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H A R L E M "BLACK" MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE TUESDAY EVENING
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"I'ma tell you some good shit, muthafucka— some shit that's gone make you a better street nigga, 'cus that's all you'll ever be. You fuck that up and you ain't gone have shit goin' for you. Now, if you wanna show these muhfuckas that you ain't to be fucked wit— you got to be a cut throat nigga, you feel me? You got to chop the heads off yo enemies and any fucking body that's loyal to 'em. You want the city in the palm of yo hand, you got to put some blood on the street to get that shit— you got to make niggas bleed. Paint the muthafuckin' city red and you'll have niggas and bitches trembling at yo feet. You gotta make these muhfuckas fear you— make 'em scared to even think about crossing you. Niggas need to be shittin' in they pants when they hear yo fuckin' name. Long as you got fear, you don't need no got damn respect. Fear makes the world go 'round, boy. Anybody that don't fall in line, you put a bullet in they fuckin' temple, right along with all they kinfolk. Don't be afraid to make niggas feel you in these streets— don't be afraid to get a lil blood on ya hands."
It was the best piece of advice Mitch had ever given me— the only advice that mattered anyway. For as long as I could remember, he stressed to me the importance of making my presence felt— shaking shit up every now and then if a situation called for it. I'd never been afraid to put a nigga to sleep. Killing was somewhat of a second nature to me— an instinct almost. This past year as I put myself out there as more of a businessman, I set my strange habit to the side. Yeah, I knocked off a few insignificant people from time to time, but I was nowhere near as bad as I used to be. Maybe that's where I'd fucked up at. I abandoned my usual way of doing things, I eased up on the one thing I was good at. Clearly it was my own fault for allowing myself to fall off the way I had. It was evident that people were forgetting who the fuck I was— a grave mistake. Now I had to put my foot back on these niggas necks and this time, I wasn't letting up.
"B-Black.. I-I don't.. I don't know who it was....I ain't see 'em.. I-I swear. Please, man— please." Khalil had tears streaming down his face and snot coming out of his nose.
He sat on the floor, shaking and crying as I stood over him. He was unable to move due to his ankles being as large as tennis balls— courtesy of me beating them with a baseball bat shortly after my arrival. His face was swollen and lumped up beyond recognition and three of his front teeth had been knocked out. I'd shattered his nose bone and now it was sitting crooked in the middle of his face. Fucked up was truly an understatement. Blood poured from his mouth down to his neck and it was staining the collar of his V-neck sweater. I felt nothing. In my eyes, he deserved this shit.
