Knee Deep in the Game (3 page)

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Authors: Boston George

BOOK: Knee Deep in the Game
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“Vanessa, I don't have one main chick. Every chick plays a certain part in my life, smell me?” Fresh said, wiping away her tears.
“Yeah, I understand,” Vanessa slurred.
Deep down inside Vanessa really loved Fresh, but she knew she would never be Fresh's number-one chick. She knew that she was playing herself by allowing him to have her and any other woman he wanted as well, but it was all in the game. She knew that he would never love her the way that she did him, so she took the little pieces of himself that he was willing to share. The lonely nights and broken promises were not enough to make her let him go. Fresh had gotten inside her head, which is why she put up with his shit. As Fresh put his clothes back on, she wished that he could stay, but she decided not to even make herself look stupid by asking.
“Okay, baby, be careful out there,” Vanessa said, kissing Fresh on his lips as she watched him walk out the door.
When he stepped foot out of Vanessa's building he was met by Rusty and Pooh Bear.
Pooh Bear was a nineteen-year-old fat kid who would do anything if the price was right. He had been working for Fresh for a year and a half; he and Rusty were the only two loyal enforcers Fresh had left; everybody else were just workers and runners.
“Pooh, what's popping?” Fresh asked, giving the young man dap.
“Out here chasing the dollar as usual,” Pooh replied.
“Yo, I'm going to need you to go to Queens and pick up that package Bamboo got waiting for me,” Fresh instructed.
“Say no more,” Pooh said as he walked to the corner to wave down a cab.
“Yo, I'm going to need you to do me a favor too,” Fresh said, looking at Rusty.
“I need you to go to 142
nd
and Broadway and see why Papi and the rest of them Spanish mu'fuckas are taking so long to come up with that paper. After you talk to them clowns hit me up and let me know what's good.”
“It's already done, my nigga,” Rusty responded as the two men went their separate ways.
Chapter Three
“Damn, I have to hurry up and find me a vic, Pop said to himself as he noticed the sun starting to go down. Once again, Pop was starving. He hadn't eaten anything all day, but to him this was a daily routine. It was the same struggles a different day.
As Pop sat on the bench thinking about his next move, he saw his dream girl walk past, looking sexy as usual. Her long brown hair hung down to her butt, with her bang barely touching her eyebrows, and to top it off her ass was so big it looked like two asses in one.
“That's my word, that girl is going to be my future wife,” Pop said to himself as he studied the Dominican girl as she walked through the projects to get to her building.
Pop's whole facial expression changed when he saw his dream girl stop and start talking to Fresh.
“Damn, that nigga got all the hoes,” Pop said, admiring the young street legend.
“What you doing getting in this late?” Fresh asked as he stopped Melissa in front of the building.
“Nothing, I stayed after school for some extra credit,” Melissa answered. “I'm surprised you're not upstairs with my sister,” she said, letting out a light chuckle.
“Nah, I'm about to head downtown in a minute, but tell Amanda I'm going to call her later on tonight.”
“Okay, I'll tell her. Be careful,” Melissa said as she headed into the building.
As soon as Pop was about to give up and go home, a miracle happened.
“Excuse me, do you know which building is 3758?” a middle-aged white man asked.
“Yeah, it's right there,” Pop said, pointing toward a building.
When the white guy looked to see which building the helpful young man was pointing to, Pop had already knocked him out with a sharp right hook to the temple.
He quickly searched through the white man's pockets, until he found the man's wallet.
“Good-looking fam,” Pop chuckled, stepping over the white man's unconscious body.
When Fresh saw what happened a big smile appeared across his face.
That li 'l nigga gives no fucks. He ruthless.
“Hey, yo, shorty!” Fresh yelled.
“What's poppin'?” Pop asked defensively.
“Nice work back there,” Fresh said as handed the young warrior $500 dollars.
“I'm looking for a good soldier like you. I been seeing you put in a lot of work around here lately,” he told Pop.
“I'm just trying to eat, man. I got to do me,” Pop said honestly.
“What's your name, shorty?”
“Pop,” he answered.
“Everybody calls me Fresh. How 'bout you come take a ride with me?” Fresh posed it as a question, but it was more like a demand as he stepped away from the building, knowing that Pop would follow.
