The Price ࿊f Peace

preface.

Somewhere in Oakland
August 3rd 2019

A 22 year old, Camarro whipped effortlessly into a parking spot, not even bothering to turn down his music before pushing the start button of his 2020 Escalade truck.

As soon as he stepped out of the truck and closed his door, he was met with the bright, flashing lights, and the vibrations of the club.

Camarro and the owner of the club, Toochie, were business partners. Well, of some sort.

In all actuality, Camarro supplied Toochie with product that he ran for him in the club that he owned.

Toochie had actually invited him to the club that night, for what? Hell if Camarro knew. Most likely, it was another attempt for Toochie to get closer to Camarro so that he could convince him to supply more than he had been giving him.

Toochie was cool and all, but he wasn't too trustworthy. He underestimated Camarro's ability as a businessman. It was clear, but Camarro wasn't tripping because Toochie wasn't a problem.

As he approached the entrance of the club, he was recognized by a group of men he supplied weed to.

He turned his head at the sound of his name, sparing them a wave, "What it do, Boobie?"

"Aye, ima see about you, 'blood" Boobie responded as Camarro walked past the line to the entrance of the club.

"Fasho, cuzzin." Camarro responded.

Camarro was a 46th Street, Oakland Crip, but if you know, then you know that Boobie didn't mean no disrespect to his crippin'. He was a little older, and by 'blood, he really meant Young Blood.

Camarro didn't like to let that slide often, however.

As he waltzed freely into the club, the music swelled even louder, completely silencing the outside world.

He made his way to the bar through the sea of people. There were hella people jampacked in the building, dancing and screaming lyrics.

Camarro enjoyed the club scene, but he had business to attend to today. He assumed that the security guard had let Toochie know he was there, so he decided to let him find him at the bar.

He was extremely aware of his surroundings as he arrived at the bar. Camarro knew that his name held weight as did his presence. His phone dinged with likely a message from his mother about his younger brother who was back in juvie.

He took care of his family financially despite having been told he was a disgrace to the name due to his occupation as a street pharmacist.

He decided he'd check it once he'd gotten to the car. There was too much going on, and his surroundings were his main focus.

He ordered his drink and was stood, waiting patiently on Toochie when he saw his flashy diamond chain blinging out of the corner of his eye.

He didn't bother to look up at him as he approached, Toochie's blinged out teeth flashing a blinding smile.

"Wassam, 'Marro?" He asked him, speaking loudly over the blaring music.

Camarro took a sip of his drink right as it was handed to him by the bartender. He nodded in thanks to her, turning to lean his back onto the bar.

"Let's talk business." Camarro set the boundary, "This ain't no social call, Toochie."

Toochie nodded his head, holding both hands up in surrender. "Fair enough, boss."

He leaned loftily off the bar, waiting for Camarro to stand as well, before turning to head for his office on the third floor.

Camarro had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he grudgingly followed Toochie up to the third floor. Unfortunately, Camarro had a phobia of large heights and the all glass paneling of the room didn't help at all. He could see the entire club from his office.