Three months after everything that happened, with the robbery to
Pokey being placed in a coma, you would’ve thought that would have opened a few
eyes, but it didn’t. All it did was make us more heartless, ’cause at the same
time, we had a place to be and a world to take over. So the heavens was the
limits and any way possible.
“Yo, Pokey, you still ain’t get in touch with ya Uncle Sico yet?”
Fatboy asked.
“Na’ll, dirty. I been trying to get in touch with that nigga since
I been out the hospital. You know I need that cheddar that nigga took from us.
Real shit though, it’s like this nigga just disappeared off the face of the
earth,” Pokey said.
“That’s the way it seems. Shit, if I had ghosted that nigga for
his loot. I wouldn’t answer the phone or come ’round either,” Flick said.
“Yeah, but that’s a dead giveaway. I know Unc ain’t that damn
stupid,” Pokey said.
“Nigga probably somewhere, getting high or dead one,” Flick put
in.
“Y’all no, what else is funny though,” Pokey said.
“What’s that?” Fatboy asked.
“I haven’t heard or seen the nigga Mr. Big since the last time he
left the hospital and told him he was dead in my eyes,” Pokey said.
“Shit, you can’t even be mad ’bout that!” Flick screamed. “That’s
the same nigga who saved our life, then kept it real with you and told you he
was your daddy . . . and you straight up dissed the nigga.”
“Shit, I wouldn’t holla at ya grimy ass either if I was that man,”
Fatboy said, meaning every word.
“Man, fuck that nigga and Sico too!” Pokey screamed. “Y’all either
with me or against me. The way I see it, is, if them niggas wanna play the game
dirty, than we can play by the same rules. Nobody ever said in this games there
is ties. So somebody gotta win, and somebody gotta lose. See, he slipped when
he showed us where he lay his head. You know niggas get caught slipping when
dealing with emotions. When the nigga momma died, he was so caught up in his
feelings, he lead us right to his spot. So now we got the upper hand, so it’s
his downfall, and our come-up,” Pokey said, throwing our come-up out there to
see what kind of response he would get from his two homies. As he watched their
expression go from one of doubt to one of greed, he knew these niggas was on
the paper chase and would be down to rob Mr. Big, and if he forced their hands,
add some hollow points to his body, if the need arose.
“So, my niggas Fatboy and Flick, y’all ready to run these streets
or what?”
“Dog, if the paper worth the chance, count me in. But at the same
time, we gonna need a lil backup when dealing with a nigga like Mr. Big.”
“Why you say that?” Pokey asked, becoming angry.
“’Cause he hated breaking bread with outsiders, but he listened
anyways. First, dog, we really don’t know the layout of the nigga crib like
that, we only been there once.”
“Yeah,” Pokey said, “go on.”
“And that time, it wasn’t nobody there, but his fine-ass wife and
his daughter Trirena. But who knows what type of shit this nigga got rigged up
for shit like we planning.”
“All right, dog.” Pokey said. “I hear you, so let me here the
plan. Listen, I’mma get in touch with Turtle and his two cousins, and see if
they down to ride. And if so, then we gotta get in touch with somebody who
holding and selling some fire, just in case we gotta bust our guns.”
“In case the nigga wanna fight for what’s no longer his?” Fatboy
said. “’Cause to be honest with you, a nigga need all the butter he can get,
especially when they ’bout to bring a seed in this world, and I can’t help if
I’m broke,” Fatboy said flipping, his pockets inside out, showing he wasn’t
just talking.
“Damn, nigga, what happen to all the money you was supposed to
save up?” Flick questioned.
“Come on, dog, you don’t think I’m stupid. I got my momma a house
being built, somewhere way out in the boondocks. In two mo’ months, my people
will have they own shit, courtesy of us and the street life,” Fatboy said,
smiling, remembering the smile he put on his mother’s face when he gave her the
keys to her own crib. As bad as she wanted to ask how, she kept her mouth
closed and said, “Thank you, baby,” knowing in two months, she’ll be out the
projects. That alone was enough to keep her worries in check!
“It’s a good thing what you did for your old girl. I know she was
happy,” Pokey said. “Yeah, and it’s a good thing we all getting our people up
out the hood, ’cause after this shit go down, what we about to pull, it’s gonna
be hot ’round here. So being in the country want be too bad,” Pokey said,
shooting the breeze.
