Money & Love Don't Mix (7 page)

Chapter 7

The next day Trouble’s mom was in her room folding clothes that she had just taken out of the dryer when her phone began to ring. As soon as she answered she heard a voice say,

              “I’m Detective Sims. I’m calling to inform you that your son, Daunté Jones, has been in a bad car accident, and right now he’s in a coma at Grady’s ICU.”

              “What!!” she screamed, “I’m on my way!” she hollered before hanging up and grabbing her keys and purse and running out to her car.

              Twenty minutes late she arrived at the hospital, parked and hurried inside where she approached the receptionist hysterically saying,

              “I’m here to see my son, Daunté Jones. I just got a call from Detective Sims saying he been in a bad car wreck, and he’s in ICU, please tell me what room he in!”

              The receptionist looked his name up on the computer, then gave her his room number. The moment she stepped off the elevator and began walking in the direction of his room she saw two police officers standing outside of a room, side by side, but as she came closer she realized that two officers were in front of her son’s room. She noticed the patch on their shoulder had Clayton County Police on it. Once she reached to open the door and go inside, the officer that stood to the right stuck his hand out to stop her saying

“Umm-Ma’am May I help you?”

She replied with anger, “Yes you can! I believe one of y’all just called me saying my son been in a bad car wreck, and I told you I’m on my way here. Now excuse me I really do need to see my son, he needs me.”

“Uhh-Ma’am Detective Sims contacted you; I believe he needs to have a word with you.” The officer replied as he took out his phone and began calling the detective. She stood there clueless waiting for him to arrive wondering what was it that he could possibly need to speak with her about. The moment he arrived he came up to here and said

“Hello ma’am, I’m Detective Sims, I spoke with you earlier. What’s your name?”

She snapped, “Look get to the point, what do you need to talk to me about?” 

“Well Ma’am, it’s your son.”

“What about him?” She question as she started getting an eerie feeling he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

“He’s in a coma ma’am, due to him and his three friends taking my officers on a high-speed chase, which took place early yesterday morning it t—”

“Are you talking about the chase that started off in Lexington Square?” She immediately cut him off to ask about.

“Yes ma’am…and I contacted you hoping I can get any information that you may have about the three guys he had with him and their whereabouts. We have—”

Before Detective Sims had a chance to finish he could tell something was up with her, and it was, she went into deep thought saying to herself,
Damn I can’t believe dis shit! That was my son in that car I called the police on…Naw dis shit can’t be happening to me again.

At first she thought it was a dream but the second he tapped her she came back to reality as he asked her, “Ma’am do you know the three individuals he had with him, so I can put warrants out for their arrest.” That minute she begin to hold her chest as if she was losing her breath and couldn’t breathe. He then hollered, “Help!!” and the doctors rushed over to where they stood, sat her down in a wheelchair, and ran her into a room to find out what’s wrong with her.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              Two weeks later Maniac, Smoke, and Dre sat in Maniacs living room smoking mid and drinking Four Loko’s, getting ready to watch the San Antonio Spurs play the Miami Heat in game seven of the NBA finals. Maniac was hyped, so hyped he yelled,

              “I’ll bet whateva y’all muhfuckas wanna bet, dat King James be da’ MVP when dey win dis shit!”

              Dre had a smirk on his face thinking,
Who da’ fuck gone bet dis clown knowing he ain’t got shit.

             
Smoke blurted, “Shit what yo wanna bet dawg? I like my boy Tony Parker and Dat Nigga Tim Duncan. Dey too much fo’ Miami Dawg!”

              Before Maniac could reply he heard a knock on the door, instantly he grabbed his F&N, Smoke pulled his glock .40 out of his waist, and Dre snatched his desert eagle off the living room table, and began creeping to the front door. Maniac looked through the peephole, then told Smoke and Dre telling them, “Oh! Dis da’ delivery man.” Once he saw the red Papa Johns’ hat he had on. As soon as he opened the door a flyer fell on the floor. He picked it up and handed it to Dre while he paid for their order.

              Once he paid the delivery man and closed the door, he could tell Smoke and Dre’s attention was on the flyer they were reading that someone had left on his door. On his way to the kitchen with the Pizza’s Dre hollered excitedly.

              “Yo it’s goin' down dis weekend, da’ rental office throwin a party to end da’ summer. What y’all boys wanna do?”

