BRICK: Episode III

Episode III: ALL IN FULL

Twenty minutes passed by…

I found myself drowning and fighting for my life while still seated in a desk chair. One of the gangsters called it water-boarding. Who the fuck thinks of some crazy-ass shit like that to torture somebody?

Let there be light…

The soaked towel was pulled from over my face as I was introduced to the motel room light, after being unwillingly reclined in the chair and tortured for what felt like forever. Trae and Domo didn’t do shit, and they thought they were bad-ass thugs on the block, not that night. Those four gangsters had my friends sitting naked in the corner like slaves from that Amistad flick. Cowering like a couple of bitches.

Speaking of bitches: Meesh and Kendra were laying face down on the bed. One if the white gangsters kept his eyes on them with a hard-on, as both of the girls were also naked at the time. Now that I look back on the scenario, I realize I was the only one who had clothes on.

The Black-Asian mixed guy approached me with fire in his eyes, like he wanted to kill me for taking his balls from him.

“Da fuck you thought, I was a nobody? You thought I was a goon or something?” He said while stroking his chin hair with a razor-sharp hunting knife. I felt my stomach ball-up as he spoke.

BRICK: Episode II

Episode II: THE BIG PAYBACK

          I’ve been in the club V.I.P. section a few times in the past, but never was it as live and colorful as it was that night. There were bottles of expensive wines that were half empty, just laying around like cheap liquor. We stood and looked over everyone else who was partying and having a good time that night. All eyes were on the three of us.

Trae hand-selected a few women to join us and leave with a bottle or two. I’d never been in the V.I.P. area in that fashion, it was such a beautiful feeling, but in the back of my mind, I was wondering how long that lifestyle would last, I mean, we’d just stolen a stack of cash and a kilogram of pure cocaine from some wannabe mafioso prick at the diner.

If we were going to live this life forever, we’d need to flip that brick to make back a good profit. That should get us into the drug game, and perhaps a step closer to finding a good connect, who would be willing to do business with a group of rookie dealers. Or maybe we’d just stretch out the kilo and sell it all ourselves, split the profit and walk away from it all.

I seemed to be the only one thinking about it that night, from the club to the motel room, where Trae and Domo had convinced a few girls that the real party was with us. There were three of us and only two women, Meesh and Kendra, two stupid bitches who were just happy to be in V.I.P. Obsessed with the glamorous life they see in rap videos but can’t afford to have in reality. We damn sure wasn’t living that life, but it did look that way in the club.

They thought we were rappers, and they were down to do anything that night, all for a chance to live that lifestyle.

Trae was making road maps out of a small portion of the cocaine we brought with us to the motel room. Everyone took turns to set the mood, but the girls were already down to do whatever we wanted. They’d been drinking and pill popping the whole night, so Domo and Trae just snorted the lines and got busy.

BRICK: Episode I

FINDERS, TAKERS

I could somewhat see my reflection in the door of the dryer machine as I listened to the commentary of the twelve o’clock news, waiting in the laundromat, just a few blocks away from my apartment building. Just as the news came to a close for the early afternoon, I was met by the all-too-familiar sounds of daytime talk-show host and their guest hollering about whatever bullshit situation that led them onto the show. You know how it goes, Who’s the daddy, that old bullshit.

I turned in the direction of the change machine to get a few more quarters, and just as I looked ahead with a few crumbled dollar bills in hand, I saw the face of a woman whom I never expected to see again… That bitch, Kendra, bending her big ass over to get something out of the soda machine.

I immediately pushed the dollar bills back into my denim jeans pocket and balled my fist, believing I would crack that bitch’s head open if I got within striking distance. I looked around to take in the emptiness of the laundry facility. Nobody wasn’t washing no damn clothes on a Wednesday afternoon but me, so I knew I could slide right over and beat the brakes off of that bitch without any witnesses.

Wait, before I proceed, let me fill you in on who she is and the events that led to the current situation…

TRANSPORTING KILOS

I’m not a fan of gangster movies or the lyrical content of rappers who make themselves out to be ex-drug lords and mob figures, but I would like to try my hand at writing a story that has to do with that lifestyle. This is my first attempt at writing a story on the subject of drugs, just to see how it turns out and what type of reaction I’d get from it, if any.

Do Enjoy.

COCAINE CHRONICLES Pt.1

          I thought about it a few times during that two minute time period. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea: Speeding off from the side of the road, initiating a highway cop chase on a crazy Friday night, not to mention possibly leading them to the drop point where the exchange was scheduled to be made an hour from now. Nah, that’s too much of a risk, so instead, I remained calm in the driver’s seat with my right hand laid flat on my lap, trying not to look over and draw attention to the glove compartment, where i’d usually stash the pistol under some old receipts, empty condom wrappers and a mess of Starbucks napkins.

I had fire in my eyes while looking into the side mirror, watching as the two officers made their way toward the whip. All I could think about was the nine kilos stuffed in a black hockey bag, located in the corner of the trunk, behind a spare tire and a pair of jumper cables. Sweat began to form on my forehead before the officer stopped at my door. I exhaled while rolling the window down, preparing myself to speak to the officer in character to avoid any suspicion. I played it cool, but the thought of the drugs being in the back of the car caused me to studder, and I hadn’t studdered since junior-high school. He looked over the interior as I tried my best to play cool. It wasn’t working and he knew something was up.

One minute later and I was standing outside of the car with sweaty palms and shaky legs. This was my first time transporting coke by myself. I was just along for the ride the first time, and now i’m about to blow it on my first try. The second cop ran my name and plates through the system as the first cop kept his eyes on me, knowing there was something in the car that I didn’t want him to see.

The ’98 Camry was in my name, but the coke in the back was in the name of a heavy player who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me or anyone related to me if I didn’t arrive with it in full that night. I couldn’t afford an arrest that night. I had to do something to avoid being in the back of a cop car and getting nine kilos siezed by these cops who pulled me over for no real reason whatsoever. I knew I wasn’t speeding, I made sure of that. Montgomery County cops are the worst, this is why I stay my black ass in the District.

The interior was clear. Thank God I let Troy borrow my pistol yesterday, or the officer would’ve found it during his inspection. I began to think the cop was playing games with me, looking deep into my eyes while telling me that they were going to search the trunk. An old Jay-z song began to play in my head, something about needing a warrant to search a locked portion of a vehicle. I wasn’t sure if that was true, or if those rules applied in the state of Maryland, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited for them to open the trunk and find the surprise.

The first cop tossed my keys over to his partner standing further behind him near the trunk. He glanced at the contents at first, but then leaned over a bit, as something didn’t look right to him. I then started to imagine a scene where I grabbed the pistol from the officer’s holster and plug both of them with two shots to the chest and one in the forehead, but that’s just from me watching too many action flicks. I wasn’t built to kill anything, which made me think twice about being in the drug game.