“I’m good, nigga,” I responded. “I just need more than what I got right now.”
He didn’t question it. He just reached for my duffle. I handed it off, and he went inside.
A few minutes later, he came back out and tossed the duffle at my feet. It landed heavier than when I handed it to him.
“Make it count,” Kronic said.
I grabbed the bag and nodded.
“I always do.”
I sat on his steps and sent a kite out. It wasn’t long before the neighborhood junkies pulled up to me.
One by one.
Then, two by two.
Once the main junkies got the message, they passed the word around.
I sat there on Kronic’s steps with the duffle between my feet while they lined up. Money exchanged hands. Product moved. Everybody left happy throughout the day.
Once my traffic slowed down, I watched the streets. Cars rolled past, niggas was posted up the block. A house playing music in the distance.
The same shit that was always around.
By midday, my traffic picked back up, and I had to re-up. Kronic didn’t mind, and shiid, I didn’t mind either. We were both making money.
I sat there for a couple more hours, serving anybody that had money. The work moved faster than it did in the first half of the day.
Every sale made me feel a lil’ better.
Not because of the money, but because the money meant options, and right now, options were exactly what I needed.
Once my duffle bag was no longer filled with bricks and was full of money, I closed up shop for the day and focused on my other mission—building a team of niggas that’s trained to go.
I knew the block, and the block knew me. The only issue was finding niggas that understood what I had to do.
I looked to the right. I saw some niggas playin’ ball in the middle of the street and couldn’t even talk shit the right way. On the porch were some niggas, Carlos and his people. About four other niggas were rolling up, extended clips hanging out of all of their pockets.
I put my money in my car, then walked over to them.
“Carlos,” I said, getting his attention. He turned around and looked at me.
“Gio, wussup?”
I walked on his porch, dapped him up, and he introduced me to his niggas.
“This is Spy, Kev, Joe, and Frog.”
I dapped each one of them niggas up, then Frog passed me the blunt.
“I haven’t seen you around,” Carlos said, “Where you been?”
“Atlanta, I had some business to take care of there.”
“Word, I heard the money is good out there,” Spy added.
I nodded like I really knew.
