Gangster's Daughter 5 by Leo Sullivan

Author:Leo Sullivan [Sullivan, Leo]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States, Urban, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00NW5WIIW
Publisher: Sullivan Productions LLC/ Leo Sullivan Presents
Published: 2014-09-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The Drama Continues

I arrived in the Chevy convertible at the Shell gas station a few blocks away from the club, The Gas Light, as we planned. I saw Joe Pace in his old green Impala that was in need of a paint job and a muffler. The car sounded like a truck before he killed the engine and got out.

For the occasion, Joe was dressed in dark brown Dickey pants and shirt. I could see the bulge of his banger underneath his shirt.

“Wha-da-fuck!” I cursed and ducked my head inside the car. “Where fat boy at?” I asked and turned, looking around.

“The nigga said his ole girl was sick. He had to take her to the hospital.”

“That nigga mama is an alcoholic, fuck he talkin’ bout. She always sick, besides he got all them damn brothers and sisters to look after her.”

Joe just gave me a shrug, like he didn’t know what was going on, and I’m sure it really didn’t matter to him. I was breaking him off a half a brick of Yayo, enough dope for him to smoke and sell for weeks, along with ten G’s.

I looked around for a pay phone. I needed to hit Bee up on his beeper, but time was not on my side. I was already late. I got back into my whip and parked on the side of the gas station, and then I hopped in Joe’s bucket. It was littered with trash, beer cans, and the fetid smell of cigarettes and something stale.

“Where the dummy dope at, my nigga?” I asked as he cranked the engine. There was a loud popping sound. At first I thought somebody was shooting at us so I ducked down in the seat and came up with my banger, but I realized it was the sound of Joe’s raggedy ass car backfiring. Then a bunch of smoke rose like it was about to catch fire from the engine and exhaust pipes.

“Muthafucka gotdamnit man, you gotta get rid of this raggedy ass bucket Yo, I almost shot you.”

“I’m going to the lot as soon as I get paid, first thing in the morning, and pick out a whip. I saw a new ‘95 Maxima,” he said.

I reached in the back and grabbed the fake dope. I had to admit, it was the prettiest imitation dope I’d ever seen.

As we pulled out of the gas station, the car began to shake and shiver like it was having a seizure and reality set in. This was our getaway car. I couldn’t use my whip, it was too flashy. If something went wrong, they would easily remember it.

For some reason, that night I was nervous and uneasy, and my right hand was shaking. Up ahead before we even reached the club, the streets was congested with tricked out whips. Bitches and niggas stood on the block drinking and smoking. I didn’t know if it was the fetid stench from the car, or fear, but I suddenly got nauseated as we neared the club.

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