Knee Deep in the Game (14 page)

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Authors: Boston George

BOOK: Knee Deep in the Game
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“Y'all didn't have to do that to her, she didn't know shit,” Randy said with a murderous look in his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up!” Tito growled as he kicked Randy in his face. “Just write down the address and shut up.”
Randy wrote down the address and handed the piece of paper back to Tito.
Tito took one look at the piece of paper, then turned and gave the piece of paper to Pop.
“Go check this out,” Tito told him. “And don't take forever either.”
“What' s wrong with your legs?” Pop asked with his face screwed up. “I can watch him while you go check the address.”
“Fuck outta here. I did all the work here, now it' s your turn,” Tito told him.
Pop snatched the paper that had the address on it from out of Tito's hand. “Where the fuck the keys at?” he asked, looking down at Randy.
“In my pocket,” Randy answered.
Pop quickly took the keys and was out the door with Pooh on his heels.
About ten minutes after Pop and Pooh left Tito pulled a chair next to where Randy laid.
“I have to ask you a question,” Tito began. “If you knew those blocks you put work on belonged to someone else why would you do it?”
'cause you don't ask for blocks, you take 'em,” Randy said.
“I'll give it to you, you got a lot of balls—not too much brain—but you got some balls,” Tito laughed as he heard his cell phone ringing. He spoke briefly before hanging up. He slowly stood up, aimed his P89 at Randy's head, and pulled the trigger.
 
 
A week later, Pop stood on the block that Fresh had given to him not too long ago. He received stares from the local thugs; they couldn't figure out how such a young man had been given such a high promotion.
“If these fools knew better they would do better,” Pop said to himself, noticing the looks he was getting. Along with the promotion Fresh had brought him a brand-new Benz, so he could really be stunting. Pop was quickly rising in the underworld and loving every minute of the fast life. He caught on fast and became a great businessman—he paid all his workers and runners fairly unless they fucked up a pack, and he always made sure Fresh got his cut. Pop ran a smooth operation; his only problem was Tito. No matter what he did Tito always tried to outdo him. Pop wanted to shoot Tito so bad but he spared the man because he knew Fresh cared for him, but sooner or later he would have to deal with Tito, and he couldn't wait until the time came.
“Yo, I'm about to breeze, my dude, keep these niggas in line out here, B,” Pop said as he gave Jason a pound. Jason was Pop's number-one lieutenant. He was in charge of collecting all the money from the workers and runners. Pop noticed the young man's hunger and decided to give him a chance of a lifetime like how Fresh had done for him. Jason was a loyal worker as well as a good friend, plus it didn't hurt that Pop trusted the young soldier.
“A'ight, I'm going to be on the block all night,” Jason responded.
“Damn, you must be trying to get the hustler of the year award?” Pop joked.
“This all I got right here so you know I'm going to get this money by any means,” Jason said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I respect that you a true hustler,” Pop said, answering his vibrating Nextel.
“I'm listening,” he answered playfully.
“What' s good, my nigga?” Instantly Pop knew it was Fresh on the other end of the phone.
“I'm chilling. I'ma 'bout to go take care of something real quick, why what's up?”
“Put that on hold until later on, I need you to come to the warehouse so I can talk to you about something,” Fresh said flatly.
“A'ight I'll be there in thirty minutes,” Pop replied.
“Cool,” Fresh said, ending the conversation.
Pop hopped in his new Benz, leaving the whole hood staring at the sparkling rims and hearing the sound of Young Jeezy pumping through the speakers as he peeled off.
“I wonder what's so important that Fresh couldn't wait to holla at me tomorrow?” Pop asked himself as he weaved from lane to lane, doing about eighty on the highway. He parked his Benz a block away from the warehouse like he always did. Something just didn't feel right—Pop could tell by how Fresh's voice sounded on the phone.
“What's up, glad you could make it on such notice,” Fresh said, giving Pop a pound.
“It's all good, so what's the big emergency?” Pop asked, taking a seat in a chair that looked very expensive.
“I got a very important job I need you to take care of for me,” Fresh said, handing Pop a drink. “You the only person I trust to take care of this job.” Pop could see in Fresh's eyes that he was desperate. “A'ight, what do I have to do?”
“I need you to kill Amanda for me tomorrow night,” he stated plainly.
“What?” Pop asked, wondering if he had just heard correctly.
“You heard me, Pop, I said I need you to get rid of Amanda for me,” Fresh stated calmly.
“Why can't you get Rusty or Tito to do it?” Pop asked, not liking the sound of the job.
“Because you are the only person I want knowing about this, Fresh said, reading Pop's facial expression. “I got everything all mapped out so you can get away clean.”
“So what's the plan?” Pop asked.
“It's simple. Amanda goes to the supermarket every Sunday, so all you have to do is stake out around her building, follow her to the supermarket and clap her
“Nah, I'm going to get caught if I clap her in a supermarket parking lot—my cannon bark's too loud,” Pop said, visualizing the whole shit in his head. Before Pop could say another word Fresh pulled a .380 with a silencer out of his drawer, and placed it on top of his desk. “Now what?” Fresh asked, getting impatient.
“Fuck it. It's done,” Pop said, grabbing the .380 from off of the desktop.
“This is for your troubles,” Fresh said, placing a brown paper bag on top of the desk.
“I got you, baby,” Pop said as he took the brown paper bag and made his exit. When Pop made it back to his car he looked inside the paper bag and counted out $15,000 dollars. “All in a day's work,” he said as he made the engine come alive, and fled the scene.
 
