4. Sol
Sol
“ T his muthafuckin’ Chinese food smell so good! Hurry up and park so a nigga can eat.” Fatz grumbled.
I backed into a parking spot right in front of an old ass rec center on The East Side of L.A.
Raft had a warehouse just like Casper and Trigga did.
I decided to use it for other reasons and switch shit up by making the rec center headquarters.
It’s where a lot of his men hung out at.
Plus, Raft owned it, and it was passed down to me.
“This shit raggedy as fuck,” Fatz complained as he looked around.
He was right, this shit was far from fancy.
The paint on the outside was peeling. On the inside, the floor squeaked like it would collapse at any given moment.
It had broken vending machines that still had candy and chips inside from the early two-thousands.
This was the perfect spot to have everyone meet up at.
It was neutral ground, tucked low, with disabled cameras.
One entrance and one exit… just how I wanted it to be.
Tonight was my first official meeting with them, not as a son but the head.
I understood that my name didn’t just come with weight, it came with eyes, watching and judging and waiting to see if I would fold like a bitch or rise like a king.
Niggas thought I was still mourning my father’s death; I would forever mourn Raft.
Nevertheless, when I walked inside, none of that mourning would be present.
Niggas was moving like hoes without a pimp. I put my ears down to the streets and heard a lot of hearsay about certain niggas claiming to have stepped into Raft’s shoes. Niggas knew that wasn’t possible. I was the only way to the drugs that they needed in order to keep feeding their families.
“I saw Tracy the other day.” Fatz mumbled underneath his breath.
He looked out the window then dropped his head.
“Pick yo head up, at least she’s still alive. You can’t let her rejection and self-abuse alter your thoughts. We about to run some major shit. If you ain’t with me because you need to get in touch with your pain, then I understand.”
“I’m with you, it was just on my mind.”
“Get it off yo mind, like I got to keep Raft off of my mind, nigga. That’s some shit we can rap about after this meeting. Go inside, I’ll be on my way in in a second.” I nodded my head at Fatz.
He got out the car and walked with his shoulders and chin up.
I knew his momma Tracy was a sore and soft spot for him.
He grew up spoiled as hell, a momma’s boy.
Seeing her cracked out wasn’t easy at all on his mental.
I made a mental note to rap with him about it later on once we got this meeting out the way.
I reached over into the backseat of my car and got my hoodie.
I stepped outside of the car slow with my black hoodie over my head and my Glock tucked at my waist. My all-black Timberland boots hit the pavement as I made my way to the entrance.
Inside had at least twenty men posted up, some sat around the table while others stood up.
They was some true East Side hittas; some was old friends of my pops.
The majority was young, hungry niggas that was trying to make a name for themselves.
They all turned when I entered; all the extra noise died immediately as I looked every man in the eyes.
Before I could speak, I heard the sound of plastic crackling and foil being ripped, followed by loud ass smacking.
“This shit is seasoned to perfection.” Fatz stated, loud enough for everybody to hear his dumb ass.
His round cheeks moved up and down as sweat prickled at the top of his forehead.
Fatz looked just like my father, except his dark skin was a shade lighter.
He was as round as a Thanksgiving plate.
He paused to look down at his black pro club Tee-shirt that had sauce on it.
He shrugged and shook his head and continued to eat.
This nigga can’t be fuckin’ serious right now.
I fought my hardest to hold in my laugh.
A few of the niggas laughed lowly. It was a tall, lanky nigga with bumps all over his face by the name of Lil Eastie, who had the audacity to take it a step further.
He sat right next to Fatz with a silly ass smirk on his face.
I could tell by the way his lips twitched that he was going to have to be made an example out of.
I already planned on handling the nigga since he was the main one claiming to step in for Raft.
“Yo, who let this greedy ass nigga in this bitch. Nigga letting the food eat him.” He chuckled.
Fatz froze with his plastic fork mid-air.
My jaw clenched as the room went still. Without a second thought, I pulled my Glock out and shot Lil Eastie right in the center of his forehead.
I caught the bitch nigga mid-laugh since he thought shit was so funny.
His body hit the floor with his eyes wide open.