              “Shit!! Da’ last da pool gone be open till next summer, boy it’s going down! I betcha all da bad bitches dat stay out here gone be out there too.” Smoke mentioned.

              “Calm y’all ass down!! And let me see dat shit!” Maniac hollered with anger in his voice as he snatched the flyer out of Smoke’s hand before looking through the blinds to see if any other residence had flyers on their door as well.

              “Damn! Fuck you gotta attitude fo’ nigga!?” Smoke asked, feeling tension in Maniac’s voice as he looked out the window.

              “Naw, I ain’t got no attitude cuzzo! But I try to stay on point bruh…shit fo’ all we know dis shit coulda been a set-up by dem cartel muhfuckas.” Maniac expressed as he started reading the flyer that said,

‘Come one, come all to the biggest and baddest pool party of the summer. And celebrate with us as we end the summer in style with Music, Food, Drinks and sign-up to play in our Spade Tournament where the winning team wins $500 in cash. Hope to see you there…’

~Lexington Square Property Management

              After reading Maniac looked up at Smoke and Dre saying, “Hell yeah, cuzzo! We definitely got –” and out the blue ‘Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems’ Maniac ringtone started playing, stopping him from finishing what he was about to say. He then said

              “Dis some money, turn da TV down!” by it being a number he couldn’t identify, then answered saying “Aye, what’s good?” on the other end he heard a voice recording “You have a collect call from ‘Sean Bradley’ an inmate at Clayton County Jail, to accept this call press one, to reject this call press—”

              He immediately pressed one, telling Dre and Smoke “Dis dat boy, Slick” as they were connected.

              “Yo! Wat da’ hell y’all boys got going on out there!? Y’all niggaz can’t do shit right! And I was countin’ on y’all boys to come through fo’ me, yelled, and why da’ fuck y’all leave Trou—”

              “Aye, Aye, Aye!! You talkin' reckless Cuzzo!! Maniac butted in and said.

              “OH! My bad, playboy! My bad!...I’m just in a rush to get da’ fuck outta jail so I can get back to da’ money, and get me a lawyer dat can beat dis shit.” Slick hysterically voiced.

              “Lemme holla at em’ fo’ a minute home.” Said Dre taking a sip of his Four Loko before grabbing the phone from Maniac.

              “What’s up wit ya’ in there big homie?” he inquired.

              “Shit you know ain’t nuthin going on in dis muhfucka, but we been on Lockdown fo’ a week cause two niggaz got to fightin’ on da’ rec yard…only reason dey let us off, was to catch da’ last game of da’ finals. Dat’s why I ain’t been callin' y’all, playboy.”

              “Damn I ain’t know dat…Hold it down it dat muhfucka tho homie, we tryna put out heads together and see wat we can
c
ome up wit fo’ ya’ what dey talkin' bout on ya’ case tho?”

              “Come on you know I’mma hold it down playboy, and I know y’all gone pull through fo’ me, what’s understood ain’t gotta be explained…But I just got indicted on dis shit da’ other day, so it ain’t lookin’ too good.”

              “Damn dat shit was quick homie.:

              “Hell yeah…dat’s why I gotta hurry up and make bond. Y’all boys come on and come through fo’ me ASAP.” Slick emphasized right before the automated recording cut in and said “You have two minutes remaining on this call.”

              And then Dre quickly uttered “Big homie I told you we got you, stop stressin’ befo’ you run ya’ blood pressure up!! Told you we got some in da’ making just chill.”

              “A’ight that’s what’s—”

              “Sorry this call was terminated, because it reached its length.” Said the automated recording. Once the call was terminated Slick through to himself;

              “Somethin’ gotta give I can’t go from bein’ on top living like a king, to bein’ in a cell…hell naw! I gotta come up wit a plan.”

              On the other end as soon as Dre ended the call Smoke asked

              “Yo, what Slick talking bout dawg, he still stressin’ like a muhfucka?”

              “You know he is bruh…But I didn’t feel right tellin’ em’ we can’t do nuthin’ fo’ em’ cause we too hot, so I just told em’ we got some in da’ making. Shit dat’s da’ only thang I could say, cause if I tell em’ da’ truth he ain’t gone feel dat shit. He ain’t feeling nuthin but hearing his name called once we made bail fo’ em’, dat’s on da’ real…I know em’ like a book.”

