I Got Next ( DC Bookdiva Publications) by Godfather

Author:Godfather [Godfather]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Urban, Political, United States, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00QP5QQS4
Publisher: DC Bookdiva Publications
Published: 2014-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Money. Power. Respect. Even Lil Kim said it, when she did that piece with the LOX. It wasn’t like it was nothing new, or a re-invention of the handbag. Money, Power and Respect, that was the recipe and all you had to do was get it. But trust me; getting it wasn’t half as easy as it sounded. You had to have ass to give it and bring ass to get it. And though it wasn’t always the biggest ass that you wanted, you got that ass if it flaunted. And then you claimed that ass as yours and the booty was yours too.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

The deep bass knocked as he cruised up the block.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

The music was on low, but it still sounded like a bass drum on wheels as the streets were empty and the rain fell slowly.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Like war drums in an African village, announcing the arrival of its king.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Today’s activity signaled both the rise of a giant and the end of a war.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Victory.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Revenge.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

And the Hail of a new King.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

A woman’s voice boasted over the bass line.

I’m gonna sit on top/I’m gonna get it, get it

Every thang you got/You gonna give it to me.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

They were at the west side hideaway. It was a low-key spot, in the cut just off Western. It was a spot Big Dick had given to him a while back and he often came here to rest his head.

As Kirk Jr. pulled to the curb, his two car escort took up position; the men climbing out in long dark coats, eyes peering in all directions. Not in the least bit deterred by the storming rains.

The Get Money Crew had tried their hands, but now those GMC boys were has-beens. Kill or be killed. Conquer and be king. Never before had Kirk Jr. felt such a surge of awesome, raw, ruthless power. Things would be different from this day forward, and already he liked the chill, which ran through his veins.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Money.

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

Power

Boom-ba-boom-boom.

The men fanned out, as he stood from the low-slung, steel-gray, Chevy Camaro. The mag wheels were basic, windows tinted. He had on a big, thick, puffy, black leather trench coat and he was carrying a backpack. Full of cash. Leon had the two big black duffels; Coo-Coo had a red Santa’s bag slung over his shoulder. It was huge. He held and lugged it with both hands. This whatn’t no romper room Merry Christmas shit, and whatn’t hardly for entertaining.

Having arrived in a separate car, the two men were already heading inside. Two other men had gone in and cleared the house: like the Secret Service for a president. And as soon as clearance came, the men rushed in. Others posted and took up security outside. They were armed and deadly and there were no games they weren’t prepared to play. With anybody. Be it the men in black or the boys in blue, it really didn’t matter, because, tonight, there’d be no losing and compromise was not even possible.

Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingles all the way

Oh what fun it is to rise and become a ghetto King.

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