It's Like Candy (22 page)

But when he found out about Critter and Donald running up on one of Rome's ladies and smacking her up on the streets, he was mad at Russell. Critter and Donald were his homeboys and he knew that Russell was getting them into a world of trouble. But the one thing that lingered in his mind was River. It had been three weeks since the incident, and he hated to admit it, but he was falling in love with her.

As he lounged in his chair, he heard a loud knock at the door. He sighed, not wanting any company, but was cautious, carrying his .380 to the door just in case.

“Who is it?” Eric shouted.

“Niggah, open the fuckin' door! I ain't some bitch tryin' to rob your ass,” Critter shouted, mocking Eric.

“Niggah, fuck you,” Eric replied, turning the locks.

Critter stepped into the apartment dressed like a young fresh hoodlum off the block. He was clad in baggy Sean John jeans, a throwback Lakers jersey, a fitted baseball cap, and sporting jewelry like a rap star.

Eric stared at Critter's new image and shook his head. “My cousin got you lookin' fresh now, huh,” Eric stated.

“Niggah, I'm finally gettin' this money now, like how you used to do. At least your cousin putting me on, niggah.”

“Man, you don't even know what you're gettin' yourself into, Critter. That world that my cousin lives in will put you in the ground so fast,” Eric proclaimed.

“I'm gettin' paid now, that's what matters, E—this money,” Critter countered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. “You need to be down, E . . . fo' real. Yung Slim was asking about you today. He wants you present at this meeting in two hours.”

“I ain't going,” Eric stated, walking back to his chair.

“Yo, he wants you there,” Critter said, following Eric into the living room. “Niggah, I know you ain't still trippin' over that bitch. Yo, we see her again, then it's bang-bang, lights out for that scandalous ho.” Critter lifted his jersey revealing a .45.

“Critter, chill, she's probably long gone by now,” Eric said. “And she's not even on my mind,” he lied.

“That bitch better not be, son.”

Eric sat in his chair and stared at the TV.

“Yo, E . . . what's up wit' you? Why you acting so fuckin' distant? We boys, niggah. Ever since Yung Slim got out, you've been actin' unfamiliar. I know you ain't hating on your cousin.”

“Nah, it ain't even that,” Eric replied.

Critter stared at Eric, studying his expression and his movement. “Niggah, why you playin' yourself? You is stressing that bitch, niggah!”

“I told you I wasn't,” Eric snapped back.

“Yo, E, we knew each other since the fourth grade. I know you like a book, niggah. Right now you actin' like that time Lisa broke your heart in the tenth grade, moping in the chair, not even watching shit on TV. You didn't want to do shit when she dumped you, now you actin' the same way. Yo, this fuckin' bitch set you up and you still caring for this slut bitch. Yo, niggah, get your ass up and get dressed, we goin' to see your fuckin' cousin at this meeting,” Critter shouted.

“Yo, I said I ain't going, fuck him and his meeting,” Eric retorted.

“You really want me to tell your cousin that?” Critter asked. “You want me to give him the true reason why you ain't checking him?”

Eric stared at Critter. “Fuck you, Critter,” was all he could say. He got out of his chair halfheartedly and made his way to the bedroom to get dressed.

Outside, Critter hit the alarm button to a four-door black Acura.

“This you?” Eric asked.

“Nah, not yet, but give me time,” Critter replied. “I borrowed it.”

 

About twenty-five thugs
and key player from the streets met up in the basement of a local strip club on Hillside Avenue. The owner and Yung Slim went way back and he allowed Yung Slim to set up a discreet meeting there with his crew. Yung Slim paid the owner off with a few hundred dollars and the owner didn't have a problem renting out his spot for a few hours.

Everyone stood around the barren unfurnished basement waiting for something to start. They all knew Yung Slim was home and word had quickly got out about how Yung Slim was moving in on Rome's business—how he smacked up his hoes, robbed them, and demanded 60 percent from rival crews. It was definitely a brazen move for someone who'd been out of action for a long time.

The majority of the men were eager to get down with Yung Slim, while some were skeptical about going to war with Rome. Before
Yung Slim came home, Rome had things on lock, and he had definitely proved himself over the years by going head-to-head with the most ruthless men in the game and living to tell about, it.

