Larceny by Jason Poole Read Free Book Online Page B

BB used to always look out for me. He had a blue 190E Benz, and he used to come past Galveston, pick me up, take me down Georgetown, and we’d get outfits for a night at the go-go club on Atlantic Street.
    At that time I was pumping good. I had just bought my first car, a burgundy Nissan Maxima with burgundy sheepskin seats and five-star rims. At times, I used to go pick up Mal-Mal and take him out because Ms. Cookie was still on it like the Brown Hornet. Every time I saw her, she was getting smaller and smaller. At one time, she had lost so much weight that you could see every bone structure in her face.
    Bilal was transferred from Cedar Knoll to Oak Hill Youth Center, which was a more treacherous joint than Cedar Knoll. When other dudes I knew would come home from Cedar Knoll, I’d ask them about Bilal, and everything I heard about him was good. They’d say, “Yeah slim, that nigga Bilal ain’t goin’ for nothin’! Slim go hard as a mu’fucka. He’s on the boxing team down there. He run the store. He big as shit!”
    Niggas used to jock Bilal so much that I stopped asking about him, ’cause I already knew what they were gonna say. When Bilal was transferred to Oak Hill, we lost contact, and the fact that I was out here getting money, fucking bitches, and going to go-go’s didn’t help either.
    I also began to slack in my efforts in looking out for Mal-Mal because at times, he would page me and it would take me a few days just to get back to him. Whenever he needed something like video games or toys, I was the one who got it for him. The only thing about it was I was too busy to spend time with him. My world was moving too fast, and I couldn’t see what was to come next.
    In July 1988, I stopped hustling Love Boat and moved onto a more profitable drug called crack cocaine. At the time, crack in D.C. was at its all-time high. The demand for it was ridiculous.
    I was copping from my boys Ek-Dre and Li’l James. These two brothers was getting it, and they both had a good reputation all over. Dre was a smooth nigga who loved to dress. He had all kinds of Polo, MCM, and Gucci shit. James was the hard one, more like the leader among his crew. They were some good niggas and was getting some major paper on the hill.
    I was getting half a brick at that time, breaking it down in half ounces and ounces. I had runners up Glassmanor, Galveston Place, Wayne Place, Parkland, Fourth Street, Condon Terrace, and a few lames from Alexandria, Virginia.
    I traded my Maxima in and bought a 1988 Nissan Turbo 300ZX with cream-colored leather, and I put some white deep-dish classic rims on it. My car was one of the tightest joints in the city, at least on the southeast side, ’cause them uptown niggas and them niggas on R Street Northeast was pushing 500EL Benzes and Convertible BMWs and shit. The type of bank I was getting was considered play money to them, because the niggas from around Bilal’s way was super getting it. The Orleans Mob had 944 Porsches, convertible Jags, 300CEs, Range Rovers, the new Acura Legend and anything that cost more than fifty thousand.
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    On the Fourth of July, Mal-Mal paged me and I called him back.
    â€œHello,” Gloria said, answering the phone.
    â€œYeah, Gloria, how you doing? This Jovan. Is Mal-Mal in there?” I said to her.
    â€œOh, hi, Jovan. Yeah, his li’l bad ass here. You coming to get him?”
    â€œNaw, not right now, but I promised him I’d buy him some fireworks for tonight, and I’ma come pass and drop them off and come back later and light ’em with him.”
    â€œThat’s good, ’cause I gotta work tonight, and Cookie said she was gonna be here, but I ain’t seen her ass yet,” Gloria said, then she yelled, “Mal-Mal!”
    â€œWhat?” Mal-Mal said.
    â€œBoy, don’t what me,” Aunt Gloria said to him.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œGet your butt in