“What he give you?”
“Nothin’,” replied Dutch
“Huh?”
“I said nothin’. I ain’t ask for nothin’, he ain’t give me nothin’,” said Dutch, knowing it was driving Craze mad.
“Man, do you know what you did? What we did? Muhfuckers make livings off of shit like this and you ain’t ask for nothin’?”
asked Craze disbelievingly, throwing his hands up in disgust.
This nigga is really taking this working for free shit too far.
Craze paced back and forth in a frenzy, calling Dutch any and everything he could think of while Dutch just leaned against
the wall watching him.
“Finished?”
“Naw, I’m just catching my breath, you stupid muhfucker,” Craze retorted.
“But I did get a connect. A chop shop,” said Dutch with a grin on his face.
“A chop shop?” questioned Craze, answering for himself.
They had been stealing cars all their lives as long as they could remember, but they never knew no chop shop. Craze could
see how valuable this connect could be, but he still wasn’t convinced.
“He put me on to a chop shop down North Newark. They don’t take nothing but Porsches and Corvettes, so you know they hittin’
niggas off for them shits.”
Craze just eyed Dutch.
You mean to tell me that’s all you got, a chop shop connect?
Dutch could have done better, but Craze figured this would have to do. It was better than nothing.
“Trust me, baby boy, for Tony to even give us that says a lot. I could be floating facedown right now, ya dig? But, since
I ain’t I’ll see Tony again one day, on his level, and I promise you… we’ll never look back.”
Craze and Dutch had been working through Dutch’s newfound connect for about seven months. They had even started to take other
car thieves to the chop shop for a cut but never gave up their contact. The money was good for two fourteen-year-olds. For
that matter, it was good for a grown man.
Dutch had assembled a young team of raiders from all over Newark. One-eyed Roc from Prince Street, Qwan from down Bergen,
Puerto Rican Angel, a girl from Dayton Street, Zoom from Grafton, and Shock from Seventeenth Avenue, all of whom were under
fifteen years old, and Dutch was boss.
They put together routes as far north as Connecticut, as far south as Virginia, and as far west as Ohio. The only trouble
they had was when Zoom got caught in Ohio and did six months. Dutch kept his commissary flowing for that bid. Everybody got
minibikes and baby Ninja street bikes and gained names for themselves. Older car thieves tried to pressure them for their
connect. But these young wolves were far from timid and seldom unarmed.
It was here when Chris began to transform into Craze, or rather Crazy. In fact, he was one of the first to ever pull a carjacking
in Newark before the federal laws. Because of the nature of their connect, they never averaged fewer than four or five cars
a week. BMW, Mercedes, Corvette, and other luxury cars had the latest in security technology, but it did nothing to deter
the appetite of the young band of raiders.
Craze sat back in the plush leather interior of his Porsche and nodded at the accuracy of Dutch’s words. Twelve years later,
and they still hadn’t looked back. Even the present situation hadn’t completely stopped their shine, because Dutch had one
more trick up his sleeve, and Dutch had seldom been wrong, except once, Port Newark.
Port Newark was a large area that sat on the water. It was the size of a small town where big cars from all over the world
were delivered on big ships. The entire area was sectioned off according to make. There were Toyotas, Hondas, Nissans, Mercedes
Benzes, BMWs, and Chevrolets. The list went on and on. Every car manufactured sat at the port behind barbed-wire fences. Each
lot had at least 150 cars of assorted models.
City police rarely came through the port because the dock had its own security force. The armed security guards drove around
the large
“Nothin’,” replied Dutch
“Huh?”
“I said nothin’. I ain’t ask for nothin’, he ain’t give me nothin’,” said Dutch, knowing it was driving Craze mad.
“Man, do you know what you did? What we did? Muhfuckers make livings off of shit like this and you ain’t ask for nothin’?”
asked Craze disbelievingly, throwing his hands up in disgust.
This nigga is really taking this working for free shit too far.
Craze paced back and forth in a frenzy, calling Dutch any and everything he could think of while Dutch just leaned against
the wall watching him.
“Finished?”
“Naw, I’m just catching my breath, you stupid muhfucker,” Craze retorted.
“But I did get a connect. A chop shop,” said Dutch with a grin on his face.
“A chop shop?” questioned Craze, answering for himself.
They had been stealing cars all their lives as long as they could remember, but they never knew no chop shop. Craze could
see how valuable this connect could be, but he still wasn’t convinced.
“He put me on to a chop shop down North Newark. They don’t take nothing but Porsches and Corvettes, so you know they hittin’
niggas off for them shits.”
Craze just eyed Dutch.
You mean to tell me that’s all you got, a chop shop connect?
Dutch could have done better, but Craze figured this would have to do. It was better than nothing.
“Trust me, baby boy, for Tony to even give us that says a lot. I could be floating facedown right now, ya dig? But, since
I ain’t I’ll see Tony again one day, on his level, and I promise you… we’ll never look back.”
Craze and Dutch had been working through Dutch’s newfound connect for about seven months. They had even started to take other
car thieves to the chop shop for a cut but never gave up their contact. The money was good for two fourteen-year-olds. For
that matter, it was good for a grown man.
Dutch had assembled a young team of raiders from all over Newark. One-eyed Roc from Prince Street, Qwan from down Bergen,
Puerto Rican Angel, a girl from Dayton Street, Zoom from Grafton, and Shock from Seventeenth Avenue, all of whom were under
fifteen years old, and Dutch was boss.
They put together routes as far north as Connecticut, as far south as Virginia, and as far west as Ohio. The only trouble
they had was when Zoom got caught in Ohio and did six months. Dutch kept his commissary flowing for that bid. Everybody got
minibikes and baby Ninja street bikes and gained names for themselves. Older car thieves tried to pressure them for their
connect. But these young wolves were far from timid and seldom unarmed.
It was here when Chris began to transform into Craze, or rather Crazy. In fact, he was one of the first to ever pull a carjacking
in Newark before the federal laws. Because of the nature of their connect, they never averaged fewer than four or five cars
a week. BMW, Mercedes, Corvette, and other luxury cars had the latest in security technology, but it did nothing to deter
the appetite of the young band of raiders.
Craze sat back in the plush leather interior of his Porsche and nodded at the accuracy of Dutch’s words. Twelve years later,
and they still hadn’t looked back. Even the present situation hadn’t completely stopped their shine, because Dutch had one
more trick up his sleeve, and Dutch had seldom been wrong, except once, Port Newark.
Port Newark was a large area that sat on the water. It was the size of a small town where big cars from all over the world
were delivered on big ships. The entire area was sectioned off according to make. There were Toyotas, Hondas, Nissans, Mercedes
Benzes, BMWs, and Chevrolets. The list went on and on. Every car manufactured sat at the port behind barbed-wire fences. Each
lot had at least 150 cars of assorted models.
City police rarely came through the port because the dock had its own security force. The armed security guards drove around
the large
Similar Books
My Texas Sweetheart (book one)
Pauliena Acheson
Charmed by His Love
Janet Chapman
Cheri Red (sWet)
Charisma Knight
Through the Fire
Donna Hill
The Hen of the Baskervilles
Donna Andrews
Can't Shake You
Molly McLain
A Cast of Vultures
Judith Flanders
Wings of Lomay
Devri Walls
Five Parts Dead
Tim Pegler
Angel Stations
Gary Gibson