Yung Slim walked into the room cocky and assured. He wore a white wifebeater and his upper body was swathed with tattoos. A bulky chain hung from around his neck as he stared into the crowd with an intense look. He was flanked by Bishop and Barnes.

“Yo, y'all muthafuckas shut the fuck up!” he screamed, catching everyone's attention.

The room suddenly became quiet, and everyone's attention was focused on Yung Slim. He continued with, “Y'all know why y'all here?”

Some shrugged, some were too intimidated to answer, and some just wanted to be down.

Yung Slim answered for them. “To get this money, that's why y'all are here. Everybody in this room wanna get paid, right?” he shouted.

“Yeah!” the small crowd of men shouted in unison.

“I'm sure every one of y'all niggahs heard about my move on Rome's turf and slapping up his bitches the other night. That's how we fuckin' operate. We don't ask, we don't compromise. Niggahs in my crew regulate on any muthafuckas that's against us. We fuckin' take. That's how you put fear into your rivals' hearts. I know some of y'all know who I am by name and recognition, but for y'all new jacks that's try in' to get down, you staring at the niggah in charge and that's about to start up a fuckin' empire in this muthafuckin' city,” Yung Slim proclaimed.

“I'm Yung Slim,” he continued. “I'm that niggah that's home now, and gonna put that paper in all y'all niggahs' pocket. And to get this money right, all that competition out there is gonna stop, so me and my crew will be the only ones eating out this bitch. You either gon' ride with us or die coming against us. Y'all niggahs understand?”

“Yeah!” the crowd shouted.

“Yo, we selling pussy, cocaine, heroin, and whatever product that's gonna bring this family money, we pushing and selling. And as for muscle, you see these two niggahs right here?” Yung Slim pointed out Bishop and Barnes. “Yo, any niggah that they had beef with ain't living to tell about it. These are my two enforcers. Any one of y'all niggahs cross me or this crew, and I'm gonna set the dogs loose on you. So as of right now, I'm giving y'all niggahs in this room a choice. If you down with makin' paper like 50 Cent and living that bailer's life, stay. But if you ain't got the heart for this shit here, I'm warning niggahs to leave now, because once you in, you in, and there ain't no halfhearted shit done with anything in my crew. I don't care if you peddling drugs to putting the murder game down. You do your job right and sufficient, ‘cause if not, you gonna deal wit' the consequences. And believe me, you don't wanna piss me or my enforcers off.

“So right now, who's ever down, stay the fuck in the room, and if you ain't . . . there ain't no hard feeling, just get the fuck out!”

The room was suddenly quiet as everyone glanced at each other to see who would stay and who would leave. Three men walked out, leaving ample soldiers behind to start a fierce crew.

“That's what I'm talkin' about. . . . Fuck them other niggahs that walked out, let ‘em starve on the streets while we gettin' this paper,” Yung Slim shouted out.

Yung Slim started to get more detailed about his operation. He wanted to call his empire Queens Notorious. Niggahs were definitely feeling the name.

“As of today, QN niggahs ride or die for theirs. We're strictly about paper, and putting fear in rivals' hearts. Our motto, you either ride wit' us or die coming against us,” Yung Slim proclaimed.

He got cheers from the men.

“Business is gonna be good. We gonna set up shop over on Rock-away Boulevard and the Conduit, South Road, One Hundred and Fiftieth Street, Sutphin Boulevard, Guy R. Brewer, Baisley, and even in these cheesey motels in the hood. And if y'all niggahs got any
problems wit' anyone, you get at Barnes or Bishop for muscle or firepower,” he stated.

“Critter is gonna be my eyes and ears on the streets,” Yung Slim said, looking around for Critter. “Yo, where the fuck is Critter?”

“He ain't here,” a voice shouted out.

Yung Slim bit down on his bottom lip, upset about Critter and his cousin's absence. “I said I wanted everyone present. Fuck it, I deal wit' them later.”

Moments later, Critter walked in with Eric following right behind him.

“Yo, Slim, sorry about being late, but—” Critter tried to apologize.

“Shut the fuck up, Critter! I'll talk to you later,” Yung Slim chided.

