cruise Belle Isle,” said J-Bo.
“That’s cool,” said Wink. He was hoping they’d bump into his crew so they could see him doing it big with J-Bo. Wink told himself that he could get used to this, and he was ready to put in whatever work he had to.
Chapter Two
Wink didn’t sleep the whole night. He stayed up thinking about all the fancy cars he would buy, all the pretty girls who’d throw themselves at his feet, and all the money, fame, and jewelry he’d have. J-Bo rode him around the night before, schooling him to little things, giving up the basics of the game, but nothing too serious. He told Wink he’d have to work, earn, and learn what all he wanted to know. It was called paying dues. He told him that the game was there, you just had to pay attention.
J-Bo had no plans on making things easy for Wink. He wanted to show him that it was more to the game than just fast cars and fast money. To be successful in the game, you had to be a thinker. The ability to think on your toes would be the deciding factor of whether you were going to be a boss or worker. You had to be a people person first and foremost because, you were going to be dealing with people from all walks of life. J-Bo told him just because a person smoked crack didn’t mean they were less of a man or woman. It just meant that they liked the high. You still had to treat them with respect.
He also said you had to be respected. Niggas had to know without a shadow of a doubt that you’d bust they wig if they played with you or your money. J-Bo told him the importance of growth, saving his money, and having lawyers’ fees put to the side. He gave him what he needed to know in order to survive, but Wink would have to earn the tools he needed in order to become the infamous drug lord he dreamed of.
He sat on the living room sofa, watching the hand of the clock mounted on the wall. Time wasn’t moving fast enough, and neither was his crew. He had called Trey, Willie, and Krazy over an hour ago, and still no show. Had he made mention about having some hood rats over, they would have flown their asses over like they did about the picnic.
Fuck it, though, Wink thought as he stood up. He wasn’t about to let nothing or no one stop him from getting what was his. J-Bo said he’d be by to pick him up so they could go check out one of his new crack houses on the Westside. He wanted Wink to help him open it.
“Where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Hope caught Wink on his way out the front door.
“Uh...”
“Don’t you lie to me, Wayne. I know it’s not no damn job interview, which is where you need to be carrying yo’self to.”
“I love you too, Ma,” Wink said, kissing his mom on the cheek. “I’ll be back. I’ma walk around to Trey’s.”
“I need you to help me around the house later, moving this furniture, so don’t stand me up,” said Hope, following Wink out on to the porch. She stood at the landing and watched her son walk down the street. She wasn’t no fool, and her intuition alone told her Wayne was up to something, but what?
Wink heard the sounds of McBreed blasting. It was J-Bo bending the block in his triple-white 500 SEC Benz. Wink looked over his shoulder and thanked God his mother was already gone in the house.
J-Bo slowed down and pulled over to the curb. As always, he was looking like a cool million. He had the top missing on the Benz, the chrome deep dish hammers were blinding in the sun, and the cocaine white interior set J-Bo’s black skin off like the moon at night. He gripped the wheel with one hand and let the other drape out the window with his 18-karat gold Rolex gleaming.
“You ready?” asked J-Bo.
“Yeah,” said Wink. His stomach was in a nervous knot as he prayed that his Ma Dukes wasn’t looking out the window.
“Yo, Wink!” Krazy yelled from the end of the block. He broke into a sprint, trying to catch up.
“Who’s that?” asked J-Bo.
“One of my guys I was tellin’ you about yesterday. I don’t know where the other two are at.”
Krazy caught up to the Benz before J-Bo pulled off. “What up, doe,” he said, a little out of breath. He broke down, putting his hands on his knees.
“You rollin’?” asked J-Bo.
“Yeah, just let me catch my breath.”
“Let’s go, youngin’. Time is my money,” said J-Bo.
Wink leaned his seat forward, letting Krazy climb in the back seat. He was so tall and built that he had to sit sideways.
“J-Bo, this my man Krazy,” said Wink.
J-Bo met eyes with Krazy in the rearview mirror, and they nodded. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Wink kept his head turned until they passed his house. He could hear his mom’s loud-ass voice in his head, calling after the car, ordering him to get out. They made it down the street without Hope embarrassing Wink.
J-Bo didn’t say two words the entire drive. He was done talking. School was in session, and the only way to learn was through experience. All heads turned, and the frivolous conversations ceased as J-Bo cruised down Linwood Ave. People stopped and waved. Crackheads tried flagging the legend down to plead their individual cases as to why they needed some credit and that they were good for it.
J-Bo was known and respected all over Detroit, and as a result, he could go anywhere and would be welcomed with open arms. As he told Wink, he was a people person. Everybody loved J-Bo. He had an aura larger than life, and everybody wanted to latch on to something great. That was the secret behind his success. Success brought more success.
They pulled up in front of this nearby condemned two-family flat on Linwood and Arlington. It sat on the corner right across the street from an old penny candy store called Mr. Kennedy’s. Wink looked up at the brick castle and hoped this wasn’t the new spot J-Bo told him about yesterday. Two women with faded silk scarves wrapped around their ’do’s leaned out two upstairs windows, while old musty-lookin’ black men lined the front porch, all staring down at the Benz.
“Come on,” J-Bo said, pulling on the door handle.
“Fuck we at, South Africa ’round this mothafucka?” Krazy joked as they climbed out the car.
“I know, right?” agreed Wink. He and Krazy fell two steps behind J-Bo.
It sounded like the floor on Wall Street going up the steps to the porch. All the crackheads went crazy, trying to put their bids in. Some were tussling over who’d hold the door open for J-Bo. It was like the return of Jesus.
J-Bo stopped and asked, “Where’s Gator?”
“Should be around here somewhere,” answered one of the crackheads in hopes that his information might get him off crap and J-Bo would throw him a bone. There was no such thing as free with J-Bo. You had to spend some money first, and lots of it, before he even thought about blessing you with a lookout.
“If you see him, send him upstairs,” said J-Bo.
He led the way inside the muggy house and up the staircase leading to the upstairs unit. Surprisingly, the unit was nothing like the downstairs or the exterior. Fresh paint could be smelled as soon as they hit the door. Brand new but
