Lies You Tell (DE)

4.

" Cheatin ass bitch!" Dre yelled tossing his controller onto the plush carpet of his living room.

Joseph chuckled carefully setting his down on the coffee table. He'd come to Dre's crib to talk business, though he wasn't interested in what his cousin had to say he knew Dre would come through if it were the other way around. Dre picked up a perfectly rolled wood from off the coffee table, sparking it up and taking a hit from it rocking back and forth in his game chair.

" How yo classes comin?" He asked letting smoke billow from his mouth as he examined the blunt.

You know that muthafucka was hittin when you just lookin at it for no reason.

" Coo, I got my last class tonight and I'm done,"

Joseph had been going to anger management every Sunday for the past six weeks and he was elated to not have to come in, sit down, listen, and pretend to care about everyone else's problems anymore.

" Cut that small talk shit though, say what you gotta say,"

Dre smacked his lips. " Can you relax nigga damn. Maybe yo ass need to stay in that class longer," He mumbled, peering over his shoulder and looking his cousin up and down.

" You know I been one of Santiagos distros for a minute now. He called a meeting with all us a few weeks ago that he's going to be upping the price of our loads now which cuts into my profit,"

" I don't know shit about no drugs just get to the point where I'm involved," Joseph grumbled.

Joseph never was into drugs, recreationally or for profit, that was Dre's thing. He viewed them as mind clouding and preferred to be present, keen, and very aware of his surroundings at all times, especially with his occupation. One wrong move or mistake in his line of work could cost him his life.

" Nigga just listen damn. Port of New York cracking down on import security making it harder to get shit in through customs so Santiago tryna make us pay more for product," Dre explained, breaking it down in a way that Joseph would understand.

Joseph crossed his arms across his chest listening.

" The Italians distribute for Santiago, they got a part of Brooklyn, that's little Italy and what not," Dre rambled blowing out smoke.

Joseph was visual and had a very strong intellect and it was easier for him to understand things if he was able to visualize them. In his head he began creating a map of the chain of custody. Santiago being at the top, the main supplier. Beneath him it branched off to his distributors or under bosses who each ran their own part of New York.

They purchased the product in bulk in which would get broken down, cooked and handed off to the D-boys who would get the product off on the streets. Money goes back to the distros, they break bread for the D-boys, set aside profit money and use the rest to re-up.

" I heard them fuckers been getting that shit for the low still because they got these little box trucks they use to transport their meats for their butcher shops that they take to the ports and pick up the loads in," Dre mumbled. " That shit smart though I gotta give it to em. BUT, we got bigger trucks,"

Realizing where this was going Joseph shook his head.

" You trippin,"

" How I'm trippin? You said you would listen nigga, just give it a chance,"

" Na cause what you sayin is you'd put my business that I worked hard for in jeopardy to benefit YO business. I ain't wit that,"

Dre smacked his lips.