Critter remained silent and stayed in the background with Eric. He listened to Yung Slim speak to the crowd. Eric couldn't believe the turnout Yung Slim had—eager young men who were ready to get rich quick by any means necessary. Eric knew what waited ahead for the streets of Queens, New York.

Half an hour later, the meeting was over. Eric and Critter still lingered, hearing Yung Slim say to the crowd, “I'm glad y'all niggahs showed up. Tomorrow will be a new and richer day for all of us. Y'all ugly muthafuckas go upstairs and enjoyed that pussy, and tip them bitches and stop being cheap muthafuckas. But I want my lieutenants to stick around.”

As the majority of men headed upstairs to the strip club, eager to drown themselves in the sea of women that waited, Donald, Critter, Barnes, Bishop, and Eric stayed in the basement with Yung Slim.

Yung Slim looked into the faces of all his lieutenants, and said, “Y'all niggahs standing in this room with me right now are my backbone to my organization. I need y'all. I need for y'all to hold it down in them streets when it gets rough. We family, and family don't snitch, rat, or turn on each other. Y'all hear? Family ride or die for
each other. Together we can take over this whole fuckin' borough, even this fuckin' city. We got the soldiers, we got the manpower, the firepower, and most of all, we all got heart.”

Yung Slim gazed at Eric and noticed that he looked aloof from the rest. But he was going to address that later.

“We build this together as a family or we don't build this shit at all,” Yung Slim stated. “We blood in, we blood out. Anything goes down, no matter how big or small, we handle that with a sense of urgency. Any niggahs come against us, we lay ‘em the fuck down. Us in this fuckin' room right now, we keep this shit tight, this is all we got right here—each other. I want y'all to swear to give your life to this shit.”

Everyone nodded, agreeing to Yung Slim's terms. Yung Slim spoke for a few more minutes and allowed his lieutenants to go upstairs.

“Not you, Eric, let me holla at you for a minute,” he said.

Eric stayed, and wondered why his cousin wanted to speak to him alone. As they heard the door shut upstairs, Yung Slim walked up to Eric, and said, “You and me could run this city with an iron fist.”

“I got my own thing going, Russell,” Eric stated.

“I know, Critter informed me. That's why I want you down. You've been doin' this pimping shit before I got home.”

“I wasn't pimpin' them, Russell. The ladies I used for my parties know that it's a business understanding. We're cool like that.”

“Well, it's time for you to step up your game, cuz, that's why I want you running things for me on the track. You know how to work things, you a money niggah. Niggah, you a Beaumont, gettin' rich is in your blood. Your father was the notorious Yung Black, you need to carry on his legacy and help me run this shit. Also, I want you to stop that side hustling.”

“What side hustles?” Eric replied.

“You selling weed, right, to some connect out in Brooklyn?”
Russell brought up. “Nah, niggahs in my organization don't do any outside business with anyone unless I approve of it.”

“You serious?”

“Like a heart attack, niggah. You fuck around and get locked up, cops or the feds might try to roll on you to get to me. I don't know your Brooklyn connection, so end that shit,” Russell proclaimed.

“I'm your bitch now?” Eric sternly replied.

“What? Niggah, you family,” Russell returned.

“You're forcing me into your organization. You want me to become like my father. You ain't home but two weeks and already you trying to tell me what to do. Like when we were kids, always gotta have control of everything,” Eric stated.

“E, I ain't trying to control you, I'm just trying to advise you and look out for you,” Russell countered.

“Look out for me?” Eric tittered. “Russell, you've been gone for seven years, and I've been handling myself pretty good since you been gone. I haven't had any problems or beef wit' niggahs or police so far. I know how to handle myself.”

“Then how you let a bitch infiltrate your business?” Russell stated.

“What?”

“Niggah, you think I'm stupid. You give me some bullshit story about how some buyer of yours sucker-punched you while your back was turned. You expect me to believe that one man fucked your face up like that?” Russell said. “I know it was a crew that ran up on you, E, and they had a bitch set you up.”

“I told this niggah Critter—”

“Critter's a soldier,” Russell stated proudly. “He wants us to come back on them niggahs that came at you. We need to, E—that move they pulled on you makes us look weak. We need to make an example out of your attackers.”