Love and a Gangsta (12 page)

“Soul, what you wanted to holla at me about?” he asked after a while.

Omega leaned against his ride and checked the time on his cell-phone.

“You becoming larger than life,” I said. “When was the last time you tried to holla at Rahmel?”

“Man, I’ve been hearing he changed and shit, tryin’ to become righteous and shit. I ain’t got time for that, Soul. Why you asking?”

“He misses you. You need to go check him or write him a letter, show that nigga some love.”

“Man, I ain’t tryin’ to drive no seven hours upstate to some cracker town and walk up in no prison. You must be crazy. And then hear this nigga talk some bullshit to me, like he my daddy,” Omega spat.

“Y’all brothers,” I said.

“So? This nigga gets locked up and wanna start reading books and become righteous and shit, like he was never out here makin’ money and murdering niggas. He the one that put me onto this shit, he made us, Soul and now I’m just takin’ it to a whole new level.”

“Yeah, but look where it got him.”

“Man, I ain’t my brother, Soul. What that nigga got in your head while you were up there? Huh? Fuckin’ righteous muthafucka, if Rahmel came home right now, all that righteous shit would go out the muthafuckin’ door. He’d be out here grindin and doin’ what he do. Niggas get like that only cause they locked up, and them crackers be gettin’ in their muthafuckin’ heads. You see me, do or die nigga. I’m ‘bout this money and I wanna know if you feel the same, Soul? You gonna preach to me like you my fuckin’ brother and be on some broke shit? If so, then fuck you and fuck my brother!”

“You a cold nigga, Omega,” I said, grilling him.

“It’s a cold muthafuckin’ world, my nigga, and sometimes the only
way to heat it up, is wit’ this,” he said, pulling up his shirt and revealing to me a black 9mm
.

I had no words. He took another pull from the haze and looked around. And then he changed the subject by bringing up Alexis.

“Anyway, I saw you talkin’ to Alexis, what’s good wit that? You tryin’ to fuck her tonight?” he asked.

“Nah, you know I’m married now… I done told you already.”

“Nigga, pussy is pussy and Alexis is lookin’ nice, nigga. You better stretch that pussy out. I know mad niggas that be tryin’ to get at that, and she lovin’ your ass nigga. Do you, nigga. America won’t find out. I ain’t gonna say shit.”

“Yeah whatever. I ain’t tryin’ to let that be me anymore, sleeping around and shit.”

“Nigga whatever, I give your ass a week, and y’all two gonna be fuckin’ like crazy again.”

A black Maxima suddenly caught Omega’s attention as it slowly crept down the street.

“You know them niggas?” I asked concerned.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m strapped. I caught some beef wit’ this nigga named Tiny.”

“Tiny? You mean Tiny Smalls, Demetrius cousin?” I asked.

“Yeah, him. Nigga thinkin’ cause he got some weight around his way, he could just move on a nigga. I had to let the dogs loose on his boys. Make the nigga think twice about fuckin’ wit’ me.”

“Watch your back. You know Demetrius and his peoples ain’t no joke. Them Jamaicans ain’t nothing nice to play wit.”

“Soul, this is me, I don’t run from nobody. I don’t give fuck about Demetrius, that nigga could suck my dick, too,” he exclaimed.

I had enough of Omega for one night, he was my boy, but that nigga had some issues. I went back into the bar to say goodnight to my peoples. It was getting late and I wanted to get home at a decent time.

It was around two when I staggered into the apartment. I went straight into the bedroom, plopping down in bed next to my sleeping wife. So tipsy, I didn’t even bother to undress.

I was trying to get some sleep when I felt America getting out of bed and started untying my Timberlands. She gently pulled my boots off and sat them on the floor. Then she undressed me, and threw a blanket over me. Making sure I was comfortable, America whispered in my ear then she kissed me.

“I love you, boo.”

