The Jungle

Chapter 14

Dérion POV

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We been watching Rich for a little over a month now. It's so hard for me not to run up on his bitch made ass.

I been making sure every time he at the trap no business deals or meetings are taking place. He's not here all that much either.

My source tells me he meets in this unmarked van every Tuesday and Wednesday for a few hours then he goes to some house in the slums of Miami. Originally we were thinking that's his house but I bought the house he's living in currently and it's in Lauderdale. So Rich getting more sneaky by the day.

Something tells me he plotting with way more then what the FEDS know about. So I'm just gonna send my source over to his house to see if they can find anything suspicious.

I'm ready to crack down on Rich but I have to play it smart. I have no idea what the FEDS have on me so catching a body is not about to be a option.

Another thing I have to do is wipe this Trap down. When I say that I'm not talking about the rooms or the product but the money. I gotta find a way to make all this money legal.

With a degree and me being a college graduate I should've been left this shit alone but for some reason my mind wouldn't allow me to.

I think I'm afraid. The game is all I know and breath going into something else is like switching schools, your in another element: new teachers, new friends, except in the real world I'm always gonna get judged by one thing and that's my color.

Making it into the business world with all these caucasians looking down on you can be some type of barrier. We already live in a world that thinks blacks should be sent back to Africa like we all don't bleed red on the inside.

But let me not get on that topic or we'll be here all day.

Right now I'm on my way to C.B. house. My boy been out of it since we talked to Battle. Any ordinary person wouldn't be able to see it but I've known C.B. for a while to know when something not sitting well with him.

I pull my car up to the driveway of his apartment and step out. Lil homie apartment was on one of the upbeat sides of Fort Lauderdale. Nothing but big city lights and limos pulling up everywhere. Since it was 12 in the afternoon it was pretty dead. But I have to say his shit was clean.

I stepped out the elevator and knocked on his door. It took a while before he finally answered. He looked awful. His eyes were red and puffy like he been crying, he smelled like liquor, inside his house was uncleaned it looked like he was stressing.

"Wassup man" I dapped him up.

"Wassup" he said lowly.

We walked inside and I followed him to his living room where he was rolling up a blunt. He puffed on it and passed it to me which I took.

"Yo wassup with you man, ever since we talked to that Battle nigga you ain't been yourself lately. Like something been bothering you."

He grabbed the blunt from me and took a deep puff and drank some of his beer. He slammed the beer down, got up off the couch and started pacing.

He did this for a few minutes then he started throwing shit.

"Yo C.B. Wtf is going on with you man you starting to scare me!" I screamed. He finally stopped and sat down on the couch, putting both hands to his face.

"Before you got me off the streets you already know I was bounced from foster home to foster home" I simply nodded and waited on him to continue.

"What you don't know is before dhat I had a actually family that cared for me. My real mom was a drug addict and my father was a straight Class F clown who ain't give a shit bout his kids. When I was 11, he brought me to this big ass house.I was excited but it confused me. When I walked inside I was greeted by a girl a few years older then me and her mother. They loved me like nobody else did. The mom even told me to call her mom.