              Maniac put the TV on mute and looked at Dre and Smoke with a facial expression that said it’s clutch time, do or die, put up or shut-up, so what I’m bout to say to y’all I’m dead serious about. And then he asked “How y’all boys feel bout hittin’ another lick!?” before they could turn him down he told em, “Desperate times call fo’ desperate measures, and right now all our backs are against da’ wall worse than they were before we made dat move wit Trouble…we ain’t gaining shit sittin' in da’ crib twenty-four seven like we on house arrest or hiding from a nigga, but we can gain a lot if we get up, get out, and try to get sumthin. Y’all might not feel me, but I’m tired of sitting in da’ crib we da’ real takers! Just like da’ movie if a muhfucka got it and we want it, we coming to get it straight like dat, y’all know da’ motto!!”

              The minute he was done getting his point across Smoke chuckled with a smirk on his face uttering “Aye dis on da’ real, I feel where you coming from dawg…but I think it's too soon to get back out there, what you thank Dre?”

              “Bruh I feel da’ same way Maniac feel. It’s now or neva my nigga, do or die cause tomorrow ain’t promised. We hot as a firecracker right now! So what do you have on ya’ mind dis time Maniac?” Dre eagerly questioned.

              “Ill let you know when time presents itself, too many ears in here fo’ me to say anything now!”

              That second Smoke glanced over at Maniac and chuckled, from peeping the bullshit reverse-psychology he tried to use on him but didn’t let it get to him. He knew for a fact that he was real and knew Maniac did too so he let the statement he made go in one ear, and out the other.

Chapter 8

The night that Ms. Jones body began to shake, and she kept pounding her chest the doctors decided to keep her in the hospital until they found out what exactly was going on with her. Once they ran a few test they came to the conclusion that she suffered from a panic attack. Days later, she stood in her hospital room window on the fourteenth floor looking down at the city when Dr. Jacob came in and told her;

              “Okay Ms. Jones we ran several test, your blood is good, your insulin level is straight, your heart is in good health, your liver, kidneys and pancreas are okay. You were suffering from a panic attack, anxiety, in other words…You are aware of what this is, and how it’s caused aren’t you?”

              “Yeah, different reasons.” She replied taking a deep breath. “The one that I came from stressing about my son who’s in a coma in ICU he’s all that I have Doc,” she said sadly.

              “Oh! Okay, I’m sorry to hear that Ms. Jones…Other than that you’re free to go ma’am.”

              “Okay, thanks!”

              She then got herself together, grabbed all of her belongings and hurried to the elevator to make her way down to her son's room. But the second she stepped off the elevator she spotted two totally different officers guarding his door. When she made it to them she said

              “Excuse me officer, but I’m the guy in the room Daunté Jones’ mom. I need to see if he’s okay?”

              “I’m afraid that won’t be possible at the moment ma’am, the officer guarding the door standing the closest to her stated.

              “Why not!” She furiously asked then told him “Let me speak to one of the doctors!” With a attitude trying to keep her cool.

              “Okay ma’am, no problem” he politely responded before doing so. Five minutes later when the doctor approached her she sadly looked him in the eyes and stated.

              “Is it okay for me to see my son in the room sir, he’s in a coma and he needs me!” with sympathy hoping he’ll allow her the opportunity.

              “Uhh-ma’am ‘m sorry but the condition he’s in at the moment is extremely critical…He hit his head extremely hard!”

              “I just need to see him for a brief moment, I’ll make it fast…pleaseee?” she begged.

              “I’m sorry ma’am but I’m gonna have to say no.” he replied before walking away.

              Thirty minutes later when she made it home, she ran some bath water, went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of pink Moscato out the refrigerator, and poured a glass before going back upstairs to get in the tub. On her way up she glanced at a picture that her and her son took together before he
went
to prison, and bought it up with her.

              Minutes later, she was in the tub sipping her Moscato reminiscing on all the good times her and her son shared while soaking. Suddenly the house phone rung, she hurried and stepped out, wrapped a towel around her and ran to the phone praying itwas her son that’s calling.

              As soon as she made it to her room and picked up she heard a male voice with a Jamaican voice.

              “Hello! I’m Mr. Johnson callin’ from Kroger, can I speak tu Mr. Daunté Jones?”

              Ms. Jones had a good feeling he was calling to tell him to come in for a interview or he got the job but didn't know how to respond since she didn’t have a clue as to when he’d wake up from the coma so she told him.

              “Uh-he’s not in at the moment. May I have him call you when he make it home?”

