Читать книгу The Good Life - Dorian Sykes - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Wink didn’t sleep the whole night. He stayed up thinking about all the fancy cars he would buy, all the pretty girls who’d throw themselves at his feet, and all the money, fame, and jewelry he’d have. J-Bo rode him around the night before, schooling him to little things, giving up the basics of the game, but nothing too serious. He told Wink he’d have to work, earn, and learn what all he wanted to know. It was called paying dues. He told him that the game was there, you just had to pay attention.

J-Bo had no plans on making things easy for Wink. He wanted to show him that it was more to the game than just fast cars and fast money. To be successful in the game, you had to be a thinker. The ability to think on your toes would be the deciding factor of whether you were going to be a boss or worker. You had to be a people person first and foremost because, you were going to be dealing with people from all walks of life. J-Bo told him just because a person smoked crack didn’t mean they were less of a man or woman. It just meant that they liked the high. You still had to treat them with respect.

He also said you had to be respected. Niggas had to know without a shadow of a doubt that you’d bust they wig if they played with you or your money. J-Bo told him the importance of growth, saving his money, and having lawyers’ fees put to the side. He gave him what he needed to know in order to survive, but Wink would have to earn the tools he needed in order to become the infamous drug lord he dreamed of.

He sat on the living room sofa, watching the hand of the clock mounted on the wall. Time wasn’t moving fast enough, and neither was his crew. He had called Trey, Willie, and Krazy over an hour ago, and still no show. Had he made mention about having some hood rats over, they would have flown their asses over like they did about the picnic.

Fuck it, though, Wink thought as he stood up. He wasn’t about to let nothing or no one stop him from getting what was his. J-Bo said he’d be by to pick him up so they could go check out one of his new crack houses on the Westside. He wanted Wink to help him open it.

“Where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Hope caught Wink on his way out the front door.

“Uh...”

“Don’t you lie to me, Wayne. I know it’s not no damn job interview, which is where you need to be carrying yo’self to.”

“I love you too, Ma,” Wink said, kissing his mom on the cheek. “I’ll be back. I’ma walk around to Trey’s.”

“I need you to help me around the house later, moving this furniture, so don’t stand me up,” said Hope, following Wink out on to the porch. She stood at the landing and watched her son walk down the street. She wasn’t no fool, and her intuition alone told her Wayne was up to something, but what?

Wink heard the sounds of McBreed blasting. It was J-Bo bending the block in his triple-white 500 SEC Benz. Wink looked over his shoulder and thanked God his mother was already gone in the house.

J-Bo slowed down and pulled over to the curb. As always, he was looking like a cool million. He had the top missing on the Benz, the chrome deep dish hammers were blinding in the sun, and the cocaine white interior set J-Bo’s black skin off like the moon at night. He gripped the wheel with one hand and let the other drape out the window with his 18-karat gold Rolex gleaming.

“You ready?” asked J-Bo.

“Yeah,” said Wink. His stomach was in a nervous knot as he prayed that his Ma Dukes wasn’t looking out the window.

“Yo, Wink!” Krazy yelled from the end of the block. He broke into a sprint, trying to catch up.

“Who’s that?” asked J-Bo.

“One of my guys I was tellin’ you about yesterday. I don’t know where the other two are at.”

Krazy caught up to the Benz before J-Bo pulled off. “What up, doe,” he said, a little out of breath. He broke down, putting his hands on his knees.

“You rollin’?” asked J-Bo.

“Yeah, just let me catch my breath.”

“Let’s go, youngin’. Time is my money,” said J-Bo.

Wink leaned his seat forward, letting Krazy climb in the back seat. He was so tall and built that he had to sit sideways.

“J-Bo, this my man Krazy,” said Wink.

J-Bo met eyes with Krazy in the rearview mirror, and they nodded. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Wink kept his head turned until they passed his house. He could hear his mom’s loud-ass voice in his head, calling after the car, ordering him to get out. They made it down the street without Hope embarrassing Wink.

