Envy by Noire Page A

live and on fire when Trey got back from dropping Mr. Howell off at his apartment. He parked his whip in front of a Spanish bodega that was owned by one of his homeboys in the Talented Ten coalition, and then walked around the corner without a bit of urgency in his stride.
    The slanga he was looking for was holding his spot down real lovely in front of the dilapidated building. Customers were walking up on him from all directions, and the deadly tan goods he sold were flowing from his hands like city water.
    “Yo whatchu want, whatchu want, whatchu want,” the young hustler chanted as Trey approached him. He eyed Trey’s hands in search of that mean green, and he was definitely ready to conduct some bizz.
    Trey never slowed his stride as he snatched the trap boy up in his collar and muscled him over to the stoop of the drug den.
    “Yo, what the fuck is you doin’ niggah?” the slanga struggled to get outta Trey’s killer grip. He swung a wild right hook, and Trey capped him in the grill, and then head-butted him hard on the bridge of his nose.
    He pounded the young’un up the stairs and flung him through the rickety front door. They tussled as Trey dragged him, kicking and fighting, all the way up to the fifth floor.
    The young man looked up from his knees, then twisted and bucked on the landing when he realized he was being dragging out on the roof. He tried to leap to his feet, and Trey crushed his grill with the heel of his boot, and sent a thick stream of blood flying from his mouth.
    “Yo! Who da fuck is you? ” the young man screamed around his busted teeth. “What I do, man? What the fuck did I do ?”
    He struggled some more as Trey flung him outside on the building’s roof. He got up on his hands and knees and tried to crawl away. Trey planted his foot in his ass and sent him crashing face-first into the asphalt.
    Grabbing dude by the back of his shirt, Trey dragged him a couple of feet over to the edge of the roof. He lifted dude’s long, skinny ass easily to his feet, and held him upright while he wobbled and panted in confusion.
    “What?” The dope slanga hollered, straight bewildered. “ What? You got some bad shit? Well just ask for another package, my niggah! You ain’t gotta do all this here!”
    “You like selling dope to pregnant girls and little kids, huh, muh’fucka?” Trey spit, addressing the trap boy for the very first time. “You killed a little girl, man, and her baby is prolly gonna die too. You ain’t got no problem with that grimy shit huh?”
    Dude shook his head. “What the fuck I look like to you, niggah? A fuckin’ baby sitter? Ay! I sell my shit to whoever got money, yo! Now do I go lookin’ for knocked up bitches and snotty-nosed kids? Nah, man, nah. But if they roll up on this block tryna conduct a transaction J-Ugly is gonna handle his!”
    “Gimme what you got on you,” Trey said quietly. Heat was coming outta his eyes and he was damn close to losing his grip. “All of it. Whatever you got in ya muh’fuckin’ pockets, give that shit up right now.”
    The trap boy bucked. “Niggah is you crazy? Yo ass ain’t about to stick me up without no burner, ya heard? Do you know who the fuck I rep for? Whose product you tryna gank? Man, Flex is my rowdy. I’m rolling with them Divine Nine niggahs, and you ain’t about to get my shit!”
    “A’ight,” Trey said calmly. He reached behind dude’s knees and scooped his long ass straight up off his feet. He cradled dude in his arms like a baby, and tipped him backwards over the ledge of the roof.
    “What the fuck is you doin’ man?” the dope slanga screeched and tried to wrap his arms around Trey’s thick neck and rocked up shoulders. “Man, if you drop me off this bitch my crew is gonna kill your ass!”
    “Oh, them niggahs can get some too,” Trey said as he head-butted dude in the nose again, and flung him straight over the edge. He stepped over to the door without a backwards glance, and it slammed shut