“Hey big man, where you been? You always got it good. You workin?” she asked him.
“Nah, I’m just passing through. But my man got you.”
“Come here Goobie! How much you got? “said Pook.
“I got $50, but I want a slab,” she said.
“We got you. Give me the money and grab that piece out of the change slot in the payphone.”
She did as she was told and as she was walking off she said “I’ll be back in about half hour. I got this trick at the motel and he got a pocketful. This is just to get him started.”
“Hold up!” Pook said, and scribbled down the number to the payphone.
“Call this number and if he’s spending more than a hundred we will bring it to you.”
“Aight, aight,” she said and scurried away eyes bulging, and ashy lips twisting. After she was gone Pook said, “K man, we tryin to get up outta the hood. Niggahs is catchin sales left and right.”
“I know, I heard this shit was on flames. But you know I’m still in the process of laying the foundation?”
Right after he said that the police pulled into the parking lot across the street. It was cruiser number 105, better known as the marine cops. K knew them harassing bastards and they knew him, so he knew it was time to get gone. K gave all his boys contact numbers and told them to get at him before he left town. The police turned on their overhead floodlights and lit up the entire side of the street everybody was standing on. K gave his niggas some dap and was out.
As he pulled away from the curbside he reflected on the experience his life had been up to that point and thanked God that he had made it this far. He’d lost a lot of cats, real good dudes, to this crazy game. Crimedanch had lost some thorough hustlers like Herman The Stranger and Keith Money Green, thugs like Tim Williams and Taheem, and up and comers Karim, Ed Nitty, Allen Parker and Ira aka Young Iroc.
Just as he turned the corner onto his block, he saw the red, white, and blue strobe lights illuminate in his rearview mirror. He knew he hadn’t done anything illegal, signaling or otherwise, but he was in a brand new truck in the hood. So it was business as usual for Suffolk County’s finest, with the same old bullshit! The officer driving approached the vehicle’s driver’s side with his hand on his Beretta 9mm, as the other officer did the same on the passenger side shining his flashlight through the back window of the Tahoe.
Shit, he knew the routine so he turned off the truck with his left hand while his right hand was in the air where they could see it, extended his left hand out of the window so they could see them both. Now in the hood they don’t ask for the usual License, registration and insurance. It just didn’t go down like that. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the uniformed cops, or the undercover, they address you the same.
“Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air where we can see them.”
So on cue, K followed the usual procedure, and once they saw who it was the whole scene changed.
“Look who we got here, Mr. K-Money. So Mr. Johnson, where have you been? We heard you took your drug dealing business elsewhere. Smart decision,” said one officer.
“I live in Pennsylvania and own a record company now. Why are busting my balls officer? “They checked out the truck while eyeing him suspiciously.
“Oh we not busting your balls, we just wanted to see who was driving this pretty truck with the PA tags. So you have any guns or drugs on you Mr. Johnson? Do you mind if we search your vehicle?”
“Do you have probable cause?” K asked.
The main asshole of the two gave him a look that he knew all too well. It was a look where no words were needed, that blatantly said you know how we get down. They always keep a couple of rocks for guys who wanted act up.
“Now we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way,” said one of the officers.
K recognized the look because he knew these two very, very well. They were just as crooked as the pigs they’d bodied before he bounced.
“Ok, ok. Do what you got to do. Just remember I aint never gave you guys a hard time.”
They proceeded to search the vehicle and he stood there nervous as fuck. Halfway through the search they got a 911 call over the radio.
”All units respond. There’s been a shooting on north 15th Street and two people are down,” said the dispatcher.
They stopped in the middle of their search and ran to the cruiser. But before getting in the driver yelled over his door.
“Watch yourself and where you hangout Mr. Johnson.” The officer slammed his door shut, and brutally jerked the transmission into reverse. Burning rubber, he backed out onto Jamaica Avenue and sped away to answer their call.
K got in his truck and drove up two stop signs to his family crib and his niggah Ike Mitchell was there standing in the driveway laughing.
“What up my nigga? What’s so funny? “K asked.
“My bad niggah, I aint laughing at you. I was riding by when them crooked ass faggots had you pulled over, So I dipped to the phone booth and put in that bogus 911 call to the switchboard. I saw it was you from the spotlights they had on you and I saw the Pa. tags.”
“Oh shit! That’s good looking, aint no telling what them hating ass police would have tried to pull. Why don’t you come in? Pops is cooking.”
“I gotta go pick — up wifey from work then we going to spend New Year’s with her peoples. How long you in town?
“Two or three days at the most. Take my cell number and hit me when you get back in town. Maybe we could hook up and do something.”
He took K’s number gave him a pound, then bounced. K entered the house to the welcome familiar smells of home cooked Alabama soul food compliments of chef pop dooks. Liza was at the kitchen table with his sister and her friends playing cards, talking and smiling ear to ear.
“K, I love your family. Your mom wants to know how long we’re going to be in town” said Liza.
“I’m not sure but I’ll make sure we stay long enough for you two to get acquainted well enough.”
K asked Liza to take a ride with him and told his family they would be back shortly. K had grabbed a couple of sacs when he was at the weed spot, and due to the shit he had just went through with the police, he needed a little smoke session to relax his nerves. They got in the truck and headed to a store that was nowhere near the hood. K pulled up to the 7 eleven went in and brought a box of dutchmasters. When they returned to the house K twisted up a log, sparked it and let the mean green mellow out his mental.
Jamaica Avenue in Jamaica Queens was packed even though it was a blistering cold New Year’s Day. K and Liza had set out in the afternoon, hours after sleeping off the effects of the New Year’s celebration with friends and family. He had made a stop to pick up his son so he could take him to hang out with them and take him shopping.
They had brought in the New Year at 12 o’clock, watching the ball drop on the big screen in the basement at the house and couldn’t have been happier than to be with his family and Liza on New Year’s. They were now headed to The Coliseum, a mini-mall loaded with all kinds of urban wear, from hats, to sneakers, to coats, to the iciest of the iced out jewelry. K had a personal jeweler named Benny in the coliseum that he had been buying custom made jewels from for years. A month prior to coming to NY K had phoned in a special order for late surprise Christmas gifts for Liza and his son JJ. They’d pulled in and parked in the rooftop parking lot that was exclusively for coliseum shoppers.
Upon entering the building he came across one of his cousins that he hadn’t seen in a minute. K’s family Bazzo had opened a club that had become very successful, among Long Islands night clubbers, out in Hempstead.