Make It Out

Three

Loco leaned his head back in relief as urine flowed freely from his body onto the tombstone that read "Antonio "AJ" Jones", the pussiest nigga Loco ever met.

The two hated eachother from the moment they met, learning they repped opposite colors. Things really took a turn for the worse when AJ found out Loco was fuckin around with AJ's mom.

He was young and reckless — he knew it was a foul but he didn't give a fuck. A couple months before Loco went inside, AJ got shot in a drive by shooting right in front of projects where Loco grew up. That alone created speculation that Loco was the one who killed him.

Loco never cared to feed into street gossip, but he had to clear his name. He only liked taking credit for his work.

After relieving himself, he shook himself off then pulled his boxers up, letting his black Celine jeans sag. "We out."

He was with Smoke visiting an old friend of theirs who died young after being shot and killed. That day still pained Loco who watched it happen before his eyes. Seeing his young niggas die only made his heart colder.

"That's some disrespectful shit." Smoke chuckled as Loco lit the blunt he had behind his ear, letting the smoke cloud his lungs as they walked to the car.

"Nigga can rest in piss. I'll bend his mother over again if she let a nigga." He said with a chuckle causing Smoke to shake his head.

They cruised down from Canarsie cemetery to the Yummy yummy Chinese food spot, getting their regular pork fried rice and chicken wings chopped up before hitting the road again. They had a meeting with Zo and needed to strategize.

Zo was an OG from their hood who had solid connections in the game that they needed to expand their business. Only problem was he had issues with Smoke spanning from when Smoke's father used to run the streets.

"So what's the plan? That nigga not really fuckin wit you but we need that connect." Loco said with a burp, sipping from his Sprite bottle with one hand as the other manuvered the wheel.

"Nigga gotta get over it, that shit he had goin on wit my pops got nothin to do wit me." Smoke said.

Loco rubbed his chin as Jay Z's "Imaginary Players" played on low volume through the aux. "I just hope this nigga really about the money for real. Fuck that other shit."

The drive to the Bronx was filled with sounds of old 90s hip hop as Smoke looked over the text that came through Loco's business phone, indicating where the location of the meet up was.

They soon pulled to a warehouse off City Island where three armed men ushered their car to a designated location. The large warehouse building sat in between a couple of trucks that looked as if they were loaded and ready to go.

He powered his phone off as they walked down the dimly lit warehouse hallway, hearing faint sounds of music playing. An armed man stood behind a black door, wearing dark shades to hide his eyes.

"Name."

"Loco and Smoke."

He nodded before tapping on the door. A few seconds later, the locks clicked and they were allowed access into the room.

A buff dark skinned man with a pleathora of tattoos sat behind a white folding table where a money counter flipped through a tray of hundred dollar bills.

"Gather all that and band it then toss it in the bag." He instructed a young brown skinned boy who looked to be around sixteen.