The Reason Why (10 page)

“Cash?”

“Cash,” Chino repeated.

Tom rubbed his face. “Let me talk to my boss and see what he says.”

“Look, Tom, you and I both know that you're going to go around that corner, go into that office, and tell your boss that you just sold this car, but you want to see if you can squeeze a little more out of the deal.” Chino looked at Tom. “It ain't gonna happen. I'm not paying a penny over forty-eight, so you better squeeze tax, title, license, and the extended warranty all into that forty-eight.”

Tom looked at Chino and gave a fake smile.

Chino stole a glance at his watch. “I'm trying to pick my girl up from school in my new ride, so I don't have a lot of time, so we got a deal?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom confirmed.

“Cool. I don't have a lot of time. Make this quick.”

Chino opened his manila envelope and took two grand out of it. “Tell your finance manager and your sales manager to come and see me. I'll take care of the money and the paperwork while the service guys get the car ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Tom said again.

Chino handed the salesman Pam's information. “The car is going to be in my wife's name. I'll bring her in to sign whatever she needs to sign once I pick her up from school, but in the meantime, make sure that you register the car in her name. It's going to be a gift for her.”

“I'll take care of everything right away, sir.” Tom exited the car and disappeared inside the building.

Chino leaned back in the seat of his brand-new Porsche. He was somebody. Somebody who was finally on his way. He could definitely get used to giving orders, and he could definitely get used to having fine German leather beneath his ass.

C
hino gathered the crew together to let them know of their good fortune. He pulled up to Corey's house in his new Porsche and revved the engine. The loud, high-pitched whine of the turbo motor caused the guys to look outside.

“Chino, what the hell?” Rock asked, looking at the car, then back at Chino.

“No you didn't!” Corey shouted. “My nigga, tell me you didn't knock off this drop-top Porsche!”

“Cabriolet is what Porsche calls their convertibles, you uncultured fool,” Infa told him.

“Whatever it is, this bitch is nasty!” Joe Bub Baby declared. “Stank nasty!”

“Kinfolk, what this set you back?” Ant asked.

“We gon' pull some hoes in this muthafucka!” Chris J declared.

Chino smiled and took in all the adulation.

“I know this muthafucka was a cool fifty Gs,” Corey said.

“When did you knock this bitch off?” Infa asked.

“Yesterday,” Chino told them.

“Yesterday? And you just now coming around your peeps to show it off? Fuck you, nigga,” Rock joked. They all went to look inside the ride.

“Man, this bitch got a Blaupunkt in it and everything!” Corey exclaimed.

“How this bitch move on the freeway?” Ant asked.

“Shit, like that wind, my nigga,” Chino confirmed.

“Damn, I want one of these hoes!” Chris J declared.

“We all gonna be rolling foreign . . . if y'all ready, that is,” Chino told them.

“Hell yeah!” Ant said.

“I been ready!” Chris J chimed in.

“Nigga, what is you talking about?” Rock asked.

“We can all ball till we fall, if y'all ready to get ya grind on,” Chino replied. “C'mon in, let me break it down to you.”

The crew followed Chino inside and took seats around Corey's parents' dining room table while Chino sat at the head of the table.

“How was New York?” Rock asked.

“Lovely,” Joe Bub replied.

“New York is what I want to talk to you about,” Chino told them. “I met with my homeboy's cousin, and dude is promising a major ticket, if we can handle it.”

Chris J rubbed his hands together. “If we can handle it? Man, bring that shit on!”

“No more quarter keys and halves,” Chino told them. “Do each of you think that you can move at least a key a week?”

“A key a week?” Corey shouted.

“Hell yeah!” Infa stated.

Joe Bub chimed in, “A key a week? Bring that shit on.”

“A least,” Chino told them. If they could move a key a week, then that would mean that he had just gotten rid of six keys a week. He could probably move four on his own. That meant that he would have to find a home for the other ten. He could definitely find ten niggas in Columbus to get a key from him.

“Man, I'll be moving two keys a week in about a month,” Joe Bub Baby declared.

“Me too,” Infa said.

“Me three, nigga,” Rock added.

“But no bullshit,” Chino told them. “I know that I'm asking you to push more dope than you're used to, but be careful with that shit. Don't take no chances, don't make no stupid decisions and end up busted or short. I know you niggas like to go shopping as soon as you get some money in your pockets, but we can't roll like that no more. Pay me first, and put your profits up. I don't want to be getting fronted, I want us to be straight up buying weight from these dudes. They don't take no shorts; besides, we can get better prices if we buy straight up. I want all of y'all to come up. I want all of y'all to be buying two keys a week for yourself.”

Nods went around the table.

“Bet,” Infa said. “Boys, he's looking out for everyone.”

“So, you gonna front us at first?” Joe Bub questioned.

“Yeah, at first, but like I said, save your money because I want us to start buying from dude instead of getting fronted. We can get a better price and that means more money for
you.” Chino looked at all his soldiers. “With shit like this, we can sew up Columbus, Cincinnati, Dayton, and Cleveland. We can be the kings of Ohio.”

“That's what I'm talking about, nigga!” Chris J said. “Being the kings of this shit!”

“Winning it all!” Ant said. He looked at Rock. “What you think, man?”