              “Yes tell him to call or come by, and ask to speak to me Mr. Johnson. We need him to start as soon as possible. Let him know we have two positions available for him to choose from, one is ova’night stock we start off at twelve and hour, and da’ otha is  in our meat department makin fourteen.”

              “Alright I’ll relay the message, and make sure he calls you as soon as he gets home.” She replied then they both hang up, as she took a seat at the edge of her bed shedding tears.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              Two days later was the last day the pool was gonna be open for the summer so it was packed with females of all races. White black, black and Latinos, Dominicans, and a few Ethiopian chicks. A couple folks had their grills heating up, numerous bottles of different alcohol were on display, for and who choose to have a drink whenever he or she pleased. And the whole hood knew where to find da’ good popcorn mid, from Smoke, Maniac, and Dre. Hell that wasn’t a secret…

              The three of them were at a table playing spades in the tournament. Smoke and Dre were partners, while Maniac played with a half Black and Latino chick named Yenni. Maniac and Yenni was one hand away from winning the game, until Juvenile ‘Back That Ass Up’ came blasting through the sound system that they had set-up, Yenni hollered.

              “Oh! Dat’s my shit!”

              As she jumped out her seat and started shaking her ass. Maniac, Smoke and Dre sat their hands down and gave Yenni their undivided attention. Her three friends who were in the pool playing volleyball saw her and started making their way towards her. One of them snapped hollering. 

              “Girl erry’time yo’ ass get to drinking, you start showin' out fo’ niggaz. Sit yo’ ass down somewhere!”

              She paid her friend no attention and continued to dance as Maniac got behind her, and she backed her ass up on him. He downed the shot of Ciro
c
he was holding and whispered in her ear.

              “What’s up wit you baby girl?”

              “Ummmm…ready to go so we can get to know each other a lil’ betta,” she whispered while lookin' back at him seductively.

              “Well dat’s what’s up. I’m feelin’ dat.” He responded wit his heart beating fast and butterflies in his stomach.

              “Well let’s grab us a few mo’ drinks and head ova’ to my crib, where I can finish backing my azz up on you at,” she suggested.

              “A’ight gimme a minute so I can holla at my homies and let em’ know what time it is!” he whispered in her ear steady grinding and gripping on her ass.

              “Okay bae!”

              He turned around and walked back over to Smoke and Dre who were gettin’ to know the other two ladies.

              “Aye lemme holla at y’all boys fo’ a minute cuz!” He hollered over the loud music that was playing. Once they came over to him he told them.

              “Aye, I’mma get up wit y’all boys a lil’ later, I’m boutta go see wat shawty talkin’ bout right quick!”

              “Nigga you lucky!” Dre uttered, “She da’ finest one outta all of em’, and I know she can suck a mean one wit dem big ass lips she got.”

              “I’m damn sho’ bout to find out. I’mma holla at y’all!” They all gave Maniac some dap, and he went in the other direction. He then turned around and yelled “Where y’all boys gone be at later on?” Smoke replied cutting his eyes over at the two chicks to let him know hopefully doing the same thing he was about to go do. “Prolly on da’ block. I hear all these niggaz keep talkin’ bout goin’ to da’ block to shoot so dat might be da’ move.”

              Twenty minutes later Maniac and Yenni were on their eighth shot of Patron and she was on her knees in front of him giving him head so good he was ready to get straight to it. He reached to pull down her bikini with his eyes closed enjoying every minute of pleasure she was serving him with, but once she grabbed his hand to stop him, he opened his eyes and to his surprise was a desert eagle with and infrared beam standing directly in front of him.

              “Don’t move, Punta.” The Hispanic who stood before him ordered as he reached over, grabbed him by his neck and yanked him to the floor, and slapped him with the handle of the desert eagle.

              “Please don’t kill me, migo!” he mumbled from the floor as he held his busted lip.

              “Oh so it’s please don’t kill me now, huh, amigo? When you was robbing my brother it was all good. We’re the cartel, we-don’t-play-no-games-Punta!” The Hispanic reared back and slapped him again with the desert eagle, while Yenni kept close aim on him with her carbon-15.

              “I don’t know what you talkin' bout, you got me confused,” Maniac nervously pleaded for his life.

              “So, you don’t know what I’m talking bout motherfucker?” He said standing over Maniac with his pistol pointed in his face, as he looked scared for his life. “You shot my brother and tried to kill em’ ese, so now, I’m gonna make you feel his pain holmes.”