“A'ight bet,” Pop replied.
With no hesitation he hopped in the passenger seat of the Range Rover.
Damn, this shits look like a fuckin airplane,
Pop thought as he looked at all the buttons and lights.
“I appreciate what you doing for me,” Pop said, thankful for the $500 dollars he just received.
“Don't worry about it, shorty, Fresh said as he made the engine come to life and stepped on the gas.
Pop's eyes lit up when he saw Fresh pull up into the IHOP parking lot.
“You hungry, little homie?” Fresh asked, already knowing the answer.
“A little bit,” Pop lied, trying to save face but deep down inside he was starving and literally would eat a horse.
The slim waitress escorted the two men to a booth in the back of the diner.
“How would you like to work for me?” Fresh asked, sipping on his water and getting straight to the chase.
“Work for you how? What would I have to do?” Pop questioned defensively.
“Listen, B. I know about your situation, and I'm just here to help,” Fresh told him.
“How you going to help?”
“I'm going to help by putting some money in your fuckin' pocket, Fresh answered quickly.
“Why me? I'm pretty sure you got hundreds of people to choose from, people who would love to prove something to you.”
“Because I see something in you that you don't even see in yourself,” Fresh responded.
“And what's that?” Pop asked curiously.
“That's my little secret,” Fresh laughed as the slim waitress brought them their food.
“So what does this job consist of?” Pop asked as he cut off a piece of his waffle and gobbled it up.
“I need you to be an enforcer for me,” Fresh said bluntly to see where Pop's head was at. He had seen Pop go for broke so he knew that he had the heart.
“You mean a goonie,” Pop corrected him.
“If that's what you want to call it. You won't be doing shit you haven't been doing already. You might have to beat a few people up, stab a few cats, hang 'em out the window—you know, regular shit,” Fresh said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Can you handle that?”
“Of course I can,” Pop answered, happy to finally be on the winning team.
“If I'm going to be a goon, believe I'm going to be the best goon that ever lived,” he said, accepting Fresh's proposition.
“This is the beginning to a great friendship,” Fresh said as the two men's glasses clinked together. “If you be loyal to me, I will always be loyal to you,” he said as he slowly sipped from his glass. “I love your heart.”
“I'm just doing what I gotta do, it's never personal,” Pop stated honestly.
“You ever heard of a guy named Bamboo?”
“I've heard the name but I don't know him, he could walk past me right now and I wouldn't even know that was him,” Pop answered.
“Well, real soon I'm going to be shutting that cocksucker down, but I know it's not going to be easy. That's why if you down you gon' have to be down for whatever, you dig?” Fresh said, trying to read Pop's facial expression.
“I can dig it,” Pop replied. “I take it you two don't get along.”
“Well, as of right now he's the connect.” Fresh began. “But he's a grimy-ass old nigga. Plus he not playing the game how it's supposed to be played, and we can't have that and since nobody else wants to take care of this problem, I figured why not step up to the plate,” Fresh said with a smile.
“Fuck it,” Pop said. “I don't see why not.”
“They say if you want shit done the right way, then you gotta do it yourself,” Fresh said nonchalantly.
Fresh sat back quietly and watched Pop attack his food. From the looks of things he could tell that the young man had not eaten anything all day, maybe even two. He had no remorse about putting Pop on his team. He was already a product of the hood. At least now he would be getting paid.
Before Pop went upstairs, he went to the Chinese restaurant to get his brothers and sister something to eat since he had a pocketful of money.
“Yo, bitch, hurry the fuck up with my order,” some ghetto chick with blond streaks in her nicely-done weave yelled at the Chinese lady behind the counter. Pop chuckled to himself. It was just another day in the life for him. He lived in a jungle where even the females were cold and callous, but now he looked at his environment in an entirely new perspective. Working for Fresh was about to change his life. He wouldn't be down for long.
“Yo, let me get three orders of chicken wings and pork-fried rice,” Pop ordered as he took a seat at the small table.
Pop couldn't believe the opportunity Fresh was giving him—not only did he get to beat people up, but he was now going to get paid for it. Things could not have been better for him.
