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Authors: Boston George

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BOOK: Knee Deep in the Game
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“Yo, I heard Tito is supposed to be coming home soon,” Pooh stated as the two men hopped in the car to go handle Fresh's business.
“Who the fuck is Tito?” Pop asked, not really caring, but just being nosy.
“He was Fresh's second best soldier until he got locked up. That nigga is a straight-up fool, he's loud, rowdy, rude, and dangerous,” Pooh said, trying to keep his eyes on the road and talk at the same time. “This Spanish cat is a straight-up loose cannon.”
“Sounds like fun,” Pop joked.
“It won't be no joking when that nigga touch down,” Pooh claimed seriously.
“So who is this Pete guy?” Pop asked, changing the subject.
“Some clown that's always trying to be slick, always paying late, always got an excuse for why he ain't got the money,” Pooh said pulling up on Pete's block.
Both men cocked back their pistols before they hopped out the car.
“I think this the apartment right here,” Pooh said as he knocked on the door.
“Hey, what's up Pooh?” Pete said, extending his hand to give Pooh a pound.
“It's payday, my nigga,” Pooh said, brushing past Pete, leaving him hanging.
“Give me a few days and I'll have it. This stupid-ass bitch fucked up a package but she working it off now,” he told the two gunmen who stood in his living room.
“Mu'fucka, you already a week late,” Pooh reminded him.
“I know, shit been mad slow around here lately,” Pete said nervously as he lit a cigarette. “Give me two days tops and I'll have everything that's my—”
“Fuck all that, you got the money or not?” Pop growled, revealing his 9 mm.
“Chill, I told you I'm going to get it,” Pete said, raising his brow. “Yo, Pooh, who is this new nigga?”
“This my man right here, that's all you need to know, Pooh told him. “You need to be worrying about getting that money.”
“Tell this young wet-behind-the-ear mu'fucka that I'm good until next week,” Pete boasted.
“Wet behind the ears?” Pop said, aiming his 9 mm at Pete's kneecap.
Pow!
The bullet ripped through Pete's knee.
“Aw, shit!” Pete screamed out in pain as he clutched his kneecap, watching the blood gush out.
“Last time I'm going to ask you,” Pop said, placing the hot barrel to Pete's temple.
“Okay, okay, it's under the sink in the bathroom,” Pete screamed out, still in pain, clutching his knee.
When Pop checked under the sink he found twenty stacks in a grocery bag.
“Grimy-ass nigga,” Pop growled, kicking Pete on the side of his head.
“All we wanted was $15,000 stupid, now we taking all of it,” Pop said, tossing Pooh the garbage bag full of money.
“Mu'fucka had twenty stacks back there,” Pop said as he and Pooh made their exit, leaving Pete laid out on his living room floor leaking.
 
 
“Yo, go give Fresh that fifteen real quick,” Pooh said as he doubled-parked in front of the warehouse.
When Pop made it to the front of the warehouse, Rusty was right there waiting for him.
“It's all there,” Pop said, handing Rusty the garbage bag containing the money.
“Fresh would like to have a word with you,” Rusty said as he led the way to Fresh's office.
“What's good with you, youngin'?” Fresh asked, sitting behind his desk.
“Ain't shit just out here getting this money,” Pop responded, helping himself to a seat.
“I hear you been handling yourself well out there on the streets.”
“I just try to do my part,” Pop said.
“Bullshit, word on the streets is this nigga laying down order,” Rusty cut in.
“Good, that's what we need; without order we will have disorder and disorder leads to conflict and we trying to do without conflict, you dig?” Fresh stated plainly.
“The reason I called you in here is because I like what you been doing on those streets. Keep it up and I might give you a promotion,” Fresh told him.
“That's what's up,” Pop said excitedly. “I appreciate it.”
“And you the employee of the month,” Rusty cut in again, slapping $500 dollars in Pop's hand.
“You family now, B. If you ever need something, all you have to do is ask, we take care of our own around here,” Fresh said firmly.
“I feel you, looking for everything especially the opportunity,” Pop said as he gave Fresh and Rusty both a pound, then made his exit.
“That little nigga got heart,” Rusty said as he strapped on his bulletproof vest and loaded his 12-gauge shotgun.
“You ready?” Fresh asked.
“I'm always ready to take some of Bamboo's money,” Rusty chuckled as the two men hopped in the all-black Denali and pulled off.
 
