man Prince seems like the only one who can get it right,” Rico told him.
“I don’t see that nigga here with his bag,” Ras said as if he was putting Prince on blast.
“That’s because he dropped his bag and was gone twenty minutes before y’all got here.” Rico wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed back from the table to address his team. “Fellas, what I keep trying to instill in y’all is that this ain’t some nickel and dime operation we’re running here. We’ve got too much bread running in and out of this organization to treat it like we’re pitching
gee
packs on the block, and I suggest you all get it through your heads. Now that we’ve dealt with that let’s address some of these more pressing issues like these cats from the projects making y’all look like pussies.” He looked from Ras to Lee, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
“Yeah, I heard ol’ boy and them made y’all look crazy the other night,” Ras teased him.
“I know you ain’t talking with how ya man Ron got his shit split two weeks ago?” Lee shot back. “I heard he stomped that nigga unconscious.”
“Why don’t both of y’all shut up because you sound like idiots? This nigga is disrespecting your hood and your soldiers and instead of figuring out which way you wanna kill him you’re in here arguing among each other about who he violated the most.” Rico shook his head in disappointment.
“Man, do you think we ain’t tried to whack this King James muthafucka a hundred times already? Little Snoopy from 115th shot this muthafucka and hit him with his car. The next day when he’s going to the store King rolls up on him and beats him to death with a baseball bat. No matter how many times you lay this bastard out he gets back up and kills somebody. It’s like he can’t be killed.”
Changa gave a throaty laugh. “Anybody can be killed, bro. It’s all about the methods you employ.”
“Then I welcome you to try it, because I’m tired of losing my boys,” Ras said.
“Then maybe you should take a more hands-on approach with the situation,” Rico suggested. Rico steeped his fingers and addressed his troops. “One way or another this King James muthafucka has gotta get dealt with because it looks bad when my guys get treated like third-rate hustlers when everybody knows we’re connected.”
Lee snorted. “Connected? Shit, I don’t see Prince Clark sending nobody down to the slums trying to help out. He’s tucked away in his castle counting money while we’re down here in the trenches dealing with this fucking nut job. As I think on it, I can’t remember Shai ever getting his hands dirty. The only reason he’s the boss is because his daddy’s in the ground and his brother is in the joint.”
“You watch your fucking mouth!” Rico slammed his fist against the table so hard that Changa’s Pepsi fell over and stained the white tablecloth. “Listen to me and listen good, young punk. Poppa Clark was a god to guys like me on the come up, when most of you werestill swimming in your daddy’s nut sack, so you get five more years of experience under your belt before you even fix your mouth to say his name. Furthermore, regardless of how you feel about Shai Clark, he’s the boss and you never disrespect the boss, you understand me?”
Lee lowered his eyes and checked his tone. “You’re right, Rico, and I didn’t mean any disrespect, but I was only trying to shed some light on what a lot of us are feeling.”
“And what are y’all feeling that I’m not already hearing regular complaints about?” Rico asked.
Lee looked at Ras who just shrugged. “Rico, we all know that Shai is the boss, nobody’s disputing that, but that don’t necessarily make it right. Dawg, it’s been our crew out here holding it down and kicking dough up to Shai and them, but we don’t get treated no different than anybody else when it comes to certain shit. When Danny Boy and his crew were waging war with the Bloods
“I don’t see that nigga here with his bag,” Ras said as if he was putting Prince on blast.
“That’s because he dropped his bag and was gone twenty minutes before y’all got here.” Rico wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed back from the table to address his team. “Fellas, what I keep trying to instill in y’all is that this ain’t some nickel and dime operation we’re running here. We’ve got too much bread running in and out of this organization to treat it like we’re pitching
gee
packs on the block, and I suggest you all get it through your heads. Now that we’ve dealt with that let’s address some of these more pressing issues like these cats from the projects making y’all look like pussies.” He looked from Ras to Lee, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
“Yeah, I heard ol’ boy and them made y’all look crazy the other night,” Ras teased him.
“I know you ain’t talking with how ya man Ron got his shit split two weeks ago?” Lee shot back. “I heard he stomped that nigga unconscious.”
“Why don’t both of y’all shut up because you sound like idiots? This nigga is disrespecting your hood and your soldiers and instead of figuring out which way you wanna kill him you’re in here arguing among each other about who he violated the most.” Rico shook his head in disappointment.
“Man, do you think we ain’t tried to whack this King James muthafucka a hundred times already? Little Snoopy from 115th shot this muthafucka and hit him with his car. The next day when he’s going to the store King rolls up on him and beats him to death with a baseball bat. No matter how many times you lay this bastard out he gets back up and kills somebody. It’s like he can’t be killed.”
Changa gave a throaty laugh. “Anybody can be killed, bro. It’s all about the methods you employ.”
“Then I welcome you to try it, because I’m tired of losing my boys,” Ras said.
“Then maybe you should take a more hands-on approach with the situation,” Rico suggested. Rico steeped his fingers and addressed his troops. “One way or another this King James muthafucka has gotta get dealt with because it looks bad when my guys get treated like third-rate hustlers when everybody knows we’re connected.”
Lee snorted. “Connected? Shit, I don’t see Prince Clark sending nobody down to the slums trying to help out. He’s tucked away in his castle counting money while we’re down here in the trenches dealing with this fucking nut job. As I think on it, I can’t remember Shai ever getting his hands dirty. The only reason he’s the boss is because his daddy’s in the ground and his brother is in the joint.”
“You watch your fucking mouth!” Rico slammed his fist against the table so hard that Changa’s Pepsi fell over and stained the white tablecloth. “Listen to me and listen good, young punk. Poppa Clark was a god to guys like me on the come up, when most of you werestill swimming in your daddy’s nut sack, so you get five more years of experience under your belt before you even fix your mouth to say his name. Furthermore, regardless of how you feel about Shai Clark, he’s the boss and you never disrespect the boss, you understand me?”
Lee lowered his eyes and checked his tone. “You’re right, Rico, and I didn’t mean any disrespect, but I was only trying to shed some light on what a lot of us are feeling.”
“And what are y’all feeling that I’m not already hearing regular complaints about?” Rico asked.
Lee looked at Ras who just shrugged. “Rico, we all know that Shai is the boss, nobody’s disputing that, but that don’t necessarily make it right. Dawg, it’s been our crew out here holding it down and kicking dough up to Shai and them, but we don’t get treated no different than anybody else when it comes to certain shit. When Danny Boy and his crew were waging war with the Bloods
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