Lil Eastie’s blood sprayed everywhere across the table and over Fatz’ food.
“Aww, hell naw! You got this nigga brain all in my fuckin’ food, Sol! This the only plate I got, and that spot close in the next—” Fatz looked at his watch on his wrist for great measure and sighed.
“Shit close in the next thirty minutes. A fat joke ain’t never hurt nobody. You could have let me finish first then I would have capped him,” he complained.
“This nigga a fool.” Another nigga next to him chuckled nervously.
Everyone else was quiet with disturbed looks on their faces. Fatz cracked his neck from side to side and turned around and socked the light skin nigga who made the comment next to him. He socked him so hard in the side of his jaw that the nigga flew back and hit the floor with a loud thud.
Fatz stood up and pulled his gun from the small of his back.
“I’m a fool to you niggas ’cause I like to eat? Some of y’all niggas look like you could use a fucking meal!” He retorted as a deranged look took over his face.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Fatz shot the man multiple times, one in the stomach, the other in his chest, then head.
“I’m a nice nigga, more understanding than that nigga.” He pointed his gun my way then lowered it.
“Don’t fuck with me when I’m eating. Niggas get killed for shit like that. There was times I couldn’t eat, and?—”
“Fatz, enough entertainment for the day.” I gritted out.
I had to reel him back in because Fatz didn’t have it all together upstairs. Tracy really fucked my brother up; it didn’t matter because I would always have him and understood the impulsive mood swings that he went through.
I walked forward, slow and calm, still holding my Glock in my right hand. Nobody, except Fatz, looked me in the eyes.
“Let me make this clear right now. Raft ain’t here no more, his rules and regulations no longer stand. This shit is mine, and every nigga breathing in this room will respect it or starve.” I eyed every nigga with a pulse.
“Fatz is my brother, my blood, my right hand. If a nigga get bold enough to laugh at him again, you won’t make it to sunrise. Every nigga in this room need to gather around the table and sit the fuck down and listen.”
I stepped back and waited as they quickly gathered around the table to sit. The room smelled like gunpowder and soon would smell like death. I told Fatz to use his burner phone to get a clean-up crew to take out the bodies. I stepped forward with my hands behind my back and looked around the table.
“From this moment forward, this shit moves different. No more sloppy shit and pillow talking. Niggas that get big work from Fatz is supposed to control every breath that moves through the East Side.” I pointed to a nigga named Smiley, who was an OG nigga from South Central.
He had a lazy eye and was fast with his hands.
“Territories need to stay clean. Y’all corner boys shouldn’t be selling shit unless its stamped with my approval.
Anybody that had pushed weight on our turf and ain’t blessed by me, you all better have their name, mama name, and shoe size by sundown.
Smiley is who all of y’all should be reporting to and contacting when you need to re-up.
If money come up short, you get to chop it up with Fatz.
Don’t come to me with petty shit or excuses because my patience is thin.
Every nigga in here grown, and I’m not here to micromanage.
I’m here to collect my money and provide you all with quality shit that will keep ya belly’s full. ”
Smiley nodded his head before I turned to Drex.
He was young but a certified hitta. He was a good attribute as well; I did my homework on him.
He was one of Raft’s top hit men. He had a small killa crew that moved in on shit with precision.
Drex also had a bunch of corner boys moving work at a rapid pace; there was never an issue with money coming up short either.
His resume bled loyalty, so he was good in my book, for now.
“You and your crew gon’ run pick-ups from Compton to Watts. Light runs only, cash and dope. Keep ya hittas on standby in case a nigga need that.”
“Done.” Drex tapped his chest twice.
“Fatz, I want eyes on everyone who was close to the niggas that got capped in here. Anybody with a smirk or side eye when we pulled the trigger run they name and pull they phones. I wanna know who’s loyal and who’s playing smart.”
“Bet.” Fatz agreed.
“We ain’t just trappin’. We building infrastructure ’round this bitch.
Real moves, routes, and leverage. Raft ruled the streets like a soldier.
I’m ruling it like a businessman with a body count.
Y’all niggas can call me whatever the fuck you want, just say that shit with respect.
Meeting over. Y’all niggas stay dangerous. ” I turned to walk out.