 
When Pop finally made it back to the projects, he wasn't quite ready to go upstairs so he just sat on the bench, enjoying the night air. As he sat on the bench chilling he saw Nika coming in his direction.
“Why you sitting over here all by yourself?” she asked.
“I was sitting here waiting for you, hoping you walked past,” Pop joked on some lover-boy shit.
“You are such a liar,” Nika said as she sat down next to Pop. “What you doing later on?”
“Nothing,” Pop responded. “Why, what's good?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to keep me company later,” Nika threw the question out there. She was afraid that he might not be interested. She hoped that Pop wasn't the type of dude who would hit it and quit it.
“No doubt we can definitely hook up later,” he assured her.
Before Pop could say another word he saw Teresa coming his way looking like a bum.
She wore a stained-filled Newport T-shirt along with some orange shorts and a pair of blue run-down skippies to complete her outfit. Not to mention her hair looked like stir-fried shit.
“So is this where the fuck you be at all day long?” Teresa growled. “Sitting here on the bench not doing shit all day?”
“Why are you bothering me?” Pop huffed. Embarrassment filled him as he stared angrily at Teresa. He could feel Nika's eyes staring at him, but he didn't look her way.
“I ain't start to bothering you yet,” Teresa said, putting her hands all up in Pop's face.
“Yo, back the fuck up out his face with all that,” Nika said, hopping up off the bench.
“Bitch, I will tear your little ass up out here,” Teresa shot back, trying to get her hands on the ghetto girl.
“Yo, chill,” Pop said, holding his moms back.
“You better go hold that bitch before I whip the both of you. How dare you let her talk to your mother like that,” Teresa said as she violently smacked Pop across his face, causing his hat to fly off.
“Fuck you do that for?” Pop yelled, ready to steal on his moms.
“You lucky that's all I did, now let me borrow ten dollars,” Teresa said with her hand out.
“Nah, I ain't got it,” Pop said, refusing to support his mother's bad habits.
“Why you lying for?” Teresa said loudly. “You think I don't know you out here selling drugs?”
“Fuck is you talking about?” Pop said with a disgusted look on his face. “I don't sell drugs.”
“Yes, you do,” Teresa snapped. “How else would you be able to get all those new fancy clothes you be wearing?”
“Whatever,” Pop said, shaking his head from side to side. “You think you know everything, but you don't know shit.”
“My bad, Pop, I didn't know that this was your mother,” Nika said, feeling horrible inside. “I'm going home. Holla at me later. I'm sorry again,” she said headed in the opposite direction.
“You always coming around with that bullshit, that's why I don't fuck wit' you like that,” Pop said heatedly, pointing his finger at his mother.
“You better get your mu'fuckin' hand out my face before I break it,” Teresa said with attitude, and placing her hands on her hips. “Yeah, you care more about that chickenhead than you care about your own mother.”
“Yo, I'm out,” Pop said as he walked off, leaving his mother standing there.
“Go ahead and chase that bitch, you won't give your own mother no money, but I bet you giving that bitch all your money, stupid ass. And you better not even think about bringing your black ass home tonight either,” Teresa yelled, angry that Pop wouldn't give her no money.
“I'm sick of this bitch,” Pop said to himself as he walked off. No matter what he did it was never good enough for his mother. He hated the fact that anytime she had a problem she took her anger out on him. There was no pleasing her, so Pop decided to stop trying.
Chapter Six
“Yeah, pull up right next to that nigga, Shawn,” Fresh ordered, pointing in Shawn's direction.
“Yo, I'm going to take this nigga in the building. Wait five minutes before you come in,” Fresh instructed as he hopped out of the car.
“My nigga, Shawn, what's good?” Fresh asked.
“You tell me, brother,” Shawn shot back, trying to sound tough.
“Yo, Bamboo said you had something for me,” Fresh said in a smooth, low-key tone.
“Nah, he ain't tell me no shit like that,” Shawn said, pulling out his cell phone to verify what Fresh was saying.
“Keep your fuckin' hands where I can see them,” Fresh said, placing his 9 mm to Shawn's ribs.
“Oh, it's like that? What you going to do when Bamboo finds out about this?” Shawn asked, angry that he had gotten caught slipping.
“Fuck Bamboo, I don't deal with problems—I make them,” Fresh said, leading Shawn into the building.
“Y'all still keep the work on the fourth floor, right?” Fresh asked.
“Fuck you, Fresh, you going to have to kill me mu 'fucka,” Shawn said, wondering should he reach for the .22 that rested in his back pocket.
Before Shawn could make his move, Rusty walked in the building.
“What's good?” Rusty asked, holding his shotgun.
“This clown wants to be a tough guy,” Fresh replied with a smirk on his face.
Without hesitation Rusty let the shotgun bark, sending Shawn skidding down the hallway.
“Yo, grab that work from the fourth floor so we can be out,” Fresh ordered.
“Nothing personal, baby, just business,” Fresh said, looking down at Shawn's dead body. Fresh quickly searched the dead man's pocket and stripped him of anything he had that was valuable.
Fresh knew that killing Shawn would send a message to not only Bamboo but to the streets also, and everybody knows the streets loved to talk.
 
