Married To The Game

C:3 | Coke 101 / How To Sell Coke

Omari's trap spot was in South Beach. I thought it'd be some ghetto ass apartments but to my surprise it was just a regular townhouse. He seemed real eager to introduce me, like I was his prize that he had found. It was actually nicely decorated inside, and I got an uneasy feeling that I fit right in. It was two niggas dressed in black on the couch, breaking up some cocaine and bagging it. "What the fuck y'all doing? Why y'all got this shit out in the open? Y'all keep testing me." Omari knocked the scale over in disgust. The two dudes stood up. "We just got in, O, we-"  "O?" he repeated, "Get the fuck out my face. Both of y'all." He spat back, not letting him explain. I chuckled. "My bad. I'm tired of these lil niggas fucking shit up around here." "So cut them off. Make
'em swim with the fish." I joked back, even though I was serious. I didn't need to be around people who didn't know the game, or was too reckless to pay attention. The game was too risky, and with the new Mayor in office, he was coming down on trafficking. I seen it myself; one of Marcus's friends got ten years over a ounce. Oh well. He wasn't as smart as me. And who would ever look to think a female would be responsible for weight getting moved around the city? Especially one that looked like me—Nobody. I was the perfect asset. And I had one thing most niggas in this industry lack—heart. No wonder Omari chose me.

"I should, shouldn't I? Nah, they're my nephews." Omari said, interrupting my train of thought. "Blood and money doesn't mix." He waved me off. "They outta school for the summer, why not let em make some money? They wasn't gone be doing shit but reaching they had out, and try to be in some pussy." "So teaching them to hustle is better?" "Aye," He raises his voice, then turned around and looked at me. He gave me that shut up look. "Aye what?" I shot back. Because I didn't care. If he wanted me to work for him he'd have to get use to me speaking my mind. Marcus hated that shit. But a closed mouth- or hand- doesn't get fed. He looked at me, defeated. "I can tell I got a problem on my hands. Come in the kitchen so I can show you something." He grabbed a brick and took it into the kitchen with him. "Im'a show you how to cook this up. Watch." He took out a glass Pyrex pot and laid it beside the brick, next to the stove. Next, he took down a box of baking soda. He went to the sink and added a little bit of water into the pot. I made note of everything, from the amount of baking soda to the amount of water. He mixed the coke and baking soda into the water. While placing the stove on low, he showed me how to whip the cocaine in the pot until it turned to oil. Once the substance turned into oil, he dumped three trays of ice in the glass Pyrex. Before my eyes, the oil turned to a big crack rock. "So, ima tell you how I do my break downs. So on a brick itself i'll spend all together $19,800. Now I could sell my ounces at eight hundred, but I don't do that. I sell mine for five fifty." "Five fifty? Where's the money in that, you lost three hundred." "I could sell it for eight easy, but why would I do that when I could just bag it all up?"

Omari bagged up twenty five bundles of caps. Each bundle held exactly twenty caps, and each bundle he sold went for fifty dollars, which brought him to $1,250. So the money he made for a kilo all together was almost tripled. After selling the kilo, instead of making nine thousand, he made $25,000. The math behind the coke game was simple.  For example, if a client bought a kilo, (which, all together, is  a thousand grams) for $26,000, then the price for every gram would go for $26.  But if you turn around and sell it at $40 a gram, then you would be making fourteen in profit for your grams.  And if I kept selling like that, my  profit would be $14,000. And I was eager to get my hands on some. "Aye, so ima finish handling this. You can go in there with them and help them finish that shit up." "Where are they?"
Omari took me downstairs where everyone was at. It was predominantly men, as expected. I may have spotted one or two females lingering around, but I doubt Omari has them moving some real weight around. The age gap ran from early twenties to mid the late forties. That seemed to be the only diversity. "Everybody, check this out real quick. This is Esther. She's gonna be around more often, so I want y'all to know who she is. This is strictly business, so none of y'all need to be trying to fuck or make friendships." He said, looking around. "Where'd you find her at?" one of the older ones spoke up. "Why? Nigga just focus on the work, you stay worried about the wrong shit." Omari said, kind of embarrassed. I guess he didn't want to lose credibility by looking like he just picked up random bitches to slang work for him. You could hear a couple of people murmur in disapproval of his answer. "And if anybody feels a type of way about it, please feel free to let me know. So we can talk about it" He released a devilish laugh, and with that, Omari left. Even though he "offered" his decision up for discussion, you could tell everyone knew better. Omari didn't strike me as the compromise type.

