Taste Test (A Dave East Story)

Chapter 13

Dave

"Man what the fuck happened?" I ask Shooter as he gets in the car.

"Wassup to you too nigga. I saw you on the internet beating Millie ass. Good for you my nigga cuz that hoe crazy," he laughs.

"Shut up. Don't be saying it like I'm some kind of wife beater or something," I say with a straight face.

He laughs and daps me up, "Wassup yo."

"So you gonna tell me what happened?" I ask him as I pull off.

"Nigga I don't even want to tell you. We boys for life man, and I don't want you looking at me differently," he sighs.

Me and Shooter go way back. For me to look at him differently, he would really have to do some fucked up shit. I'm not gone lie, his words making me feel weird and shit.

"What you do Shoot?" I question him.

"Alright man. You remember Tate?" he asks me.

"Yeah, what about him?" I ask.

"Me, Scrilla, and Sean, hit his spot a while back," he admits.

Tate is a nigga we used to slang with back in the day. He was cool people until he started stealing from us and shit. He would take more than just his cut and we always wondered why somebody else ended up short sometimes. I didn't know until I actually seen the nigga do it. I don't play that shit so I had to cut his ass loose. The nigga would do ANYTHING for cash and shit.

I told the crew and they beat that man's ass, respectfully. A lot of us got out the game, but he stayed in. That weak ass nigga is supposedly some type of big dealer now. I ain't talked to the nigga since that shit went down type shit, so I'm not even sure why Shooter would even hit his spot like that.

"Nigga what the fuck? Why the hell would y'all do that?" I ask.

"Man shit been hard as fuck, yo. I been pressed for cash I'm not even gone lie to you bro," he explains.

"So nigga why wouldn't you just ask me? Stop being all proud and shit. Whateva I got, you got my mans. I mean that shit," I say, "I ain't even know you was still into that type of shit. Nigga you a whole ass rapper! We dead that hittin' lick shit a minute ago."

"Nigga YOU dead that shit. Everybody ain't you East. We all ain't making it like you. Nigga you in movies and TV shows and shit! Mothafuckas barely know who the fuck I am. I'm "Dave East's friend" and shit. I ain't getting shows like you. Ain't nobody booking me unless yo ass there!" He complains.

"AND NIGGA IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES TO GET YO SHIT OUT THERE ILL DO IT IN A HEARTBEAT! You got to work for your shit just like I did! Nigga you got kids to ducking think about! Does ya baby moms know you out here doing shit like that still?" I ask.

"Hell nah! Why would I tell her this shit? She just think I'm booking shows and shit. I ain't tellin' her a damn thing," he tells me.

"Nigga what this gotta do with today?" I say impatiently.

"I saw one of Tate boys at the gym. I think that's who tryna get at me," he says.

"Damn," I say in disbelief.

This is the dumbest shit. I can't belief these niggas robbed Tate and expected nothing to happen. Tate is coming to get this shit back in blood fasho. I drive around without saying nothin' for a while.

"You ain't got nothing to say nigga?" he asks me.

"Well for starters, nigga you dumb as hell. What the fuck were you thinking? You supposed to be off all dat wild shit," I say firmly, "Now what you need to do?"