Mitch, all he had to do was keep his ears open while motherfuckers spoke about everything they saw, heard, and thought about as they frequented his gambling spot. It would be especially easy to get the history on the jokers who shot at the police because that type of shit was held in high regard in the hood, sort of looked up to. What Mitch didn’t know was that he wouldn’t even need to keep his ears on alert because his man Monster already had the whole scoop.
Once Nine-One and Nebbie arrived at the hotel where Jake and Kim were hiding, Mitch prepared to leave. “Kim, it’s probably going to be best if I take your car with me. Whoever is looking to kill Jake probably knows what he was riding in when he left the hospital.” Kim didn’t have a problem with the arrangements. Mitch left his car behind so Nine-One would have something to drive J.B. and Nebbie around in. Mitch hated to part with his Eldorado but it was mandatory for his nephew’s sake. Mitch decided he would park Kim’s car at theairport in long-term parking and get himself a first-class flight back home. Kim’s Beamer was nice but it wasn’t his style. Besides that, the back window was shattered and the rear bumper was scratched up, and Mitch wasn’t into driving around looking hot or fucked up so he was on the next flight smoking.
FLYING BULLETS
April 2010
Mitch’s flight arrived right on time and Monster was waiting for him when he got off the aircraft. “You a’ight, OG?” Monster asked as they walked to where he parked the car he was driving. “Where’s the Eldorado?”
“Yeah, shit is a’ight. I had to leave the Eldorado with my people: They needed it more than me.”
Back in the car Monster lit up a freshly rolled blunt and passed Mitch an unopened pint of Henny. “Take a swig of this yak.”
Mitch put the bottle to his mouth and took a good swallow. The potent cognac slid down his throat. “Whew, she biting.” Monster passed him the blunt.
“OG, I got some info that you need to know.”
Mitch took two long pulls of the blunt and stared at his protégé. “What is it?”
Monster picked up the cognac and took a swig. “I got the word on who tried to kill your peeps—J.B.—and they some serious characters, real foul dudes. They don’t have regards for nothing—women, children—none of that don’t mean shit to them. Motherfuckas so grimy they even do the family pets greasy. They call themselves the 300 Crew. How ever you want to go at them though, I’m riding with you one hundred percent.”
“That’s peace.” Mitch thanked Monster for his alliance and then said, “I heard of the 300. I thought they were a bunch of young boys who started a little gang; when did they become so notorious?”
“When they started getting money out the ass and laying mu’fuckaz down like rugs and floor mats. Nobody even knows the real identities of these niggaz. Some say it’s ten niggaz who can’t be touched that run the gang. Some say it’s three quiet dudes who each hustled up a few mil and came to the conclusion that if they got together they could run the city. Some mu’fuckaz say it’s a cop that’s running the shit. Some say it’s a bitch … Truth is no one really knows who call the shots for them niggaz, or how many there are. Niggaz just know their name and their trademark, which is killing shit and supplying weight and committing all types of white-collar crimes.”
“What the fuck has the streets come to … a bunch of mystery killers and dealers? You know what?” Mitch said in a serious tone. “I think about quitting the business; maybe it’s time for me to move on. When all the smoke clears I might not even be around, know what I’m saying youngblood?”
“I feel ya, OG.” Monster got in the right lane to exit the highway then asked, “Where are we headed: home or what?”
“Nah, I got work to do. I have to get to the bottom of who these 300 motherfuckers are.”
“Where do we get started?”
Once Nine-One and Nebbie arrived at the hotel where Jake and Kim were hiding, Mitch prepared to leave. “Kim, it’s probably going to be best if I take your car with me. Whoever is looking to kill Jake probably knows what he was riding in when he left the hospital.” Kim didn’t have a problem with the arrangements. Mitch left his car behind so Nine-One would have something to drive J.B. and Nebbie around in. Mitch hated to part with his Eldorado but it was mandatory for his nephew’s sake. Mitch decided he would park Kim’s car at theairport in long-term parking and get himself a first-class flight back home. Kim’s Beamer was nice but it wasn’t his style. Besides that, the back window was shattered and the rear bumper was scratched up, and Mitch wasn’t into driving around looking hot or fucked up so he was on the next flight smoking.
FLYING BULLETS
April 2010
Mitch’s flight arrived right on time and Monster was waiting for him when he got off the aircraft. “You a’ight, OG?” Monster asked as they walked to where he parked the car he was driving. “Where’s the Eldorado?”
“Yeah, shit is a’ight. I had to leave the Eldorado with my people: They needed it more than me.”
Back in the car Monster lit up a freshly rolled blunt and passed Mitch an unopened pint of Henny. “Take a swig of this yak.”
Mitch put the bottle to his mouth and took a good swallow. The potent cognac slid down his throat. “Whew, she biting.” Monster passed him the blunt.
“OG, I got some info that you need to know.”
Mitch took two long pulls of the blunt and stared at his protégé. “What is it?”
Monster picked up the cognac and took a swig. “I got the word on who tried to kill your peeps—J.B.—and they some serious characters, real foul dudes. They don’t have regards for nothing—women, children—none of that don’t mean shit to them. Motherfuckas so grimy they even do the family pets greasy. They call themselves the 300 Crew. How ever you want to go at them though, I’m riding with you one hundred percent.”
“That’s peace.” Mitch thanked Monster for his alliance and then said, “I heard of the 300. I thought they were a bunch of young boys who started a little gang; when did they become so notorious?”
“When they started getting money out the ass and laying mu’fuckaz down like rugs and floor mats. Nobody even knows the real identities of these niggaz. Some say it’s ten niggaz who can’t be touched that run the gang. Some say it’s three quiet dudes who each hustled up a few mil and came to the conclusion that if they got together they could run the city. Some mu’fuckaz say it’s a cop that’s running the shit. Some say it’s a bitch … Truth is no one really knows who call the shots for them niggaz, or how many there are. Niggaz just know their name and their trademark, which is killing shit and supplying weight and committing all types of white-collar crimes.”
“What the fuck has the streets come to … a bunch of mystery killers and dealers? You know what?” Mitch said in a serious tone. “I think about quitting the business; maybe it’s time for me to move on. When all the smoke clears I might not even be around, know what I’m saying youngblood?”
“I feel ya, OG.” Monster got in the right lane to exit the highway then asked, “Where are we headed: home or what?”
“Nah, I got work to do. I have to get to the bottom of who these 300 motherfuckers are.”
“Where do we get started?”
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