J-Bo didn’t say two words the entire drive. He was done talking. School was in session, and the only way to learn was through experience. All heads turned, and the frivolous conversations ceased as J-Bo cruised down Linwood Ave. People stopped and waved. Crackheads tried flagging the legend down to plead their individual cases as to why they needed some credit and that they were good for it.

J-Bo was known and respected all over Detroit, and as a result, he could go anywhere and would be welcomed with open arms. As he told Wink, he was a people person. Everybody loved J-Bo. He had an aura larger than life, and everybody wanted to latch on to something great. That was the secret behind his success. Success brought more success.

They pulled up in front of this nearby condemned two-family flat on Linwood and Arlington. It sat on the corner right across the street from an old penny candy store called Mr. Kennedy’s. Wink looked up at the brick castle and hoped this wasn’t the new spot J-Bo told him about yesterday. Two women with faded silk scarves wrapped around their ’do’s leaned out two upstairs windows, while old musty-lookin’ black men lined the front porch, all staring down at the Benz.

“Come on,” J-Bo said, pulling on the door handle.

“Fuck we at, South Africa ’round this mothafucka?” Krazy joked as they climbed out the car.

“I know, right?” agreed Wink. He and Krazy fell two steps behind J-Bo.

It sounded like the floor on Wall Street going up the steps to the porch. All the crackheads went crazy, trying to put their bids in. Some were tussling over who’d hold the door open for J-Bo. It was like the return of Jesus.

J-Bo stopped and asked, “Where’s Gator?”

“Should be around here somewhere,” answered one of the crackheads in hopes that his information might get him off crap and J-Bo would throw him a bone. There was no such thing as free with J-Bo. You had to spend some money first, and lots of it, before he even thought about blessing you with a lookout.

“If you see him, send him upstairs,” said J-Bo.

He led the way inside the muggy house and up the staircase leading to the upstairs unit. Surprisingly, the unit was nothing like the downstairs or the exterior. Fresh paint could be smelled as soon as they hit the door. Brand new but cheap furniture filled the place. There was a huge 52-inch flat screen in the living room. On top sat a brand-new Nintendo game system with a bunch of cartridges. A stereo system sat over in the corner. All the latest tapes filled its shelves.

“This shit almost looks as good as my house,” said Wink, walking over to the chess board, which was perched on the coffee table.

“And that’s the way it’s ’pose to be,” said J-Bo.

He watched Wink and Krazy as they both got comfortable. Krazy did everything except take his shoes off. He was going through the many cassette tapes, while Wink pretended to be knowing what he was doing on the glass chessboard. Nice and comfortable, that’s how J-Bo wanted them. He had learned over the years that the best way to get somebody to sit in a crack house and stay put, they first had to want to stay put. So, J-Bo made the necessary investments to make his crack spots as comfortable as possible. His workers would be glued to the houses, all the while making him filthy rich!

“What you know about what you’re sitting in front of?” asked J-Bo as he took a seat across from Wink.

“I know I’d beat you,” Wink said with as much confidence he could muster.

So eager to learn, thought J-Bo. He pulled back a closed smile, then waved his hand across the board. “Your move.”

Wink pushed his center pawn up two squares, only to me matched by J-Bo’s. J-Bo matched Wink’s every move, until all his pieces were scattered out across the board.

“I wouldn’t make that move,” advised J-Bo.

Wink shifted his hand from the knight he was about to move over to his rook.

“I wouldn’t make that move either,” warned J-Bo.

Wink made a frivolous move, pushing his queen next to J-Bo’s. J-Bo moved in for the kill, bypassing Wink’s queen and taking his bishop instead.

“You see what I see? That’s checkmate,” said J-Bo.

Wink looked the board over in complete disbelief.

“Don’t worry yourself about that. You lost before you even made your first move,” said J-Bo.

“Run it back,” said Wink. He turned the board around and hurriedly went to setting up the pieces, but J-Bo stopped him.

J-Bo just smiled. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” asked Wink.