“Yo ,bitch, you need to hurry up, I don't got all mu'fuckin day, I have to be going in a minute,” blond hair barked.
This bitch is wilding out
, Pop said to himself as he continued to watch the show the ghetto woman put on.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” blonde asked, walking up to the counter.
“Your order will be ready in one minute,” the Chinese lady said, trying to calm the ghetto woman down.
“Bitch, you said that shit twenty minutes ago—stop playing with me!” blonde hair said, ready to spaz out.
“Yo, ma, chill out before them Chinese mu'fuckas spit in your shit,” Pop said, trying to defuse the situation.
“Spit in who shit?” blond hair asked, snaking her neck. “Please, I'll slap everybody back there,” she said, pointing behind the counter.
“Here you go, ma'am” the Chinese lady said in a frail voice.
“It's about mu'fuckin'time, blond hair snarled as she snatched the bag out of the hands of the Chinese lady.
“I can't stand you mu'fuckas. Give me some more duck sauce too,” she barked.
“Be cool shorty, and don't hurt nobody, Pop said, looking at the nice sized-ass on the ghetto light-skinned girl.
“I'ma try not to,” she shot back with a smile as she walked out the Chinese restaurant.
“I might have to get up on that,” Pop said, imagining him and Blondie going at it in a hotel room as he watched her walk off, switching her ass from side to side.
“Sir, your order is ready,” the Chinese lady said, snapping him out of his daydream.
When Pop got home his brothers and sister were happy that he brought them something to eat.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” Teresa said, walking in the living room. “Where the fuck did you get money from?”
“Don't worry about it, just eat,” Pop said sourly as he plopped down on the couch.
“Boy, when I ask you a straight question, you better give me a straight mu'fuckin'answer, Teresa shot back, standing in front of the TV, intentionally trying to make him mad.
“I found twenty dollars outside lying on the ground, so I picked it up and brought us some Chinese food,” he said in an uninterested tone.
“You don't got no change?” Teresa asked, rolling her eyes.
“No, I don't got no change, and why does the whole house smell like shit?” Pop asked.
“Because the garbage is right there waiting for you to take it to the incinerator.”
Instead of arguing, Pop emptied the garbage, went to his room, and went to sleep. Sleep was one way he always escaped from the shit hole he was living in. He would always have the same dream every night: He would always dream he was out of his mother's house, only to wake up to be disappointed and to face another fucked-up day.
 
 
The next morning Pop woke up to the sound of somebody beating up his mother. He quickly got up to investigate, but when he reached his mother's room her door was locked.
“Oh, well,” he said coldheartedly as he got dressed and headed outside. He knew better than to get involved in his mother's drama. The last time he got involved, he ended up with a black eye and a swollen lip, all because Teresa stole some goods from one of her customers. This time Teresa would just have to hold it down by herself.
Pop ignored all the screams and cries for help as he exited the apartment without a care in the world.
When Pop made it outside, he saw Rusty waving him over.
“Youngin', you on the payroll now, yeah?” Rusty asked, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth.
“Yeah, Fresh put me on last night, he told me to report to you,” Pop answered.
“A'ight, good, 'cause we got a little situation that needs to be taken care of. Looks like you going to be getting your feet wet quicker than expected,” Rusty said trying to read Pop's facial expression.
“Some new niggas call themselves opening up on one of Fresh's corners. I'm going to need you and Pooh Bear to go over there and baseball bat them niggas down. Is that cool?”
“No, that won't be a problem,” Pop answered. He and Pooh Bear went and hopped in a Ford Explorer with tinted windows.
“Some fools just don't learn,” Pooh said nonchalantly. “I mean, I know these niggas knew they was opening up on someone else block.”
Pop just sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. He was in some deep shit and he knew it. This wasn't like robbing a Chinese delivery lady, this was a whole new ballgame, and he was dead in the middle of it.
“This a crazy way to make a living,” Pop said, feeling the butterflies forming inside his stomach, but what other choices did he have? It was either do this or petty robberies. Instead of talking, he just sat back, visualizing how he was going to spend his money. First thing he planned on doing was getting up out of his mom's house. Once he accomplished that he planned on buying himself a car and saving the rest. But little did he know in this game things are much easier said than done.

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