Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose (16 page)

His signature bop made his chain swing as he made his way to the mall’s entrance. Self consciously he patted his waist to make sure his Glocc was there. It was an action akin to a person checking to make sure that they hadn’t forgotten their keys or wallet. Over the past few weeks, Ant’s gun had become the most important part of his wardrobe and he made sure to never leave home without it. The pockets of his designer jeans were bulging with stacks of blood money as he entered the mall.

$$$

Across town in West Greenville, three members of M.B.M. sat in a trap house located at the end of a dead end street known as ‘the cut.’ At night, all types of illicit activity transpired in and around ‘the cut’. Whatever a person was looking for to escape the harsh realities of the everyday existence called life could very easily be obtained here. Coke, crack, exotic, reggie, pills, pussy… whatever. As long as your money wasn’t funny and you were willing to pay to play, you were more than welcome to ‘come on down’ and be the next contestant on the hood’s version of ‘The Price is Right’. Of course, getting killed or ending up in jail were distinct possibilities. However, most of the people who frequented ‘the cut’ tended to overlook those minor details in pursuit of their next high.

It was mid-afternoon right now though. Except for a few fiends wandering around scheming upon ways to get their next fix, ‘the cut’ was relatively quiet. Money was slow. Unless it was the first, the fifteenth or tax season, the spot really didn’t start pumping until late. The ‘jump out boys’ had just been through earlier in the week so a lot of customers were still leery about coming out until the darkness of the night could conceal their iniquities. The ‘jump out boys’ were Greenville County’s version of the A-team. They were officers who rode around in nondescript vans before jumping out and arresting anybody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tony, Lil G, and Big Cook used the lull in activity to calculate the previous night’s revenue and chill for a minute. Nothing was more stressful than the constant interaction with the animalistic mind of a fiend; somebody who couldn’t see past their next hit. They would lie, cheat, steal, rob or kill you just to maintain whatever their habit was. It was like being in a jungle with a myriad of predators waiting to devour your flesh.

The three M.B.M. goons sat down at a dilapidated table. It doubled as an ashtray when one couldn’t be found. After lighting up a couple of blunts, they separated the bills then began to count the drug money. Close to twenty thousand dollars in an assortment of crumpled, dirty bills and change was the final count. It had been a slow night. In fact, it had been slow for the past few weeks. Zulu had many other trap spots like this in locations up and down the I-85 corridor. From Atlanta to Greenville, to Charlotte, all the way up to Virginia Beach, his operation saw no less than three to five million a week. But as the war raged on in the streets between M.B.M. and the Mexican Mafia, it was inevitable that profits would start to decline.

After the money was counted, it was put inside of a heavy steel vault that was then placed underneath the floorboards in a back room. It would remain there until one of Zulu’s lieutenants made his rounds and retrieved the profits and dropped off the next batch of work to be cooked up and distributed. Until then, Tony, Lil G and Big Cook sat around talking shit and smoking on some weed that was loud enough to make you go deaf.

“Man, y’all see what the fuck them Mexicans did to J.R. and Mario?” asked Lil G as he passed the blunt to Big Cook.

Big Cook took two deep pulls from the blunt, coughed, then passed it to Tony before he answered. “Yeah, niggas seen that shit,” he said while exhaling the potent smoke from his lungs. “That shit was all on the news and in the fuckin’ papers and shit.” Big Cook had gotten the first part of his name because at 6’2, three hundred pounds he was obviously big as hell. The second part of his name came from his uncanny ability to turn cocaine into crack.

A lot of novice hustlers were under the impression that mixing coke with baking soda, adding a little water and putting a pot over a flame was all there was to it. However, when they fucked up a package that couldn’t be sold and niggas wanted them dead, they quickly realized there was a science to making that work come back. Big Cook had that science figured out at a young age. Since then, he had come up with many innovative techniques to turn that soft white into a more potent and lucrative form of crack. In the hood it was known as ‘straight drop’.

“They cut my nigga’s throats and pulled they fuckin’ tongues through ‘em, my nigga!” said Lil G, jumping up from his chair, grabbing his gun. Lil G was the youngest of the three comrades and because of his size always felt he had something to prove.

