“Yo, like dis taking too long, dawg. Let’s go,” Polo uttered.
“I got this,” Trick countered.
Trick was always difficult to figure out. To most, his calm demeanor was a sign of weakness, but to those who knew him, understood that he was in his most ruthless state when in deep thought… always trying to figure out the best way to take an enemy out. Dajon knew Trick well enough since he’d fronted him drugs on a regular basis. He just didn’t know him as well as Felony and Polo did. Suddenly, Dajon’s thoughts were cut short. The moment that Trick leaned over, moving closer to Dajon’s face, he quickly shut his eyes tightly. Fat boy knew it was over and sadly, there was no escape.
“You see where stealin’ gets you?” Trick taunted, pressing the gun even more forcefully into his temple.
Sweat poured from Dajon’s face as he pleaded, “C’mon man! I told you what happened…!”
“You must notta heard what happens to niggas who fuck with me, yamean?” Trick said.
“C’mon, man!” Dajon begged even more.
Before he could get another word out of his mouth, Trick withdrew the gun from his head, hitting Dajon across the face with the butt of the gun. Instantly, blood trickled from his face and his eyes ballooned in fear.
“I swear on my daughter, man! Don’t do this. Don’t do this, man,” Dajon ended as tears streamed down the side of his cheek.
“Bitch-ass nigga,” Trick sniped.
“Fuck dat shit!” Felony shouted, as he paced back and forth on the right side of the bed. He moved closer to Trick with vengeance in his eyes. “Trick, you know dis nigga lying. Lemme bust’em?” he asked again, only this time he’d removed the .357 that had been stuffed down his loose fitting pants.
Both he and Polo had gotten antsy since they’d been in Dajon’s house for more than ten minutes. The plan had called for a quick in and out, leaving Dajon dead. Trick had known for weeks that Dajon’s fabricated story about how he’d gotten robbed while in possession of 70,000 dollars worth of Trick’s product was all a lie. He’d given him the chance to confess, even offering Dajon a re-payment plan, yet nothing worked. Dajon kept sending messages that Trick should just take it as a loss because there was nothing he could do to get the money back.
Trick finally spoke after minutes of silence. “So Dajon, you know a nigga from the East side name Dre?” He pressed the gun into Dajon’s temple once again.
A lump formed in Dajon’s throat.
“Ahhhhhhh.”
“Huh nigga, you know who I’m talkin’ about, right?” Trick jolted the gun a bit. “I got me a sexy lil biddy on the east side so I gotta few friends, yamean?”
“Yeah… I know what you mean, Trick. But c’mon man, put the gun down!” Dajon cried out, while remaining stiffly in place.
“Nah, nigga. You sold my shit to that nigga, thinkin’ I wouldn’t find out. I know everythin’ that goes on in my town,” he said with discontent, then grit his teeth. “I own this town. Yamean?” he asked with even more anger in his voice.
Of course, Dajon never said a word. He simply cried like a bitch. Yet none of it phased Trick. He was used to punks and wanna-be hustlers. He’d seen it all his life. In an instant, Trick transformed into what Felony had been waiting for. He rose from the bed like he was being attacked.
Boom!
Trick never even flinched as the gun exploded. But even Felony cringed at the sight of Dajon’s blood that covered the crisp white sheets. The sound from the gun left all three men with ringing ears, which of course made Trick realize they had less than a minute to make it to the back of the house where the getaway truck was waiting. Trick had been killing for years so not only was he skilled at murder, but at getting away with it too. It was what he did best. Murder was the name of the game. His whole life consisted of getting money and slaying anybody who got in his way.
Within minutes, Trick had switched into high gear. His jewels glistened in the darkness as he jetted down the stairs, taking two at the time, then out the back door, following on the heels of Felony. He moved swiftly knowing that someone had probably heard the shots. Trick, Polo, and Felony ran like their lives depended on it, rushing toward Trick’s 2010 off white Cadillac Escalade. Within minutes, Polo had hopped in the driver’s seat, started the ignition, and sped through the alley way, hopping onto Gratz Street. Trick sighed a deep sound of relief as he laid back in his butter soft leather seats, knowing he’d just gotten away with another murder.
Although his bald head was covered in sweat, he was pleased with how things had gone. He knew that with Polo driving he could rest his eyes for a moment while sitting in his second best treasure. The Escalade with deep black tinted windows was every man’s dream. It was fully equipped with everything from 12-inch plasma screen TV’s, custom black floor mats and a Bose’ system which Polo had now pushed to the limit. Plies song, Wasted blasted from the speakers as they sped down Broad street.
Although the music pumped, Trick thought deeply about his life. As strange as it sounded, he was tired of the ups and downs of the cocaine game. And definitely tired of the hatin’ niggas in the biz. Everybody he’d ever met was cut throat with the exception of Polo and Felony. It was time for a drastic change, he thought to himself. He’d committed to throwing in the towel and sticking to his new money making business… one that would set him straight for a lifetime. Little did Felony know, but Trick was about to separate himself from any dealings with drugs after their last deal they were headed to make.
“Man, like what time we gotta meet up with Ce-lo?” Trick asked Felony.
“9 a.m.” Felony laughed.
“Fuck. That’s five hours from now.” Trick tugged on his long, full beard showing that he’d already gotten restless. “A nigga need some sleep.”
“Dat’s your boy. The only nigga in town who gotta get up at da crack of dawn to get served.”
“Like that nigga better be glad his money right,” Trick announced. “Yo, stop me by that 24 hour spot…. Ahhh what’s that jawn called?” Trick snapped his fingers as Felony made a sharp turn, causing him to hold on to the handle above him. “Richies, that’s the name of it. Get me one of them egg sandwiches before we go cook up.” He closed his eyes. “And good lookin’ out back there.”
“Always,” both men said in unison.
“Now hurry Felony, a nigga hungry,” Trick said slouching down in the seat.
“Gotcha dawg.”
For several minutes Polo and Felony laughed and talked shit to one another until Trick’s cell phone rang. He opened his eyes knowing what was next. The caller ID read trouble. It was Mena, Trick’s money hungry girlfriend.
“Talk to me.”
“Im’a talk to you alright. Fuck you, Trick! It’s five o’clock in the morning and you still not home! Where the fuck you at?” Mena shouted through the phone.
“Takin’ care of business. You know what that means, right?” He smirked. “You wanna spend big money every day… well somebody gotta make it, so chill your foul mouth ass out.” He paused and put more bass in his voice. “Aye Mena, I told you about disrespectin’ me.”
“Fuck you, Trick! I bet if I change the locks on your ass, you’ll come home at a decent hour.”
“Mena, I got shit to do. And besides, It’s not like I’m out with some biddy. So I’ll see you about ten. And remember, that’s my jawn, bitch. You just on a guest pass.”