Читать книгу Love and a Gangsta - Erick S. Gray - Страница 15

8

Respect what’s mine.

Know not to cross that line.

I won’t have to get out of line

and clap you with my nine…

Omega

I ran Jamaica Queens with an iron fist. I wanted to be more feared than any gangster that came up before me. I acquired my reign in Queens violently through blood. My name ran thick through these streets like traffic and I had cash money longer than train smoke.

I was a street soldier for Tyriq’s vicious drug crew and learned what I could from him until I set his punk ass up. Tyriq and Tip were gun down by Demetrius’ hit men in New Jersey. I watched their brains spill and their blood splattered across the front seat and couldn’t help but smirk. It was the beginning of my rise to power. Tyriq had fucked up and it cost him his life. He fucked up by bringing Vincent in the mix and a bloody war ensued with the Columbians.

In order for me to stay on top, I had to stay smarter, wiser, hungrier and more vicious than the next gangster. I couldn’t look weak, and couldn’t show any kindness. That was how I survived the war and proved my control on the streets.

There was a constant anger in me, driving me to care about anything but that money and my business. I had trust for no one, except for my right hand, Soul…who was released after doing a four-year bid. He was missed and I knew that I needed him by my side again. The two of us together again, we could own New York.

I rode around Queens in my candy red Lincoln Navigator with the vertical Ferrari style doors with the windows tinted and having the door handles, the gas tank cover and the exhaust chromed out. My interior was pearl white with red stitching and four small flat screens hung from the moon-roofed ceiling over each seat. And my truck rested on 26” chromed rims that made my truck feel like it was reaching to the sky.

I was showing my wealth, but not too blatantly. I didn’t want the feds to come creeping up on me. I had enough enemies hating on me and didn’t need the heat from law enforcement anytime soon.

It was a cool clear night and I felt this inward calm, knowing Soul was home and I had to go see my dude and show him a good time. We came up together since we were knee high. From playing in dirt and sand, slap-boxing each other in the streets, stealing snacks out the bodegas, fighting, running trains on bitches, we both got in the game together on the strength of my older brother, Rahmel. Soul was the one nigga that knew me best and the one nigga I would die for. We stood tall and held on to the attitude that we either gonna ride or die for each other. There was a promise that if one fell, then the next man would stand tall and hold the block down. I did that.

Soul was coming home to an empire that I had built over the years, and unfortunate for him, he caught a gun and drug charge and did that bid alone. I owed the nigga my life. The D. A. wanted to offer him a plea for exchange that he would testify against his brothers. They wanted me for years. I was lethal like the virus and had more bodies than a southern cemetery. I lived reckless, but lived smart. Soul had refused the DA’s offer and even spit in his face for the offer. Soul was willing to ride out his time. I had much love for my nigga.

Navigating my truck down Rockaway Blvd, I stopped at a local bodega for a beef and cheese patty. It was reaching midnight soon. Four young niggas that were hanging out in front smoking and rolling dice gave me the nod of respect, knowing who I was and how fierce my reputation rang in the streets.

I wasn’t alone. My 357 was tucked safely and concealed in the small of my back. I wore jewels with five-thousand cash bulging in my pockets and knew no one had the balls to step to me. I murdered many niggas coming up in this game and with the Jamaicans backing me and becoming my number one supplier, we quickly put the competition out. I was king of Queens.

Outside the bodega, I strolled confidently to my truck and quickly devoured my patty. Fifty Cent played and I turned up the volume to Many Men.My system blared and the young niggas bobbed to the bass, admiring my truck.

I was on my way to link up with Greasy at a spot on Linden Blvd. It was a good day. I had sent a message to Tiny—several of his men were now permanently resting in the morgue. I had to watch my back. This was war and I was a veteran on these streets. Soul was finally home and knowing that made my crew not only stronger but deadlier.