Blessed (gxg)✔️

1. Know

Growing up in one of the roughest projects of the Bronx taught me one thing; and that's mind your damn business. "If you see something, say something," is not for the locals. That shit has no hold and I've learned to trust no bitch above another. Well... I guess that's two things but that doesn't matter. If people know how to keep their mouth shut to keep ops from hearing things, there's no real reason to trust anyone.

Fact of the matter is, everyone's worried about whatever bullshit they've already seen. There's enough secretive talk about someone getting their next buck that they forget to give out the proper warnings to a loved one for the means to survive. Snitches get shit on but friendships get fucked regardless. Nonetheless, I've been backstabbed one too many times to trust anyone except myself and the only person who's been by my side from the beginning.

Right now, I'm watching Boss talk to one of his business partners, Mr. T, a tanned Latino guy with short black hair and a tank despite it being autumn. Even if you can't fully trust some people, sometimes you just gotta take that leap to move forward.

"Yo Shawnee!" Boss calls out, reaching a hand out to wave me over.

I step forward, calm and collected, my hands swaying with each step to appear as comfortable as the next guy. When I get to him, he crosses his arms and cracks his neck.

"Do me a favor and look at this." He instructs, jutting his head to one of the duffle bags in the trunk of his long time partner's car.

I follow my instructions and lean over to look at the contents. Inside are a dozen and a half handguns, all unloaded with the safeties off, scattered in the bag. Another bag holds purely glocks, while another has ammo and larger two-handed guns. After looking, I look back towards Boss and await what he's asking me.

"You see what I'm seeing?" He asks. I look back down and squint to get a closer look. Upon looking again, I see a little better this time.

"Can I?" I ask, reaching a hand out.

"By all means," Boss shrugs a shoulder.

I pick up one of the guns and inspect it with a shake in my head. On a few of the guns are dust and gunpowder particles pressed into the creases by the barrel and loose screws on the handle of the pistols. The glocks are locked and loaded too. Normally, there'd be no issue, especially since glocks are made to be resilient, but I know Boss isn't happy about this lack of preparation.

"They not maintenanced." I say, putting the gun back down.

"They not maintenance." He nods and looks at the supplier. "Remind me what my order was?" He bites his inner cheek, one eyebrow pooping up for a split second.

"A few sets, all cleaned, redone and checked. All empty and locked." Mr. T says, stepping back and sighing.

"Right so what's the issue with this shit?" Boss keeps his usual calm demeanor but everyone knows he's mad. Even though we were going to have to check them and clean them again right after, the added instruction was meant to make it a little easier so we don't have to worry about misfires in transit but now we have to fix it up or wait to get them another day. The main issue is that Boss made the order ready to pay extra.

"My bad Dre, I was in a rush." Ole guy says, still with the same fuckass sigh.

"Stop all that breathing, you gon fix this shit or you gon give me my damn money back?" One side of Boss' face lifts up with his rising annoyance.

"You ain't even pay yet man."

"Shut the fuck up, you wasting my fucking time." Boss reaches for the bags and grabs one. "Matter fact, don't worry bout it, see it come out yo shipment." He passes the bags over the Rocko who hands them over to an underling that takes them over to Boss' car.