Page 10 of A Boy is a Gun: Part I
But when you have more money and property than them, you become everyone’s new favorite target.
“Maria told me you were out here, and I couldn’t believe it,” Tesh walks over to me with a smile, “but of course you are–baby carrier and all.” She’s an older Black woman with short hair and an average build. She lives on the property in a separate home because she likes her space.
While Que is my right hand in street business, Tesh is my right hand in the overall operation. She’s practically raised me, and I consider her a second mother, more of a real one than my own. She’s helped me with homework, went with me on college tours, and made sure I made intelligent investments with my money.
She used to be a city planner and still have many connections within the city. She keeps me up-to-date with what properties are being built and sold and how they’re designed. The moment one was up for purchase, we quickly snatched it.
Not only does my real estate portfolio get more prominent but also it’s a great way to launder money. Everyone suspects car dealerships and funeral homes for obvious reasons. No one is going to guess a payday loan, a ritzy apartment complex, or a Mom and Pops restaurant as a place where drug money constantly flows in and out.
Furthermore, Tesh is also the deadliest of them all. She’s the type of woman who would serve you a piece of peach cobbler laced with arsenic and have a charming conversation with you as she knows you’re dying with every bite. And then she’ll show up at your funeral with a smirk to ensure you are dead.
“These damn things are convenient,” I say as I softly rock Mia. “I used to bust Bobby’s balls about carrying his kids and look at me,” I chuckle.
Tesh smiles at me. “Yeah, look at you. The father I thought you would be.”
“Don’t get all emotional on me, Mom.” I pause and felt the color disappear off my face. Tesh made it very clear that I had a mother and should always refer to her as such. I understand it, though I don’t entirely respect it. “Tesh. Sorry about that. A slip of the tongue.”
Tesh is quiet for a moment as she looks at me. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “I got the information you want,” she opened a manilla folder and held out a sheet of paper of perp #1. It’s the tattooed white guy who’s cosplaying Post Malone. Of course, he is.
He’s the guy who fell in love with street culture and wanted to fit in with everyone and everything. I call them the Miley Cyruses. They try Black culture for size, have a few yuk-yuks, and then take off the costume when it becomes too hot and remembers they’re white.
“I couldn’t find info on the other one; Black guys with locs are a dime a dozen around here, but we’re looking.” She says with confidence. “As long as we have his friend, it’s only a matter of time before we find him.”
Tesh can find a penny in a haystack, so I don’t doubt the other perp who assaulted Patrice is on borrowed time. “What set does he rep?”
“Our old friends,” Tesh licks a finger and turns a page, “East Atlanta Cartel.”
“Oh, fuck’s sake.” I shake my head.
“Watch your language around my grandbaby.” She warns me, and the fear of God is put into me. I don’t fear any man, but I fear Tesh. She never turns off the boss bitch attitude, and that’s one of the reasons why I love her. “Anyway, he’s associated with the EAC. I don’t know if he’s a member or a wannabe member. Maybe Patrice was an easy lick for them for his initiation; who knows? All I know is he’s a dumb ass….” She folds her lips as I smile at her. “…he’s a not-so-smart one who hasn’t been shy about his affiliation on social media.” She turns another page and provides documentation. “Snapchat, IG, TikTok…he’s not shy about what he’s doing at all.”
“And they wonder why they steadily get robbed and killed,” I shake my head. Real gangsters don’t brag about their actions because they know the real power is behind the scenes. They know people are watching their every move, and they lay as low as possible.
These new cats out here are holding money to their ears like it’s a phone, labelwhoring every designer brand they can get a stiffy for, and feel that if they watch enough “Scarface,” they can become Tony Montana.
They’re not here washing the money, so there’s no trace. They’re not here buying up property, so they no longer have to be in the hood. They’re out here declaring war on property they don’t own, killing people who look like them, and then wondering why many of them don’t make it to 25.
And if they do happen to make it 25, it’s either because they got out or they’re in prison.
“I want to know who is the closest person to him. Girlfriend, wife, baby, whomever it is. That’s our target. You follow that person, and you follow their habits. What’s their routine? How often do they leave home? Do they leave at all? Where are they located? That’s the person he’ll be in contact with no matter what is going on.” Mia murmurs, and I quietly shush her. “Do that with all members of EAC. We’re about to go on an expedition.”
“Got it.” She writes everything down.
“Who’s running it now? There has to be somebody,” I mention, and Tesh is quick on it. She shows me a clear 4K photograph of a person, and I shake my head. To say I’m familiar with this person is akin to saying a baker is familiar with frosting. “Really, though?”
“He goes by Pharoah now.” She shrugs. “I guess he thinks he’s a king.”
“King of something, all right.” I already know this person will be a somewhat unpredictable problem. He’s the type of crazy one who can never be too sure about it. Being dangerous isn’t the issue; it’s his recklessness of it that makes him an unsure bet. “I can’t make a move until he makes one, and he’ll make one very soon, I reckon.”
“I think he’s the one causing all the chaos out here,” she chimes in, “everything was quiet until it wasn’t.”
The number of drive-bys, follow-home robberies, and drug deaths have tripled since I left. I don’t make myself out to be some law and order drug lord, but none of this was a problem when I was in the game. Whoever took over doesn’t care about street code at all. “Some people, Tesh, just want to see the world burn.” I turn towards her. “If I can guarantee what I do will make you remember me forever, I will do it, no matter who gets hurt in the process.”
“I rather live in infamy than die in anonymity.” She knows the street code like a Christian knows the Bible.
“Put an APB out in the streets,” we continue to walk around the compound, “offer the bounty to anyone who has any information about what happened to Patrice. Somebody will talk.”
“What’s the price?” Tesh asks.
