Monster asked.
“First,” Mitch said, “we need to round up a little team of our own.”
“So you want me to get hold of some live-ass niggaz that be bussin’ them hammers?”
“Not at all, youngblood, not at all. What we gonna do is send a few chicks around to survey the land.” Monster sat back and listened as his OG gave him game. “We gon’ send our team of girls out to find out which bitches are buying the most Gucci, Louie, and Prada; who goes to the most expensive beauticians, drives foreign cars, and lives in nice cribs—and tries to stay off the radar at the same time. When we get that info we move on to the next step, young gee.” Mitch had a smile on his face like he had it all figured out. “I betcha I figure out who these 300 motherfuckas are. I never heard of these motherfuckers running shit and no one knows them … some secret society gangsta shit. I ain’t buying it—not on these streets—something gotta give.”
———
Dr. Nebbie was a miracle worker, Nine-One was a lifesaver, and Kim was an angel. After three months, Jake felt like things were looking a little better for him, but it still was eating him up that somebody wanted him dead and he didn’t know who or why.
The last thing Jake heard from Mitch was that the word on the streets was dudes who tried to kill him when he left thehospital were from a gang called the 300 Crew, which made no sense to Jake. As far as he could remember he got put in a coma because of the Northside Boys or, at worst, T.M.B. The reason that the whole situation spiraled out of control in the first place was because of the life-threatening letter he received. Why would so many people want him dead? He had been off the streets and running his little store for a minute. He didn’t even own a car; he used Nine-One’s car service. He lived a quiet life with his girl, Kim, in a modest condo. He could think of nothing in his day-to-day life that was a good reason for someone to want to kill him. Who in the hell had written that letter was all that was on his mind when ole Neb interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s time to exercise,” Nebbie said, handing him a cup of tea made from the nastiest herbs and spices Jake had ever tasted. This was the beginning of Jake’s daily regimen, which consisted of drinking nasty drinks, having ole Neb stretch his body out for about an hour, then doing specific exercises that consisted of focusing on one muscle or joint at a time until Neb felt it was stimulated enough to move on. They were doing at least five different body parts a day.
Jake told Nebbie what the doctor at the hospital had said about his arm—how it would never work again. Nebbie laughed at the diagnosis and said, “We’ll see.” Then he started mumbling to himself real low in a language Jake had never heard before.
Jake was a lot more at ease with Kim than he was when they first left the hospital. For starters, she had explained the whole money thing to him. “Only about fifty thousand of the money is mine; the five hundred fifty thou belongs to you,” she said. “I always kept it stashed for you, and I brought it right away becauseI didn’t want you to think I was a thief. I would have dropped it off at your mom’s house but there would have been too many complications.” Jake kind of knew some of what she was talking about. His memory was far from great but some things were coming to him. He knew Kim no longer fucked with her mom real tough for personal reasons, but their moms always hung out with each other; it was nearly impossible to see one without the other. Kim continued to fill in some blank spots. “I been taking care of our parents’ bills and pocket money for the past couple of years, but I kept receipts”—which were in the bag with the money—“for everything I spent. The only major purchase I made on myself was for the Beamer.” She also said, “We have a joint account that I started with like forty grand in it, and if my
“First,” Mitch said, “we need to round up a little team of our own.”
“So you want me to get hold of some live-ass niggaz that be bussin’ them hammers?”
“Not at all, youngblood, not at all. What we gonna do is send a few chicks around to survey the land.” Monster sat back and listened as his OG gave him game. “We gon’ send our team of girls out to find out which bitches are buying the most Gucci, Louie, and Prada; who goes to the most expensive beauticians, drives foreign cars, and lives in nice cribs—and tries to stay off the radar at the same time. When we get that info we move on to the next step, young gee.” Mitch had a smile on his face like he had it all figured out. “I betcha I figure out who these 300 motherfuckas are. I never heard of these motherfuckers running shit and no one knows them … some secret society gangsta shit. I ain’t buying it—not on these streets—something gotta give.”
———
Dr. Nebbie was a miracle worker, Nine-One was a lifesaver, and Kim was an angel. After three months, Jake felt like things were looking a little better for him, but it still was eating him up that somebody wanted him dead and he didn’t know who or why.
The last thing Jake heard from Mitch was that the word on the streets was dudes who tried to kill him when he left thehospital were from a gang called the 300 Crew, which made no sense to Jake. As far as he could remember he got put in a coma because of the Northside Boys or, at worst, T.M.B. The reason that the whole situation spiraled out of control in the first place was because of the life-threatening letter he received. Why would so many people want him dead? He had been off the streets and running his little store for a minute. He didn’t even own a car; he used Nine-One’s car service. He lived a quiet life with his girl, Kim, in a modest condo. He could think of nothing in his day-to-day life that was a good reason for someone to want to kill him. Who in the hell had written that letter was all that was on his mind when ole Neb interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s time to exercise,” Nebbie said, handing him a cup of tea made from the nastiest herbs and spices Jake had ever tasted. This was the beginning of Jake’s daily regimen, which consisted of drinking nasty drinks, having ole Neb stretch his body out for about an hour, then doing specific exercises that consisted of focusing on one muscle or joint at a time until Neb felt it was stimulated enough to move on. They were doing at least five different body parts a day.
Jake told Nebbie what the doctor at the hospital had said about his arm—how it would never work again. Nebbie laughed at the diagnosis and said, “We’ll see.” Then he started mumbling to himself real low in a language Jake had never heard before.
Jake was a lot more at ease with Kim than he was when they first left the hospital. For starters, she had explained the whole money thing to him. “Only about fifty thousand of the money is mine; the five hundred fifty thou belongs to you,” she said. “I always kept it stashed for you, and I brought it right away becauseI didn’t want you to think I was a thief. I would have dropped it off at your mom’s house but there would have been too many complications.” Jake kind of knew some of what she was talking about. His memory was far from great but some things were coming to him. He knew Kim no longer fucked with her mom real tough for personal reasons, but their moms always hung out with each other; it was nearly impossible to see one without the other. Kim continued to fill in some blank spots. “I been taking care of our parents’ bills and pocket money for the past couple of years, but I kept receipts”—which were in the bag with the money—“for everything I spent. The only major purchase I made on myself was for the Beamer.” She also said, “We have a joint account that I started with like forty grand in it, and if my
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