Money & Love Don't Mix by Ace Gucciano

yours, she loves you dearly! She came to the hospital every chance she got to see yo’ black ass, and made sure you were okay. Now, imagine what kinda pain you’ll be putting her through. Mama’sonly son gone—again! But this time you might not be making it back!” He then shut the door, leaving Trouble all by his lonesome.
                  When Detective Sims left the room, Trouble began to think about Maniac, Smoke and Dre’s whereabouts. He knew they didn’t get arrested cause the Detective was pressuring him to snitch on them. Then he thought to himself, Dem niggaz had to get away wit da’ shit we got dem migos fo. But the thought exited his mind as fast as it entered when he reflected back on all the charges the officer told him he was charged with the moment he came out of the coma.
                  “Mann, what da fuck!” he yelled out as he slammed his hand on the table thinking, Why da’ fuck I ain’t keep tryna find me a job I started to. He then put his head down on the table as Detective Sims words kept playing over and over in his head— “Mama’s only son gone—again! But this time you might not be making it back! Now Imagine what kinda pain you’ll be putting her through.” As he remained at the table with his head down and his mind racing a hundred miles an hour, Detective Sims who was outside the door the whole time watching him and his body language through the door’s tinted window came back in the room. Feeling as if Trouble was in a vulnerable enough state of mind or him to trick him into telling him all he needed to know about what happened. He patted Trouble on his back telling him.
                  “It’s gone be alright Daunté, I promise!” before taking his seat saying, “But you gotta let me know what’s going on so we can get this mess worked out, and you can get on home to that woman who loves you.”
                  Trouble raised his head from the table with a mean mug from not taking kindly to the watered down game Detective Sims tried to run on him, saying.
                  “Da hell I look like, Frank Lucas nigga?! I ain’t no fuckin’ snitch…Shit, you wanna know wat happened call crime stoppers or some shit, but you can take me on to intake I ain’t got shit fo’ ya’.”
                  Detective Simms was pissed with the fact that Trouble wouldn’t break and snitch on his friends as he was hoping he would to make his job a lot easier, because of that he snatched him out his seat aggressively and rushed him out of interrogation room to escort him to jail.
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                  “Yo wats going on wit you Slick? You been kinda quiet da’ past few days you a’ight my nigga?” Slick’s roommate curiously inquired.
                  “Hell naw, I ain’t a’ight, I been tryna call my partna Maniac since last week but his phone keep going straight to voicemail!” He angrily stressed to his roommate, after he hung the wall phone up viciously, “Then I just tried to call my other partna Smoke four times and his shit just keep ringing and ringing…Sum ain’t right my nigga!”
                  “Sum ain’t right like what?” his roommate asked.
                  “Hold on right quick,” Slick stated before going to get his mail from the officer after hearing her call his name for mail call. He watched Slick open the envelope, take out a paper and begin reading as he slowly made his was back over to him. Slick was devastated from reading, and finding out he was about to be going to pre-trial on his case in the next three days. He took a seat next to his roommate, and went into a daze wondering what was going to happen in court.
                  “Yo, you good my nigga?!” he curiously wanted to know after catching glimpse of Slicks reaction to his mail.
                  “Hell naw I ain’t good my nigga, I