Page 8 of Dope Boys: Most Wanted
Her words were cut short by his back moving further away from her, phone in tow.
“Get yourself together and go get your hair done.”
Markus showered, dressed in a sweatsuit, and sped toward the warehouse.
The engine to Markus’ BMW M8 roared down the street before coming to a complete halt in front of the warehouse he kept by the pier. It made receiving shipments easier. The drug shipments came in with the supplies for his hair stores and salons. Everything was branded and packaged correctly, keeping the port control off his ass and in the event they felt like doing their jobs, he kept their pockets stuffed to keep their mouths closed.
After killing his engine, he hopped out, finding a few workers outside shooting dice. The warehouses he inherited from Slim were spread out between Union City, Lynnwood, and Edgecrest all disguised by some legal business front. In Union City the business portfolio was comprised of hair stores, hair salons and spa, check cashing, laundry mats, and a liquor store. Lynnwood had the same set up. His goal was to expand into more upscale place in Edgecrest, Crystal Bay, and Blair Point.
“What’s good, Money?” one of his runners greeted with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“So, fuck getting’ money, y’all gon’ play games all fuckin’ day? The shipment is here, yet I don’t see shit moving,” Markus gritted, as he walked past them. He was on a mission. Since everyone was losing their damn minds. He didn’t give a shit about the partying. He gave a shit about how his entire crew found themselves in the club drawing unnecessary attention to them with niggas he didn’t fuck with.
“Ay, Money,” Angel called out as Markus, Svyn, and Brantley roamed into the warehouse. “What’s good, cuz?”
The jovial greeting from one of his top hustlers fell on deaf ears. For the last week and a half, Markus had been dealing with the fallout from the raids. Going untouched moved him up to thetop of the totem pole but it put a target on his back. It also made him suspicious.
“Thought you was pulling up to the party last night? I had the whole city in that bitch. Even Neveah was there,” Angel added, moving closer to Markus.
Angel was the baby cousin in the group. The shortest and most immature out of them. At five feet ten, with a smirk that could charm anyone. Anyone but Markus. Nothing charmed him, and nothing took his focus off what fueled him - his money. Since a young nigga, money had been his motive. Money solved the rumbling of his stomach, kept the eviction notices off his aunt’s door. Money kept him and his cousins from sharing clothes and beds. The raids, spearheaded by the mayor of Majestic Heights, were causing trouble for him and the crew he was charged with keeping on the up and up. Not everyone within the five boroughs of Majestic Heights had the heart needed to stay steady once doors started getting kicked in. With men and women being snatched up off the streets and plucked out of warehouses. niggas were getting nervous, product wasn’t moving, and lips were getting loose.
These raids were taking bread out of his pocket and food off of tables. But how close it came to touching him, he was moments from finding out. Markus examined Angel and pulled in a draft from his blunt. A grunt and a smirk pushed the smoke out of his nostrils.
“Fuck that mean?” Markus questioned. “What a bullshit ass party got to do with me doing my job, nigga? Seems only one of us makin’ sound ass decisions out here.”
“N-nothing,” Angel replied, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “Just wasn’t expecting you. That’s all. And what you mean by that?”
“Your momma is laid up, hooked up to an oxygen tank all fuckin’ day and you haven’t taken your ass to the house to see about her.”
Markus moved his focused glare to Brantley and Svyn. “All three of y’all niggas. Out in the clubs throwing fuckin’ money, bringing unnecessary fuckin’ attention to us. While ya moms and woman who fed y’all ungrateful asses is dying.”
“Keep that shit with them niggas, I was here all night with you and took my ass home,” Svyn sounded off, understanding Markus’ frustration.
“You right, Syv,” Markus said, snapping his fingers. “Since you want to act like fuckin’ runners, y’all gon get all that shit to the designated places. Svyn, load Nia’s shit up for me.”
“I can stay here with you, Money.” Angel attempted to get back in his good graces.
“Nah, nigga, you going with B,” Markus grumbled, locking eyes with him. That intense glare was soul-stirring. It was always the glare he offered before someone met their end. “Y’all can be out all night, y’all can work too. Get the fuck out my face.”
“Money, you serious?” Brantley objected.
“You niggas act like we wasn’t running packs. What? You getting too big for the program?” Markus quizzed.
“Retired runner, Money,” Brantley huffed. “Fuck I look like dropping off work to some little niggas like I’m small time?”
The comment made Markus rumble with laughter. The higher they climbed in the game, it seemed the more Brantley became out of touch with where they came from.
“A gangsta is a gangsta. You don’t ever stop being a jack boy or a runner, nigga. Some shit in life is handed to you. Like pussy. Some shit you got to work for. Plus, I look at it like this. If I’m paying for club tabs, you gon’ work that shit off.”
It was the entitlement that was bound to send Markus to a place that would further bruise Brantley’s pride.
“You playin’, nigga. You ain’t never pay for my tab no fuckin’ where,” Brantley scoffed.
The comment made Angel and Svyn frown on cue. Markus was a generous as he was deadly.
“Nigga, I look like I’m fucking playing?” Markus presented a scowl, daring Brantley to stand toe to toe with him. He would hate to put his ass down in a warehouse full of people.
“Yeah aight, nigga,” Brantley huffed, before trekking out with Angel following behind. Markus kept his eyes on the pair until their cars were loaded, and they were leaving.
