Part 2 of Chapter 21 ’Bout Time ( Gabos )

“Let’s find a parking space,” Fatboy said.

“Nigga, what you think I’m looking for?” Flick said. After fifteen minutes of riding ’round, we finally found a parking space. As we exited the ride, we see three of the baddest females by the names of Peaches, Pumkin, and Coca. Everybody knew these chicks, call they were ’bout their issue, and making money wasn’t a problem. Finally entering the club, we headed straight to VIP to wait on Turtle and his cousins. After waiting ’bout ten to fifteen minutes, Flick looked up from talking to this red chick that was all on his dick and let us know. Lo-P and Rim just entered the building, but no sign of Turtle. ’Bout two minutes later, Turtle came strolling through the doors, they he went right there, he walking over to Lo-P and Rim now. As all three niggas began walking toward VIP like they were dons, Fatboy and his dogs couldn’t do nothing but laugh.

“Look at these niggas, they walking in this bitch like they own the shit, not even realizing this could be a trap and the end for them. Shh, here they come,” Pokey said.

“What’s up, y’all,” Turtle and his crew said, entering the VIP room.

“Nothing, dog, just chilling, waiting on y’all,” Pokey said, standing up, giving the niggaz some dap. Before they decided to take their seats, “Look, let’s get straight to business,” Pokey said. “I need y’all help again,” Pokey said.

“Is it money involved,” Lo-P asked.

“Always,” Fatboy replied. “If it ain’t ’bout money we wouldn’t need y’all, believe dat!”

“I feel that,” Lo-P said.

“So what’s up?” Turtle said.

“Look, we got a big lick that can put us on top of the game, but first we need some fire power.”

Turtle just laughed.

“Nigga, what's so funny?” Pokey asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Turtle said. “The shit you just asked ain’t no problem though,” Turtle shot back. “Just let me holla at this nigga I know right quick. He got everything an army will need.”

“Well, ain’t no need beating ’round the bush. Go handle ya business,” Pokey told Turtle.

“Chill, nigga. The nigga always come through here on Friday nights, so just be patient. Speaking of the devil, the nigga just walked in. See the nigga with the MIA Jersey on?” Turtle said.

“Who that tall black-ass nigga?” Flick said.

“Yeah him, that’s my dog Black,” Turtle said. “Let me go holla at him right quick,” Turtle said, leaving the VIP room. After about ten minutes of talking back and forth, we see the nigga Black looked up here, and Turtle smiled and gave us the thumbs up sign.

“I guess all is good,” Pokey said, watching Turtle and Black walk up the stairs to VIP. As Turtle walked in followed by Black, Black was the first to introduce himself.

“What’s up, y’all? My name Black, and I heard y’all looking for the good goods, and I got what y’all need.”

“Word,” everybody said

As Pokey got up and walked toward Black with his hand extended, “What’s up, you ready to talk business?” Pokey yelled over the loud music.

“Look, I really don’t know you that good, but my dog Turtle told me y’all good people, so I’mma take his word on that and go against my better judgment and tell ya to follow me to one of my cribs, and we’ll discuss business, as you point out what you like,” Black said.

“That’s what’s up,” Pokey said. “Let’s roll, Yo, Fatboy and Flick, let’s roll.”

“Look,” Black said, “We all know bullshit stanks and money talks, and so let’s make shit happen.” As they started walking down the stairs, in Black’s mind he knew he was dealing with so lames, or so he thought. So in his mind, all he could do was count the dollars he knew he would make off these niggas. “Another sweet come-up,” he said to himself, as he hopped in an all-black two-door BMW.

“Y’all just follow me,” Black said. As he watched the three young in hop in a four-door box Chevy sitting on dubs, he smiled to himself. How sweet money always came his way so easily. ’Bout twenty-five minutes later, they pulled up to this big-ass house that was surrounded by other nice-ass houses.

“Damn,” they all said, “this bitch here bigger than a bitch,” they said, getting out the car. As they watched Black punch in a code, the door popped open.

“Damn, nigga, you living good,” Pokey said.

As they entered the crib and looked around, they noticed how nice the bitch was in the inside, from the all-white fur rug, to the big-ass screen TV, to the sound system that goes throughout the whole house.

“Damn, you got this bitch laid out,” Flick said.

“Come on, I know y’all done seen better,” Black said, being cocky. “Follow me, so we can handle business,” Black said, leading them downstairs to a basement that was pitch-black, until Black hit a light switch somewhere that damn near blinded all us.

“Damn, nigga, what’s up with this bright-ass light,” Flick hollered.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I put that shit in here, so you niggas can get a good look at all the shit I’m working with,” Black said with pride.

“That’s what’s up? But next time warn a nigga ’bout that bright-ass light,” Fatboy said, watching Black pull out all types of trunks from under this long-ass black table.

“So I guess this way they call you Black also, ’cause everything in this bitch black,” Pokey said.