“Yeah, that shit was real fucked up how they did the homeys, man. But you know we rode through Crooked Creek and put ‘bout a hunned rounds in that trailer fulla Mexicans though,” Tony said nonchalantly. There wasn’t even a hint of remorse in his voice for the lives he had taken.

“Fuck that nigga! Mario was my muh’fuckin’ cousin dog! I wanna put a hole in one of them fuckin’ ese’s head right now,” Lil G exploded, while simultaneously cocking the hammer back on his pistol. He waved it around recklessly.
BOOM
! The gunshot from the .45 made everybody in the room jump, including Lil G whose finger had accidentally squeezed the hairpin trigger of the gun causing it to discharge a round into the ceiling.

“Sit yo lil crazy ass down somewhere Lil G, ‘fo you fuck around and kill a muh’fucka off in here wit’ that shit,” Big Cook admonished.

“Maaan, this nigga done blowed my muh’fuckin high wit that dumb ass shit,” said Tony, shaking his head at Lil G.

“Aww man, fuck both of y’all niggas,” said Lil G, feeling a little embarrassed. He sat down and leaned back on the only couch inside of the sparsely furnished living room. His pistol rested in his lap. “Man, y’all heard who gon’ be at the Civic Center for New Years Eve ain’t it?” asked Lil G, changing the subject. He took the last few pulls of his blunt before getting up and putting the roach out on the table.

“Naw, who?” Tony inquired, his ears still ringing.

“’Posed to be Plies, Lil Boosie, Webbie and T.I. And they ‘posed to be droppin’ money from the ceiling or some shit like that,” Lil G said excitedly. “That shit gon’ be super packed! All the bad bitches gon’ be in town for that!”

“Yeah, M.B.M. definitely need to be off in that bitch shittin’ on niggas that night,” Big Cook said. He thought for a moment. “Yo, let’s hit the mall real quick and see if they got some new shit out there.”

“Shit dead out here right now anyway,” Tony stated. “Might as well hit the mall up and fuck wit’ them bitches fo’ a lil minute.” Tony looked at Lil G.

“Shiiiit, y’all already know i’m wit it!”

“Say no mo’. Let’s ride then.”

CHAPTER 16

Ant D had been in the mall for the past hour balling like he played for an N.B.A. franchise. He had already dropped more than a few stacks on tennis shoes and the latest designer clothes for himself. He also thought about his sister and mother as he shopped. They hadn’t been home for Christmas so he wanted to make sure they came home to a house full of presents. For his mother, he bought a necklace with a pink diamond encrusted heart pendant and a matching tennis bracelet. It was expensive, but classy. For Meka he had a girl in one of the high end shoe stores pick out the latest, most fashionable styles in a size five. Knowing Meka’s picky ass, she would probably take them back and order some exclusive shit from offline. It was the thought that counted. Whenever Ant’s arms would get tired, he’d take the bags to his car and go back into the mall for another round.

Since he’d been in the mall, Ant had seen more than a few people he knew. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they were shocked to see him out and about. After the initial shock wore off, some of them would approach. Females smiled, said ‘what’s up’ and gave him hugs. The dudes gave him dap and nodded their heads in respect. Others avoided him like he had the plague. Ant just laughed to himself and kept it moving. He was having a good time being out, but he was definitely on point. If he felt like somebody was looking a little too hard, he wouldn’t hesitate to let his Glocc .40 have an in depth conversation with them.

After a couple of hours of blowing money fast, Ant was making his way out of the mall with both hands full of shopping bags. He made his way halfway through the food court. His appetite had diminished with his coke use, but the many different aromas of food hit him like a Mike Tyson uppercut to the gut. He decided to stop and get something to munch on at one of his favorite spots real quick before he left. “Welcome to Chick-fil-A, can I take your order?” asked a smiling teenaged white girl in a chipper voice. Before he could get his order out, Ant heard a female call his name.

