Chapter 2
Faheem Banks
A Couple Days Later
I couldn’t wait to get this dumb ass shit off my arm.
My ignorant ass broke my hand splitting a nigga in his face.
In the line of business my family ran in, showing mercy left you broke.
A nigga like me could never be broke. My dad, Big Frank, got it out the mud so his kids would never have to struggle.
For that, I would always be grateful to my OG, but that didn’t mean I had an easy life either.
My baby sister, Frankee, she got everything she wanted handed to her.
My dad felt like since she was a girl, she shouldn’t have to lift a finger.
I fucked with that. Frankee deserved the world, and as long as I had breath in my body, she’d have that.
Between me and my dad, we set the bar so high for any nigga tryna be in her life, that she barely dated.
Not saying Frankee was a saint, ‘cause sis was hell on wheels forreal. We just knew when she finally brought a nigga around, he’d be the real deal.
For as spoiled as Frankee was, she was humble as fuck.
Dad might have given her the world, but he made sure she knew that life could change at the flip of a dime.
Frankee wasn’t in the family business, but she had her own hustle.
She owned a hair salon that was her pride and joy.
Recently, she’d been getting into real estate, I think she was finna go to school for it.
Needless to say, Frankee had her own money, but my dad and I still spoiled her.
Me, on the other hand, once I hit sixteen, all that getting whatever I wanted for nothing went out the door.
Dad said he wasn’t raising no bitch niggas.
He put my ass to work asap. Outside of our house, that nigga treated me like a regular ass nigga.
Most mutha fuckas didn’t even know I was Big Frank’s son until later in life.
Big Frank had his hands in all kinds of shit.
From money laundering, extortion, and gambling…
he even ran an escort service. He would never call himself a pimp though.
Big Frank liked for his girls to be willing to work for him, and for the most part, them bitches loved popping coochie for him.
His real bread and butter came from his loan company.
He had a chain of title loans, or payday loan businesses that he ran called Loans 4 Less.
To the average nigga, his buisness was legit, and that was what it was.
But the real money came from the niggas in the streets who needed big loans without the government in they business.
Big Frank was the nigga to see. That was my first job in his organization– being a runner.
I dropped off the money to niggas and picked shit up.
As long as a nigga paid back what they owed plus interest, everything was straight.
Let a nigga try to run off on Big Frank, he’d be on their asses.
My young, entitled ass felt some type of way because to me, my dad had me doing grunt work.
I was his son. I didn't need to do low level shit like that. My daddy laughed in my face when I went to him with my chest pumped up. He told me I wasn’t ready to run shit.
I wasn’t listening though. It wasn’t until I got shot when a nigga didn’t want to pay what he owed.
The nigga shot me three times, once in the chest, arm, and my leg.
I was slipping, not taking shit seriously.
Looking back, I should have known the nigga was on some other shit the way he was acting.
At eighteen, I almost lost my life ‘cause of my arrogance but it helped a nigga grow up.
My mama was livid; she didn’t want me working with my dad.
Big Frank actually agreed with her saying I might not have been ready.
But I refused to let a pussy nigga stop me from getting my birthright.
Six months after being shot, I told my dad I wanted another chance.
He was hesitant, told me I had to prove myself.
That night, he took me to the Red Room, where he’d been keeping the nigga who shot me.
I never knew how crazy my dad was until that night.
Big Frank had kept the nigga who shot me alive and tortured his ass everyday.
I almost felt bad for the nigga when I laid eyes on him.
My daddy wanted to see if I had it in me to kill the nigga.
He said that it was to see if I had the heart to be in this business.
Needless to say, that was my first body, but far from my last.
I worked my way up learning the ins and outs of my daddy’s empire, and now, I was running it with him.
Big Frank was getting me ready to take over.
I could say when I was younger I was thirsty for my spot running shit, but the older I got, the less I wanted it.
The money was cool at first. Now, I had more money than I would ever be able to spend in my lifetime.
Going out and fucking different bitches every night wasn’t it for me no more.
I’d been rocking with the same broad for the last five years.
Not saying a nigga was faithful during our relationship, but the world knew who Mixie was to a nigga.
I wasn’t fucking a new bitch every night.
Maybe only once or twice a month. A nigga would get a wild hair every once and awhile.
My bitch was cool with it though. Mixie didn’t mind if I got my dick wet every now and then as long as she came first. I had hella love for Mixie; she had always been down for a nigga, even when I wasn’t treating her as a nigga should have.
Mixie and Frankee didn’t fuck with each other.
Frankee said Mixie wasn’t shit. I couldn’t front like Mixie didn’t have little shit that irked my nerves, but she wasn’t as bad as Frankee made her out to be, mostly ‘cause Mixie didn’t work, but she didn’t have to.
I made enough money for the both of us. As bad as I wanted my bitch and my sister to get along, I let that shit ride.
Long as Mixie stayed loyal to a nigga, we’d be straight.
I wasn’t placing no bitch above my bitch.
If her and Frankee didn’t get along, so be it.
“Whad up, Pops?” I greeted my dad walking into his office. He stood up, dapping me up, giving me a hug too.
“Faheem, we got some shit that needs to be handled.” Big Frank never beat around the bush. When it came to business, it was head on with him.
“What’s up?” I didn’t even bother to sit down because I knew I wasn’t finna be here long.
“Clive… He’s on some bullshit. He missed his last payment. Either we can send Shortie or one of them little niggas to see what’s going on, or you can swing by there.”
Clive Weaver was an old head that used to run with my daddy back in the day.
He’d always been good with us. He never missed a payment when it was time.
My daddy was giving me the decision if we should have our runners fuck him up, or I give him a personal visit to deem if he was worth giving an extension too.
“He on some funny shit?”
“Tryna be. He thinkin’ ‘cause we fuck with him, shit is sweet. Clive gon’ learn the hard way; a friend today and enemy tomorrow.” Big Frank snarled, letting me know some more shit was going on that he hadn’t told me.
“I’m finna slide past his crib now and see what he got goin’ on.” I knew when Big Frank was ready for me to know everything, he would tell me.
“Call me when you finished,” Big Frank demanded as I headed out of his office.
****
You think when a nigga borrowing half a million dollars they wouldn’t be staying in a fucking bando.
But the crib I pulled up in front of looked like it had seen better days.
You could tell the two-story, brown brick house used to be a bright red color, the windows were either covered by dirty looking sheets or tore up blinds, the front door used to be white, but now was brown from all the dirt.
The four stairs leading up to the house were cracked and uneven.
This house looked like it was hanging onto its last leg.
Clive needed his ass whooped off the strength of him living here knowing he could afford better than this shit.
Niggas like him were the worst, and if I gave a fuck what niggas did, I would wonder what Clive was doing with the money he’d got from us.
As long as he paid us back, I ain’t give no fucks of what he did or how he was living.
I got out my all white 2019 Jaguar E-Pace, looking around at the run down neighborhood, and I couldn’t help notice how my car stuck out like a sore thumb.
This car wasn’t shit, it was just my everyday car.
Walking up the fucked up walk way, then banging on the flimsy ass door, I waited for somebody to come to the door.
I didn’t even see that door was hanging off the bottom hinges.
A mutha fucka could easily knock this door down with little effort.
“Who the fuck beating on my gat-dam-do’ like that?” Clive, in a drunken voice, yelled through the tattered door. “Huh? Ni- Aww, shit. What up, Baby Frank?” Clive looked at me with his glossy eyes wide in shock. He tried to shake my hand.