Freeway Rick Ross: The Untold Autobiography by Rick Ross & Cathy Scott

Author:Rick Ross & Cathy Scott [Ross, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Freeway Studios
Published: 2014-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Wheeling And Dealing

People were lining up to join my team. I was enlisting more dealers every week, and not just any dealers. Two in particular stood out. Doc Rob was a Bakersfield police officer, and Dee was a California Highway Patrol trooper. Ollie and I were tight with them; we’d grown up together. We weren’t surprised when they showed up and said they were ready to get down. Their contacts on the street gave them the potential to make some serious money. We were happy to have them on the team.

One day as I was chilling in the front room, I heard banging on the bar doors. I walked out and saw that it was Moped Greg, who rode around on a worn-out moped. He was an O.G., and he had two youngsters with him, Monty and Inky. I invited them in. They each wanted to buy a half-ounce.

Then my boy Dean told me he had a friend, Stacy, over in the Pueblo Del Rio housing projects in a Watts community known as the Low Bottoms. Stacy, he said, had the heroin market sewed up, and she knew how to bring in money. He wanted me to met her.

Dean took me to Pueblo, at Holmes Avenue and 54th Street. At the projects, kids tooled around in Mercedes Benzes and Chevy trucks with the tops cut off, all supercharged and decked out. Homies paid $5,000 for paint jobs. It seemed everybody had new low-rider wheels called Daytons that could set you back $3,200 a set. Obviously, the youngsters doing that well had to be selling something.

This was the territory of the Pueblo Bishop Bloods. Dean wasn’t banging, but he was dressed in cherry red, the Blood color of choice. We pulled up and got out of the car while a fight was going on, in which a chick who looked to be about 6-foot-one, 200 pounds, and all muscle, was whooping on a guy.

When Dean saw her, he said, “That’s Stacy right there. She carries it like a man.”

“I can see that,” I nodded.

The guy managed to get out from under Stacy’s grip and run off. Just as we approached, Stacy walked to the edge of the parking lot and bent down to pick up her shoes, which apparently had flown off her feet as she beat on the guy. Dean, standing in the parking lot with me, called her over to us and introduced me.

“What up, man?” Stacy asked in a husky voice.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” I said. “Good to meet you.”

She explained what had just gone down. “These niggas better realize that I’m all about my money.” She said some guys thought that, because she was a woman, they had a right to fuck her over. She was having none of that.

I was really digging what I saw—at least with her. I wasn’t all that comfortable standing in a parking lot at projects where it was an open market for drug sales. The Pueblo projects were rough, right up there with Nickerson Gardens.

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