“Hey Ant, Wassup?” It was LaBreya and her funky ass home girl Kyra from Oakview. Breya, as she was known in the streets was the girlfriend of a clown ass nigga named Turk B. Turk was an imaginary player from up north who had a penchant for wearing bootleg designer clothes and bragging about how much money he was getting. It was rumored that he had contracted HIV from this slut named Abby, but nobody knew for sure.

Mike had robbed Turk several months back and humiliated him by making him strip down to his shit stained boxers. Then Mike had pistol whipped him and chased him out of the projects. Ant hadn’t been with Mike on that lick but when Mike had told him about the incident they both shared a good laugh at Turk B’s expense.

Breya wasn’t a bad looking girl at all. She even had a college education. She was far from stupid. Unfortunately, her choice of men automatically put her in the category of just another piece of pussy to be fucked. It was
really
over for her once word got around in the hood that she had fucked one of her bosses knowing he liked the boys just as much as he did the girls. After hearing about that, a lot of dudes just started coming at her any kind of way. There were orgies, threesomes, trains... Some of her exploits had even been filmed on camera phones and had been passed around and put on the internet. When Turk found out about these indiscretions, he’d often beat the shit out of Breya. But instead of just leaving, he stayed with her like the sucker he was.

Ant D wondered what the fuck she was calling
his
name for. He’d heard Turk was locked up for setting somebody’s car on fire or some dumb shit like that. There was actually an ongoing bet on the streets as to how long it would take before Turk would get turned out and become somebody’s bitch. Ant had put a stack up that he wouldn’t last 6 months.

Since Turk’s incarceration, Breya had been jumping from dick to dick in search of some square that was lame enough to wife her. Unfortunately, it was against Ant D’s religion to turn hoes into housewives. “What’s happenin’ Breya. Sup Kyra,” Ant said with a slight nod of his head. Kyra was Breya’s little ugly ass sidekick. Breya only chilled with her out of her own insecurity and desperate need to shine. Kyra’s face was pockmarked and she had a real bad case of body odor that she pretended didn’t exist.

“Nothin’. I see you in here ballin’ as usual,” said Breya, eyeing all the bags in his hands.

“Yeah, something like that.” He dismissed the two females and turned his attention back to ordering his food. “Ummm, lemme get twelve pieces of them chicken nuggets with the waffle fries,” Ant told the young white girl.

“Would you like something to drink with that?”

“Yeah. Ummm, lemme get a Dr. Pepper wit’ that.”

“Damn Ant D, you ain’t gonna buy us somethin’ to eat too?” demanded Kyra with her hand on her hip. She had on a light colored blouse and the sweat stains could be seen through the thin material. As she moved her arms around, a slight scent of musk was noticeable in the air.

Ant scrunched his face up and looked at Kyra like she had two heads. He was far from broke, but he hated when bitches made it seem like he was
supposed
to do something for their asses. “Buy you something to eat!? Bitch, somebody need to buy yo’ ass some extra strength deodorant and some goddamn douche!” he barked at Kyra. “Yo’ funky ass!”

“C’mon Ant D. You ain’t even had to play my girl like…”

Breya’s lips were still moving but her words faded as Ant D glanced out of his peripheral and noticed three figures walking in his direction. It was Big Cook, Lil G, and Tony. All members of M.B.M. Damn! He was slipping. Talking to these dumb ass broads he hadn’t even seen them enter the mall. Now they were walking directly towards where he was standing. He knew they were strapped. They were in the middle of a war with the Mexican Mafia. They’d be stupid not to be. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed him yet. Breya and Kyra were slightly blocking him from their view.

“Here you go sir,” said the smiling Chic-fil-A employee as she placed Ant’s order on the counter. “Would you like anything else?” she asked cheerfully. Keya and Kyra were still running their mouths. Ant D slowly placed his bags on the floor. Immediately, he began to reach for the Glocc .40 that was concealed in his waistband under his thermal. In Ant’s mind the options were extremely simple. Kill or be killed. He’d rather do the former.

Before Ant could get to his pistol, two Mexicans abruptly stood up from one of the tables adjacent to him. Sub machine guns were pulled from their coats. One had an Uzi in his hand, the other a Tec-9. They yelled out something in Spanish before opening fire on Lil G, Tony, and Big Cook.