Without even mentioning the time or the smell of liquor, she laid down. Guilt grew inside me like a muthafucka. I had left her at home alone without explaining shit to her about where I was going. And she still stood by her man. I became sleepless as my mind started racing.

Wanted to fade in the worst
way fallen by gunplay.
Outlaw since first grade.
Prison was his first date.
Blinded by a mother’s hate…

 

 

 

The meeting with the Mexicans was in Hempstead, Long Island. We drove out there in a black Escalade with a small arsenal under our seats. Greasy was behind the wheel and Biscuit riding shotgun, I sat in the back, thinking, I didn’t trust anyone. If it was bad, Biscuit was my insurance policy. I listened to the conversation going on in the front.

“Fo’ real this stuff is the new crack, Greasy?” Biscuit asked.

“Son, it’s a new day wit’ this stuff, fiends be goin’ crazy over that meth. Yo, I was in Texas one time, and you should a seen how hard they be goin’ for a hit. Yo they would murder their own mama for this shit. Only thing, we gotta learn how to manufacture it right,” Greasy informed.

“Fuck you man, Greasy?” Biscuit asked.

“This ain’t mixing baking soda in water. You need muthafuckin’ chemicals for this shit to come out right, and if you fuck it up, that shit will blow up in your fuckin’ face.”

“Fo’ real nigga, you got us putting together some fuckin bomb,” Biscuit exclaimed.

“That’s how it is. But it’s cheap to produce. And that gwap, yeah is definitely right,” Greasy said.

“I’m riding wit’ you on this, Greasy,” I chimed. “But these Mexicans better not rub me the wrong way.”

“They cool. You gotta believe Greasy on that,” he assured. “They’re about that gwap and handling their BI.”

I didn’t say anything else. I continued to ride quietly to the meeting spot. The morning meeting took place in a park next to Hempstead Turnpike. We parked in a sizable parking lot.

The Mexicans were waiting in a burgundy Lincoln Navigator nothing flashy about the truck. They were on time, and I liked that. Four men stepped out after we parked. They looked rugged, wearing wife-beaters, were heavily tattooed, and looking like they just stepped out of East L.A. I concealed the 9mm in my waistband.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

We walked casually over to where they were parked. Our eyes
stayed fixed on the four Mexicans. It was eight in the morning and the lot was practically empty. I looked around making sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What’s good, Falco?” Greasy greeted, breaking a tense silence between our groups.

“Greasy, Greasy, it’s always good to see you. Hope you came with some good news for us,” he returned, shaking Greasy’s hand.

“We came to hear you out,” I chimed, addressing the man Greasy called Falco.

Falco looked at me and said, “You must be Omega.”

I nodded.

“Come, let me and you, we go for a walk and talk, okay?” he said, already walking ahead.

I looked at Greasy and Biscuit and nodded. They stayed their grounds with Falco’s men.

We started to cross a baseball field where the few people up early were jogging, exercising and walking their dogs. Falco remained quiet as he continued casually across the baseball field.

“I like baseball. It’s a relaxing sport,” he said

He had a slight Mexican accent, but his English was perfect. I understood every word he uttered.

“It’s not rushed, like most other sports. Baseball is played with finesse and patience—America’s favorite pastime,” he said.

Falco was about my height, five-ten, slim with a bald head, a thick goatee, and looked to be in his early thirties. He was clad in a wife-beater, sweats, and white Nikes, and both his arms were swathed with tattoos from his wrists up to his shoulders and across his back. He sported no jewelry except for a diamond pinky ring on his right finger. He had a calm demeanor. Looking in his eyes I could tell he was ruthless.

“You know one of the reasons why I like baseball so much, Mr. Omega?” he questioned. He then answered his own question, “Because all the players get their turn at bat. You get to see all the players and watch everyone carefully. Each player holds his position with ease, either on base or the outfield; everybody got time to watch everybody. Every player watches
and follows that white ball… Without it, there’s no game.”

“Yo man, we came out here to talk about baseball, or do business?” I spat agitated by his preaching.

