D.R.I.P

Chapter 13 (Quincy)

    Me and my boy Max stood in the garage as we smoked a blunt of the finest weed. Max was a long time friend of mine. He was a big black nigga that kept a fade. We cut plenty of deals together. I broke bread with him and he broke bread with me. Max wasn't the average nigga. We were practically family.

    "So anyways I was fuckin the shit out of this lil bitch right and her broke ass nigga start banging in the front door mad than a mothafucka! I grabbed my gun cuz I was finna off the nigga!" He told me. It was just like him to have a story. He always had a story.

    I was annoyed listening to his rant as he kept goin on. I couldn't take anotha second of this. "Max bruh I ain't tryna be rude, but I don't want to hear no more. Where is this cat at? You know I don't like waitin." I told him. "He'll be here in no time, just be patient. I'm tellin you, he from Chicago, but this nigga is a hitter. He fasho gone get the job done." He assured me.

    Moments later a light skin nigga with a fade showed up wearing True religions from head to toe. He was wearing a true religion hat, jeans and shoes. I mean how was I supposed to take this nigga serious wearing some shit like that? Especially with that lil ass jewelry he called himself wearing. I liked true religion sometimes too, but not when it came down to business.

    I was wearing my three thousand dollar Tom Ford suit. I wore Burberry polished shoes and a 4 thousand dollar Rolex. See niggas respect you more when you dress right.

I didn't know this Chris Brown lookin ass nigga from a can of paint. I didn't like doing business with niggas I didn't know, but Max assured me that this dude was worth it.

    He and Max greeted each other as they slapped hands. I still wasn't flattered when the nigga had the nerve to slap my hand like he knew me. Little did he know I was a blunt muthafucka that didn't hold my tongue. "You late." I told him. Before he could reply Max started to introduce us. "Q this my nigga Rashad he goes by Rashi. Rashi this my nigga Q." He said. We gave each other a slight head nods.

    "Alright so, y'all gotta drive to San Francisco and catch the next flight to New York. You'll get the dope from New York and transport it back to Columbia. When you get the Columbia, Franco will meet you on the east side at the spot to pick it up." He told us.

I was still trying to gather the fact that I was cutting a deal with a nigga I knew nothing about. I was used to doing drills alone. Not to mention the fact that I was good with the Columbian mafia. They knew me very well. I didn't need a partner, but of course Franco insisted. He didn't want to risk loosing so much dope and just in case he did, he needed not one, but TWO niggas to hold accountable for it. That's the way Franco was.

    "Who the hell is Franco?" This Rashi nigga sounded like he knew nothing about what he was getting into. "Franco is a Colombian drug lord. He's the wrong nigga to fuck with." I said while providing Rashi with some knowledge. "I guess it's time to catch this flight." He said while rubbing his hands together. Nigga had the nerve to act like he was professional. What a joke? I thought.

    We walked outside the parking garage as we were instructed by Max to ride in Rashi's whip. I looked around as I tried to figure out which car on the street belonged to him. "Where's yo whip?" I asked. "Right there!" He replied while pointing across the street to a black 2019 Mercedes Benz. "Max you gotta be playin son! No way I'm ridding in that yo! You know I can't fuck up my rep riding in no shit like that. No offense." I told Rashi  before walking up to my limited edition Porche.

    My Porsche was pearl white with black Savani rims and heavy tents. It was a million dollar car literally. The fuck did I look like riding in a weak ass Benz? That type of car was for niggas with lil money.

    Rashi was still standing next to Max with his face looking stuck on stupid when I got in my high class whip. "Nigga you ridin or what?!" I hollered out the window. I could tell his ego was shot by the way he approached my ride. He sat in the passenger seat. " This muthafucka clean." He complimented. I gave him a dry thanks. I sparked a blunt before I pulled out the lot.

    "I'm tryna graduate to a whip like this." He told me. "It aint easy." I replied. "What type of work you into? This yo first big hit?" I questioned out of curiosity. "Yeah As far as money." He said. "Most I ever made on lick was 5 g's." He admitted. "Damn sound like you need to get connected with the right niggas." I told him.

    "If you into merkin niggas than I might have a job for you, but you gotta be cleaver. Max did say you was the type to get the job done." I said before passing him the blunt. "I could have a nigga offed in a quickness. Just tell me who and how much is the cut?" He questioned. "I'm not sure who the nigga is yet. When I find out, I'll let you know, but the cut is a half a mil." I told him. "Half a mil! I sho in the fuck could use some dough like that! But why you want that nigga dead?!" He questioned with excitement. I gave him a serious look. "I want the muthafucka dead cuz he's fuckin my bitch." I told him.