I found the niggas from earlier to help them finish up. They told me their names were Koby and Joc. When we were finished with the two bricks, all together we had seventy-two ounces. When we did the math we came up with  $57,600, selling the ounces for eight hundred a piece. Omari had gave them three bricks for $14,500 a piece. So, in total of the three bricks the profit to be made was $42,900, leaving us with $14,300. That was just enough to get me back right. Finishing up my last bag, I listen as a set of footsteps heightened my senses. I haven't even looked up yet, but I could feel her presence hovering over me. "Yes?" I asked, still not looking up. "Esther, right?" I finally looked up. "That's me." She has thick curly hair and a set of big lips. She could almost give me a run for my money if she knew what to do with herself. "Omari said for you to ride to the store with me." She dangled the keys to a Bentley truck in her hand. I got up to follow her out to the truck. Omari was putting in overtime to make me to feel at home. He even gave his warning, talking about no fucking. Just thinking about it had me tickled; as if I'd give any of them the time of day, let alone some pussy. Clearing her throat, she stated, "So, I have a confession." "What?" I asked, eyeing the roads we were passing, just in case this happened to be some other shit. "Omari didn't really say that, about you riding with me. You just seemed cool." She said, nonchalantly. "I'm flattered. You could of just asked, though." I said, as we started laughing. On the way out the store, Snow, the name she spit me, stopped in the middle of the parking lot. She stopped mid sentence, with her attention fixated on something else. "What?" "My ex just went in the store. Come on." She was racing to get back to the car. She had a huge grin on her face so I knew we were getting into some shit. I missed doing my share of ratchetness with Shay. All of that really stopped when we quit stripping and moved to the suburbs. I'm not complaining, though, because I was living well off and drama free. At least, I was.

Once we reached the car Snow went to searching in the glove department. "What are you doing? What are you looking for?" "Something to fuck his shit up." She finally finds the blade she was looking for and hands me the keys. "You want me to...drive?" I said, confused. "No," she laughed, "Key it while I pop them tires." "You know how to key a car, right?" She added, after a brief moment of silence. "Yeah, Snow. Come on before he comes back." I said, taking the car keys. Isn't it funny how God works? Just a week ago I got beat and kicked out for keying my nigga's car and here I am, helping a random bitch do the exact same thing. Oh well, I thought as I dug the keys in her nigga's fresh paint job. His car was an all red box chevy, so I figured he had to be banging. For her sake, I hope he didn't put two and two together and come up with Snow. If he wanted to sick some of his banging bitches on her, then what? Snow was cool and all, but she didn't look like she'd stand a chance against some hood bitches. While I was deep in my thoughts, I failed to notice my surroundings. When I looked up, I see the nigga hovering over Snow with his fist balled up. "Imani what the fuck you think you doing?!" He said before smacking her. She tried to kick him but he caught her foot. Niggas out here really weren't playing about their car, huh. This was some deja vù shit. This must be what my situation looked like form the outside looking in. Finally I snapped out of my daze, and hopped on his back before he could hit her again. He flings me off almost as soon as I jumped on, and sends me flying across the parking lot. Snow finally manages to get her ass up and maces him before he regroups and comes back for more. "I'm tired of you cheating on me, Donte!" She said with tears running from her face. "Aint nobody cheating on you!" He was protecting his face from the mace. "Imani, cut that shit out!" He blindly knocks the mace out of her hand. Lucky for him, because her finger looked stuck on the button for a second. You would of thought she was spraying air freshener. "Fuck you!" She gave me the cue to go back to the car. I felt bad for Snow. Nobody really deserved to be cheated on. "You good?" I asked, breaking the silence in the car. "Yeah girl i'm good. Can you believe this nigga gave me something? And-" She paused. I could hear her voice cracking. Honestly, it was heart breaking. I really didn't know what to say so I just patted her leg. I never had to go through anything like that, so I couldn't even tell her it would be okay. Because I didn't know if it would be okay. I took hella sex education courses just to educate myself, so I knew a STD was no joke. It fucked with your health and sanity. I just prayed he gave her something curable.

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