Page 57 of On Everything
Ciara’s ass is about to learn quickly that if I want to talk to her, there is nothing that can stop me from talking to her. Not even jail. Shit I’ll do some shit like have a nigga drop off love letters to her house if I ever did a bid.
As I dodged in and out of traffic, I looked in my rearview and noticed there was a car tailing me making the exact moves I was at least four cars back.
I knew this could be one of three things. A hit, a robbery, or I could just be paranoid as hell after what happened at myapartment with Cashmier. To be honest all of the shit sounded like a problem none much worse than the other. The only thing is, I can say that I been shot at before, had niggas attempt to rob me in my earlier days, but never in my life have I been a paranoid nigga because paranoid was too much like scared and my father always taught me to never have fear. He used to say that fear of death keeps you from living.
But now, I’m looking at this life shit a whole lot different. If I’m murdered and don’t get to see my kid grow, then dying will be a much bigger tragedy for me. I want to teach my child how to live, shit I want to say teach him because I want to speak having a little nigga into existence. I can’t wait to teach him how to brush his teeth, how to tie his shoes, and even how to piss without getting the toilet seat wet. If I have a little girl, I’ll probably love and protect her more, but a son would be a dream come true for me.
When the car I suspected was following me finally passed by, I felt stupid seeing that it was a white couple inside who were a threat to no one. I relaxed in my seat and loosened up my tight grip on the stirring wheel because now I see I really am tripping.
After a few minutes of driving in silence my phone rang, and I saw it was a call from Crew on one of his burner phones.
“What up.”
I answered the phone on the touchscreen dash.
“Yo, get to the warehouse on Stanley Avenue.”
“Asap as in right now or as soon as I can?”
“Right now, nigga. Like ten minutes ago.”
He sounded amped up before he hung up the phone.
I hit a U-turn in the rode and did the dash to the warehouse in East NewYork that was ducked off enough for us to do dirt.
When I pulled up, I spotted Crew’s car and jumped out when I felt like I heard a nigga scream.
The warehouse was the old Linden movie theater off Linden Blvd that we purchased years ago just for times that we needed to handle people in secrecy. There have been plenty of bodies dropped in here and when Crew came to this location, I knew another body would be added to the list.
I walked into the large open space to Crew who was standing over a nigga lying hurt on the ground. Whoever it is was squirming all over the floor and covered in so much blood that I couldn’t tell what race he is.
“Who the fuck is this?”
I asked, standing next to Crew.
“Councilman Davis.”
This nigga caught me completely off guard.
“Cashmier’s pops?”
“Yeah.”
“What the fuck happened with him? You tripping.”
Crew glanced down to him and then back up at me clapping his fist to his palm.
“Alright, to make a long story short, you know that I have my other business on the side that I do from time to time.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So, one of my old clients hit me up saying that they had a friend who needed a job done in the next six months and they were willing to pay top dollar for it. I talked through the friend for the past couple of days on a proxy zoom call with a voice changer and a ski mask because you know I’m never falling for a set up by the cops. I get pictures and payments, andeverything sent over electronically, and I never have to meet the muthafuckas I do work for. That keeps me out of jail.”
Some people may think that hits are mostly put out in the streets, but it’s rich muthafuckas that’s ordering hits because they are too scared to bleed a nigga themselves. They instead pay niggas like Crew to take out enemies like owners of businesses they are competing with or just business partners who have crossed them. Crew has made a lot of money by killing powerful people for even more powerful people. He often joked that his hits are five star Michelin and came with good reviews from others.
“Okay and, how the fuck does that land Carl here nigga?”
“Because when I told this new client to send a picture of who the hit was for and the name, this is what they sent back. That’s when I went against what I normally do with these rich mother fuckas and organized a meet up. This dumb ass didn’t realize he was trying to hire me to do a hit on my best friend.”
