had his shit all kinds of tight. While I was building bikes with Ratchet and living what I thought was the dream, waiting to be patched in, Burns was planning a mother fucking coup.
I don’t know when I realized it. It didn’t happen all at once, but little by little. Change is funny like that. The takeover happened fast as lightning, but the disintegration of Ratchet’s MM was slow. So slow that when I finally realized what Burns had planned, it was too late for me to get out. MM controlled all the drugs in Missouri. If you were smoking it, snorting it, shooting it, or putting it into your body any other way, more than likely, MM was involved in getting it to you somehow. Coke, weed, X, and heroin were the biggies. The only thing Burns wouldn’t fuck with was meth. Those fuckers were crazy. Shit, you never knew what a tweaker was gonna do. Burns was smart enough to realize that. He kept his finger on the meth pulse in Missouri, but he mostly stayed out of it if he could. Choosing instead to keep it as far from his enterprise as possible. Having meth around in the drug game was like having a little brother that wouldn’t let go of your leg. It was sand in the gears of Burns’ empire.
If a meth dealer got too big, MM would step in and dismantle it. Word got out that MM didn’t fuck around, and the meth heads kept their operations relatively small or outside of Missouri borders. Sometimes a crazy ass cracker would set up a meth lab in the middle of a fuckin’ cornfield, thinking he was going to be rich off of his product. MM would step in. That meant lives would be lost, and something was gonna blow up.
After a few years, Burns had what he wanted. An MC that fronted his drug enterprise, of which he was the CEO. Sure, we had titles. He was the President and had his VP. There was a treasurer who handled the master books. He was Burns’ blood brother, Nick. He didn’t get a nickname for some reason. Maybe because he wasn’t a killer, a rider, or a pusher. He was a hacker, a number cruncher, and king of all things electronic. He set up all the off shore, as well as local accounts, that money went through. His shit was tight. He never got his hands dirty with any of the killin’, slangin’, hustlin’, or handlin’. That was for us to do.
What I told Elle was true. Gramps got sick and Burns let me go home to be with him. What I told Elle about white folks and mysticism was also true. Burns was a bastard mother fucker, but when I told him Gramps was the master shaman of our tribe , and he was dying, Burns seemed intrigued. So I kept it up. I told him there was a whole ceremony that lasted months once we knew our master shaman was dying, and if it wasn’t followed, the spirits would bring their fury on all who impeded the ceremonies. I laid it on thick, even telling him my Gramps was the last in our dynasty, so he really had to have the proper burial. I think Burns figured I wasn’t worth the risk of some crazy ass spirits, even if it seemed like a bunch of bullshit. He was protective of his empire, and some dying shaman shit wasn’t going to fuck that up.
So, off I went. Back home to the city I’d fled.
Gramps was sick, and we take care of our own. Not like white folk s who shove their loved ones in nursing homes to let them die. Nah, part of what I told Burns was true. We see our elders into the next part of their journey, when they’d leave this realm and enter the spirit realm. I didn’t know what I believed. I didn’t know if I believed in heaven, hell, or the spirit realm. Maybe I believed in nothing.
Gramps had told me some of our history. In those last weeks, he was pretty in and out of it. Sometimes I had no idea what he was talking about. When he passed, I felt like I was in a black hole. I didn’t want to go back to St Louis, MM, or Burns, but that wasn’t an option and I knew it. After Gramps died, I carried on the local work I’d been doing for MM at Eight Oh Eight, Checks, and the times when
I don’t know when I realized it. It didn’t happen all at once, but little by little. Change is funny like that. The takeover happened fast as lightning, but the disintegration of Ratchet’s MM was slow. So slow that when I finally realized what Burns had planned, it was too late for me to get out. MM controlled all the drugs in Missouri. If you were smoking it, snorting it, shooting it, or putting it into your body any other way, more than likely, MM was involved in getting it to you somehow. Coke, weed, X, and heroin were the biggies. The only thing Burns wouldn’t fuck with was meth. Those fuckers were crazy. Shit, you never knew what a tweaker was gonna do. Burns was smart enough to realize that. He kept his finger on the meth pulse in Missouri, but he mostly stayed out of it if he could. Choosing instead to keep it as far from his enterprise as possible. Having meth around in the drug game was like having a little brother that wouldn’t let go of your leg. It was sand in the gears of Burns’ empire.
If a meth dealer got too big, MM would step in and dismantle it. Word got out that MM didn’t fuck around, and the meth heads kept their operations relatively small or outside of Missouri borders. Sometimes a crazy ass cracker would set up a meth lab in the middle of a fuckin’ cornfield, thinking he was going to be rich off of his product. MM would step in. That meant lives would be lost, and something was gonna blow up.
After a few years, Burns had what he wanted. An MC that fronted his drug enterprise, of which he was the CEO. Sure, we had titles. He was the President and had his VP. There was a treasurer who handled the master books. He was Burns’ blood brother, Nick. He didn’t get a nickname for some reason. Maybe because he wasn’t a killer, a rider, or a pusher. He was a hacker, a number cruncher, and king of all things electronic. He set up all the off shore, as well as local accounts, that money went through. His shit was tight. He never got his hands dirty with any of the killin’, slangin’, hustlin’, or handlin’. That was for us to do.
What I told Elle was true. Gramps got sick and Burns let me go home to be with him. What I told Elle about white folks and mysticism was also true. Burns was a bastard mother fucker, but when I told him Gramps was the master shaman of our tribe , and he was dying, Burns seemed intrigued. So I kept it up. I told him there was a whole ceremony that lasted months once we knew our master shaman was dying, and if it wasn’t followed, the spirits would bring their fury on all who impeded the ceremonies. I laid it on thick, even telling him my Gramps was the last in our dynasty, so he really had to have the proper burial. I think Burns figured I wasn’t worth the risk of some crazy ass spirits, even if it seemed like a bunch of bullshit. He was protective of his empire, and some dying shaman shit wasn’t going to fuck that up.
So, off I went. Back home to the city I’d fled.
Gramps was sick, and we take care of our own. Not like white folk s who shove their loved ones in nursing homes to let them die. Nah, part of what I told Burns was true. We see our elders into the next part of their journey, when they’d leave this realm and enter the spirit realm. I didn’t know what I believed. I didn’t know if I believed in heaven, hell, or the spirit realm. Maybe I believed in nothing.
Gramps had told me some of our history. In those last weeks, he was pretty in and out of it. Sometimes I had no idea what he was talking about. When he passed, I felt like I was in a black hole. I didn’t want to go back to St Louis, MM, or Burns, but that wasn’t an option and I knew it. After Gramps died, I carried on the local work I’d been doing for MM at Eight Oh Eight, Checks, and the times when
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