Extra Value Meal from McDonaldâs at one of the rest stops the bus made. Dollar knew he was going to have to start setting up a hustle, but it was going to be impossible to do it without a crew. With only $88.21 to his name, time was of the essence.
As Dollar had learned in prison, everyone around him was his enemy. No way could he trust these new age gangstas. These cool-ass muthafuckas wasnât about nothinâ but the bling-bling and screwing each otherâs hoes. He knew that much from the young bucks who were starting to fill the prison. It was time to drop in on Tommy and Ral. Hustling ran in their veins. No matter what they were up to these days, Dollar knew in his heart they would be down for a hustle. Besides, they owed him. The way Dollar saw it, them niggaz owed him the trouble of getting his life on track, for it was his life that spared their own.
First thing was first; he had to look up his family. The guilt of betraying them by being loyal to Tommy put Dollar in between a rock and a hard place. The choice he made meant having to abandon his mother and brother.
How in the hell was he going to explain things to his mother and Klein? He hoped they would forgive him and understand his reasoning for not wanting to stay in contact with them while in prison.
When he showed up on their doorstep, would they believe their eyes? Would they believe him when he told them that he was no longer dead as far as they were concerned, but that he had been resurrected back onto the streets by God?
CHAPTER 8
Puttinâ In Work
âThis funky-ass place is worse than the joint,â Dollar said as he brushed away an oversized cockroach that made its way up his arm. As it flew in the air, he followed it with his eyes. Upon its landing, he stomped it dead with his foot. Dollar scraped the cockroach off of the bottom of his flip-flop. Looking at the flip-flop reminded Dollar of the joint.
âI gotsta get me some real house shoes,â Dollar said out loud. Soon enough Dollar would catch back up with the latest fashions. It was now 2003 and things had changed plenty since 1994. Dollar would be back on top of his game in no time with the right planning. Dollar spent most of his days sketching out different types of stickups he could work. He was fiendinâ for dem streets. Part of him understood how his father was drawn away by the call of the streets. But the other part of him kept saying, fuck that! He had a wife and two kids. Something should have eventually brought his ass back home. Now look at him. Ramelle Blake, aka Romeo, B.K.A. Midwest Serial Killer, had been sucked up by the streets. He set out to own the streets and the streets ended up owning him.
Yeah, Dollar was glad his father was able to rebirth him, but years of hate for this stranger overpowered a few months of liking him. He was glad that man would be sentenced to a slow death. After all, that was the sentence heâd given his family when he walked out of that door twenty-three years ago. Dollar swore he would never abandon his wife and kids like that, and to ensure such, he decided that he would never have his own family. Good conversation and pussy was all any role a woman would play in his life, but a wifey, hell no! He would father no children to abandon and would husband no woman.
So many cats in the prison had gone down because of their so-called wifey. Hoes start ratting those fools out when they knew and had access to what Store-N-Lock facility the Expedition and $600,000 in cash was located. Dollar wouldnât make that mistake. He wouldnât be one of those cats who spent years risking their life in the game to feed kids who werenât even his because a bitch done fucked one of his partners and got pregnant and didnât know who the damn daddy was. Talk shows and the news brought to light and aided in Dollarâs list of doâs and donâts.
Speaking of family, Dollar had already been in Gary a week without
As Dollar had learned in prison, everyone around him was his enemy. No way could he trust these new age gangstas. These cool-ass muthafuckas wasnât about nothinâ but the bling-bling and screwing each otherâs hoes. He knew that much from the young bucks who were starting to fill the prison. It was time to drop in on Tommy and Ral. Hustling ran in their veins. No matter what they were up to these days, Dollar knew in his heart they would be down for a hustle. Besides, they owed him. The way Dollar saw it, them niggaz owed him the trouble of getting his life on track, for it was his life that spared their own.
First thing was first; he had to look up his family. The guilt of betraying them by being loyal to Tommy put Dollar in between a rock and a hard place. The choice he made meant having to abandon his mother and brother.
How in the hell was he going to explain things to his mother and Klein? He hoped they would forgive him and understand his reasoning for not wanting to stay in contact with them while in prison.
When he showed up on their doorstep, would they believe their eyes? Would they believe him when he told them that he was no longer dead as far as they were concerned, but that he had been resurrected back onto the streets by God?
CHAPTER 8
Puttinâ In Work
âThis funky-ass place is worse than the joint,â Dollar said as he brushed away an oversized cockroach that made its way up his arm. As it flew in the air, he followed it with his eyes. Upon its landing, he stomped it dead with his foot. Dollar scraped the cockroach off of the bottom of his flip-flop. Looking at the flip-flop reminded Dollar of the joint.
âI gotsta get me some real house shoes,â Dollar said out loud. Soon enough Dollar would catch back up with the latest fashions. It was now 2003 and things had changed plenty since 1994. Dollar would be back on top of his game in no time with the right planning. Dollar spent most of his days sketching out different types of stickups he could work. He was fiendinâ for dem streets. Part of him understood how his father was drawn away by the call of the streets. But the other part of him kept saying, fuck that! He had a wife and two kids. Something should have eventually brought his ass back home. Now look at him. Ramelle Blake, aka Romeo, B.K.A. Midwest Serial Killer, had been sucked up by the streets. He set out to own the streets and the streets ended up owning him.
Yeah, Dollar was glad his father was able to rebirth him, but years of hate for this stranger overpowered a few months of liking him. He was glad that man would be sentenced to a slow death. After all, that was the sentence heâd given his family when he walked out of that door twenty-three years ago. Dollar swore he would never abandon his wife and kids like that, and to ensure such, he decided that he would never have his own family. Good conversation and pussy was all any role a woman would play in his life, but a wifey, hell no! He would father no children to abandon and would husband no woman.
So many cats in the prison had gone down because of their so-called wifey. Hoes start ratting those fools out when they knew and had access to what Store-N-Lock facility the Expedition and $600,000 in cash was located. Dollar wouldnât make that mistake. He wouldnât be one of those cats who spent years risking their life in the game to feed kids who werenât even his because a bitch done fucked one of his partners and got pregnant and didnât know who the damn daddy was. Talk shows and the news brought to light and aided in Dollarâs list of doâs and donâts.
Speaking of family, Dollar had already been in Gary a week without
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