For The Love Of Money

Chapter 1

The introduction

Everyone is always like, "Damn, he’s really getting motion just because his pops is a kingpin."

Nah, this ain't that. I worked hard for everything I have. I've been selling dope since I was thirteen. My pops stopped coming around much after he and my mom separated when I was twelve. He didn't completely check out, but he just wasn't really a parent.

My mama was all about her paper, too. Just because my pop checked out didn’t mean Rudy would. She’s a beautiful Black woman who raised two men on her own. I love my Rudy and would give her the world.

It was 8:00 PM, and I had just run out of work when I pulled up to Rudy’s house. My young nigga Mario had texted me earlier: Half time. That meant half a brick—fifteen bandz. I was only going to take ten for myself and give Mario five for making the play.

I pulled up and opened the front red door of the small three-bedroom home I grew up in. Rudy was in the kitchen, making plates to sell; she’d always been a hustler.

"Wassup, Ma," I said, looking over at my five-foot-six mother as she lifted her thirty-inch weave up and tied it into a ponytail. She walked around the kitchen island to hug me. I leaned down and kissed her mahogany forehead.

"Hey, baby," she said. "You didn't tell Mama you were stopping by."

"I wasn't. I had business to handle, so I came here to re-up."

She went silent and walked back to the kitchen to finish her order. The house smelled of chicken grease and hot sauce; I knew she was making wing plates.

I walked into my childhood bedroom, opened the closet, and moved the floorboard I used to cover my stash. I reached down and pulled out five and a half bricks. When I realized the half-brick was missing, I instantly got mad. I stormed out of the room and back into the kitchen.

"Aye, Rudy, who the fuck has been in your house?"

"Nobody’s been here! I raised two handsome young men, and they won't even come see me," she spat back.

"Aye, Ma, fuck all the guilt-tripping. Half a brick is missing out of my stash. Who the hell was in here?"

"Nobody stole from your boy, Mama just had to pay off the loans I got for my surgery. I promise Mama's gonna pay you back."

I looked at her and tilted my head. "Are you fucking kidding me, Mama? My product isn't a decision you get to make!"

She stood with her hands on her hips, striking a slim-thick pose, and said, "I literally pushed you out of this body, boy! I don’t regret having my boys—y'all are my biggest blessings. But Mama needed a mommy makeover: a BBL, a tummy tuck, and a breast lift. I was twenty-four years overdue!"

I side-eyed her, shoved the brick into my hoodie, jumped into my silver 2023 Mercedes-Benz, and pulled away from my childhood home.

I called my best friend, Silk.

"Aye, wassup bruddah, what’s the word?" he answered.

"Just left Rudy's house, madder than a motherfucker," I spat.

"Why, what did Madukes do now?" he asked.

"Enough to make a nigga forget she's my mother. But fuck all that, where you at?"

"The club. These hoes been running off with my money; I've got to keep my eyes on my product."

"I'm about to pull up. Where Red at?" I asked.

"She's with a client in VIP. He said he had $900. I told her she doesn't have to work the floor tonight, so I guess she's yours after she makes this paper."

"Nah, I'm cool on that. You know I don't do sloppy seconds," I said.

"Well, still come post up with a nigga," Silk replied.

I pulled up to the Pink Pony. Silk was sitting on his Benz, which was identical to mine. I parked right beside him.

"You got that shit on, don't you?" I asked my best friend.

Silk was a six-foot-two, slim, buff nigga—just like me, though I was an inch taller.

He’s dark-skinned with clean waves. He looked up and flashed a gold-toothed smile.

My brother was wearing black Amiri jeans, red Alexander McQueen sneakers, a red Moncler T-shirt, a heavy Cuban link chain around his neck, and an AP on his wrist.

"You know a nigga's gotta look like money to make money," he laughed.

"Word. Y'all don't got some new shit in there?"

"Nah, brother, I gotta get this paper from Red, then we can ride out."

We walked inside. Ass was everywhere, and the music was loud as fuck—I’ll never get used to the scene.

We walked to the back and sat in VIP. Mellow pushed up with a bottle of Hennessy.

Mellow was my cousin on my pop's side; he was five-foot-eleven, chunky and husky, and Mexican, but when he opened his mouth, you'd swear he was just like us.

Mellow also owned the club, along with three others where Silk had girls working.

We sat on the plush red couch under the red lights.

"Y'all niggas take a shot," Mellow said, handing me and Silk red cups. We downed them.

"Man, it's thicker than a ho from Texas tonight," Silk remarked.

"I'm surprised you aren't walking the floor trying to recruit," Mellow teased.

"I got enough hoes and enough problems. I'm slowly trying to get away from this shit."

Just then, Red walked into VIP. She was a light-skinned chick, five-foot-five, slim-thick, with her hair in a 613 slick-back ponytail, a red glittery two-piece bikini, and six-inch heels. She walked straight up to me like I was the only nigga in the room.

"Wassup, nigga? Your red-ass been acting like you're too good to answer my phone calls," she said, tilting her head.

I just looked at her like she was crazy. It wasn't even the stripping that turned me off; it was the extra little games she played in VIP that made her a hard pass for me.

"Red, you came in here looking for the wrong nigga," Silk warned.

