PROLOGUE “You remember what this nigga looks like, don’t you,” he asked the youngsta as he cocked his gun. “Hell, yeah! I remember that hoe ass nigga,” he answered. “My nigga, I know you ain’t about to shoot this nigga in broad daylight,” their cousin interjected. “Hell, yeah, I am,” the youngsta’s brother replied as he put the car in park at the end of the building, waiting on Quick to come out the back door. “Ain’t nobody ‘bout to rob shit in my family and get away with it. Y’all niggas just be looking out for the laws when I start shooting.” “You know I got you,” his kinfolk mumbled. When it came down to doing shit like this, his kinfolk was gamed, but his little brother was scared shitless on the inside. He wanted his brother to get back at this nigga, but he didn’t know that it was going to go down like this. At least, not while he was there anyway. The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t call if off because his brother and kinfolk would call him soft or be thinking that he’s a punk, and that’s something he wasn’t about to let happen. So he kept his mouth shut, leaned back in the seat, and let the butterflies roam in his stomach as they waited for Quick to come outside. “God damn Fred, you got this nigga tape fade looking way better than mine,” Quick said standing beside his cousin’s Blue chair, observing his head while Fred was edging him up. “Naw, my nigga, it just look better on me than it do you because your head bigger,” his kinfolk said joking. “Fuck you ol’ bitch ass nigga,” Quick shot back laughing and tapping him on his arm. “Aiight, y’all playing. You gone make me fuck around and fuck up his edge up,” Fred said standing in front of Blue. “Yeah my nigga, stop playing,” Blue blurted trying to look serious. “Stop crying nigga,” Quick said tapping him again. “Aiight,” Fred retorted. “Naw I’m just fucking with you,” Quick said laughing at how his cousin was looking at him. “What y’all about to get into?” Fred asked while dusting the hair off Blue’s face and neck. “Shit, nothing right now,” Quick answered. “Later on we gone hit Club Carmen to go pull us some older bitches. I’m getting tired of these young hoes,” Quick said looking in the mirror, rubbing his waves. “I know what you mean. I might fall in that bitch with y’all,” Fred said knowing he lying. “Who all hitting that bitch?” “Just me and this lil’ nigga right here,” Quick answered rubbing Blue on top of his head as he stepped up out of the seat. “You ready my nigga,” Fred asked dusting off the chair, signaling this tall dark skinned dude to come take a seat. “You mean to tell me Ceezy ain’t hitting that bitch with y’all tonight?” “Naw, my nigga got some mo’ shit going on right now. He trying to get at that paper,” Quick answered. “Yep, that’s my kinfolk. Always chasing that paper,” Fred sighed. “You already know how he is. But hey, my nigga, we’re ‘bout to gone and head out. I got some custo’s waiting on me up there at the car wash,” Quick said handing Fred thirty dollars for both cuts. “We gone fuck with you later,” Quick and Blue said exchanging daps before heading out of the barber shop. “Aiight my niggas, y’all be careful,” Fred shouted out the shop as they walked off. “That’s the nigga right there,” the youngsta told his big bro as Quick and Blue came walking out the garage of the back door. Being in this situation plenty of time before, Quick had already peeped the car sitting in the middle of the street, waiting at the corner and started to react before the car even burnt off. ‘C’mon kinfolk,” Quick shouted to Blue, as he ran passed him, headed back in the Bazaar. Being a lame to the game, Blue didn’t react or catch on to what was going on until after the first few shots. Skerrrr, bok, bok, bok, bok, bok. “Oh shit,” Blue yelled ducking and staggering trying to get back in the Bazaar. Bok, bok, bok, bok, bok, as the driver shot angrily as his targets. Just as Blue was opening the back door, two bullets ripped through his back sending him flying through the door, knocking him straight to the floor as he landed inside the Bazaar. Seeing that he hit one of his targets, the drive stopped shooting and fled the scene, taking the quickest route out as possible. BIGINNING OF CHAPTER 1
“Tell Lucy and her cousin to gone leave out the apartments and ride around the CVS pharmacy and see if they’re any laws riding around anywhere,” Six-eight said to Cleve as they sat in the front seat of his car. “And when they finish checking out the parameter tell them to find a spot on both the main corners, ‘bout a block away from the store. Then park and call me.” “Aiight my nigga,” Cleve said exiting the passenger side of Six-eight’s white, round body Caprice. “And the rest of y’all gone and put the chain and shit on the van,” Six-eight said hopping out the car, walking toward his crew. Stan Parker, a.k.a. Six-eight, is one of the many A.T.M. bosses in the game. He’s dark skinned, about six-four, one hundred ninety pounds. Being that little didn’t mean shit because he’s got hands like Roy Jones, Jr. and is not afraid to use them. He pretty much used that to intimidate everybody on his crew, and to let ‘em know who’s running the show. Him putting everything together meant he could do shit how he wanted, and if anybody had a problem with it they could see him or tear their asses.
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