 
“Sorry about that, my moms be bugging sometimes,” Pop said, feeling like a complete idiot, as he stepped inside Nika's apartment. It didn't seem to matter what Pop did, his mother always found a way to spoil his day and embarrass him.
“That's okay, don't even worry about it,” Nika said, feeling embarrassed for him. “I didn't know that was your mother; sorry for cursing at her,” she apologized.
“It's all good. I'm about to start looking for a place anyway, 'cause I'm sick of her bullshit, and us in the same house ain't going to work,” Pop told her honestly.
“So what's your plan?” Nika asked with a simple smile that let him know that she didn't look down on him or judge him for how he was living. She lived in the PJ's too so she could relate. Every apartment had a different ghetto story behind closed doors.
“What you mean?” Pop asked, confused.
“I mean what are you going to do until you find a crib?” Nika asked.
“I don't know. I guess stay in a hotel,” Pop answered.
 
 
“Chill, you wilding. That's mad money going to waste. You might as well stay here until you find something,” Nika suggested.
“Nah, I don't want to be all up in your space, and all that,” he told her.
“It's cool, plus we can get to know each other better,” Nika said, placing her hand on top of his hand.
“You sure about this?” Pop asked, making sure she was cool with the fact of him staying there.
“Yeah, it's all good, one hand washes the other and both wash the face, you know?” she stated.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” Pop said gratefully.
“I think you know how you can thank me,” Nika said, looking down at Pop's crotch, licking her lips.
 
 
“What's wrong? You seem so stressed-out.” Amanda questioned as she gave Fresh an oil massage.
“I want you to move in here with me. I don't want you in those projects no more,” he said.
“Why, is something wrong?” Amanda asked curiously.
“Nah, I just don't want you up in there no more,” Fresh lied. “You know how you just get a funny feeling in your gut sometimes.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, boo, plus who would want their beautiful wife up in the PJ's all day?” Amanda said playfully.
Fresh knew soon he and Bamboo would more than likely end up going to war. And he didn't want Amanda getting caught up in no bullshit, and he definitely didn't want anybody trying to kidnap her, so to play it safe he just wanted Amanda out of harm's way.
“I think it is time we moved in together anyway,” he told her.
“What about Melissa?” Amanda asked.
“Let her keep the place for herself, or she could move in with us if she want,” Fresh said, taking a sip from his bottle of water. “Plus, I'm pretty sure your sister could use the privacy.”
“Damn, I got a lot of shit that needs to be moved,” she said, thinking about all of her valuable belongings.
“Let me worry about that, you just worry about passing your road test next week,” Fresh joked. “How you twenty-three years old and still don't know how to drive?”
“Don't worry, I'm going to pass that test with flying colors, shit as bad as I want to drive I'm going to pass that test,” Amanda said confidently as she watched Fresh take off his pants and head for the shower.
“Damn, I love that man,” Amanda said to herself as she watched her man head for the shower.
When Fresh got out of the shower, he hopped on the bed and turned his TV to
SportsCenter.
As soon as he got ready to relax he heard his cell phone ringing.
“I know that nigga Fresh had something to do with this shit,” Bamboo stated as he paced his living room back and forth.
“So how do you want to handle this, boss?” King asked, ready to put in some work.
“I'm not sure yet, first I have to see if it was him or not. Pass me my phone real quick,” Bamboo said as he dialed Fresh's number.
“What's good? This Bamboo,” he said in a calm manner.
“I know who this is,” Fresh responded with ice in his tone.
“Yo, somebody murdered one of my mu'fuckin' workers and took my stash last night. I was wondering if you heard anything about that since I know you keep your ear to the streets?” Bamboo asked.
“Nah, B. I ain't heard shit,” Fresh replied shortly.
“I don't know who could have done this, ain't nobody stupid enough to fuck with my shit, it must have been somebody who is not from around here,” Bamboo said, trying to feel Fresh out.
“Yeah, probably,” Fresh said as he yawned into the receiver.
“If you hear anything about this you make sure you let me know as soon as possible,” Bamboo said in a threatening manner.
“I got you,” Fresh said, hanging up in Bamboo's ear.
Bamboo looked at the receiver and his nostrils flared from the disrespect he had just been dealt. Sometimes it wasn't what a nigga did say, but what he didn't that determined his guilt and Bamboo was no fool.
“Yeah, it was Fresh and his peoples, I can tell by the way that clown was talking on the phone, mad nonchalant,” Bamboo said, pouring himself a drink.
“It's time to put this fuckin' new jack in his place, yo call up my hit squad, I'm going to make an example out of that nigga that the streets won't soon forget.”
Without hesitation King did as he was told.
 
