“Y’all ready?” Kiss asked.
“Fa sho,” Zeke mumbled.
I uncrossed my arms and walked off, ahead of them. Kiss walked on the right side of me, Zeke to the left.
“What up doe?” spoke the nigga with the scar.
“What’s good, nigga?” Zeke said before spitting the other way. “Y’all boys good?”
“Hell yeah,” Scarface said, eyeing me. “Crazy as hell I’m seein’ y’all here, low key. Shit, I been wanting to get up with Big Dawg for a min?—”
“Hell naw,” Zeke interrupted. “We chillin.”
“Won’t take but a couple minutes,” he pressed, steady watching me.
Brushing my hand over the top of my head, I said, “Fuck you want nigga?”
He glanced over his shoulder at his boys, laughed a little, shook his head and said, “Can we chop it up in private?”
“Bout as private as it’s gon’ get,” Kiss said.
He shrugged his right shoulder. “Fuck it. I got a money proposition for you.”
I snorted. “You got a money proposition for…me?”
“Yeah,” he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dusty gray joggers. “I got a cousin in Kingston. He tryin’ to get someshit moved but,” he paused and sucked his teeth. “He havin’ a lil’ issue. I heard you was the nigga to get up with if something needed to be moved from point A to point B. Feel me?”
“You heard, huh?” Zeke said with a snort.
Scarface looked from Zeke, to Kiss, and then finally at me. “I mean… I said I wanted to talk in private.”
I didn’t do business with niggas I didn’t know. I for damn sure didn’t fuck with niggas in The Woods when it came to making pape. I ran a tight ship. A very tight ship. The business relationships I had were relationships I’d had since I got into the transportation business. It was a line of work not a lot of people knew about. You had to be working with me directly to know anything about what I had going on. The fact that he knew a little something didn’t sit right with me. We’d been under the radar. Out of the way. Shit was and had always been smooth sailing when it came to moving shit.
That’s what we did.
Moved shit.
A lot of shit.
Drugs. Guns. Hell…people.
We were in the freight business. If you had the right amount of money, we had a method of transport that would get what you needed where it needed to be.
I wasn’t necessarily hearing what Scarface was talking about. Again, I didn’t just fuck with anybody. All money wasn’t good money. There were no shorts. I was eating good. Money didn’t excite or move me. Niggas needed to do more than that to get in with me.
“Not interested,” I said before walking off.
He followed. Walked alongside me, explaining why his cousin was legit and how we could make a lot of money together. I let him walk. I let him talk. Right up until I got across the field to the parking lot.
“You like your life, nigga?” Zeke asked. “We smooth. He said he ain’t interested. Move around.”
Scarface sucked his teeth. I locked eyes with him and smirked. Smiled, really. His eyebrows shot up and he drew back. “Aight, aight. No disrespect Big Dawg. I just… shit.. thought we could get money together. Feel me? Zeke, bro, you already know I don’t mean no disrespect. It’s all love this way.” He held his hands up. “On granny.”
“Niggas hungry though,” he continued. “Ribs touchin, for real. We just tryin’ to eat and?—“
“This look like a soup kitchen, bruh?” Zeke asked. Sucking his teeth, he continued. “You got your answer. Move around. Last time.”
He held his hands up again. Averted his eyes between me, Kiss and Zeke. “Aight. I hear you bro. Look… I’m Tre’. My cousin… Jay—Jayceon… a real money getting nigga. Name hold a lil’ weight. Y’all might know about him. He bout his business. Just experiencing a couple hiccups. I’m right here, all day, every day. You have a change of heart, Big Dawg, get up with me.”