              He glanced over at Yenni, who stood there holding a carbon-15 ready for whatever, while Maniac began to panic and shout for help. She retrieved a roll of duct tape off her dresser and started taping his hands, at first he tried to resist her attempt to tie him up, but the moment the infrared beam from the desert eagle landed right in the middle of his forehead slightly blinding him he stopped, and she continued taping his ankles, and then his forehead covering his eyes.

              “You robbed the wrong one this time ese!” he told him before kicking him in the face causing his nose to bleed. She then went to her closet, grabbed the iron, then went to the bathroom, and plugged it in to heat up while she ran some bath water. Ten minutes later when the water reached a high level, he dragged Maniac by his neck to the bathroom, lifted him up and dropped him into the water, took a step back while Yenni dropped the hot iron in the tub, killing Maniac on the spot.

              “Good job!” he looked down and told her, and just before she got started giving him head, she looked up, winked her eye with a smirk saying.

              “Anything for you, Papi!”

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

              A guy from the block they call Big-Easy was fading another cat named Boogie Down on a thousand dollar bet. While Smoke, Dre, and a few more cats waited for their turn to shoot. Boogie Down shot the dice and they landed on six and four.

              “Oh! Ten my favorite point. Bet fifty mo’ nigga!” Boogie Down commanded.

              “Nigga we gotta thousand dollar pot, and you only wanna bet fifty mo’!? Bet a hunnard nigga, and a hunnard mo’ erry’shot…Or dat’s too much fo’ you?” Big-Easy arrogantly demanded as Smoke, Dre and everyone else observed them, paying close attention.

              “Awe nigga Umma show yo’ ass bout tryna show out, da’ hunnard mo’ a bet. You ain’t said nuthin’,” Boogie Down replied. “Dis boutta be da’ quickest ten y’all eva’ seen!” Boogie Down blurted out before shaking the dice, and throwing them against the curve. Everyone on the side watching had their eyes glued to the dice, as one Dice stopped on five and the other four. “Damn!!’ Boogie Down said to himself as him and Big-Easy both dropped a hundred more before he shot again.

              “Thought ten was yo’ favorite point, nigga bet a hunnard mo’!” Big Easy told him, dropping his money on the ground.

              “I tell you what, whoever don’t like my point put down! Umma get all y’all money!” Bogie down demanded.

              “I got a hunnard right here!” Smoke shouted out as he dropped two fifty dollar bills on the ground. Boogie Down saw him put down, and tossed a big face over by him saying.

              “It’s a bet! But you shoulda rode wit me Smoke, I hate to win yo’ money my nigga!”

              Then he shook the dice and threw them again, this time he hit, with a six and four. A lot of noise and commotion was going on from the few that stood around spectating, but none of them paid attention to the smoke grey Astro van that crept along, sliding the door open until two Hispanic guys jumped out, followed by another who aimed a AR-15 on everyone while the other two snatched Dre and Smoke into the van, and left the hood so fast nobody had a chance to help.

              Truth was the whole hood had ties with the Hispanics in some way or another, from the small time corner hustlas to the big timers who sold weight, plus they were all aware of the notorious reputation that they had for killing anybody who got in the way of their cash flow. Sometimes they’d go in the crib and not even lock the door behind them, and could even sleep with one eye open cause anybody who had enough nerve to try them had to be out of their mind or suicidal. Either way they were itching to handle the situation the best way they knew how.

              “So…You refuse to answer Punta!?” He blurted as he lost his temper and struck Smoke in the face with the barrel of the AR-15, leaving a gash above his left eye. Ten minutes later they arrived at one of the Hispanics many duck off spots, on the northside of Atlanta. That side of town was better known as Lil’ Mexico. It earned that title by the large amount of Hispanics that resided in the area. Smoke and Dre walked without saying a word as the four Hispanics escorted them inside and down to the basement; they kept calm and remained quiet on their way down. When they made it down and flicked on the lights, one guy pushed Dre with all his might and he fell on the floor, as the other knocked Smoke in the back with the AR-15 causing him to go down instantly. Holding the back of his head. Smoke and Dre began to panic the moment they saw the same guy who pushed Dre on the floor, start sharpening a machete while their arms and legs were being hogg tied. Once they were done getting hogg tied, the guy holding the AR-15 came over to them, bent down, chuckling as he said.