Bite Size Trouble (Urban)

Warning

Mo looked at Trouble skeptically as Trouble pulled out a notepad from his jean pocket and tossed it at him. There was a small pen clipped to the spiral part of the notepad.

"Names," Trouble said.

"Why you really want their names?" Mo asked.

"I just told you," Trouble replied. "What's the big deal? They're not in trouble. Just like you're not in trouble. I just want to know who you sold my shit to."

"It was various people," Mo said. "I'm not selling raffle tickets. I don't ask for names. I ask for money."

Trouble shook his head.

"You're not that stupid," Trouble said. "You wouldn't sling to people you don't know. And I take it that you wouldn't sling to people you do normal business with but you would sell to people that you know you could sell to. Every dealer knows my brand as well as they know Street's so I take it, whoever you sold it to was elite clientele like the person that told me about you."

Mo looked at Trouble with a blank stare. Trouble was asking Mo the names for a reason. He didn't know why because some of those names were people that he sold to for Street.

"Like I don't know..." Mo began to say then paused as Maine walked from where he was at over to where Mo was stationed at on the couch. "Why you need names?"

"My concern," Trouble said like he was getting annoyed. "I don't see what the big problem is. You had no problem selling shit that don't belong to you and making a profit off it. You had no problem deceiving your boss and making side money for yourself. You had no problem going up to these people and selling my shit to them. But now you seem to be all clammed up about names."

Mo didn't say anything.

"See Mo, I thought you was a cool dude," Trouble said. "I thought we could come to some business arrangement. I was really looking forward to maybe working with you. Look, I know you're not feeling how Street is treating you on the money tip. I get that. You had to make a side hustle to get your ends up. Let's face it, Street are some greedy motherfuckers. They take majority of the profit while you're out busting your ass hustling on these corners. Those niggas probably wouldn't even give you a birthday card or a thank you note for all the sales you did for them. Trust me, I get it. Listen, when I found out someone had a batch of my stuff and was selling it, I wanted to do nothing but go and chop their head off but I didn't. When I found it who it was. I watched you on the block. You're about your business. I didn't want to come at you all willy nilly out of respect for what you do."

"What about the kid that sold it to me?" Mo asked hearing the stories of how the kid got shot during a botch robbery but he knew the real reason.

"What about him?" Trouble huffed.

"You killed him?" Mo asked but it was more of a statement.

"Are you asking me or accusing me?" Trouble asked.

"I'm inquiring," Mo said. "That kid got it from one of your workers I presume. Did you press that worker to give up that kid?"

"What does this have to do with anything?" Trouble asked.

"Because it's obvious you want something," Mo said. "Like you said I'm a hustler so I know a hustle."

Trouble laughed and clapped his hands. Maine just nodded and smiled.

"I know you was a smart motherfucker," Trouble said waving a finger at Mo. "Didn't I tell you that Mo was a smart motherfucker."

Mo didn't find whatever Trouble was trying to say amusing. Besides that, his nose and head was hurting like hell, not to mention his jaw. Caked up dried blood filled up his two nostrils.