 
“Word just got back on that clown that robbed you,” Rusty said, passing the blunt to Fresh.
“What's that fool's résumé?” Fresh asked, taking the blunt.
“Some stickup kid that just came home named the Truth,” Rusty said, handing Fresh a picture of the stickup kid.
“You got an address for me?”
“I got it right here,” Rusty answered, handing the piece of paper with the address on it to Fresh. “You want me to put Pop or Tito on the job?”
“Nah, I gotta take care of this one myself,” Fresh said with a smirk on his face. “Mu'fucka thought he was just going to rob me and never hear from me again,” he said, shaking his head.
“Shit can, you blame him?” Rusty asked. “People is fucked up out here right now.”
“Well, he took something from the wrong mu'fucka, and now he gotta pay with his life,” Fresh said, seriously.
“When you want to go handle this?” Rusty asked as he passed the blunt back to Fresh.
“The sooner the better,” Fresh said, ending the conversation as he answered his ringing cell phone.
 
 
“I can't believe that nigga Fresh gave Pop his own spot to run,” Tito said as he and Pooh sat in the tittie bar, getting drunk.
“Yeah, Fresh really likes that kid,” Pooh slurred.
“You done put in more work than Pop, and I put in more work then both of y'all put together,” Tito said with envy in his voice as he downed his drink.
“Yeah, I know but what we going to do, go head up with Fresh?” Pooh said playfully.
The only problem was Tito wasn't playing—he had big dreams that he couldn't accomplish rolling with Fresh.
Fuck it I might just have to start up my own crew
, Tito thought to himself.
“Yo, I'm going to have to catch up with you later,” Pooh said, breaking up Tito's thoughts.
“A'ight, my dude, drive safe,” Tito said as he gave Pooh a pound. As Pooh got up to leave, a pair of eyes followed their every move from the back of the bar.
“Ma, come here for a minute so I can scream at you for a minute,” Tito said to a dark-skinned woman with a nice pair of breasts.
“If I'm coming over here I know you going to buy me a drink,” Nice Titties said in a hustler's tone.
“Is this enough for your drink, tip, and number?” Tito asked, slipping the woman a hundred-dollar bill. Before the woman could answer, Tito felt somebody sit down next to him. When he turned around he was shocked to see Bamboo sitting in front of him.
“Long time no see,” Bamboo said, extending his hand.
“I should pop your fuckin' head off right now, B,” Tito said, looking Bamboo dead in his eyes.
“Listen, Tito, don't get ahead of yourself, I'm here to talk business with you.”
Before Tito addressed Bamboo he noticed Nice Titties was still standing there. “Baby, I'm going to get up with you before I break out, a'ight,” he said, dismissing the lady with nice titties.
“A'ight, just make sure you don't forget about me,” she said seductively as she took her time walking off.
“Now what kind of business are you talking about?” Tito asked, sipping on his drink.
“Basically I'm about to make you a offer you can't refuse,” Bamboo stated plainly.
“I'm listening, mu'fucka,” Tito said, giving Bamboo his undivided attention.
“It's like this: I got mad work, but I don't got nobody to move it. I got a few small-time hustlers but I don't got that right piece to the puzzle, so I was thinking I could front you a few of them things, and we could take shit over. I could hire some workers and some muscle for you, and we just shut shit down out here. Plus, niggas won't fuck with you anyway ‘cause of your street reputation. Instead of working for Fresh you could be the next Fresh,” Bamboo said, really trying to sell Tito his dream.
“Your plan doesn't sound too bad,” Tito said, thinking about it.
“I been planning this shit for a hot minute, there's no way this plan can go wrong—plus with me backing you up there won't be no stopping you,” Bamboo said, looking over both of his shoulders as if someone was trying to eavesdrop.
“Damn, this just what the fuck I needed,” Tito said to himself, wondering if the plan would work. Tito was tired of waiting for Fresh. As soon as he came home he was supposed to have his own block already waiting for him, but instead he came home only to find out that a young street punk had stolen his position.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, if you deal with me you going to be getting the best product on the streets right now, the only thing is no funny business. If you deal with me you deal with me only. I got a hit squad on standby waiting for you if you even think about crossing me,” Bamboo warned.
“Look at my face—does it look like I'm scared of your little punk-ass hit squad?” Tito asked, putting on his killer face.
“Fresh wasn't scared of my hit squad either and you see what happened to him,” Bamboo said, letting out a little chuckle.
“You know what, Bamboo, I think this just might work. Give me a day or two and I'll get back to you, a'ight?”
“Take your time,” Bamboo said, downing his drink. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Fresh is still on my hit list, so if you got any information that will help me be able to hit him easier, I'm willing to pay for that info.”
“Shit, if the price is right I'll hit him for you, that mu'fucka been shitting on me lately anyway,” Tito said, meaning every word he said.
“Here's my card. Get back to me within forty-eight hours,” Bamboo said as he exited the bar. Bamboo knew he could get Tito to switch to his team, because he knew how greedy and money-hungry he was. However, things would turn out even better if Tito would take care of Fresh too.
 
 
The Truth sat in his apartment playing with the new AK-47 he had just purchased, while the movie
Menace II Society
played on his TV.
“Damn, I can't wait, shoot me a nigga with this,” he said, admiring his new toy. The Truth was the kind of stickup kid that took his job too serious. He loved seeing the fear on his victimsfaces when he robbed them, just something about it made him feel more powerful.

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