“Check it though, we on a time frame. We gotta try and have
everything planned, right before our peoples move up outta here.”
“Damn, nigga, why we ’bout to wait so long?” Pokey asked his
friend, ready to smoke a nigga for the paper.
“Chill, dog, this ain’t no game. We ain’t gonna rush this, ’cause
for one, we ain’t talking ’bout hitting no small time-ass nigga. We talking
’bout a nigga that’s clocking real figures, plus I still got a lil money put up
for hard times like these, so chill,” Fatboy said. “And just be patient.”
“So when we gonna holla at the niggaz Turtle and them?”
“ASAP. As a matter of fact, I’mma see if I can get in touch with
the nigga now,” Fatboy said, flipping open his cell phone.
“Hold up, dog. First, how you know if we can even trust these
dudes?” Pokey asked.
“The same way we trusted them to off Boo Boo, and Shine, that’s
how,” Fatboy said back.
“All right, dog. It’s your call,” Pokey told Fatboy, staring him
down. As Fatboy dialed the number, “Ain’t nobody answering,” Fatboy said. “Hold
up, I’mma try again. Nope, this time the shit went straight to voice mail.”
“So that kills that,” Pokey said. “Since the nigga ain’t picking
up, check it though, let’s roll. Let’s ride around and see what we can get
into,” Pokey said.
“Let’s ride,” Flick said, opening his car door.
“Damn, I almost forgot,” Pokey screamed. “Y’all hold up, let me go
handle something right quick,” he said, running up the stairs and inside the
crib. As he ran to his room, he heard his momma scream out.
“Boy, you knew ya ass ain’t supposed to be doing shit. Ain’t that
what that doctor told ya hardheaded ass!”
Yelling back, Pokey said, “Momma, I’m straight, that cracker don’t
know what he talking about!” he screamed while removing the shoebox from under
his bed. This where he kept extra cash for times like these. As he pulled all
the money out the shoebox, he stuffed the dead faces in his pockets and ran the
same way he came. Before he reached the door, he heard his mother voice again
saying, “Baby, be careful.”
As he closed the door behind him and hit the steps two at a time,
till he met up with pavement. Now walking over to the waiting car, he saw his
two friends in a deep convo. “What’s up? Y’all good or what?” Pokey asked.
“Oh yeah. Yeah, we good, dog,” Fatboy said, bringing the convo to
a close.
“Y’all ready to roll?” Pokey asked, jumping in the backseat.
“Yeah, let’s burn up,” Flick said, backing out. As they listened
to Trick Daddy, “you don’t know na nigga,” blaring from the speakers, each
person was in their own world, bopping to the beat, when Pokey screamed, “Dog,
turn that shit down right quick. That shit giving me a headache,” Pokey said,
grabbing his head, feeling the pain from his latest injury.
“You okay, dirty?” Fatboy asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay, just a slight headache from all this damn bumping
Flick got in this motherfucker, that’s all, but it’s gravvy now,” Pokey said,
digging in his pocket and removing the dead mans he had saved up from out his
pockets. As he began to count the money, he said to himself, “Damn, I gotta
break bread with my niggas, ’cause we in this shit together.”
“Well, y’all!” Pokey screamed. And Fatboy turned around in his
seat, “What’s up, dog?”
“What they do. Look,” Pokey said, “I got 3,521 dollars in my name,
so I’mma shoot y’all a grand a piece, and that should hold y’all fools a
minute, at least until we catch up with my Uncle Sico and get our loot back.”
“Man, you still stuck on that bullshit?” Flick said. “That nigga
Sico probably in Canada some motherfucking where, balling outta control!” Pokey
heard Flick scream, and they all laughed.
“Fuck that nigga. Here you go, Fatboy, and huh, nigga,” Pokey
said, slapping Flick upside the head. “That’s for being funny.”
“Oh, word,” both his friends said.
“This what’s up! Look, Flick. Dog, stop at the store right quick,
so I can grab me a Tylenol or something, ’cause a nigga head pounding.”
“All right, dirty, I got cha,” Flick said, pulling up at the
7-Eleven, watching as Pokey exit the backseat. “Hurry up, nigga,” Fatboy said
to Pokey. “Fatboy, now that the nigga gone, remember what I was telling you
before we left projects.”
“Yeah, Flick, I remember. After this lick we do with Pokey, that’s
it, word,” Flick said, “’cause I’m trying to go to college and get paid the
right way,” Flick said.
