Page 4 of The Hellcat Barbies: Aubree
“Oh nah, bro. I’m good. You don’t have to do that for real.”
Nice kissed his teeth and waved my comment off. “Bullshit. It’s give it to you or some sack chasers. Take this money man. After six years in the belly of the beast, you deserve it. You busy? I want you to ride with me somewhere real quick.”
“Nah. I’m not busy,” I stated slowly.
“Bet. I’m about to run in the store and get some cigars. You can leave your car parked out here. It won’t even take an hour. I just want to show you something.”
“Aight. Let me move the car.”
I was curious as hell about what Nice wanted to show me. Inside the car, I counted the money he’d given me, and it was $4,100. Damn. I didn’t expect that. Shit, with the money I already had I could buy a car for sure. I didn’t have to have a Maybach or a Bentley, but I wanted a decent car that wouldn’t conk out on me two months after purchasing it. Chicago told me he also had rental properties. That nigga was a life saver for sure because I’d been worried about who would approve me for an apartment or house with a felony on my record and only a part-time job.
Chicago and his brother were goals for real. They were Diamond Cove legends. Real dope boys that made it out of the game unscathed and had never snitched or snaked anyone to get to the top. They hustled with everything in them and turned that shit into generational wealth for themselves, their children, and their grandchildren. After parking the car, I put my money away, and exited the vehicle.
I waited by Nice’s BMW until he walked out of the store and hit the unlock button on the key fob. Looking around the car appreciatively as I sank into the leather seats, I admired the interior of the car.
“This is nice,” I observed.
“Thank you. Just got this joint last week. You smoke?” he glanced over at me before putting the car in drive.
“Yeah. I’m not on probation. I can indulge.”
“That’s what’s up. I got some gas. Roll up while I drive. We’re going right over here to the gas station off Ocean Boulevard.”
My brow hiked, but I didn’t respond verbally. I wasn’t sure why we were leaving one gas station going to another one, but I assumed I’d get my answer once we arrived. “Where you want me to dump these guts?” I asked as I split the cigar open.
Nice removed two bottles of water from a black plastic bag. He passed me the bag and one of the bottles of water.
“Thank you.”
“No problem, man. I don’t even want to get all sentimental and shit, but Ish was my nigga. I loved him, and he loved you. All he cared about was you being straight. I’d be less than a friend if I didn’t do what I could. I’m not even saying you need the help. I know you’re a hustler, and you’re about your business. But I also know that a lot of us could get a lot further if we had people that already made it looking out for us. You feel me?” he glanced in my direction.
All I could do was nod. I was never too proud to cry ‘bout my brother, but I just didn’t want to. I’d cried more in the past few years than I had in my entire life. I loved Ish, and I’d never forget him. But he wasn’t coming back. And I got tired of being reminded of that shit. I tried not to let the shift in my mood show as I rolled the blunt. Nice’s phone was ringing nonstop and each time he answered, he was delegating various tasks to who I assumed were his runners. Six years was a long time. A lot could change in six years, but I could remember when I was home, and Ish was on top. Ish was that nigga, and Nice was a runner. With Ish being gone, Nice was on top. That was how shit went in the streets.
It didn’t take Nice long to arrive at the gas station. He was pulling alongside a food truck as I finished sealing the blunt. Without me having to ask, he grabbed a cigarette lighter from the cup holder and passed it to me.
“See that truck right there,” he pointed with his pinky finger.
I glanced over at the blue truck that had the words,Something Nice, written in white letters. “Oh shit that’s you?” I put two and two together, and Nice nodded proudly.
“Bought the truck four months ago. My mom, sister, aunt, uncle, and nephew run it for me. We post up out here six days a week for six to seven hours a day and make a killing. Yesterday alone, there was a crew doing work on the road. Majority of them ate from the truck. With everybody that stopped by yesterday, I grossed over $2,000 in one day. Imagine doing that or more six days a week.”
I was thankful for the $200 a day I was going to be making, but making $2,000 a day would be much better. Yeah, I could do that with dope, but I wanted to do it the legal way.
“We all know we can’t do this drug shit forever. And when I said I was going to look out for you, I didn’t mean a few thousand dollars. I’m going to give you one brick. I’m not fronting you shit. The only thing you’ll owe me is making some bread to invest in something that will have you financially secure and free.”
I hadn’t smoked in six years, so the weed that I’d been smoking since being released got me high as shit after only a few tokes. I exhaled weed smoke while passing the blunt to Nice with a raised brow. I was high, but I wasn’t tripping. First, he gave me over $4,000, and now he was telling me he was going togiveme a brick of coke. I couldn’t believe it. I had never been a leech a day in my life, but I couldn’t front like having some help wouldn’t be a relief. Never in life would I have asked Nice to front me any amount of dope let alone a brick. But if I took thebrick he gave along with the two that Ish left behind and all the money I’d collected, there was no way I couldn’t get on my feet.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I replied honestly. Aside from not being a free loader, I’d never been the type to want to feel like I owed anybody anything. I’d pay every dime for the brick before I ever let him son me or treat me like a lil’ nigga.
“You don’t have to say shit,” Nice’s voice was strained due to the marijuana fumes he was holding in his lungs. “I’m not doing the shit with any ulterior motives. It’s all love.” One of his phones chimed, and he picked it up and read the message. “Fuck, I forgot I have to take my shorty some food. Get out and order you something. It’s on the house.”
Nice hopped out of his car with blunt in hand like it was legal. I followed him and read the menu posted on the side of the truck while he ordered what he wanted. By the time he was done, I had decided on a Philly cheesesteak with fries and a slice of strawberry cake. Nice handed me the blunt, and I got back inside the car. My ass wasn’t brave enough to be out in the open smoking weed.
As I smoked, I studied the food truck. I never would have thought that Nice would have some legit shit going on, but any street nigga that was smart would. He damn sure wasn’t a person that I cared to share my desire to start a YouTube channel with science content. I would need a plan B in case the channel never started to make me money. I loved science, but I couldn’t put too much time into something that wasn’t paying the bills. I had come up on three bricks and once they were gone, I wasn’t buying more. Giving six years of my life to the state was quite enough.
Less than ten minutes later, Nice hopped back into the car with bags of food. I had let the blunt go out, so I wouldn’t smoke it all while he was out of the car. “Yours has the P on it,” he informed me.
“Bet. Thank you.”
