Godfather of Atlanta: A Complete Series by Cole Hart

Author:Cole Hart [Hart, Cole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cole Hart Signature, LLC
Published: 2019-03-23T22:00:00+00:00

53

Young Hollywood was a chain-gang celebrity. He really didn’t like all the publicity, but since it was available, why not enjoy it? Nearly three weeks had passed, and he was deeply situated. He had Scooter flipping a pound of reefer every week. They had the camp flooded with x-pills and prepaid cellular phones. The money was coming in loads, and Scooter was having the time of his life. Despite being in prison, he was living good.

Young Hollywood was kicked back in his cell contemplating his next move. Then his cell phone rang—or rather vibrated. He laid the book down and checked the number before answering. It was a 404 area code, but he didn’t recognize the number. He answered it anyway. “Yeah, who dis?” he said.

“Yeah, nigga... I know what cha did last summa,” the voice said from the other end. He tried to disguise his voice, and that made whoever it was sound like he was talking through a funnel.

Young Hollywood sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He slipped his feet into a comfortable pair of bedroom shoes and stood up, the phone still pressed against his face. “Getting too much money to play games, pimp,” he said, and then threw another oyster into his mouth.

A knock came from the door. He turned and looked through the glass and noticed Boogaloo standing on the other side with a cell phone pressed against his face. “I’m getting money, too, shawty,” he said into the phone.

Young Hollywood closed his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. He moved toward the door and pressed the button to let Boogaloo in.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Damn, pimp. You don’t fuck’ wit’ niggas from da city no mo’?”

Young Hollywood walked over to his bunk and sat down, removed his feet from his slippers and lay back down with his hands propped behind his head. His eyes focused dead on Boogaloo. He said in the calmest tone of voice, “Shawty, you must think I’m something to play wit’.”

Boogaloo stared at him long and hard, and when he finally realized that Young Hollywood was serious as a cancer victim in his last stages, he removed the phone from his face. “Nigga, you jus’ take shit too serious.” He slipped his own cell phone inside his pocket, moved to the rear of the cell, sat down on the desk stool, and faced Young Hollywood.

Young Hollywood didn’t bother to face him. He continued to look forward, gazing at the door. “I’m getting wiser. My mind is more developed, and I’m focusin’ on some bigga shit,” Young Hollywood said.

Boogaloo pulled a pack of Bugler from his sock and lit up a rolled cigarette. He squinted against the smoke and quickly let out a long steam from his mouth. “So you gettin’ wiser. Where you learnin’ your knowledge from?”

“Suckas, lames, fuck niggas.” There was a slight tone of aggression in his voice, and then he sat up and faced Boogaloo, his eyes deadlier than Botulinus toxin.

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