Love Trumps Game by D.Y. Phillips Read Free Book Online

years later Mack was dead. Set up and murdered by a jealous woman. Money had to be watched and women couldn’t be trusted. That’s what it taught Topps Jackson in his thirty-five years of life.
    Now, not a month went by when he didn’t have to pop a nigga behind his money, his drugs, or his privately owned pussy. Popping niggas left and right was no big deal. It was almost like popping popcorn. Quick. Easy. Dirty business, but very lucrative. Still, he’d been trying to wash the germs of sin and murder off ever since.
    â€œHere’s to money and pussy,” Topps said, holding up a flute filled with Cristal. “The two best things in life.”
    â€œGot that right.” Slick grinned.
    â€œThe two things that will get you killed quick.” Topps toasted Slick, who sat across from him in his private office. “If only we could bottle those two things and sell it together, we’d make a killing. Money and pussy. Give it a catchy name like ‘Monussy.’”
    â€œMonussy? Man, you whacking out. Pussy already on the market. Nothing new there.”
    â€œNigga, I’m talking bout the essence of money and pussy combined, like an energy drink or somethin’. You feeling me?”
    â€œHell, nah!” Slick laughed. “You been smoking too much bud.”
    â€œYo, see if you be saying that when my new energy drink hits the market legit.”
    Slick had been running one of Topps’ two distribution operations for over seven years. The two had met in grade school. Their first meeting had been a fight over a cute girl who had gotten them both suspended from school. The girl had hooked up with another fifth-grade boy less than a week later, leaving Slickand Topps feeling so stupid that they both had to laugh about it later. They had apologized for their knuckle-dancing and became good friends.
    Slick wasn’t much in the looks department, not with his dark face being pockmarked from old acne. Some even called him ugly behind his back. Still, Slick had a good head for business. His bugged-out eyes gave him a froggish look that Topps felt would keep most gold-digging women away. That way, the man could concentrate more on running a business and making that paper instead of chasing tail.
    Of all his soldiers, Topps thought of Slick more like a brother that would do anything for him. At least that’s how it was in the beginning. Just like Topps, Slick ran a tight ship. Any problems with a sergeant working under him was dutifully reported and handled.
    On the desk in front of them sat a small pile of coke. “Man, this shit is the best we’ve copped.” Slick took up a razor to chop and scraped out some lines. “Check this out, bro.” He used a rolled hundred-dollar bill to fly some coke up each nostril before passing it to Topps, who refused.
    â€œNah, man, I’m straight.” Another thing his father had taught him about the business was not to use or abuse his own product. Occasionally he flew a few lines up his nose. But that was only if he was tired and needed a quick pick-me-up. Flying lines for recreation was rare, and he made it a point not to rock, smoke, or drink too much alcohol. Even smoking a blunt was on rare occasions. Smoking crack was a no-no. He’d seen too many niggas lose their footing with smoking crack. Not him. He wasn’t going out that way. Not when there was money to be made.
    â€œWonder what’s taking Neema so damn long. She should be back by now.” Topps stood and gazed out of his office window athis operation, in full swing. The place was as tight as Fort Knox. Soldiers paraded up and down the assembly lines watching every move of the scantily dressed female workers. The job was easy and fast-paced. Measuring and bagging rocks and white powder for street sale. Larger packages were handled by well-trusted runners. Not only did it pay well, but it was a lifetime job. Once a person was recruited to work