“Like Seabiscuit or something, nigga! I want to win it all.” Rock looked at Infa.

“The muthafucking Triple Crown!”

“That's what it's all about,” Chino told them, looking over his crew. “Winning it all.”

“The motherfucking clique that wins it all!” Corey suggested. “The Triple Crown Clique.”

“Bitches run in cliques, nigga!” Ant replied. “We outlaws, fool. Outlaws run in posses.”

“The muthafucking Triple Crown Posse, fools!” Chris J shouted and looked around the table. Smiles crossed all of their faces.

“Triple Crown Posse!” Ant confirmed.

Chino nodded. “I like the sound of that. From now on, this is the muthafucking Triple Crown Posse. A group of straight up outlaws dedicated to getting that paper and winning it all! Anybody who don't think they can cut it, feel free to walk now.”

Chino peered around the table and all eyes remained on him.

Nobody moved. “Okay, then, this means it's for life, niggas. We in it together, we ball together, we fall together. Nobody snitches and tries to save they own ass, is that clear?”

Nods went around the table.

“You snitch, you die,” Rock declared.

“Naw, nigga, you snitch, and your family dies!” Infa declared.

“Word!” Chris J said, nodding.

“If any one of us gets cracked, or we all get cracked, we keep our fucking mouths shut, is that clear?” Chino asked.

Again, nods went around the table.

“We're going to have a cook house. If we all chip in a hundred dollars a week, we can rent us a place. Everybody cool with that?”

“Uh-huh.” Nods went around the table.

“Don't keep your dope where you lay your head,” Chris J added. “Keep that shit at a bitch's house, at a kinfolk's house, anywhere but where you lay your head. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“And don't keep no guns with that shit,” Chino told them. “We'll pull some bitches and use their house to keep our straps in. That way if a house gets hit, we won't lose all our shit. Is that clear?”

“So, you gonna give us a ticket of a key a week?” Ant asked.

“For right now,” Chino said. “I want you buying your own keys as soon as possible. If I got you buying your shit, plus I'm buying my shit, we can all put our money together and score big. When a muthafucka fronts you, then you owe that nigga. Old boy in New York seemed okay, but I don't want to owe them cats shit.”

“When we gonna get the first ticket?” Infa asked.

“This weekend. For right now, we gonna have to cook it here like we've been doing. Is that cool, Corey?”

“Hell yeah,” Corey said.

“Then that's it,” Chino declared. “The Triple Crown Posse is officially in business. We down for each other and we down for whatever. We're in it to win it all.”

“Triple Crown Posse . . . TCP!” everyone yelled in unison.

Chino extended his hand to his boys. “Let's do this shit!”

“W
e rollin', baby!” Infa said, shaking hands with Corey outside the club.

The crew had decided to step out and hook up at Jazzy Jay's to celebrate their good fortune. It had been three weeks since that fateful meeting at Corey's house, and they had received three tickets since. That was sixty kilos total for Chino and he had been able to move them all. Soon each member of the crew would be pumping two keys apiece a week. With the exception of Joe Bub Baby, Infa, and Chris J, who had moved ahead and would be pumping three apiece. Times were good.

Corey pointed toward his new champagne-colored BMW 325i. “Just got her today.”

“How are you going to explain that to your parents?” Chris J asked.

“My pops financed it,” Corey explained. “As long as I keep my grades up, they're paying for it.”

“Ah, ole schoolboy-ass nigga!” Rock said laughing.

“I thought you got her by balling, nigga!” Ant said.

“Me too!” Infa laughed.

“Why you acting like you balling out of control when Mommy and Daddy got this shit for you?” Chris J asked. “Faking the funk ass nigga!”

Chino and Pam walked up holding a large shopping bag.

“Damn nigga, you could have left your bags in the car,” Rock told him.

Chino held up the bag. “These are gifts for you ugly-ass niggas.”

Chris J rubbed his hands together. “Hell yeah. I like gifts, especially when they for me!”

“Gifts?” Rock asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Who you think you are, Santa Claus or something, nigga?”

“Shut up, black-ass nigga!” Chris J told Rock. “I want my gift. Kinfolk, what you get a player?”

Pam laughed. Chris J always made her laugh. He and Infa were the two in the crew that kept her rolling.

“C'mon,” Chino said, nodding toward the parking lot. The crew followed him to a nearby car. It was cool, because Chino knew the owner of the black BMW 750i. He sat his large bag on top of the hood. “We a crew, we need to show these hook-ass niggas that we roll together. We need to let it be known that Triple Crown Posse is where the ballers are.”

Chino reached inside the bag and pulled out a large gold rope chain with a large gold crown medallion attached to it. He placed it around his neck and then reached back into the bag and pulled out another one. He placed this one around Pam's neck.

“That bitch is clean!” Corey said excitedly.

“That ho is cleaner than a muthafucka!” Ant agreed.

“Where you get them hoes from?” Rock asked.

“I had them made,” Chino told them. He pulled another chain out of the bag and placed it around Infa's neck.

Infa examined his gift. “Man, thanks, kinfolk. This bitch is on point!”

Chino placed the next chain around Joe Bub Baby's neck. Joe Bub embraced him.

“Much love, kinfolk!” Joe Bub Baby told him.