“Man, we gonna see how this shit turn out. I hope it’s enough
cheddar to pull us away for good,” Fatboy said.
Back inside the store Pokey felt like his head was about to bust,
but realized it was a good thing he caught a headache, ’cause now he was inside
the store with Turtle and some female.
“Yo, Turtle, what’s up! What’s good, man? I’ve been trying to get
at cha today, but your cell kept going to voice mail,” Pokey said.
“Yeah, dog, I told my shortie today it would be me and her, that’s
why I ain’t answer. You know I ain’t got nothing but my word, feel me?” Turtle
said.
“Yeah, I feel you, dog. But what I need to holla at you about is
some important shit. So listen, not to fuck up you and your lady’s time, but
tonight meet me at the underground club around eight tonight.”
“All right, dog, I’ll be there,” Turtle said.
“One more thing,” Pokey said, “bring ya cousins Rim and Lo-P.”
“All right,” Turtle said, smiling, knowing what time it was now.
As Turtle and he chick left the store, Pokey walked up to the cash register and
paid the chick for the Tylenol he just purchased and walked out the store, with
a smile on his face. Making his way back to the car, he had a funny feeling
about his two friends but couldn’t put two and two together, so he left it at
that and hopped in the backseat.
“Listen, I just holla at Turtle in the store. I told him to meet
us at the underground club tonight at eight, so we can discuss business. He
said he’ll be there.”
“Word,” Fatboy said.
“That’s what’s up,” Flick said, looking in the mirror at Pokey.
“So what we gonna do till then? We got plenty of time left to
kill,” Pokey said, looking at his watch, while saying under his breath, “By
that time, shit should be on and poppin,” just loud enough for his friends can
hear. While driving around for ’bout two to three hours, they decided to make
their way back to the PJ’s to talk about how they were going to set things up.
Entering the dark cloudy projects about twenty minutes later, they were
reminded why this lick meant so much. As they exited the ride, they started
making their way to Pokey’s crib.
Fatboy and Flick screamed, “Man, I hope Mrs. Queen cooked, ’cause
a nigga hungry as fuck!”
“But let’s handle business first,” Pokey said, looking at his two
friends and asking them, “Man, y’all sure y’all ready to take this shit to the
next level and run these streets?”
Fatboy said, “Dog, I’m ready.”
And Flick said, “Count me in.”
As Pokey looked at his two friends for any signs of weakness,
after seeing none, he said, “All right, let’s go ahead and get ready to
wreck havoc, we only got an hour left, to be at the club. So check it,
y’all go grab something to eat and then get dress, so we can burn up.”
“All right,” they both said, walking out the door, heading to
their crib. As Pokey hopped in the shower, all he could think about was the
come-up they would make, if everything went as planned. Ten minutes later he
was getting out the shower, drying off, and throwing on a fresh fit with a
fresh pair of Jordan’s. He picked up the phone and called Fatboy up. After the
third ring, he heard Fatboy’s voice.
“Yeah, what’s up, dog?”
“Y’all niggaz ready to burn up or what?” Pokey asked.
“Yeah, dog, we ready. Flick on his way over now.”
“All right, I’m leaving now,” Pokey said.
“One,” Fatboy replied. As he looked over himself in the mirror,
liking the way his fresh white-and-blue Polo fit looked on him, with the fresh
white-and-blue Air Force 1s, “Damn, I’m fresh,” he said to himself. As he
walked out the door to meet his friends, “Come on, nigga,” he heard Pokey yell
as soon as he stepped out the door, walking over to Flick’s ride. He liked the
fits his dogs were rocking, Flick was rocking a brand-new Jordan outfit, with
the same color Jordan shoes, with a Philly cap and two gold chains around his
neck. My dog Pokey had on some brand-new Nautica fit with a fresh pair of Jordan’s
on, a simple chain, with a fat-ass watch. Anyway we were all clean and ready to
act an ass if the need came, pulling off from the curb, listening to that (cash
money) lights out bobbing our heads to the beats. ’Bout fifteen minutes later,
we pulling up in front of the club.
“Damn, this bitch pack. It’s a line damn near a mile long. Man,
this shit gonna be off the chain tonight, they got some fine-ass bitches up in
here tonight,” Pokey said, looking around. Then Flick turned the music down.
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