Tyree Sloane
“So, he really dropped us?” I questioned Uncle Trayvon. For days, I’ve been trying to figure out what that Maniac visit was all about and now he finally wanted to say something when it was around time for a new shipment.
“Yeah. You can’t blame anyone but yourself.” Trayvon turned his attention back to his computer screen. He’s sitting there without a care in the fucking world when our’s was crumbling. Maniac is trying to take away our livelihood, and he was letting the shit happen.
I slung my hand across his desk, knocking everything to the floor but the computer. “This bullshit!”
Trayvon shot to his feet and his right hand connected with the side of my face.
“You can take yo’ ass outside and throw a tantrum if you want, but you’re not ’bout to do that shit in here, fucking up all my shit.
Had you not been sniffing the fucking product and selling the shit like you were supposed to be, we wouldn’t be in this shit.
Maybe it’s a good thing they forced us out the game.
I’m getting too old for this bullshit anyway.
I make more than enough money here. With that and my savings, I can survive. ”
He's really fucking giving up.
“What about me?”
“Tyree, you act like you ain’t got a job. You make more than enough to live off of. Take the out and just move on with your life.”
Clenching my teeth, I stared him straight in the face. “This bullshit and you know it,” left my lips, and I stormed out of there.
If he wanted to quit the game, that shit is on him, but I wasn’t giving up that easily.
The Saint-Mercier’s weren’t the only ones in the city that I can get supply from.
There’s a rival family on the other side of town.
They weren’t big or anything, but I knew that I could cop from them and sell that shit.
Trayvon don’t even gotta know about it. Had I said anything to him about it, he’d say it was a bad idea and try to talk me out of it.
I marched out of the building and hopped into my truck, without letting Trayvon know I was leaving.
It took me about twenty-five minutes to make it across town.
I pulled up to Street Package and parked in front of the door.
My heart rate kicked up a notch as I sat there.
We’d been dealing with the Saint-Mercier’s ever since I could remember.
Everyone in the city knew that we got our shit from them.
To go to someone new, fucked with my anxiety.
I wasn’t sure how shit was gon’ play out, but all they can do is say no.
Shrugging, I climbed out the truck and stepped to the door. Looking over my shoulder, I checked my surroundings before entering the store. I knew I was doing something I didn’t have any business doing and didn’t want anyone to see me do it.
“Let me know if you need help with anything,” the woman behind the counter said soon as her eyes landed on me.
“Actually, I do need help. I’m looking for Roc. Is he in?” Her eyes turned to slits.
“What you want with him?”
“It’s business. Can you tell me if he’s in or not?”
“Roc isn’t looking for any new business. You a cop or something?”
“Do I look like a fucking cop to you?” She’s really insulting me asking me some bullshit like that. “I promise it’ll be beneficial to him. Just let him know that Tyree is in here.”
She chuckled. “You’re tossing around your name as if it’s supposed to mean something. I don’t even know who you are, so I know he won’t either.”
My teeth clenched. She’s pissing me the fuck off now. Removing my strap from my waistline, I gripped her by the nape of the neck and shoved the gun into her chin. “Look, I tried to do this shit the easy way, but you act like you’re hard of comprehending. Get Roc’s ass out here, now.”
“Okay! Okay!” Picking up her phone off the counter, she unlocked it and dialed a number.
I held onto her tight as she placed the phone to her ear.
“Yeah, Roc, you have someone here by the name of Tyree that wants to speak with you about business.” Her eyes peered into mine.
“Yeah, I told him that already. Look at the cameras.” My eyes shifted to the camera directly above her head in the corner and I waved the gun in the air, to let him know that I’m serious.
I ain’t leaving here ’til he hears what I have to say.
I know it was stupid of me to come in here, waving a gun and shit, but I’m desperate at this point.
“He say that he’s on the way.”
“Good.” I released her and took a step back from the counter. Not wanting to be caught by surprise, I told her, “I think I’m gon’ wait for him outside,” and exited the building.
I needed to be out there so that I can see the comings and goings.
Roc probably wasn’t gon’ be too thrilled about me being in his establishment with a gun and when he turns up, he might not even want to hear what I have to say.
If he’s anything like Maniac, he’d come in with guns blazing and I’d rather not be standing in there when he makes his grand entrance.
Hopping into my truck, I grabbed my cigarettes and placed one between my lips.
I ain’t smoke nicotine like that—only when I’m stressed the fuck out.
This moment was cause for one. Uncle Trayvon was right; everything was all my fault.
I shouldn’t have ever slipped up and snorted that first line of coke.
It all started from us having to test the product, to customers not trusting us to buy from us unless we showed them that the product was safe.
Dealing with pure cocaine was dangerous. It’s addicting.
It took Roc forever to make it to the store. That alone let me know that the chick inside it wasn’t important to him. The only reason why he showed up is because he probably got some shit in there.
His Range Rover parked next to my truck and he hopped out the passenger side. If I owned a Range, I wouldn’t have another nigga driving me around in my shit.
Pushing the driver’s door open on my truck, my Jordan sneakers touched the ground. “Roc?” I called out his name as he reached for the door. He turned, looking in my direction with a scowl.
Clamping his hands together in front of his crotch, he said, “Better get to explaining yourself, I got a bullet with ya name on it.”
“I got a business proposition for you.”
“You ain’t got shit for me. You need to be telling me why you waving a gun ’round in my shit.”
“She act like she ain’t want to call you and tell you that I wanted to talk to you. I did what I had to do to get yo’ attention. I really think that you’d want to work with me.”
Roc tilted his head to the side and asked, “What makes you think that?”
“I’m great at what I do. I used to work with the Saint-Mercier’s.”
“I’ve never heard of you before. How come you’re no longer working with them now?” He took a step closer to me. My eyes shifted to his driver who stood not too far from us with his hand resting on the gun in his waistline. He probably couldn’t wait to pull that shit on me.
“Let’s just say that we came to a disagreement. I want to try and work with you. I heard that your shit is better than theirs anyway.”
A grin etched on his face. I knew then that he was feeding into my bullshit. “I guess I can give you something and see what you do with it. What do you have?”
I swallowed hard the lump in my throat, knowing that I didn’t have any money to give him since I was going behind his back, I couldn’t ask Trayvon for it.
“I don’t have anything to give you up front, but if you front me, I promise that I can make it and get everything to you.”
Roc chuckled and slapped his driver in the chest. “You hear this shit? He wants me to front him.”
“Yeah.” His driver laughed.
“I should’ve known it was something. I’m guessing you fucked up with the Saint-Mercier’s and now you want to run yo’ ass over here. Nah. I ain’t got time for the bullshit.” Roc walked back toward his truck and grabbed the doorhandle.
“Wait. I left ’cause I want to make a name for myself. Everyone thinks that I can’t do it, and I want to prove ’em wrong. Let me do this.”
Roc poked the tip of his tongue into his cheek and said, “Fine, but I’m gon’ let you know now, I don’t play ’bout my money. I’ll kill yo’ ass and ask questions later. Be on the look out for the phone call.”
“You don’t have my number.”
“Give it to him,” he said and hopped back into the truck.