“Yeah, you can say that,” Black said, pulling out gats from the trunks and laying them down upon the black table. As Black pulled out an AK-47, Pokey walked up to him, grabbed the AK, and asked, “Man, what you want for this piece right here?”

“Oh that, give me four grand and I’ll throw in two clips,” Black stated. And Pokey looked at this nigga like he done lost his mind.

“Damn, nigga, you trying to tax a nigga, like you the IRS or something? Or you must trying to get off on a nigga, thinking we lame and dumb, huh?” Fatboy said, removing the Glock 9 he had tucked in his back jeans.

“Hold up, man,” Black started pleading. “Don’t kill me, y’all can have all this shit,” Black said, inching slowly backward, wishing he  never let these niggaz in his shit. But now was too late to act like a bitch, he was thinking, when he heard Pokey and Flick scream, “Man, fuck this nigga, GABOS,” they said, as they watched with excitement as Fatboy pulled the trigger, emptying the clip in Black’s face and chest. The first bullet entered his brain and killed him before he knew what hit him. The rest of the bullets found their resting place inside his body, as he lay prone on the floor with blood coming from everywhere.

“Tighten up!” Fatboy heard Pokey scream, which snapped him outta dreamland. “Hurry up, let’s find something to put these gun in and burn up,” as they all looked ’round the basement for something to put the guns in. Over in the corner Flick found two large gym bags. As he rushed to retrieve the bags, he came back to the table and watched as his friends loaded gun after gun in the bag.

“Look, if you touch it, take it with you,” Fatboy said. “That way we leave no fingerprints.”

“Word,” they all said, as they began to make their exit, the thought of missing out on something good entered Pokey’s mind.

“Hold up, y’all. Before we bounce, this nigga sitting too pretty not to have nothing in here, so let see what’s up,” Pokey said. “Fatboy, hit the upstairs rooms, Flick, hit all the closets, and I’mma check everything else. Make it quick, five minutes we out, with or without.”

“Word,” they all said, running in different directions. As Fatboy hit the third room, he came across a briefcase, throwing the briefcase on the bed, and popping the latches, he opened it to find stack upon stack. Closing the briefcase up with a big smile upon his face, he proceeded to run back downstairs. When he sees he’s the lone ranger in the living room, he calls out, “Dog, y’all let’s ride, we straight, I got what we need.” As Pokey comes out the kitchen, he looks at the briefcase in Fatboy’s hand and just smiles. “Jackpot,” Pokey said.

And Fatboy said, “End of the rainbow.”

“Flick, let’s ride!” Pokey screamed.

“Hold up, I’m coming right now!” Flick screams, walking out the closet, holding what looks like four keys of dope.

“Nigga, what that is?” Fatboy asked.

“Nigga, what it look like, that good white them pigeons. Nigga, four of them thangs.”

“Word,” Pokey says. “Now let get all this shit up outta here.” As Pokey grabs one duffel bag and Flick grabs the other fill with the guns and start walking out the door, they turn around just in time to see Fatboy sat the briefcase down, and the four keys on top of it, grab a lighter that’s on the table on the living room table, walk over to the curtains, and set the bitches on fire. Placing the lighter in his pocket, he walks calmly back over to the briefcase and four keys, picks them up, and steps out the burning house, feeling like a rich man. Now that they came upon a good lick, they rush back to the car and pop the trunk.

“Nigga,” Pokey tells Flick, as they load the goods in the trunk and hop in the ride. The only thing they hope for now is to make it back to the projects without being stopped by the police on the ride back. Everyone is quiet, deep in thought. As they pull up in the projects, they all began to smile, and that’s when the talking began.

“Boy, we did that,” Pokey said.

“Fatboy, you crazy-ass fuck,” Flick said.

“Yeah, I know. Now tell me something I don’t know!” Fatboy said, laughing.

“All right, y’all, enough of the bullshit. Let’s .get this shit upstairs and see what we working with!” Pokey said, all smiles. “Damn, we straight. What’s that, Flick ask. Four keys and seventy thousand dollars. Pokey answer that’s twenty-five grand apiece, Fatboy added fast. Plus the money we’ll make off selling these four birds. But in all reality, this ain’t shit compared to the lick that’s at hand when we rob that nigga Mr. Big Pokey said thinking out load. We should be on the young, rich, and famous. Fatboy said look at his friends they all laughed, until they heard Mrs. Queen yelling.

“If y’all don’t stop all that goddamn yelling in my house while I’m trying to sleep, I know something.”

“Oh shit, my bad, Momma,” Pokey said.

“I know it’s your bad. Next time it’s your ass,” she said, and his two friends covered their mouths to keep from laughing at Pokey.

“Y’all let’s burn up. We can talk outside somewhere.”

“Word,” they said.

“Before Mrs. Queen beat your ass,” Fatboy said, running out the door, with Pokey and Flick on his heels. All three boys were feeling good with the come-up they just made. They just hoped in the back of their minds they would come out alive when they robbed Mr. Big, like they did on this lick. It’s only so many chances a nigga gonna get in life. And they all sat around trying to figure out the next best move.