something better lined up for you. Bring your ass down to 79 th and Columbus Ave.”
“Come on, Cos, a nigga about to get some ass. You know I’m fresh home,” Duce protested. The last thing he felt like doing at that moment was clubbing, especially with all the dirt he was riding with. All Duce wanted to do was hit the FDR and make it back to Brooklyn without incident.
“Fuck that, there’s a gang of bitches up in here. Somebody’s gonna give your young ass some pussy. Besides, the big homey wants to meet you. We’ll be expecting you in about an hour,” Cos said, before ending the call.
Duce cursed and tossed the phone roughly into the passenger seat. Meeting Cowboy wasn’t something he had planned on just yet, it was messing with the natural order of his plan and Duce hated that, but it was a necessary evil. He knew Cowboy by reputation, but had yet to feel the man out. A good hunter was always familiar with the scent of his prey before the kill.
ELEVEN
Booby was huddled so deep in the doorway of the closed wireless store that you couldn’t see him unless you knew where to look. Ever since he was a kid, it had always been easy for him to blend in, or be overlooked, which is what made him such a valuable informant for some of the under world’s top figures. That night, he was in the employment of El Pogo, through Tito.
It wasn’t hard for him to locate and track his mark, because they were from the same neighborhood. Cowboy had a residence in the middle class complex of Espinard Gardens, while Booby resided on 147 th and Seventh. He knew what Cowboy and his crew were capable of so he was apprehensive at first, but when he heard how much he’d be paid, it was a done deal. He wasn’t sure what Cowboy had done to piss El Pogo off and truthfully he didn’t care, as long as he got his cake.
It had been about fifteen minutes since Cowboy and his entourage had entered the bar. When he was sure that they weren’t going anywhere, he picked up the phone and dialed the number Tito had given him.
Duce had driven pass the bar twice before he finally spotted it. It was a very nondescript spot located at the basement level of a restaurant. As luck would have it, he was able to park right in front, which was amazing considering the parking situation in New York City. Though he still had on the thermal shirt and jeans at least he was able to find a pair of dusty black Timberlands in the back of the truck. They weren’t exactly club worthy, but at least they didn’t have blood all over them. Securing his gun under the driver’s seat of his truck, he made his way towards the bar.
“Fam, we got a dress code here,” the bouncer said before Duce had made it all the way to the descending stairs.
“My dude, I’m fresh off the road just trying to catch a quick drink,” Duce said pleasantly.
The bouncer looked him up and down. “Still, the rules are the rules. You can’t get in dressed like that.”
“Jimmy for as well as we tip your ass I know you ain’t out here hassling a member of my team?” A voice floated from the bottom of the stairs. Cos was leaning against a table smoking a cigarette.
“My fault, Cos. I ain’t know homey was here with y’all,” the bouncer said humbly.
“Well now you do,” Cos said, handing him a $50 dollar bill. “Now move your big ass out the way and let my man in.”
“What da deal?” Duce stepped passed the bouncer and embraced Cos.
“Welcome home, kid,” Cos patted Duce on the back. “How does it feel?”
“Damn good,” Duce eyed a scantily dressed young lady who was making her way down the steps.
“Man it’s a hundred more like her in the club. Come on down so I can introduce you to the team.”
Cos led Duce down the stairs and through two large wooden doors. The interior of the club was nothing like the quiet exterior. The music was loud, the air was stale and liquor flowed by the gallons. Cos bumped through the crowd passing out handshakes and hugs while
“Come on, Cos, a nigga about to get some ass. You know I’m fresh home,” Duce protested. The last thing he felt like doing at that moment was clubbing, especially with all the dirt he was riding with. All Duce wanted to do was hit the FDR and make it back to Brooklyn without incident.
“Fuck that, there’s a gang of bitches up in here. Somebody’s gonna give your young ass some pussy. Besides, the big homey wants to meet you. We’ll be expecting you in about an hour,” Cos said, before ending the call.
Duce cursed and tossed the phone roughly into the passenger seat. Meeting Cowboy wasn’t something he had planned on just yet, it was messing with the natural order of his plan and Duce hated that, but it was a necessary evil. He knew Cowboy by reputation, but had yet to feel the man out. A good hunter was always familiar with the scent of his prey before the kill.
ELEVEN
Booby was huddled so deep in the doorway of the closed wireless store that you couldn’t see him unless you knew where to look. Ever since he was a kid, it had always been easy for him to blend in, or be overlooked, which is what made him such a valuable informant for some of the under world’s top figures. That night, he was in the employment of El Pogo, through Tito.
It wasn’t hard for him to locate and track his mark, because they were from the same neighborhood. Cowboy had a residence in the middle class complex of Espinard Gardens, while Booby resided on 147 th and Seventh. He knew what Cowboy and his crew were capable of so he was apprehensive at first, but when he heard how much he’d be paid, it was a done deal. He wasn’t sure what Cowboy had done to piss El Pogo off and truthfully he didn’t care, as long as he got his cake.
It had been about fifteen minutes since Cowboy and his entourage had entered the bar. When he was sure that they weren’t going anywhere, he picked up the phone and dialed the number Tito had given him.
Duce had driven pass the bar twice before he finally spotted it. It was a very nondescript spot located at the basement level of a restaurant. As luck would have it, he was able to park right in front, which was amazing considering the parking situation in New York City. Though he still had on the thermal shirt and jeans at least he was able to find a pair of dusty black Timberlands in the back of the truck. They weren’t exactly club worthy, but at least they didn’t have blood all over them. Securing his gun under the driver’s seat of his truck, he made his way towards the bar.
“Fam, we got a dress code here,” the bouncer said before Duce had made it all the way to the descending stairs.
“My dude, I’m fresh off the road just trying to catch a quick drink,” Duce said pleasantly.
The bouncer looked him up and down. “Still, the rules are the rules. You can’t get in dressed like that.”
“Jimmy for as well as we tip your ass I know you ain’t out here hassling a member of my team?” A voice floated from the bottom of the stairs. Cos was leaning against a table smoking a cigarette.
“My fault, Cos. I ain’t know homey was here with y’all,” the bouncer said humbly.
“Well now you do,” Cos said, handing him a $50 dollar bill. “Now move your big ass out the way and let my man in.”
“What da deal?” Duce stepped passed the bouncer and embraced Cos.
“Welcome home, kid,” Cos patted Duce on the back. “How does it feel?”
“Damn good,” Duce eyed a scantily dressed young lady who was making her way down the steps.
“Man it’s a hundred more like her in the club. Come on down so I can introduce you to the team.”
Cos led Duce down the stairs and through two large wooden doors. The interior of the club was nothing like the quiet exterior. The music was loud, the air was stale and liquor flowed by the gallons. Cos bumped through the crowd passing out handshakes and hugs while
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