Smoke and Mirrors (DE)

42. If the world was ending

" Keep this muthafucka runnin, I'll be quick," Dre instructed his driver, hopping out of the back of his black truck. His thick diamond chains made a clanking sound as his feet hit the pavement. Dre paused for a moment, adjusting the pendants around his neck before approaching the back door of A&R Cleaners. Dre gave two firm hard knocks and stepped back surveying his surroundings as he waited for the door to be opened.

Alonzo, twin brother of Romero, co-owner of the dry cleaning business he shared with his brother and also one of Dres distros opened the door. He wore a hard expression, stepping to the side and opening the door further for Dre to come in before looking around outside and closing it behind him.

" Just for future reference," Dre started as he followed Alonzo through the back of the cleaning business Alonzo used as a front to clean his drug money with. " Y'all don't call no fucking meetings, I do. Y'all work for me," He asserted.

Alonzo let out a hasty chuckle, opening the office door where his brother Romero and Dre's other distro Fat Mike, sat at a table. Fat Mike let weed smoke billow from his blackened lips which were due to him smoking weed from the tender age of 12. The smoke collected in a looming haze near the popcorn stucco ceiling.

Dre stopped in the door way cracking a smile, show casing his pearly white porcelain veneers and snatching his black Louis Vuitton frames off his face. " Fuck is this, a pow-wow? Y'all should've told me— I woulda brought snacks, especially for yo fat ass Mike," Dre said sarcastically.

" Yo fuck you Dre," Fat Mike spat, cutting his eyes at Dre.

" We out," Alonzo said, speaking for the three men as a whole.

Dre jerked his head back. " Yall out?" Dre repeated. " Of what— product?"

" Of business with you," Alonzo said, reaching down and grabbing two duffel bags each filled with several kilos of coke tossing them at Dres feet.

Dre clenched his jaw tightly, exhaling through his nose sharply, his nostrils flaring in the process. " And what the fuck do y'all think y'all finna do without me? I supply New York wit this shit, where y'all think y'all finna go? Huh?" Dre questioned.

" Nigga that shit stepped on, fuck is you talkin bout? It's more baking soda in there than it is drugs. We should really run down on you for playin wit our money like that but we know you already down bad since yo big bro been gone," Alonzo taunted.

Dre poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue wishing he'd brought his gun inside cause he would've put a bullet in every single one of them for disrespecting him like that. But it was the truth, Dre had been struggling since him and Joseph split. While Dre had more experience in the game, Joseph was the brains of the operation and he was great with numbers and making business decisions. Since Joseph left, Black Mafia had been losing clients left and right and was only down to three distros— as of right now none.

Black Mafia wasn't making the money it used to, making them unable to buy the amount of product they were before, causing them to have to stretch it as thin as they could to make ends meet— but that was only messing with the integrity of the product. Dre had no one to blame for the hole he was in now besides his old man but Max could never do any wrong in his eyes— Joseph was to blame for his financial crisis.

" Ight, I'll lower the price," Dre tried to reason.

The three men let out hearty cackles only further pissing off Dre.

" So what y'all finna do? Y'all ain't got no connections, I'M y'all connection,"

" Word on the street yo boy Joseph out in Miami wit that shit in a headlock," Romero said. " I'm surprised you ain't heard he's the one taking all your business," He snickered.