“I like patience, Mr. Omega. The man who is in a constant rush, always fuck up. Sometimes you need to sit back, take time out to watch everyone and everything. When the ball comes, then you take action,” he said. “You can learn a lot by just watching one game of baseball.”

We walked and he continued talking.

“Mr. Omega, I’ve heard many things about you.”

“I handle mines,” I quickly replied.

“Are you familiar with methamphetamine? Or it’s cousin, crystal meth?”

“Slightly.”

“It’s a growing drug, and popular in almost every state in the West and Midwest. I come to you, because I need my business to expand in New York. I need a man who can handle my work.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve done my research.”

“You checking me?” I asked annoyed.

“Nothing personal, but I like to know a few things about a man and his family before I do business with them,” he said to me, fixing his eyes on me. “You have a fierce and respectable reputation. I like that. And Greasy speaks highly of you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, but how did you meet Greasy?”

“He was locked up with my amigo a few years back. This amigo of mine is a good judge of character. He’s the reason I come to you with business. I understand that you’re already a rich man, but I can make you a man of power and highly respected in unreachable places. You can be the first to really get this new product to customers. New York will have its first taste and have the fiends keep on licking your fingers for more.”

“And what do I gotta give up?” I asked, knowing there was always some exchange.

“You do business with me only,” he said with a commanding tone.

His cell phone suddenly started to ring. He picked up, checked the
call I.D and said to me, “Excuse me, I have to take this call.” He spoke in Spanish for a few seconds and hung up.

“Now back to business. You purchase a pound from me for fifteen thousand, wholesale price, and we start off with four pounds, nothing less. Or if you like, one hundred and fifty thousand for a ten pound batch, that can earn you retail price as much as fifteen million.”

“Damn!”

“I’ve thrown the pitch. Are you ready to step up to the plate?”

His offer was tempting—hard for me to turn down. This was a new drug, and I wasn’t going to jump in headfirst and be assed out.

“I’m gonna start off with the four, and if this shit works out, I’ll definitely be back for the re-up,” I finally said.

“Done deal, Mr. Omega.”

“Another thing, how do you manufacture this shit, I’m used to crack. My peoples don’t know nothing about this meth like that.”

“I understand. I will link you up with mi hombre who will get you set.”

Just like that, I found me a new connect. We shook on it, and I promised to have his sixty grand within the week. We then slowly made our way back to the parking lot.

“Everything good, Mega?” Greasy asked.

I nodded. Greasy smiled. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Falco climbed back into the Lincoln Navigator followed by his men. After they drove off, Biscuit asked, “You trust these Mexicans muthafuckas?”

“Keep an eye out for me, Biscuit. You’re my main guy for this shit on the street,” I said.

“What about me? You gonna leave me out to dry?” Greasy asked.

“No, I want you in charge of the fuckin’ labs that we’re about to set up. Since you seem to know so much about the stuff. I want you and only you to deal with Rodriquez. That’s who’s gonna set it up for us. You hearing me, Greasy?”

“I got you.”

“If this shit pops off, we’re in for a really lovely year.”

“What about Tiny? You know he’s a greedy fuck, and if we’re gettin’ stupid rich, he’s gonna make a move on us soon, especially after what we did to Smoke and his crew,” Biscuit said.

“I know. I’m ready for that fuck,” I stated.

“Let me handle the nigga,” Biscuit suggested. “I can make it where that nigga won’t ever see the light of day again.”

“You a soldier Biscuit, but if we take out Tiny now, then we’re gonna have a problem with Demetrius.”

“He could get shot down too,” Biscuit said.

It was complicated. Demetrius was a well-known drug supplier throughout the hood. He was South Jamaica, Queens’ connect for coke. I didn’t want to burn any bridges until I could walk on water or part the sea my damn self. I had a plan, and if this crystal meth popped off right, then I could say fuck Demetrius and Tiny.