 
“Nigga, it ain't no money like dope money,” Pooh Bear said, counting his money outside on the bench, putting on a show for whoever was willing to watch.
“Yo, put that fuckin' money away, you don't know if we being watched or not,” Pop said seriously.
“Nigga, pull your skirt down and have a little fun, I ain't doing nothing but enjoying life, you dig? You know tomorrow ain't promised,” he reminded Pop.
Before Pop could respond he saw Lucky coming his way, drinking vitamin water.
“Nigga, why the fuck are you drinking a vitamin water?” Pop asked with a confused look on his face.
“Because it's good for my health,” Lucky responded, flashing his rotten-toothed smile.
“Nigga, what the fuck is a vitamin water going to do for your health while you smoking crack, stupid?” Pop said as he bursted out laughing.
“Brother, I need all the vitamins I can get,” Lucky chuckled as he walked off to go get his early-morning wake-up.
“Yo, that fool is crazy,” Pop said as he noticed two uniform cops coming in his direction. “Yo, hold that down five-o coming.”
Pooh quickly tossed his pocketknife and the little bit of weed in the grass before the officers walked up.
“Do you guys live in this building?” the white officer asked sourly.
“Yeah, why?” Pooh shot back. “What's the problem?”
“We got a complaint that two young guys were making a lot of noise in front of this building,” the officer said, nervously placing his hand on his gun.
“Yo, the only reason why you fuckin' with us 'cause we black,” Pop said disrespectfully, waving off the two cops. “Fuck outta here.”
“Oh, we got a tough guy in the house, get up against the fuckin wall, tough guy,” the officer said, violently shoving the two suspects against the wall.
As the officers began to search the two men they noticed a large crowd started to form.
“Yo, that shit ain't right,” shouted a black guy from in the crowd wearing a du-rag.
“Why don't y'all go to the white neighborhoods and do that shit,” another young lady shouted.
“Y'all mu'fuckas lucky a crowd showed up,” the white officer whispered in Pop's ear before him and his partner walked off with an attitude.
“Have a nice day, officers,” Pooh yelled loud enough so the two officers could hear him. “Dickheads.”
“I can't stand those dicks,” Pop said, cracking open his Dutch Master, tossing the guts on the ground once the cops were out of eyesight.
“That's why I stay high, B. Them clowns just fucked up my whole day,” Pop stated as he proceeded to roll up his blunt.
“Yo, come with me to building five real quick, I have to go check up on this clown that owe me some bread,” Pooh said as he retrieved his weed and pocketknife from out the grass, then headed to the next building.
Before they could make it to the building, Pooh saw his victim walking out the building.
“Yo, Mike what's good you—got that money for me?” he asked way louder than he had to.
“I got you next week, I didn't get my check this week,” Mike said, looking down at the ground, mad that he had bumped into the last person he wanted to see.
“Just like last week, right?” Pooh said, digging in his back pocket.
“Yo, Pooh, I promise I'm going to give you your money next week, you got my word,” Mike said, looking at Pop giving him a private look that said
Please help me
.
Pop quickly broke eye contact with his former friend. He felt bad for Mike, but business is business, and this was all in a day's work.
“I know,” Pooh said, flicking open the blade on his pocketknife.
Without hesitation he plunged the knife in and out of Mike's stomach three times, splattering blood all over the concrete.
“Have that for me next week B. Last time I'm going to tell you,” Pooh said as he cleaned his knife off on Mike's shirt before he walked off.
Before Pop walked off he kicked Mike in the side of his face for good measure. “Punk mu'fucka.”
“Y'all make the community look bad,” an old lady said, shaking her head from a second-floor window. “Why don't y'all try doing something positive in the community instead of just trying to destroy and tear down the community.”
“Shut up, old lady, before you be next,” Pop growled, staring down the old lady. “Yo, I have to get out the hood tonight before I kill somebody,” Pop said, taking a long drag from his blunt.
“We can go to the club tonight if you want,” Pooh suggested.
“Yeah, that's cool. I think I need to be surrounded by some beautiful women tonight, know what I mean?”
“A'ight, bet, we going to hit up Club Spirit downtown. Fresh be in there every Friday, plus I heard it be jumping in there,” Pooh said, doing his two-step.
BOOK: Knee Deep in the Game
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