“Look at the board.” J-Bo waited a few moments, then continued. “You see how all your pieces are scattered out? Your king was left vulnerable. You see, young dawg, in this game we play, every man has to be his own king, and we gotta learn to use everything and everybody around us to get to where we trying to go, and that’s to the top. Everybody around me is like a piece on this board, and some less, including you. You got the basics down, how the pieces move, but now you’ve gotta learn how to use them to protect you.”

Wink nodded in agreement while looking down at the chess board.

“You see, I’m not no chess wizard, but I know how to play the game. I know the rules and each piece’s purpose. What you just did is sat down and jumped into a game head first, not knowing how to win the game. And the same goes for this street game you just jumped into. You gotta learn the game. Don’t be so eager to play. Watch and learn. I’ma ask you one last thing, then we can get down to business. What piece do you think you are on the board?”

“Right now, I’d say a pawn,” said Wink.

“Not quite, but at least you didn’t say a king. I’d let you know when you’re a pawn,” said J-Bo. He turned to face Krazy, who was standing in front of the stereo system violently rocking back and forth to the new Dayton Family LP.

“What’s his name?”

“Krazy,” said Wink.

“Yo, Krazy, turn that down and take a seat.”

J-Bo stood up and started pacing the floor in front of the coffee table. He occasionally looked Wink and Krazy in the eye as he explained the breakdown. “Under no circumstances are you to give anyone credit. I don’t give a fuck if Jesus Christ co-sign the shit. Don’t do it. All shorts come out of y’all pay, not mine. No company. This is a place of business, not a chill house or hangout. If they’re not coppin’, no stoppin’.” J-Bo continued to pace while he jogged his brain. He wanted to make sure he covered everything, so there would be no excuses.

“Oh, yeah. Always separate mine’s from yours. I’m putting the work in your hand, Wink, and you’re responsible for it. I’ma pay y’all a thousand a week starting off, and the more we sell, the more you’ll start making. It’s on y’all how you split the grand up.”

“What about the police?” asked Wink.

“There’s a hole right here,” J-Bo said, walking over to the fireplace. He lifted the wooden panel and stepped aside for Wink and Krazy to see.

“If there’s a raid, just throw everything down this hole. All the money and dope. I’ll have Gator dig it out the chimney later.”

“What about if a nigga tries to rob us?” asked Krazy. “We need some heat.”

“Ain’t a nigga in his right mind gon’ rob none of my spots. Just remember, separate mine’s from yours. When one of y’all leave for the store or something, don’t be carrying mine’s with you.

“Nah,” said Wink. He and Krazy were too busy looking over their first sack.

“J-Bo, you up here?” asked Gator as he hit the door twice, then stepped inside.

J-Bo hid the sack behind one of the throw pillows on the sofa, then met Gator in the kitchen.

“I got some youngin’s I want you to meet,” said J-Bo as he walked Gator into the living room.

“This is Wink and Krazy. Y’all, this is Gator.”

“A’ight,” said Wink and Krazy. From one glance, they could tell how the old, dusty, skinny man standing before them got his handle. He had a mean overbite, which made it impossible to close his mouth. His side teeth hung over his bottom lip just like a real-life gator.

“Gator is going to be bringing a lot of customers through here. He’s my man, and this is his house, so respect him. But the no credit thing applies to him as well, no matter what he says,” said J-Bo.

“I’m not going to work the youngin’s,” Gator spat as he lied through gapped teeth.

“Yeah, that’s what you said about the last workers. Come on and walk me to my car. I got something for you.” J-Bo stopped and looked at Wink and Krazy.

“Y’all need anything? Y’all straight?” he asked.

“We good,” Wink answered for them both.

“A’ight, Gator got my number. Call me if something comes up. And remember everything I said.”

Wink and Krazy nodded and watched as J-Bo led Gator downstairs. Wink reached behind the pillow and poured the rocks onto the coffee table. He looked up at Krazy, then extended his hand with a smile.

“We on, my nigga.” He gave Krazy some dap then grabbed the house phone off the receiver. He couldn’t wait to call Trey and let him know J-Bo had put them down.