyriq walked in with Tip a hour later. Everyone stood up at attention like a general was present. The Jamaican said something to Tyriq and he ordered them to take the car apart. After that, he came over, and gave me dap.

“You did good,” he said handing me the envelope with ten grand.

I smiled, put the bulky envelope in my back pocket, and was ready to go home and get some rest. I had no interest in knowing where the money was hidden.

“I’ll see you around, Tyriq,” I said walking away.

“I’ll call you, soon, Vince,” he said.

I was on my out the garage, when Tyriq hollered at me.

“You had fun at Motel 8, huh?”

“You had me followed?” I asked.

“Don’t take it personal. That was a lot of cash and you was in one of the worse hoods out here. I trust you but them niggas in Philly, I don’t trust. I have to cover all areas of my business, nigga. I know you handled yourself out there. Next time don’t let the pussy distract you from business, ahight, nig—let the bitch wait for the dick. Get your paper right.”

I nodded.

“Get some rest. There’s a cab waiting for you.”

I got in and gave the driver my destination. I sat back feeling ten-thousand dollars richer. It was reassuring to know I wasn’t alone in Philly. Then a thought overwhelmed me. Was his boy watching my back, or was he watching me to see if I would cross Tyriq by stealing? In this game, you never know anyone’s true intentions.

The money kept coming. I was in involved in the trafficking of kilos state to state, and my life was getting richer. In two months, I made more money transporting drugs for Tyriq than working at the airline for two years. The cash was coming nonstop. On a daily, I’d have about four grand on me, spending effortlessly on whatever. I started to acquire jewelry, clothes, shoes, sneakers, even cars.

August ‘02, I purchased a Range Rover for thirty-five thousand cash off the lot in Jersey. Tyriq knew a dealer who owned a leasing company. He hooked up Tyriq with cars and got him around reporting transactions. He hooked me up the same way. I didn’t trick out my ride with huge spinning rims, deafening sound systems, and custom paint jobs like most hustlers did. I didn’t want that kind of attention.

I had family to think about and wanted to have a low profile. Besides I was staying with my mother and damn sure didn’t want her to know anything. I parked the truck around the corner and walk down a block to my home. I hid all my jewelry, cash, and even the .45 Tyriq gave me in a stash box in the truck. My mother thought that I had a job at a trucking company in the city that paid me decent.

I paid off bills that were in my name, and treated myself to whatever I wanted, even pussy. I was soon on the same status as S.S., Tip, and the crew, with what seemed to be having never-ending riches, cars, bling, and bitches. I had the money but respect of the streets I had to earn that. Pay my dues. A reputation meant everything. Without it you were open to violence and confrontation with stick-up kids, rival crews, even with peers. I had the money but still didn’t have the respect on the streets yet.

I wasn’t an enforcer or a heavy weight. I was only a transporter making runs out of town for the crew. The system was flawless. We never kept money and drugs in the same place. The pregnancy runs were untouchable. No one knew about the suits lined with half dozens of kilos, except for connects out of town. The girls were subtle, reliable and street smart. I was making weekly trips and was meeting with plenty of Tyriq’s out of state connects and they got to know me. They were getting comfortable seeing my face, especially Ozone from Albany and Tango from Philly. They knew I was Tyriq’s main man, and I reliably showed up on time with everything ready.

The months passed with me in the drug game. Money I was making and status I was building made going back to a nine to five, living from paycheck to paycheck, seemed redundant. I felt myself growing accustomed to the lifestyle I now live. Having thousands and thousands in my pockets, a truck that I loved driving and ladies loving me, was a dream that I hated to end. Everything I wanted was within my reach. Money was not an issue.

 

I wanted to splurge on my family, especially my son. The first day of school was looming. He was starting the first grade in a new school. I went on Jamaica Avenue and spent five-hundred dollars on clothing and items on him for school. Along with shopping for him, I went shopping for myself, Chandra, even my mother. I knew it’d be hard to explain where the money came from. I bought her a few gifts and kept them in storage.

The next day I went to see Chandra and my son. I knocked on her door, looking like I just stepped out of the pages of GQ. Clad in Gucci black striped wool- silk, two button suit with flat front trousers and a pair of polished black wing-tip shoes. I sported a diamond ring and had a large diamond earring in my right ear.

I remember Chandra complaining that I hardly dressed in nice suits, shoes and slacks. I was always looking like a thug in Tims and baggy jeans. I wanted to surprise her. The suit cost me four figures. I had three more like it.

When Chandra came to the door, she was taken back by my sharp appearance.

“Wow,” she uttered, eyeing me up and down.

“You like?” I asked.

“You look good, Vince,” she said.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

“I remember twisting your arm to get you into a suit, now what is that, Armani?”

“Gucci, and like you said, I needed to change my style a bit.”

“Work must be really good,” she said.

“I’m doing good.”

“I see,” she said, dryly.

I knew she had her doubts about me having a legit job. Shit, I really didn’t give a damn what she thought. I was finally taking care of my son and that was the only thing that mattered.

“Where’s my son? I bought him some things for school,” I said holding up the three bags I had in my hand.

“He’s not here. He’s with his godmother for the day.”

“Oh, well can I come in and show you some of the things that I bought for him?”

At first Chandra looked hesitant then she let out a sigh.

“Sure,” she said.

I walked into her apartment and it was free of the Jamaican nigga. Mary J. Blige was playing and incense burned in the living room. She was getting high, it was the only time she lit incense. I eyed Chandra loving how she was looking in tight fitting blue shorts, showing off her legs, a wife-beater and wearing white ankle socks. She looked good. My heart was burning for her.

“All this?” she asked.

“What can I say, I love my son,” I stated.

I started removing certain items from the bag. I showed Chandra some of the school clothes I bought him, hoping I got the right size. I got him some sneakers, a new Spider-man book-bag, lunch-box and tons of arts and craft materials. I got him a few toys and some new games for his play station.

“You really outdid yourself, Vincent. How much did all this cost you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of the school shopping this year, so for once treat yourself,” I said.

She showed me a faint, mock smile and said, “Should I be concerned?”

“About…?”

“Your sudden cash flow and the Gucci suit you’re wearing. You must’ve landed some high-end job at some huge paying firm in the city. Congratulations, baby…you’re finally on your way,” she said to me in a scornful tone clapping her hands slowly.

“You making fun of me?” I said, tightening up my face.

“Take it as you want, but I ain’t stupid Vincent,” she replied.

I wasn’t trying to hide my involvement in drugs from her. I wasn’t concerned about what Chandra thought. I still wanted her to love me. We were no longer together. One of the reasons was financial.

“I know you’re not a stupid woman, Chandra. What else you want me to do?”

“Keep looking,” she said.

“So easy for you to say…”

“I told you earlier, Vinny needs his father around and with you into this shit, who knows what’s going to happen?”

“I can handle myself, Chandra. Look, that Jamaican muthafucka you keep having around my son, what you think he’s about?”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s not Vinny’s father. You are. And besides, Jamal owns a few businesses and he’s out of that lifestyle.”