She sucked her teeth, handed Silk a stack of cash, and watched as he counted out $1,000—putting $400 in his pocket, $300 in another, handing Mellow $100 for the house fee, and giving the remaining $600 back to her.

"I'm gonna stop by the house tomorrow. Call me when you finish working so I can Lyft you home," Silk told her.

She nodded at him, frowned at me, and clicked her heels as she walked out of the room.

"Damn, which one of y'all's hoes is that?" Mellow asked, laughing hard.

"She’s part of my program. I don't touch any of my product—they're strictly for show," Silk said.

"I was vibing with her, she's cool as fuck, but we'll never be more than just a vibe," I said, taking another shot.

"Are you ready to slide?" Silk asked.

"Yeah, I got a drop-off to make, then I'll meet you at the spot."

I got up, dapped Mellow, and headed for the door. Red stopped me, grabbing my hand.

"Let me give you a dance," she asked.

"No, I got some shit I gotta handle, Ma," I said, gently placing my hand on her lower back.

"Let me pull up to the trap when I leave here tonight. I want to keep you company."

"Nah, baby, I got a lot to do. But tomorrow night, when we leave my party, you can slide with me."

"Can I at least walk you out?" she asked.

"Now, baby, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let your pretty ass walk me out?"

She smiled and hugged me. I headed out the door, hopped in my car, and sent a quick text to Mellow letting him know I was fifteen minutes away from his spot.

I pulled up to the projects and texted Mario that I was outside.

A second later, he was walking toward the car.

Mario was my young nigga—a kid who would drop the whole hood if I asked him to.

He was like a son to me; I'd do anything for him.

His mama was one of my fiends, and seeing him stuck in a fucked-up household made me want to teach him how to fish so he’d never go hungry.

Mario came outside with his cousin, Rizz. I didn't know much about Rizz, except that he was the exact opposite of Mario—a college boy who actually talked properly and shit.

Mario opened the door and slid into my front passenger seat.

"Wassup, big bruh?" Mario asked.

"Shit, about to head south to the spot over there," I said.

"I'm gonna push up there once I make this drop-off."

"Nah, not tonight, lil' bruh. I need you to cover the north."

He nodded and handed me a stack of cash. I pushed my seat back and counted it. It was the full fifteen bandz. I looked at my boy and smiled; there was no way he had saved fifteen bandz on his own without putting in work. I smiled, handed him the brick, and told him I was proud of him.

He smiled, tucked the brick into his hoodie, and looked at me. "Thank you for putting a young nigga in position."

I nodded, watched my eighteen-year-old, five-foot-six, dark-skin, dreadheaded son walk safely back into his home, and then pulled off toward my trap house.

When I walked in, Dream was there counting money with Silk.

Dream was Silk's foster sister; she danced, too.

They were counting ones out of a gym bag.

Dream didn't do private dances off the floor or dates; she was a lady, bad as fuck, but I knew she was strictly off-limits.

She stood six feet even, Megan Thee Stallion thick, with long, 40-inch, 613 blonde weave, wearing Coach sandals and a colorful two-piece skirt-and-shirt set.

"Hey, Clo, bring your sexy ass here and give me a hug," she said, biting her lip.

I walked over, pulled her in for a hug, and it took everything in me not to grab that fat ass.

"Y'all must have forgot I'm here," Silk called out.

"Nigga, didn't I just leave you?" Dream laughed, looking at Silk. "I can't greet my other brother?"

He shook his head and went back to counting money. Right then, there was a knock at the door. I pulled my gun out, cracked the door open to check, and saw Craig, one of my regular fiends. I opened the door and let him in. Craig looked at Dream and grinned.

"Aww, back in the day, I'd have about five of you."

"Your old ass wouldn't know what to do with me—you'd fuck around and have a heart attack," Dream clapped back.

"Young lady, I have stamina! Hit that old pipe of mine and put your young ass in a coma."

I laughed so hard tears started to form. "What do you need, Craig?" I asked.

"I got $50."

I grabbed my fanny pack off the table, looked inside, broke off a piece of dope, and dropped it into a sandwich bag.

Once he left, I locked the door behind him. Silk looked up at Dream and told her, "That's twelve hundred." He stuffed the cash back into the bag and handed it to her. She grabbed her white Coach bag, stood up, kissed Silk on the cheek, thanked him, hugged me tight, and walked out the front door.

"Don't be flirting with Dream. I told you I don't want you messing with her—that's messy," Silk warned.

"Man, I ain't stressing Dream. She knows I be kicking it with Red," I replied. He nodded.

I pulled out my phone and FaceTime-called my little brother to check on him since he wasn't home. He answered instantly.

"Yooo, what the fuck is popping, twin?" he asked.

"Where your fat, light-skin ass at?" I asked.

"I'm in the streets, nigga! And you're lighter than me, you fake-prince-looking bitch," he snapped back.

I chuckled. "Push up on me, you fat El DeBarge-looking bitch."

"You're just mad 'cause we look the same, but somehow my fat ass seems to look better than you."

I heard a sudden boom to my left—Silk had literally fallen out of his seat laughing. I ended the call, sat on the couch next to Silk, and we spent the rest of the night smoking a fat-ass blunt, playing video games, and serving fiends.