Читать книгу The Good Life - Dorian Sykes - Страница 13

Chapter Seven

Five minutes after Gator and J-Bo left, Jason pulled up in his beat-up Ford pickup. He climbed out the truck exactly how J-Bo pegged him—dingy-ass mothafucka with a long, white dirty beard. Jason tapped on the door with his keys a few times. Trey and Krazy both looked at each other like, It’s on, but still, neither really wanted to budge from their spots on the sofa. They were kicked back, watching a special on the Greek mafia.

“Why don’t you get it, my nigga? I’ll get the next one,” said Trey.

Krazy reluctantly popped up and walked over to the door. “Who is it?” he yelled.

“Um, Jason.”

Krazy undid the chain, then the locks. He cracked the door, peeking out at the old white man.

“J-Bo sent me.”

“A’ight,” Krazy said as he backed away, allowing Jason to enter the room.

“How’s it going?” Jason asked, sounding country and friendly as hell. He rocked back on his heels while fiddling with a roll of money in his hands.

“We chillin’. What can we do for you?” asked Trey.

“Whatever you can for five hundred.” Jason unfolded the dirty bills and handed them to Trey.

Trey’s eyes bucked at the sight of all that money—and off of just one sale! “I’ll be right back,” he said, then shot to the bathroom. He climbed up on the toilet and pushed the ceiling aside.

“What he want?” asked Wink. He was already on point.

“Five hundred. Here.” Trey passed Wink the bills and waited for the order.

A few seconds later, Wink passed the five little rocks down and said, “Y’all niggas stay on point.”

“A’ight.” Trey closed up the ceiling, then rushed back into the front room. He handed the work to Jason and awaited his approval.

Jason didn’t even look at the rocks. He already knew J-Bo kept some good stuff, so he just stuffed them inside his old, stained, no-name jeans pocket and turned for the door.

“Like I said, my name’s Jason. I’ve been knowing J-Bo for a long time. If y’all need me to make a food run or something, just give me a holla. It’s not a problem.”

“A’ight, that’s a bet,” Trey said, walking Jason out to the parking lot.

“See y’all in a bit.” Jason climbed in his truck and handed the young blonde riding shotgun one of the rocks. Trey watched as the woman packed her pipe and set fire to it. Jason backed away.

Before the night was out, Jason had made at least thirty runs, and each time, he was spending no less than five hundred dollars. Word had gotten out that J-Bo’s good crack was back in town, and that was all the reason for every redneck in a twenty-mile radius to hit up the bank and make a withdrawal. As they made withdrawals, Wink was making wire transfers through MoneyGram.

Sleep was impossible for all of them. They tried working in shifts, one sleeping while the other served, but it was just too much traffic, to the point where they were all scared to close their eyes. Money was changing hands too fast, and none of them were used to seeing that much money in their life.

Willie would be standing in front of the bed, counting and recounting the money, pretending it was all his. “What we gon’ buy once we start gettin’ our own money like this?” he asked.

“Shit, the first thing I’ma buy is some game. I want to learn everything, so we can have niggas sittin’ in a motel somewhere. Feel me?” asked Wink.

Willie hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he nodded as he daydreamed and envisioned everything Wink had said. “Yeah, I feel you, my nigga.”

“I was thinking, too. When we do get straight, maybe we can shoot down to Mississippi and set up shop. I know they probably paying just as much as these crackers since it’s the South. You know y’all niggas slow as shit down there,” Wink teased.

“Fuck you.” Willie laughed. “I’ll see what’s up,” he said. Willie was originally from Mississippi, but he moved to Detroit when he was ten to live with his moms. But every once in a while, he would go back down south to visit his grams.

“Yeah, right now we just stackin’ and learning. Pretty soon we gon’ have all this shit, and some,” Wink confidently said as he waved his hand at the crack and money sprawled out across the bed.

Downstairs, Trey and Krazy were making short-term plans on how they were going to run a train on the white chick Jason kept pulling up with. The only problem was she never got out the truck.

“Let me holla at him,” said Krazy as he stood up to let Jason in for the fortieth time.

“Here’s eight hundred,” said Jason.

Trey took the money, while Krazy stayed out front, rapping with Jason about pink toes.

“Who is she?” asked Krazy.

“She’s a buddy of mine’s old lady. He’d flip his wig if he knew I had her do something like that,” said Jason.

“I mean, he ain’t gotta know. And I’ma make it worth both y’all while. I ain’t gonna lie. I’ma try’na see her,” Krazy said, peeking from behind the curtain out into the truck. He flicked his tongue seductively at the woman as they met eyes. She broke into a smile and shook her head.

“See, she’s with it,” said Krazy as he let the curtain close.

“I tell you what. Let me talk to her, and if she’s okay with it, I’ll send her up. But it won’t be tonight, ’cause her old man’s at my house partying.”

“A’ight, just set it up for whenever,” said Krazy. He was lost and turned out ever since Gator sicced those white broads on him at the spot. Lately, all he wanted was some pink toes.

Trey stepped back in the room and handed Jason his eight stones.

“Don’t forget me,” said Krazy as he opened the door for Jason. He flicked his tongue again at the woman, to which she covered her face to conceal her blushing.

“I’m tellin’ you, my nigga. We got that bitch,” said Krazy as he locked the door.

“What he say? He gon’ hook it up?” asked Trey.

“Yeah. I’m tellin’ you. You ain’t had no head until you get some dome from one of these snow bunnies while they high off that shit. It’s like they be in another world, just them and yo’ dick.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ with you.” Trey laughed.

“She look like she got that lockjaw, too,” said Krazy as he continued to fantasize about ole girl. He flopped down on the sofa and flicked through the channels, looking for something good to watch.

“Leave it right there,” Trey said.

“You see how them Mexican mothafuckas gettin’ money. That’s how we should be doin’ it,” said Krazy. It was a documentary about the Mexican Mafia out in California.

“Word,” Trey agreed as he pretended he was standing right next to the short, fat Mexican who seemed to be running shit.

“That can be us,” said Krazy.

They rolled up two joints and kicked back, each lost in la-la land, fantasizing about a life of luxury. Krazy thought about all the pink toes he could afford with that kind of money, while Trey plotted on a new Beamer. Slowly but surely, Trey was falling in love with the game. J-Bo knew a week of seeing that out of town money would have all they young asses turned out. It’s what the game did to him.