“Yo, slow this mutha fucka down. Don’t you see the cops right there,” G-money barked angrily, as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Man fuck the police,” Skip shot back stopping at the red light. “I’ll slap the shit out of one of those crackers if they try to arrest me.”
“I don’t care about all that, just slow this motherfucker down when you see the fuzz you dig?” “I thought if anything ever went down we could call that faggot, Detective Nelson, to get us out,” Skip asked.
“Fuck Detective Nelson. I don’t trust nobody that got blue eyes, you smell where I’m coming from,” G-money asked taking a long swig from his bottle of Henny that sat on his lap.
“I can dig it, but if you’re so worried about us getting pulled over, then why you got a big ass bottle of Henny sitting on your lap?”
“Listen B, I’m a tell you like this.” G-money hogged spit out the window before he continued, “I do this for all my niggas that’s locked up, you dig? You know how many mutha fuckas in jail would love to be getting drunk right now? How many of them would love to be getting high right now, getting money, and fucking bad bitches every night? So that’s why I do, what I do. It’s a fucking war going on out here; us against the motherfucking police and right now we’re losing. So I do this for all my niggas that’s in jail who went out for theirs. This street shit is my life. All I know is money, drugs, cars, hoes, jail, and fiends, smell me? Its all a game and if I go to jail I lose, understand? And I ain’t having that.”
“Yeah I can dig it,” Skip replied as he double parked in front of Sumner projects out in Brooklyn. “I hope this mutha fucka don’t take all day.”
For some reason Brooklyn made Skip very uncomfortable.
“There’s that clown. Go right there. Pop the trunk so I can hit this fool off,” G-money said as he slid out the passenger seat, and grabbed the duffle bag from the trunk. “Tray what’s goodie,” G-money asked giving the stocky man a pound.
“You know, regular shit,” Tray answered as he lead G-money into the building.
“Yo, keep up the good work. Ali said every month your numbers been increasing. Keep that up and you might get a promotion, smell me?” G-money said handing Tray the duffle bag.
“Come on, you know I gotta get this money by any means necessary,” Tray capped looking over both shoulders as he handed G-money three large stacks of money.
“Aight, I’m a swing back around here in two weeks to pick up that gwop. Everything’s already packed up for you, so all you gotta do is hand out those packs, and make sure the count don’t come up short, aight?”
“You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” Tray said as he gave G-money a pound, then headed up the stairs.
As G-money made his way back to the car, he was cut off by some hood rat he piped a few weeks ago. “What’s up G-money? I thought you was going to call me,” the hood rat huffed standing pigeon toe. She had a nice body, but her attitude was ugly.
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“Yeah I was, but I changed my mind,” G-money said coldly as he brushed past the young lady.
“Bitch ass nigga,” she mumbled once G-money was out of ear shot.
G-money was very popular when it came to the women. Most girls said he reminded them of the rapper, Jim Jones, because of the way he wore his hair braided and kept his face unshaven.
“Who was that bitch,” Skip asked pulling out into traffic.
“I don’t even remember her name”, G-money said before laughing hysterically.
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Tears Of A Hustler
Short StoryAli is a drug dealer slash business man who tries to change the way the game is played by giving back to the community. But at the same time he has to keep a close eye on his childhood crime partner G-Money who has a strong hatred for the police...
